The Captain's Nephew by Philip K Allan

Author:Philip K Allan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penmore Press LLC
Published: 2018-01-09T16:00:00+00:00

*****

Well, at least that has now been done, thought Follett as the cabin door closed on the lieutenant’s departing back. Of course a marriage between the penniless Clay and the wealthy Lydia Browning was too ridiculous to consider. No, he was clear that he had done the right thing, and spared his impulsive young first lieutenant from a painful rebuff at the hands of Sir Francis. Families like the Brownings and the Ashtons, or indeed the Folletts did not marry for love. Marriage was far too important a dynastic tool to be wasted in such a frivolous way.

Did he not have personal experience of such matters? He remembered the time when he was no older than young Windham and he had been quite infatuated with the lovely Miss Emilia, the pretty, kind daughter of the teacher in the village school. He would ride over to her little cottage by the mill stream most days, and walked with Emilia through woods and fields bursting with the new life of a fresh spring. He could still picture her now, her pale skin, the bridge of freckles across her nose, her chestnut hair piled up under her bonnet, the material of her dress as covered with flowers as the meadows around them. But his father had sat him down in his study and explained matters to him in his usual bluff way. Such a match was quite out of the question, so best not to lead the young girl on, what? No, the family had a much superior wife in mind for him. He was to marry Anne. She was young, beautiful, of impeccable character and came with a substantial dowry. It was his duty to marry her for his family’s sake as well as his own. Should love not follow after marriage, and he found that he still had yearnings for this Emilia, why he could always take her as his mistress.

Follett opened the top draw of his desk, and after a moments search, found the silver locket his wife Anne had given him several years ago. He flipped it open and looked at the two little painted images that faced each other. Even at this tiny scale the artist had done a good job. He had somehow caught the boyish enthusiasm of his son John, and behind the calm beauty of his wife, the hint of ice in her stare. He had done the right thing by his family, he told himself, just as he had done the right thing in the case of his first lieutenant. His thoughts had now come full circle, as if to convince him by dint of repetition.

He pushed himself back in his chair and let out a long sigh. So why did he feel so empty inside? Where was that familiar feeling of supreme confidence in his own judgement?

‘I have done my duty well,’ he told the twin images nestling in his palm. That of his wife stared back at him from within its silver oval.

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