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The incident came to pass so quickly, even the three people involved could not describe what happened. And as we all know, if the perpetrators are unaware of what took place, the witness must be completely useless. It was early morning, dawn to be precise, and the pistols were out, one pointed at the sky, the other at a red velvet jacket. One was steady. The other shook. Both the owners of these pistols had rapidly beating hearts, and neither was prepared for the streak of blue and white that shot in their path.
-**-
Anthony Bridgerton’s eyes were wide. Simon could not see them from this distance, of that he was sure, but that didn’t make his eyes not wide. That didn’t make the gun steady. He had no incentive to fire wide. That man on the other end of the field had disgraced his family, ruined his sister, and more than that, if his aim was true, Anthony could be gone within the hour, Siena by his side. This life would be forgotten and what a relief it would be. He had no reason to fire wide, yet his hand shook.
Simon’s hands did not shake. His face did remain expressionless, but that did not stop the pounding in his heart. It pumped poison and hate through his veins. The regret burned deep in his soul. He had so wanted to say yes. When Anthony had pointed to his sister in the garden and declared Simon would have to marry her, his very being had howled. It wanted nothing more. He had not previously known he possessed the strength to contain that level of desire. Though he should not be too impressed with his self-control. It had not been strong enough to stop him from doing the one forbidden thing.
So he turned and raised his pistol to the sky. He was not surprised when his friend did not extend the same courtesy. He deserved what was coming to him. Pistol pointed up, he braced himself to die. He was not braced for the horror that would actually unfold in the next few moments. There was of course no way to prepare.
Daphne Bridgerton, rod between the two men, consumed, thinking of nothing but stopping her brother. She told herself it was because of her reputation that she pushed her stead at a far faster pace than she was comfortable with. She did not want to examine if it was because of the Duke. She could not admit to herself that it was because she loved him, and she did not want him to die. No, this had to be because Cressida had seen. Yet she rode between them without thought, driven by an overwhelming desperation, her explanations could not account for.
She screamed.
“STOP!”
There was a shot.
The bright white horse reared onto his hind legs. Daphne tumbled to the earth. Her heart was still pounding. But the impact of her body on the ground had slowed everything else. She couldn’t move for a moment, and that moment caused deep panic.
“Daphne!”
“Sister!”
Benedict started running. Will as well. The duelers reached her prone body first.
“Stand aside,” Anthony ordered, stopping the other men in their tracks. He registered Colin running up from a horse tied to just the other side of the trees. He was going to kill that boy.
Simon noticed no one else. He had eyes only for the red-headed woman, covered by her blue cloak. His gloved hands were touching what little he could see of her hair before he could stop himself. He was incapable of stopping himself. One thing was clear to him. The Duke of Hastings was unable to not touch Daphne Bridgerton. When she took a shaking breath and began to pull herself up he was able to breathe at least.
“Oh good God,” Anthony said, rearing back on his legs, looking in panic back to his brothers. Simon again failed to register it.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded of Daphne. Her fingers were splayed on the grass. Her body hovering as though she was about to move to push herself up, yet she did not.
“Tell me!” Simon said, eyes now as wide and panicked as Anthony’s.
“I am perfectly well!” she snapped, but still she did not move. “No thanks to you idiots.”
“Simon!” Anthony said, his voice catching. One hand was braced on Daphne’s leg, the other came up to the Duke’s shoulder. Simon glanced at the hand, registering Daphne’s physical safety was at least something they could still be united in caring for. Then he saw where the Viscount was looking. His eyes followed, and his heart stopped.
A red stain was blooming on the blue fabric of Daphne’s cloak. She took a deep shaking inhale. There was no glimmer of pain on her face though, and Simon knew her body was in some kind of shock. She might not even realize she’d been shot. Anthony though, the previous owner of the offending bullet fell back on his heels, unable to look away from his sister’s cloak. Horror etched over every line of his face.
“Get the doctor!” Simon hollered at Will, but not actually caring who followed through on the order. “Daphne don’t move.”
“I do not need the doctor. I am perfectly fine. I just need a moment. I-” her eyebrows listed together. The dimples Simon so adored formed on her forehead. She tried to push herself up, and an arm gave out from under her, and she let out a sharp gasp of pain. The first sound of distress she’d made in this time.
“Benedict!” Simon said, lightly grabbing Daphne’s shoulders, and rolling her onto her back, not caring about propriety. None of Daphne’s brothers seemed to give a damn either. Benedict was at his sister’s side in a moment. He was pulling at the strings of her cloak, pulling the fabric back from her body to inspect the damage. Anthony sat, useless on the sidelines. His mouth hanging open, unable to comprehend what had happened.
Simon himself was also unable to complete many likely helpful actions. All he could do was cradle Daphne’s head in his hands, her upper body lying across his thighs. Her face was pale, her lips twitching.
“I require a moment with you,” she said, smacking her lips slightly.
“Yes,” he said, half choking on the word. His eyes filled with tears. His ears were perked for any sign from her second brother about the extent of the damage this damn duel had done. “As many moments as you want, if you just wait. You have to wait. You cannot go anywhere.”
Her eyes sparkled in confusion for an instant. Then she let out a hiss, baring her teeth for a moment. She gasped, and tears spread down her cheeks. Simon wiped at them with his gloved fingers.
