Oh thank God. He was beginning to bore himself and he actually enjoyed his work.
“I do apologize, Lady Francesca.”
“I know why you are here.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
The awkward silence that ensued was abruptly halted by the sound of glass shattering in the foyer. Wordlessly they both ventured to see what the commotion was.
Darcy stepped into the hall only to find a broken vase of flowers at one end, with the butler staring down at it, puzzled. Darcy just happened to look at the opposite end of the foyer—at the front door. He just happened to see Bridget dramatically creeping out. She made a show of shaking her head: I’m not here. She lifted her finger to her lips: Silence. Say nothing.
Lady Bridget would be the death of him.
He turned back to the scene of the crime.
“How odd,” he murmured, pretending to be fascinated by the shards of glass, spill of water, and stems of roses in a mess on the floor.
“Hardly,” Francesca scoffed. “Lady Bridget, I can see you.”
Francesca, Darcy, and the butler all turned to see Bridget right by the door with her hand on the knob. Caught.
“Oh, hello! I was just arriving. I saw Lord Darcy’s carriage outside and thought I’d pop in to say hello.” She paused and, turning to him, said, “Hello.”
“Spare us all the tall tales,” Francesca said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve had enough ridiculous stories for one morning. I know why you are here.”
“Oh?”
“You’re right, Bridget. I do have your diary,” Francesca said smugly.
“Oh! Funny that,” Bridget said. “I wondered if it got misplaced. Into your possession. Though it doesn’t belong to you. How careless of me.”
Francesca just shrugged.
“Actually I’d like to have it back, if you don’t mind,” Bridget said. “That is, if you’re finished reading it.”
What Francesca said next surprised them all.
“Of course. Come with me.”
They followed her into the drawing room and she pulled the book from under a chair cushion. In fact, it was the chair he’d been sitting in. No wonder it was so deuced uncomfortable.
“You need only to have asked,” Francesca said, making them feel foolish for the lengths they went to in order to retrieve it.
“You already read it, didn’t you,” Darcy said flatly. It was not a question.
“Shall I recite from the ongoing list of things Bridget hates about Dreadful Darcy?”
“Well I hope you found it entertaining and edifying,” Bridget said sharply. He saw tears in her eyes. As always, it was so easy to read her: embarrassment, frustration, fear.
Francesca was either oblivious or unconcerned with her distress. “Oh, I learned all sorts of things that I suppose you both would rather I didn’t know.”
“We would appreciate your discretion,” Darcy said, which was akin to a baby gazelle telling a starving lion it would prefer not to be eaten.
“There is one way you can be certain that I won’t say a word.” She paused for dramatic effect, knowing they were in no position to decline her request. She knew too much. Not one but two families would be destroyed by the revelations.
“Marry me, Darcy.”
Francesca smiled.
Bridget gasped.
His heart stopped.
He had only just determined that he desperately did not want to marry her. He had only just decided to consider his own desires, and not put everyone else first, second, and third. But protecting those he loved was something he did, like breathing. He’d die if he didn’t.
“Marry me, or I shall tell all my friends about Amelia’s unchaperoned escapade and I will whisper rumors about your dear brother’s proclivities. Marry me, and I won’t breathe a word about how you’ve compromised Lady Bridget, twice. Marry me, and all your secrets will be safe. Tell me what you decide, Darcy. Tell me at Lady Esterhazy’s ball tonight.”
Chapter 23
Lady Francesca is devious and has issued an impossible ultimatum. My heart aches to consider the choice Darcy must make. Actually, my heart aches because I know the decision he will make.
Lady Bridget’s Diary
Darcy needed to think. And he needed to drink. And he needed to be in public, where he would never allow himself to fall to pieces. Because there was a good chance he might fall to pieces. Thus, he went to White’s and ordered a whiskey and took a seat in the back corner.
But then Rupert showed up and Darcy reconsidered the virtues of solitude when a man needed to brood.
“Ah, my dear brother Darcy. Brooding, as always. Honestly, I have no idea what you have to be so morose about. You are young, in good health, wealthy beyond belief, don’t have the ugliest face I’ve ever laid eyes on, you are fairly intelligent . . .”