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line that ended perilously close to Colin's stomach. "Them."
     
     A chorus of mumbled greetings emerged as a response.
     
     Lady Danbury flicked the men the briefest of glances before turning back to Daphne, and saying, "Mr. Berbrooke was
    asking after you."
     
     Daphne actually felt her skin turn green. "He was?"
     
     Lady Danbury gave her a curt nod. "I'd nip that one in the bud, were I you, Miss Bridgerton."
     
     "Did you tell him where I was?"
     
     Lady Danbury's mouth slid into a sly, conspiratorial smile. "I always knew I liked you. And no, I did not tell him where
    you were."
     
     "Thank you," Daphne said gratefully.
     
     "It'd be a waste of a good mind if you were shackled to that nitwit," Lady Danbury said, "and the good Lord knows that
    the ton can't afford to waste the few good minds we've got."
     
     "Er, thank you," Daphne said.
     
     "As for you lot"—Lady Danbury waved her cane at Daphne's brothers—"I still reserve judgment. You"— she pointed the cane at Anthony—"I'm inclined to be favorable toward, since you refused Berbrooke's suit on your sister's behalf, but the rest of you ... Hmmph."
     
     And with that she walked away.
     
     "'Hmmph?'" Benedict echoed. "'Hmmph?' She purports to quantify my intelligence and all she comes up with is 'Hmmph?'"
     
     Daphne smirked. "She likes me."
     
     "You're welcome to her," Benedict grumbled.
     
     "Rather sporting of her to warn you about Berbrooke," Anthony admitted.
     
     Daphne nodded. "I believe that was my cue to take my leave." She turned to Anthony with a beseeching look. "If he comes looking for me—"
     
     "I'll take care of it," he said gently. "Don't worry."
     
     "Thank you." And then, with a smile to her brothers, she slipped out of the ballroom.
     
     *  *  *
     
     As Simon walked quietly through the halls of Lady Danbury's London home, it occurred to him that he was in a singularly good mood. This, he thought with a chuckle, was truly remarkable, considering the fact that he was about to attend a society ball and thus subject himself to all the horrors Anthony Bridgerton had laid out before him earlier that afternoon.
     
     But he could console himself with the knowledge that after today, he needn't bother with such functions again; as he had told Anthony earlier that afternoon, he was only attending this particular ball out of loyalty to Lady Danbury, who, despite her curmudgeonly ways, had always been quite nice to him as a child.
     
     His good mood, he was coming to realize, derived from the simple fact that he was pleased to be back in England.
     
     Not that he hadn't enjoyed his journeys across the globe. He'd traveled the length and breadth of Europe, sailed the
    exquisitely blue seas of the Mediterranean,and delved into the mysteries of North Africa. From there he'd gone on to the Holy Land, and then, when inquiries revealed that it was not yet time to return home, he crossed the Atlantic and explored the West Indies. At that point he considered moving on to the United States of America, but the new nation had seen fit to enter into conflict with Britain, so Simon had stayed away.
     
     Besides, that was when he'd learned that his father, ill for several years, had finally died.
     
     It was ironic, really. Simon wouldn't have traded his years of exploration for anything. Six years gave a man a lot of time to think, a lot of time to learn what it meant to be a man. And yet the only reason the then-twenty-two-year-old Simon had left England was because his father had suddenly decided that he was finally willing to accept his son.
     
     Simon hadn't been willing to accept his father, though, and so he'd simply packed his bags and left the country, preferring exile to the old duke's hypocritical overtures of affection.
     
     It had all started when Simon had finished at Oxford. The duke hadn't originally wanted to pay for his son's schooling; Simon had once seen a letter written to a tutor stating that he