Lady Bridget's Diary by Maya Rodale Page B

they gazed into each other’s eyes and then he would lean in and kiss her with his sensuous mouth . . . They had yet to kiss, but she dreamt of it often. Too often.
    An opportunity for a kiss presented itself during yet another ball. It was another ball at which she trailed along after Lady Francesca, Miss Mulberry, and Miss Montague, and tried to get noticed by all the suitors who crowded around them, and tried not to wince at all the cutting remarks the girls made about everyone else.
    When she spied Rupert—­he had given her leave to use his Christian name, an indication of intimacy that thrilled her to no end—­alone on the terrace, she didn’t think twice about joining him. As she stepped closer she noticed that he was alone, brooding, and thus looking remarkably like his brother at that moment.
    â€œHello, Rupert.” She tentatively approached.
    â€œBridget, hello.” He offered a half smile. She took that as an invitation to join him.
    â€œYou seem down. What is troubling you?” She wanted to rest her hand on his arm in an affectionate yet suggestive way. It would have been forward. Did she dare?
    â€œIt’s nothing.” He smiled at her halfheartedly.
    â€œIt’s obviously not nothing. You look like your brother, all dark and broody,” she said to make him laugh. It worked.
    â€œI suppose I can confide in my friend,” he said, smiling down at her. “You know, Bridget, I do feel like I could be myself around you.”
    â€œYes,” she said breathlessly. They were friends, weren’t they? Now she wanted to be more.
    â€œIt’s my brother.”
    Of course it is, Bridget thought.
    â€œHmm,” she murmured noncommittally, because Josephine said True Ladies never spoke ill of others (which someone clearly never told Lady Francesca).
    Rupert sighed and frowned and said, “I need funds and he will not give them to me.”
    â€œWhy ever not? Certainly he can afford it, and you are his brother.” She knew, with bone-­deep certainty, that her own brother would do anything for her, or Amelia or Claire.
    â€œSomething about taking responsibility for my own actions. And that it’s about time that I stay out of trouble. I feel that he is punishing me because I am not like him.”
    â€œDon’t be like him,” she whispered. Rupert was the one person she’d met in London with whom she could just be herself. She couldn’t stand if he became distant and disapproving, like Darcy.
    â€œI could not be like him even if I tried. It’s hard enough for Darcy to be as he is.” Bridget didn’t quite understand that, but decided not to press. “He wasn’t always like this, you know,” Rupert continued. “He used to be as mischievous and fun-­loving as the rest of us. But now he feels it is his duty to teach me responsibility. Which may help me in the long term, I grant you, but not presently. In fact, presently, I am doomed.”
    Try as she might, she could not imagine Darcy as a mischievous young boy, or a young man who raised hell and caused trouble like all the others. It boggled the mind.
    â€œWhat do you need the funds for?”
    Rupert stared off into the distance for a long moment. Her unease grew; he was in trouble. Real trouble. She wanted to save him.
    â€œI cannot say. But there are threats if I do not pay.”
    â€œIs it gaming debts?” Of course it was; what else could it be? She continued on, vaguely aware that he didn’t confirm. “How much do you need? I’m sure James can lend us the money.”
    Rupert’s head snapped up to look at her, shocked at the offer.
    â€œI could never accept it.”
    â€œPlease.” She dared to place her hand on his. “How much?”
    After a momentary pause he said, “A thousand pounds.”
    â€œA thousand pounds!” She gasped. “How much is that, really? I still think of