Free Lady Bridget's Diary by Maya Rodale Page B

unmarried lady, she was all done up in a bonnet and gloves and a white dress with frills, and ruffles and bits of lace.
    And she was beaming at Rupert.
    â€œI was hoping to see them today,” Rupert said brightly.
    â€œI as well,” Lady Winterbourne replied. “While the ton has not quite accepted them yet, a party is considered a failure if they do not attend. What else will we talk about?”
    â€œNew initiatives in Parliament, the plight of war widows and orphans, new advances in steam technology.”
    â€œYou’re too funny, Darcy.” She laughed. “No, at parties one is to talk of scandals and love matches and judge each other’s dresses. And the Americans. What do you think of them?”
    â€œI do not.” It was a hideous lie.
    Lady Bridget intruded upon his thoughts with an alarming frequency. And if that weren’t bad enough, she made him feel things.
    Things one would categorize as lust. A lust that would never be satisfied because he was Lord Darcy, one of the most esteemed peers of England, and while she might be sister to a duke, there was no denying her unconventional upbringing. She was not his type.
    Which was neither here nor there, given how things were progressing between her and Rupert and the hints he dropped about marrying her.
    â€œWell I quite like them,” Rupert declared. “Particularly Lady Bridget.”
    Case. In. Point.
    â€œYou know, the duchess is keen to marry them off,” Lady Winterbourne remarked with pointed looks and all the subtlety of an invading army. “She is afraid they will abandon the dukedom and return to the colonies if they do not. God forbid anything should happen to the new duke. The next in line is that horrid Mr. Collins.”
    â€œI cannot imagine what relevance this has to us.”
    â€œDon’t be deliberately obtuse, Darcy,” Lady Winterbourne said. “It doesn’t suit you.”
    â€œIt so happens that one of us is considering taking a wife,” Rupert said. Even Darcy couldn’t conceal his shock that he would say such a thing to such a known gossip as their hostess. He might as well have printed an announcement in The London Weekly : “Wealthy bachelor not completely adverse to matrimony. Queue up here.” Even if he was considering marriage, why the devil would he announce it and make things impossible for himself?
    Darcy’s obvious shock made it abundantly clear which brother was considering a wife. And Lady Winterbourne’s smile made it abundantly clear what would happen with such information.

    Bridget might have steered Rupert here, behind the hedges. He might not have made it difficult for her to do so.
    Her heart beat swiftly, flutteringly, like hummingbird wings. Her gaze searched his for a sign of his true feelings and his intentions. She prayed that they matched hers.
    He might be about to kiss her. Dear Lord, she wanted to be kissed. And loved. And by this nice man.
    Rupert gazed down at her, lips parted. She closed her eyes, waiting to feel the brush of his lips against hers. Her life might become perfect in three . . . two . . . one . . .
    â€œNice to get a bit of a respite from the party,” he remarked. She opened her eyes to see him standing a foot away, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels.
    Or not.
    Nevertheless, she agreed with him. “It is. I’ve become so accustomed to everyone watching me to see what disaster will befall me next. You know, I am still known as the girl who fell.”
    â€œI think of you as the girl who has a unique manner of appreciating artwork,” Rupert corrected. “Never mind those old bats.”
    And that was why she loved him.
    That was why she wanted to marry him.
    And she knew for a fact that he had told Lady Winterbourne that he was thinking of marrying, because she told the duchess, who looked the other way when Bridget and Rupert began