Was it because she wished to marry well? Did she want their stamp of approval so badly?
She realized, with some alarm, that the one she really wanted to impress was Lord Darcy. Not the likes of Lord Darcy, as she had been supposing all along, but the man himself. He was the one she saw in her mind’s eye, judging her.
The man who didn’t wish to speak to her because they hadn’t been introduced. The man who did not dance but then reprimanded her for refusing his grudging invitation. The man who told her to remember her reputation. The man whose dark eyes had looked at her, really looked at her, that day in the lake. And in that one moment, she hadn’t felt wanting . . . she had felt wanted.
I daresay we have made the acquaintance of someone worse than Dreadful Darcy. In fact, he’s not so dreadful at all in comparison to Mr. Collins.
Lady Bridget’s Diary
Later that night, the Cavendish sisters found their way to Claire’s bedchamber one by one. They had not planned on it, not even in hushed whispers or secret signals. It was simply understood that the events of the evening needed to be discussed and that the place to do it was in Claire’s bed.
“Well, that was ghastly,” Claire said, falling back against the pillows.
“Though in its own way, it was sort of amusing,” Amelia said, pulling the covers up around her.
“Which part was so funny, Amelia? When he questioned whether women needed to learn how to read or when he droned on and on and on about his patroness at the vicarage?” Claire asked.
“Just . . . all of it,” Amelia said, waving her hand. “He’s a ridiculous man.”
“You have a twisted sense of humor,” Bridget replied.
“But you have to love me anyway.” Amelia grinned. “Because we are family.”
The obvious reply to that was to hit her in the face with a pillow, which made Amelia laugh. There was a time and place to be a true lady, and it was not when little sisters were being vexing.
“Why did you have to mention my improving regimen?” Bridget demanded.
“What does it matter?” Amelia shrugged. Then, with a sly glance, she added, “Unless you are trying to impress Mr. Collins?”
“Obviously not.” Bridget made a face of disgust. “He is the worst gentleman we have met thus far.”
“Worse than Looord Darcy?” Claire teased. Bridget did not want to think about him now. Or, oddly, discuss him with her sisters. So the obvious reply to that was to hit her in the face with a pillow, which made Claire laugh. There was a time and place to be true lady and it was not when one’s older sister was being vexing.
“Sisters,” Bridget lamented, looking heavenward, much in the way James had done at least thrice a day for as long as she could remember.
“If anyone is to lament about sisters, it is I,” James said, having just joined the group. He pulled up a chair next to the bed, sat down, and stretched out his legs.
“We thought you might be having drinks in the library with your heir,” Claire said. James just grinned.
“There was a pressing estate matter that required my immediate attention,” he said, and they all knew there was no such thing. “And then I had to deliver a stern lecture to my sisters about . . . something.”
“Well, do go on. We are all here.” Bridget gave him an attentive smile.
“I am sorry you all had to endure that man,” James said, pulling a face. He was genuinely sorry.
“It’s not your fault, James,” Bridget said softly.
“But it is. The duchess is trying to impress upon me how much I am needed here. And how I am able to be duke,” he said, with a pause, revealing that he’d doubted it. “I have refused to recognize it. Mr. Collins was a way to show me that I could do it, that I must do it.”
The sisters fell silent. Bridget knew that the only way Mr. Collins would inherit was if James died. Even if he boarded the next ship to America, there was no relinquishing the title. But there was the not-small matter of him deciding to accept all the responsibility and trying to succeed at it.
“And she is trying to make our other suitors seem more . . . suitable,” Claire said thoughtfully. “So that we marry, and stay here.”
“And keep me here,” James said, glancing up at them.
“She is so devious,” Bridget murmured.
“Is it wrong that I am quite in awe of her?” Amelia asked.
“Lord help us all,” Claire muttered. And then she tossed a pillow at her.
Chapter 10
If only Rupert would propose! I have no idea why he hasn’t. He always seeks me out for a dance (or two!) and we have the best time together. I swear he was about to kiss me at the garden party, if Dreadful Darcy hadn’t interrupted.