Lady Bridget's Diary(64)

. . . he would still be here. There was no denying the way his breath caught when he saw her, like he’d been caught unawares and punched in the gut.

He’d been away for a fortnight, traveling between his estates, tending to matters at each one, avoiding Bridget and tracking down Rupert’s blackmailer. The problematic housekeeper at Ivy Cottage, one of their smaller properties, gave her notice, saying she had come into a fortune. Given that middle-­aged housekeepers rarely came into fortunes, Darcy made some inquiries. In a short conversation he had made her aware of the punishment for blackmailing a peer of the realm and mentioned the option of returning the money. He also mentioned that Australia was lovely this time of year. He said these things in his I-­am-­Darcy-­do-­as-­I-­say voice. Mrs. Keyes was on a ship in the Atlantic at this very moment, and Rupert’s secret was safe.

Darcy had come to realize that his motives were not purely altruistic, either. Of course he thought of the family’s reputation, his brother’s life, the wealth of the estate, etc., etc. But if this threat of discovery were removed, then Rupert would have no reason to wed Bridget.

The threat of discovery had been removed.

Now there was nothing stopping Darcy’s marriage to her, other than the fact that she didn’t love him and he had insulted her so tremendously that it would be impossible that she should forgive him, let alone love him.

“I’ve missed you,” Lady Francesca cooed, resting her hand on his arm. He glanced at her; she was gorgeous. And he hadn’t thought of her once. But the woman on the other side of the drawing room, obviously talking about him with her brother, he’d thought about her constantly.

I simply do not know if I can carry on in my quest to be a True and Perfect Lady. I wonder what would happen if I threw caution and polite manners to the wind and said whatever was on my mind.

Lady Bridget’s Diary

Dinner was a disaster. There was not one particular moment that was horrendous; it was simply an onslaught of tiny indignities, one right after the other. Bridget was miserable by the time they arrived at the soup course and had a difficult time concealing it. Matters only became worse.

“And how are your prospects, Lady Bridget?” Lady Wych Cross asked. Bellowed, really, from the other end of the table.

Bridget paused, halfway through lifting a spoonful of turtle soup to her lips.

Of course she was acutely aware that one of her rejected prospects was seated at this very table, avoiding her gaze.

“Yes, Bridget, do tell us,” James said, and she kicked him under the table.

“My prospects are fine, thank you for asking,” Bridget replied. The polite thing, the done thing would be to leave it at that. She could go back to her soup and count the minutes until they could leave. But she could see her and Lady Francesca smirking—­in a ladylike way, of course—­as they tried to embarrass her. In front of Darcy. Because they thought her a rival.

Maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t. There was really nothing she or Lady Francesca could do about that; it was up to Darcy. All she could do was be herself.

Bridget decided then and there that she was finished with trying to shrink herself so that she might fit in and gain the approval of the likes of Lady Francesca. Or even Darcy.

And so, because she saw where this conversation was going if she played along, she decided to turn the tables. “And how are your prospects, Lady Wych Cross?”

Josephine gave Bridget A Look.

For a moment, the old woman looked shocked.

“Dead,” she said bluntly.

“I overheard Lord Burbrooke say that he thought you amusing, Bridget,” Lady Francesca said. Lord Burbrooke was a slow-­witted fellow who monopolized most conversations with stories of his pack of hounds.

“I am so charmed to have attracted the notice of someone who exemplifies the English aristocrats I have met thus far.”

“It would be a pity if such lovely girls were left too long on the shelf,” Lady Wych Cross said, her voice tinged with sarcasm, glancing from Bridget to Amelia to Claire before settling on the duchess.

“Indeed. My girls are only on their first season, though. Perhaps Lady Francesca can tell them about the plight of women who have had three seasons without wedding.”

“But not for lack of offers,” Lady Francesca said with a sharp smile.

Darcy took a sip of wine. Bridget did the same.

“And what makes you think my girls haven’t had any offers?” The duchess smiled a catlike smile.

Darcy took a long swallow of his wine. Bridget took another sip of soup. Oh, she did not like where this was going.

“Quite a few offers, in fact,” James drawled.