Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

If last night was a gust of wind flying her magic carpet to Rosings Park, this morning was a typhoon. An early breakfast, eaten before sunrise, was interrupted by the announcement that her hair was irredeemable. Too thick, too wavy, and too dry. With her last bite of toast still in her mouth, Mary was ushered away for Lady Catherine's solution.

The hairdresser, who appeared to have been rousted from a sound sleep, surveyed Mary's hair from all angles and agreed with Lady Catherine's assessment. Several minutes later, after much tsk-tsking by the hairdresser and the click-clack of her scissors, piles of mousy-brown hair lay at Mary's feet. She'd been given the coiffure à la victime , a short bob of waves and curls framing her face. A style she admired but would never have dared to try. She loved it.

Next came gown measurements. Her future in-laws, who still hadn't been named, were funding a new wardrobe. None of which would be ready until after her hasty marriage. For immediate use were used gowns from her future in-laws and Lady Catherine's daughter Anne, which were gathered up in a heap for retailoring. Every style, color, fabric, and trim were to be chosen by Lady Catherine .

After all the measuring, poking, prodding, and general insults to her body, Mary was allowed an hour to sharpen her artistic skills and sent out to sketch the most beautiful tree at Rosings Park. It was Anne's companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, who hinted at where the tree might be found.

While late, she was right where she was promised to be. While he'd never trusted either Lady Catherine or her daughter Anne, Mrs. Jenkinson was the angel he needed right now.

It was his mother's good sense to employ the woman's sister in their household always to have an ear in Rosings. Redmond Naismith, the third son of Lord Herbert Naismith, the sixth Baron Naismith, took a long look at his future bride. She was utterly unremarkable.

He'd been forbidden to meet her before the wedding but was never good at following rules. How she reacted to his presence would be a true test of her constitution. His greatest hope was that she'd not run screaming back to Lady Catherine.

He had but an hour to explain his circumstance and win her confidence. She was supposedly quiet and bookish. What had they told her about him? That he was a fool who thought with his cock rather than his brain? That he almost single-handedly ruined his younger sisters' chance at decent marriages and doomed them to miserable spinsterhood? Hopefully not.

But, how to approach her without scaring her? Quietly at first, but building in volume as he walked closer, Redmond began to sing the first song that popped into his head. She didn't turn her head until he came to the chorus, " John Barleycorn must die ."

"You're not supposed to be here." She shifted where she sat on the ground with her sketching pad but did not run.

"A pleasant day to you, Miss Bennet," he said with a bow. "I'm your fiancé, Redmond Naismith." Much relieved she was still sitting there and not screaming, he dared to take a seat on the blanket next to her.

"Your voice is, um, nice."

"Your sketch is… honestly, I can't even lie, mostly atrocious. Here," he said, reaching out for her sketch pad and charcoal. "Allow me to draw the tree for you while we talk. No one need be the wiser."

"Did you come for an inspection? Shall I stand and turn in a circle? Want to see my teeth?"

"I've seen all I need to see. There's no need to perform for me. I'd prefer you to be your true self. I shall do the same. It's the only way this is going to work." And it had to work. He'd be given no other chances.

"Then tell me, why have you agreed to this madness?"

"I did a foolish thing and brought shame to my family. I'm willing to atone." He answered with as little explanation as possible. It was a bad dream he didn't care to revisit.

"So I'm nothing more than your hair shirt?"

"Miss Bennet, you're not a punishment, you're a blessing." As he spoke, he crumbled up her sketch into a tight ball of paper. "See this," he said as he smoothed the paper back out. "The paper is intact, but it isn't quite the same, is it?"

She took the paper and smoothed it out on her lap, but the wrinkles were still visible.

"My family," he said, pointing to the paper, "will now only ever see me as this; the same but not. Made whole but never redeemed. Because of what I've done, my parents will always see the wrinkled paper."

"I… understand," she replied. "I've never seen a truer analogy. When I was younger, I attempted to distinguish myself from my sisters by spouting obscure knowledge or pious verse at the most inopportune moments. It's the only way they will ever see me now."

