Thursday—November 26th, 2020

Night of Lady Danbury's Thanksgiving Bash, 8pm

His oh-so-clever plan of giving his regards to Lady Danbury and leaving unnoticed had fallen into instant ruin. He'd taken no more than two steps into the ballroom when he'd been recognized by an old friend who, much to Simon's dismay, had recently married. The wife was a perfectly charming young woman, but unfortunately one with very high social aspirations, and she had quickly determined that her road to happiness lay in her position as the one to introduce the new owner of Global Hastings to her friends. And Simon, even though he considered himself a world-weary, cynical sort, discovered that he wasn't quite rude enough to refuse.

And so, two hours later, he'd been introduced to every girl at the ball and their mother. Simon couldn't decide which set of women was the worst. The single girls were decidedly boring, the mothers were annoyingly ambitious, and the married ones—well, they were so forward Simon began to feel like a piece of meat. Six of them had made extremely suggestive remarks, two had slipped him notes, and one had actually run her hand down his thigh.

More than once he found himself wondering where Daphne Bridgerton was. He'd thought he'd caught a glimpse of her about an hour earlier, surrounded by her rather large and forbidding brothers. Not that Simon found them individually forbidding, but he'd quickly decided that any man would have to be an imbecile to provoke them as a group.

But since then she seemed to have disappeared. Indeed, he thought she might have been the only girl at the party to whom he hadn't been introduced.

Simon glanced back over to the corner where the Bridgerton brothers were gathered, looking as if they were having a grand old time. They had been accosted by almost as many young women and old mothers as Simon, and Anthony had been seen several times on the dancing floor, but at least there seemed to be some safety in numbers. Simon sent an irritated scowl in their direction.

Anthony, who was leaning lazily against a wall, caught the expression and smirked, raising a glass of red wine in his direction. Then he cocked his head slightly, motioning to Simon's left. Simon turned, just in time to be detained by yet another mother, this one with a trio of daughters, all of whom were dressed in monstrously flashing colors.

"Mr. Hastings!" the mother shrilled.

"It's Basset," he corrected for the seventieth time that night.

"Mr. Basset," the mother repeated, "of course, it is such an honor to make your acquaintance."

Simon managed a frosty nod. Words were quite beyond him. The family of females had pressed in so close he feared he might suffocate.

"Georgiana Huxley sent us over," the woman persisted. "We are great supporters of Global Hastings."

Simon didn't remember who Georgiana Huxley was, but he thought he might like to strangle her.

"You see," the woman went on, "your dear father was such a good friend of mine."

Simon stiffened.

"He was a wonderful man," she continued, her voice like nails to Simon's skull, "so conscious of his duties to the tons. He must have been a wonderful father."

"He wasn't," Simon bit off.

"Oh!" The woman had to clear her throat several times before managing to say, "I see. Well. My goodness."

Simon said nothing, hoping an aloof demeanor would prompt her to take her leave. It didn't.

"These are my daughters," the woman said, motioning to the three young ladies. They looked, at best, ordinary, except for the smaller one who, besides being only five feet tall, didn't appear to be enjoying the evening.

"These are Philippa, Phoebe and Penelope. My eldest, Prudence, is already married. Aren't they lovely?" the lady continued. "My pride and joy. And so even-tempered."

Simon had the queasy feeling that he'd heard the same words once when shopping for a dog. He kept his tone carefully bored (this, he'd long since learned, was the best way not to show anger) and prompted, "And you are...?"

"Oh, of course! Portia Featherington. My husband passed on three years ago, but he was your father's, er, dearest friend." Her voice trailed off at the end of her sentence, as she remembered Simon's last reaction to mention of his father.

Simon nodded curtly.

"Phoebe is quite accomplished on the piano," Mrs. Featherington said, with forced brightness. "And my darling Philipa is an expert watercolorist."

"And Penelope?" some devil inside Simon forced him to ask.

Mrs. Featherington shot a panicked look at her youngest daughter, who looked quite miserable. "Penelope?" Mrs. Featherington echoed, her voice a touch shrill. "Penelope is... ah... well, she's..."

"I beat cancer," Penelope offered, face so blank Simon couldn't tell if she was being serious. She had kind eyes, he noticed. Simon decided that if he was forced to dance, he'd ask Penelope.

"Mrs. Featherington," came a sharp and imperious voice that could only belong to Lady Danbury, "are you pestering Mr. Basset?"

Simon wanted to answer in the affirmative, but instead murmured, "Of course not."

Lady Danbury raised a brow as she moved her head slowly toward him. "Liar."

She turned back to Mrs. Featherington, who had gone quite green, and neither of them spoke. Mrs. Featherington finally mumbled something about seeing her cousin, grabbed her three daughters, and scurried off.

Simon crossed his arms, but he wasn't able to keep his face completely free of amusement. "That wasn't very well done of you," he said.

"Bah. She's feathers for brains, and so do her girls. Except Penelope, but she hasn't come out of her shell yet," Lady Danbury said shaking her head. Then added, "Your friend Bridgerton approaches."

