Chapter Text
As the last vestiges of dusk gave way to dawn, the arboreal surroundings were luminous against the desolate plains. It should have been beautiful. And yet, here stood two men back-to-back, guns tightly fastened within their grasps.
Benedict and Will were on the outskirts viewing the proceedings with a sense of foreboding. There was a certain helplessness in being the second of a duel.
Benedict kept adjusting his stance, as if to counteract any joint stiffness lest he stand guard too long. His constant movement was unconscious though, for he remained deep in thought about the increasing certainty of becoming the new Viscount. He had never expected to bear such a burden, and he did not know if he fancied these new developments. As a child he wanted nothing more than to be the man of the house. But as the years past, he had grown comfortable in his role and the freedoms he could enjoy within it. Regardless, he prayed that Anthony would escape unscathed, however unlikely that seemed with each passing minute.
Will, for his part, still felt the buzz of alcohol tingling his senses. He could not help but reflexively ball his hands into fists at his sides, as if to ground himself in reality. Though he had come to appreciate his friendship with the Duke, he could not help but be preoccupied with the reverberations these events would have on his own life, on his family’s life. Basset had been his most ardent supporter, and more importantly, financial backer. Without him, Will’s career was in grave jeopardy, as it had been a struggle even with the Duke’s efforts. He wished he could take another swig right about now.
Will chanced a glance towards Benedict. He saw the same pained expression masquerading as stoicism. Yes, being a second was a thankless task indeed.
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Nary a breath could be heard, only the crunch of earth with every deliberate step Anthony and Simon took apart. The weapon felt foreign in Anthony’s hands, as he self-consciously flexed his fingers along his path. Not months before he was fucking Sienna against a tree trunk in similarly secluded conditions. What should have been a rather fond memory was now just another reminder of his failure. His responsibility shirked again on the day his sister was to debut before Her Majesty the Queen and the Ton.
“Do you even care that Simon has dishonored me, as you say? Or is it your own male pride that you seek to satisfy?”
Anthony wondered why he was doing this. He never did truly address his sister’s pointed accusation. Perhaps, this was his way out of the life that was slowly choking him out. His father had been a beacon to the entire family. Anthony was not equipped to follow suit, and if he were, certainly not this soon. His father should have been here…he should still be here.
It was comical really, just how disastrous his run as the Viscount Bridgerton had been. It was no matter. He was tired of suffocating under the weight of expectation and duty. And so, he thought it merciful to come to this end, for himself and his family. Anthony drew his deepest breath, as he came to a stop.
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Whatever nervousness Simon may have felt did not betray itself in his actions. With every methodical pace he drew one step closer to his demise. He supposed, if he thought about it, this was what his life was leading to all along. Once his father had banished him, he was never supposed to live, to thrive. Never supposed to become the Duke of Hastings. He had already spited his father by lasting this long.
It was almost perfunctory the way Simon was carrying on, as if he were taking a casual stroll, or perhaps, promenading with a certain someone. No, he could not go down that line of thinking. He would not…
Why had he diverted his trip? Why had he attended the Trowbridge Ball and tortured himself further? If he were honest, he would admit that he simply could not depart without seeing her one last time. Without experiencing, if even for just a moment, what might have been. The life of a man born out of love, taught to provide and accept such affections freely.
It was a selfish act to rouse her so, of that Simon had no illusions. But he simply could not bear to go on without savoring her lips just once. And now he knew. The irrevocable sensation of satiation. Never had Simon felt such an explosion of euphoria transmitted throughout his body, burning his skin on its journey. He had stolen a taste of nectar of the Gods, and now was poised for his life to be remanded to restitution. At least he could die with that knowledge. He was ready. Vow intact. Heart full.
And so, as Simon reached the end of the line and slowly turned around, he wore a vacant expression. He calmly raised his arm straight, pointing the gun to the heavens above.
