"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." ~ Jane Austen

Chapter 5.

The Son of a Duke.

March progressed into April. The leaves budded on the trees, the grass covered the bare earth and the wild cherry trees blossomed. Derwen Goch was transformed from the wet marshlands into a bride of spring.

One morning, just as the sun was beginning its ascent into the heavens, a horse and rider made their way past the manor and taking the abandoned road arrived at Llys Gwyn Castle. The rider dismounted and took a deep breath as he set his blue eyes upward at the imposing building. He was a young man, speaking of some twenty and five years of age. He wore no hat, and showed a head full of blond hair. His figure was healthy, having a strong build while at the same time being lean and elegant. Everything about him spoke of how he was a man of fashion, a man of society; how he was man of good breeding and proper upbringing. His name was Charles Errol and he held the title Lord Woodworth, son of the Duke of Denster.

Charles led his horse around away from the gate and up to the castle tower that stood higher than the rest. There he came up to a hidden door and pushed it. It opened with a loud creak. Charles shook his head at how the silly thing was once again unlocked. It was a large door, big enough for the horse to fit through.

Inside the darkness was illuminated by the flickering light of two torches. The flames cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, which rose high upwards The tower was completely bare, save a post standing by the door and a winding staircase leading to the top of the tower.

"It is all so positively medieval," Charles muttered under his breath. He tied his horse to the wooden post, speaking gently to the creature how he would not be gone long. Footsteps behind him spoke of someone coming down the stairs. Soon a man came walking down the stairway.

"Raj, good to see you," Charles greeted the man.

"Welcome, Sahib," Raj replied with a bow. "My master is not expecting you."

Charles gave a bored smile. "I know."

"My master does not like surprises," Raj added.

"I know that too," Charles informed. "Please tell him I have arrived."

"Of course I will, Sahib," Raj gave another bow and proceeded to climb up the stairs, Charles following close behind. It was a long journey to the top but at last they came to a large, heavy, oak door. The servant reached over and gave a loud knock.

"Enter!" A deep voice called.

Raj cracked the door open. "Your cousin has arrived and wishes to see you."

"He's back from Oxford?" The voice was coming from a lone figure sitting in the shadows of the dark room.

"It would seem so, Sahib. He told me to inform you of his arrival."

"And don't even think of turning me away," Charles hastily added, pushing Raj aside. "You do not want me to have climbed those confounded stairs completely in vain."

"You have a way with words, Charles." The voice was emotionless and cold. "Come in if you will. Raj, you may leave us."

Raj bowed and departed. Charles walked into the room, which was small and round. The lack of corners caused one to feel uncomfortable, as there was no place to really hide. A single bed stood in on one side, with table and chair beside it. A rough wooden cabinet with a basin and pitcher was in another area and sitting by the only window in a large wooden chair was the man Charles had come to see. A candle burned on the table and was the only light source in the room, for the window was shut with heavy shutters.

"How do you breathe in here?" Charles turned his nose up from the musty, foul air. "It is spring outside; the air is fresh and warm. Open the shutters and let the light in, it is a beautiful day and you sit here in the darkness."

"Don't! Touch the window." A hint of emotion appeared in the voice. "You know I cannot stand spring, it is the worst season of the year!"

Charles sighed and taking the free chair sat down opposite the man. For a minute he simply gazed at the figure in front of him. It was hard to see him clearly in the dim light, but the white mask that covered half of his face was easily noticed. In fact it was really the first thing you paid attention too at the sight of the figure. "Elwyn," Charles said at last. "You really cannot go on like this."

"I see you have returned from Oxford," Elwyn ignored the statement. "Have you finished with honors?"

"I have grades that have pleased my father, and I am glad to have put that university behind me. It was boring to say the least."

"Everything in your life is boring," Elwyn pointed out.

"Good point," Charles chuckled only because he wanted to make light of a very depressing subject.

"So now what?"

"Now?" Charles paused for a moment, a smirk appearing on his face. "Now I must marry."

"Ah yes, there is that unavoidable factor of your life. Who is she?"

"Oh there is no one in mind just yet. I do know she must be of good family, have a good reputation, be accomplished, and of course have some money." Charles listed the facts as though he were going through a shopping list. "And she must have very good looks, the future Duchess of Denster must live up to the name."

