by Leenie Brown
“A little.”
He tilted his head to the side and raised a brow. “Georgie, we will have to improve that. All proper ladies must know how to ride.” He flipped a few pages and scrutinized a few patterns before placing his finger on a picture. “That. In…” He studied her with eyes narrowed for a moment. “Green,” he said at last. “Yes, a dark green. It will set off the auburn tones in your hair.”
Mary looked at the book. The patterns he had chosen were very similar to what she might have chosen herself, although, they were a bit more daring than she would have considered. She smiled as she closed the book. She was in town to find a husband and to experience the freedom of not being pushed about by her mother and called upon to serve her younger sisters. She was not here to be the same old Mary, sitting by the wall and hidden in the background. No, she was here to see and be seen. The idea both thrilled and terrified her. But she was determined to be successful. She would not leave this season without a husband, or at least a glorious tale to tell to her nieces when she reached her spinsterhood.
She picked up her cards and arranged them in her hand. “You have a very keen eye for ladies’ fashion.”
Georgiana giggled. “He has a keen eye for ladies,” she whispered.
Rycroft’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curved downward in a scowl. A most intimidating look thought Mary.
“I appreciate beauty and have an eye for quality.” He lay his cards down on the table.
“It is not the quality ladies I worry about,” said Lady Sophia.
A small hint of colour crept up Rycroft’s neck, but he attempted to give her his most reassuring smile. “I am not the same man, Mother.”
Lady Sophia patted his hand and smiled at him. “Time will tell, my son. Not that I doubt your resolve, but I do know the temptations.”
He closed his eyes. Temptations were not something he wished to discuss with his mother, and definitely not with his cousin and Miss Mary. In fact, he had promised himself that he would avoid as many of the temptations that had led to his self-imposed exile as he could.
“I believe it is your turn, Georgiana,” said Mary. She gave Rycroft a little smile when he peeked at her.
“Thank you,” he mouthed, and she gave him a slight nod of her head in acknowledgement. To be honest, the fact that she had helped him avoid an embarrassing situation instead of taking the time to lecture him about his behaviour surprised him. But then, she was not from town, so perhaps she had not heard of the scandal.
Mary watched the play circle the table and come back to her. She was not sure why she had provided a way for Lord Rycroft to avoid the lecture she was sure his mother was about to give him, one she was certain he deserved. Perhaps it was because she knew what it was to have a mother embarrass her with a scolding remark. She played her turn. Perhaps it was because she felt she owed him a favour, having just been saved the task of making a decision about fashion. She did not mind speaking of fashion or admiring it, but she had very little knowledge on how to dress herself to advantage. Or, she sighed, perhaps it was because she had determined in the carriage ride from Hertfordshire that she would give him a chance to improve in her judgment.
“Lord Brownlow and Mr. Blackmoore to see you, sir,” Morledge stood at the door.
“At this hour?” Rycroft placed his cards face down on the table.
“It appears so, sir.” There was a hint of disapproval in the austere butler’s tone.
“Very well. I suppose it would be the height of rudeness to send them away.” One of his eyebrows rose, and his lips curled into a small smirk as he contemplated sending them away.
“If you are certain, sir.” Morledge held his place.
“Yes, yes, show them in. I shall scold them for their inappropriate calling time or my mother shall.” He winked at Mary. “Unless, of course, Miss Bennet, you would care to do the service.”
Mary narrowed her eyes, and then that one eyebrow on the left rose a slight bit. “I am sure that is not how a lady makes a good first impression.”
“Especially when the gentlemen are of the marriageable sort and very eligible, my dear. Brownlow has a title, but Blackmoore is not without his advantages. Quite plump in the pocket, they say.” Lady Sophia gathered the cards and stacked them. “Georgiana, ring for tea. We will put on a good show.”
“Mother,” cautioned Rycroft, “they have come to see me, not Miss Mary.”
