Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(31)

“She’s probably sleeping off the laudanum or out exploring,” James said with a shrug.

“Duke, you seem remarkably unconcerned that your sister is missing in a foreign city,” Miss Green said softly.

“Foreign? It is apparently home now,” he said, with a pointed look to the duchess. “And we don’t know that she is missing.”

“Frankly, I’m inclined to pity anyone who crosses her,” Bridget replied. Her sister was probably still abed, exhausted from all the drama of the previous evening.

The duchess turned to a maid, “Do go inquire on Lady Amelia’s whereabouts.” Then, fixing her attentions to the rest of the siblings she said, “Now, shall we go over our plans for the day?”

Bridget and her siblings exchanged glances. They were particularly directed at James, who shared their sentiments.

“Just out of curiosity, dear duchess, what are the chances that the day’s activities include, say, lazing around with books or playing parlor games, whiling away the hours in the stables or going out for a ride?”

Miss Green smiled. “This may come as a shock to you, but Her Grace doesn’t care for parlor games.”

“And there is still so much you all need to know. Claire, last night you refused a dance with Lord Banbury. A lady should not decline a dance with a gentleman unless her dance card is full.”

It went without saying that her dance card was not full. Not even close.

“He is a moron.”

“But he is a rich moron.”

“I thought we were rich.”

“But one can always be richer,” Josephine said. “And Bridget, you went in to supper before your turn.”

“I know, but I was starving.”

“Ladies do not have appetites.”

“Josephine.” James’s voice was a warning. In the best of circumstances, they had little patience for all the formality and rules of the aristocracy. But this morning, after a late and trying night, they had none. “We know we possess one of the oldest and most prestigious titles in England. We know have a sacred duty to live up to its legacy and reputation, increase its wealth, and pass it on to our heirs.”

“Ah, so you have been listening, Duke. Perhaps you are more than just a pretty face.”

Miss Green choked on her tea.

“With all due respect, our father left it all behind and never looked back. And that is the example that we were raised with. We never expected this. I never expected this.”

“Nevertheless, here we are, and we haven’t much time,” Josephine said briskly.

“We have all the time in the world. We’re here, aren’t we?” James’s question hung in the air. “But that is not enough, is it?”

Bridget noticed the duchess’s grip on her teacup was firm; her knuckles were paling. Would it shatter in her grasp? What a statement that would make.

It was not enough to simply be here, to live in the house and ride about in the carriage with the ducal crest in gold on the doors. They had to become Durham—-live it, breathe it, own it—-and to do so they had to leave behind America, the life they led there, and even, Bridget mused, the people they were there.

Her brother wasn’t born to be a duke; he was most comfortable out in the stables, raising and training horses.

Her sisters were too impulsive and exuberant (Amelia) or too intelligent (Claire) for the haute ton’s taste.

And as for Bridget herself . . . she wanted so badly to measure up and belong. But she also wanted to eat a proper meal, to tease Darcy and laugh loudly, to live instead of attempting to walk with a particular air, or learn every possible form of address for every possible person she might meet, or master the steps of every obscure country dance she might be called upon to know. She wanted to be without trying so hard.

“Well, this is a serious topic so early in the morning,” Miss Green chimed in. “Shall we discuss the weather instead?”

But first, the maid returned. “Lady Amelia is not in her bedchamber, Your Grace.”

“Well, where is she?” Josephine demanded.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the poor maid answered, trembling.

“Search the house for her,” the duchess ordered. The maid didn’t move. “And why are you not the slightest bit alarmed that your sister is missing?”

“She runs off all the time. She eventually returns,” Bridget said. At home, it had not been a problem, for they had a large property for Amelia to explore.

“Yes, she gets hungry, or the weather becomes unpleasant, or she simply has to tell someone, particularly us, of her adventures,” James added. “I suppose you think it’s terrible that I indulged her in such unladylike behavior.”

“Your Grace . . .” The poor maid was trying to gain attention.

“London is a dangerous city for unaccompanied young ladies,” the duchess said.

“I hope you haven’t said that to Amelia.” James groaned.

“Of course I have. She needed to be warned.”

“And that was your first mistake,” Claire said with a sigh. She’d had years of acting a surrogate mother to their wayward younger sister.

“Your Grace . . .” The poor maid was still trying to gain attention.

“What are the chances she’s just in the attic or the kitchens?” Miss Green asked. “I have found her exploring the house on a few occasions.”