by Leenie Brown
Rycroft pushed the door to the room open slowly and shivered slightly at the coolness of the air. He held high the candle Mr. Bennet had given him as he looked around the room. He saw her in the corner, curled into a ball in a large chair. Her face was peaceful and her shoulders rose and fell as she breathed slowly and steadily. He placed the candle on the table. It must not have been so dark when she first entered, for a candle sat unlit next to her. “Mary,” he called softly as he shook her shoulder gently. “Mary.”
Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, and she smiled at him before closing them again.
“Mary,” he called again. “You must wake.”
This time, her eyes snapped open. “Oh,” she said as she pulled herself into proper posture. “I did not mean to fall asleep. I only wished a few moments of quiet.”
Rycroft chuckled as she immediately checked her hair. “Not a strand out of place,” he assured.
”How did you find me?” she asked. “Has everyone arrived? What time is it?”
He stilled her hands and did not let them go but kept them within his. “Your father told me I could find you here. I came early, which I know is poor form, so do not lecture me.” He smiled at the scowl she gave him. “It is yet an hour before the others arrive, and an hour and a half before we dine.” He rubbed her fingers with his hands. “Your fingers are so cold. I am surprised you do not catch a chill napping in here.”
“The rest of me is quite warm,” she assured him. “It is only because my fingers were outside of my coverings.” She tried to pull her hands out of his. “We should not be here alone,” she said softly.
“We have permission from your father,” he replied. “Your mother and sisters think I am in your father’s study. We are safe.” He sat back on his heels where he kneeled beside her chair.
“But someone may come looking for me,” she argued.
He shook his head. “Mrs. Darcy will see that they do not.”
“And why is that?” asked Mary.
“I have asked her to see to it.” He shifted trying to make his position more comfortable.
“You have?”
He nodded.
“So, you have purposed to have a private conversation?” Her heart raced slightly at the thought.
He smiled. “I have.” He hoped that the slight widening of her eyes and the faint pink tinge to her cheeks were signs that she would welcome his addresses.
She tipped her head to the side and raised her brow as she smiled at him. “Then, you may wish a chair instead of the floor for comfort.”
“Very true.” He rose from the floor and pulled a chair close. “I am not sure how to begin,” he said as he sat down. “I wish to marry you, you see, but to just say so seems rather direct and not at all the thing.”
Her mouth hung open for a moment before she closed it and gave a small shake of her head. “It is most certainly direct,” she said.
“Yes…well…” He tugged nervously at his cravat. “I cannot say I have ever had this conversation with a lady before. I find I am somewhat at a loss.” He gave her a wry grin. “Not that I did not spend most of the night and a good portion of the morning thinking of what I should say. However, it seems all my well-thought out words have flown from me.” He took her hand. “I knew them until I opened that door and found you sleeping in this chair. You were so charmingly situated, and I thought how privileged I would be to wake with such beauty beside me should you accept me…and they were gone.”
Mary felt her cheeks growing very warm, and she ducked her head.
He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. “I should have written them down, for I am afraid I am likely to offend you if I speak without preparation.”
She giggled. “That bodes ill for marriage if you must always prepare a speech before conversing with your wife.”
He laughed. “I had hoped it might come easier with time and practice.” He drew a deep breath and gave her a determined look. “Very well, I shall attempt to make my heart known to you without causing offense, if you will promise to stay in this room and tell me if I offend so that I might make my apologies immediately.”
“I believe that is a fair arrangement, my lord,” she said with a smile.
He shook his head. “I am afraid you must not smile at me, for it will make it far too difficult to make a coherent speech.” He placed a finger on her brow. “You must definitely not raise that brow for the expression is far too beguiling.” He tipped his head to the side and studied her for a moment. “Perhaps, you should look away.”
She shook her head again and laughed. “I have read the papers, my lord, and was under the impression that you were very capable of talking to ladies.”
His eyes narrowed. “First, my name is Samuel, not my lord. Second, the ladies you mention, whom I was able to charm to some extent, meant very little to me other than a stolen kiss or a brief moment of pleasure.” He looked at his hands which held hers. “It is a life I have left in the past, and a life that was not nearly so debauched as reported.”
Mary squeezed his hands. “I am sorry. I should not tease. I had hoped ─.”
He placed a finger on her lips. “I know, and it did help. Please understand that I do not mind the tease. I just need you to know that the man I was, I am no longer.” He paused as if thinking of something. “I would never do as Blackmoore planned. I do not take a wife lightly. She shall not just be the mother of my children and a companion at soirees. She shall be as much a part of me as the air I breathe and the food I eat. She shall be the very beating of my heart, for I have promised myself I would not marry if I were not completely, utterly in love with the lady.” He lifted her hands to his lips. “I have found that lady, and she is you, Mary Bennet. Would you do me the great honour of being my wife?”
Mary could not help the tears that slid down her cheeks. How could she accept such love when she had so little to give in return? The thought of it broke her heart. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment before returning her gaze to his.
