5. Not Worth The Risk

Simon's P.O.V.- (for this chapter)

I'll never forget how much my parents hated each other. Their marriage was a loveless one, as I imagined all marriages are. I never saw a happy married couple, even while aboard. But perhaps that's because I made a point of avoiding them. It disgusted me seeing fluttering young love birds fawn over one another in Europe; watching them made me nauseous, physically ill. That wasn't reality, the grins on their faces or delight in their voices. The ecstasy they were drowning in was impermeant, fickle and slowly dying the moment it began. It sickened me really….. All this romantic, senseless talk of love. I couldn't imagine a greater waste of time.

Those European couples are fooling themselves, but we British know the truth. There's no place in marriage for something as inconsistent as "love". I'd certainly never experienced it before myself. Sure, I enjoyed the women while traveling across the continent on my grand tour, but I never felt anything for them beyond hedonistic pleasure. There was this fairly attractive young girl once in Greece, who came over to me in merriment. She took my hand playfully in hers, squeezing it excitedly. She took hold of my hand, and I felt nothing….. I felt nothing.

No, there's nothing in this god-forsaken world that could convince me that true, real love between partners exists. Everlasting love is what we read about in books, like other fairy tales. There was no Aphrodite waiting for me somewhere out there; no Psyche, no Guinevere, no Charlotte. Those type of woman didn't exist. Real women are only kind when they want something; it's an evil trick of theirs and one I saw my mother try to deceive my father with time and time again. No, that's not real love, and I have no perfect wife waiting on the other side for me. I've never been given a reason to believe in romantic love, and certainly never seen any proof of its eternity. Sure, some may experience it for a little while, but that's fleeting and not worth what we pay if you ask me. No, I've never seen it before and I've come to the most logical conclusion. My parents didn't love each other….

Because love does not exist.

I stood there in that insipid ceremony, inspecting the girls on the other side of the room. On the right side were the high-bred ladies and their escorts; on the left side, all the eligible bachelors. The queen was taking her sweet time matching everyone up. I stood there, still as a statue and holding my breath, praying she didn't call my name.

The girls all looked the same as the previous years. Short, sweet, and clean; like a bunch of white lilies. That wasn't a compliment; lilies were never able to hold my attention for long. There were some women I had great respect for, most notably my dearly departed mother and my godmother, Lady Danbury. What was different about these girls was that they were young and inexperienced enough to believe and even hope for something like "love". They didn't know any better, examining the men with eager furver. Poor things- they're each about to their hearts broken one-by-one. It was almost tragic to watch. Not that my fellow English gentlemen felt the same; they ogled the ladies across the room like cattle at a market ready to be put on bid. They had no concept of romance in their minds at all, which made it all the worse for their future wives. Heh, it's a good thing proper English ladies don't travel abroad.

One might really get her hopes up if she visited Europe in her youth.

The ceremony was mind-numbingly boring, to say the least. It was agony watching couple after couple being paired up. One of the parties would either flash a look of surprise or disgust, depending on who the queen selected. Then the elated or disappointed pair would walk arm-in-arm to the back of the room where they patiently waited for the ball to start. By the fifteen couple I would have yawned but refrained. The last thing I wanted to do was to draw any attention to myself.

The match-making continued, and then the queen's voice suddenly raised. She back arched and this clever grin drew across her lips. "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, let's have the diamond of the first water step forward." The room erupted in applause. The diamond? Oh yeah, I forgot that was a thing she did each year. It's always the most attractive girl the queen can find; she picks a lady based on nothing but her appearance. A pretty shallow title, if you ask me. Still, I was a tad curious to see which poor soul her majesty targeted this Season. I straightened my back a little so I could get a better view.

This gorgeous little nineteen-year-old in a shimmering white dress stepped out onto the floor. I'm not ashamed to say that I found her breath-taking. Soft, brown hair, and even softer eyes. She moved with such grace that you'd barely think her feet touched the ground. Even from back here I could see that every motion of hers betrayed herself. A pace, a glance, a turn of her head, even the flash in her throat as she breathed- they were all my spies and revealed utter perfection. Exterior perfection, that is. She's a branch of lilac, a defenceless kitten, the personification of springtime and life itself. I could stare at her for hours and never get bored. It almost made me envious of the man who would be her husband. Almost.