“Of course, they are here for you and not Miss Mary. How can they be here for someone they have not met?” She smiled sweetly, but he knew that look. Perhaps he should be pitying Miss Mary more than himself for having to endure a season of his mother’s scheming and matchmaking.
“Lord Brownlow and Mr. Blackmoore,” Morledge announced.
Mary studied the men who entered. They seemed to be about the same age as Lord Rycroft and dressed in the current fashions just as he did. Neither was overly tall. In fact, she bit her lip for a moment and looked at Rycroft; they were both several inches shorter than he.
“Brownlow. Blackmoore.” Rycroft greeted them.
“Rycroft,” said the gentleman with the sandy hair and sparkling eyes, the one Mary thought looked very jovial. “We know it is late, but when we did not see you at our club this evening, we thought we should come here to welcome you back. It has been an age since we last saw you.” Then, as if recognizing for the first time that there were others in the room, he bowed. “Lady Sophia, I trust you and Miss Darcy are well.”
“We are quite well, Lord Brownlow. I thank you.” She motioned toward some seats. “Please do sit down. I have sent for tea.” She cocked her head slightly and gave them a smile. “Although I suspect, if you have been at your club all evening, you would do better with some coffee, but it is too late; the tea has been called, and we must make do.” She raised a brow. “One must never waste tea. It is much too precious.”
“Indeed, my lady,” he said as he and Mr. Blackmoore each took a seat. “We had not intended to intrude on your evening, of course.” He glanced at Miss Mary, who was sitting quietly observing the conversation.
“It is a pleasant intrusion. We were merely playing cards and speaking of fashion. I am certain my son is happy for the interruption.” She looked at Rycroft and gave a tip of her head toward Mary.
“Yes, Miss Bennet is off to the modiste tomorrow, fashion catalogue in hand.” He took a seat. “Miss Mary, this is Lord Brownlow,” he motioned to the sandy-haired gentleman, “and Mr. Blackmoore,” he motioned to the other gentleman. “Gentlemen, this is Miss Bennet of Hertfordshire. She is a guest of my mother for the season.”
Chocolate. That was the colour of the other gentleman’s hair. It was a lovely shade of chocolate that had been whisked with just a small amount of cream. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Brownlow, Mr. Blackmoore.” Mary smiled and nodded her greeting.
“Bennet?” It was the first word Mr. Blackmoore had spoken, and Mary quite liked the way her name fell from his lips. “Miss Darcy, did not your brother marry a Miss Bennet?”
“He did. He married Miss Mary’s sister, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Ah, a sister,” said Mr. Blackmoore nodding his head. “And you are from Hertfordshire?” He turned his lovely brown eyes toward Mary.
“I am.”
Rycroft was surprised by her demure tone and the slight blush that graced her cheeks. She was not the first young lady he had seen respond to Blackmoore in such a fashion, but he had not expected it of her, nor was he particularly pleased by it. “Her father owns the estate that neighbours the one Bingley has leased.”
Mr. Blackmoore nodded again. “I hear Bingley has also found a potential bride.”
“Another sister,” said Mary. “My eldest sister, Jane. I have two who are younger than I as well. And no, I do not have a brother.” It was what everyone asked and usually in a tone that spoke of their disapproval of such a thing as having so many girls and only girls.
Thankfully, at least to Rycroft, the tea arrived at that moment, and
the subject of sisters and brides was forgotten, as talk turned toward the weather and the happenings in town. And when a proper amount of time had passed, and their teacups were empty, his mother, bless her, stood and excused herself as well as Miss Mary and Georgiana, citing Mary’s early appointment with the modiste and the return of Georgiana’s companion and the continuation of her lessons.
“She will take well,” said Blackmoore after the ladies had departed. “That is why your mother has invited her to stay? Miss Bennet is her latest project.”
Rycroft cringed. “That is what I called it, but my mother has assured me it is not. And I advise you not to use that term within her hearing.”
Brownlow laughed. “She scolded you, did she?”
“Not as thoroughly as Miss Bennet did.”
