The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(64)

"Are you all right?" Violet asked.

Daphne forced a weary smile. "I'm just tired," she replied. And she was. It hadn't even occurred to her until that very moment that she hadn't slept in over thirty-six hours.

Violet sat beside her. "I thought you'd be more excited. I know how much you love Simon."

Daphne turned surprised eyes to her mother's face.

"It's not hard to see," Violet said gently. She patted her on the hand. "He's a good man. You've



chosen well."

Daphne felt a wobbly smile coming on. She had chosen well. And she would make the best of her marriage.

If they weren't blessed with children—well, she reasoned, she might have turned out to be barren, anyway. She knew of several couples who had never had children, and she doubted any of them had known of their deficiencies prior to their marriage vows. And with seven brothers and sisters, she was sure to have plenty of nieces and nephews to hug and spoil.

Better to live with the man she loved than to have children with one she didn't.

"Why don't you take a nap?" Violet suggested. "You look terribly tired. I hate seeing such dark smudges below your eyes."

Daphne nodded and stumbled to her feet. Her mother knew best. Sleep was what she needed.

"I'm sure I'll feel much better in an hour or two," she said, a wide yawn escaping her mouth.

Violet stood and offered her daughter her arm. "I don't think you're going to be able to make it up the stairs on your own," she said, smiling as she led Daphne out of the room and up the stairs.

"And I sincerely doubt we'll see you in an hour or two. I shall give everyone explicit instructions that you are not to be disturbed until morning."

Daphne nodded sleepily. "Thaz good," she mumbled, stumbling into her room. "Morningsh good."

Violet steered Daphne to the bed and helped her into it. The shoes she pulled off, but that was all. "You might as well sleep in your clothes," she said softly, then bent to kiss her daughter on the forehead. "I can't imagine I'll be able to move you enough to get you out of them."

Daphne's only reply was a snore.





*





Simon, too, was exhausted. It wasn't every day that a man resigned himself to death. And then to be saved by—and betrothed to!—the woman who had occupied his every dream for the past two weeks.

If he weren't sporting two black eyes and a sizable bruise on his chin, he'd have thought he'd dreamed the whole thing.

Did Daphne realize what she'd done? What she was denying herself? She was a levelheaded girl, not given to foolish dreams and flights of fancy; he didn't think she would have agreed to marry him without sorting through all the consequences.



But then again, she'd reached her decision in under a minute. How could she have thought everything through in under a minute?

Unless she fancied herself in love with him. Would she give up her dream of a family because she loved him?

Or maybe she did it out of guilt. If he'd died in that duel, he was sure Daphne could come up with some line of reasoning that would make it seem her fault. Hell, he liked Daphne. She was one of the finest people he knew. He didn't think he could live with her death on his conscience.

Perhaps she felt the same way about him.

But whatever her motives, the simple truth was that come this Saturday (Lady Bridgerton had already sent him a note informing him that the engagement would not be ah extended one) he would be bound to Daphne for life.

And she to him.

There was no stopping it now, he realized. Daphne would never back out of the marriage at this point, and neither would he. And to his utter surprise, this almost fatalistic certainty felt...

Good.

Daphne would be his. She knew of his shortcomings, she knew what he could not give her, and she had still chosen him.

It warmed his heart more than he would ever have thought possible.

"Your grace?"

Simon looked up from his slouchy position in his study's leather chair. Not that he needed to; the low, even voice was obviously that of his butler. "Yes, Jeffries?"

"Lord Bridgerton is here to see you. Shall I inform him that you are not at home?"

Simon pulled himself to his feet. Damn, but he was tired. "He won't believe you."

Jeffries nodded. "Very well, sir." He took three steps, then turned around. "Are you certain you wish to receive a guest? You do seem to be a trifle, er, indisposed."

Simon let out a single humorless chuckle. "If you are referring to my eyes, Lord Bridgerton would be the one responsible for the larger of the two bruises."

Jeffries blinked like an owl. "The larger, your grace?"

Simon managed a half-smile. It wasn't easy. His entire face hurt. "I realize it's difficult to



discern, but my right eye is actually a touch worse off than the left."

Jeffries swayed closer, clearly intrigued.

"Trust me."

The butler straightened. "Of course. Shall I show Lord Bridgerton to the drawing room?"

"No, bring him here." At Jeffries's nervous swallow, Simon added, "And you needn't worry for my safety. Lord Bridgerton isn't likely to add to my injuries at this juncture. Not," he added in a mutter, "that he'd find it easy to find a spot he hasn't already injured."