Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(54)
Darcy proceeded directly to the sideboard in his study and poured a large tumbler of whiskey. The first drink did nothing. He could still recall everything, from the way Bridget tasted when he kissed her that day to the horrified expression on her face when he proposed. After the second whiskey, he could still recall everything, but he didn’t feel it as intensely. Everything went to hell after the third.
At some point, Rupert strolled in, took one look at him, and asked, “Who died?”
“My hopes and dreams,” Darcy said flatly.
“Mine as well,” Rupert said grimly. “Read this.”
Rupert tossed a crumpled sheet of paper into Darcy’s lap.
He set down his now empty glass, alas, and fumbled with the paper. The words blurred before his eyes.
Two thousand pounds by Tuesday or I’ll tell the ton about you and you know who.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Colin.” His brother rubbed his eyes wearily. Pushed his fingers through his hair. Paced around the room before collapsing into a chair.
“This is very vague,” Darcy said, puzzled. “Are you sure this person even has the information with which to blackmail you?”
“Are you suggesting that someone simply goes around sending such letters, assuming everyone has skeletons in their closet they’ll pay to hide?”
“Genius, if you ask me.”
“Evil genius. And no, he—-or she—-knows. A lot. The first letter was very detailed and specific.” Rupert paused, debating whether to say more before finally confessing. “It was about Frederick and me, and the times we visited Ivy Cottage.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No, I burned it. I burned them all.”
“Do you remember anything? Were they sealed? Was the handwriting the same?”
“No, I saw nothing but the threats. It was small amounts at first. And then more and more over time. As if they knew I would pay.”
He had paid. Someone had illegally obtained a fortune.
“We have to put a stop to this once and for all. I’ve been meaning to go to down to Ivy Cottage anyway. There was some trouble with the housekeeper and other things. In the meantime—-”
“—-I’ll propose to Lady Bridget.” Rupert thought he was finishing his brother’s sentence. But he wasn’t. Not at all.
“No.” Darcy said this firmly, but softly. Rupert didn’t seem to hear.
“We’ll marry and that will ensure any rumors don’t gain a foothold if they should emerge. We’ll get along, Bridget and I. It could be worse, I suppose.”
God, Darcy would give anything to be able to love Bridget, to marry her, spend his life with her. And here was his brother, thinking it wouldn’t be the worst fate, when compared to social ostracization, possible deportation, or death.
Bridget deserved better than that.
“No.” Darcy spoke louder now, but Rupert was lost in his own world. He stood, and started pacing around the room, muttering.
“Frederick won’t like it. But c’est la vie. If this is what I must do to protect us, well then I must. And I am rather fond of her. She makes me laugh.”
Darcy stood.
“No.”
The match would be one of convenience, but it would make them all miserable.
“What do you mean, no?” Rupert stopped abruptly, having finally heard his brother. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Perhaps. Probably.” Darcy shrugged. And exhaled. “Absolutely.”
“You’ve been after me for years to wed. And now I’ve finally decided to settle down with a perfectly amiable girl and—-”
She wasn’t a perfectly amiable girl. She was a woman. A complicated, confusing, confounding woman who wanted to be loved for herself, not in spite of stupid, perceived obstacles. She wanted to belong. She was a woman whose kiss made him forget himself—-or find himself, he wasn’t sure. He just knew that she was more than merely amiable.
Darcy couldn’t take it anymore. Before he knew what he was about, his punched his brother. In the face. Right in the eye, to be precise.
“What the bloody hell?”
Rather than wait for answers, Rupert retaliated.
A scuffle ensued. Punches were thrown—-and missed their intended target. Or any target, really. Their battle quickly devolved into a juvenile scuffle, complete with slaps, kicks, and hair pulling. Chairs were overturned. At one point, a volume of Shakespeare’s tragedies was used as a weapon.
It was utterly undignified.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” Rupert asked, panting.
“Don’t speak of her that way,” Darcy replied, breathing hard.
“Why?” Rupert asked, confused and enraged. He held his eye, in pain. Darcy doubled over, trying to catch his breath. But he looked up and saw comprehension dawning in Rupert’s eyes. “Oh. Oh my God.”
Marriage proposals: 2
Accepted proposals: 0
The hour: late
Cake: lots
Lady Bridget’s Diary
The duchess would undoubtedly be horrified to learn that the duke and his sisters were frequently in the habit of sneaking down to the kitchens in the middle of the night. The cook, however, had reluctantly accepted the practice and had taken to leaving out plates of cakes, pastries, and the like, where hungry Cavendish siblings might find them without too much fussing around in her kitchen.