Chapter 16

Problems, Problems, Problems

Bridget was utterly mortified, her heart heavy with regret after pouring out her feelings to the Duke two days ago. She was acutely aware that she shouldn't have done it, that it could potentially backfire, but the deed was done, and she had to come to terms with it. She knew she would, eventually, but for now, she sought solace in her room, avoiding the Duke as much as possible.

Her ankle was feeling a lot better, and she had thought she might go out for a ride, but she was worried she would bump into the Duke out there and there would be no means of escape.

A knock sounded at the door, and her heart leaped in her throat. She feared the Duke had come to talk to her with some misguided opinion that he could solve all of her problems.

I might be a woman, but that does not mean I can't solve my own problems.

"Bridget?"

It was her mother, and it brought her some relief. Bridget went to the door and opened it.

"Come in, Mother," she called.

Penelope didn't look pleased to have to enter the room and not have Bridget exit, but she did it anyway.

"Why are you spending so much time in your room, Bridget?"

"I already told you, Mother. I am still recovering from my fall, and I need to rest."

"Yes, you have told me that."

Penelope did not say anything more about it, but it was obvious she didn't believe her daughter completely.

"Did you come up to check on me, or did you need to speak to me?" Bridget asked.

She would rather be left alone to wallow in her self-pity.

I am supposed to be a strong, independent woman, and I am hiding in my room!

"I came to speak to you about something," Penelope said. "Please, sit down, Bridget."

Bridget did not want to sit down after being instructed to, but she did so, fearing bad news was coming. All she could think of was the wedding.

"What has happened?" she asked.

"There is a problem with the wedding," Penelope began. "Normally, I would not come to you with this, but you might be the only one who can reason with him."

"Him?" Bridget echoed. "Who is him? Not Lord Michael? I have no influence over him whatsoever. My goodness! His Grace? What has the Duke done?"

"No, not the Duke," Penelope said, looking weirdly at her daughter. "Your Father."

"Father?" Bridget asked. "What has he done?"

"It is not what he has done, but what he will do. He sent a message this morning informing me that he will walk Margaret down the aisle. I had already spoken to him about it a month ago, and we agreed that he would not. I was worried he would make a fool of himself and ruin the wedding for Margaret. I could not say that to him, of course, but I managed to convince him. Now, he has stubbornly informed me he will walk his daughter down the aisle, and all I can think about is him turning up to the wedding drunk and… well, I don't want to imagine the chaos that will ensue."

"I don't know if I can convince him any better than you can, Mother. He does not listen to me either," Bridget claimed.

"He does not listen to me," Penelope insisted. "I know you spoke to him before he left, Bridget. I don't know what you said to him, but he left amicably and without making a fuss. We might not see him again until we return to London, and that is a good thing for your sister. I need you to do one more good thing for Margaret."

Bridget sighed. A slight breeze came in through the open window, and it helped to cool her, but it did not lessen her frustration. A bird sang sweetly from a tree just outside the square opening, but it did little to lift her spirits.

"Of course, I will do it, Mother," Bridget relented. "If he returns to the estate, I will talk to him then, and if not, I shall talk to him in London."

"Thank you, Bridget," Penelope said. "Now, please think about how you can solve your other problems and find a man to marry."

"Mother!"

"Well, am I wrong?" Penelope asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yes, you are. How many times do I need to tell you that I am happy enough as I am? I can see how marriage would be agreeable with the right man, but I don't believe there is such a man in all of England."

"Have you looked?" Penelope challenged.

"Have I looked? Yes, I have scoured the entire country, Mother. Is that good enough for you? Please, I need to rest so I can deal with Father if he returns."

"You must come out of your room soon, or His Grace's family will start to wonder about you," Penelope urged.

Bridget sighed. "If they haven't already."

Penelope only nodded, as if the response was not a sad one. She patted her daughter on the head and left the bedroom.

Bridget flopped down onto the bed and sighed again. She knew she would have to venture out soon and face the music. She was still mortified from her interaction with the Duke.

Another knock sounded at the door, and she sat back up.

"Enter," she called, expecting her mother again.

She was astonished when she saw Lord Michael enter her room.

He did not enter her room fully, only pushing his torso into the room and keeping his legs on the other side of the threshold. Bridget got up from the bed and took a step toward him, but he held his hand up to stop her.

"I understand this is unorthodox, but I meant to speak to you somewhere else, and I heard you might be sick. I was worried you might not leave your room and I would not get the chance to ask you."

Lord Michael looked nervous to be standing at her bedroom door. He continually looked back over his shoulder and did not dare walk into the room any further.

"What can I do for you, My Lord?" Bridget asked, thoroughly confused by the situation.

