Darrius nodded. He knew the feeling of spiraling down into despair all too well.
“If it is any comfort to you,” he said. “I rather like this new aspect of yours. If it is not too great an imposition, I think I would like to stay the course for a bit. Let us get to know one another, as we are now. Not as we remember each other as children.”
“The thought has merit,” Blanche replied. “I think I should like that. But Darrius, there is a possibility that I might not be able to give you an heir. Dr. Alton is not certain that I shall be sufficiently robust.”
“Let us become better acquainted before we think of such things.”
“Thank you for your forbearance.”
“Think nothing of it. We are agreed, then, to wait a while.” Darrius said.
They sat in silence for a time. Then Blanch drew a shaky little breath. “Well, this is certainly a difficult way to get to know one another. Perhaps we should find something pleasant to talk about. Have you read any good books lately?”
“Only Waverly, which my mother summarily dismissed as rubbish. Did you read it?”
“I could only get through the first chapter,” Blanche confessed. “I am not a great reader like Mrs. Swinton and the Duchess.”
Darrius laughed. “In truth, I do not think they read it, either. I gave it to my mother some weeks ago, but when I visited a day or two later, she and Mrs. Swinton were reading my father’s old journals.”
“That actually sounds rather interesting,” Blanche remarked.
“Do you think so?” Darrius stared at her in surprise.
“I do. I’ve kept a journal for ever so long, but I fear it is only interesting to me.”
“What kinds of things do you have in it?” Darrius enquired.
“Oh, what we had for tea, who we visited during a week, that sort of thing. My thoughts. Nothing of great interest, I fear.”
“I see. Perhaps you might read a passage or two for me at some time.”
“I will look through them and see if I can find something that might interest you,” Blanche said calmly. “What kinds of things do you enjoy, Darrius?”
“Riding to the hounds. It is not so much whether we catch the fox or not, it is more about the horses, the dogs, and the companionship of the other riders.”
“That makes sense. Do you enjoy shooting?” Blanche asked.
“I like shooting clay pigeons, but not the real thing,” Darrius replied. “I am not fond of all the blood and feathers that comes from bringing down a real bird.”
Blanche considered that for a few minutes. “Clay pigeons would be a great deal less messy, and no live thing is being killed. Yet you practice your skill.”
“Yes. One never knows when it might be needed.”
“When do you think you might need it?” Blanche asked coyly.
“Oh, I don’t know. To bring down a real pheasant for dinner, or to defend your wife from a marauding highwayman.”
Blanche laughed. “But you just said you hate the blood and feathers. Do you think a highwayman would be less full of the fluid of life?”
“I think he would be likely to fight back, which is more than any pheasant could do. Although, I will own up to liking a bit of pheasant for my dinner.”
Blanche shook her head at him. “Oh, Darrius. How fortunate it is that you are unlikely to need to defend me from highwaymen.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Darrius gave her a boyish grin.
It is more likely your imaginary fortune will protect me from my creditors. And now I learn that you are unlikely to provide me with an heir. Who knows what exigencies I shall have to resort to in order to have one. How did I ever come to such a pass? Why could you not have been as robust as Mrs. Swinton? Well, time to pull the belt in another notch and put the best face on it that I can.
Chapter 39