Colin nodded, but then asked one last question. “You don't want him to die, or you don't want him to die on your account?”
Daphne stood on shaky feet. “I think you'd better leave,” she said, using every last bit of her energy to keep her voice steady. “I can't believe you just asked that of me.”
But Colin didn't leave. He just reached over and squeezed his sister's hand. “I'll help you, Daff. You know I'd do anything for you.”
And Daphne just fell into his arms and let out all the tears she'd been keeping so valiantly inside.
Thirty minutes later, her eyes were dried and her mind was clear. She'd needed to cry; she realized that. There'd been too much trapped inside her—too much feeling, too much confusion, hurt, and anger. She'd had to let it out. But now there was no more time for emotion. She needed to keep a cool head and remain focused on her goal.
Colin had gone off to question Anthony and Benedict, whom he'd said were talking in low and intense voices in Anthony's study. He'd agreed with her that Anthony had most probably asked Benedict to act as his second. It was Colin's job to get them to tell him where the duel was to take place. Daphne had no doubt that Colin would succeed. He'd always been able to get anybody to tell him anything.
Daphne had dressed in her oldest, most comfortable riding habit. She had no idea how the morning would play out, but the last thing she wanted was to be tripping over lace and petticoats.
A swift knock on her door brought her to attention, and before she could even reach for the knob, Colin entered the room. He, too, had changed out of his evening clothes.
“Did you find out everything?” Daphne asked urgently.
His nod was sharp and brief. “We don't have much time to lose. I assume you want to try to get there before anyone else arrives?”
“If Simon gets there before Anthony, maybe I can convince him to marry me before anyone even pulls out a gun.”
Colin let out a tense breath. “Daff,” he began, “have you considered the possibility that you might not succeed?”
She swallowed, her throat feeling like it had a cannonball lodged in it. “I'm trying not to think about that.”
“But—”
Daphne cut him off. “If I think about it,” she replied in a strained voice, “I might lose my focus. I might lose my nerve. And I can't do that. For Simon's sake, I can't do that.”
“I hope he knows what he has in you,” Colin said quietly. “Because if he doesn't, I may have to shoot him myself.”
Daphne just said, “We'd better go.”
Colin nodded, and they were off.
Simon guided his horse along Broad Walk, making his way to the farthest, most remote corner in the new Regent's Park. Anthony had suggested, and he had agreed, that they carry out their business far from Mayfair. It was dawn, of course, and no one was likely to be out, but there was no reason to be flaunting a duel in Hyde Park.
Not that Simon much cared that dueling was illegal. After all, he wouldn't be around to suffer the legal consequences.
It was, however, a damned distasteful way to die. But Simon didn't see any alternatives. He had disgraced a gently bred lady whom he could not marry, and now he must suffer the consequences. It was nothing Simon had not known before he'd kissed her.
As he made his way to the designated field, he saw that Anthony and Benedict had already dismounted and were waiting for him. Their chestnut hair ruffled in the breeze, and their faces looked grim.
Almost as grim as Simon's heart.
He brought his horse to a halt a few yards away from the Bridgerton brothers and dismounted.
“Where is your second?” Benedict called out.
“Didn't bother with it,” Simon replied.
“But you have to have a second! A duel isn't a duel without one.”
Simon just shrugged. “There didn't seem a point. You brought the guns. I trust you.”
Anthony walked toward him. “I don't want to do this,” he said.
“You don't have a choice.”
“But you do,” Anthony said urgently. “You could marry her. Maybe you don't love her. but I know you like her well enough. Why won't you marry her?”
Simon thought about telling them everything, all the reasons he'd sworn never to take a wife and perpetuate his line. But they wouldn't understand. Not the Bridgertons, who only knew that family was good and kind and true. They didn't know anything about cruel words and shattered dreams. They didn't know the impossible feeling of rejection.
Simon then thought about saying something cruel, something that would make Anthony and Benedict despise him and get this mockery of a duel over with more quickly. But that would require him to malign Daphne, and he just couldn't do that.
And so, in the end, all he did was look up into the face of Anthony Bridgerton, the man who had been his friend since his earliest days at Eton, and said, “Just know it isn't Daphne. Your sister is the finest woman I've ever had the privilege to know.”
And then, with a nod to both Anthony and Benedict, he picked up one of the two pistols in the case Benedict had laid on the ground, and began his long walk to the north side of the field.
“Waaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiittttttttt!”
Simon gasped and whirled around. Dear God, it was Daphne!
She was bent low over her mare, in full gallop as she raced across the field, and for one stunned moment Simon forgot to be absolutely furious with her for interfering with the duel and instead just marveled at how utterly magnificent she looked in the saddle.
By the time she yanked on the reins and brought the horse to a halt right in front of him, however, his rage was back in full force.