"Oh, dear," he said, trying to sound serious. "You were a prig."

"I was. Stop laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing at you!" He grabbed the charcoal and started a new drawing on fresh paper. "I'm smiling because I think you truly understand my situation. Most people won't."

"As a full confession, I've also been told I should never sing in public. My musicality made the wrong sort of impression."

"I promise never to force you to sing."

"I used to enjoy it until I was rudely reminded I wasn't very accomplished at it."

"What a shame," he shook his head. "I'm a horrible singer if you didn't notice. My mouth can't seem to decide whether I'm a tenor or a baritone. Oddly, no one has ever stopped me."

"Because you're a man."

"Flattered you noticed."

"Do you truly not mind a forced wedding?" she asked quietly while averting her gaze.

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"And third and fourth thoughts. Everything is happening so quickly."

"Will you beg off before Sunday?" He meant to be charming today, to sweep her off her feet and convince her to go through with the marriage. There was no time for failure.

"No. I don't think so," she said, turning to face him once again.

"Why did you agree to it?" Redmond, through his sisters, was well aware of the treacherous sport of husband hunting. Perhaps, to Miss Bennet, the offer was a relief to be excused from the competition. Despite having a titled father, as a third son, Redmond knew he wasn't at the top of any mother's list of eligibles.

"On the morning Lady Catherine recruited me, I was at home wishing for a magic flying carpet to whisk me away."

"To where?"

"Anywhere. A fresh start."

"I have the mad notion you and I will get on spectacularly. I'm only a third son. I can afford to live only by the good graces of my father and older brothers. The same people who will always see me as ruined. I feel no calling to the church. I get seasick and I can't even shoot a grouse, which would make the navy or army a bit tricky. A fresh start is exactly what I seek."

"Where?"

"I'm still making the plans. I'll know for certain in a day or two." Judging from her expression, she was curious but wasn't about to demand an answer he didn't have. "I beg you to not breathe a word to anyone that we've spoken."

"There is no one I might speak to. I have no champions at Rosings, no confidant."

What he was about to propose was risky but worth the chance for another conversation with the intriguing Mary Bennet. She wasn't at all what he expected. She was far from a society diamond and, yet, oddly compelling in personality. Her wide brown eyes could pierce a soul with their intensity. A curl or two of light brown hair peeking out from under her bonnet hinted at soft curls. The kind he'd love to run his hand through. Plain of face to be sure but, there was something more to her. Something clever and kind behind her eyes. When she said she understood his pain, he believed her.

"Do you know the small reading room next to the library? There's a French window leading to the rose garden. Be there tomorrow night at about 11:00. Let no one see you. When you get there, light a single candle so I can find you. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can, but why should I take the risk?"

"There's something I need to tell you before the wedding. I'll be more certain of it tomorrow. You deserve to know before the wedding." They were taking a risk. Lady Catherine, like his mother, entertained the belief she was in control of everything. But, no, Mary deserved to know his plans for their future.

Once recovered from the heady rush of lust, Redmond finally saw how reckless and foolish he'd been. He'd acted the ass and almost let the situation go too far. Only now could he think back and recognize the danger.

"You're deep in your thoughts. Afraid I'll change my mind?" Mary asked .

"A little, yes." He had to convince her; it was too late to start over with someone new. His family would never let him forget it. "Here," he said, handing back her sketch pad with his completed drawing as he stood. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night."

"Thank you." She took the offered drawing and smiled. "Yours is much better than mine." When he held out his hand to help her up, she took it.

"For what it's worth," he said before pressing his lips against her cheek. "I like you, and I think we're going to get on just fine." Her cheek was warm and soft, and her hair smelled of verbena. Kissing her again would be no hardship. Maybe his mad plan would work after all.

"I am hopeful," she replied, her face flushing a deep red.

Her cheeks pinked up so prettily. Was he her first kiss? It didn't matter, but the thought bolstered his ego. Whether or not the first, he'd be the last and only man to kiss her if they made it through Sunday.