Miss Green blushed at the attention and focused on her sewing.
“That is very admirable and I share your sentiment. But might I remind you that you have one job, Duke,” Josephine said sharply. “In fact, all of you have one task. To marry and marry well.”
“Well, perhaps Lady Bridget might do us proud,” Claire said. Then she continued reading from the paper. “Lady Bridget was seen waltzing with Lord Darcy. It would be an excellent match for her, and. . . . oh.”
“What does it say?”
Claire closed the sheet quickly. “Nothing.”
“You are such a liar, Claire. What is it?”
“It says it would be an excellent match for you and a surprising choice for him,” Claire said softly.
“She is the sister to a duke. It wouldn’t be surprising at all,” Josephine replied.
“Does it say why?” Bridget asked, even though she suspected she would regret it.
“It just says that it would be surprising if one of England’s most refined gentlemen wed the girl who fell,” Claire said with an apologetic smile.
“My thoughts exactly,” she said brightly, though it was an effort to do so.
She could not shake her reputation, even with the “friendship” of Lady Francesca, the attentions of Lord Darcy, and attendance at countless balls where she committed hardly any improprieties. Still, she was known as the girl who fell and considered an unsuitable match for someone as perfect as Darcy. She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, anyway. Rupert had mentioned marriage again last evening and she dared to hope he would ask her soon.
Never mind that she had kissed his brother. And liked it.
“If we’d had the tightrope walker, they wouldn’t report on any of this,” Amelia said.
Any further conversation was brought to the halt by the arrival of Mr. Collins, who wished to visit the family before returning to whichever shire he came from.
In particular, he wished to visit with Bridget.
Why she was singled out for his attentions, she knew not. Claire and Amelia could not flee the drawing room fast enough. Even Josephine moved at a brisk pace across the Aubusson carpets.
The doors were scarcely closed behind them—and closed all the way—when Mr. Collins made the purpose of his visit clear. He clasped her hands, dropped to one knee, and bowed his head.
“I have come to generously bestow my protection upon you and your sisters.”
Bridget gaped. Even though ladies did not gape.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You all must marry,” Collins explained patiently, as if he were speaking to a young child or feebleminded adult. “But there are rumors about your sister Amelia and her mysterious illness. Scandal is so unbecoming in a lady. And your eldest sister is quite the bluestocking, which I think is a deplorable quality in a woman of quality. Don’t you agree?”
“No.”
“Which leaves you, Lady Bridget.”
“Me.”
“You must marry. And you cannot do better than I, the heir to Durham.”
That left her speechless. She glanced around the room, searching for something that would enable her to bash some sense into the man.
“Our marriage will repair your sisters’ reputations,” he continued, oblivious to anything but his own delusions. “And you shall be known as Mrs. Collins instead of the girl who fell.”
Ah, so he read the papers, too.
“Do you really think that is what I am looking for in a marriage?” Bridget asked incredulously. She’d always imagined marrying for love, like her parents. And she didn’t think she was mad for considering love, friendship, and respect as a sound basis for marriage. She certainly wouldn’t commit herself to an idiot for a lifetime just to avoid being known as the girl who fell. In fact, she was now sorry she had ever even complained about it.
“I have a fine house,” Mr. Collins continued, as if she had not spoken. “My position is secure and should only improve with the demise of your brother.”
Bridget choked. “I’m actually fond of my brother.”
“I know every woman fancies being a duchess,” Mr. Collins intoned.
“Actually, I do not care about being a duchess. Not in the slightest. Especially not if it means losing my brother.”
Titles and whatnot were vastly overrated. She now knew this from firsthand, personal experience. Her brother’s title had not made them any happier.
But Mr. Collins didn’t seem to hear her, or register that females spoke and possessed opinions. She watched in horror as he stood, closed his eyes, and leaned forward.
“Let us kiss to seal our engagement.”
He puckered his lips. Waiting.