Chapter 42
Richard sighed. The winter was fierce this year, and he was still at Matlock, occupying himself with assisting on the estate while Father was in town trying to press some amended Act through the lower House. Richard was exceptionally glad he was the second son and free of all that manoeuvring.
Mother had stayed here in the north with Georgiana, continuing to prepare her for her season. And now the weather had prevented them from travelling to town. They were all in readiness, though, and as soon as this weather lifted, hoped to travel.
He muttered, annoyed. He must think of his little cousin as Anna, not Georgiana. She had asked so little of them as she grew up, and it was a small thing she had asked.
Richard chuckled; Darcy was finding it harder. Then he wandered indoors to find his mother. While he was exceedingly happy not to be fighting in the mud of the Peninsula, he did wish he had more duties to occupy him.
Mother was attending to her correspondence at the ornate little writing desk in her sitting room, and when she caught sight of him at the door, looked up properly and put her pen down.
“Richard, I am happy to see you. Please come in and shut the door.”
Eyebrows raised, he obeyed. “What is amiss, Mother?”
She rose and crossed to the sofa by the fire. “I believe your cousin is at her practice?” When Richard nodded, she continued.
“I understand we will not be able to travel until next week as the earliest possible date, and I am organising another little dinner party tomorrow night — or rather, Anna is. I have suggested we invite some of those who are not quite gentry this time; your father likes to listen occasionally in a more informal way, to see if anything comes to light that he might not otherwise discover.”
“I understand, Mother. Darcy does the same — when he does deign to entertain.”
Mother laughed lightly. “Poor Darcy. I used to imagine the right sort of wife would drag him to more sociability, but now, of course, everything is different.”
Richard did not wish to rehash Darcy’s situation again. “But you wished to speak to me about this dinner party?”
“Oh, yes, of course. I am inviting Mr Hughes — you remember, the parson over at Farley. Your father gave him the living two or three years ago, I believe. He came with excellent recommendations from Lord Cheshire, where he’d held a curacy for a time, and we have been pleased with him; he is a good and godly man — a cousin of Baron Retford. ”
Richard knew his brow furrowed. “What of him?”
Mother looked down. “I want you to observe the occasion carefully. I wonder if I have come to the right conclusion.”
“Which is?”
“No, I wish you to come to your own opinion. Then we will talk again.”
“Very well.” Richard pondered a little. “The name Hughes seems familiar, although we do not worship at Farley, of course. Has Father mentioned him to me, I wonder?”
His mother was looking at him speculatively. “Has his name been mentioned to you recently, do you think? That would be — interesting.”
After taking a few moments, Richard shook his head. “I cannot recall the occasion, but I was about to ride out and check the eastern fences. It is likely to come to me while I am not trying to recall it, and if so, I will tell you.”
His mother angled her face for him to kiss her cheek. “Ride carefully.”
Richard was ambling along the south-eastern pasture, allowing his horse to pick his way through the snow, when the information fell into his mind. Georgiana. No, Anna, and he drew the horse up in shock.
It was Anna who had mentioned Mr Hughes, and Richard attempted to recall the conversation as much as he could. After a few minutes, he turned the horse and headed back to the stables. It was quite cold enough for that to seem the excuse to do so.
He burst back into the room. “Mother, it was Georgiana — Anna who spoke to me about Mr Hughes. I remember feeling a little uneasy then, but the subject moved on and I forgot.”
Mother’s lips tightened. “What made you feel uneasy?”
“That she is growing up. I had thought she was far too young, and then Ramsgate might have convinced her to not pay any attention to a man.”
She shook her head and laughed. “Oh, Richard! You know very well that you and your brother were leering at girls from about the age of fourteen, what on earth makes you think young ladies do not begin to have romantic feelings by then, even if they are more romantic than the dreadfully coarse feelings of boys?”
Richard looked away, knowing his ears were turning red, confirmed by his mother’s laugh.
