Chapter Text
Simon punished Will's punching bag and wondered if he had gone completely mad. Why would he whisper to Daphne about touching herself in broad daylight? Ridiculously inappropriate and comically self-torturing. Was he so obsessed with her that he had plumb lost his mind?
Selfish. He was so...*punch*...damned...*punch*…selfish. How many times had Daphne told him that it was her heart's desire to have a family like her own — filled with children, filled with love. He could not give her that life. His life was wholly opposite from that life.
Simon knew he needed to walk away from her, but his desire for her haunted him. All he wanted to do was unwrap her from all of her restrictions, from her French fashions to her English mores, and have her, day and night. He wondered what she was doing tonight. Is she touching her body right now, trying to reach a peak on her own? Where were her hands? What kind of noises did she make? Who was she thinking about? He punched the bag hard, sweat pouring from his arms.
Lady Danbury was right. He also saw Prince Friedrich gazing at Daphne, impossible not to see it. The young royal was going to make a play and this was her big chance: motherhood, good husband and father, and royalty as the icing.
But love? Really. Simon practiced his right hook. That man could never love her the way that Simon already loved her. Simon saw her. They had inverse lives but they were built for each other.
They both had complex relationships with high society: outstanding at the game of it, derisive of its penchant for shame and hypocrisy, but conforming to the skilled performance of it because they were both realists. The pressure from their respective duties to their families had shaped their lives and had done its damage. The well-being of the entire Bridgerton clan seemed to rest on Daphne's ability to secure a respectable marriage. Ending the Hastings line was the only way he could defend his mother's honor. Their aims were opposite, but it was the heaviness of the stakes and the searing commitment to their goals that aligned perfectly.
And the Prince? He seemed like a nice enough chap, miles better than Berbrooke at least, but he did not meet Daphne's intensity and sophistication. She needed more and Simon could give her more in every way that counted.
He had a choice. He could hate himself by marrying her and keeping her from the life that she deserved. Or he could make her hate him so that she would leave him to pursue that life. Heartbreak everywhere he looked.
Right on time at their meeting spot, there she was, a vision in sky blue, with — was Rose her name? — in accompaniment. "So I was thinking. About us doing something different," Daphne began. He tried to interrupt her. He had planned to. But there was something — he could not name it — something intangible that kept him from saying the words.
"The ice flavors here are divine but well," she went on, "perhaps the two of us could go to the new Egyptian Hall to see the art there? Or to Hatchards and pick out a book for Eloise's birthday? She has been going on about Sarah Scott, an author with some kind of bizarre vision of utopia, so I..."
He tried again, “Daphne."
"Yes, Simon?"
Oh, he wanted to kiss her. "I must apologize for the conversation yesterday. It was wrong."
Daphne blushed. "Not at all, Simon. I appreciate your forthcomingness." She quickly averted her eyes but, after a second, she came back to him. "You are the only person who has been willing to talk to me about this."
"I went too far. I should not have corrupted you."
"Corrupt me?" she looked at him. "I am quite capable of deciding the boundaries of my own propriety." Every time he tried to perform some kind of big brotherly protective role, she simply dismissed all of it. Her message was clear. She was not a child. They were equals. Dear Lord, he thought as he gazed at her. Give me the strength to not kiss her here in the street.
"Simon," she stepped a little closer to him and he closed his eyes. A wave of desire flowed through his body. Her voice lowered, "I thought we were friends. I trust you. Do you not trust me?"
"Daphne...," he clenched his hands together tightly behind his back while the drum of his heart deafened him. Now was his chance. He could ridicule her, hurt her, and make her walk away from him for good. Or he could tell her he was falling in love with her.
Simon turned to face Daphne and took a deep breath. "You are right. I am sorry. Forgive me?"
"Honestly, Simon, I am not even sure what I am forgiving you for." They stood there for a while, both not quite knowing what to do next. Then she gently touched his arm with her gloved hand.
He nodded and offered his arm, "For interrupting you, my friend." She took it and smiled forgivingly. "Hatchard's then?" he asked. She nodded and he led her on a walk to the bookstore, Rose trailing behind with some distance.
"So, who is this Sarah...Scott, was it?" Simon asked as he led Daphne through the town streets.
"Yes, that is right. I believe the title is Millennium Hall. Eloise says it is a story about, I quote, 'women who are liberated from the restrictions of marriage.'"
"Hmm," smiled Simon, almost proudly. "That sounds very...Eloise."
Daphne laughed. "Indeed. God bless her."
"The book could cause a bit of a wag of the tongue, though." Simon swiftly guided her away from a group of men walking quickly in their direction, his firm hand gripping her waist and scooping her to the side, his other arm reaching back to protect Rose as well. Daphne felt a bit of a rush. He went on, "Perhaps she should restrict her reading of it to her home."
"Yes, that would be prudent, but she never listens to me."
"Really?"
"Are you surprised?" They turned a corner onto a busy street.
"Perhaps. You can be very persuasive, Miss Bridgerton."
"Oh?"
He chuckled at her pretend innocence. He always understood that she knew her own power. It was one of the things that made her so beguiling.
They arrived at Hatchard's shortly after. He opened the door for Daphne and Rose, and they were met with the warmth of lanterns and the smell of aging paper. Rose browsed while Daphne spoke with the shopkeeper about the book. Simon looked around curiously, having never been to the shop. The walls were filled with books, the tables with stationary and other writing paraphernalia. Their feather quills were particularly beautiful and he decided to purchase one for Lady Danbury as a gift. There was a tea room in the back.
