Chapter 12 #2
But that was not possible, and a letter was a poor substitute for her company.
Still, it was what he had, and he committed himself gladly to the task.
He asked after her health and that of her parents, and hoped she was returned to her accustomed vigour of spirit.
He then recounted his sea voyage home, writing briefly of some of the people he had met on the ship and of any interesting events that he thought might amuse her.
He wrote to her of the dinner his mother had just this evening thrown in honour of his return, and of his pleasure at seeing his cousin again.
But as much as I take joy in the company of my relations, my contentment in the evening was not complete because you, my dear friend, were not there.
One day, perhaps, you will once more be in London, when I hope to have the pleasure of inviting you to dine, when you might finally make the acquaintance of those about whom I have told you so much. ..
He finished his letter and sealed the envelope with a spot of red wax and his signet ring, then wrote the direction in a careful hand.
It would go out the very next morning. He knew not to expect a reply for a great many weeks, but knowing that the correspondence had begun gave him some sort of satisfaction, the knowledge that the connection had been set into motion.
And at last, with a full belly and sense of a duty well done, he found his comfortable bed and drifted off to sleep.
Now that he was home, the next days took on a sort of routine.
Richard’s mother took it upon herself to reintroduce her prodigal son into society and set about her task with vigour.
Invitations were sent out to all those deemed suitable acquaintances, and one dinner party after the next was held in Richard’s honour.
On those evenings when his mother was not hosting guests, she contrived to receive some invitation or another to the most desirable social events.
How this all occurred so quickly, and with such success, Richard never did learn.
If women were allowed to be in the military, Lady Matlock would make a most formidable general!
But success she had, and Richard was paraded around to dinners, balls, soirées, and musicales, the newly minted colonel and the item of everybody’s curiosity.
He spoke once and again about his time in Bermuda.
He described the physical beauty of the island with increasingly poetic language, and recounted tales of his time there.
He told of the vicious reefs that surrounded the isles and that had sent so many ships to their ends, and of the serpentine route the fort’s steamer had to take to traverse the sound between the Dockyard and Hamilton, of the men with whom he had served, and of Colonel Barrow and his family.
Not once did he mention Emily by name, or tell of the terrible attack upon her person on that last night, nor did he mention the failed court martial against Major Weekes.
These were intimate matters that pertained only to those so close to him and were not for the ears of the ton.
Instead, he found refuge in his naturally gregarious nature, and even when his heart bled for what his friend had suffered, he affected his accustomed good nature and hearty laugh, and no one suspected a thing.
And so it was that he entertained dukes and earls and barons and the wealthiest of the gentry with his gift for storytelling and bonhomie.
But these esteemed men were not the only ones at the gatherings his mother arranged.
They arrived in splendour, with their wives and daughters with them, and never had Richard seen so many men accompanied by so many young ladies of great fortune and marriageable age.
If he did not know better, he would think that his mother had arranged her guest lists to include only those who had a suitable selection of offspring.
“I see your plan, Mother,” he sighed at breakfast one morning, about ten days after his return.
“I have never met so many debutantes in my life. Please desist, for I have no intention of marrying.” He had taken his coffee and a selection of fresh rolls with jam, a welcome change after the fish that confronted him every morning in Bermuda.
His mother tutted under her breath as she shook her carefully coiffed head.
“Do get me another cup of tea, dear. Good lad. You say this now, but you have only just returned. You will take up your new post soon, and that will keep you occupied for a time, but for how long? At some point you must marry. If nothing else, you must find a wealthy bride for her dowry, for once you retire from the military, you will have nothing else to live on.”
Richard stopped stirring the sugar into his mother’s tea. “Mother, you cannot speak like this!”
“But it is true, dear. I know how this all works. Arthur will inherit everything, and you will be left with nothing, save that little cottage that is not large enough for one man, let alone a family. It is true that your father has set aside what he can for you, but maintaining the estate is expensive, and there is little left, especially after putting aside a dowry for your sister. This is no news; you have been aware of this all your life. I do not understand why it should be a surprise now.”
“Not a surprise, Mother. A nasty reminder. If I remain at my commission for life, I shall always have an income. This is what I propose. I am accustomed to military life, and I really rather like it.”
The countess took her tea and added one more spoon of sugar to it. “Nonsense, Richard. You cannot always be a soldier. There will come a time when you have no more taste for war or bloodshed—”
“Which I have never encountered, thanks to Father’s constant interference in my career! I feel like a child on leading strings!”
His mother sighed deeply. How long had she practised this ploy, to evince the most possible guilt at wishing for something other?
“Your father loves you and wishes you to be safe.” She took a roll from the platter and tore it in half before applying a liberal spread of butter and a dollop of preserved strawberries on each half.
“At some point, you will tire of training young recruits and living in tents and will wish for a more settled life. The sort of life that a wife and family can give you. And what will you live on, if not her wealth? No, there is no point protesting, for it must be done. Now, about tonight’s dinner at the duke’s house… ”
“Please send my regrets.” Richard took a sip of the coffee he had prepared for himself, but it tasted too bitter, even for him. “I have had enough of being paraded about like some exotic pet.”
“Now, now,” his mother cajoled, “you must attend and be seen. The Earl of Oswey will be in attendance with his family, and his daughter is said to have a dowry of forty thousand pounds.”
“And if I do not like her?” The table groaned with food, but Richard had lost all his appetite.
“At some point you must marry, and when better to meet your bride but now? You have been away for a long time, Richard, and I cannot imagine you had much quality female companionship during your posting.”
He did not answer, other than to reiterate his refusal to attend yet another society event. “Excuse me, Mother. I find I am no longer hungry.”
No, he would never find any female companionship as perfectly suited to him as his dear friend Emily Barrow.
There was no point even trying. No debutante, no matter how beautiful or accomplished or wealthy, could ever measure up to Emily’s character.
What use had he for a silly, tittering child who had seen little of the world and who cared only for balls and gossip?
He wanted mature wit, plain good sense, and a sense of contentment that drowned out every other sentiment.
He would, at some point, finally disabuse his mother of any notion that he would take a wife, but for now it was sufficient to beg off the endless procession through the drawing rooms and salons of the Ton.