"You should go to the nearest general store and have them order a bride for you, seeing as your list seems to be as detailed as they get." Even though the sentence was perhaps supposed to be humorous, the lack of emotion in Elywn's voice didn't make it sound very funny.

"You are not very good at jokes," Charles pointed out.

"I'm not trying to be. Does your father have anyone in mind?"

"Not exactly," Charles shrugged his shoulders. "He wants me to try and find my own bride. I wish he wouldn't burden me with the task, it is very bothersome."

Elwyn shook his head. "Charles, have you any idea how many young people out there would kill to have the freedom your father is giving you?"

"Oh, I know, I know," Charles' voice was bored. "The problem with me is I don't really care who I marry. Father could just pick someone out for me and I would obey him. In my life marriage is much like birth and death; I cannot avoid it so I go along with it simply because I must. As my father's only son I must marry and produce an heir, but who the mother will be is no concern of mine."

"Have you ever thought of trying to find love in a marriage?" At last a hint of curiosity laced the emotionless voice of Elwyn.

"You know I don't believe in love," Charles replied. "At least not when it comes to marriage. There are those emotions you may feel when you first meet, but with time it all cools. We've seen it happen before. Such was the story with my parents, and such was the story with your parents. The passion goes away and you are stuck with each other. One might as well not bother with the passion in the first place, that way at least you won't be missing something."

"There is logic in there," Elwyn agreed. "So, where do you plan to find your bride, since you father seems intent on you doing it?"

"I'm not going to find her. I shall just drag it out until Father is gets tired of waiting and matches me up with the first girl he can find."

"Charles, you are incredibly lazy."

"That is what happens when everything in your life is handed to you on a silver platter." Charles gave another chuckle at yet another depressing subject. Whenever he came to Llys Gwyn it was always a miserable visit, which was probably why didn't enjoy coming here.

"You know, Elwyn," he attempted at conversation once more. "I will be twenty and six this May and have often caught myself with the thought that I am but four years short of thirty and I have absolutely nothing to show for my life."

Elwyn didn't offer any advice or thoughts on Charles' philosophical statement. He simply shifted his gaze from Charles to the floor. A few minutes of silence followed and Charles decided it was time for him to be off. He stood up, shook Elywn's hand, and departed from the room. He would return to the castle in a month or so, not that he was really looking forward to it.

***

Charles had his horse canter the ten miles from Llys Gwyn to the grand estate that composed Denster Hall and up to the home belonging to his father the Duke. As he rode up to the entrance a servant came out to meet him.

"Your father wishes to speak to you, your Lordship," he informed. Charles groaned and dismounting handed the reins over to the servant.

"Where is he?" He asked.

"In the library, your Lordship."

Charles nodded and running up the front porch stairs two at a time entered the large, majestic house. Once inside he removed his coat and stuffing it into the hands of the faithful family butler he hurried through the maze of corridors until he came to the library. Charles knew what his father was going to be demanding of him and he rehearsed his argument in his mind before reaching over and knocking on the door. He opened it and walked straight in.

The Duke was engrossed in the morning paper, but looked up at the noise coming from the door. The sight of his son entering had him fold the paper and toss it on the table.

"Back already?" He asked as he motioned for Charles to sit down. "How is your cousin?"

"Still in Italy, apparently," Charles muttered in frustration. "Why don't we actually send him to Italy? The southern sun would do him good. He's starting to look more and more like a ghost of some sort, Father."

George Errol shrugged his shoulders. "He chose his path and he must deal with the consequences. I have not called you here to discuss Elwyn's destiny, but rather yours."

Charles leaned back and stared at his father. The Duke and his son were quite similar in appearance, the blond hair, lean features and blue eyes spoke of the same family bloodline, except the face of George Errol had the marks of age, while Charles' shone with youth.

"I'm not getting any younger," the Duke began and Charles prepared himself for the lecture he'd memorized already. "I'll be fifty five in autumn and I think it is high time I see you settle down. Charles, I don't think I need to remind you that we are the only Errols left. Our family line has just about died out and if you don't give us a male heir, the lineage of Errol will come to its end. Now, you don't want to be the reason for the extinction of an old and prominent English family, do you?"

Charles raised his eyebrows at his father. "This is the fifth time in the past week that you have asked me the question and you know my answer. Father, I have no objection to marrying, I only ask that you don't bother me with the task of finding the bride. I know nothing of women and I don't want to bother with some tiresome courtship."

