Chapter Text
23 December 2015
The radio played Christmas songs and Daphne hummed along, pouring the contents of a freshly-boiled kettle into the cafetière. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the coffee as it rose towards her on the steam. Hands wrapped around her waist from behind as her boyfriend placed a quick peck on her cheek.
“Good morning, love.”
Daphne tilted her head towards him, smiling.
“Good morning. Thought you might fancy a quick coffee before you go?”
“I’d love one.”
Freddie released her and moved past her further into the galley kitchen, reaching for the milk in the fridge in one practiced motion. As she bent to get a tray for the coffee, he opened a cupboard above and brought down matching espresso cups. They had been living together for nearly two years, since Daphne had graduated from university, and their routines were solid, satisfying. They met when Daphne was in her second year, Freddie in his third. Daphne’s subject mentor in the year above, Charlotte, had introduced them at a social: “Daph, this is my cousin, Freidrich.” With a hand swept through his curly blonde hair, he had looked straight into Daphne’s eyes as he’d said, “Freddie, please.” He had pursued her—respectfully, of course. She hadn’t been sure about getting into any relationship at that point in her studies but over the course of a term, it became clear to her how much Freddie liked her and what a good man he was. Spending time with Freddie had been peaceful and she was confident, by the time she had asked him to go on their first official date, that he would treat her kindly, that he would be good partner and, some time, when it came to it, a good father. Four years on, Daphne picked up the tray and the two moved together into their living room and settled on the sofa as they waited for the coffee to brew. A carry on suitcase, packed and ready, waited by the front door. When Daphne leant over to pour the coffee, Freddie spoke,
“I’m sorry to miss the party this year. Your mum always outdoes herself.”
Daphne handed him his cup and settled into the opposite end of the sofa, raising her feet into his lap as she did most weekend mornings when they had coffee here. She yawned, still a bit sleepy, and stretched.
“It will be weird not having you there. I’ve got used to the morale support.”
Freddie chuckled and nodded knowingly.
“You don’t need me, hon, you’re always an excellent co-host.”
“You know it’s not the guests I worry about; it’s the siblings. They like me more when you’re around.”
Freddie didn’t quite meet her eye as he replied,
“They love you, Daph. It might even be nice to have some quality time with them without me there too”.
Daphne hummed, unsure but willing to consider the idea. It was true that, now he said it, she couldn’t think of a family event since last Christmas Day that she had attended without Freddie at her side. She did call home once a week, speaking to her two youngest siblings, Gregory and Hyacinth, and her mother. And Hy, since recently receiving her first phone, texted her eldest sister regularly. She tried to check in on her other sisters regularly too, and had visited Francesca in her first term at Royal Welsh. Francesca received her texts more warmly than Eloise. And, in Daphne’s defence, she was busy. She worked long hours on her grad scheme at a City law firm. And before moving back to the city she’d grown up in, she’d been living hours away in Edinburgh for university, taking internships over holidays to make herself the most competitive candidate she could. She saw her elder brothers when they thought to reach out to her, not infrequently but hardly often either.
“I suppose so. Still, it’ll be nice when we can spend Christmases together.”
Early in their relationship, Daphne and Freddie had decided that, unless they were engaged or married, they would spend Christmas apart, with their own respective families. It caused the least tension with those respective families and, in Daphne’s words, gave them something new to look forward to once they did get engaged, having long ago slept together, already moved in together, started to build their life. Freddie nodded, taking a sip of his coffee with one hand as he lightly massaged one of Daphne’s feet absentmindedly with the other.
Daphne was pretty sure that Freddie was going to propose soon, maybe even before the end of the year, after he came back from Christmas in Germany. Every time she mentioned their future plans or something to do with their getting engaged, he retreated into himself slightly, looking pensive. This time last year, they’d agreed that the engagement should happen within the next twelve months or so, now they were both a few years into full-time work and settled in London. Daphne was ready to get the proposal over and done with, impatient as she was to get a jump-start on planning the next stage of her life.
