Lady Éliane Lectures Her Son

“My sister married the Earl of Welwyn. Every summer they have an extended house party. Bartholomew does not need employment.” There was a strong emphasis on the not. “He’s taken a fancy to this mapwork thing.” Her tone dismissed it outright, then she continued. “He wanted to try his hand at it though I don’t understand a single thing about it. He will miss seeing his cousins and friends.” Her eyes narrowed without taking in anyone else.
Bartholomew squirmed. “It’s only until the hunting season starts. I’m sure the time will fly by. You know how much you enjoy seeing Aunt Aliénor and your friends. You won’t miss me.”
As if no one listened, Lady Éliane said, “You must write. Don’t miss a single day.” He nodded, knowing his cue. “I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t open a letter from you every morning.” She patted the table affectionately.
“I promise.”
His mother sighed and put a hand against her breast. “This is the first time we’ve ever been apart. I don’t know how I’ll bear it.” He didn’t respond, otherwise the drama of her love for him would continue.
Bartholomew breathed a sigh of relief when the women stood and left, and the men could talk sensibly. But the curate addressed him directly. “I’m surprised,” the man began, staring with narrowed eyes through his spectacles. They were an out of place feature on his large nose. Otherwise, Simon Hedley had no distinguishing features. Bart placed the man as under thirty. “You’re not a man who’s reached his majority, have you?”
“I am not yet twenty-five,” he admitted.
“This scheme for Mr. Crenshaw sounds more like a playful whim and you’re disappointing your mother. You’re the only son of Sir Lawrence de Courcy, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He pronounced the single word with pride.
“You shouldn’t do this survey if it upsets your mother.” The man’s chin rose. Bartholomew wasn’t sure if it was to keep his glasses from slipping or something else.
“A grown man cannot be idle. He needs a focus.”
“He he,” a lighthearted laugh came from the vicar. “Look at you two, a friendly argument even though you just met today. I hope, Hedley, that you’ll take Mr. de Courcy under your wing, and show him around town, introduce him to others your age. He needs not to dine only with us old folks.”
“But sir!” Hedley cried. “One ought to tap into the wisdom of one’s elders. You’ve obtained much in your years. What do you think, Charlie?”
“A boy likes to have friends his age,” the lad admitted. Bartholomew placed the nephew as between sixteen and eighteen.
“Life doesn’t happen in books or yesterday. It happens by walking out the door to feel the rain on your face by speaking to one’s neighbors, even by kissing a pretty girl,” said Reverend Galey.
Hedley didn’t look convinced.
Lady de Courcy left the next morning, taking her entourage of servants with her. The four-bedroom house had overflowed with bodies. Some servants had needed to stay at the inn down the high street. She left him one, Mrs. Gilson, as a cook/housekeeper.
“I don’t want you hiring someone local. This way, I know you’ll be taken good care of and fed. You’re too skinny.” That wasn’t a sentiment she had ever expressed before. He understood that Mrs. Gilson would report back to his mother.