Lady Bridget's Diary(11)
Chapter 3
Most people I met tonight were horrible, crashing bores, except for one handsome and charming gentleman, Mr. Wright. But his brother Lord Darcy was The Worst.
Lady Bridget’s Diary
Darcy was at work on vital estate business and matters of national importance when his brother strolled into the study and dropped into a chair.
“Did you know that Rothermere lost ten thousand pounds and a hunting box in Scotland over a game of whist last week?”
“I did not.” Darcy didn’t bother looking up from his paperwork.
“Certainly puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?”
“What things?”
“Well, say a person lost just a few hundred pounds . . . It’s really not the end of the world, now is it?”
“Should I even bother to ask who lost a few hundred pounds?” Darcy asked dryly, finally looking up from his work. In the past few months, Rupert had begun losing at cards. In fact, he was steadily becoming worse and racking up increasing debts with each game. It should be noted that Darcy wasn’t opposed to cards or wagering; he was simply opposed to losing.
“You know, Darcy, you’re my favorite brother.”
“I am your only brother.”
“And brothers take care of each other. Especially when they haven’t any other family in the world.”
They both happened to glance up at the portrait hanging above the mantel. It was their late father, a beast of a man whose interests included increasing his wealth, spending his wealth, ensuring his heir would not be “a grave disappointment to the family name” and lose all the wealth. He had no time for his spare son, deemed a sissy at a young age and ignored.
Their mother, God rest her soul, has passed away while the boys were young. Frankly, she didn’t seem like the warm, maternal sort anyway. Darcy barely remembered her.
“We have Aunt Ermintrude, in Lincolnshire.”
She was also as mad as a loon, but Darcy ensured she had a roof over her head, food at her table, and a bevy of servants paid to indulge her belief that she was the Queen of England.
“You know what I mean,” Rupert said dryly.
Darcy thought back to the night before, finding his brother in the card room, deep in a game of whist.
“I am not obtuse. I know that you find yourself in need of funds for gambling debts.” Here Darcy paused, knowing that an extended silence often conveyed more than a thousand words. “Again.”
There was a moment of unease between the brothers. They both knew that Rupert’s debts had been increasing in amount and frequency. He had a generous allowance, and yet it was still not sufficient.
“I’ll see that you get the necessary funds. But Rupert, this must be the last time.”
“Are we broke?”
Darcy gave him A Look. “Do I seem like the sort that would mismanage an estate?”
“Good point.”
“No, I have some notion of teaching you responsibility and restraint at the gaming tables.”
“Of course.”
Again, Darcy became aware of the portrait. Someone had to be responsible for the estate. Someone had to uphold their good name and preside over the family. Someone had to set an example and insist upon discipline and dignity. Someone had to be more like a father when he’d like to be just a brother. But there was no point in railing against the way things were, and Darcy didn’t do things that were pointless.
“I do have one condition, though.” Here he fought a grin as the condition occurred to him. It was almost enough to make him glad for Rupert’s debts.
“Anything.”
“That you join me in calling upon the new duke.”
“Afraid to go alone?”
“I am hardly afraid of the duchess and her pack of uncivilized Americans.”
“I’ll admit it. She terrifies me.” Rupert said, grinning. But it wasn’t the duchess that Darcy feared. No, it was a different Cavendish woman that he dreaded seeing. “But,” Rupert said brightly, “I look forward to seeing Lady Bridget again.”
Today we are at home for calling hours. I am given to understand that this means we are locked in the drawing room for a long afternoon awaiting visitors. The number will somehow indicate our popularity, and thus our worth as women, particularly with regards to gentlemen suitors. I am not optimistic, having made the mistake of reading the gossip columns this morning.
I do hope Mr. Wright (1) has not read the gossip columns and (2) comes to call and (3) falls in love with me.
Lady Bridget’s Diary
Darcy and Rupert were not the only ones to pay call upon the new duke. Never ones to miss a spectacle or a subject of gossip, the haute ton was out in force to welcome—or inspect—this newly discovered branch of the Cavendish family.