The sudden ringing of Freddie’s phone made them both jump, though luckily not so much that they spilled their coffees. Daphne swung her feet from his lap and took his cup from him, leaning on the arm of the sofa as he reached into his pocket and answered. It was the cab driver, ten minutes or so early. When Freddie told the driver he’d be down in a minute, Daphne frowned slightly. This was their last time together for a week, until after Christmas, and Daphne had hoped Freddie might say he’d be down at the time he’d booked the cab and give them enough time to finish their coffees. Still, she reasoned, there was no accounting for Christmas travel traffic and Freddie was ready to go after all. While Freddie got up to gather his final few possessions, Daphne collected the coffee things and carried them through to the kitchen. She met him at the door: he with his long wool coat over dark blue jeans and thick-knit woollen jumper, scarf wound around his neck, pulling a suitcase behind him; she in fleece pajama bottoms she’d had since she was seventeen, patterned with sheep on clouds and an old jumper of her father’s pulled over the tank top she slept in. Freddie looked at her and leaned down to press a kiss to her lips as she gripped either side of his coat. He pulled away and leaned his forehead to hers.
“Bye, love. I hope you have a good Christmas.”
“You too,” she said in a voice not much louder than a whisper. “I hope your Mum likes the scarf. And tell Elena that she can text me any time about applications.”
He nodded as he said,
“She knows. Thank you. And I promise…” He raised his head slightly so he could look her in the eye. “I see how much your siblings, your whole family cares about you. You’re going to be just fine without me tonight.”
Daphne wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug and thanked him. Just as she was pulling away his phone rang again: the taxi driver. With a ‘Better be off, love you” and one last quick peck to the cheek, Freddie pulled open the door to the flat and was off down the hallway. Standing on the threshold in her fluffy socks, Daphne watched him call the lift and step inside when the doors opened second later. They exchanged one final small wave when Freddie looked back at their doorway as the lift doors slid shut. Boyfriend dispatched, Daphne sighed. She had a few hours to herself around the flat and then, soon enough, it would be time to get ready for her mother’s annual Christmas party.
-
Daphne’s heels clicked loudly on the paving stones as she strode towards the tube station. On another day—in another outfit—she could walk to her mother’s house, the home where she’d grown up. As it was, she swept through the barriers at the tube station and walked easily down the stairs to the platforms. The station was reasonably busy, between people off to or returning from seasonal work and others, like her, on their way to festivities. She walked down the platform and listened. A tell-tale hum sounded along the tracks and she turned to watch the tube rush into the station, bringing with it a gust of air that played at the loose strands of hair she had artfully arranged to frame her face. She moved to stand in front of the nearest pair of doors and, when they opened, mounted the carriage fluidly to lean against one the plastic seating partitions. The carriage filled around her, announcement sounded and doors closed. The tube moved off, pulling her along with it. Daphne liked taking the tube. Her parents had always insisted on travelling by public transport within London, even with the money to avoid it and a large gaggle of boisterous children. Daphne could remember her father holding her in his lap as he admonished her brothers for swinging their weight from the poles in the middle of a carriage one evening, as the whole Bridgerton family returned from a night at the Proms. She smiled at the memory even as her chest tightened and she lightly shook her head. She’d have plenty of time for thinking about her father over Christmas. Right now, she needed to return to her game face.
Violet Bridgerton’s annual Christmas party (annual since she had married Edmund, with a gap of a few notable years) was a major event in the family calendar—and the calendar of the family’s extended social circle. Daphne had long ago been apprised of just how much politics went into the invitation list. At eight years old, Daphne had known who was there to provide her mother relief from the rest of the guests and who was there simply because they had been close friends of her father’s parents. People had been left off over the years and new people invited as people married, had children, divorced and remarried. As she and her siblings had grown older, they had been allowed to invite a friend or two of their own to keep them company but largely this was an adult party for the Bridgertons’ adult friends. Hyacinth and Gregory, the two youngest siblings, would be around for the first hour or so to greet everyone politely before running upstairs for a movie marathon with takeaway pizza. Since Violet had reinstated the party eight years ago, when Daphne was sixteen, Daphne had acted in various capacities as co-host. When she still lived at home, she had helped more with the practicalities. Now, she booked certain vendors for her mother but mostly gave a second opinion on her mother’s planning and then, on the night of the party itself, was a second pair of eyes to make sure everyone was sufficiently welcomed and catered to.
