Disclaimer: I do not anything pertaining to Vanity Fair in any format (book, mini-series or movie). All rights are reserved by the original owners.
Author's Note: If you've read the first chapter (which you probably have) thank you very much for doing so! This second chapter really gets into the actual story; dialogue and all. Your review is much appreciated.
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"Good morning dearest!" Amelia greeted her husband as he came to the table that morning. "Are you feeling very hungry? There is some hot porridge if you wish to have some."
Seeing her beaming face in the mornings as she bustled about the house always stirred something inside of him; it reminded him of how he imagined married life would be. "Yes Emmy, I would like some." He sat down at the head of the table and reached over to his right to ruffle his son's hair; little Georgy was already eating his breakfast.
Amelia returned from the kitchen a moment after, where the maidservant and cook were eating their own meals, and set the steaming bowl in front of George, after which she went back to eating her porridge.
"I must go into town today," George proclaimed after eating a few bites.
"On business? Will you be back home this evening?" Amelia asked.
"I should expect so, but if it becomes necessary I will remain overnight and return tomorrow."
"Daddy, bring me something!" Georgy insisted.
"Of course!" he smiled at the boy. He reminded him so much of himself when he was his age; if only he had the money to bring him up as he had been brought up.
"Georgy, you know that your father is a busy man and can't always bring you presents," his mother told him softly. The truth was that she would give him nearly everything he asked for, and he was already beginning to demand things when he did not receive them directly.
"Nonsense! Georgy should have nice things and will have when I could back." His announcement made the boy grin triumphantly at the world around him, knowing that his future treasures were secured before re-focusing his attention on creating porridge mountains.
Amelia pretended to blow on a spoonful of porridge to cold it as she stifled a disapproving sigh. It was too often that the boy dominated her authority, his father encouraging the attitude, but he was still young, she reasoned, he would be brought up properly.
George noticed the look in her eye and continued; "And perhaps I should bring something back for you as well." Their eyes connected and they exchanged the first meaningful look in days. She practically glowed with happiness and he was pleased that his words brought forth such a result, although he had no idea of what he ought to get for either of them.
***
It was probably near to being one in the afternoon when Rebecca finally roused herself and got out of bed. Rawdon had been reclining in a lower level of the house and could hear her footsteps on the wooden floor, so went on upstairs to check on her. He politely knocked and waited to receive an affirmative answer before entering the room.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Crawley! How are you this day?" he boomed out.
"Shhhhh! Rawdon would you quit that infernal shouting. You know how I detest hearing that when I first awake," she snapped back in a half-whisper.
"I'm sorry, my love," he whispered as he walked near to his wife. Maybe he had been a tad bit loud for a person who had just been heavily slumbering after a full night of social mingling and trays of drinks.
Her back was to him as she stood before the table holding a wash basin and other assorted toiletries. Approaching her from behind and putting his arms around her petite body, he held her close to him. Becky put her head back onto his chest, relaxing in his embrace.
"Darling, why don't you come out to the park with me today?" he whispered into her ear as he tilted his head slightly. "It's a marvelous afternoon and I'm taking Rawdy out to walk him about on his pony. Come with us."
"The pony? So you won't be taking the carriage?"
"Well, no… unless you want the pony to ride with us. It's not a great distance to walk to reach the park though." He didn't need to see her face to know that she disliked the idea, her body had subtly tensed and a moment later she had pulled herself from his embrace.
Becky turned to face him before she spoke, "If you take the carriage I shall go with you; you really don't expect me to walk to the park, do you? A lady would always take some sort of transportation to get there, and even then she is not expected to step a foot out of it when she got there."
"You know that the carriage is expensive, Becky, we use it only when we must. Can't you take a cab there instead?" His face gave away a pained expression, which seemed to occur subconsciously whenever the topic of money was being discussed.
"A cab? And have the driver wait about for us? I can just imagine the looks of scorn we would receive. It would be better to take the carriage, at least then we'd have our own servant waiting on us."
"For pity's sake Rebecca, must you make everything so difficult?!" Rawdon stalked over the nearby window and opened it before lighting the cigar he pulled out of his vest pocket.
