Chapter 4
On Tuesday we went for ices at Gunther’s.
Lady Bridget’s Diary
Lady Francesca was certainly the most beautiful girl in this carriage, not that she would say that aloud to her friends. She glanced out from under her darling new bonnet to see if anyone on the street noticed her and smiled when she made eye contact with a young man, who promptly walked into a lamp pole. She might be on her third season, but she could still turn heads.
“Why did we invite the American girl to join us?” Miss Mulberry asked, confused.
Beside her in the open carriage, Lady Francesca replied, “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Keep your friends close but your enemies closer’?”
“Of course. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“She means, Mabel, that she thinks Lady Bridget might be an enemy. So we invited her to join us for ices,” Miss Montague said.
Her explanation did little to clarify things for Miss Mulberry, but she had the right of it. It all had to do with Darcy. It was one thing to see him conversing alone with Lady Bridget at the ball. Of course he only went to call because good manners dictated he should. But there was no good reason for all those smoldering glances Darcy was giving Bridget during calling hours yesterday. She seemed too taken with Rupert to notice, which Francesca would have to encourage.
Darcy was hers. They’d had an unspoken understanding for years, ever since her brother brought him home during a school holiday. She would not lose him to an American who couldn’t even walk across a ballroom without falling flat on her bottom. It was Francesca’s turn to be the darling of the season and catch the most eligible bachelor.
The obvious solution to a potential threat was to invite her to ices and to ascertain just how much of a threat she was.
“Is Lady Bridget really an enemy?” Miss Mulberry was still puzzling this out. “But Francesca, you’re so much . . .” She paused, tilting her head like a small dog as she thought about it. Finally she settled on “taller.”
Francesca gritted her teeth. “You could have gone with thinner, prettier, or richer but you went with taller?”
“My brother says men like women who have a little padding on them,” Miss Mulberry said, which didn’t help anything at all.
“No more speaking of this. We’re here.”
Bridget had quickly come to realize a few essential truths: Lady Francesca was a viper. But she was also a popular viper who wielded not a small amount of influence over the collective brain of the haute ton. If, for example, she decided that Bridget should no longer be known as the girl who fell, no one would dare speak of it again.
Or so Bridget hoped.
That was just one of the reasons Bridget had agreed to this outing. Amongst the others: she couldn’t think of a good excuse, as Claire and Amelia had done. And there would be ices and she was starving, thanks to the reducing diet.
And there was one other reason: she wanted, very badly, to fit in. And there was no better way to accomplish this than by befriending the most popular young ladies.
Which all brought Lady Bridget here, to this moment: ensconced in the open carriage, nibbling on delicious raspberry ices, and listening to their conversation.
“Did you see what Miss Witherspoon wore last night?” Miss Montague asked.
“That hideous puce dress?” Lady Francesca shuddered. “Yes, I saw it and wished I hadn’t.”
A conversation on fashion ensued, in which they ruthlessly critiqued what every woman wore at the ball the previous evening. Lady Something’s ruffles were too ruffly. Miss What’s-Her-Name’s hairstyle did her no favors whatsoever. Another woman’s gown was an unflattering shade of white—which begged a question that Bridget didn’t dare ask aloud (shades of white, really?).
Bridget decided her best course of action was to remain silent, lest she say the wrong thing, and savor her raspberry ice and generally do her best to seem like she belonged.
Her heart leapt with joy and no small amount of relief when she saw Mr. Wright walking down the street. He was with another gentleman she didn’t recognize.
“Oh, look! It’s Mr. Wright!” Bridget exclaimed. She did get such a thrill from saying his name. It was too perfect. Oh, I met Mr. Wright the other night.
She called his name and waved him over.
“Lady Bridget! What a pleasant surprise to see you.” Their eyes met. And she saw what he didn’t dare say aloud. He was surprised to see her, here, with these young ladies. She smiled as if to say, I know!
“Mr. Wright and Mr. Croft,” Francesca said graciously. “So lovely to see you together. Again.”