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Simon’s eyes appeared fixed upon Anthony to the sideline observer, but Anthony could see the truth. Instead, it seemed Simon was looking past him, as if Anthony were a mere apparition. How dare he? Anthony was astonished to discover that this duel would be a one-sided affair. The bastard forced my hand, and now he taunts me. Did Hastings think himself a martyr? Was this a trick? A trap?
Simon’s hand remained raised in the air. What was now assured victory only unnerved Anthony further, as his hand began to tremble. He could not do this, he would not—
“STOP!”
The sudden disturbance startled Anthony into squeezing the trigger. What fell before him nearly took his breath away; a horse bucking wildly and a hooded figure, whom he recognized as his sister.
“Daphne!” cried Simon. He was quicker to react and immediately took off running, as the horse threw her to the ground.
“Sister!” Anthony was sprinting now, determined to beat Simon to his collapsed sister. “Sister! Stand aside.”
Anthony had successfully blocked Simon and began running his hands along Daphne’s body, searching for any signs of life. He noticed his sister’s movements and heard an audible breath. “Oh, good God,” he sighed in relief.
“Are you hurt?” Simon asked with a sense of desperation. While he had only given her a moment to respond, when he didn’t hear an immediate answer, fear began to overtake him. “Tell me!”
At his words, Daphne popped up off the ground and shrugged away Anthony’s attempt at support, “I am perfectly well, no thanks to you idiots.”
“What the hell do you think you are playing at?” And for that matter how in the world did his sister manage to appear before them?
“Says the man who just shot at me!”
“You just rode into the middle of a duel!” Honestly, his sister confounded him. Anthony’s incredulity was apparently unmatched, as Simon began to turn away and his brothers stood behind the fray.
Daphne dismissed Anthony’s outburst and attempted to meet Simon’s eye. He remained with his back to her.
“I require a moment with the Duke,” dismissing yet another attempt for Anthony to intercede, she emphasized her demands more forcefully, “I require a moment with the Duke.”
Recognizing the imperative tone of his sister’s request and quietly eager for a peaceful resolution, Benedict intervened. He physically restrained Anthony and looked towards his sister, “Make it brief.”
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Daphne did not wait to see if Simon would follow, as she began walking away from her brothers. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, and she attempted to calm her nerves. She was not sure what she had expected to find exactly. Her only focus, or hope really, was that she was not too late. It was rather stressful to ride at dawn, especially given Colin’s vague instruction. There were so many bloody trees it was easy to lose hope during the journey.
But when she had happened upon the scene and noted two men still standing, she thanked the heavens and beckoned her horse faster. She could not afford to let her guard down. If she had taken a moment, she would admit riding into the middle of a duel was not one of her brightest decisions. What other choice did she have when faced with the prospect of losing two men who—well, her brother, whom she loved; and Simon, her…friend.
Daphne stopped once she believed they were out of earshot, and turned to see Simon approaching. Before she could utter a word, he cut her off.
“You should not have come, my mind has not changed,” utilizing a nonchalant tone, he shifted to avoid her gaze. He looked to the ground hopeful that his performative detachment would have the desired effect.
Daphne persisted undeterred, “It must. If not for your sake, then mine.”
She moved her head as she spoke, following Simon’s movements with her eyes, willing him to look at her. “Simon, we were seen. Cressida Cowper witnessed us in the garden. She knows.”
At that, Simon abruptly turned to meet her eyes. He had to witness the consequences of his selfish impulsivity. He searched for the misery and anguish he had likely caused. What he saw instead was an unwavering determination. To what end he was not sure.
“It is not merely your own life that hangs in the balance now. If you do not marry me, I shall be ruined.”
Simon cringed at the thought, for he was already poison to her elegant sensibilities, rotting her from the inside out, “Daphne, I cannot.”
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Across the field Anthony shook his head. He surveyed the surroundings and settled upon Colin sheepishly admiring the trees.