“You have to wait,” he told her again. Her lips parted, lower one trembling in confusion. “Daphne, if you wait, you can have all of my moments.”
“It is a graze,” Benedict said.
“What?” Simon did not believe he could be so lucky. He could not look away from her face. Benedict had to say it again.
“The bullet grazed her forearm.”
Simon snapped his eyes closed, swallowing, bringing a hand up to her jaw, cradling her face.
“I require a moment,” she repeated, and Simon again registered she was in shock.
“Let me see,” said a gruff voice, and Simon turned to see the wizened doctor pushing Benedict aside. Anthony continued to sit, face pale and drawn staring at the scene before his eyes. The second Bridgerton son almost tripped over the Viscount, but still, Anthony did not move. Benedict made his way to Daphne’s other side, glancing at Colin, who moved to pull at Anthony’s shoulder. He did not budge.
Simon took a breath and looked down Daphne’s body. It was covered in a white nightdress, and her hem had at least six inches of mud caking the warm looking fabric. She should be home in bed, not here in this horrendous field, dealing with his stupidity, suffering consequences for things that were not her fault.
Yet he saw Benedict was right. There was not a drop of red on the pure white nightgown. But on her upper arm he saw, clear as day, an open wound, puffed up, surrounded by a red welt. It was gushing deep red blood. Simon had to look away, back to her face, to assure himself she was alive. Her good hand came up to wrap around his wrist. He still had not released her cheek.
“You should not have come,” he whispered, his own brow knitting together.
“Your mind has not changed,” she answered. He shook his head at her, not understanding how she could still be talking about or thinking about a time before this moment, in this field. He looked at the doctor.
“I think she is in shock.”
“Well of course she’s in shock,” the old man huffed, pulling gauze and a foul-smelling liquid from his bag. He drenched the white material in the alcohol and pressed it to her wound. “She’s been shot. Even the toughest of men would be in shock, Your Grace.”
Simon was about to snap. Daphne was stronger than any man. Her sex had nothing to do with this predicament. It was all down to that damn bullet. He would have yelled if it was not for the fact that Daphne Bridgerton was still talking.
“It must,” she said, her eyes still on him, full of steel. Perhaps she was not in shock. Perhaps it just did not matter to her that she had been shot.
“What must?” Simon asked. His voice was rough. He could not get it to come out smooth, especially not when she grimaced as the alcohol burned at her broken flesh. He held her upright, lifting her a little higher, letting him press his forehead into hers. He heard Benedict growl from next to them, but it did not matter. He would fight all three of her brothers if he had to, so long as he never had to let her go again. He could not tolerate it a second longer.
“Your mind, it must change. Simon we were seen,” she was talking very fast. Of course, she was still stuck on this point. She’d ridden into the middle of a duel to tell them, to stop them, to make them understand.
“Cressida Cowper witnessed us in the gardens. She knows. It is not merely your own life that hangs in the balance now.”
He had to close his eyes. He pulled back, but his grip on her tightened. She could not know the way her words had an effect on him. As if he could give a damn about Cressida Cowper when it was her life hanging in the balance. Did she not understand what had happened? She had been shot. She could have died. She could still die. His heart sank as one word echoed through his head. Infection.
“If you do not marry me, I shall be ruined.”
“Daphne,” Simon said, and he could not bring himself to care about any of it anymore. He could not care about her three eldest brothers, shocked and staring at them. He could not care about Cressida Cowper. He could not even care about his hatred for his father. In just an instant, the one when he spotted the dark red stain on her cloak, he’d learned that there were far more important things in the world worth caring about than any of those damned hateful people.
“That,” he said slowly, swallowing. “Is a horrendous proposal, Ms. Bridgerton.”
“Simon,” she said, her voice breathy, disbelieving. “I know you do not love me.”
Again she could not know how deeply her words wounded him.
“But do you truly hold me in such low regard that you could condemn me to a life of shame and reproach? I never thought you could despise me so.”
“Daphne,” her name left his lips like a litany, a song. “You misunderstand me. I meant,” he swallowed. “That as far as proposals go that was not as romantic as I would have preferred. But given that you’ve been shot, and are most likely in shock.”
“She’s definitely in shock,” the doctor said, peering at her wound. Simon registered the man was stitching her up in this damn field. Where on earth did Bridgerton find this wanker?
“I will make allowances, and accept your proposal, on one condition,” he said voice firm. He paused. Her lips trembled, her eyes sparkled. He was not sure if the tears in her eyes were related to him or the pain. “That you promise to never ride into a dueling field again.”
He bent forward and whispered in her ear.
“I care about you too much to let either of us suffer through this a second time.”
“You’re very lucky Miss Bridgerton,” the doctor said, pressing another alcohol-soaked gauze on his work. “It just scratched the surface.”
Simon knew he had also just scratched the surface.
She closed her eyes against the pain. He did not tell her, he did in fact love her then. He would explain it to her later, why he initially refused her in the garden with Anthony. He’d tell her about the vow he made to his father on his deathbed. He’d explain what it had meant to him. Then he’d tell her that the instant he saw her on the ground, in pain, unable to move, he’d learned that the only thing worse than living in a world with his father, was living a world without her.
So he’d have her, and their lives together, and whatever family she wanted. As long as she promised to never get shot again.
She never did.