Simon fought a chuckle and lost. “You never did learn to mind your own business, did you?”
“Never. And what fun would that be?” She smiled. Simon could tell she didn't want to, but she smiled. “And as for you,” she continued. “You are a monstrous guest. One would have thought you'd possess the manners to greet your hostess by now.”
“You were always too well surrounded by your admirers for me to dare even approach.”
“So glib,” she commented.
Simon said nothing, not entirely certain how to interpret her words. He'd always had the suspicion that she knew his secret, but he'd never been quite sure.
“Your friend Bridgerton approaches,” she said.
Simon's eyes followed the direction of her nod. Anthony ambled over, and was only half a second in their presence before Lady Danbury called him a coward.
Anthony blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You could have come over and saved your friend from the Featherington quartet ages ago.”
“But I was so enjoying his distress.”
“Hmmph.” And without another word (or another grunt) she walked away.
“Strangest old woman,” Anthony said. “I wouldn't be surprised if she's that cursed Whistledown woman.”
“You mean the gossip columnist?”
Anthony nodded as he led Simon around a potted plant to the corner where his brothers were waiting. As they walked, Anthony grinned, and said, “I noticed you speaking with a number of very proper young ladies.”
Simon muttered something rather obscene and unflattering under his breath.
But Anthony only laughed. “You can't say I didn't warn you, can you?”
“It is galling to admit that you might be right about anything, so please do not ask me to do so.”
Anthony laughed some more. “For that comment I shall start introducing you to the debutantes myself.”
“If you do,” Simon warned, “you shall soon find yourself dying a very slow and painful death.”
Anthony grinned. “Swords or pistols?”
“Oh, poison. Very definitely poison.”
“Ouch.” Anthony stopped his stroll across the ballroom in front of two other Bridgerton men, both clearly marked by their chestnut hair, tall height, and excellent bone structure. Simon noted that one had green eyes and the other brown like Anthony, but other than that, the dim evening light made the three men practically interchangeable.
“You do remember my brothers?” Anthony queried politely. “Benedict and Colin. Benedict I'm sure you recall from Eton. He was the one who dogged our footsteps for three months when he first arrived.”
“Not true!” Benedict said with a laugh.
“I don't know if you've met Colin, actually,” Anthony continued. “He was probably too young to have crossed your path.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Colin said jovially.
Simon noted the rascally glint in the young man's green eyes and couldn't help but smile in return.
“Anthony here has said such insulting things about you,” Colin continued, his grin growing quite wicked, “that I know we're sure to be great friends.”
Anthony rolled his eyes. “I'm certain you can understand why my mother is convinced that Colin will be the first of her children to drive her to insanity.”
Colin said, “I pride myself on it, actually.”
“Mother, thankfully, has had a brief respite from Colin's tender charms,” Anthony continued. “He is actually just returned from a grand tour of the Continent.”
“Just this evening,” Colin said with a boyish grin. He had a devil-may-care youthful look about him. Simon decided he couldn't be much older than Daphne.
“I have just returned from travels as well,” Simon said.
“Yes, except yours spanned the globe, I hear,” Colin said. “I should love to hear about them someday.”
Simon nodded politely. “Certainly.”
“Have you met Daphne?” Benedict inquired. “She's the only Bridgerton in attendance who's unaccounted for.”
Simon was pondering how best to answer that question when Colin let out a snort, and said, “Oh, Daphne's accounted for. Miserable, but accounted for.”
Simon followed his gaze across the ballroom, where Daphne was standing next to what had to be her mother, looking just as Colin had promised, as miserable as could be.
And then it occurred to him—Daphne was one of those dreaded unmarried young ladies being paraded about by her mother. She'd seemed far too sensible and forthright to be such a creature, and yet of course that was what she had to be. She couldn't have been more than twenty, and as her name was still Bridgerton she was clearly a maiden. And since she had a mother—well, of course she'd be trapped into an endless round of introductions.
She looked every bit as pained by the experience as Simon had been. Somehow that made him feel a good deal better.
“One of us should save her,” Benedict mused.
“Nah,” Colin said, grinning. “Mother's only had her over there with Macclesfield for ten minutes.”
“Macclesfield?” Simon asked.
“The earl,” Benedict replied. “Castleford's son.”
“Ten minutes?” Anthony asked. “Poor Macclesfield.”
Simon shot him a curious look.
“Not that Daphne is such a chore,” Anthony quickly added, “but when Mother gets it in her head to, ah…”
“Pursue,” Benedict filled in helpfully.
“—a gentleman,” Anthony continued with a nod of thanks toward his brother, “she can be, ah…”