Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(12)

But she did not wish to revise her opinion of him.

“Lady Amelia, I heard a rumor that you ride astride,” Lady Francesca said, baiting Bridget’s younger sister.

“I heard that, too!” Miss Mulberry exclaimed. “Is it true?”

Lady Wych Cross murmured something about not gossiping so obviously.

“Only when I can persuade a stable hand to lend me a pair of breeches,” Amelia replied with such a sickening amount of sweetness in her tone, she had to be joking. Of course she was joking. Bridget, Claire, and James knew that, but everyone else in the room gasped. Darcy even raised one brow. Oh, what he must think of Americans—-think of them!—-now. Not that she cared what he, in particular, thought. But Lord Darcy, dark, disapproving Darcy, was the embodiment of the aristocracy.

And they were not pretty enough to make him—-and everyone else—-overlook the “fact” that they did things like trip and fall or make rude comments about assignations with stable boys.

They would have to go back to America in shame and explain that even the second (or was it third?) highest ranking title in the aristocracy was not sufficient for them to be welcome in society. How mortifying.

But Bridget had forgotten about the duchess.

One should never forget about the duchess.

“Is it true that you are on your third season, Lady Francesca?” the duchess asked, in a voice that was pure innocence and elegance. “Or is it your fourth? It seems like ages since you’ve made your debut. And one would expect a wedding announcement, but it seems you’re having trouble bringing your suitor up to scratch.”

Bridget fought the urge to leap to her feet and shout, Ha! Because the duchess had made both Francesca and Darcy turn pale.

“My first season wasn’t so long ago that I have forgotten how daunting a debut can be. Which is why I thought I’d extend an invitation to your nieces. Perhaps they would like to join us for ices at Gunther’s?”

Bridget sipped her tea and Claire stifled a yawn. Under her breath, Amelia whispered, “I would love to, but I shall be busy sticking forks in my eye,” which made Bridget laugh, which made her spit out her tea, which made the duchess close her eyes and purse her lips.

“I’ll just take that as a yes,” Lady Francesca said dryly.





Chapter 4


On Tuesday we went for ices at Gunther’s.

Lady Bridget’s Diary

Lady Francesca was certainly the most beautiful girl in this carriage, not that she would say that aloud to her friends. She glanced out from under her darling new bonnet to see if anyone on the street noticed her and smiled when she made eye contact with a young man, who promptly walked into a lamp pole. She might be on her third season, but she could still turn heads.

“Why did we invite the American girl to join us?” Miss Mulberry asked, confused.

Beside her in the open carriage, Lady Francesca replied, “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Keep your friends close but your enemies closer’?”

“Of course. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“She means, Mabel, that she thinks Lady Bridget might be an enemy. So we invited her to join us for ices,” Miss Montague said.

Her explanation did little to clarify things for Miss Mulberry, but she had the right of it. It all had to do with Darcy. It was one thing to see him conversing alone with Lady Bridget at the ball. Of course he only went to call because good manners dictated he should. But there was no good reason for all those smoldering glances Darcy was giving Bridget during calling hours yesterday. She seemed too taken with Rupert to notice, which Francesca would have to encourage.

Darcy was hers. They’d had an unspoken understanding for years, ever since her brother brought him home during a school holiday. She would not lose him to an American who couldn’t even walk across a ballroom without falling flat on her bottom. It was Francesca’s turn to be the darling of the season and catch the most eligible bachelor.

The obvious solution to a potential threat was to invite her to ices and to ascertain just how much of a threat she was.

“Is Lady Bridget really an enemy?” Miss Mulberry was still puzzling this out. “But Francesca, you’re so much . . .” She paused, tilting her head like a small dog as she thought about it. Finally she settled on “taller.”

Francesca gritted her teeth. “You could have gone with thinner, prettier, or richer but you went with taller?”

“My brother says men like women who have a little padding on them,” Miss Mulberry said, which didn’t help anything at all.

“No more speaking of this. We’re here.”



Bridget had quickly come to realize a few essential truths: Lady Francesca was a viper. But she was also a popular viper who wielded not a small amount of influence over the collective brain of the haute ton. If, for example, she decided that Bridget should no longer be known as the girl who fell, no one would dare speak of it again.

Or so Bridget hoped.

That was just one of the reasons Bridget had agreed to this outing. Amongst the others: she couldn’t think of a good excuse, as Claire and Amelia had done. And there would be ices and she was starving, thanks to the reducing diet.

And there was one other reason: she wanted, very badly, to fit in. And there was no better way to accomplish this than by befriending the most popular young ladies.