“Oh, I’m sure we’ll see her at a ball or soiree or garden party,” Bridget said. “If we’re ever invited to one of those again.”
“Certainly not if there is a body of water nearby,” Claire said.
“Etiquette requires that we call upon her,” the duchess instructed. “Besides, are you not friendly with her? I’m sure she is merely concerned with your health after that ill-advised spill in the lake.”
The duchess had not been happy about that spill in the lake. She’d been more unhappy than either Bridget or Amelia, who had to sit in wet dresses for the long carriage ride home.
She also made it sound like Francesca and Bridget were actually friends. But Bridget wasn’t so sure. They might have gone for ices at Gunther’s and coordinated their ensembles to Almack’s, but she suspected Francesca was more concerned with discerning Bridget’s intentions toward Darcy.
I am, yet again, a subject of gossip. My name has been linked with Darcy’s in all of the newspapers. The duchess said it could be worse, but I cannot fathom how.
Lady Bridget’s Diary
It was a truth universally acknowledged that the ton liked to gossip, particularly if the subject contained a lord, a lady, and some hint of scandal. So much the better if it also included a man who never provided fodder for gossip, a lady who was already an object of interest, a dash of impropriety, elements of seduction, hints of a love triangle, and something too outrageous to be believed. The sight of Darcy and Bridget, clinging to each other in a lake at a garden party, satisfied all requirements.
Darcy sought to avoid the gossips—and indeed, any mention of that event—at White’s. He was unsuccessful.
“You probably ought to call on Francesca,” Fox had told him, dropping into the chair beside him. “She’s distraught about you and Lady Bridget.”
You and Lady Bridget, clinging to each other like star-crossed lovers. Whilst soaking wet.
“There is no me and Lady Bridget.”
“Well, tell that to everyone in London who thinks there is. Including my sister.”
What was left unsaid: who is expecting a proposal from you, oh, any day now.
“Well, then I suppose I shall pay a visit to your sister.”
“Thank you. There’s nothing worse than a sulking female about the house. Not that you’d know. But I suppose you will know soon enough.”
Most men would probably be livid if their good friend had such an understanding with their sister. But in this instance, it was different. Darcy was a good man with honorable intentions. Francesca and he were well suited. There were no revolting displays of love and affection. Fox, though not known for his deep thinking, recognized how convenient it would be to have his friend as his family. And so, the months and years passed with this understanding that no one was in a particular rush to formalize. Legally. Until now. Darcy risked losing one his best friends if he didn’t.
Darcy promptly went to call upon Lady Francesca. He had but a moment alone with her and her terrifying chaperone, Lady Wych Cross, before the Cavendishes arrived. Francesca smiled like all her plans were falling into place.
“I am so glad you have come,” she said, strolling toward her guests, arms out to greet them. “Look, Darcy is here as well.”
If he’d been paying attention to his intended, he would have seen how closely she watched him to gauge his reaction. As it was, he was arrested by the sight of Lady Bridget. She looked every inch the lady in her dry clothes. But it was too late. He had seen what he had seen. And now he could not stop envisioning her like that . . . in less . . . more wet . . .
The group settled into the polite but barbed conversation that passed as female friendship, and he was glad to have a reputation for scowling and speaking little. His thoughts and attentions kept drifting to Lady Bridget. He didn’t understand why, and he very badly wanted to so he could put a stop to it.
In the midst of the conversation, Lady Claire excused herself to visit the ladies’ retiring room, which he suspected was more a ploy to escape the conversation. Very clever; he wished he’d thought of such a thing. He was about to remember a vitally urgent appointment, but then Lady Francesca gave him reason to stay.
“Lady Bridget, I was so worried you had caught a terrible illness after falling into the lake,” Lady Francesca said.
“Right as rain,” Lady Bridget quipped.
“Speaking of rain, I so detest this weather! I long to stretch my legs. Lady Bridget, would you care to take a stroll about the room with me?”
There was, of course, only one answer to that; very few refused Lady Francesca. Bridget stood; the ladies linked arms and proceeded to stroll about the room at a glacial pace.