Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(32)
“I’d put my money on the Tower of London or a gaming hell,” Claire said.
“Your Grace! Her bed was not slept in!” the maid cried out.
Missing sisters: 1
Scandals looming: at least 1, possibly several
Hours spent tense in the drawing room: 4
Pots of tea drunk: 4
Times the duchess cared that I took extra sugar: 0, as far as I could discern
Lady Bridget’s Diary
A few hours later, there was no denying the truth: Amelia was gone. One of the upstairs housemaids could not be found either, and everyone desperately hoped that they were at least together. James and a few servants had gone out to discreetly obtain any intelligence about her whereabouts.
One by one they returned. No one had seen a proper lady and her housemaid dashing about the neighborhood between the hours of midnight and morning. Or at least, that’s what they gathered. It was hard to ask questions about a subject one desperately wanted to keep secret.
While the servants were send out to make discreet inquiries, James, the duchess, Miss Green, Claire, Amelia, and Bridget gathered in the drawing room to plot their next steps and strategy. The air was thick with tension. The tea was strong. Nerves were beginning to fray.
Even Bridget and Claire, who had been firm in their belief that Amelia had gone off on one of her adventures, started to worry. And James—-their poor brother looked like he’d aged a decade in a day.
A ferocious debate as to their strategy for locating the wayward Cavendish sister ensued.
James paced back and forth across the carpets. He pushed his fingers through his hair, frustrated.
“If we enlist the assistance of the Bow Street Runners—-”
The duchess cut him off.
“Then we risk the ton finding out that she has been missing overnight.”
“I’m more concerned that she’s alive,” James said witheringly.
“And I’m concerned that she has a life to live when she returns,” Josephine replied. “She will be ruined if the merest whisper of this gets out.”
Bridget knew that this inactivity was killing him. That he wanted to be out of the house searching for his wayward sister and not stuck in the drawing room with a bunch of ladies and their endless pots of tea and worries about reputations. She felt a bit useless herself.
In the midst of it all, Pendleton, the butler, stepped in to announce a caller.
“Lord Darcy requests an audience.”
Bridget choked on the sip of tea she had just taken. A very sweet cup of tea; with the duchess so distracted, she took the liberty of adding extra sugar.
What was he doing here now?
“We are not at home to callers this morning, Pendleton.”
But the butler returned but a moment later.
“He says he wishes to see Lady Bridget for just a moment regarding an urgent matter.”
“Well, that is unexpected,” Bridget murmured. Her heart started beating rapidly.
She met in him the smaller receiving room on the other side of the foyer.
“Lady Bridget.”
“Lord Darcy.”
They were alone, quite alone. Bridget eyed him, noting that he was, alas, in dry clothes. Perfectly tailored dry clothes that hugged his broad shoulders and clung tightly to his muscled legs.
He cleared his throat. She had been caught staring.
“Pardon the intrusion. I was wondering if you had seen my brother today.”
“I have not. Why do you ask?”
“He seems to be missing.”
Bridget paled.
“What is it?”
“Come with me.”
They were halfway across the foyer before she realized that she had taken his hand and pulled him along—-a stuffy peer of the realm—-as if he were a horse on a lead. It was another second or two before she realized that he hadn’t protested her informality or attempted to withdraw his hand from hers. After that, it was only an instant before she became aware of the warmth from his hand stealing through her.
It was funny what could happen in the time it took to cross the foyer.
Amelia and . . . Rupert? My heart breaks at the betrayal.
Lady Bridget’s Diary
“I hope I am not intruding,” Darcy said when he was shown into the drawing room. By shown he meant dragged into the room against his will, in a most informal manner. The downfall of civilization was imminent. “But I inquired with Lady Bridget regarding my brother, who seems to be missing. It appears this information is relevant to you?”
“Do come in, Darcy,” the duchess said wearily. “Perhaps you can help.”
Darcy lifted one brow.
“It’s a delicate family matter,” Josephine said, at the same time James said, “It’s a bloody disaster.”
“You have my word that I will protect your confidence. I would be grateful to be of assistance.”
“I suppose you can be trusted,” the duchess said, eyeing Darcy. Then to no one in particular she said, “His mother and I were close. But the less said about your father, the better,” the duchess said. Now that aroused Bridget’s curiosity and begged for more questions. She hadn’t even considered that Darcy had parents; he seemed like he was born fully formed, a perfect gentleman who emerged from a rock or the head of Athena. “But nevertheless, Darcy, we have a situation on our hands. Lady Amelia has taken leave of us.”