For the past four years, she’d had Friedrich at the party with her, a place to escape to for a moment, a place to let her posture and smile fall ever so briefly. As the evening wore on, he would pull her onto the dance floor or out into the garden, insisting that everything was well in hand now and she could enjoy the party too. Tonight would be different. There would be no reliably friendly eyes to catch across the room as Sarah Bletchley launched into an explanation of why the diet she was due to start in the coming new year would finally be the one that changed her life. Daphne could hardly count on her siblings for the same. Anthony would be there, of course, having stilted conversations with businessmen who had worked with their father but he attended these parties in body only. Benedict would be off having fun, charming guests by not trying to charm the guests and instead getting tastefully drunk with anyone he’d brought along from ‘that gallery opening, Daph!’ or ‘she dated a uni friend and thank god I got her out of the deal when they broke up’. Colin would be there this year and, to be fair, would offer a sympathetic eye when she could find him but he was normally hidden away in a comfortable corner and a loaded plate of the best canapés—or roped into Benedict’s hijinks. Eloise would be off somewhere with Penelope, doing her best to ignore the party entirely. Franny, at nineteen, was still just young enough that she and her one or two friends could hold their own Christmas tradition of sappy Christmas films in her room but would come down to play some carols on the piano later into the evening. So, Daphne, despite being surrounded by rooms full of people, would largely be on her own. She could have invited a university friend or two but, in a way, she’d decided she’d rather not have the distraction. They would simply end being more people she had to host.
Daphne had planned with her mother to arrive two hours before the first guests, to help with the final preparations—and her mother’s nerves. Six minutes before the appointed time and as brisk a walk as her heels would allow from the nearest station later, Daphne arrived at Bridgerton house. She ran her hands over the already perfectly smooth silk of her pale blue dress, took a deep breath, climbed the stairs to the front door and used her key to let herself in.
“Hello? I’m here!” Daphne called, closing the door behind her and pulling off her coat. Hyacinth was first to answer her call, sprinting down the stairs into the front hall and practically colliding with her sister as she hugged her. Her mother, who had been closer to begin with, but who had approached at a more sensible pace, appeared next.
“Hello, dear. Oh don’t you look beautiful! Shame Freddie isn’t here to see you in that gorgeous dress.” Daphne’s cheeks flushed, reliably.
“Thank you, mum. He has seen it before: as have you.”
“Yes, Mum, we’ve all seen it before. It’s one of my favourites of yours, Daph,” Hyacinth chimed in.
“Thank you, Hy. As soon as you can fit in it, you’re welcome to borrow it. Now come on, show me where I can help.”
-
The next two hours passed in a blur of activity. Daphne answered questions from catering staff, helped direct and move furniture to its party position and made sure the first glass of Champagne poured was placed in her mother’s hand at twenty past seven. As if on cue, this is also when Anthony arrived with a flurry of quick hugs and pecks on cheeks for his mother and sisters, except Eloise, Franny having braved coming downstairs once the furniture was in place and she could await the party quietly with a book. At 25 past seven, the doorbell rang for the first time followed immediately by a call from upstairs.
‘I’ll get it!’ was Eloise’s directive as she rushed down the stairs to let her best friend in. As Eloise dragged Penelope out of the foyer, Penelope spoke over her shoulder:
‘Lovely to see you everyone. Thank you for having me, Violet. My mum and sisters will be here in about 15…’
‘No need for her to rush,’ Daphne heard her mother mutter under her breath, gaining a smirk from her daughter.
As promised, the Featheringtons did arrive 15 minutes later, part of stream of arrivals who had followed the unwritten rule of leaving a good ten or fifteen minutes after the allotted invitation time to arrive. Daphne stood with her mother in the foyer, hugging, smiling, kissing first one cheek and then the other of a consistent flow of guests. Anthony directed the partygoers towards the coat room and then on to the drinks and within half an hour, the downstairs of Bridgerton House was healthily filled.
“Alright, darling. Let the mingling commence!” Any later arrivals would be invited in by catering staff and directed towards one of the hosts who now finally entered their own party.
