So what the devil where they doing here?
“I was hoping to be one of the first to welcome you to London but I see everyone beat me to it,” Lady Francesca said with a smile. “Why, even my dear friend Lord Darcy is here.”
Bridget recognized her as such a close friend of Darcy’s that he would tell her that Bridget was not handsome enough to tempt him to overlook her manners.
It still stung, that.
But today her manners were very fine. For example, she hadn’t accidentally on purpose spilled her tea on him or informed him that he needn’t waste his time with the formality of a social call because she already thought he was the worst and nothing he could ever say or do would cause her to revise her opinion.
“I hope you all enjoyed the ball last night,” Lady Francesca said. “And Lady Bridget, I hope you have sufficiently recovered from your . . .” And here everyone in the room held their breaths. Would she say it aloud? “. . . excitement.”
In approximately thirty-six hours Bridget would think of the perfectly polite yet cutting retort. But all she could think to say at the moment was I do hope you have recovered from being an ass. She glanced at the duchess, who, apparently able to read her thoughts, simply shook her head no.
“What was so exciting about last night’s ball?” Miss Mulberry wondered. Lady Montague whispered in her ear, loudly, that Bridget had fallen.
“You are of course talking about the excitement of Bridget and I meeting,” Rupert cut in, saying just the right thing at the just the right moment. “My heart is still racing.”
Bridget smiled and glanced around because was anyone else noticing the romance? Her brother lifted his brow. Darcy’s expression had darkened, if such a thing was even possible.
It was a mistake to look at him, because then their gazes locked. She didn’t know why she couldn’t look away or why breathing suddenly seemed hard.
“Always such a charmer, aren’t you, Mr. Wright?” Lady Francesca said with a laugh.
“It runs in the family,” Darcy said dryly. It took a moment for everyone to realize Darcy had made a joke, and they all burst into laughter.
Who was this man? Just when Bridget thought she had him figured out as a bore, he went and surprised her. She regarded him for a moment, noting the spark in his eyes in spite of the mouth that refused to curve up into a smile.
But she did not wish to revise her opinion of him.
“Lady Amelia, I heard a rumor that you ride astride,” Lady Francesca said, baiting Bridget’s younger sister.
“I heard that, too!” Miss Mulberry exclaimed. “Is it true?”
Lady Wych Cross murmured something about not gossiping so obviously.
“Only when I can persuade a stable hand to lend me a pair of breeches,” Amelia replied with such a sickening amount of sweetness in her tone, she had to be joking. Of course she was joking. Bridget, Claire, and James knew that, but everyone else in the room gasped. Darcy even raised one brow. Oh, what he must think of Americans—think of them!—now. Not that she cared what he, in particular, thought. But Lord Darcy, dark, disapproving Darcy, was the embodiment of the aristocracy.
And they were not pretty enough to make him—and everyone else—overlook the “fact” that they did things like trip and fall or make rude comments about assignations with stable boys.
They would have to go back to America in shame and explain that even the second (or was it third?) highest ranking title in the aristocracy was not sufficient for them to be welcome in society. How mortifying.
But Bridget had forgotten about the duchess.
One should never forget about the duchess.
“Is it true that you are on your third season, Lady Francesca?” the duchess asked, in a voice that was pure innocence and elegance. “Or is it your fourth? It seems like ages since you’ve made your debut. And one would expect a wedding announcement, but it seems you’re having trouble bringing your suitor up to scratch.”
Bridget fought the urge to leap to her feet and shout, Ha! Because the duchess had made both Francesca and Darcy turn pale.
“My first season wasn’t so long ago that I have forgotten how daunting a debut can be. Which is why I thought I’d extend an invitation to your nieces. Perhaps they would like to join us for ices at Gunther’s?”
Bridget sipped her tea and Claire stifled a yawn. Under her breath, Amelia whispered, “I would love to, but I shall be busy sticking forks in my eye,” which made Bridget laugh, which made her spit out her tea, which made the duchess close her eyes and purse her lips.
“I’ll just take that as a yes,” Lady Francesca said dryly.