“Obviously, as a gentleman, I would treat you with the utmost respect,” he said. But his voice was a bit rough. He coughed and added, “And this is not an appropriate topic of conversation.”
She sighed. Disappointed. Chastised? Didn’t she realize that he couldn’t, just physically could not, say such thoughts aloud? He was English, for God’s sake.
“Well then we mustn’t speak of it. Let’s consider other dangers. What about being kidnapped and held for ransom?” Bridget’s voice was actually breathless when she asked.
“It’s a possibility.”
“Well, I would pity whoever took Amelia,” she declared.
“You don’t really mean that, do you?”
“Not really. I am beginning to get nervous. Amelia has always embarked on ‘explorations.’ Once she even spent the afternoon at the circus with the lion tamer. Thank God we found her before they set off for their next destination. But she’s never been away this long, or overnight.”
“Are you going to cry?”
“No.” She sniffed. Then she smiled. “Perhaps. Only to distress you.”
Darcy drove the carriage through the park, where they joined the throngs of carriages and riders on Rotten Row. In her opinion, this was one of the more ridiculous habits of the haute ton. Whoever thought that it was a capital idea to cause a buildup of traffic for amusement? If one wanted to go that slowly, one might as well walk.
She hoped Darcy was keeping an eye out for Amelia and Rupert because she was too distracted by the carriages full of lords and ladies who were out only to spy on one another and gossip endlessly. He nodded at some acquaintances as they passed, but she was all too aware of the stares and whispers and the shocking sight of an esteemed earl with one of the Americans. Especially her, the girl who fell first in the ballroom and then into the lake. She watched as they all glanced at her, then Darcy, and then turned to whisper at each other.
I can see you talking about me, she wanted to shout. But perfect ladies did not shout things out at random. She didn’t need Josephine to tell her that.
Perhaps it was even a good thing that she was seen with the stuffy old Darcy. As if his company implicitly endorsed her and would provide some of the approval that had eluded her and her family. They would need all the help they could get if there were rumors about Amelia, roaming the streets of London without a chaperone.
Because it was polite and proper, she and Darcy chatted amiably with many of his acquaintances that they encountered. But the conversations were simply about the weather or other inanities; there were no clues about Amelia or Rupert.
Lady Tunbridge, a buxom, forthright woman of middle age, was the only person who had something interesting to say. Bridget had made her acquaintance at her first London ball, which Lady Tunbridge had hosted.
“Hello, Lord Darcy and . . . Lady Bridget.” She did not conceal her surprise. “What brings you to the park together?”
“We thought it would be lovely to spend some time out of doors,” Darcy replied. Just then, at that exact moment, there was a rumble of thunder. As if God was punishing them for the lie.
“Indeed.” Lady Tunbridge looked from one to the other, as if she suspected that something suspicious was underfoot. Which it was. Which Bridget could not say. Which made her want to say it.
“I had gone to visit with the new duke over the matter of a shared border property line,” Darcy said. She was quite sure that he was lying. The notion of Darcy lying was oddly thrilling. “I stayed for tea and then in the course of conversation over tea, Lady Bridget and I agreed that it might be nice to visit the park.” There was another rumble of thunder. “Before the rain.”
Lady Tunbridge appeared skeptical, even though Bridget thought Darcy was doing an admirable job with this fictitious story. This, oddly, raised her opinion of him. Perhaps he wasn’t such a stuck-up, self-righteous man after all. Who knew such a common vice as lying could make a man more attractive?
“In America, it is far less rainy and unpredictable,” she volunteered. “Here, it is so rare for it not to be raining, one must venture forth when one can.”
She and Darcy were allied in a lie against Lady Tunbridge and they had a secret to keep from the whole world. How intimate. It was thrilling enough to give her a shiver down her spine (she got shivers). This was a far, far better way to spend the day than practicing her penmanship or helping with preparations for the ball.
“And how are your sisters, Lady Bridget?”
“Why do you ask?”
Darcy coughed.
“Because it is the sort of benign question one asks when making polite conversation with an acquaintance on the street,” Lady Tunbridge answered sharply. “Good Lord, what do they teach you in America? I daresay I have no wish to know.”