The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(9)

The new Duke of Hastings is a most interesting character. While it is common knowledge that he was not on favorable terms with his father, even This Author is unable to learn the reason for the estrangement .

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers, 26 April 1813



Later that week, Daphne found herself standing on the fringes of Lady Danbury's ballroom, far away from the fashionable crowd. She was quite content with her position.

Normally she would have enjoyed the festivities; she liked a good party as well as the next young lady, but earlier that evening, Anthony had informed her that Nigel Berbrooke had sought him out two days earlier and asked for her hand. Again. Anthony had, of course, refused

(again!), but Daphne had the sinking feeling that Nigel was going to prove uncomfortably persistent. After all, two marriage proposals in two weeks did not paint a picture of a man who accepted defeat easily.

Across the ballroom she could see him looking this way and that, and she shrank further into the shadows.

She had no idea how to deal with the poor man. He wasn't very bright, but he also wasn't unkind, and though she knew she had to somehow put an end to his infatuation, she was finding it far easier to take the coward's way out and simply avoid him.

She was considering slinking into the ladies' retiring room when a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I say, Daphne, what are you doing all the way over here?"

Daphne looked up to see her eldest brother making his way toward her. "Anthony," she said, trying to decide if she was pleased to see him or annoyed that he might be coming over to meddle in her affairs. "I hadn't realized you would be in attendance."

"Mother," he said grimly. No other words were necessary.

"Ah," Daphne said with a sympathetic nod. "Say no more. I understand completely."

"She made a list of potential brides." He shot his sister a beleaguered look. "We do love her, don't we?"

Daphne choked on a laugh. "Yes, Anthony, we do."





"It's temporary insanity," he grumbled. "It has to be. There is no other explanation. She was a perfectly reasonable mother until you reached marriageable age."

"Me?" Daphne squeaked. "Then this is all my fault? You're a full eight years older than I am!"

"Yes, but she wasn't gripped by this matrimonial fervor until you came along."

Daphne snorted. "Forgive me if I lack sympathy. I received a list last year."

"Did you?"

"Of course. And lately she's been threatening to deliver them to me on a weekly basis. She badgers me on the issue of marriage far more than you could ever imagine. After all, bachelors are a challenge. Spinsters are merely pathetic. And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm female."

Anthony let out a low chuckle. "I'm your brother. I don't notice those things." He gave her a sly, sideways look. "Did you bring it?"

"My list? Heavens, no. What can you be thinking?"

His smile widened. "I brought mine."

Daphne gasped. "You didn't!"

"I did. Just to torture Mother. I'm going peruse it right in front of her, pull out my quizzing glass—"

"You don't have a quizzing glass."

He grinned—the slow, devastatingly wicked smile that all Bridgerton males seemed to possess.

"I bought one just for this occasion."

"Anthony, you absolutely cannot. She will kill you. And then, somehow, she'll find a way to blame me. "

"I'm counting on it."

Daphne swatted him in the shoulder, eliciting a loud enough grunt to cause a half dozen

partygoers to send curious looks in their direction.

"A solid punch," Anthony said, rubbing his arm.

"A girl can't live long with four brothers without learning how to throw one." She crossed her arms. "Let me see your list."

"After you just assaulted me?"



Daphne rolled her brown eyes and cocked her head in a decidedly impatient gesture.

"Oh, very well." He reached into his waistcoat, pulled out a folded slip of paper, and handed it to her. "Tell me what you think. I'm sure you'll have no end of cutting remarks."

Daphne unfolded the paper and stared down at her mother's neat, elegant handwriting. The Viscountess Bridgerton had listed the names of eight women. Eight very eligible, very wealthy young women. "Precisely what I expected," Daphne murmured.

"Is it as dreadful as I think?"

"Worse. Philipa Featherington is as dumb as a post."

"And the rest of them?"

Daphne looked up at him under raised brows. "You didn't really want to get married this year, anyway, did you?"

Anthony winced. "And how was your list?"

"Blessedly out-of-date, now. Three of the five married last season. Mother is still berating me for letting them slip through my fingers."

The two Bridgertons let out identical sighs as they slumped against the wall. Violet Bridgerton was undeterred in her mission to marry off her children. Anthony, her eldest son, and Daphne, her eldest daughter, had borne the brunt of the pressure, although Daphne suspected that the viscountess might have cheerfully married off ten-year-old Hyacinth if she'd received a suitable offer.