Lady Bridget's Diary
Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1
By: Maya Rodale
Releasing February
23, 2016
Avon
Avon
Blurb
In
the first hilarious entry in her brand new series, USA Today bestselling author
Maya Rodale re-invents a love story we all know and cherish.
Lord Darcy is the epitome of perfect
Lord Darcy is the quintessential Englishman:
wealthy, titled, impossibly proper and horrified that a pack of Americans have
inherited one of England’s most respected dukedoms. But his manners, his
infamous self-restraint and better judgment fly out the window when he finds
himself with the maddening American girl next door.
Lady Bridget is the opposite of
perfect
Lady Bridget Cavendish has grand-but
thwarted-plans to become a Perfect Lady and take the haute ton by storm. In her
diary, Bridget records her disastrous attempts to assimilate in London high
society, her adoration of the handsome rogue next door, her loathing of the
Dreadful Lord Darcy and some truly scandalous secrets that could ruin them all.
They cannot stand each other-and yet they
cannot stay away
It was loathing at first sight for Lady
Bridget and Lord Darcy. But their paths keep crossing...and somehow involve
kissing. When Lady Bridget’s diary goes missing, both Darcy and Bridget must
decide what matters most of all-a sterling reputation or a perfectly imperfect
love.
Prologue
Oceans crossed: 1
Sisters who plagued me the entire journey: 2
Brothers who suddenly became a duke: 1
Fearsome duchesses: 1
Lady Bridget’s Diary
London,
1824
Durham
Residence
The
Ballroom
One would think that having one’s brother inherit a dukedom was
a stroke of good fortune that would transform their lives from ho-hum to
utterly fantastic. One would think that until one was on a reducing diet,
stuffed into a tightly laced corset, and forced to practice walking backward.
“Once again, Lady Bridget,” the duchess said crisply.
She was Lady Bridget Cavendish now. Before
she had just been Bridget Cavendish of Duncraven farm in Maryland. But then a
letter had arrived one day, with the unexpected news that James was now a duke
and they were all to leave everything behind and travel to England,
immediately.
“Yes Lady Bridget, once more please,”
Amelia said with a smirk.
“Do shut up, Amelia,” Bridget said, under her breath. Younger
sisters were quite annoying, on any continent.
“It’s ‘Do shut up, Lady Amelia,’” Claire,
the oldest sister, corrected. She found all the formality as ridiculous as the
rest of their family, much to the despair of the duchess.
Somewhere about the massive house—probably in the stables, even
though the duchess made it perfectly clear dukes were above mucking about in
the stables—was her brother, James. Or, as he was now to be known, His Grace,
the Duke of Durham. Dukes had many responsibilities, it seemed, but walking
backward in a gown with an excessively long train was not one of them.
Before her, with sharp blue eyes and perfectly coiffed blond
hair, was Josephine Marie Elizabeth Cavendish, Her Grace, the Duchess of
Durham, widow of the previous duke, and aunt to the Cavendish siblings.
One did not call her Josie. Amelia had asked.
“Remind me why we are learning to do something as ridiculous as
walk backward?” Claire asked. From a young age, she had spent her free hours
devoted to the study of mathematics, otherwise known as Important Work.
Bridget’s head ached just to think about it.
“It is for your presentation at court,” the duchess replied.
“Which is necessary before your debut in society, which you must do in order to
find a husband, which a lady must do, lest she become an impoverished
spinster.”
“What if we do not wish for a husband?” Amelia asked.
“What a silly question,” the duchess replied. “Lady Bridget,
once again.”
At the duchess’s request, Bridget sank into a curtsy. They had
practiced this extensively on Tuesday afternoon. Then, with as much grace as
she could muster, Bridget rose and began to elegantly glide backward. Or so she
tried; feats of grace did not come easily to her (a point upon which their
dancing instructor would absolutely agree). Nothing about being a True Lady
did. Bridget had daydreamt through lessons on the order of precedence amongst
members of the haute ton, how to properly pour a cup of tea, and all the other
lessons on etiquette and deportment they endured morning, noon, and night.
“Now Lady Amelia, it is your turn.”
While the duchess’s attention was focused on her sisters,
Bridget took advantage of her distraction to continue walking backward until
she had crossed the length of the ballroom, then she continued through the
large double doors and halfway down the corridor, at which point she turned,
lifted her skirts, and proceeded to the kitchens. Reducing diet, deportment
lessons, and True Lady-ness be damned.
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