This shy girl left her escort, whom I took to be her father, and awkwardly made her way to the centre of the ballroom. The queen smiled at her as the girl gazed anxiously at all the men standing in front of her; I wasn't the only one giving her a once over right now. There was a silence and the queen's head turned in our direction. She grinned a knowing, remarkable grin again. "Miss Daphne Bridgerton," the queen began, and I paused. Bridgerton? Not…. any relation to my good friend from Oxford, Anthony Bridgerton? No, it can't be. That would make Anthony her brother and that man standing on the right side of the room… the Viscount Edmund Bridgterton. No, they can't be related; that would be too much of a coincidence. Just for verification I glanced discreetly to side to see Anthony and his brother, Benedict's reaction to the girl. They were smiling ear-to-ear, but that meant nothing. All the men here were smiling at Miss Bridgerton now. The queen went on. "Allow me to introduce to you your fiancé…

The Duke of Hastings."

A collective gasp filled the room. But I didn't hear it; I didn't hear anything. It took my brain at least five seconds to realize that the queen had just called my name. While all male eyes were suddenly on me, Miss Bridgerton scanned over the right-wing crowd impatiently. She clearly had no idea that the name the queen just called was my own.

I couldn't move; I couldn't breathe. What….. What just happened? But no….. No. The queen couldn't have just called my name… No! I refuse to believe it! I don't care how good Miss Bridgerton looks; there is no way in hell I am going to marry her! Whispers began to circulate as men blinked at me perplexed. Despite this, I could not bring my legs to move. In that instance, all those pent-up memories of my parents hit me like a blinding flash. All the fights, all the abuse, all the unbridled hatred and contempt… No, I didn't want this; I didn't want to be forced to marry someone I would grow to despise. Love isn't real; that's not the point of marriage. It's for economic and sexual reasons, but not romantic. I could happily live without either of those, but I did not want a wife. I didn't want to go through what my father and mother did… I didn't want to marry her!

A hand suddenly pushed my shoulder, shoving me forward. The next few seconds were a blur. I don't remember walking forward out onto the floor, and I don't remember Miss Bridgerton's face the first time she realized it was me. I don't recall any of that. What I do remember is stopping some feet in front of her, in front of this…. this girl! I looked her straight in the eye and this familiar nausea took hold of me again. It was the same sickness which permeated me whenever I saw those happy young couples back on the mainland. I looked at her, and I already hated her. She represented all that was youthful and fresh, but I knew that was a façade. Her kindness was skin-deep, just like all the rest. She may be beautiful on the outside, but on the inside, she's the same as all those other English girls. She probably wanted love- to love and be loved. And right now, as she smiled unsure and nervous at me, she was expecting me to provide her with it. I was to be the object of her love and affection in the future… God, I'm so disgusted with myself!

No! I took one look at her and I already knew for certain: this marriage would not happen. I would not dishonour myself by breaking off the engagement, but I'd make sure that she would turn me down. I wouldn't give her the love she likely craved. She's never been to Europe and has no idea what it looks like anyway, which worked in my favour. I'd show her how much I didn't want to be in this union; she'd get the message soon enough. Being Anthony's sister, she's got to be smart enough for that. Her grin began to fade when she studied my reaction to meeting her. Good, she's already starting to understand. I'll make her understand…..

Yes, I knew from a boy that love doesn't exist. The only real kind of love there is exists between parents and children, and siblings. Marriage was supposed to be a convenience, that's it. But it's most certainly a convenience I can do without. I am perfectly living and dying a bachelor, as all sensible men should be. Miss Bridgerton may be the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, the living embodiment of one of God's angels….. But I don't need any angels. Love isn't real.

And she's definitely not worth the risk.