Daphne held her head and chest up as she moved through the formal living room, pausing along her path to converse. Every once in a while, she would look over her shoulder, searching for Freddie’s absent gaze before recollecting herself and focussing her attention fully on her conversation partner. She learned that Philippa Featherington was dating a man called Albion—what a name. She wondered why Cressida Cowper continued to attend these parties with her mother into her twenties when it was clear to everyone that she did not enjoy being there and she and Daphne, despite being at school together, had never held any particular warmth for the other. Her mouth moved and her head tilted, her vocal cords metered out polite laughter. She was the picture of a perfect hostess, gliding across the room, greeting everyone by name and with a relevant question while making sure everyone knew where to refresh their drink or find the canapés. She was doing well—she hadn’t sought out the boyfriend she knew wasn’t there in at least half an hour—when one of her mother’s Bridge friends, Delilah Something asked,
“Where is that doll of a boyfriend of yours, Daphne? Or is it fiancé now?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Delilah peered down at Daphne’s left hand where it held her glass aloft.
Daphne smiled, in a way she hoped conveyed romantic bashfulness rather than what it really was: an attempt to buy her time to respond politely.
“Ah Delilah, my boyfriend, Freddie, is with his family this year. I can hardly monopolise his whole festive season!”
“You will soon enough, I’m sure! Though we’ll miss you if marrying him means skipping Violet’s party some years.”
Daphne held her smile.
“You’ve no need to worry, Delilah, I’m sure we’ll find an arrangement that suits us both when the day comes.”
“Soon, I hope! Oh…” Delilah’s eye line rose to someone across the room as she absentmindedly patted Daphne on the shoulder and was off with a “…speak to you later darling.”
For the first time since the party had begun, Daphne was left alone. She found herself jittery and holding an empty glass. Keeping her eye-line low, Daphne glanced quickly around the room. Everyone seemed happily entertained by each other. The party was in full swing. This is about the time that Freddie would usually pull her away: to the dance floor with her siblings, to her childhood bedroom for some privacy or—the thought came to her—for the garden for some air. That’s what she needed now, after Delilah’s insistent foretelling. Gently but purposefully, and directly so that guests would assume she was on her way to some important hosting-related activity, Daphne made her way to the back of the house and down into the kitchen, where no guest would surely follow. She passed the catering staff with a nod and smile and made it out of the kitchen door into the kitchen courtyard, attached to but hidden from the sight of the adjacent main garden. In this weather, even the garden proper wouldn't be particularly busy but there would be the odd smoker or other partygoer seeking a break from the bodies indoors. Here, Daphne could be guaranteed some uninterrupted breathing time.
She had never brought Freddie down here at one of these parties but tonight she had come here without thinking. There had been times, as a teenager, when she would sneak down here when couldn’t sleep. First, she would warm herself a mug of milk and then carry it out into the courtyard in her slippers and dressing gown. She would clutch the mug to her chest with both hands and stand still to feel and hear the reassuring movement of the world outside: the wind, the scurrying creatures, even the distant sirens and surge of traffic that were a London constant. She would return to bed feeling pleasantly chilled and grounded and normally manage to fall back to sleep for another few hours before it was time to get up for school, with nobody any the wiser to her nighttime adventures.
Daphne felt her shoulders unclench and her chest release a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. She took one deep breath and slowly released it and then another, letting her back fall against the wall of the house so it could hold her weight. Nothing was wrong. She didn’t know why she felt quite so… tense, so on edge. This party was almost exactly a carbon copy of every party she and her mother had thrown in the past eight years. Questions about her relationship were par for the course—and people meant well. People meant well. She was lucky to have so many people interested and invested in how she was doing. So why did it feel like chest was being crushed by an invisible pressure, driving her solar plexus closer and closer to her vital organs. Another deep breath. Another slow exhale. Snippets of conversation drifted to her from the main garden. Her ears searched further afield: a siren, somewhere, quite far away; some traffic lights, just turned green. Then closer again: the leaves gently rustling above her. Her breaths were coming more easily now. She ran one hand over the wall behind as she stood, feeling each divot in the brick. Maybe she’d seek Franny out when she went back inside; her sister was always good at finding the quieter spots in the party, until it was time for them to play the carols. But she could afford a little longer out here.