“What is the meaning of this? Why is our sister here?” No one dared to answer nor look anywhere near his direction. Anthony let out an involuntary grunt of disapproval and glanced down at his pocket watch.
He observed the couple (he nearly spat at the thought) and leaned forward, as if a few inches would allow him to decipher their hushed tones.
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Daphne’s eyes remained fixed upon Simon, “Did you not hear me?” Surely, she could not have misread his feelings so spectacularly. Did he not feel anything for her? “Someone knows what we have done. Someone who will surely talk.”
When she still could not elicit a reaction from him, she began to panic. The previous conviction in her voice gave way to a creeping sense of futility, “What possible reason could you have to condemn me to shame and reproach? Do you truly--” Daphne paused for a beat, defeat sinking in, “Do you truly hold me in such low regard?”
“It is because I regard you so highly that I cannot marry you,” Simon would not let such a sentiment hang in the air for even a moment.
Daphne nearly laughed the absurdity. She could not tell if he was simply mocking her, “I know you do not love me, but I never thought you could despise me so.”
“Daphne,” It pained his soul to hear her speak like this. Did she not know the effect her presence had on him? The way he drowned in her aura, basked in her laughter (especially if he was the one to provide it) and eased in her company? She was not the problem. She was never the problem. It was him. Could she not see?
“You must know if we were to wed. I can never give you children. It is your dream to be a mother is it not? To have a household full of love and laughter like the one you have known all your life.”
A life Simon would certainly never know. He could not allow himself to bring her down with him. He could not soil and pillage her life so; feeding upon her love and affection, while sucking her dry. He was verdigris on her copper. Of course, had he bothered to ask her, he would know she quite liked the effects of oxidation on copper. The heavy metal was rather bland and unsightly otherwise in her estimation.
“You deserve nothing less. You deserve everything your heart desires. But I cannot—”
“You cannot,” Daphne interrupted. She squinted at Simon, recognizing a pattern in his phrasings, “You say you cannot marry. You say you cannot have children. How could that be possible?”
“Daphne, I—”
“We must resume before someone shall find us,” Anthony cut in. He had been standing for what felt like ages in silence with his brothers and could not take it any longer. From the little he gathered on his walk over, the conversation appeared contentious.
Simon moved to take his leave, but stopped at Daphne’s words, “Brother, I am not finished with the Duke.” Before Anthony could protest further, she added, “If our business is not concluded within the next five minutes, then you shall have my blessing to resume.”
Anthony reluctantly nodded and began to retreat, reaching for his watch.
“Well?” Daphne felt her legs shake, as anxiety threatened to consume her entire body.
“I am capable…in the literal sense,” Simon began slowly. He had never intended on even revealing that much. But Daphne’s presence often left him flustered; unable to be as discreet with his thoughts as he had become accustomed. He searched his mind for the simplest explanation he could muster, “But certainly, I cannot not provide all that you deserve.”
“Simon—"
“Daphne, I would ruin you. I would ruin you,” he spoke softly.
Unable to contain the bubbling of emotions, Daphne erupted, “I am already ruined!”
Daphne knew they had not a moment to spare. She could not explain; how the game of pretend that once invigorated her, now wilted in comparison to their intimate interactions. She also, did not realize how Simon interpreted such a statement; how it confirmed to him the torment he brought to anyone who dared get close.
“Simon, we do not have much time, as my brother has made abundantly clear. I do not wish to see you die, and I certainly do not wish to permanently mar my family’s social standing.”
It was not the argument Daphne preferred to make. She had wanted to tell him how all of her life she had dreamt of a love as pure as the one her parents had found. And how she believed she had found it with him. She could not be sure, as there was no metaphor quite strong enough to convey the deep ache she felt whenever she thought of him, nor the flutter in her stomach whenever he was near (nor the warmth that tore through her body from limb to limb when he looked at her). But based on her mama’s instruction, she at least knew their unmistakable friendship was special, despite what he had said. They shared a certain wavelength of understanding, manifested in their conversation, their banter, their laughter.
