“Anthony sneezed and pushed them aside. "Mother, I am trying to have a conversation with the duke."Violet looked at Simon. "Do you want to have this conversation with my son?""Not particularly.""Fine, then. Anthony, be quiet.”

“You have a minute and a half left.""Fine," she snapped. "Then I'll reduce this conversation to one single fact. Today I had six callers. Six! Can you recall the last time I had six callers?"Anthony just stared at her blankly."I can't," Daphne continued, in fine form now. "Because it has never happened. Six men marched up our steps, knocked on our door, and gave Humboldt their cards. Six men brought me flowers, engaged me in conversation, and one even recited poetry."Simon winced."And do you know why?" she demanded, her voice rising dangerously. "Do you?"Anthony, in his somewhat belatedly arrived wisdom, held his tongue."It is all because he"—she jabbed her forefinger toward Simon—"was kind enough to feign interest in me last night at Lady Danbury's ball.”

“Reformed rakes make the best husbands,"Violet said. "Rubbish and you know it."-Anthony to Violet”

“First of all, this goes no further than this room.""Agreed," she said quickly.Anthony looked pointedly at Simon."Of course," he replied."Mother would be devastated if she learned the truth.""Actually," Simon murmured, "I rather think your mother would applaud our ingenuity, but since you have quite obviously known her longer, I bow to your discretion."Anthony shot him a frosty look. "Second, under no circumstances are the two of you to be alone together. Ever.""Well, that should be easy," Daphne said, "as we wouldn't be allowed to be alone if we were courting in truth, anyway."Simon recalled their brief interlude in the hall at Lady Danbury's house, and found it a pity that he wasn't to be allowed any more private time with Daphne, but he recognized a brick wall when he saw one, especially when said wall happened to be named Anthony Bridgerton. So he just nodded and murmured his assent."Third—" "There is a third?" Daphne asked.            "There would be thirty if I could think of them," Anthony growled.                                        "Very well," she acceded, looking most aggrieved. "If you must.”

“The look Anthony shot at his sister was so comically malevolent Simon nearly laughed. He managed to restrain himself, but mostly just because he was fairly certain that any show of humor would cause Anthony's fist to lose its battle with his brain, with Simon's face emerging as the conflict's primary casualty.”

“This is a wonderful day,” Anthony was muttering to himself. “A wonderful day.” He looked up sharply at Gareth. “You don’t have sisters, do you?”“None,” Gareth confirmed.“I am in possession of four,” Anthony said, tossing back at least a third of the contents of his glass. “Four. And now they’re all off my hands. I’m done,” he said, looking as if he might break into a jig at any moment. “I’m free.”“You’ve daughters, don’t you?” Gareth could not resist reminding him.“Just one, and she’s only three. I have years before I have to go through this again. If I’m lucky, she’ll convert to Catholicism and become a nun.Gareth choked on his drink.“It’s good, isn’t it?” Anthony said, looking at the bottle. “Aged twenty-four years.”“I don’t believe I’ve ever ingested anything quite so ancient,” Gareth murmured.”

“And you, Lord Bridgerton," she replied in a tone that could have frozen champagne, "are almost as handsome as your brother."Colin snorted again, only this time it sounded as if he were being strangled."Are you all right?" Miss Sheffield asked."He's fine," Anthony barked.She ignored him, keeping her attention on Colin. "Are you certain?"Colin nodded furiously. 'Tickle in my throat.""Or perhaps a guilty conscience?" Anthony suggested.Colin turned deliberately from his brother to Kate. "I think I might need another glass of lemonade," he gasped."Or maybe," said Anthony, "something stronger. Hemlock, perhaps?”