fly to the time of day//simon basset

six

I sit beside Daphne on her bed.

"Daphne you can not marry, Berbrooke," I insist.

"I have no choice," Daphne argues.

"Daphne, a marriage without love is not a marriage you want," I tell her. "It is not simply a partner that marriage provides."

"Mama and Papa... and you and Oliver... you were so beautiful. That is what I wanted," Daphne tells me. "That is all I hoped to one day find."

I nod my head. "And you will. I told you I will not allow you to marry Berbrooke and that has not changed."

I find myself unable to sleep. I sit outside on one of the swings. Mama would have my head if she saw me with a cigarette in my hand. Then again I am my own woman. I make my own decisions.

"My my what have we here?" I turn and see Benedict walking towards me. "My dearest sister with a cigarette in her hand."

I roll my eyes. "Are you going to chastise me brother?"

"Spare one for me?" Benedict asks.

I smile as I hand the cigarette over to him.

"Our dear brother wants to duel with Berbrooke," Benedict tells me.

"I do not see any good coming from that," I confess. "I just... I don't know. I guess I desired something different for Daphne. For her to find someone she loves, not just a man with no debt and a title."

"You want her to find love like you did," Benedict states.

I nod my head. "A love I hope all of my siblings will find one day," I smile, "Even you Benedict."

Mama has arranged for tea with Lady Berbrooke. It is really a clever ruse to find out some information to hopefully get Lord Berbrooke far away from this family.

"Nigel is my one and only child," Lady Berbrooke says. "Very special boy, indeed." She takes a deep breath. "In fact, I often say God did not bless me with another because perfection had already been achieved."

"My goodness," Mama remarks.

"Not every lady can be so blessed, I know," Lady Berbrooke says. "Miss Bridgerton... allow me to set my eyes upon you." Daphne looks at Mama, unpleased by this whole meeting. "Mm. Certainly healthy. Even if your countenance is a bit drawn."

"It was a terribly late evening," Mama reasons.

"All the excitement, I suppose," Lady Berbrooke says. "Yet you must try harder, dear. My Nigel is quite discerning. He already turned away many more handsome debutantes, saying, 'Mother... I prize accomplishment over beauty.' Can you believe it?"

Lady Berbrooke shoves a pastry in her mouth and starts to crunch rather loudly. It continues on this way for what feels like an eternity. Eventually Lady Berbrooke rises.

"You ate but not one bite at tea, my dear!" Lady Berbrooke remarks. "A young lady must be well fed if she is to bear children. Kippers on rye every morning worked wonders for me when I conceived my Nigel."

As Lady Berbrooke leaves Mrs Wilson and Rose rush in.

"What have you found?" Mama asks them.

"What is going on?" Daphne questions.

I laugh lightly. "You could not think Mama would ask that woman for tea without a thought for you, could you?"

"The help hears everything, as we all know," Mama explains.

"She has heard a good deal, in fact. Lord Berbrooke has a boy by one of his maids that he refused to provide for. Sent the maid and child away to live off scraps," Rose informs us.

"Horrible man," Mrs Wilson adds.

"Horrible enough for us to be rid of him, let us pray," Mama says.

"Well, he... He will only deny it," Daphne insists. "And who will believe a group of women over a man's word?"

"Perhaps no one. But they will if Lady Whistledown does," I tell her.

"So we shall do what women do. We shall talk," Mama explains.

It has come to this author's attention that the ton is abuzz with a most sordid tale. It is said one cannot judge a book by its cover. But in the case of the bumbling Baron Berbrooke, it seems his displeasing appearance is quite an apt metaphor for the state of affairs in his household. I would not be surprised if Lord Berbrooke were called away to the country on alleged business... Business which, perhaps, might involve sending some much overdue funds to one former maid and young boy, who we can only hope takes after his mother.

As I walk down the hallway I spot Benedict coming from the drawing room with Anthony.

"Why are you awake sister?" Benedict questions.

"Ezra could not sleep. He had a bad dream," I tell him. Benedict nods. "I trust by now you two have heard that Berbrooke has left town."

"I also know that this solution to our problem did not come about by chance," Anthony states.

"Mama and I may have had our hand in it," I tell him.

"I am resolved to handle matters differently in the future," Anthony insists.

"I hope that you do. You know Mama and I are more than capable of handling family matters," I tell him.

Anthony gives me a look. "Good night, Sister."

"I see you have offended our dear brother," Benedict states.

"He will get over it surely," I insist.

Benedict looks at me curiously. "Do you ever think of remarrying?"

I shake my head. "I am too old."

Benedict makes a face. "Too old? You are the same age as me."

"But I am a woman, Benedict, in our world I am past my prime," I insist.

Benedict shakes his head. "You are Beatrice Blackmore. You shall never be past your prime."

I smile slightly. "Goodnight, brother."

I do not know why I agreed to attend this ball. It is rather dreary. I would much rather have stayed home with Ezra. Instead I watch as the Duke and Daphne dance once more. The way she looks at him is concerning. It is the way I once looked at Oliver.

the Duke makes his way over towards me as Daphne dances with another gentleman.

"Good evening, Lady Blackmore," the Duke greets.

I smile slightly. "To see you without my sister is a rare sight."

"She gave me a lecture on how I handled your problem with Berbrooke," the Duke tells me.

"She is grateful. I can assure you that, no matter what she may say on the contrary," I state.

"Whether Miss Bridgerton permits it or not I will not tolerate a bully," the Duke tells me.

I smile. "A true gentleman, Your Grace."

The Duke looks at me for a moment. "Simon."

I look at him confused. "What?"

"My name. If we are to be accomplices in this ruse to find your sister a husband you should call me by my name," Simon tells me.

I hold back a smile. "Very well... Simon."

"Is there something funny about my name?" Simon questions.

I shake my head. "No, no, no. It is a perfectly fine name."

"Oh, perfectly fine?" Simon asks. "Very well... Beatrice."

I shake my head. "If we are to be accomplices you should call me Betty. Beatrice is far too formal."

Simon smiles. "Betty."

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spin. A shiver I have not felt in years.