Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(57)

The threat of discovery had been removed.

Now there was nothing stopping Darcy’s marriage to her, other than the fact that she didn’t love him and he had insulted her so tremendously that it would be impossible that she should forgive him, let alone love him.

“I’ve missed you,” Lady Francesca cooed, resting her hand on his arm. He glanced at her; she was gorgeous. And he hadn’t thought of her once. But the woman on the other side of the drawing room, obviously talking about him with her brother, he’d thought about her constantly.

I simply do not know if I can carry on in my quest to be a True and Perfect Lady. I wonder what would happen if I threw caution and polite manners to the wind and said whatever was on my mind.

Lady Bridget’s Diary

Dinner was a disaster. There was not one particular moment that was horrendous; it was simply an onslaught of tiny indignities, one right after the other. Bridget was miserable by the time they arrived at the soup course and had a difficult time concealing it. Matters only became worse.

“And how are your prospects, Lady Bridget?” Lady Wych Cross asked. Bellowed, really, from the other end of the table.

Bridget paused, halfway through lifting a spoonful of turtle soup to her lips.

Of course she was acutely aware that one of her rejected prospects was seated at this very table, avoiding her gaze.

“Yes, Bridget, do tell us,” James said, and she kicked him under the table.

“My prospects are fine, thank you for asking,” Bridget replied. The polite thing, the done thing would be to leave it at that. She could go back to her soup and count the minutes until they could leave. But she could see her and Lady Francesca smirking—-in a ladylike way, of course—-as they tried to embarrass her. In front of Darcy. Because they thought her a rival.

Maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t. There was really nothing she or Lady Francesca could do about that; it was up to Darcy. All she could do was be herself.

Bridget decided then and there that she was finished with trying to shrink herself so that she might fit in and gain the approval of the likes of Lady Francesca. Or even Darcy.

And so, because she saw where this conversation was going if she played along, she decided to turn the tables. “And how are your prospects, Lady Wych Cross?”

Josephine gave Bridget A Look.

For a moment, the old woman looked shocked.

“Dead,” she said bluntly.

“I overheard Lord Burbrooke say that he thought you amusing, Bridget,” Lady Francesca said. Lord Burbrooke was a slow--witted fellow who monopolized most conversations with stories of his pack of hounds.

“I am so charmed to have attracted the notice of someone who exemplifies the English aristocrats I have met thus far.”

“It would be a pity if such lovely girls were left too long on the shelf,” Lady Wych Cross said, her voice tinged with sarcasm, glancing from Bridget to Amelia to Claire before settling on the duchess.

“Indeed. My girls are only on their first season, though. Perhaps Lady Francesca can tell them about the plight of women who have had three seasons without wedding.”

“But not for lack of offers,” Lady Francesca said with a sharp smile.

Darcy took a sip of wine. Bridget did the same.

“And what makes you think my girls haven’t had any offers?” The duchess smiled a catlike smile.

Darcy took a long swallow of his wine. Bridget took another sip of soup. Oh, she did not like where this was going.

“Quite a few offers, in fact,” James drawled.

Darcy motioned to the footman for more wine.

“Congratulations. Shall we have champagne to celebrate?” Lady Wych Cross inquired. Then, dropping her voice, she asked, “Or were the offers unsuitable?”

“The offer was suitable, though my sister is undecided on the gentleman in question,” James said.

Darcy wouldn’t meet her gaze. This could be interpreted only one way, she thought. He was mortified to have proposed to her and lived in a holy terror that the ton should find out, especially Francesca.

Bridget drained the wine in her glass.

Josephine gave her another look of dismay. True Ladies did not overimbibe at the dinner table.

“And the other one? You made it sound like you had a few.”

“My other offer was unsuitable,” Bridget said.

“Most unsuitable,” Amelia agreed.

“Very unsuitable,” Claire added.

“I think you should have accepted one of your offers,” James said with a pointed look at her, while tipping his head in Darcy’s direction. Gad, her brother had the subtlety of an invading army. She would never confide in him again.

“What is done is done,” Bridget snapped.

Darcy took another sip of wine.

“It is deplorable how long girls are taking to wed these days,” said Lady Wych Cross.

“Is it the fault of the ladies for refusing proposals or the gentlemen for not offering?” Josephine asked, with a pointed look at James.

“Who says the gentlemen do not offer?” James inquired.

“Perhaps they do not make attractive offers,” Amelia said. “Perhaps they natter on about all the wrong things.”

Well, Amelia was reading her diary again. Bridget would probably murder her after supper.

“I’ll tell you what the problem is,” Lady Wych Cross declared. “It is these newfangled, foolish notions of marrying for love instead of sensible reasons like lineage, connections, or how one will be supported. Far too many girls are led astray by irrational and lofty ideas about romance and whatnot. Now we have young men and women unwed, causing all sorts of trouble.”