Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
THE NEW COLONEL
Soon enough his days of leisure came to an end, and Richard was obliged to take up his command.
He came into his promotion and accepted with pride and pleasure his accoutrements for his uniform due to a colonel.
It was with relief on his part and disappointment on his mother’s that he secured his bicorn upon his sandy head and departed for the camp without having selected a bride.
His work soon overtook his waking hours.
He was responsible for the command and training of a cohort of new recruits, as green as the salad served at his mother’s dinner table.
This consumed a great deal of his time, especially so since his subordinates, who were the ones actively involved in the training, were still becoming accustomed to his leadership.
The bulk of his time was spent at administrative tasks.
The amount of paper I see each day, he wrote to his cousin Darcy, would form a stack tall enough to top the dome at St Paul’s!
He had expected a great deal of work to be done at his desk, but the sheer quantity was staggering.
Nevertheless, his officers were a hard-working and obliging crew, and the recruits, while completely untried, were eager and ready to learn, and the work was not disagreeable.
What a great difference from what I knew in Bermuda.
Whilst I must hold myself aloof from the men, so as to preserve the lines of authority, I have found camaraderie amongst the officers closer to my own rank.
The officers’ mess is generally a pleasant place to sit after the day’s work is complete, with none of the strife and divided sentiments that I felt in my previous posting.
The ale is good and the food palatable, which contribute to convivial gatherings.
Moreover, we work closely with another regiment and will engage in some joint training exercises, and in that regiment, I have found a man of good sense in their own colonel, a certain Nathaniel Ackley, whom I knew from school.
In those few moments when he was not otherwise busy, he took advantage of an early thaw in the weather to explore the vicinity around the camp.
He had reclaimed his favourite horse from his father’s stables, where the beast had been sheltered whilst he was overseas, and the two renewed their association as they travelled across the hills and fields near the camp.
The fields were muddy and slick, but the laneways were clear, perfect for a man in a warm coat to take the air on horseback.
The break from standing in the drilling fields and sitting at his desk was a balm for Richard’s psyche.
He was a vigorous man who enjoyed being outside; no matter how he had been bred for the drawing room and salon, he found a sort of refuge in the grandeur of nature.
That the countryside was beautiful was also in his favour. Even in the cold grey hues of winter, the gentle swell of the land had great appeal, and as he rode, Richard found himself wondering what Emily would think of it.
Would she admire the rolling hills and the tracing of hedgerows that covered the land like a delicate lattice?
Would she find beauty in the bare trees and the way the brooks and rivulets wended their way through the barren fields?
Would the land cry out to her that she was home?
Or would she find it cold and frightening, too foreign after her time in evergreen Bermuda, with its emerald crags and heart-breakingly turquoise waters?
She had been born in England, to be sure, with its damp climate and constant drizzle, but for all the time she had spent in Bermuda with her father, would that distant isle not be home for her now?
Surely, she would never wish to return to these damp shores, even after her father’s tenure at the Dockyard finally ended.
There was enough society in Hamilton that she might find a home there.
He knew not exactly what her small portion was, other than that it was sufficient for her to live in comfort, if not luxury.
Surely it would be enough for her to take a cottage in Hamilton and have an easy life.
The thought distressed him for some reason, and he turned his mind back to the countryside and the fine animal he rode.
It was just over a week since he had taken up his new commission, when he returned to his rooms in the barracks after one such ride to find a letter awaiting him.
Darcy! His cousin had returned to his estate in Derbyshire shortly after that evening in Darcy’s study, where his cousin had confessed his feelings for this unnamed country girl, and the two had not met since. This was a welcome missive indeed.
There were the usual salutations, the expected inquiries after his health and that of his family still in London. Then his cousin turned to more interesting matters.
Derbyshire, Darcy wrote, was much as it always was in winter.
The thaw that had cracked the ice around London had not penetrated so far north.
The land was brown and barren where not covered in a blanket of snow, and there was no activity upon the land.
The ponds, however, were frozen, and many local children had taken to strapping blades upon their feet for ice skating.
Georgiana, Darcy continued, had done likewise.
My sister has always been of an active temperament, and not even the cold of winter can keep her inside.
I bought her a new pair of ice skates for Christmas, and she has been out on the pond every day that the weather permits.
Mrs Annesley is less enamoured of the cold than is my sister and does not skate, but she adopts a cheerful attitude and wraps herself in furs and sits surrounded by hot bricks to watch as Georgie skates.
We have been keeping quiet at Pemberley; we had several invitations from our neighbours, and for Georgie’s sake I accepted only a few of those from our closest acquaintances.
For the most part, we have remained in our own warm home, safe from the winds that blow so sharp and the snows that can come at any time.
If you were not so engaged with your new post, I would invite you to join us.
Our fires are warm and our larders well stocked, and we are most satisfied.
I know Georgie would love to see you again.
It has been far too long. Perhaps, after we visit Aunt Catherine at Easter, you might take some time to come up to Derbyshire to see her before returning to your post.
To that end, I shall write soon once I have conferred with our aunt about when, exactly, she commands our presence.
Richard groaned. Aunt Catherine! She was, ultimately, the reason he was back in England.
It was her order, after all, that had spurred his father to have him summoned home.
Every year his aunt commanded him and Darcy to Rosings, her grand estate in Kent, to oversee the accounts, and every year Richard wondered why he obeyed.
Indeed, the years that he had been in Bermuda were the first since he reached his majority that he had not harkened to her summons.
At first, Richard had felt proud of the invitation, a testimony to his manly abilities to manage a large estate and oversee its accounts and had gladly taken his role.
But of late his sentiments had changed. Aunt Catherine did not, in truth, need his or Darcy’s guidance.
She was a formidable woman who would allow nothing untoward to occur at her precious Rosings, and the estate had a most competent man as its steward.
He had never found a single line item that had caused an eyebrow to twitch, and his time at Rosings was spent more in dancing attendance upon his aunt and cousin than in any managerial capacity.
No, it was far more likely that his aunt had other objects in mind.
He let out a groan at the thought of her schemes.
Indeed, the lady was far less subtle than his own mother and lacked all the countess’ elegance and tact.
She had insisted, as far back as Richard could recall, that her daughter Anne should marry none other than Darcy—that they were destined to do so.
She had even imagined a sort of engagement between them.
Anne was, after all, named for Darcy’s mother—Lady Catherine’s late sister—and therefore the union was all but assured.
Darcy and Anne, however, were of a different opinion, neither wishing to wed the other.
Darcy had almost refused to attend at Rosings these last several years.
But he had been raised with the weight of obligation on his shoulders and seemed incapable of shirking his familial duties.
And, of course, Aunt Catherine would not be denied.
The lady was determined that the union should take place, and nothing would convince her otherwise.
Why Richard was included in the summons each Easter was less certain.
He did not possess Darcy’s great wealth and fine estate to join to the holdings at Rosings, for all that Anne had no need of a larger fortune.
Still, he felt that he was their aunt’s second choice for a husband for Anne.
A fortune would be grand, but Richard had one questionable advantage that Darcy did not have, namely that of the accident of birth.
Unlike Darcy, a mere gentleman, Richard was the son of an earl, and marriage to him would raise Anne in the world, being merely the daughter of a knight, no matter how rich.
Lady Catherine’s daughter would, by marriage to him, ascend in the social hierarchy almost to the level where Catherine herself had begun her spoiled life.
She was nothing if not scheming, his aunt!