As Daphne considered pushing herself off the wall, muffled footsteps sounded on the kitchen tiles and before she’d prepared herself, a tall man in dark trousers and a white shirt had strode out into the courtyard. One of the catering staff, Daphne assumed, maybe even in search of her. She stood up quickly, arranging her face in an accommodating smile as she spoke:
“Hello, is everything okay? Anything I can help with?”
The man’s eyebrows bunched together, his mouth twitching in what seemed to be bemusement.
“Everything’s fine, thanks. Just came out for a smoke.” His voice was low and, as Daphne looked up at him, she realised that he was quite handsome, really. His shirt had one more button undone than she would have expected but, really, she shouldn’t pass judgement on what other people wore to work. Only the quality of their work mattered after all. And here she was, interrupting his smoke break with expectations that he should still be on the clock!
“Oh. Of course. Thank you everything you’re all doing tonight. We couldn’t do these parties without you. Glad you’ve found some downtime.” Maybe she was overcompensating now…
Again, the man looked at her with that furrowed brow and that not-quite-smirk but before he could respond they both turned towards a voice calling from inside the kitchen,
“Daph? Are you down here?” The kitchen door opened and Anthony stuck his head, spotting Daphne first. “Ah! There you are!” He turned to the man, starting to apologise for interrupting even as his head turned before then interrupting himself with a startled noise and an exclamation of “Basset!” as he flung himself into the garden and wrapped his arms around the man. Daphne looked on, confused as her brother pulled out of his hug and continued,
“I didn’t think you’d made it! How is it that my sister knows you’ve finally come to one of our Christmas parties before I do?”
“Your sister…” was the man’s, Basset’s?, reply with an air of dawning understanding. Finally, Anthony turned to Daphne again,
“Daph, this is Simon Basset, a friend from Oxford.”
Against her wishes, the recognition that she had just assumed that one of her guests was in fact a member of the catering staff rose in Daphne’s face as a blush. Still, her mother had raised her with manners,
“A pleasure to meet you, Simon. Glad you could make it.”
Anthony turned back to his friend,
“What’s with this get up, Si? Looks like you came to cater the event.”
Simon briefly caught Daphne’s eye at that before responding to Anthony,
“Came straight from the funeral. Disposed of the jacket and tie somewhere upstairs and did the best I could.”
Anthony’s face fell into solemnity.
“Fuck, of course. I’m glad you’re here. I’ll get you a stiff drink, only the best for this occasion. Come on, I’ll show you the study.”
Anthony placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and began to guide him towards the door and back into the house. Daphne watched as Simon turned back to where she stood, looking as if he might be about to speak. This small gesture surprised Daphne enough to wake her from her embarrassed reverie and speak after her brother,
“Ant, you were looking for me?”
By this point, the two men were already back in the kitchen, Simon further inside and Anthony closer to the door. Her brother paused his passage and turned his head to poke it out of the doors again, answering hurriedly,
“Oh yeah! Mum says time for carols, please. Franny’s getting the sheet music set up upstairs.” Then without so much as a goodbye, he resumed his conversation with Simon and was leading him towards the stairs.
Fuck, Daphne thought. She could ruminate about this social faux-pas with one of her older brother’s—evidently quite close—friends later. For now, she had a piano to play.
-
The tradition of carols at the Christmas party had started when her father was still alive. Back then, her mother had played while Edmund had conducted the children in a slightly off-key approximation of the Von Trapps. The Christmas after her dad died, there had been no carols. The year after that, Daphne had approached Anthony, at fourteen, and asked if he thought it would be nice if she played for her siblings and their mother. Her eldest brother had looked startled and his eyes had misted over, every so briefly. He’d pulled her into a tight hug and given her a one-word response: “yes” before he returned to their father’s desk—or rather, Anthony’s desk—to continue working on some paperwork to do with their father’s estate. At least, that’s what Daphne assumed it was. If it wasn’t that, it was sorting out school paperwork for one of their siblings or hiring someone to decorate the house for Christmas so it would be festive for the littlies. With a four year gap between her and her next youngest sibling, Eloise, Daphne hadn’t counted herself amongst the littlies. She couldn’t do much at fourteen to help Anthony but she could play some carols on the piano.