His heart nearly stopped beating when he saw the sadness in her eyes. He expelled a breath as if he had been hit in the stomach. “You do not want me,” he whispered.
Her lip quivered, and she shook her head. “It is not that.” She drew in a ragged breath. “How can I accept when my feelings are unequal to such love?” She sniffled.
He drew a breath. “You do not love me?”
“Not as you love me.” She lowered her eyes as she could not bear the thought of seeing the pain such an admission was sure to bring.
A small spark of hope sprang into his heart at her confession. “But you love me?”
Her shoulders rose and fell in a sad shrug. “I do not know.” She accepted the handkerchief he pressed into her hands and dried her tears. “I had determined I would accept you when I spoke of the possibility with Lizzy, and she assures me that I may indeed love you, but I am unsure. I have…” She was aware that she was babbling, and so she stopped talking and shrugged once more before adding, “I could not knowingly cause you pain or bear your regret.”
“You love me,” he said as he drew her to her feet and into his embrace. “You just need time to recognize it.” He kissed her gently on the forehead. “I will marry you, Mary Bennet, for my heart demands it.” He held her close for another moment before releasing her and moving to the door. “I shall not importune you any further this evening. We shall talk and eat, and no one shall be the wiser. I promise.” And with one last look and a bow, he left her drying her eyes and feeling as if part of her very soul had been torn from her body.
Chapter 11
Mary chose a seat near the window where she could work on her stitching. Mrs. Gardiner and her children sat nearby. Mary smiled as she listened to the lilting voice of her aunt, who was reading a story. The Gardiners had arrived only moments before the group from Netherfield had last night. They should have arrived a day earlier, but there had been an issue with an order, and Mr. Gardiner could not leave with
out attending to it. Mr. Gardiner and her father were tucked cozily in one corner with a deck of cards. Jane sat with her mother going over details for the wedding breakfast while Lydia tried to insert herself into the discussion. Kitty sat next to Mary, a sketch pad on her knees as she drew yet another gown. This one nipped in below the bust as so many did, but it stayed close to the body all the way down to the waist before flaring out.
“I should like to wear that,” said Mary peeking over Kitty’s shoulder. “You should show it to Mrs. Havelston. She may be able to create it.”
Kitty darted a look around the room and then leaned closer to Mary. “I am drawing it for her,” she whispered. “You cannot tell a soul, but she liked some of my drawings. She saw them when I was with Jane, and she purchased two.” She bit her lip. “I have not yet told Papa. Do you think he will be angry?”
“She bought them?” Mary was surprised by the revelation.
Kitty nodded. “She has promised to keep my name a secret, and I have signed them with only a K for Katherine and an M for Marie. I dared not put my last initial.”
Mary agreed that it was wise not to give too many revealing details.
“I know it is not what ladies do,” she whispered. “But Mrs. Havelston was so insistent, and uncle seemed to think Papa would not be angry.”
“If you are discreet, he may be accepting of the arrangement,” said Mary. “But should it become known…”
Kitty bit her lip and nodded. “I know. It may harm my chances of a good match. I shall be careful.” She snapped her book closed as the Netherfield party was announced. She tucked it between the leg of her chair and the wall and took out another that contained drawings of flowers.
Richard crossed the room to take a seat next to Kitty and Mary as he always did on his calls. Mary suspected that it was not only Kitty who enjoyed the other’s company. She smiled at Richard as he took his seat and looked toward the door. She blinked. It was empty.
Richard noticed her look of disappointment. “He has gone to London. He was off early this morning, so he should be there by now.”
“He left?” She blinked against the tears that sprang to her eyes at the thought.
“Do not fear, Miss Mary. He has promised to return and wished for me to ask you to reserve two dances for him.” He pulled a paper from his pocket. “The supper dance and the final dance of the evening.” He showed her the paper where those two dances were listed, and then folded it and returned it to his pocket. “He said he had some pressing business to attend and that something which he needed had been left behind in error.”
“And this will take three days?”
Richard shook his head. “A bit longer since one of the days is the Lord’s Day. That is why he wished to reserve those dances. He was unsure if he would return in time for any of the earlier ones.”
Mary nodded and turned back to her stitching. If only her needle could close the hole that had formed in her heart.
“He thought to leave you a note, but with the rumors about the letters, he chose to leave his message with me.” He glanced at Kitty and his face turned a slight shade of pink. “There was one more thing.”
Mary looked at him expectantly.
“He shall miss you,” he swallowed, “and I am to remind you,” he blew out a breath, “of his love. He said it in a much more flowery fashion, but I told him I refused to say such things to a lady who was not mine.”
Mary bit back a smile as she noted the redness of the colonel’s ears. “Thank you. I can imagine that was not an easy message to deliver.”
He laughed uneasily. “I would rather lose a boxing match,” he mumbled.
“Ah, Miss Mary.” Caroline slipped into the chair that was supposed to have been for Rycroft. “I imagine you are excited to return to town and begin your season.”
