Page 39 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Very funny to you. Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. I have a distended bladder as well, so if you don’t mind, I am going off to the privy before my ears are assaulted with your whining.”
Lord Peter smiled. France had not altered the man one bit. His white hair was still white, the puffy eyes still watery from drink. The face was still smooth and without lines from smiling or frowning. His father’s sense of humour was droll, to be sure. But it was a stoic drollness. There was no more a laugh than at a funeral when his father joked, but in the words themselves was a laugh heartier than any court jester could evoke.
He followed his father into the house and retired to the library for a drink while his father tended to the needs of the body.
When the Duke entered the library, his voice boomed, “Good God! They’ve ruined the place!”
“Come now, Father. Have some brandy.”
“If I must. How are you, dear boy. Sorry about that business out front, but I was not myself. Thankfully, now, I believe I’ve nearly recovered. Now, what’s all this I hear about you being in love?”
He took the glass from his son, raised it, and drained half in one sip.
“There’s no business to it, Father, other than the fact that it is a fact. I am in love, and I don’t care what you have to say about it, if I may.”
“You may. But I don’t care whether or not you care. How’s that? Dear boy, you are young enough not to know that the pangs of youth die like fires in winter.”
“Spare me, Father. I am not some naive kitchen maid.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young man. I love you, but you happen to be an ignoramus of the highest order. I will die one day. I do not think you realise that. Nor do you realise that I’m loathe to leave this earth knowing that my eldest son will fritter away both his life and my estate!”
Lord Peter stared at his father, wanting to disappear. His father was right, as he always was, and it engulfed him with guilt.
“Have I ever let you down, Father?” he said plaintively.
His father hesitated, and then shook his head.
“Well then, there it is. Can you not use history as your rule in this case?”
His father paced towards the fireplace, fingers locked behind his back. “How could you let me down when there has been no actual test?” He turned and looked at his son. “Hmm? There are no hard tests of life in taverns, boy. No battles to be won save the odd skittles match.”
Again, shame washed over Lord Peter, and he hung his head.
His father approached him and placed a hand on his arm. “You are a fine young man, Peter. You could make a worthy heir and a fine Duke. Let go of your youth. For the sake of Heaven, let go of it.”
Lord Peter breathed deeply and nodded. He raised his head, meeting his father’s eyes, and felt a smile creep onto his face.
“What?” said his father.
“This is the first time I’ve seen the old fire in you in a long while, Father. I’m happy to see France hasn’t received all of it.”
His father returned his smile. “Right, I’m going to tidy up before dinner.”
His father gone, Lord Peter paced the room, a thumb in his breast pocket. He felt something there and pinched it out. He peeled open the paper.
Won’t you stay to help?
Chapter 29
Lady Emily sat helplessly waiting, watching Papa pace the parlour.
“I wish you’d tell me what this is all about,” she said.
The man looked to be in some ruminating trace as he continued pacing without an answer.
“Papa?”
He looked up.