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 Hamptons Girl."

"Who?"

Anthony led Simon around a potted plant to the corner where his brothers were waiting. As they walked, Anthony grinned, and said, "I saw you being introduced to basically everyone."

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? Take it from me. You should pick one of them and engage. The others will leave you alone." He stopped his stroll across the ballroom in front of two other Bridgerton men, both clearly marked by their chestnut hair and excellent bone structure. Simon was quickly introduced to them.

"Tony here has said such insulting things about you," the one named Colin said, his grin growing 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."

"I pride myself on it, actually," Colin said with a boyish grin. He had a youthful look about him. Simon decided he couldn't be much older than Daphne.

"Hey, have you seen Daphne?" Benedict asked his brothers. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Colin let out a snort, and said, "Right there."

Simon followed his gaze across the ballroom, where Daphne was standing next to what had to be her mother, looking as miserable as could be.

"Ohhh. One of us should save her," Benedict mused.

"Nah," Colin said, grinning. "While Mom tries to find her a new boyfriend, she's not trying to find me a new girlfriend. So I'm good."

"Mom's not going to find Daphne a damn thing," Anthony said.

Simon shot him a curious look.

"Not that there's anything wrong with Daphne," Anthony quickly added, "but when Macclesfield broke up with her, he started a rumor about her and, uh..."

"The bastard," Benedict filled in helpfully.

Anthony grimaced. "Yes. Unhinged was the word he used, I believe."

"And frigid," Benedict supplied.

Simon looked back over toward the girl in question. He suddenly wished he had hit Macclesfield harder.

"We should save Daphne," Anthony said.

"We really should," Benedict added.

But Simon noticed that no one was leaping into action.

"All talk, aren't you?" Colin chortled.

"I don't see you marching over there to save her," Anthony shot back.

"Hell no. But I never said we should. You, on the other hand..."

"What the devil is going on?" Simon finally asked.

The three Bridgerton brothers looked at him with identical guilty expressions.

"We should save Daff," Benedict said a third time.

"We really should," Anthony added.

"What my brothers are too lily-livered to tell you," Colin said derisively, "is that they are terrified of our mother."

"It's true," Anthony said with a helpless shrug.

Benedict nodded. "I freely admit it."

Simon thought he'd never seen a more ludicrous sight. These were the Bridgerton brothers, after all. Tall, handsome, athletic, with every miss in the nation setting her cap after them, and here they were, completely cowed by their mother.

"Hey!" Benedict exclaimed. "Why don't you save her, Basset?"

Simon took one look at Violet Bridgerton and decided he'd rather be branded an eternal coward. "No, thank you. Your sister, your problem."

"Not if you come with me," Anthony said. "Then it'll be your problem because you're single." Anthony's fist found its way to the small of Simon's back, and he started to propel him forward. "My mom will be so distracted by the sight of you, she won't notice me. It's perfect."

Simon had no choice but to walk toward Daphne. The alternative required making a really big scene, and Simon had long since learned that he didn't do well with scenes.

"Mom!" Anthony called out in a jovial voice as they approached the woman. "I haven't seen you all evening."

Simon noticed that Violet Bridgerton's eyes lit up when she saw her son approaching. "Tony!" she said in return. "Daphne and I were just chatting."

Anthony sent his sister a commiserating look. "Yes, I see."

Simon caught Daphne's eye for a moment and gave his head the tiniest shake. She responded with an even tinier nod, sensible girl that she was.

"And who is this?" Violet Bridgerton inquired, her eyes lighting upon Simon's face.

"Simon Basset," Anthony replied. "Surely you remember him from my days at Harvard."

"Of course," Violet said politely.

"I don't believe I had the chance to make your acquaintance before I left the tons, Mrs. Bridgerton," Simon said smoothly, "but I'm pleased to do so now."

"As am I." She motioned to Daphne. "My daughter Daphne."

Simon took Daphne's hand and laid a scrupulously polite kiss on her knuckles. "A pleasure, Miss Bridgerton."

Then Violet Bridgerton turned the full force of her smile on him—Simon quickly learned where Daphne got that wide, wide smile from—, a strange light appeared in her eye, and her head bobbed back and forth between Daphne and Simon.

Then she smiled again.

Simon fought the urge to flee.

Anthony leaned over slightly, and whispered in his ear, "Sorry, man."

But Violet Bridgerton was blissfully oblivious, her head presumably already filling with images of a grand wedding. Then her eyes narrowed as she focused on something behind the men. She looked so overwhelmingly annoyed that Simon, Anthony, and Daphne all twisted their necks to see what was afoot.

Mrs. Featherington was marching purposefully in their direction, Phoebe and Philipa right behind. Simon noticed that Penelope was nowhere to be seen.

Desperate times, Simon quickly realized, called for desperate measures. "Miss Bridgerton," he said, whipping his head around to face Daphne, "how about a dance?"