Just before the excerpt from No Other Choice that I am sharing below, Mary was struggling to pick out the patterns she needed to have selected by her appointment time with Mrs. Havelston the following day. Lord Rycroft, Darcy’s cousin, took it upon himself to help her make her selections. Perhaps this gown in similar to one he selected. He did say that green would suit her.
So why didn’t I pair this image with the part right before it? Because I think this one, which does mention the book of patterns and is the first part of chapter four, shows how Lord Rycroft’s opinion of Miss Mary is shifting to something less like a friend and more towards a lady he loves. Not that he is aware of that just yet, and not that she has even stopped to consider him as an option. Perhaps if he could keep from insulting her, it might help?
Enjoy.
“Lord Brownlow and Mr. Blackmoore,” Morledge announced.
Behind him stood two of Rycroft’s good friends.
Rycroft noticed how Miss Mary studied his friends and scowled. His mother’s selected friend-to-see-married looked rather eager to begin her search. He straightened his spine and lifted his chin. These two might be the same age as him and employ his tailor, but neither of them was as tall as he was. In fact, they were both two to three inches shorter than he.
“Brownlow. Blackmoore.” Rycroft greeted them.
“Rycroft.” Lord Brownlow, Rycroft’s friend with sandy hair and sparkling eyes that ladies claimed made him irresistibly charming, extended his greeting first. “We know it is late, but when Blackmoore and I 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. However, 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,” Brownlow said as he and 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 discussing fashion. I am certain my son is happy for the disruption.” She looked at Rycroft and gave a tip of her head toward Mary.
“Yes, I fear I was about to lose,” Rycroft said with a chuckle. “And Miss Bennet is off to the modiste tomorrow, fashion catalogue in hand, so selections had to be made.” He took a seat. “Miss Mary, this is Lord Brownlow and Mr. Blackmoore. Gentlemen, this is Miss Mary Bennet of Hertfordshire. She is my mother’s guest for the season.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Brownlow, Mr. Blackmoore.” Mary smiled and nodded her greeting very properly and without so much as a critical eyebrow twitching. Rycroft scowled once again.
“Bennet?” It was the first word Blackmoore had spoken, and Mary smile grew as though she quite liked the way her name fell from his lips. Rycroft was not so fond of it. Apparently, the promise he had made to Bingley had worked its way into his head a little deeper than he had expected it to and was clouding his vision of his friends.
“Miss Darcy,” Blackmoore continued, “did not your brother marry a Miss Bennet?”
“He did. He married Miss Mary’s sister, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Ah, a sister,” Blackmoore said while nodding his head. “And you are from Hertfordshire?” He turned his attention to Mary.
Rycroft cocked an eyebrow. Had he not just said that?
“I am,” Miss Mary replied, surprising Rycroft with her demure tone and a light blush that graced her cheeks. She was not the first young lady he had seen respond to Blackmoore in such a fashion. He had heard more than one lady describe his friend with deep brown hair and only slightly lighter eyes as dark and dashing. However, Rycroft had not expected Miss Mary to be so affected by Blackmoore, nor was he particularly pleased by it.
“Her father owns the estate that neighbours the one Bingley has leased,” Rycroft explained.
Mr. Blackmoore nodded again. “I hear Bingley has also found a potential bride.”
“Another sister,” Mary said. “My eldest sister, Jane. I also have two more sisters who are younger than I. And no, I do not have a brother. It is what everyone asks,” she added when Blackmoore’s brows rose at her direct reply.
“That is a lot of ladies in one house,” Blackmoore said.
“It is, indeed.”
“And is it only your sister, Mrs. Darcy, who is married?”
“Yes, for now.”
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,” Blackmoore said after the ladies had departed. “That is why your mother has invited her to stay, is it not? Miss Bennet is Lady Sophia’s latest project.”
Rycroft cringed. “That is what I called Miss Mary, but my mother has assured me it is not true. Miss Mary is a friend and companion, not a project. 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. “Surely you did not call Miss Bennet a project in front of Miss Bennet?”
Rycroft shrugged. “I did not know I had, but yes, I did.” He could still hear her gasp and feel her glare of displeasure. And, to be honest, he had deserved her censure.
“Is she a scolding sort of young lady?” Blackmoore asked.
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.”
There was a small gasp from behind him. 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.” He could feel the undertones of embarrassment and pain in 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.
“There is no need to explain, my lord.” She lifted her eyes to him. There was fire in them. Well-deserved fire.
She turned away from him and towards his friends with a smile and a curtsey – all that was proper. “Good night.”
She moved toward the door but stopped just before exiting and turned toward Rycroft. “I never lecture, my lord, unless there is a want of learning.” She curtseyed once again and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Upon my word, Rycroft, always make sure that the door is firmly closed before you vent your spleen. You definitely have “a want of learning”.
Right? And, my lord, if you hear the door open, glance over your shoulder before you continue speaking.
I haven’t read this series in way too long!
I just got my print copies of the new edition of Her Heart’s Choice and am thinking about sitting down with it and reading. LOL