Eustacia gave a very small sigh. “I wish you would consider marriage, Richard. Philip worries for you.”
“Philip worries for everyone.”
“Yes, he does. There is a streak of melancholy in the Vane family that I cannot like.” She must have observed something on his face, because she went on quite deliberately. “I do not scruple to tell you, Richard, that my parents felt a little concern in making the marriage. There is a certain instability in the Vanes. And your mother—”
“We may be grateful you did not heed those concerns.” She was more devoted to the family interests than he was, Richard reminded himself.
“I am.” She smiled unconsciously, as she sometimes did with the children. If there was a painter capable of capturing those smiles, her portrait would be a sensation. “But Philip fears that you will either go the way of your cousin Alexander and plunge into some unsuitable affair—”
“Really, Eustacia—”
“—or of your father and contract a marriage for worldly reasons that cannot lead to happiness.”
“That I shall not. He had the line to consider. He needed to marry; I do not.”
“But men do.” Eustacia looked just slightly pink. “I am aware of masculine…needs.” That was almost impossible to imagine, but her seven children were far-from-silent testimony. “And more than that, to have a partner, someone at your side. Philip—”
“I do understand.” She didn’t need to spell it out. Philip would have shrunk into a miserable, isolated parody of a man without Eustacia.
“And you are more like him than you think,” Eustacia went on. “You have a gift for friendship, of course, which he does not, but you need a…an ally as much as he does. What is it?”
“Nothing.” She gave him a look. “Or merely that someone else has made that observation to me.”
You want an ally. I prefer a challenge. Dominic had told him that, and it was true, curse it. He wanted what Philip had in Eustacia. Someone by his side, working with him, someone who knew him, a partner in every sense.
Richard knew exactly who he wanted, and he could not have him.
“May we help you, then?” Eustacia asked. “I don’t suppose you would have any great difficulty in securing a lady’s hand if you chose.” That was an understatement; Richard knew himself to be one of the more desirable properties on the marriage mart. “I have made a list—”
“No. Really, sister, no.”
She sighed again. “It troubles Philip that you are alone, and it is impossible to see you with the children without thinking that you ought to set up your own nursery. I may add that you would be an excellent husband, and I can think of at least five ladies who would make you a very suitable wife. If you would but try. I don’t understand why you will not try.”
Richard looked into the delicate china cup. “I have considered it.” It was the truth. Marriage might be quite satisfactory, if only he could believe it was fair to the lady. “I don’t feel I can make a suitable marriage, Eustacia, even on Philip’s command. But if I change my mind, I will gladly consult your list.” He smiled to support his words.
She didn’t return it. “I am sorry to hear that. Oh, Richard.”
“Is something wrong?”
“You must be wondering why we have spoken to you about this. It is because we both wish you had someone with you now.”
The note in her voice sent the hair prickling up his spine. “What is it? Is Philip unwell? Not the children?”
“No, nothing like that. Philip did not wish to tell you this, and I was not sure we should, but I think we must. Richard, we have had a letter.”
—
He sat in his book room, reading the letter a few lines at a time. That seemed to be all he could manage before he had to break off and look around. It was lighter in here, somehow, more alive. The shelves were filled with his own books, but over the years they had become furniture. Mason had been working through them, rearranging them, and it had given them the feeling of things that he wanted to read once more.
He’d need to choose a few for the journey.
He reached for the bell, stopped himself. He’d already ordered that Cyprian should come to him as soon as the valet returned to the house; repeating himself would be as fruitless as making querulous demands as to where the man had gone.
Cyprian would be about his work. Buying whatever he required for his secret recipe for blacking, or arranging matters with his cronies in gambling hells and assignation houses to ensure that Richard’s friends could find comfort in safety, or exchanging news with fellow servants in a coffee house to ensure he knew more about Richard’s world than Richard did himself.