When the Christmas parties had eventually returned, another couple of years on from that Christmas, Violet had insisted that Daphne play the carols now: “You did them so well, darling. It really meant so much to me.” And so Daphne had. Once Franny showed her aptitude for the piano, Daphne had asked her to help too, hoping it would give her quietest sibling a chance for some well-deserved praise and attention from the adults around them who otherwise thought Franny was, well, “a lovely girl but quite quiet isn’t she?”. If she was honest, Daphne was also relieved to have someone with whom to share the spotlight, to spread the weight of it.
This year, as every year since Franny had joined, they alternated playing for most of the set and then performed the final carol as a duet, eliciting delighted applause and cheers from their guests in between verses. When they finished, Violet clinked a spoon to her glass and came to stand in front of the piano,
“Thank you, everyone, for being such good sports and joining us to sing every year. It really is one of my highlights of the Christmas season! I know some of you will take this as your prompt to head off so to those of you: thank you so much for coming this evening. We love hosting you all and Christmas doesn’t really feel like it’s coming until we’ve celebrated with all of you. To everyone else: please help yourself to another drink! There’ll be dancing in the next room and some quiet conversation or card games in here. I think you all know where I’ll be.” The assembled guests chuckled dutifully. “See you all again next year!”
Daphne waited on the piano stool with her sister as the throng of guests who had packed into the room slowly began to move. As the crowd dissipated, Daphne noticed Anthony appear at the door from the hallway, Simon behind him. Anthony was laughing, in a way Daphne hadn’t seen in her presence in a long time. Who was this Simon, who could make her brother laugh like that? She watched as Anthony led Simon through the formal living room, where the piano was, and into the formal dining room which had been transformed for the night into a dance floor, like the ballroom it had been some centuries before. Franny had spotted their brother’s animation too:
“Who was that?” she asked.
“I’m not really sure,” Daphne replied. “Ant said he was a friend from Oxford.”
“Anthony invited one of his friend’s?”
Daphne could only nod.
“Well, I’m glad. Looked like he was having a good time.”
Again, Daphne nodded, this time with a noise of affirmation. Clearly not receiving much in way of conversation from her sister, Franny excused herself to rejoin her friends, who had been politely waiting for the sisters to finish their conversation from across the room. Her sister’s movement refocussed Daphne and she pulled Francesca into a hug:
“Of course, Fran, see you later.” She squeezed tighter. “Thank you for doing this with me every year.”
As they pulled apart, Franny turned a gentle look on Daphne, who felt her stomach squirm under her sister’s perceptive gaze. Franny gave Daphne’s hand a final squeeze as she turned away with a smile and “You’re doing Carol of the Bells next year.” Daphne chuckled and watched her sister returning to her friends who embraced her and oohed and ahhed over her musical skill before scurrying in the direction of the stairs. Her gaze fixed on the corner Franny and her friends had left empty, Daphne didn’t notice someone approach her from the other direction until they cleared their throat. Daphne started and turned around. It was Simon, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
“Oh!” was all Daphne managed to say.
He leaned towards her, crossing the not insubstantial gap between them created by his height and her seated position,
“Sorry I keep sneaking up on you.” He held the water out to her. “Thought you could use this after all the singing.”
Daphne took the water from him, eyebrows lowering, unsure what he wanted from her. Perhaps he could sense that because he went on, sitting down next to her so they both had their backs to the piano,
“I really did want to apologise for earlier, for crashing your hiding spot.”
“I wasn’t hiding!”
The words were out of Daphne’s mouth before she realised, more indignant than she would have liked, even if she had decided to respond with those words. Surprised at herself, she huffed out an exhale and repeated herself, this time lightly, with a hint of amusement in her voice, trying to convey just how ridiculous the idea of her hiding in her own family home was. Simon smiled and gave the smallest nod, more to him than to her it seemed.
“Of course. But if you were ever to not-hide again, just know that I’m expert at it—hence me interrupting you in the first place—and I might even be prepared to keep look out if necessary.”
Simon’s face remained solemn but his tone was light and when she looked up from her water into his eyes, she could have sworn there was a playful sparkle there, crinkling their outer corners. From behind her came a voice, speaking in a delicately exaggerated Received Pronunciation Daphne would have thought was an act if she hadn’t grown up with it: Araminta Cowper, Cressida’s mother.
“Shit.”