He obviously didn't want to be spotted, and Bridget did not want that either. She had to get him away from her door as quickly as possible.

"I wish to purchase Margaret a wedding gift that I'll give to her on our wedding day. There are so many things I could get her, but I need it to be perfect, and I know you can help me."

Bridget let out a long breath. "I just need to—" She could not say no to him when she saw the look on his face. Margaret deserved all the happiness in the world. "What did you have in mind?"

Lord Michael smiled, and Bridget could tell he was thinking about her sister.

"Perhaps some jewelry or a book of poems. I had also thought about writing her a letter telling her how much she means to me, or… no, it is foolish."

"What?" Bridget probed softly.

"Well, I have heard that men sometimes gift a lock of hair as a token of commitment. Perhaps in a locket or other keepsake." Lord Michael did not know where to look, and his eyes darted around the room.

"Margaret can be very sentimental," Bridget revealed. "A love letter or a lock of your hair would go over well. She would cherish them for the rest of her life."

Lord Michael smiled sweetly and looked up at her. In London Society, he would hold all the power, but on the estate, with his future happiness at stake, Bridget held the power.

"Perhaps both?" he asked with a smile still on his face.

"That will make her very happy," Bridget replied.

Lord Michael smiled wider before taking a deep breath, as if he were holding his breath since entering the room. "Thank you, Lady Bridget."

"You are welcome," she replied.

He left her room, and she could finally go back to resting. She did not need to rest her ankle, but she did need to rest her mind. She managed to get twenty minutes of peace this time before another knock sounded at her door.

The knocker did not wait this time, and the door opened immediately after the knock. Margaret burst into the room, her cheeks pink and tears in her eyes.

"What has he done?" Bridget demanded.

"What? Who?" Margaret wailed as she searched her sister's room. "He's gone!"

"What? I can't believe he would?—"

"Mr. Peaches," Margaret cried. "I don't know where he is, Bridget. I shan't be able to rest until I find him again."

It took Bridget a moment to catch up. "Mr. Peaches? Your cat?"

"Yes! What other Mr. Peaches do you know?" Margaret snapped.

Bridget gave her sister a pass, with the wedding approaching and other troubles they had.

"I didn't even know you brought him here," she said.

Margaret continued to search the room as if Bridget might be hiding the cat.

"I kept him in my room because I know Father does not like when Mr. Peaches roams the estate, and he will be back any day now. He was in my room, and I had closed my door, but when I went back in there, he was nowhere to be seen. What am I to do, Bridget?"

Bridget wanted to toss her sister out of her room and let her deal with it, but she could not help but be roped in to assist. She would do anything for her sister, and she knew that Margaret would not be able to concentrate on the wedding preparations while her cat was missing.

"Let's not tell anyone," Bridget began. "We don't need the entire household searching for your cat when there are other things to do. Go to the kitchens and have them give you some fish. Place that in your room to see if it tempts him back, but only for a short while, or it will start to smell. We will both look for him, but only as we do the other things that need to be done. He will return, Margaret. I am sure of it."

Perhaps it was the idea to find him or just having someone to share her problem with, but Margaret calmed down.

"Yes, he will come home, won't he?" she asked with a smile.

"He will. I will make sure of it," Bridget assured her. "Now, go and get some fish, and forget about it for an hour or two. Spend time with Lord Michael and ensure everything is going as planned for the wedding."

"You will join me for that, won't you?" Margaret asked.

"Yes, of course," Bridget said. "As soon as I feel rested."

Margaret nodded and then left the room.

As Bridget lay down on her bed again, she wondered who might knock next. She had fewer problems to deal with when she was out on the estate compared to when she was confined to her room.

She shook her head and smiled when a fourth knock sounded at her door. That smile soon turned into a grimace as the frustration came flooding back.

All I want is some time to myself!

"Well, come in!" she called a little too snarkily.

The door opened, and a flash of panic shot through her when she watched the Duke step into her room.

Bridget scrambled to stand up, and she would have ordered him to leave if she had not been rendered speechless.

"Don't say a word," the Duke ordered. "I have seen people going in and out of your room all day, and I assume you are still embarrassed about what you said to me on the beach. You need not be, but it is understandable. You wish to be alone for a while, and you have not had that here. I have had your horse saddled, and the beast is waiting for you to ride it. If your ankle is feeling up to it, you should take the chance before someone else knocks on your door. I promise you will get to ride alone with no interruptions. Go now and don't look back."

Bridget quickly found her feet, and she rushed toward the door. She was about to pass the Duke when an invisible hand pulled her back. She looked up into his green eyes, seeing strength and resilience in them. She held his gaze for a moment more.

"Thank you," she whispered, before taking off toward the stables.