Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(73)



“You already read it, didn’t you,” Darcy said flatly. It was not a question.

“Shall I recite from the ongoing list of things Bridget hates about Dreadful Darcy?”

“Well I hope you found it entertaining and edifying,” Bridget said sharply. He saw tears in her eyes. As always, it was so easy to read her: embarrassment, frustration, fear.

Francesca was either oblivious or unconcerned with her distress. “Oh, I learned all sorts of things that I suppose you both would rather I didn’t know.”

“We would appreciate your discretion,” Darcy said, which was akin to a baby gazelle telling a starving lion it would prefer not to be eaten.

“There is one way you can be certain that I won’t say a word.” She paused for dramatic effect, knowing they were in no position to decline her request. She knew too much. Not one but two families would be destroyed by the revelations.

“Marry me, Darcy.”

Francesca smiled.

Bridget gasped.

His heart stopped.

He had only just determined that he desperately did not want to marry her. He had only just decided to consider his own desires, and not put everyone else first, second, and third. But protecting those he loved was something he did, like breathing. He’d die if he didn’t.

“Marry me, or I shall tell all my friends about Amelia’s unchaperoned escapade and I will whisper rumors about your dear brother’s proclivities. Marry me, and I won’t breathe a word about how you’ve compromised Lady Bridget, twice. Marry me, and all your secrets will be safe. Tell me what you decide, Darcy. Tell me at Lady Esterhazy’s ball tonight.”





Chapter 23


Lady Francesca is devious and has issued an impossible ultimatum. My heart aches to consider the choice Darcy must make. Actually, my heart aches because I know the decision he will make.

Lady Bridget’s Diary

Darcy needed to think. And he needed to drink. And he needed to be in public, where he would never allow himself to fall to pieces. Because there was a good chance he might fall to pieces. Thus, he went to White’s and ordered a whiskey and took a seat in the back corner.

But then Rupert showed up and Darcy reconsidered the virtues of solitude when a man needed to brood.

“Ah, my dear brother Darcy. Brooding, as always. Honestly, I have no idea what you have to be so morose about. You are young, in good health, wealthy beyond belief, don’t have the ugliest face I’ve ever laid eyes on, you are fairly intelligent . . .”

“Are you finished?”

“I could go on about your charmed life, if that would cheer you up. The multiple country houses, the bevy of servants to see to your every need, the love of a wonderful woman . . .”

“It would not. And it is no longer charmed.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued.”

Rupert pulled up a chair, collapsed into it, and motioned for a drink. Darcy didn’t know where to begin. He decided there was no time to beat around the bush.

“My life is ruined. Or yours is. I must decide.”

“I’m so grateful for the consideration. You might want to start at the beginning.”

“Lady Bridget’s diary was stolen.”

“Let me guess. You recovered it for her, because you do the Darcy thing where you ride in and save the day. But then even you could not resist snooping through it and you discovered that she called you Dreadful Darcy and made lists of things she disliked about you and now you are heartbroken.”

Did everyone know about that? Good God. He took a sip of his drink.

“It is far worse than that, I’m afraid.” Darcy dropped his voice very low. “She wrote about you, intimating exactly what we’d hoped to keep quiet.” Rupert paled. Darcy continued, “She wrote about her sister not being ill at all; she was out in the city for four and twenty hours. And Bridget wrote about how I have compromised her.”

“You? Compromising a gently bred young lady? I am shocked.” Rupert gasped dramatically. Darcy scowled. “Truly,” Rupert said, seriously, “I am indeed shocked. When did this happen? And where?”

“You needn’t be so surprised. I’m as red--blooded as the next man. Even I have moments of weakness, apparently. And she is very . . . desirable.” This was a vast understatement. “I would marry her except Lady Francesca has obtained the diary, read it, and threatened to reveal everything unless I marry her.”

“You mean unless you do the thing that you’ve been meaning to do for years now?”

“Things have changed.”

They had changed so drastically he hardly recognized himself. While he wasn’t happier all the time, he certainly felt more alive because of all the feelings Bridget unlocked with him. He knew joy, and heartache, and the pleasure of a passionate kiss in the rain. And that was everything.

A lifetime of matrimony with Francesca now seemed like a death sentence. He didn’t know if he could stuff all those feelings back into the box, buried deep. And he would have to if he were to wed her.

“I might have become aware of a certain feeling of devotion to Lady Bridget and a fondness for her. As such, I am no longer inclined to marry Lady Francesca.”

Rupert burst out laughing. He threw his head back and howled. Slapped his knee. Heads turned in their direction. Heads belonging to peers of the realm, who were discussing gravely important matters of state and such until they were distracted by Rupert laughing. At Darcy, in his hour of need.

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