“I am.” Mary glanced at Caroline warily. It was not like her to be so friendly. “I am particularly looking forward to returning and seeing Georgiana again.”
“Will she not be returning to her brother’s house?” Caroline’s hand rested dramatically at her heart. To what effect, Mary was uncertain.
“I believe she will, but she is a frequent visitor at Rycroft Place.”
Caroline shook her head as if seriously concerned about something. “I cannot understand how your father will allow you to remain living at Lord Rycroft’s home after…” She gave a little gasp and leaning close, whispered, “It was not Lord Rycroft who wrote the letter, was it?” She sat back and watched Mary’s expression. Seemingly satisfied that she had the right of it, she continued, “To leave his daughter with a man who allowed her to become acquainted with a man who so forward as to write to a lady without an understanding…” She left the thought unfinished and merely shook her head once again. “But, I suppose he is not familiar with how these things go being from the country and all. I am sure he is unaware of Lord Rycroft’s reputation?” She looked at Mary with as much contrived concern as Mary guessed could be mustered. “Oh!” her hand flew once again to her heart as dramatically as it had before. “I was thinking how the news of a refusal could add to your interest, but I am afraid it may also come at a great price.” She leaned close once again. “Gentlemen like to bet on almost everything, and there is said to be books at their clubs where they place bets on who will become betrothed to whom or who will be,” she dropped her voice to a very quiet whisper, “compromised by whom. I should hate to hear it brandished about that your name had been written in such a book.”
“I should not like to hear that myself.” Mary’s hands tightened on the material in her hands. She had not considered what effect news of such a letter might have when she returned to town. She wondered if she would be looked at by the gentlemen as cold or a tease. Neither would be good.
Her discomfort must have been apparent on her face, for Caroline smiled sweetly, if a bit triumphantly, as she added, “I am probably worrying about nothing. Gossip from small towns rarely makes its way into the ton.”
“I am sure you are correct.” Mary nodded her head but doubted very much that Caroline would keep such a story to herself. She forced her hands to relax their grip on her material and breathed a sigh of relief as Louisa called her sister to her side.
“She is hateful,” said Kitty softly. “I should not desire a season if I had to deal with ladies such as her.”
“They are not all so unbearable,” said Richard dryly. “Some are actually pleasant, but few are very interesting.” He sighed. “And I shall soon be expected to select a bride from the lot or accept the one my father selects for me.”
“You are not free to choose where you will?” asked Mary.
“Would that I were, but my father controls my inheritance and will do his best to use it to force me into an advantageous marriage.”
“That is so sad,” said Kitty softly.
He smiled at her. “It is.”
“You have no means to stand up to him?” asked Mary.
“I shall be cut off if I do.” Bitterness coloured his tone.
“Would you be destitute if that were to happen?” Mary tilted her head to the side and studied his face. Worry creased his brow.
“Not destitute but in need of work and with barely enough to support a wife. Not a meager existence but far lower than I would wish.”
“So you would prefer an unhappy existence with plenty?” Mary watched his brows furrow as he considered what she had said. “It would be inconvenient, I suppose, to choose a wife without some means to add to your coffers whether it is to please your father or to ease your life.”
He nodded his agreement. “Very inconvenient,” he muttered.
“You have your wooden designs,” said Kitty. “They are very beautiful. I am confident many would pay to have such items in their homes, so you would not be in need of work.”
He smiled. “Very true.” His eyebrows raised. “And such work would make me happy.”
“A very difficult decision to be sure,” said Mary softly.<
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He nodded again. “Very difficult.”
Mary turned her attention back to her stitching and her own troubled thoughts. She longed for someone with whom to share them. She looked at the empty seat beside her. No, she did not long for someone; she longed for him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Mary closed the door quietly and pulled her shawl tight. She sank into her favourite chair and tucked her feet under her skirts.
“A fire would make it more enjoyable.”
Mary jumped at the voice. She had forgotten there was an entrance to the room from her father’s study. “Papa, you gave me such a fright.”
He shuffled over to the bell pull and gave it a tug. “I have been meaning to enjoy this room, and it would not do for me to sit in here in the cold.”
He took the chair next to her. The one Rycroft had sat in as he proposed.
Mary swiped at a tear that had escaped her eyes. She had spent more time crying in the past two days than she thought she had in her entire life.
“You miss him?” asked her father, who had not missed the tear.
She bit her lip and nodded.
A servant entered and began to lay the fire. Mr. Bennet began a discussion of the weather and then of the service that morning. When the fire was blazing, and the servant had left, he took Mary’s hand. “Speak to me of him. Why did you refuse him?”
She shrugged. “He loves me so much, and I was unsure I could return that love.”
Her father patted her hand. “And are you still unsure?”
She shook her head. “No. When he left so suddenly, I felt as though my heart has been ripped in two. And when Miss Bingley began her campaign to unsettle me…”