For All Those Whom We Love and Value - Chapter Four

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Read the previous chapter here...

Anthony Lockwood, Viscount Berrington, was not a man generally given to anxious fretting. Such men did not last long in the army, and while Anthony had certainly faced any number of fearful situations, he had fought his way through them. Still, he had not survived so long as a soldier by ignoring his instincts, either.

Right now, those instincts were telling him that something was very wrong.

That he had received no word from Phoebe, almost a month after she should have arrived, spoke of either deliberate interference or tragedy, and the lack of newspaper reports or gossip hinted at the former.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter."

It was his Valet, and Anthony instantly set down his quill. "Any news, Anand?"

Other Lords might frown on such a cheerful servant, but Hari's unfailing optimism had carried them though a number of difficult times, and the sight of a soldier-servant smiling never failed to throw off the other Captains during tense negotiations. Right now, the Valet's ever-present grin was a degree or two brighter than usual, indicating good news. "Better than that, Sir - my Lord. There's a letter for you."

Anthony stood up so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet reaching for the folded parchment. Anand was kind enough not to laugh at him. He'd been worried about Phoebe, too. He waited patiently as Anthony broke the seal.

'My dearest Anthony,' the letter read,

'If, as I suspect, my previous letters have been concealed from you, allow me to begin with assurances of my safe arrival on England's shores. Admiral Croft conveyed me safely, and Mrs Croft and I became good friends on the journey, once I was recovered from the bouts of sea-sickness that plagued my first few weeks at sea.

Upon arrival, we spent some weeks at a boarding house in ___, while Admiral and Mrs Croft made inquiries about properties for lease. At the time of my writing this letter, they have taken a lease on Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire. While at the boarding house, I sent several notes to Berrington House, which I can only suppose you never received, but someone did, as I recieved a visit from your mother.

I gave her words little credit, when she told me that one such as I might have been an acceptable match for a soldier, but as Earl you had a duty to marry higher. I know the trials of noble politics, my love, and I will not fault you if your mother's claim is true. I only ask that you do me the courtesy of breaking my heart in person.

If Lady Berrington was incorrect about your marital ambitions, I will be staying in Somerset with the Crofts for the foreseeable future. (I thought it best to put some space between myself and those who wish me out of your life)

Yours, for as long as you wish it,

Phoebe Weirbrook.'

He should have known! Anthony knew how his mother disapproved of his choice of wife, and her un-subtle attempts to change his mind! How had he failed to anticipate that she would try more direct means?

As suddenly as his anger had risen, Anthony felt it drain away. He knew the answer: he had not expected his mother to be so manipulative because he still clung to the childhood dream that his family cared more about his happiness than they did about what he could do for them.

All his life, Anthony had struggled with being an after-thought to his own flesh and blood, trotted out when he was useful and promptly forgotten again.

When his university friends and the people he had undergone basic training with were more consistent in their letters than his parents and siblings, who occasionally remembered to write once or twice a year. When Father only spoke of him when he could use Anthony's profession to snipe at his rivals in Parliment whose younger sons had chosen the Law or the Church, while his third son was serving his country as all good Englishmen should, what was your boy doing again, Fife? When he was merely a feather in Mother's cap, having birthed not only the Heir and Spare, but also a third son for the Empire, while the Duchess of Wight had given her husband only two daughters.

Anthony wanted to be more than an afterthought or an empty boast. He'd found that in the Army, serving with honour. He'd felt at home among Phoebe's family; as complicated as they could be, they'd welcomed him with open arms. He'd found his worth with Phoebe, who had rejected at least one far more eligible offer while waiting for him, when he had been a mere Captain.

Well, Mama had overspent her pin-money this quarter, and as a measure toward reducing the debts his brothers had accumulated, insisting that the rest of the family actually lived within their means sounded like an excellent idea.

Anthony would need to meet with his man of business anyway if he wished to make a visit of any real duration; he would inform him and the bank of the changes then, and ask his agent to let the merchants know that anyone extending credit to his family did so at their own risk. Annand would not need to pack more than the basics of everyday necessities and a change of evening wear. Anthony doubted that the country would demand too many grand occasions of him, but it would take a few days to arrange accommodation for the journey to Somerset, and get his affairs in order...

