“Are you finished?”
“I could go on about your charmed life, if that would cheer you up. The multiple country houses, the bevy of servants to see to your every need, the love of a wonderful woman . . .”
“It would not. And it is no longer charmed.”
“Well, now I’m intrigued.”
Rupert pulled up a chair, collapsed into it, and motioned for a drink. Darcy didn’t know where to begin. He decided there was no time to beat around the bush.
“My life is ruined. Or yours is. I must decide.”
“I’m so grateful for the consideration. You might want to start at the beginning.”
“Lady Bridget’s diary was stolen.”
“Let me guess. You recovered it for her, because you do the Darcy thing where you ride in and save the day. But then even you could not resist snooping through it and you discovered that she called you Dreadful Darcy and made lists of things she disliked about you and now you are heartbroken.”
Did everyone know about that? Good God. He took a sip of his drink.
“It is far worse than that, I’m afraid.” Darcy dropped his voice very low. “She wrote about you, intimating exactly what we’d hoped to keep quiet.” Rupert paled. Darcy continued, “She wrote about her sister not being ill at all; she was out in the city for four and twenty hours. And Bridget wrote about how I have compromised her.”
“You? Compromising a gently bred young lady? I am shocked.” Rupert gasped dramatically. Darcy scowled. “Truly,” Rupert said, seriously, “I am indeed shocked. When did this happen? And where?”
“You needn’t be so surprised. I’m as red-blooded as the next man. Even I have moments of weakness, apparently. And she is very . . . desirable.” This was a vast understatement. “I would marry her except Lady Francesca has obtained the diary, read it, and threatened to reveal everything unless I marry her.”
“You mean unless you do the thing that you’ve been meaning to do for years now?”
“Things have changed.”
They had changed so drastically he hardly recognized himself. While he wasn’t happier all the time, he certainly felt more alive because of all the feelings Bridget unlocked with him. He knew joy, and heartache, and the pleasure of a passionate kiss in the rain. And that was everything.
A lifetime of matrimony with Francesca now seemed like a death sentence. He didn’t know if he could stuff all those feelings back into the box, buried deep. And he would have to if he were to wed her.
“I might have become aware of a certain feeling of devotion to Lady Bridget and a fondness for her. As such, I am no longer inclined to marry Lady Francesca.”
Rupert burst out laughing. He threw his head back and howled. Slapped his knee. Heads turned in their direction. Heads belonging to peers of the realm, who were discussing gravely important matters of state and such until they were distracted by Rupert laughing. At Darcy, in his hour of need.
Brothers.
“Do shut up. This isn’t funny and you’re causing a scene. You know how I detest scenes.”
“You could just say that you are in love with her. Like a human.”
He could. Maybe. But things had gone very badly the last time he said those three little words, and he was terrified of repeating that scene.
And in the event Darcy thought things couldn’t get worse, Alistair Finlay-Jones showed up, settling into an empty chair, also looking morose.
“What is so funny?” he asked.
“Darcy attempting to express his feelings,” Rupert told him. “It’s like a baby bird, trying to fly.”
“I should like to see that,” Jones said. “And what feelings? Hunger, thirst, annoyance, and a vague sense of disappointment with the entire world?”
“Love,” Rupert said proudly. “He is in love.”
“Have you not heard anything I said?” Darcy asked, indeed annoyed. “We could all be ruined. We shall be cast out of society.”
He gave a sharp look to his brother, who finally seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation.
“All of us?” Jones questioned.
“Lady Bridget. Rupert. Myself. Her sister.”
Jones’s eyes flashed. “Which sister?”
“Lady Amelia.”
And then Jones swore under his breath. Darcy gave him A Look.
And then Fox showed up, because apparently this situation could indeed become worse.
“What are we discussing? I hesitate to ask, because it looks very serious and you know how I feel about serious things,” he said, pulling up a chair and settling in.
“We are discussing whether Darcy will marry your sister or not,” Rupert answered with a distinct lack of subtlety or tact.