She turned serious. “But we cannot allow this infatuation, son! He may have reasonable connections; he might well rise within the church and gain a bishopric, but he is still not a gentleman!”
She took a deep breath and went to the window.
“I will allow that he is the sort of man who would be good for her — kind and thoughtful, but it cannot go further. I wish you to observe them carefully, and then see what you can discover over the port. Your father will have to warn him off if there is a problem.”
“And you will be going to town very soon. Four or five months of separation and other things to take Anna’s mind from him will be just the thing!
” Richard could not imagine his young cousin as growing up, marrying and making her way in life under the protection of another man, however good he was. “Should I warn Darcy?”
Mother thought for several minutes. “I am not sure. Now that you know, he has a right to as well. But I do feel that he has overmuch on his mind at present. Perhaps it is not the sort of thing that should go in a letter. Do you want to call on him and apprise him?”
“Should he come to the dinner?”
“Oh, no! Geor... er, Anna will be suspicious.” She sighed.
“I knew from when she was tiny that we would have to be very protective of her; her fortune is impressive, she is shy and easily led, as we know, and she is the heir presumptive of Pemberley, and it is now much more possible that she may inherit.”
She looked at him very seriously. “Perhaps I ought to speak to Darcy about agreeing a formal understanding between Anna and you until she is a little older. It would secure Pemberley within the family in this situation.”
Richard recoiled in horror. “Mother!”
She seemed to wish to speak, but he blundered on. “Mother, no. I cannot. I will not. Anna may be my cousin, but she feels like a little sister to me. No, I could never do that.”
His mother sighed. “That is unfortunate.”
Richard sighed as he settled at his father’s desk. It looked as if the weather would be clearing soon, and they would travel to town within the week. He would welcome it, in a way. They were nearly half-way through February now, and he usually enjoyed the social life in town in the spring.
What he did not enjoy was writing letters. He was too active for that. He glanced up at the clock. Half-an-hour. He would allow half-an-hour, no more. He would tell Darcy what had transpired. He should know, whatever Mother said.
He dipped his pen in the ink and applied himself.
Darcy,
I hope you will make a call on Anna this week as it is possible we will leave in the next few days for town.
Mother and I have been concerned that she seems to be developing an affection for a local man, although it is very early in their acquaintanceship, of course.
We were terribly concerned, because he is not a gentleman, but rather the parson of a living Father gave out a few years ago. Apart from that damning situation, he is a very pleasant man, and seems to me to be very honourable.
However, Anna is, of course, much, much too young. It is as well I will be escorting her and Mother to town very soon. The season is long, and perhaps there is nothing to worry about.
Mother had Georgiana Anna organise a small dinner last week to which he was invited, and I could observe them.
During the separation, I engaged him in conversation, and have discovered that he has, in fact, recently inherited an estate from a distant cousin and is now a gentleman.
It is a very recent thing, and he is intending to appoint a curate to his living at Farley temporarily until he is in a position to relinquish it, or perhaps to oversee the curate to give him the experience and see if Father wishes to pass on the living then.
He seems to me to be more concerned with his parishioners than his new estate and position in life, which I suppose is estimable, but it seems odd to me.
The estate is called Tealing Park, and is in rural Lincolnshire somewhere — he did say the village, but I cannot recall it.
If I go to look it up, you know full well I will not return to this letter.
In fact, I think I have finished, anyway.
Hopefully we might meet before we go south.
Richard
P.S. I have just recalled something I have not yet told you.
I received a letter, much delayed, from my friend Radclyffe.
You may recall he is first lieutenant on the two decker engaging the privateers.
He tells me that Wickham is still aboard the ship; he is not enjoying himself much, but has learned to actually work to escape the lash, and that following a minor injury in a recent battle, his good looks are no more. I hope you are as satisfied as I am.
P.P.S and, on rereading that last, I am very amused that there is a certain justice in it, I think — his face for yours.