"Tea?" he asked her when she came back over, gesturing towards the tables.
"Perfect," she nodded and left to ask Rose if she could stay a bit longer. Rose remained with them at a discrete distance out of earshot.
Simon and Daphne quietly watched the people as their tea cooled. It was a perfect place to talk. Away from the windows, more discrete, and not as crowded as Gunter's. Gunter's was perfect for their flirtatious public ruse, but less so if you really wanted to have a conversation.
"You know. You do not have to protect my innocence, Simon," she said to him very quietly.
"Is that so?" he replied.
"That is so. And I am genuinely grateful for the...," she smiled shyly at him, "...education."
God. He blinked and smiled, keeping his body at bay and maintaining his friendly poker face. "Alright well, perhaps let us change the subject before we really do get into some trouble."
"Right. I would like to know about your days as a rake."
"Good Lord, you are incorrigible."
"You do not have to give me all of the scandalous details," she insisted. "I just want to know what the lifestyle was like."
Simon scowled at her, irritated and aroused.
She persisted. She knew he was not a fan of the gilded cage that held young women captive, so she used that against him. "You know, it really is not fair that young gentlemen are allowed to travel and become worldly while young ladies are stuck at home doing needlework."
"You will find no disagreement from me there."
"So it is up to thoughtful and kind men such as yourself to help...I do not know...level the ground?" She had made her case.
"You want things to be more level," he said.
"Well, yes. I suppose so. Seems fair," she replied.
"And you think me talking about," he swept nonexistent dust off of his lap, "my...travels...would help?"
"Possibly. Yes."
Simon shook his head. "In all truth, Daphne, I know your brother probably called me a rake and others believe that rumor, but it is mostly just a reputation I encouraged."
Daphne thought about that for a while and then asked, "Why would you do that?"
"To avoid the marriage market."
"Right. You are not the marrying type."
He raised his eyebrows.
"But you are also not the raking about the continent type?"
He drank his tea and looked around to make sure they were out of earshot.
"So what type are you, Simon?"
I am the type that may take you right here amongst the books and teapots if you insist on talking about this, he thought to himself. "I am just me, Daphne."
She nodded. "But you have spent time with other women."
"Not many."
"Do you still think about them? Have you ever been in love?"
"I have been in love."
"What happened?"
"It did not work out. We did not want the same things."
He was not the marrying type, she thought to herself. "But you loved her."
"I did."
"What was that like for you?"
He stared into his tea. He did not know why, but when she asked questions, he felt entirely compelled to answer them.
"It was consuming. Joyful for a time. Then quite heartbreaking," he swallowed hard.
She frowned, hating the idea of him ever having a broken heart. Daphne risked briefly taking his hand, which was out of public view, and enfolded it into her own, her thumb softly stroking him. His breathing stopped cold. But as quickly as she had done it, she had undone it, bringing her hand back to her cup. She sipped her tea while glancing up at him. Simon smiled slightly but could not bring himself to return her gaze.
"Have you ever been in love, Daphne?" he asked her after a period of silence, once he regained control of his breathing. He added cream to his cup.
"Yes."
He was a little surprised. "Is this not your first year in society?"
Daphne shrugged and sipped her tea. He was too much of a gentleman to probe further on that topic, as curious as he was. However, Daphne proceeded, "May I ask, Simon, what do you have against marriage?"
"I could ask you, why would you ever support the institution?"
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"
He raised his eyebrows. "I mean no disrespect. But, in marriage, women have no property rights, few legal rights, and little autonomy. It does not seem to be in your interest."
"Yes," she agreed. "That is the unfortunate world we are in. However, marriage also provides some legal and social protection, and you can have children without the vicious stigma. Marriage also establishes a lifelong commitment blessed by the Church."
"And are those the main reasons you want to get married?"
She blinked, creased her eyebrows, and gazed at the table. "I want to marry for love."
They let that simple fact stay suspended between them while they drank their tea and listened to book pages turning.
Rose signaled to Daphne, it was nearly time to meet her mother at the modiste. Daphne explained and he offered to escort them there. They dashed through the town until they reached Violet just arriving outside of the clothing shop.
"Lady Bridgerton," Simon bowed to Violet. "Your Grace," she smiled and lightly curtsied.
He was about to bid Daphne farewell when she said, "Oh, I think I Ieft my book at Hatchard's."
"That is okay, dearest, we can go after the modiste...," replied Violet.
"If I may, miss, I do not think we can make it to Hatchard's in time for closing after our time here," explained Rose.
"Do not worry, I will retrieve the book," said Simon.
"You will?" Daphne asked.
"Of course, Miss Bridgerton. May I call on you tomorrow at 1pm afternoon to return it?" Their time would end eventually and all he wanted to do was to be with her as much as he could.
Daphne turned to Violet. "That would be lovely, Your Grace," Violet affirmed warmly.
Daphne turned to Simon and smiled, "That is very generous, thank you, Your Grace."
"The least I can do." Simon nodded at each of them, "Miss Bridgerton. Lady Bridgerton." He acknowledged Rose with a smile and nod, who returned his acknowledgment with a curtsy of her own. The women briefly watched the tall, graceful gentleman walk back to the path they had just left. Hands behind his back, mission on his mind. Then they disappeared into the shop.
Out of view, Simon stopped for a moment near a fruit stand. He closed his eyes and thought about Daphne taking his hand. Hot arousal flowed through his chest down the rest of his body. He opened his eyes and was greeted by a crowd of bright red cherries. He needed to get himself home as soon as possible. Simon was falling in love and he was falling hard.