The Bridgerton Eight

Either Strangle These People Or Chug That Drink

Thursday—November 26th, 2020

Night of Lady Danbury's Thanksgiving Bash, 8pm

His oh-so-clever plan of giving his regards to Lady Danbury and leaving unnoticed had fallen into instant ruin. He'd taken no more than two steps into the ballroom when he'd been recognized by an old friend who, much to Simon's dismay, had recently married. The wife was a perfectly charming young woman, but unfortunately one with very high social aspirations, and she had quickly determined that her road to happiness lay in her position as the one to introduce the new owner of Global Hastings to her friends. And Simon, even though he considered himself a world-weary, cynical sort, discovered that he wasn't quite rude enough to refuse.

And so, two hours later, he'd been introduced to every girl at the ball and their mother. Simon couldn't decide which set of women was the worst. The single girls were decidedly boring, the mothers were annoyingly ambitious, and the married ones—well, they were so forward Simon began to feel like a piece of meat. Six of them had made extremely suggestive remarks, two had slipped him notes, and one had actually run her hand down his thigh.

More than once he found himself wondering where Daphne Bridgerton was. He'd thought he'd caught a glimpse of her about an hour earlier, surrounded by her rather large and forbidding brothers. Not that Simon found them individually forbidding, but he'd quickly decided that any man would have to be an imbecile to provoke them as a group.

But since then she seemed to have disappeared. Indeed, he thought she might have been the only girl at the party to whom he hadn't been introduced.

Simon glanced back over to the corner where the Bridgerton brothers were gathered, looking as if they were having a grand old time. They had been accosted by almost as many young women and old mothers as Simon, and Anthony had been seen several times on the dancing floor, but at least there seemed to be some safety in numbers. Simon sent an irritated scowl in their direction.

Anthony, who was leaning lazily against a wall, caught the expression and smirked, raising a glass of red wine in his direction. Then he cocked his head slightly, motioning to Simon's left. Simon turned, just in time to be detained by yet another mother, this one with a trio of daughters, all of whom were dressed in monstrously flashing colors.

"Mr. Hastings!" the mother shrilled.

"It's Basset," he corrected for the seventieth time that night.

"Mr. Basset," the mother repeated, "of course, it is such an honor to make your acquaintance."

Simon managed a frosty nod. Words were quite beyond him. The family of females had pressed in so close he feared he might suffocate.

"Georgiana Huxley sent us over," the woman persisted. "We are great supporters of Global Hastings."

Simon didn't remember who Georgiana Huxley was, but he thought he might like to strangle her.

"You see," the woman went on, "your dear father was such a good friend of mine."

Simon stiffened.

"He was a wonderful man," she continued, her voice like nails to Simon's skull, "so conscious of his duties to the tons. He must have been a wonderful father."

"He wasn't," Simon bit off.

"Oh!" The woman had to clear her throat several times before managing to say, "I see. Well. My goodness."

Simon said nothing, hoping an aloof demeanor would prompt her to take her leave. It didn't.

"These are my daughters," the woman said, motioning to the three young ladies. They looked, at best, ordinary, except for the smaller one who, besides being only five feet tall, didn't appear to be enjoying the evening.