The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(81)

Sometimes it's the man's fault, you know."

Daphne said nothing.

"I told her this time and again, but still she felt guilty. I said to her—" The housekeeper's face turned pink. "Do you mind if I speak frankly?"

"Please do."

She nodded. "Well, I said to her what my mother said to me. A womb won't quicken without strong, healthy seed."

Daphne held her face in an expressionless mask. It was all she could manage.

"But then she finally had Master Simon." Mrs. Colson let out a maternal sigh, then looked to



Daphne with an apprehensive expression. "I beg your pardon," she said hastily. "I shouldn't be calling him that. He's the duke now."

"Don't stop on my account," Daphne said, happy to have something to smile about.

"It's hard to change one's ways at my age," Mrs. Colson said with a sigh. "And I'm afraid a part of me will always remember him as that poor little boy." She looked up at Daphne and shook her head. "He would have had a much easier time of it if the duchess had lived."

"An easier time of it?" Daphne murmured, hoping that would be all the encouragement Mrs.

Colson would need to explain further.

"The duke just never understood that poor boy," the housekeeper said forcefully. "He stormed about and called him stupid, and..."

Daphne's head snapped up. "The duke thought Simon was stupid?" she interrupted. That was preposterous. Simon was one of the smartest people she knew. She'd once asked him a bit about his studies at Oxford and had been stunned to learned that his brand of mathematics didn't even use numbers .

"The duke never could see the world beyond his own nose," Mrs. Colson said with a snort. "He never gave that boy a chance."

Daphne felt her body leaning forward, her ears straining for the housekeeper's words. What had the duke done to Simon? And was this the reason he turned to ice every time his father's name was mentioned?

Mrs. Colson pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "You should have seen the way that boy worked to improve himself. It broke my heart. It simply broke my heart."

Daphne's hands clawed at the sofa. Mrs. Colson was never going to get to the point.

"But nothing he ever did was good enough for the duke. This is just my opinion of course, but—

"

Just then a maid entered with tea. Daphne nearly screamed with frustration. It took a good two minutes for the tea to be set up and poured, and all the while Mrs. Colson chitchatted about the biscuits, and did Daphne prefer them plain or with coarse sugar on top.

Daphne had to pry her hands off the sofa, lest she puncture holes in the upholstery Mrs. Colson had worked so hard to preserve. Finally, the maid left, and Mrs. Colson took a sip of her tea, and said, "Now then, where were we?"

"You were talking about the duke," Daphne said quickly. 'The late duke. That nothing my husband did was ever good enough for him and in your opinion—"





"My goodness, you were listening." Mrs. Colson beamed. "I'm so flattered."

"But you were saying..." Daphne prompted.

"Oh yes, of course. I was simply going to say that I have long held the opinion that the late duke never forgave his son for not being perfect."

"But Mrs. Colson," Daphne said quietly, "none of us is perfect."

"Of course not, but—" The housekeeper's eyes floated up for a brief second in an expression of disdain toward the late duke. "If you'd known his grace, you would understand. He'd waited so long for a son. And in his mind, the Basset name was synonymous with perfection."

"And my husband wasn't the son he wanted?" Daphne asked.

"He didn't want a son. He wanted a perfect little replica of himself."

Daphne could no longer contain her curiosity. "But what did Simon do that was so repugnant to the duke?"

Mrs. Colson's eyes widened in surprise, and one of her hands floated to her chest. "Why, you don't know," she said softly. "Of course you wouldn't know."

"What?"

"He couldn't speak."

Daphne's lips parted in shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"He couldn't speak. Not a word until he was four, and then it was all stutters and stammers. It broke my heart every time he opened his mouth. I could see that there was a bright little boy inside. He just couldn't get the words out right."

"But he speaks so well now," Daphne said, surprised by the defensiveness in her voice. "I've never heard him stammer. Or if I have, I-I-I didn't notice it. See! Look, I just did it myself.

Everyone stammers a bit when they're flustered."

"He worked very hard to improve himself. It was seven years, I recall. For seven years he did nothing but practice his speech with his nurse." Mrs. Colson's face wrinkled with thought. "Let's see, what was her name? Oh yes, Nurse Hopkins. She was a saint, she was. As devoted to that boy as if he'd been her own. I was the housekeeper's assistant at the time, but she often let me come up and help him practice his speech."

"Was it difficult for him?" Daphne whispered.