Brownlow’s laughter increased. “You did not say that in front of Miss Bennet?”
Rycroft shrugged. “I did not know I had, but yes, I did.”
“So she is a scolding sort of young lady?” asked Blackmoore.
Rycroft shook his head. “Not if you speak to Georgiana or Bingley or my mother or Darcy or, apparently, anyone but me. To them, Miss Mary is all sweetness, if a bit too serious, but to me she is more of a governess. I have been on the receiving end of more than one lecture.” He closed his eyes and grimaced as he realized that the door had not opened to allow entrance to a servant to gather the tea tray. Turning, he saw Mary standing near the card table, the book of fashions in hand. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were looking at the floor.
“I am sorry for the intrusion, my lord.” She tried to keep the embarrassment and pain out of her voice. “I forgot my book, and your mother insisted that I return to get it.”
“Very good,” said Rycroft. “I….we….” He sought to find the right words to explain what she might have heard.
“No need to explain, my lord.” She lifted her eyes and, with a small smile, curtseyed to the gentlemen. “Good night.” She moved toward the door but stopped just before exiting and turned toward Rycroft. “I never lecture unless there is a want of learning.” She curtseyed once again and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
She clasped the book tightly against her chest and took a few deep breaths. Then, having gained control of her emotions, she headed toward her room. Her resolve to give him that second chance crumbled with every step she took. Her anger at having been the subject of conversation, and in such a light, grew. By the time she had reached her room, her emotions were no longer under regulation, but the hurt she had felt at his words had been replaced by anger.
“Are you well?” Georgiana sat on Mary’s bed, waiting for her.
Mary placed the book on the bed and closed the door. “No. Your cousin is a dolt.” Mary flopped on the bed. “He was telling his friends that I am given to lecturing him.” She sat up. “How shall I find a husband if he is labeling me a shrew? I would have a better chance of finding a husband with my mother standing about pointing out my sisters’ accomplishments and my lack of them.” She flopped back on the bed again.
Georgiana flipped open the book and began paging through it. She was unsure what to say to Mary. “He selected some very nice gowns.”
Mary covered her face with her hands. “I cannot wear them.”
Georgiana’s brows drew together in confusion. “Why ever not? They are lovely and would complement you very well.”
“But to wear what he selected? I will be constantly reminded of what he thinks of me.”
“I apologize, Miss Mary, but I do not see how the two things are connected.” She pursed her lips as she thought.
Mary uncovered her face. “I suppose you are right. They really are not related except for the fact that what he said was said by him and they were chosen by him.”
“So, my cousin is the connection?” She looked at Mary, who nodded.
“But could you not use that connection to prove him wrong?” Mary lifted onto her elbows, interested to hear what Georgiana had to say. “What if you wore them and were the most unshrew-like lady ever? Would that not just prove to him that he may have known what would look best on you, but he knew nothing of who you were beneath the dress? You shall wear the dresses he chose and charm all the gentlemen with your sweetness, and Samuel will have to admit he was entirely wrong about you, which he is, of course. Men are not the brightest of creatures, you know. At least that is what Aunt Sophia says.”
“That is simply brilliant!” Mary sat up and pulled the book closer, so that both she and Georgiana could look at the pages. “This one is very lovely.”
“And you shall be the bell of the ball in it.” Georgiana lowered her voice.
“Do you think Mr. Blackmoore will ask for a dance? He is very dashing, is he not?”
Mary sighed. “Very.”
“Oh,” Georgiana’s hand covered her mouth, and her eyes sparkled. “That would be the very best way to prove my cousin wrong! You must convince his friends that he is wrong.” She clapped her hands in excitement. “I so wish I could go to all the soirees with you. It is going to be so much fun.”
Mary laughed. “I believe you are right, Georgiana. This could be a very entertaining project.”