She suspected if she had attempted to broach these subjects, he would not be receptive. As many hours as she had spent studying his eyes, movements, expressions, and moods, she still could not quite read him. So, she had decided to appeal to the sense of honor that she knew he possessed.
“You do not know how mortifying it is to have to stand here and beg this of you, but it is what I am prepared to do. Please, your Grace. We must marry. Do I not deserve at least that?” Daphne inhaled and closed her eyes, willing herself to remain centered.
This is what he had driven her to; this is how low she was forced to go. He struggled to keep his breath, his shoulders heaving. Simon felt physically ill to see her in this state, even more so to know that he was the cause of it.
Daphne was not sure how long they had been standing there in silence. It was unnatural for them to feel so encumbered in each other’s presence, for the air to seem so oppressive in its humidity. She moved forward, if this was to be her last moment with him…
“Bridgerton!” Simon bellowed with an energy reminiscent of the time he had reunited with his old friend at the Danbury Ball, coincidentally the same moment he had first met Daphne. His voice sliced through the surroundings with such an intensity that it almost sounded like a gunshot had fired.
Simon started walking towards the waiting men. Daphne wanted to shout, to scream. Yet she felt rooted to the spot. She momentarily shook her head and took off after Simon.
Anthony grabbed the weapon from Benedict, and nodded at Will to retrieve Simon’s gun. Just as Anthony was to reiterate his instructions to Benedict, Simon continued, “There will be no need to resume. Miss Bridgerton and I are to be married.”
Anthony stood, gawking at the man before him. Benedict closed his eyes and let out a breath of relief. Will went to Simon’s side and clamped a hand on his shoulder in approval.
Daphne froze a few paces away. He had acquiesced. She could scarcely believe it. Her body went numb and her mind jumbled. She reached up to her cheek to wipe a tear that never materialized. Never had she experienced such a potpourri of emotions. There was a part of her that was pleased, and just the same that flicker of positivity was subdued by the humiliation of her desperation. Yet, her mind innately pushed these thoughts to the side and entered crisis mode. She had already switched gears and began plotting out how to proceed.
“Sister! You see it is as I told you,” Colin said with such an uninhibited enthusiasm that Anthony wondered if his brother was regarding an entirely different situation. As Colin bounced towards their sister, Anthony heard him say something vaguely about gentlemen and duels.
“We shall draw up the documentation at once and request an audience with the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license. I will need your show of support when we are granted an audience,” Simon was unsure from where he was summoning this lucidity.
Anthony remained in a bit of a daze, unable to process the events that had just unfolded. Benedict decided to step in, perhaps to cap off a moment which might have seen him be the one to answer, “Yes, Hastings, we shall reconvene later this morning.”
Anthony growled, disoriented at his utter lack of control. He brought a hand to his head and grabbed at the hair by his forehead, hoping to jar himself out of this stupor. Anthony nodded at Simon, then proceeded to call out for his younger two siblings, “Daff, Colin! We must make haste and return home before anyone is the wiser.”
As Simon mounted his horse, Daphne quickly made her way to him, “Shall we promenade tomorrow morning, your Grace. 10 o’clock?” She had calculated that a public stroll would be the first step in crafting their narrative.
Simon nodded, “I will send word to Lady Danbury.”
Amidst all the bustle and urgent movement, Daphne could not quite meet Simon’s eyes. She watched as he rode off with Will. Before she could think too deeply, Anthony called on her once again, “Sister let us go.”
Daphne moved to mount her horse. Benedict noted the lack of a side saddle, “Daff, riding astride I see.”
Benedict’s eyes twinkled with mischief, which served to lift Daphne’s spirits. She even managed a small smile.
“Don’t be the last one home!” Colin yelled as he rode by.
Anthony lingered a moment, regarding the area. Cursed. Absolutely cursed.