Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
A TRIP TO ROSINGS
Time passed quickly. February melted into March, even as the snow melted on the ground, but still there was no word from Emily.
Since the middle of February, Richard had watched the daily delivery of letters with an anticipatory eye, waiting to catch sight of the familiar handwriting.
They had not written to each other before, having enjoyed their friendship in person, but Richard had seen enough of Emily’s hand in the form of notes and lists and the like that he knew it intimately.
Six weeks, he knew, was scarcely sufficient time for a ship to sail across the Atlantic and back, and he was not too disappointed when, day after day, no such letter arrived.
Seven weeks, too, was a very short time for such a return.
Then it grew to eight weeks, and to nine, and even ten, and still no letter arrived.
With each pile of post, his heart grew heavier.
What had happened that she had not returned his letter?
As March wore on, Richard sat down once more to pen a note to be sent to Bermuda.
This was not to Emily, however, but to Colonel Barrow himself.
Perhaps the colonel had decided after all that it would be inappropriate for the two friends to correspond.
Perhaps something dire had happened. A letter to a colleague and an old friend would not go amiss, however, and he needed news.
This, too, was no task for the impatient.
It would be weeks before he had his reply, maybe months.
For the first time, he cursed the distance the letter must travel and wished that Emily and her family were back on English shores.
He missed her sorely and longed for some indication of her continued friendship.
But now it was the middle of March, and preparations for Easter must soon be underway.
Richard had overseen enough of the recruits’ training that he had full faith in his subordinates to continue their duties without his guidance.
The sergeants and commissioned officers were all capable men; they would ensure that when he returned, it would be to a well-trained cadre of young soldiers.
Likewise, his administrative tasks were sufficiently in hand that he felt confident leaving them to his secretary and fellow officers for the time he would be away.
London had sent down a man to oversee operations at the camp during Richard’s absence, and any vital issues could be sent to him at Rosings, only a morning’s ride away, if the roads stayed clear.
With the approach of Easter at the end of the month of March came his obligatory visit to his Aunt Catherine de Bourgh at her grand estate in Kent.
Richard and Darcy had written back and forth about their plans and decided to travel together to their destination.
To this end, Richard spent a few days in Town at Darcy’s house before the two men were to make their journey.
It would have been shorter for Richard to travel to Kent directly from his camp, but he welcomed the opportunity to pass some time in London and travel in the well-sprung carriage that Darcy used for long journeys.
A visit to London, however, necessitated a visit to his parents’ house.
Richard cringed at the thought as he rattled into Town with the camp’s correspondence to Whitehall that bright morning.
His mother would take one look at his garb and send out immediately for a stock of new cravats and then would lament over the neglect of his formal wardrobe.
“Officers dine in dress uniform,” he had told her time and again, feeling like a lad of four summers.
But she would insist that such was not appropriate for two weeks with his aunt, and that he must present himself in mufti, and that of the latest fashion.
There would be a great many hours lost to the ministrations of his tailor.
Such transpired exactly as he imagined it, and on the appointed evening he appeared, in such style as to impress Brummel himself, at his parents’ table to dine. Darcy was invited, of course, as were several family acquaintances. And Miss Eastway.
“Mother!” he hissed as the two stood outside the parlour where the guests were gathered before dinner. “I thought I told you I had no interest in her. Why do you parade this poor girl before me like so much livestock?”
“Be calm, Richard, and be polite to the lady. You are under no obligation to marry her tonight. But she is rather pretty and would make a good mother for your sons. She would not embarrass you as your wife and would allow you to live in fine style. I merely wish you to get to know her a bit better than was possible at the Moretons’ ball.
Now be a good boy and let me entertain my guests.
” With that, she gathered her silken skirts and swept into the parlour.
Dinner was not unpleasant. For the first time, Richard met Sir Henry and Lady Eastway, and found them pleasant company.
The baronet was a short and ruddy man with thinning hair and spectacles, and with a sharp mind.
It was easy to see how such a man could take a moderate fortune and invest it so wisely that it had grown into a very large one.
His wife was taller than he, with the same mild, pretty face as her daughter, and hair that was too dark to be natural.
She was friendly and said all the right things but had no particular wit or preferred pastimes.
Sir Henry had not, so it seemed, married her for commonality of interests.
Miss Eastway herself improved somewhat under these more intimate conditions.
She acquitted herself well in the conversation around the table and was not as insipid as Richard had found her upon their first meeting at the ball.
She still giggled a great deal, and more than once did Richard see Darcy straining to school his features at her propensity to titter.
“Have you seen the new exhibit at the gallery?” she asked Richard between courses. She was seated between him and one of his father’s old friends, and had been innocently flirting with the older gentleman before turning her attentions to her prey.
“No, indeed I have not,” he replied. “My time has not been entirely my own, what with my new commission. I have not been to London these last six weeks. Please, tell me of the exhibit that I might decide whether to visit it during the rest of my time in Town.”
She spoke on about the collection of Italian landscapes that had recently arrived.
She was evidently greatly interested in the subject, for she was assured and passionate in her descriptions.
She described the paintings by Canaletto and Bellotto, commenting with intelligence on the balance of sky and water in the paintings, mostly of Venice, and of the exquisite architectural detail within the paintings.
“Why, that sounds marvellous,” he exclaimed when Miss Eastway had finished her recitation.
“Darcy, we must see it. Perhaps tomorrow, even, before we must be off to Kent. Thank you, Miss Eastway, for bringing this to my attention. I have been only once to Italy when I was but a lad, before the wars began, and should enjoy visiting it anew through these paintings.”
She replied prettily, and for the first time Richard found some small spark in the young lady that caught his attention.
He still had no interest in her, and certainly none in pursuing her as a future bride, but should they be forced together again, he decided that her company was not entirely bland.
Two days later the cousins left Town for Kent.
“You still have that haunted look,” Richard remarked as Darcy’s fine carriage rattled down the streets of London on its way out of town. “You put on a fine show for the world, but I know you better than that. You pine for this young woman, do you not?”
“Nonsense!” The word carried the heft of righteous indignation, and Darcy’s expression turned cold.
Opaque. He could certainly present a hostile demeanour when the mood took him, and Richard was relieved to have known Darcy all his life.
He was a good man and an excellent friend to have, but Richard could not imagine trying to befriend his cousin as an adult.
That stony aspect could seem as impenetrable as armour and would deter many a less intrepid soul from making the effort to get to know him.
He briefly wondered how Darcy’s unnamed Innamorata had reacted upon first meeting him.
Still, Darcy was not always so unsociable as to repel all new acquaintances. He had, after all, become quite close to Bingley over the past few years, and had proven, so it seemed, most solicitous and loyal. As Richard pondered his cousin’s odd temperament, a thought came to him.
“Darcy, whatever happened to Bingley and that beauty with whom he was besotted? Did I miss an announcement in the newspapers whilst I have been toiling away at the camp? We get the newspapers, and I do try to keep abreast of the social pages, but I might have missed the announcement in the flood of documents and papers I deal with every day. Has there been a wedding? I am not close to the man, but I ought to send a present.”
Darcy sniffed and turned his head to stare out the window at the passing structures that lined the streets south of the Thames. Oh… so there was a tale there!
“Nothing came of it.” The words were quiet, barely breathed. Darcy clamped his jaw tight and sat in silence as the carriage passed the last buildings in the city and rolled into the countryside.