Beletedly, Anthony realised that his valet was still waiting to be dismissed, and looking rather concerned. "Ah, yes. We'll be going on a short sojourn to Somerset in a few days, once I make arrangements."

His former batman, attuned to reading his moods, noticably relaxed. "It's good news, then, my Lord?"

Anthony nodded, "Miss Weirbrook is safely in England, and had too much good sense to blindly believe the attempted interference and manipulation she was subjected to. She's currently staying with the Croft family..."

Croft, Croft, aside from Phoebe's letter, why was that name so familiar? Anthony dug through a pile of correspondence, finding the most recent letter from Captain Wentworth. Yes, the Captain mentioned visiting his sister and brother-in-law, Admiral and Mrs Croft, now that the former had retired. He would be staying with them at Kellynch Hall, but would continue to make inquiries on Anthony's behalf.

A letter to Phoebe must be his first concern, reassuring her that his mother's words were so much hot air. Marrying a foreigner from outside the circle to which he was born was not Treason, and there was very little outside of that which could justify his title being stripped from him. If Anthony was to be an Earl, he wanted a sensible, practical Countess at his side.

Then, a letter to Wentworth, requesting a meeting. Anthony would need to explain the whole mess to the closest thing he had to a friend and ally, and ask for his help. If Phoebe refused to see him, she might listen to the Captain. He glanced up at Annand, still waiting. "If you're willing to tarry a few minutes, I'll have some letters for you to take directly to the post office, while I investigate who has been interferring with my mail."

Hari nodded immediately. "Of course, my Lord." He hesitated a second, "If I may be so bold, I suggest starting with the footmen. They value their employment, and may be more willing than the Butler to inform on whoever they did not feel they had the power to refuse."

That was a good point, and a position that his Valet would be far more familiar with than Anthony was.

Anthony finished the letters, writing as hastily as he could while still remaining legible, and sanded them dry. Quickly folding the paper and sealing them, he wrote the address of Kellynch Hall, and the return care of his Man of Business. If his staff were willing to bow to her whims, his mother would have a much harder time getting Anthony's letters away from his Agent.

Seeing Anne again had been both easier and harder than Wentworth had anticipated.

At seven-and-twenty, she was much diminished from the ninteen-year-old he had first fallen in love with. A lifetime of being un-noticed by her own family, except when there was some unwanted task to be done, had taken its toll upon her. Traces of her youthful beauty were still there, hidden under lines of fatigue and carefully-concealed misery, but at first glance she appeared almost haggard.

Or perhaps not so concealed, merely un-noticed and unremarked upon by all those who professed to care about her. "Care", the concept was almost laughable. None of them cared for Anne the way she deserved! None of them protected her, from her younger sister's careless barbs, or even her ungovernable nephew's demands as she attempted to nurse the other nephew.

For all his resolve to be indifferent, it was clear that he was losing the battle.

Wentworth had tried to forget Anne. He had not lost himself to drink or ladies of the night, as some did. Instead, he tried to hold onto the anger he'd felt at her rejection, trying to persuade himself that his lingering feelings were of resentment, rather than lonliness. It had only mostly worked.

Staring out the window of a room decorated far too sensibly to have belonged to Miss Elliot or Mrs Charles Musgrove, Wentworth contemplated the letter in his hand. It was one of a pair, the other belonging to a guest who had accepted his sister's invitation, but had not yet arrived. Perhaps a few days away would do him good, and he was curious to see what was so important that Earl Berrington had sent several pounds in his letter to cover travel expenses.

Wentworth found himself regretting his flippant remarks to Sophy about any woman having him for the asking, for the low cost of a few compliments to the Navy. He wasn't sure how such intelligence had reached the Miss Musgrove's ears, but it seemed he couldn't walk across a room at Uppercross without being complimented. Yet, all the while, Anne was silent and avoiding him, barely able to meet his eyes or speak two words in his presence.

Anne had not married in his absence, that much was clear, but had her feelings faded along with her youth? It was an uncomfortable thought, and one that Fredrick would rather not examine at any great length. He would depart early on the morrow, and hopefully leave any thought of Anne behind him.

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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