(( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZW4PCaxGS8 ))

Chauncey the butler stepped sedately into the drawing room, looking for all the world like a regal penguin in his crisp suit. “His lordship has arrived, madame,” he intoned stiffly.

Lady Regintrude nodded briefly from behind the book she was absorbed in, her eyes glued to the pages. “Thank you, Chauncey.”

A moment later, Lord Alexander Chadot strode into the room, dressed ever-so-smartly in his courtroom attire. He was a bit shorter than most galdori, and he was quick to blame this on his age. His wonderful mane of hair had gone silver prematurely, but it was one of Regintrude’s favorite features about her husband. His square face was just as sophisticated as her own, though it had a certain tenderness about it that even he could not explain. It was his eyes that had always captivated the lady: those eyes that were dramatic and haughty one minute, and then would soften and seem so charmingly sad the next. The latter Regintrude had only seen whenever Alexander looked into her own.

“Good evening, dear,” Lord Chardot said, his voice a low, smooth tenor. “How was your day?” He knew the answer full well, but it was tradition.

“Quite eventful, as always,” the lady replied, lifting her head again so her husband could kiss her cheek, still clinging to the book with her eyes. “The ladies are planning another ball, and I am the one to be in charge of the theme this time. I was thinking of a haunted masquerade or some such nonsense – that should keep those giddy pincushions flapping their lips. Oh, and one of the passives decided to make a mess today – spilled the bouillabaisse all over the hallway just outside the dining room. Deucedly annoying, that; Chauncey had the creature whipped to teach it manners…”

She went on, enjoying the sound of her own voice as she spoke. Alexander, meanwhile, had seated himself and loosened his cravat, rubbing now and again at his throat. When he began to cough – quite hard – into his sleeve, Regintrude actually glanced up this time with one perfect eyebrow lifted. “Good heavens, Alexander, you sound like one of those scruffy factory workers. Must you hack so? It’s very unbecoming.” Her tone was scathing, but her eyes betrayed the concern peeking from them.

The master of the house patted his lips with a kerchief and cleared his throat delicately. “Sorry, darling – must’ve picked up a bit of a cold in court, wot?” He smiled winningly, and picked up the newspaper lying on the end table at his elbow.

That conversation ended for the time being, but (as the weeks went by) Alexander’s cough did not. Despite the man’s attempts at hiding his illness, it grew steadily worse and more painful, and many were the times when Regintrude caught her husband doubled over in the spasms of coughing, a blood spattered handkerchief pressed to his lips.

Brisk and professional, the Lady Chadot called upon the best healers her extravagant wealth could afford (and more) without so much as batting an eyelash, but anyone could see just how desperately worried she was for her husband. She kept constant vigil beside him when he was finally confined to his bed, and yet she still had the energy to keep up social appearances with the most excellent perfection.

She was by Alexander’s side, holding his hand most tenderly, when he finally slipped away; he went peacefully, caressing his wife’s face and professing his undying love for his “beloved Reggie.”

Ever proper, the now-widowed Lady Chadot silently went through the traditions of mourning: she dressed in her finest, deepest black, made all the preparations for a grand funeral, and kept up a stoic, unemotional presence amidst it all, and was publicly praised and sympathized for it. It was when she was alone in her own boudoir – slumped in a chair facing the farthest corner – that she wept long and bitterly for the only true love that had ever been in her life. That love was now gone, as well as something of the lady’s soul.

She gave a wonderful eulogy at Alexander’s funeral, and was showered with affection because of it. She promised in that speech that, because of such a loss on her part, she would never re-marry, to the chagrin of some of the older bachelors in the neighborhood.

And when she stood by as the poll bearers lowered the casket into the ground, she silently vowed to never shed another tear ever again.