For All Those Whom We Love And Value - Prologue

The air was hot and fragrant, filled with the scent of the spices and incense being sold in the marketplace, or loaded onto ships of the EITC, destined for faraway lands, and heavy with the humidity common to this time of year.

A time of year, in Miss Phoebe Weirbrook's considered opinion, that the parts of the East Indies under Company Rule, fanatic in their copying of to London Fashion - as much as one could be when the latest magazines were inevitably months out of date - could stand a little less devotion. Imitation might be the sincerest form of flattery, but it was hardly the most comfortable one in such radically different climates. She tried to ignore the trickle of sweat down her back, and blessed whichever long-ago inventor had invented muslin and lightweight cotton.

Pushing aside her discomfort, Phoebe smiled up at her escort. "I can hardly imagine waiting half a year to see you again!"

The man Phoebe had known for the past six years as Captain Anthony Lockwood tried to smile back, managing something closer to a pained grimace, but his eyes were fond. "Does it speak badly of me that I feel the same?"

She gave the matter some thought, shaking her head and angling her parasol to shade them both from the overpowering sun. "You only recieved word yesterday, and had not seen your family in years before that. I am not surprised that grief should take some time to sink in."

Captain Lockwood had been sent to Pondicherry as an Ensign shortly after the Vellore Mutiny, and assigned under Phoebe's father, Colonel Weirbrook. The Colonel had his junior officers to dinner often, and once she was of an age to be out in Society, Phoebe was permitted to join the Officers at the parties and occasional balls that were moderately common in the parts of India under Company Rule. Permissible company being somewhat limited in scope, the two had found themselves in company often, and begun a quiet courtship a year ago, when Anthony made Captain.

Phoebe had anticipated that she might begin to plan her wedding in a few months, but yesterday Captain Lockwood had recieved a letter that had changed everything.

His brother, the Earl of Berrington, had died in an accident, and the next brother in line had been involved in an illegal duel and forced to flee the country, leading to him being disinherited in an attempt to save the family from scandal. Anthony was now the new Earl, and as such, was instructed to sell his commission and return to England to take up his seat. The letter, which Captain Lockwood had shown her without prompting, was light on detail, and he suspected that the gaps in the narrative presented by his family were not fit for print.

The daughter of a British father and an Indian mother, a Mahakumari whose family arranged the match largely in an attempt to keep EITC out of their small princedom, Phoebe was no stranger to complicated families. She pressed her fingers lightly into Captain Lockwood's arm as they walked, all the reassurance she could offer in such a public place. "I wish I could go with you; we have always supported each other through life's troubles."

He paused, drawing her under the shade of a jewelery stall. "This is not how I wanted to ask, but... Miss Phoebe Weirbrook, will you be my wife? It may be some time before we can marry, what with the Mourning requirements, but I know that I cannot envision a life without you by my side."

Phoebe belatedly realised that her mouth was hanging open, and shut it. She would marry him, of course she would, but she had been expecting to have to wait until he could return here, and who knew how long that would take! "Yes, of course, but how? You leave on the morning tide, there is no time..."

Captain Lockwood handed several coins to the jeweller, selecting a ring, a band of gold set with sky-blue turquoise. "I know rings aren't common, but we may have a long engagement. I will speak with your father tonight, and we can draft a settlement between us, and I will have a proper settlement drawn up as soon as I return to England."

Phoebe slid her hand down his arm until they were holding hands, a privilage afforded to engaged couples. "As soon as matters are settled, I will be on the first ship that can carry me back to you."

July 1st, 1813

Kellynch Hall, Somerset

Miss Anne Elliot, second daughter of Sir Walter Elliot, Baronet, pressed her fingers lightly against her temples.

Elizabeth was happy to have the prestige of being Mistress of Kellynch Hall, and just as happy to hand off the unpleasant parts of that role to Anne. Occasionally, Anne considered pointing out that visiting tenants and managing the servants were the role of the Lady of the house, but now as ever, she refrained. It gave Anne something to do with her days, after all, and she had never been happy to sit idle.

Besides, long and bitter experience had taught her that if Anne did not do it, the task would not be done.

That was, after all, why Anne was going over the household accounts, trying to determine where she could cut back without Elizabeth noticing. Several merchants had not been paid, and Anne’s gentle reminders that it was a matter of honour to pay one’s debts, and how much of those tradesmen’s livelihoods depended on the Patronage from Kellynch, fell on deaf ears. Father was more concerned with updating his and Elizabeth’s wardrobes for their annual visit to London, than with paying the shopkeepers who supplied them.

Not for the first time, Anne thought that she would have had a far happier life in marrying Wentworth six years ago, despite the risks. Wentworth had no savings, and their lives would have been difficult if Father withheld her dowery, but Wentworth had also been careful to pay his debts and not overspend. A man with a title had only honour to force him to pay his debts; a Navy man with no great family behind him was in a far more precarious position.

Anne needed no great manor house, no trips to London and Bath, no constant supply of new gowns, in order to be happy. At nineteen, Anne had been convinced that the only requirement for happiness was Wentworth. At six-and-twenty, older and wiser, Anne still believed that.

Lady Russell had many good arguments for why Anne should not have married: they would have had little money to live off; Fredrick could have died at sea and left her a young widow; her father would have never admitted them into his company again… All of those arguments Anne could have withstood, but for Lady Russell’s final one: If Captain Wentworth was married, he would find it harder to advance. He would be sent on safer missions, see less action, and might never make his fortune as the reports of him that occasionally appeared in the papers claimed.

Anne could have withstood any trial for herself, but she could never be the cause of Fredrick’s suffering.

Time had softened her grief, though it had lessened not at all. Anne had resigned herself to the loss of Captain Wentworth’s regard, but she would face any manner of scorn, if only to see him again.

Natasja Rose is the author of two Austen Variations and twenty-nine non-Austen books of various genres, two of which are being adapted as scripts for a mini-series.

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