The duke and I julia Quinn

lecture,"
Simon said, the word making him feel just the 
slightest bit old and stodgy. Across the blanket, Daphne was grinning at his distress. 
Hyacinth just smiled flirtatiously— 
flirtatiously?
—and said, "Did you know that Greenwich 
also has a most romantic history?" 

---

Daphne started to shake with laughter, the little traitor. 
"Really?" Simon managed to get out. 
"Indeed," Hyacinth replied, using such cultured tones that Simon briefly wondered if there were 
actually a forty-year-old matron inside her ten-year-old body. "It was here that Sir Walter 
Raleigh laid his cloak upon the ground so that Queen Elizabeth would not have to dirty her 
slippers in a puddle." 
"Is that so?" Simon stood and scanned the area. 
"Your grace!" Hyacinth's face reverted to ten-year-old impatience as she jumped to her feet. 
"What are you doing?" 
"Examining the terrain," he replied. He cast a secret glance at Daphne. She was looking up at 
him with mirth and humor and something else that made him feel about ten feet tall. 
"But what are you looking for?" Hyacinth persisted. 
"Puddles." 
"Puddles?" Her face slowly transformed into one of utter delight as she grasped his meaning. 
"Puddles?" 
"Indeed. If I'm going to have to ruin a cloak to save your slippers, Miss Hyacinth, I'd like to 
know about it in advance." 
"But you're not wearing a cloak." 
"Heavens above," Simon replied, in such a voice that Daphne burst into laughter below him. 
"You do not mean that I will be forced to remove my 
shirt?
" 
"No!" Hyacinth squealed. "You don't have to remove anything! There aren't any puddles." 
"Thank heavens," Simon breathed, clasping one hand to his chest for added effect. He was 
having far more fun with this than he would have ever dreamed possible. "You Bridgerton ladies 
are very demanding, did you know that?" 
Hyacinth viewed him with a mixture of suspicion and glee. Suspicion finally won out. Her 
hands found their way to her little hips as she narrowed her eyes and asked, "Are you funning 
me?" 
He smiled right at her. "What do you think?" 
"I think you are." 

---

"I think I'm lucky there aren't any puddles about." 
Hyacinth pondered that for a moment. "If you decide to marry my sister—" she said. Daphne 
choked on a biscuit. "—then you have my approval." 
Simon choked on air. 
"But if you don't," Hyacinth continued, smiling shyly, "then I'd be much obliged if you'd wait 
for me." 
Luckily for Simon, who had little experience with young girls and not a clue how to respond, 
Gregory came dashing by and yanked on Hyacinth's hair. She immediately took off after him, 
her eyes narrowed with the single-minded determination to get even. 
"I never thought I'd say this," Daphne said, laughter in her voice, "but I believe you have just 
been saved by my younger brother." 
"How old is your sister?" Simon asked. 
"Ten, why?" 
He shook his head in bewilderment. "Because for a moment, I could have sworn she was forty." 
Daphne smiled. "Sometimes she is so like my mother it's frightening." 
At that moment, the woman in question stood and began to summon her children back to the 
boat. "Come along!" Violet called out. "It's growing late!" 
Simon looked at his pocket watch. "It's three." 
Daphne shrugged as she rose to her feet. "To her that's late. According to Mother, a lady should 
always be home at five o'clock." 
"Why?" 
She reached down to pick up the blanket. "I have no idea. To get ready for the evening, I 
suppose. It's one of those rules I've grown up with and deemed best not to question." She 
straightened, holding the soft blue blanket to her chest, and smiled. "Are we ready to go?" 
Simon held out his arm. "Certainly." 
They took a few steps toward the boat, and then Daphne said, "You were very good with 
Hyacinth. You must have spent a great deal of time with children." 
"None," he said tersely. 

---

"Oh," she said, a puzzled frown decorating her face. "I knew you had no siblings, but I had 
assumed you must have met some children on your travels," 
"No." 
Daphne held silent for a moment, wondering if she should pursue the conversation. Simon's 
voice had grown hard and forbidding, and his face... 
He didn't look like the same man who had teased Hyacinth mere minutes earlier. 
But for some reason—maybe because it had been such a lovely afternoon, maybe it was just 
because the weather was fine—she faked a sunny smile and said, "Well, experience or no, you 
clearly have the touch. Some adults don't know how to talk to children, you know." 
He said nothing. 
She patted his arm. "You'll make some lucky child an excellent father someday." 
His head whipped around to face her, and the look in his eyes nearly froze her heart. "I believe I 
told you I have no intention of marrying," he bit off. "Ever." 
"But surely you—" 
"Therefore it is unlikely that I shall ever have children." 
"I...I see." Daphne swallowed and attempted a shaky smile, but she had a feeling she didn't 
manage anything more than a slight quivering of her lips. And even though she knew that their 
courtship was nothing more than a charade, she felt a vague sense of disappointment. 
They reached the edge of the dock, where most of the rest of the Bridgertons were milling about. 
A few had already boarded, and Gregory was dancing on the gangplank. 
"Gregory!" Violet called out, her voice sharp. "Stop that at once!" 
He stilled, but didn't move from his position. 
"Either get on the boat or come back to the dock." 
Simon slipped his arm from Daphne's, muttering, 
"That gangplank looks wet." He started moving forward. 
"You heard Mother!" Hyacinth called out. 
"Oh, Hyacinth," Daphne sighed to herself. "Can't you just keep out of it?" 

---

Gregory stuck out his tongue. 
Daphne groaned, then noticed that Simon was still walking toward the gangplank. She hurried to 
his side, whispering, "Simon, I'm sure he'll be fine." 
"Not if he slips and gets caught in the ropes." He motioned with his chin to a tangled mess of 
ropes that were hanging off the boat. 
Simon reached the end of the gangplank, walking casually, as if he hadn't a worry in the world. 
"Are you going to get moving?" he called out, stepping out onto the narrow piece of wood. "So 
that I might cross?" 
Gregory blinked. "Don't you have to escort Daphne?" 
Simon groaned and moved forward, but just then, Anthony, who had already boarded the small 
yacht, appeared at the top of the gangplank. 
"Gregory!" he called out sharply. "Get on this boat at once!" 
From down on the dock, Daphne watched with horror as Gregory spun around in surprise, losing 
his footing on the slippery wood. Anthony leapt forward, making a frantic grab with his arms, 
but Gregory had already slid to his bottom, and Anthony caught only air. 
Anthony fought for balance as Gregory slid down the gangplank, clipping Simon rather neatly in 
the shins. 
"Simon!" Daphne croaked, running forward. 
Simon went tumbling into the murky water of the Thames, just as Gregory wailed a heartfelt, 
"I'm sorry!" He scooted up the gangplank backwards on his behind— rather like a crab, 
actually—not at all looking where he was going. 
Which probably explained why he had no idea that Anthony—who had almost managed to 
regain his balance—was only a few short feet behind him. 
Gregory rammed into Anthony with a thud on his part and a grunt on Anthony's, and before 
anyone knew it, Anthony was sputtering in the water, right next to Simon. 
Daphne clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide as saucers. 
Violet yanked on her arm. "I highly suggest you don't laugh." 
Daphne pinched her lips together in an effort to comply, but it was difficult. 
"You're
laughing," 
she pointed out. 
"I'm not," Violet lied. Her entire neck was quivering with the exertion required to keep her 

---

laughter inside. "And besides, I'm a