Lady Bridget's Diary (10 page)

Chapter 11

Had a horrible fight with Amelia last night after she caused a hugely embarrassing scene at Almack's.

Lady Bridget's Diary

T
he less said about the previous evening, the better. The family spent an exceedingly tedious evening at Almack's. Amelia then caused a scandal—­one that was perhaps worse than anything Bridget had done thus far. What followed was quite a row between the two sisters. It only ended when Bridget stalked off and slammed the door to her room and when Amelia calmed down after a dose of laudanum was snuck into her water.

As a result, everyone, even the duchess, had slept in. But eventually, they all made their way to the dining room for breakfast.

Josephine was seated in her usual spot at the head of the table, sipping from her elegant china teacup. Everything about her was elegant, at all hours of the day.

But the way she surveyed the breakfast table was more like a general observing his troops before battle. Her trusty lieutenant, Miss Green, beside her.

Cavendish family versus the haute ton. The score was dismal.

“Where is Amelia?” Josephine asked. “That girl is late for everything except for breakfast.”

“She's probably sleeping off the laudanum or out exploring,” James said with a shrug.

“Duke, you seem remarkably unconcerned that your sister is missing in a foreign city,” Miss Green said softly.

“Foreign? It is apparently home now,” he said, with a pointed look to the duchess. “And we don't know that she is missing.”

“Frankly, I'm inclined to pity anyone who crosses her,” Bridget replied. Her sister was probably still abed, exhausted from all the drama of the previous evening.

The duchess turned to a maid, “Do go inquire on Lady Amelia's whereabouts.” Then, fixing her attentions to the rest of the siblings she said, “Now, shall we go over our plans for the day?”

Bridget and her siblings exchanged glances. They were particularly directed at James, who shared their sentiments.

“Just out of curiosity, dear duchess, what are the chances that the day's activities include, say, lazing around with books or playing parlor games, whiling away the hours in the stables or going out for a ride?”

Miss Green smiled. “This may come as a shock to you, but Her Grace doesn't care for parlor games.”

“And there is still so much you all need to know. Claire, last night you refused a dance with Lord Banbury. A lady should not decline a dance with a gentleman unless her dance card is full.”

It went without saying that her dance card was not full. Not even close.

“He is a moron.”

“But he is a rich moron.”

“I thought we were rich.”

“But one can always be richer,” Josephine said. “And Bridget, you went in to supper before your turn.”

“I know, but I was starving.”

“Ladies do not have appetites.”

“Josephine.” James's voice was a warning. In the best of circumstances, they had little patience for all the formality and rules of the aristocracy. But this morning, after a late and trying night, they had none. “We know we possess one of the oldest and most prestigious titles in England. We know have a sacred duty to live up to its legacy and reputation, increase its wealth, and pass it on to our heirs.”

“Ah, so you have been listening, Duke. Perhaps you are more than just a pretty face.”

Miss Green choked on her tea.

“With all due respect, our father left it all behind and never looked back. And that is the example that we were raised with. We never expected this. I never expected this.”

“Nevertheless, here we are, and we haven't much time,” Josephine said briskly.

“We have all the time in the world. We're here, aren't we?” James's question hung in the air. “But that is not enough, is it?”

Bridget noticed the duchess's grip on her teacup was firm; her knuckles were paling. Would it shatter in her grasp? What a statement that would make.

It was not enough to simply be here, to live in the house and ride about in the carriage with the ducal crest in gold on the doors. They had to become Durham—­live it, breathe it, own it—­and to do so they had to leave behind America, the life they led there, and even, Bridget mused, the people they were there.

Her brother wasn't born to be a duke; he was most comfortable out in the stables, raising and training horses.

Her sisters were too impulsive and exuberant (Amelia) or too intelligent (Claire) for the haute ton's taste.

And as for Bridget herself . . . she wanted so badly to measure up and belong. But she also wanted to eat a proper meal, to tease Darcy and laugh loudly, to live instead of attempting to walk with a particular air, or learn every possible form of address for every possible person she might meet, or master the steps of every obscure country dance she might be called upon to know. She wanted to be without trying so hard.

“Well, this is a serious topic so early in the morning,” Miss Green chimed in. “Shall we discuss the weather instead?”

But first, the maid returned. “Lady Amelia is not in her bedchamber, Your Grace.”

“Well, where is she?” Josephine demanded.

“I'm afraid I don't know,” the poor maid answered, trembling.

“Search the house for her,” the duchess ordered. The maid didn't move. “And why are you not the slightest bit alarmed that your sister is missing?”

“She runs off all the time. She eventually returns,” Bridget said. At home, it had not been a problem, for they had a large property for Amelia to explore.

“Yes, she gets hungry, or the weather becomes unpleasant, or she simply has to tell someone, particularly us, of her adventures,” James added. “I suppose you think it's terrible that I indulged her in such unladylike behavior.”

“Your Grace . . .” The poor maid was trying to gain attention.

“London is a dangerous city for unaccompanied young ladies,” the duchess said.

“I hope you haven't said that to Amelia.” James groaned.

“Of course I have. She needed to be warned.”

“And that was your first mistake,” Claire said with a sigh. She'd had years of acting a surrogate mother to their wayward younger sister.

“Your Grace . . .” The poor maid was still trying to gain attention.

“What are the chances she's just in the attic or the kitchens?” Miss Green asked. “I have found her exploring the house on a few occasions.”

“I'd put my money on the Tower of London or a gaming hell,” Claire said.

“Your Grace! Her bed was not slept in!” the maid cried out.

Missing sisters: 1

Scandals looming: at least 1, possibly several

Hours spent tense in the drawing room: 4

Pots of tea drunk: 4

Times the duchess cared that I took extra sugar: 0, as far as I could discern

Lady Bridget's Diary

A few hours later, there was no denying the truth: Amelia was gone. One of the upstairs housemaids could not be found either, and everyone desperately hoped that they were at least together. James and a few servants had gone out to discreetly obtain any intelligence about her whereabouts.

