The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(82)

"Some days I thought he'd surely shatter from the frustration of it. But he was so stubborn.



Heavens, but he was a stubborn boy. I've never seen a person so single-minded." Mrs. Colson shook her head sadly. "And his father still rejected him. It—"

"Broke your heart," Daphne finished for her. "It would have broken mine, as well."

Mrs. Colson took a sip of her tea during the long, uncomfortable silence that followed. 'Thank you very much for allowing me to take tea with you, your grace," she said, misinterpreting Daphne's quietude for displeasure. "It was highly irregular of you to do so, but very..."

Daphne looked up as Mrs. Colson searched for the correct word.

"Kind," the housekeeper finally finished. "It was very kind of you."

"Thank you," Daphne murmured distractedly.

"Oh, but I haven't answered any of your questions about Clyvedon," Mrs. Colson said suddenly.

Daphne gave her head a little shake. "Another time, perhaps," she said softly. She had too much to think on just then.

Mrs. Colson, sensing her employer desired privacy, stood, bobbed a curtsy, and silently left the room.





Chapter 16


The stifling heat in London this week has certainly put a crimp in society junctions. This author saw Miss Prudence Featherington swoon at the Huxley ball, but it is impossible to discern whether this temporary lack of verticality was due to the heat or the presence of Mr. Colin Bridgerton, who has been cutting quite a swash through society since his return from the Continent .

The unseasonable heat has also made a casualty of Lady Danbury, who quit London several days ago, claiming that her cat (a long-haired, bushy beast) could not tolerate the weather. It is believed that she has retired to her country home in Surrey .

One would guess that the Duke and Duchess of Hastings are unaffected by these rising

temperatures; they are down on the coast, where the sea wind is always a pleasure. But This Author cannot be certain of their comfort; contrary to popular belief, This Author does not have spies in all the important households, and certainly not outside of London!

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers,2 June 1813



It was odd, Simon reflected, how they'd not been married even a fortnight and yet had already fallen into comfortable patterns and routines. Just now, he stood barefoot in the doorway of his dressing room, loosening his cravat as he watched his wife brush her hair.

And he'd done the exact same thing yesterday. There was something oddly comforting in that.

And both times, he thought with a hint of a leer, he'd been planning how to seduce her into bed.

Yesterday, of course, he'd been successful.

His once expertly tied cravat lying limp and forgotten on the floor, he took a step forward.

Today he'd be successful, too.

He stopped when he reached Daphne's side, perching on the edge of her vanity table. She looked up and blinked owlishly. He touched his hand to hers, both of their fingers wrapped around the handle of the hairbrush. "I like to watch you brush your hair," he said, "but I like to do it myself better."

She stared at him in an oddly intent fashion. Slowly, she relinquished the brush. "Did you get everything done with your accounts? You were tucked away with your estate manager for quite a long time."

"Yes, it was rather tedious but necessary, and—" His face froze. "What are you looking at?"

Her eyes slid from his face. "Nothing," she said, her voice unnaturally staccato.





He gave his head a tiny shake, the motion directed more at himself than at her, then he began to brush her hair. For a moment it had seemed as if she were staring at his mouth.

He fought the urge to shudder. All through his childhood, people had stared at his mouth. They'd gazed in horrified fascination, occasionally forcing their eyes up to his, but always returning to his mouth, as ifunable to believe that such a normal-looking feature could produce such

gibberish.

But he had to be imagining things. Why would Daphne be looking at his mouth?

He pulled the brush gently through her hair, allowing his fingers to trail through the silky strands as well. "Did you have a nice chat with Mrs. Colson?" he asked.

She flinched. It was a tiny movement, and she hid it quite well, but he noticed it nonetheless.

"Yes," she said, "she's very knowledgeable."

"She should be. She's been here forev— what are you looking at?"

Daphne practically jumped in her chair. "I'm looking at the mirror," she insisted.

Which was true, but Simon was still suspicious. Her eyes had been fixed and intent, focused on a single spot.

"As I was saying," Daphne said hastily, "I'm certain Mrs. Colson will prove invaluable as I adjust to the management of Clyvedon. It's a large estate, and I have much to learn."

"Don't make too much of an effort," he said. "We won't spend much time here."

"We won't?"

"I thought we would make London our primary residence." At her look of surprise, he added,

"You'll be closer to your family, even when they retire to the country. I thought you'd like that."

"Yes, of course," she said. "I do miss them. I've never been away from them for so long before.