Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(51)

“I do not think we are opposed to marriage,” James said evenly.

“We are just opposed to pledging our troth to cork--brained men with nothing to recommend them,” Bridget said.

“Well, if you continue to flaunt society, you may only have the likes of Mr. Collins to choose from!” the duchess cried. “And he is not the worst possible person. At least the dukedom would stay in the family. You would be provided for. What if your brother dies and you are all unwed? How will you support yourselves? Who will marry you then, when you have no reputations because you have flaunted the rules at every turn and when you have no dowries because everything has gone to Mr. Collins?”

“James won’t die,” Amelia protested.

“People die, Amelia. Look at our parents,” Claire said softly.

“Yes, but people love, too. Look at our parents,” Bridget said. “Don’t we all want that?”

Everyone, from the duchess to the butler, fell silent. Thoughtful. Amelia bit her lip. Claire exhaled deeply.

“We want what our mother and father had, Josephine. Love,” James said quietly. “The kind of love you throw a dukedom away for.”





Chapter 18


Sometimes I do not know which affects me more: Rupert’s charm or the dark and intense way that Darcy looks at me. It reminds me of the moment before our kiss—-which has not been repeated, alas.

Alas?

Lady Bridget’s Diary

If Bridget had any doubts about Rupert’s feelings or intentions for her—-and she did, given that he had been scarce and distracted of late—-this evening assuaged them. And if she had any ideas about the goings--on of Lord Darcy’s heart or mind, this evening brought no clarity.

She and her siblings had only just arrived when Rupert sought her out. He looked so handsome in his evening clothes, especially when he smiled and revealed that charming dimple in his cheek.

Behind him, Lord Darcy glowered.

“Lady Bridget! I was hoping to see you this evening.”

“Hello, Rupert.” She smiled and thought she sounded coy and womanly. Or not.

“Hello, Rupert,” Amelia mimicked softly. Bridget smiled and made a point of stepping on her sister’s foot. “Ow!”

“Lord Darcy.” Bridget nodded.

“Lady Bridget.” He did not smile.

“Have you saved a dance or two for me?” Rupert asked, leaning over to glance at her dance card. “I hope so.”

“I daresay I have,” Bridget said.

“If I may have the pleasure . . .” Rupert penciled in his name to not one, but two dances.

He smiled.

She smiled.

Darcy did not smile, not even when Bridget looked at him. For a moment she thought that he might ask her for a dance. A long moment. A long, awkward moment, full of agonies. But there was no offer forthcoming. Well then.

Any hurt feelings were soothed when Rupert lifted her hand to his lips and promised to see her soon. He took a few steps before Darcy joined him, which meant there was a moment when Darcy gazed at Bridget as if he wished to say something.

But he only gave her a perfunctory nod and joined his brother.

That kiss, then, meant nothing. They would never speak of it and it would never happen again. Well then.

Rather than delve into an examination of her innermost thoughts and feelings pertaining to Darcy, Bridget fixated all her attentions on Rupert.

During their first waltz they chattered away . . . except for the moments when she happened to see Darcy. Standing against the wall. Like a wallflower. Glowering. Honestly, she could not understand the man. What did he have to be so morose about? Was life really so difficult for a handsome, wealthy, powerful man who knew how to kiss a woman until she was weak in the knees?

She would be so bold as to ask him, but he kept his distance. Even so, she was still aware of his attentions fixed upon her. He watched her as she muddled her way through the quadrille with Rupert. His gaze was dark as she returned from a stroll on the terrace with Rupert. She was aware of his eyes on her as she and Rupert made their way through the crowds to the lemonade table. She caught his gaze, dark, while taking a sip. Her hand shook and she spilled a little on her dress.

Still, he watched, his expression dark and thunderous. He must disapprove of her . . . with Rupert.

I find myself drawn to Darcy now, ever so curious as to what he is thinking or, dare I say it, feeling.

Lady Bridget’s Diary

Darcy had done his best to avoid her all evening. Rupert had received another letter from the blackmailer and thus was more determined than ever to put a stop to it—-and to make any rumors seem absolutely implausible. His life depended on it. So he wooed and courted Bridget.

And Darcy watched, dying.

He saw that they would be happy together. Rupert did genuinely seem to like her. And her adoration of him was all too apparent. They laughed together frequently. Anyone could see how they were at ease in each other’s company. If he cared for them both, he would stay away and banish all memories of a heart--stopping kiss in a rainstorm. He would take his lust and shove it deep down inside, along with the other feelings he refused to feel.

Later, much later in the evening, he found himself standing with her and his brother.

“Is anything the matter, Loooord Darcy?”

He wanted to smile at the way she drawled out his name. But he was only reminded that the one woman who dared to speak to him like a human was going to marry his brother. That wasn’t amusing at all.