George frowned at his son. "You think I want to bother with it? It is like I have nothing better to do than hunt around for a wife."

"You are the one who has been out in society all these years," Charles replied in his customary lethargic voice. "I've been locked up in a university all this time. If anyone is to know anything about who I should marry it is you."

"Charles!" George snapped. "Haven't I done enough for you as it is? I've fed you, clothed you, given you everything your heart has ever desired. Is it so hard for you to put a little effort into your otherwise extremely lazy life and just find some good standing woman to marry? You are twenty and five years of age, surely I no longer have to do everything for you!"

"Have I not done enough for you as well?" Charles retorted. "I have been a dutiful son. I have done all you have expected of me. I was born male, as you expected of me. I learned French and German as you expected of me. I have traveled abroad as you expected of me. I have studied at Oxford as you expected of me. I even support the Torys as you expect of me. I lead an active social life as you have expected of me. And I will marry as you expect of me. But is it not the custom for the parents to find a good match for their children?"

George crossed his arms in front of him and glared at his son. Finding a bride was a bothersome task, and not something a father should have to do. If his wife had been alive, he would of course have left the task to her and she would have managed wonderfully. The late Arianwen Errol had known just about every family of consequence in all of society. But she was no longer with them, that horrible fever had taken the Duchess of Denster ten years back and father and son were now left to tackle the bride choosing on their own. George knew his son was a chip off the old block. The boy was as stubborn and as lazy as his father, and if he said he wasn't going to bother with searching for a wife, than he wasn't going to bother.

The old Duke let out a sigh. He did not want to start meddling with the affairs of the daughters of society. The world of those women was a horrible, dangerous place and not the sort a man ever wanted to enter, much less get tangled in.

"There has to be some easy way out of this predicament," He thought to himself. For a good fifteen minutes silence filled the library as the Duke schemed and his son sat staring at the wall of bookshelves with a blank, bored expression.

Suddenly George snapped his fingers. "I have it, Charles!" He stated triumphantly. "It is called having your cake and eating too. Instead of going out there and finding a woman, we'll have them all come to us."

Charles' eyebrows climbed upward once again.

"Don't look at me like that!" George snapped. "We'll host a ball and invite all eligible young ladies. We have the perfect excuse. Your birthday will be in the end of May. That gives us plenty of time to make all the arrangements and send out the invitations. We could have it right here at Denster Hall. All you'll have to do is close your eyes, point to one of girls and there is the future Duchess of Denster."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Well that does sound like the easy way out of the situation. Only how are you going to know the ladies you are inviting are actually eligible?"

"Oh I don't know. I'll ask Frestin if he knows."

"Where would your weasly, measly secretary know anything about eligible young women?"

George huffed at his son. "If you keep speaking to me in this manner I shall have you arrange the ball. I'm willing to get my hands dirty, all you have to do is chose one of the girls I'll bring to you and not criticize my methods. Is that a deal?"

Charles nodded his head. He was annoyed that his father couldn't just do all the work for him, but figured this was the easiest it would get. "It's a deal."

"Good. And weasly is not word, by the way!"

"Shakespeare invented words to fit the situation," Charles defended himself. "Well now that we have the whole wife thing sorted out perhaps we could go shooting?"

"Shooting? In the spring?" George's face was full of disbelief. "What a notion, Charles! Open season is in autumn. No one goes shooting at this time of year." He shook his head. "Shooting indeed," he mumbled under his breath.

"So what are we going to do then? Now that we can no longer argued on the wife issue."

"Personally I wish to finish my morning paper." The Duke picked up the newspaper once again. Charles let out a bored sigh and standing up browsed the bookshelf next to him. He randomly pulled out a book and sitting back down in his chair cracked it open.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

Charles chuckled at these words. "You tell me," he muttered. George looked up.

"What are you reading?"

Charles checked the title. "Pride and Prejudice," he told his father. "Written by—A Lady."

"Oh, that," the Duke nodded his head. "I think I heard the name of the author tossed about in society, but it escapes me now. It's not the sort of book I ever thought you would read."

"If I am to dance with a host of ladies on my birthday then I shall have to know what they are all reading in order to make some sort of polite conversation. Why is it always up to the men to keep the ladies entertained?"

George shrugged and continued with his paper. Charles read on with the novel of his choice all the while contemplating on what a boring sort of life he led.

Maybe the ball would bring some spice to his mundane existence. Not that he really counted on it.