Author's Note: I changed quite a bit to my liking... ages, relationship, etc. I kept mostly everything the same though so no worries! You will scarcely see the characters in Wives and Daughters, for its not about them, but Mr. Preston.
I figured it was about time I tell Mr. Preston's tale. Because if I were to meet him, he and I were to get along very well, if not fall in love. [:
Au revoir.
Learning Loyalty : Mr. Preston's Tale by A. A. Bridges
Rated: M for adult themes, graphic scenes, violence
Summary:
After sad experience with fickle women, engagement and rejection, Mr. Preston turns upside down. When a greater misfortune hits not only his home is at stake, but his life, and perhaps any chance at love.
Chapter One: Forgetting
"Keep your heart steady and your mind fixed
And you will only lose sight of everything
that was not in your heart at the beginning,
the beginning of love."
Mrs. Roger Hamley and Roger Hamley himself were travelled to Africa. Cynthia was married off as well. Lady Harriet continued living, the Smiths continued gossip. Mr. Preston was still in England, trying to do one thing. Forget.
Late morning sun beat on the browning grass, Fall making its dramatic entrance as the temperature dropped a full 15 degrees. A tall man in riding clothes with blondish brown hair that covered his neck rode on a rich chestnut horse to the fields where work was done.
"Good morning, Mr. Hamley," greeted Mr. Preston.
Mr. Preston's reputation with Mr. Hamley had lowered tremendously with what happened between Cynthia, Mr. Hamley's daughter-in-law last Spring. Luck followed the Preston's around as he still had work, though his honesty was constantly put down. The only one who seemed to confront him even remotely un-lady like was, in fact, a lady, Lady Harriet Cumnor. He admired that blond fire bolt though she always laid out the inclination of despicability towards him, though being the land agent of Lord Cumnor held emotions in consideration.
"Mr. Preston, these men are slower than usual. I would say it's because of your arrival." said Mr. Hamley, in his usual coarse throaty voice. He truly had a caring heart, most times directing it towards unkindly measures, and being judgmental did not help matters; also with a temper as short as winter's blades of grass.
Mr. Preston's appearance held an air of authority and lightheartedness, the lines around his lips evident that he smiled more often than most, though the wrinkles around his eyes indicated stress of an unfortunate kind that made him look much older than his 32 years. So it was natural for him to acknowledge Mr. Hamley's greeting with good humour, meaning a soft chuckle that vibrated the thin chilly air with warmth. "I would say, that the men have been going slower because of the closing in Fall. They have gotten too used to Summer's bed of comfort and are now slacking. They lack discipline, like your mouth."
"Aye, aye, Mr. Preston. Your mouth needs disciplining more than mine. I know how to do my job, maybe you should do yours." It wasn't two seconds the gruff answer reached Mr. Preston's ears when Mr. Hamley slapped his horse with a whip and hurried off into the fields.
"So all the ladies say," whispered Mr. Preston before taking his leave as well.
The rest of the day was spent leisurely, for Mr. Hamley did not require his company and there were many matters to ponder. The sage bushes were a captain to his sailing wishes as he refused to meet up with any old acquaintances. That he might accidentally bump into them would be even worse; the discouraged ailing man chose solitude. He didn't mind ruffling up his neatly ironed gentleman clothes as he took in the cool salty air.
"Cynthia, dear Cynthia, Miss Kirkpatrick, why did I ever embrace the false love of your fickle heart?" The reasons were firstly only numbered on his fingers, soon growing to hundreds, and then thousands as time progressed.
"Now why is your heart fickle?" The reason for this puzzled him greatly, and he had a partial understanding for it. He had appeared fickle by gallivanding for years during the secrecy of his engagement to Cynthia, and he had wished to remain constant; but what of his feelings? What of his jealousy when her personality deemed every man worthy of her special attentions, when it should have been him who only deserved her?
...One year later...
Training physically was much easier than mental exacerbation. "Two left, two right, a circle, and thrust forward. Two back, two left, two back, two right, dash, twist, and thrust." It was a musical routine that Mr. Preston had formed in his many years of practicing sword fights and gun-powdered pistols. It wasn't directly a time of war, so to say, but always having strong hearth for protection he trained far more vigourously than most gentleman dared; which was null to none.
The servant, Mr. Trenton, the last servant in Mr. Preston's household, knocked squarely on the recently ballroom converted training room door.
"Come in!" huffed Mr. Preston, finishing a minour thrust as the elderly servant entered with a silver tray and two parchment letters. One sealed in familiar violet flower wax, and the other in unfamiliar scarlet cross wax.
"Your letters, sire."
"Many kind thanks, Mr. Trenton." Mr. Preston bowed deeply to express his gratitude, having Mr. Trenton still by his side through harsh times was increasing his sense of gratefulness towards him.
"Your welcome, sire. Will you have dinner at 6:00 today?"
"That depends, will it rain?"
"Will it rain? Why, there are no storm clouds about, the wind is mightily picking up however, most likely have a sprinkle at most, if even that."
"I see. Arrange dinner outside at 5:45, I would like to enjoy sunset one last time before harsh winter hits." What Mr. Preston truly wanted to say was 'I want to enjoy a nice feast on silver dinner plates in front of a colourful sunset one last time before I lose it all...'
"Very well, sire. Dinner will be ready at 5:45, precisely." Mr. Trenton bowed and slid backwards to leave.
"I will still be arriving at 6:00 though, no mistake."
"Yes, sire."
Mr. Preston suddenly did not feel inquired to open the letters at present, still sweat glistened and rushed from practice. He set the letters aside on the only piece of wooden furniture in the room, a roll up desk, and continued with his sword thrusts and parries. The most important aim of this activity was to make him enter an entirely new world and completely forget all his troubles.