"Rawdon, smoke that filthy thing somewhere else. I don't want that smell filling my room!" she exclaimed when she caught sight of him about to light it with one of the matches from the matchbox on her dressing table.
He looked at her, surprised; "I thought you liked the smell of cigars."
"We were courting when I said that I did, you really didn't expect me to be serious about that did you? I was only being flirtatious." Her reply was truthful, despite its flippant tone – he was so easily led on.
"I'll smoke it at the park then, at least you won't have to smell it there." Rawdon stalked from the room, his emotions much changed from when he had entered.
***
It was good to be back in town again. He missed the sights and sounds of London. George had always known that he was meant to live here and always felt like an exile back at home, but here, here is where he could truly live. Making his usual stops, he visited a lady-friend, toured the shops – and bought himself a couple new neckties in the process – stopped by the regiment's quarters, and attended to business. Currently riding in a coach to his next destination George gazed out the window into the park, the one that he used to spend so much time in years ago. But those days were gone now, lost to the… Sitting upright suddenly, he stared out the window.
"Driver! Stop here," he ordered.
"Of course, sir." The driver was confused at the sudden change, but complied. George got out, paid the man, and quickly strode towards the park, his eyes fixed on his target.
"Crawley? Is that you Crawley?"
Rawdon looked about, alarmed that his name was being called out, and kept turning about until he found the source. "Osbourne? Good grief, George Osbourne!"
Both men gave hearty laughs as they shook hands vigorously, thumping each other on the back for emphasis.
"My goodness, man, how've you been? It's been quite some time you know," the taller man grinned.
"I've been keeping well. My wife and child are both content, so I suppose that's the best I can hope for."
"Ah, yes! Your fair little wife, and your little boy too, eh? I should like to see him; he's the same age as my son." He turned to Rawdy who was sitting on his pony a few yards away, "Come on over, son! I want to introduce you to someone."
George observed appreciatively as Crawley introduced his son, beaming with pride all the while. He looked to be a fine child, quiet when he compared him with his own son, but other than that could not find anything particularly striking about the boy. He wasn't a good judge of children in his own mind.
"What part of town are you living in, Osbourne?"
He hesitated a moment before replying, "Ah, my residence is, er, just outside of town."
Rawdon sensed his unease, and regretted asking such a question – he shouldn't have assumed that his family was doing as well as his own family appeared to be. "Well then, if the travel isn't too much for you and your family, then I believe you ought to come to dinner. I'm sure that my wife would like to see Mrs. Osbourne again and our boys could meet as well."
George was truly surprised at the invitation so suddenly put toward him, but readily accepted the offer. After all, it had been years since he had seen the Crawleys. "Well, I must leave you now, Rawdon," he said after a time. "I have to attend to business in town today."
"Of course, good man; I won't keep you detained any longer. I'll have Becky send Mrs. Osbourne a proper invitation with the date and time as soon as possible. We'll be seeing you soon!" With that, the two men shook hands again and went their separate ways.
***
"Mrs. Osbourne! The post has come!" the maid called out.
Amelia, who had been doing some sewing on the back porch, jumped up from her seat and dashed to the front hallway. She had been reclining in the shade, lost in thought, and hadn't heard the postman knock on the door. In her excitement she nearly collided with the maid, who had been approaching from the opposite way. The maid handed her the letters and waited for her mistress to check to see who they were addressed to. She furiously flipped through them, they were mostly for George, or bills, or a regular letter from one of the few persons that she did know, until she found the one that she had been waiting for. It was from Major William Dobbin, addressed to the Osbourne family, all the way from the mystic East.
She repressed the urge to cry out in delight. Instead, Emmy took a deep breath and thanked her maid before hurrying away to the back porch that she had occupied moments earlier. Carefully opening the envelope so as not to damage any of its contents, she unfolded the many papers that had been bound together and was enchanted when numerous pressed flowers fell into her lap. She gently picked one up and examined its foreign colours of fuchsia and orange. Amelia held the pages close to nose and inhaled. Even after months of traveling, William's letters still had captured the exotic smell of Indian spices, waiting to be released by her delicate hands.