The Lost Heir of Devonshire

In truth, Sir Robert was a brooder. He was known to fall into moods so foul as to evacuate his house in town of all but the staunchest servants.

In the city, he could express his depression with weeklong bouts of Blue Ruin and vicious betting at the fights in Brown Station. In the country, he could only sit and indulge his gloomy thoughts, particularly on rainy days when riding couldn't raise his spirits.

Mary reflected with a tinge of remorse how she had made use of his low spirits to suit herself. She would find the Marquis seated in the library while her father read happily at his side. Rather than try to relieve his boredom, she would go to the pianoforte to escape the obligation of lightening his mood.

But one evening, having walked by the library door and witnessed just such a scene, an impulse of charity caused her to bring up a bottle of sherry and two glasses on a small enameled tray.

Mr. Fanley never moved his eyes from the page. "I'm much obliged, Mary. How did you know we were in need of a glass?"

"Oh," she said. "By the glower on Sir Robert's face, I surmised that you had bored him to within an inch of his life."

"I am not glowering," growled His Lordship.

"No, my dear," Mr. Fanley said, still reading. "Denley has assured me this is exactly what he likes."

"I beg your pardon my lord," she said tartly. "I did not mean to disturb your brooding then."

"Brooding?"

They had both learnt the art of violent argument in benign accents that would not catch her father's attention.

"I would rather say so." She filled his glass and handed it to him."You look like a dragon hen lording over some devil's egg."

"You mistake serious and peaceful contemplation for moodiness."

"And you mistake my attempts at assuring your comfort as an odious disruption! Forgive me sir, for cutting up your peace, if peace is what you call that black scowl." She graced him with a tart smile and departed in a bustle of skirts.

Mary angrily retreated to her music, never suspecting that Denley found sitting in the library and listening to her play in the parlor a sad, strange comfort.