One by one they returned. No one had seen a proper lady and her housemaid dashing about the neighborhood between the hours of midnight and morning. Or at least, that's what they gathered. It was hard to ask questions about a subject one desperately wanted to keep secret.

While the servants were send out to make discreet inquiries, James, the duchess, Miss Green, Claire, Amelia, and Bridget gathered in the drawing room to plot their next steps and strategy. The air was thick with tension. The tea was strong. Nerves were beginning to fray.

Even Bridget and Claire, who had been firm in their belief that Amelia had gone off on one of her adventures, started to worry. And James—­their poor brother looked like he'd aged a decade in a day.

A ferocious debate as to their strategy for locating the wayward Cavendish sister ensued.

James paced back and forth across the carpets. He pushed his fingers through his hair, frustrated.

“If we enlist the assistance of the Bow Street Runners—­”

The duchess cut him off.

“Then we risk the ton finding out that she has been missing overnight.”

“I'm more concerned that she's
alive
,” James said witheringly.

“And I'm concerned that she has a life to live when she returns,” Josephine replied. “She will be ruined if the merest whisper of this gets out.”

Bridget knew that this inactivity was killing him. That he wanted to be out of the house searching for his wayward sister and not stuck in the drawing room with a bunch of ladies and their endless pots of tea and worries about reputations. She felt a bit useless herself.

In the midst of it all, Pendleton, the butler, stepped in to announce a caller.

“Lord Darcy requests an audience.”

Bridget choked on the sip of tea she had just taken. A very sweet cup of tea; with the duchess so distracted, she took the liberty of adding extra sugar.

What was
he
doing
here
now?

“We are not at home to callers this morning, Pendleton.”

But the butler returned but a moment later.

“He says he wishes to see Lady Bridget for just a moment regarding an urgent matter.”

“Well, that is unexpected,” Bridget murmured. Her heart started beating rapidly.

She met in him the smaller receiving room on the other side of the foyer.

“Lady Bridget.”

“Lord Darcy.”

They were alone, quite alone. Bridget eyed him, noting that he was, alas, in dry clothes. Perfectly tailored dry clothes that hugged his broad shoulders and clung tightly to his muscled legs.

He cleared his throat. She had been caught staring.

“Pardon the intrusion. I was wondering if you had seen my brother today.”

“I have not. Why do you ask?”

“He seems to be missing.”

Bridget paled.

“What is it?”

“Come with me.”

They were halfway across the foyer before she realized that she had taken his hand and pulled him along—­a stuffy peer of the realm—­as if he were a horse on a lead. It was another second or two before she realized that he hadn't protested her informality or attempted to withdraw his hand from hers. After that, it was only an instant before she became aware of the warmth from his hand stealing through her.

It was funny what could happen in the time it took to cross the foyer.

Amelia and . . . Rupert? My heart breaks at the betrayal.

Lady Bridget's Diary

“I hope I am not intruding,” Darcy said when he was shown into the drawing room. By
shown
he meant dragged into the room against his will, in a most informal manner. The downfall of civilization was imminent. “But I inquired with Lady Bridget regarding my brother, who seems to be missing. It appears this information is relevant to you?”

“Do come in, Darcy,” the duchess said wearily. “Perhaps you can help.”

Darcy lifted one brow.

“It's a delicate family matter,” Josephine said, at the same time James said, “It's a bloody disaster.”

“You have my word that I will protect your confidence. I would be grateful to be of assistance.”

“I suppose you can be trusted,” the duchess said, eyeing Darcy. Then to no one in particular she said, “His mother and I were close. But the less said about your father, the better,” the duchess said. Now
that
aroused Bridget's curiosity and begged for more questions. She hadn't even considered that Darcy had parents; he seemed like he was born fully formed, a perfect gentleman who emerged from a rock or the head of Athena. “But nevertheless, Darcy, we have a situation on our hands. Lady Amelia has taken leave of us.”

“Of her own free will or do we suspect something more dire?”

“Knowing Amelia, she's just run off for a bit of adventure,” Bridget replied. “She has a habit of it.”

“But that doesn't mean something bad hasn't happened to her,” James said gravely. He swore softly under his breath. Ever since their parents had died, he'd been the one responsible for them all. And they hadn't always made it easy on him, but this was the worst.

“There wasn't a ransom note,” Claire added. “One doesn't kidnap an heiress without leaving a ransom note. Unless one is utterly insane.”

“Thank you, Claire, for suggesting that a madman has kidnapped our sister,” James said dryly.

“Thus we are searching for one runaway heiress in a city of nearly a million people without the slightest clue where she could be,” Darcy summarized. “It so happens that my brother is also missing.”

“An interesting turn of events,” Josephine mused. “Would you care for tea?”

“Or something stronger? I could use something stronger,” James muttered.

“No thank you. In a few short hours I'm sure we will celebrate Lady Amelia's safe return with a bottle of your best brandy.”

“Right,” James said. “In the meantime, the duchess and I are at odds as to how to ensure her safe return.”

Claire explained the two positions.

“You are both right,” Darcy said. “It is impossible for us to find her by ourselves. But if word of this becomes public, Lady Amelia will be ruined. And she may not be the only one.”

Darcy's gaze landed on her for just a second.

Bridget knew she was
not
supposed to feel a thrill at the word “ruined.” It was just so dramatic, so mysterious, so final. One was fine and then one day one was ruined and never quite knew why. It usually had something to do with being alone with a man. People were always left to imagine the worst. She did not wish this for herself or her sisters, of course.

But still, the word gave her a little thrill.