Matlock House, London
Matlockcrumpledhiseveningpaper and thrust it aside. “Damned war! Blasted waste of men and money.” He cupped his hand under his jaw and gazed about the sitting room.
The countess stilled her fingers on the piano and frowned at her husband. “Really, my dear, it not as if it is news. We are winning at last. I should think that would satisfy you.”
His finger brushed his upper lip and he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Satisfy me? No, my dear, I would be best pleased if there had not been so bloody much destruction.”
“James!” his wife protested, but her annoyance fell upon deaf ears.
The earl still sat, gazing at nothing but the visions in his imagination. “All those ports,” he was musing. “So much industry and opportunity lost! It will be years now, unless—”
“Well, really!” she huffed, and rose from the instrument to stand at his side and demand his attention. “My dear, have you had word from Richard?”
“Who?” he started. “Richard? Why, no, but it is two or three days to Pemberley for a good express rider. The note can have only arrived yesterday, or perhaps the day before. No, wait… did I send it on Monday or Tuesday?”
“Poor, dear Reginald!” the countess lamented, ignoring her husband’s comments. “I do hope Richard arrives to comfort his brother, for I am quite at a loss!”
“Comfort him? He is a grown man! You speak as if he would give way to melancholy. And what can Richard do or say?”
“Well,” sniffed his wife, “I should be mortified to learn with what distress and anguish you should mourn me!”
The earl chortled silently, and muttered something under his breath regarding her powers of observation if she were deceased.
“James,” she chided, “you are not listening to me!”
“Of course I am, my dear, you are shouting in my ear. I do not even need my trumpet.”
“Oh!” she fanned him with the back of her hand. “Trumpet, indeed. James, you did instruct Richard to bring Georgiana with him, did you not? The poor girl ought not to be left alone.”
“Of course,” he nodded absently. “I say, Georgiana ought to be thinking more seriously of marriage by now. It has been over half a year, long enough to mourn Darcy. ‘Tis a pity about Priscilla just now, for we must put on black all over again.”
“If you want my opinion, which you hardly ever do, I should think that Reginald needs a wife sooner rather than later. Many gentlemen marry shortly after losing a wife, particularly if an heir is still required.”
“Are you certain the poor lad is up to the task? From the way you speak of him, he would faint of a broken heart if I suggested another marriage so soon.”
“Well, my dear, he knows Georgiana. It is not as if he would be wedding a stranger, and he would be saved the bother of a long courtship, trying to curry some lady’s favour. Speak to Reginald of it when he comes this evening,” she urged.
“Speak to me of what?”
The earl twisted his neck to observe his eldest son, resplendent in his black mourning garb. Reginald walked softly into the sitting room, his face lined with a mixture of emotions.
“Ah, there you are, my dear boy,” his mother crooned. “Come, Reggie, sit beside me. Your father had something to discuss with you.”
Reginald obliged his mother, clasping his hands in his lap and turning his respectful attention to his father.
The earl cleared his throat. “Well, er Reginald, how are you keeping, my boy?”
The young man closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “As well as can be expected, Father.”
“Yes, well… Reginald, your mother wishes me to speak to you about the future. Have you given it any thought?”
“The future? Why, yes, I had, but now it is all dashed.”
“Nothing can be done for the past, my boy,” the earl answered kindly. “We shall continue to mourn Priscilla, but we must think of the earldom. You are not getting any younger.”
“I am only three and thirty!”
“I had two sons and a daughter by that time,” the earl reminded him. “You must marry again soon, Reginald, and your mother and I think it best that you do not carry on mourning for long.”