Daphne instinctively slouched lower, as if to do so would be enough to hide her behind the piano.
“Or not… also happy to leave you to not-hide on your own.”
“It’s not you,” Daphne shook her head. “I just really thought I might have avoided my annual prolonged conversation of feigned politeness with Araminta this year.”
Simon raised his eyebrows and then, after a beat, held out his hand. Daphne stared down at it.
“Come with me.”
Daphne’s eyes flicked up to his face and she snapped, despite herself,
“I am not going to hide.”
Simon smiled in response, this time broadly, the warmth and mirth behind his expression catching in Daphne’s throat and holding her breath there. He leaned in conspiratorially and explained,
“Not hiding. Dancing. Hard to make unwanted, dainty conversation on a dance floor.”Daphne’s eyes widened but she couldn’t refute the man’s logic and she could hear Araminta raising her voice, regaling whoever she was talking to with a tale of Cressida - and Daphne - at school, her tone albeit requesting Daphne’s participation. Before she could question herself, Daphne placed her hand in Simon’s and pulled them both to their feet: ‘Let’s dance.’
-
Daphne had not thought this through, she realised, as she crossed the threshold of the room that had become a dance floor for the night, Simon a respectful pace or two behind her. Escaping the room had been one thing, dancing with this man who was essentially a stranger was quite another. Luckily, before she was forced to reveal her sudden uncertainty, she looked up at the sound of her name. Benedict was the caller, face glistening with a sheen of sweat, a lopsided smile plastered onto his face, a panting Colin hot on his heels.
“Where have you beeeeen?” was her brother’s question as he clasped both of her hands in his. Then his eyes drifted to the torso behind her with interest, his attention focussing as his gaze rose to take in the face of the figure behind her:
“Bassett!”
Colin too had now noticed Simon and was pulling him into a hug while Benedict’s hands were still absentmindedly occupied grasping their sister’s. So apparently all of her elder brothers knew who Simon was and she was, once again, the only one out of the loop. Not for the first time, she internally cursed gendered expectations. Benedict’s face drooped into a weepy smile as he placed his hands on either side of Simon’s face and proclaimed, with the earnestness only possible of one very, very drunk: “It is so good to see you,” and then threw his arms around the other man.
Simon swayed with the force of Benedict’s embrace and patted the back of the latter’s head fondly.
“And you too, Ben, you too.”
Greetings completed, Benedict insisted on pulling Daphne and Simon further into the room so that they were now in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Once there, Benedict took Daphne’s hands again and began swaying their arms back and forth in time to the music.
“Dance with me Daph!” he yelled over the noise.
And so she did. Laughter rose from her belly, as her brother spun her out into the other dancers and back into him, twisted her under his arm and attempted some quite questionable paired armography. All the while, Daphne was vaguely aware of Colin and Simon bobbing near them with a much more restrained sort of two-step, Colin occasionally pumping the air with his arms on the beat. The current song ended and morphed into another, one with a sort of twang and swing. Benedict’s face lit up, his eyebrows attempting to break free and fly off into his hairline.
“Country dance!” was his yell this time and before she knew it, her brother had hooked his elbow through Daphne’s and was spinning the pair of them around in a circle. Around them, other guests caught on, including Colin who was spinning next to them with Simon. When Benedict proclaimed ‘Switch directions!’ the dancers did, slightly dizzily skipping in the other direction for eight counts. Then, in an exaggerated Southern American accent with lengthy ‘r’s, Benedict called,
“Swap yer partners!’.
At this, Benedict dropped his sister’s arm as quickly as he’d seized it and grabbed hold of Colin. Both suddenly partnerless, Daphne’s gaze met Simon’s. As one, they raised their eyebrows at each other. Then, all at once, not sure who had hooked their elbow through whose, they were dancing. Mid-whirl, Daphne tilted her head upwards to look at Simon and found him already looking at her. Bolstered by the momentum of the moment, she flashed him her widest, goofiest, toothiest grin and was rewarded by that crinkle at his eyes again, even as his mouth only twitched. At Benedict’s call, they broke eye contact to change directions and spun on, Daphne’s skirt turning them into a blur of blue. This was the most fun she’d had at her mother’s Christmas party in a long time. Probably in twelve years.