Chapter 3
Lord Rycroft rubbed his neck and then stretched. He had been bent over his account books for far too long. He needed a distraction. The letters and numbers were beginning to jumble themselves together. He pushed the account books away and stored his pen. Perhaps stretching his legs would be beneficial. The rain that beat against the window told him that his ramble would have to be confined to the house, and so he followed the notes of a lovely song to the music room, planning to slip into the room and sit quietly at the back while Georgiana practised. He was at the door with his hand on the handle when the voices from inside made him pause.
“No, no,” said a strict voice. “The right foot, not the left one. Again. Watch Miss Bennet.” The music began once again, and Rycroft pushed the door open just a bit to see Mary and Georgiana standing up to dance with each other.
“You know they could progress much more quickly if they had proper partners,” Lady Sophia whispered behind him causing him to jump and rattle the door.
“There is only one of me and two of them,” he retorted.
“The dancing master is another,” she pushed the door open and held it while she waited for him to enter. “It will not do you any harm to polish your steps before you begin your quest to dance your way into some young lady’s heart.”
He sighed. The music had stopped and the occupants of the room were not waiting patiently. They each wore a differing amount of irritation on their faces. He stepped across the threshold as Lady Sophia announced that he was there to be of assistance.
The dancing master gave his an appraising look. “Do you dance well?” he queried.
“I would like to think I do,” replied Rycroft.
“A cotillion?”
“Of course.”
“Very well,” said the instructor with one last appraising look. “Stand up opposite Miss Bennet. I shall stand with Miss Darcy. She is struggling to know her left foot from her right foot at the moment, but Miss Bennet only wants practice to refine her steps.” He bestowed a nod and a smile on Mary.
“You dance well?” asked Rycroft as he took his place across from Mary and bowed.
“I would like to think I do.” She curtseyed, looking very much like she wished to laugh at her repetition of his answer.
She had not scolded him once today. She had not even glared at him once today. He had been sure there would be some repercussions for his blunder last night. Truth be told, he would have felt better if she had scolded him. As it was, he was left feeling as foolish as he had last evening and a bit nervous not knowing exactly if she would at some moment feel the need to chastise him. She looked expectantly to the musician seated at the piano.
“So you like to dance?” Rycroft asked, feeling he need to fill the void. Moreover, if he could get her
to speak to him, perhaps he would soon be given the reprimand he deserved and the gnawing of his conscience would subside.
She smiled at him, an eyebrow raised a bit in amusement. “I do,” was all she said.
“Do you dance often?” He attempted again.
She bit the side of her mouth to keep from giggling. “Not so often as I would like.” She looked once again at the musician who had just finished spreading her music on the instrument, preparing for the dance the instructor had requested. She was determined to avoid Lord Rycroft’s presence as much as she was able, but if it was not possible to avoid him, and she knew complete avoidance would be impossible, she had determined to speak to him as little as possible. If she did not speak, she could not lecture, and if she did not observe him, there would be nothing about which to lecture. And so she kept her eyes averted to the piano.
He tipped his head to the side. “I see what you are at.”
She fluttered her eyes and smiled sweetly at him. “I assure you I am at nothing.”
“You are angry, and so you refuse to speak to me.”
“I am sure I have not refused to speak. I believe I have answered all your questions.” The music began, and she took his hand and curtseyed as he bowed before taking Georgiana’s hand and beginning to circle.
When she had crossed over and back toward him, he said, “But your answers have been abrupt, and you seem adverse to conversation.”
She crossed over and back to him. “My answers were concise, for I am intent upon my lesson. Now, if you would be so kind as to allow me to concentrate on my steps and the music…” She gave a small nod of her head as if thanking him for his compliance as they parted and came back together again.
He continued progressing through the steps in silence, his stiff muscles relaxing and the activity bringing alertness to his mind. As he danced, he watched Mary. Her steps were precise and soft; her movements were graceful; and if he was not mistaken, he heard her softly humming the tune. The joy on her face gave further evidence that she did indeed enjoy dancing while her skills told him that she had danced often. It was a delightful picture, one that brought a smile to his lips. Soon the music slowed and came to an end.
