For All Those Whom We Love and Value - Chapter Two

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Read Chapter One here...

Anthony had possessed the misfortune of arriving in London right as the Season launched into full swing.

One could argue that it would have been worse to have arrived a month earlier, in time to take up his hereditary seat in Parliment before it opened for the Session, and be forced to sit in session with little idea of how the formalities worked or any clue of what they were arguing about. He'd dodged that, at least; his father's younger brother, a Barrister, had taken over as proxy in the interim after the previous Lord Berrington's death. They couldn't have the seat empty for a year or more, after all, and Uncle James - who had always had time and a kind word for a younger Anthony - was willing to stay on for the rest of the Session, giving the new Lord time to get his feet under him.

There was already so much to do! Accounts and expenses to balance, Merchants and Shopkeepers to pay, rents to collect, requests for investment to approve or reject, decisions regarding the spring planting that had to be made well in advance of the actual planting... It seemed that every time he turned around, something new demanded his attention. Had it not been for his experience in requistions and the sort of things that Senior Officers waxed lyrical over after their second glass of Feni brandy, Anthony would have been totally lost.

Mother's hints that a wife would be just the thing to solve all of his problems were less than helpful.

Anthony wasn't sure how much clearer he could be, having already stated that he was engaged to Miss Phoebe Weirbrook, and would have no wife but her. Mother had stopped dropping hints, but didn't seem fully convinced, even after he showed her Phoebe's letter, stating that she'd recieved the signed settlement and would follow her letter on the first available ship, and would send word once she arrived in London. Until then, Anthony could only wait.

Unfortunately, so much free time left Anthony at the mercy of his mother and sisters. If they were not calling him away from his study and into the drawing or sitting rooms to be introduced to yet another 'friend' and her unmarried sister or daughter, they were half-dragging him through parks and tea-shops, like some prized bird or animal on display for market. (Whereupon further hordes of eligible ladies materialized, flocking like iron nails to a lodestone.) Used to a life of activity, the forced idleness when not battling paperwork was exhausting.

Anthony had missed his family, of course he had. But it had been over a decade since he'd seen them for more than a few weeks at a time. Between the Gentleman's education that Father and then Uncle James insisted that he have, then his Commission at eighteen and off to the East Indies almost immediately after that, communicating in only the occasional letter from England, despite that Anthony himself had written monthly... how was he to express that his family were all but strangers to him?

How was he to say that the fluttering, giggling masses of debutants barely out of the schoolroom held no interest to him? Phoebe had been sixteen to his nineteen when they first met, and by the time the local matrons started raising eyebrows about how she really should think about marrying soon, they were serious enough that waiting until he could be promoted and sell out was justified.

His unexpected inheritance had thrown a spanner into those plans, but they would have married in a year or two, either way.

At least he wasn't totally alone, while waiting for Phoebe to arrive. His batman, Private Hari Anand, had been willing to muster out with him and become a valet for the same pay, which Anthony offered willingly. Hari was the only son of an Indian father - in the Feni profession, ironically - and the maid in the service of the EITC, and had been curious about the homeland his mother spoke of. He was also intelligent enough to know that he would not be warmly welcomed in said homeland.

In Anthony's experience, people were all too keen to find other people to look down upon. Servants, as a rule, rarely had that opportunity, and Hari was the walking contradiction of being highly-ranked as an Earl's valet, and looking very much like the kind of person servants could look down on. Phoebe had dealt with similar attitudes, even back in India. When Hari had still been in the army and occasionally designated to running errands for officers, it was one of the things he and Phoebe had formed a friendship over.

Phoebe's ship should have made port by now, even if there had been delays. The EITC always made the papers complaining about pirates, or the need for overland trading routes, whenever a ship flying their colours went down, and Anthony had seen none of that. Nor had his fellow Lords been complaining about the Company's complaints, so he couldn't blame someone hiding a section of the paper from him.

He'd ask Hari to make inquiries. His Valet was fond of a tea shop that catered to more exotic - by British Standards - tastes in drinks, and had formed friendships with a number of dockworkers who shared a similar appearance to him. Surely, someone would know something...

Fredrick Wentworth hadn't even returned to England yet, and Sophy had already superseded the Admiralty in giving him orders.

He had three letters, one from his Empress of an older sister, one from the Admiralty, and the other from a soldier-turned-Earl that he had ferried on the last leg of the man's journey to take up his seat, right before Wentworth had learned the news about poor Fanny Harville and granted himself emergency leave. Anthony Lockwood, now Lord Barrington, had been a decent enough fellow, and as much as Wentworth hated the game of politics and connections that was part of being an Officer in any part of the British armed forces, a Peer that he could actually stand to be in company with was a good friend to have. Especially in peacetime, when there was less need for every ship in the Navy to be out fighting or patrolling.

The Earl's letter was the more intriguing of the two, inquiring about Wentworth's ability to search for a passenger that the Earl had been expecting to arrive in England, but who he had yet to hear from. Wentworth carefully avoided thinking about who this lady might be to the Earl; mistresses were not meant to be common knowledge, and a wife or fiancée reminded him too much of Benwick's grief over Fanny, and of -

Wentworth forced his mind away from the memory of eight years ago. Blast it, this was why he had avoided the southern half of England as much as possible, docking at Liverpool or Newcastle, and avoiding anything South of Kings Lynn if he didn't have explicit orders to the contrary. He'd tried to forget the memory of a nineteen-year-old Baronet's daughter, somehow un-noticed by any but him. He'd tried to replace the memory of her, but quickly given it up as a lost cause. He wondered if she was married now, either to someone the infernal Lady Russell considered high-status enough to be worthy of her god-daughter, or to someone willing to overlook the sting of rejection.

Wentworth had been too proud to stay where he was unwanted, and loved her too much to risk compromising her reputation by his repeated affections once she asked him to leave.

Well, Wentworth could certainly make inquiries on the Earl's behalf among his fellow Captains, once he made port and before he journeyed to Somerset. He'd never told Sophy the fine details of his doomed romance, only that he'd experienced heartbreak. Letters to India were expensive, and there was too much to explain. What irony that Sophy and Croft had decided to lease Kellynch.

No doubt Sir Walter and his eldest daughter would be absent, carrying on some farce about how leasing the Elliot's ancestral seat had been a willing choice, rather than the result of debts or some other necessity. He wondered if she would be there, still.

There was only one way to find out.

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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