Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(16)

“It’s my brother.”

Of course it is, Bridget thought.

“Hmm,” she murmured noncommittally, because Josephine said True Ladies never spoke ill of others (which someone clearly never told Lady Francesca).

Rupert sighed and frowned and said, “I need funds and he will not give them to me.”

“Why ever not? Certainly he can afford it, and you are his brother.” She knew, with bone--deep certainty, that her own brother would do anything for her, or Amelia or Claire.

“Something about taking responsibility for my own actions. And that it’s about time that I stay out of trouble. I feel that he is punishing me because I am not like him.”

“Don’t be like him,” she whispered. Rupert was the one person she’d met in London with whom she could just be herself. She couldn’t stand if he became distant and disapproving, like Darcy.

“I could not be like him even if I tried. It’s hard enough for Darcy to be as he is.” Bridget didn’t quite understand that, but decided not to press. “He wasn’t always like this, you know,” Rupert continued. “He used to be as mischievous and fun--loving as the rest of us. But now he feels it is his duty to teach me responsibility. Which may help me in the long term, I grant you, but not presently. In fact, presently, I am doomed.”

Try as she might, she could not imagine Darcy as a mischievous young boy, or a young man who raised hell and caused trouble like all the others. It boggled the mind.

“What do you need the funds for?”

Rupert stared off into the distance for a long moment. Her unease grew; he was in trouble. Real trouble. She wanted to save him.

“I cannot say. But there are threats if I do not pay.”

“Is it gaming debts?” Of course it was; what else could it be? She continued on, vaguely aware that he didn’t confirm. “How much do you need? I’m sure James can lend us the money.”

Rupert’s head snapped up to look at her, shocked at the offer.

“I could never accept it.”

“Please.” She dared to place her hand on his. “How much?”

After a momentary pause he said, “A thousand pounds.”

“A thousand pounds!” She gasped. “How much is that, really? I still think of everything in dollars.”

“A family of four could live on it in a respectable fashion for a year.”

“Ah. I see. That must have been quite a game.” For a moment, Rupert looked confused. “The gaming debts,” she explained.

“Right.”

His hand was still under hers. Touching hers. It occurred to her that for once she could be the one to save someone from certain disaster. Her heart leapt at the opportunity.

“I’ll ask James about the money, Rupert.”

He clasped her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and gazed into her eyes. At this moment, there was nothing, nothing she wouldn’t do for him.

“I would never ask you to do that.”

“I know,” she said lightly. “But I want to.”

Because I love you. The words were there, quivering on the tip of her tongue, ready to take the leap into the world, if she would only just let them out.

“I cannot ever tell you what this means to me, Bridget.”

Rupert lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on the back of her hand. Then her palm. And then her wrist.

And then, tragically, he let go.

Things I dislike about Lord Darcy

He does not dance. Once cannot trust a man who does not dance.

He is the sort of man who leaves young ladies standing alone in the middle of a ballroom. Most ungentlemanly.

He refuses to aid his brother in his Hour of Need.

Lady Bridget’s Diary

The clock struck midnight when Bridget slipped out of bed, donned her robe, lit a candle, and headed toward the kitchens. It was a long, slightly terrifying journey in a house this massive. But it was worth it, because when she arrived she found James. And cake.

She stood in the doorway and peered into the dimly lit room.

“Your Grace, if I may have an audience?”

She dropped into a little curtsy.

James looked up from where he sat at the large table, with a generous slice of rum cake before him. He eyed her warily.

“Where is my sister and what have you done with her?”

“Whatever do you mean?” As if she didn’t know perfectly well.

“Since when do you address me formally? And speak like the duchess?”

She flounced over to him. And the cake.

“I’m trying to conduct myself as befitting our station. One of us must. You are useful to practice on, being a lofty duke and all.”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, in the affectionate way that only a brother could. He mussed her hair as she came close, which made her scowl. To everyone else she was practically a spinster, but he still treated her like a child.

“Well, this is quite ducal of you, illicitly stealing into the kitchens to devour cake.” Lord above, but she was hungry, and that rum cake was calling her name.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to share,” James said, evilly.

“Oh please, Your Grace, I beg of you.”

“You know I hate being called that.”

“Oh, I do. You may be a fancy duke, but you are not above some sisterly teasing.”