Chapter 14 #2
When he was most sanguine, Richard reflected that such a union would have its advantages. He had considered this in the past and laughed off the very notion, but his mother’s recent urgings had set his thoughts off their accustomed path.
Whilst he insisted he had no interest in ever marrying, he could not now rid himself of the idea of it.
The notion permeated his thoughts, and like so many life-altering choices, once the thought has taken hold, it is almost impossible to shake off.
Marriage. A family. A home. Fond as he was of his military existence, these were not unappealing prospects.
And a marriage of sorts to Anne might satisfy several criteria.
Most importantly, such a marriage would hold no expectations for either party.
Anne had as little romantic affection for him as he had for her, and neither would expect anything but a monetary union.
Anne was very wealthy, being the sole heir of her father’s great fortune.
Rosings was hers, and it was only by her acquiescence and meek nature that Lady Catherine still commanded the house as its mistress.
Marrying Anne would secure Richard’s future and would all but satisfy his insistence never to marry, for he and Anne would live separate lives.
There would be no heir to inherit Rosings after him, but the estate was unentailed, and he might leave it to whomever he wished.
He might find a younger son of a cousin to adopt as his heir.
Perhaps, as a final joke, he would leave it to Darcy’s eldest son, thereby uniting Rosings and Pemberley after all!
He chuckled to himself as he mused that, if Darcy refused his aunt yet again, it might be worth having a conversation with Anne. Next year!
For the moment, he was busy enough with his new command that he had no wish to consider matrimony, even of the most mercenary kind.
He would spend at least a year leading his new regiment and would advance his career.
He was happy as a soldier, was he not? He had no need for a different sort of life. Did he?
But the more he thought about it, the more his mother’s comments bothered him.
Until now he had been perfectly content with his lot.
He had no wish to be the older son and heir to the earldom.
Such a life, lived in the public eye, was not for him.
But the question had begun to resonate in his head: Did he really wish to spend his entire life as an officer?
It was a fine career, to be sure, and he was proud of his accomplishment and enjoyed the life of a soldier—such that a man who had never seen war could claim.
But at some point, would he not prefer a quieter life in his own home?
His rooms in the barracks were fine enough for his purposes.
He had a bedroom, a washing room, a sitting room, and a smaller room off the side for his batman, but this was hardly a place to bring a wife or raise children.
Even Colonel Barrow’s suite at the Dockyard was scarcely large enough for the small family that lived there.
There was, he reluctantly admitted, an appeal to having a small estate, the sort of place one might instal a genteel lady as its mistress, with nurseries and sufficient grounds for a handful of children.
Even his cottage, that cosy and unprepossessing house in the town near the seat of Matlock, had its attractions.
It was not large by any reckoning, but it had a nice set of public rooms on the main floor, three bedrooms on the first, and a set of rooms on the second that would suit for a nursery.
There were rooms for two servants by the kitchens, and the whole would be a suitable place for a family.
Alas, he had insufficient independent income to support the cottage once he moved in, but the idea of it was growing in appeal.
Perhaps his mother had a point.
Once again, he longed for Emily’s presence.
She would, of course, have something to say on the topic.
She would apply her calm, intelligent reason to the subject at hand and offer some pertinent comments.
She would examine the relative benefits of remaining a bachelor in military quarters, and of retiring at some point and taking a small house in the country.
Or even in London. She had lived all her life on military bases and knew well the limitations—and advantages—of growing up in such circumstances.
She had also spoken of a season in Town, the one that had crushed all her hopes of marrying, and knew something about life in society.
What wisdom would she have to offer him?
If only he could hear from her. Her words committed to paper would not be the same as spoken aloud and in person, but they would be preferable by far to this silent noise in his mind.
When her letter finally arrived, he would confess these thoughts in his reply and ask her opinions, which he valued so greatly.
Thoughts of Emily turned to thoughts of Major Weekes.
If his new orders had been issued promptly, it would not be long before he, too, was once more in England.
This thought made Richard’s stomach turn.
He recalled the rumours circulating about him; the man was causing trouble already and he was not even in the country!
How much damage would he attempt when he achieved these shores once more?
Richard would have to set someone on the major’s tail, to keep a sharp eye on what he did and where he went, to try to cut off some of his mischief before it began.
He must speak to Hastings about how best to set this in motion.
He rifled through his desk to find a sheet of fresh paper and then sharpened his pen.
The note was quickly written, and the envelope sealed, and he put it into the pile of documents and letters to be sent off to London at first light.
Hopefully, it would not be long before he had a response to that, at least.