Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(23)

Someone thought it would be a splendid idea to have row boat races on the lake. By some revolting stroke of ill fortune, Darcy found himself in a boat with Lady Bridget, who was looking longingly at the boat just beside theirs, bearing Rupert and her sister Lady Amelia.

She seemed vexed to be with him. Well, he didn’t wish to be here either.

The only saving grace was that rowing provided an excuse to remove his confining jacket. Darcy dug the oars into the water and pushed off. Rupert did as well, keeping his rowboat right alongside.

“Mr. Wright, is something the matter with your brother?” Lady Amelia asked loud enough for him to hear.

“With Darcy? No, he’s just the brooding sort,” Rupert answered with a laugh. “I haven’t seen him crack a smile since Christmas morning in 1808.”

“I am not ‘the brooding sort.’ I am merely thinking of other things with which I could occupy my time instead of this frivolous activity.”

For example: He could be balancing account books. Or sticking a hot poker in his eye.

“Why did you even attend?” Lady Amelia asked.

“Aunt Winterbourne,” the brothers said flatly, in unison, which made the sisters laugh.

“Ah, now I understand, Mr. Darcy.”

“It’s Loooord Darcy, Amelia,” her sister corrected. “And he is a stickler for propriety and won’t let you forget it.”

She leveled him with another sharp glance from her blue eyes.

“I humbly beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

“The proper form of address for him is my lord,” Lady Bridget corrected. He heard the waver in her voice betraying that she wasn’t quite sure.

“It’s actually Lord Dreadful Darcy,” he said. She glared at him murderously.

“Oh, have you been reading her diary, too?” Lady Amelia asked with a laugh. Lady Bridget turned red.

And then, because his temper still hadn’t quite cooled, he said, “Tell me again how important family is to you, Lady Bridget?”

“I shall. In a few days’ time when I think of a devastatingly cutting remark,” she said sharply. Then she turned away from him, nose in the air, determined to ignore him even when they were in a bloody rowboat together.

He dipped his oars in the water and thrust, launching the boat forward. Rupert matched his pace.

Tension welled up inside him. The starch in his shirt and cravat suddenly seemed excessive. He would have to speak to his valet about it later. Everything was altogether too damn confining. But that was being a gentleman.

“She walks in beauty, like the night,” Rupert declared grandly. Of course he had to recite poetry while rowing.

“Of cloudless climes and starry skies,” Amelia added. The pair of them were trouble.

“And all that’s best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes.” After Rupert’s line, Amelia clamored to her feet, standing in the unsteady rowboat, and recited the next line:

“Thus mellow’d to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

“Amelia, sit down! You are causing a scene,” Bridget hissed. She glanced at him. He could see that she was embarrassed by her sister’s behavior. And Lady Amelia was oblivious to it.

“Exactly! No, we are acting a scene. It is a slight difference. One is outrageous, the other is artistic.”

“Both are going to get you in trouble. You’re going to get all of us in trouble! This will be in the papers . . .”

Bridget closed her eyes and groaned. In that moment, he empathized with her: trying to do the right thing, with an exuberant younger sibling determined to cause a scandal anyway.

“My dear sister, when did you start to sound like Loooord Darcy? What happened to the girl who wrote and performed plays with me when we were young?”

Bridget reddened once more. He didn’t think it was just the sunlight. “I do not sound like Lord Darcy,” she said through gritted teeth.

“One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair’d the nameless grace,” Rupert carried on, beaming. Then, grinning, he said, “You take the next line, Lady Bridget!”

Oh God, Darcy saw her soften a little. Even more when Rupert smiled at her. He wanted to roll his eyes. But gentlemen did not roll their eyes.

“Oh very well,” Bridget muttered. She rose to stand as well, while the boat rocked precariously. “Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o’er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling--place.”

“You’re rocking the boat,” Darcy pointed out. Indeed, it was swaying side to side, as she was unsteady on her feet.

“Let’s go faster!” Rupert shouted. “Race you, Darcy!”

“It’s ‘Race you, Loooord Darcy,’ ” Amelia corrected, still standing, still wobbly on her feet.

It was just the excuse he needed to thrust the oars in the water and pull with all his strength. Aye, he would race his little brother all the way back to shore so he could get out of this damn situation of lovesick girls and grown men spouting poetry, of brothers with secrets, and of a woman who had the perfect knack for bringing out the worst in him.

He didn’t quite see how it happened; there was a collision between their two boats and then there was a splash as they were all launched into the water.