Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
The spring sun shone gaily on the hillside, as the river resolutely lay undisturbed by the reflection, of the social gathering, the festivities which despite the unseasonably warm climate remained unabated, wore on.
The gathering sought shade, in the trees and copious amounts of water from the river, it was clean enough to drink, or so they were told by Charles.
The family and extended family of Charles Musgrove, were reunited with one endeavour a peep at one very special little child, a sweet little one a newborn with rose petal lips and large, clear brown eyes which when not closed in slumber, opened to reveal an interested very observant little girl, all present declared her perfect, she had her mothers brown hair, which would one day make her the most handsome of all, and it was generally agreed she had her mother's genuine good heart, you could see it in the reflection of her eye, and nobody would wish to protest to the contrary.
Anne Wentworth, sighed contently as she watched, her husband cradle his daughter and fourth child in his arms, calloused hands gently touched petal bud skin as he deposited the child, Annie, into her older brothers arms, she felt a natural pierce of concern, Fred was five years older Anne didn't desire her eldest son to mature, she had converted a wish since his birth that he should remain her little newborn and now it appeared her hope would not be established.
Her children gave such elation Frederick, Elliot, Sophia and Anne were each maturing, into there own individual characters, but would they be in need of there Mama as those personalities shone? As they fell in love, married and had children of there own. It was the conjecture of a mother who did not wish to be her fathers daughter, who did not want to become so like him as Elizabeth had, she had under no circumstances married and had along with her father taken her superior pride to its confines, she had refused to perceive the offspring of Captain Wentworth, her nieces and nephews, who were perhaps beneath her in the privileges of birth, but far out ranked her in there fathers affluence and prosperity.
Her father had died months before in the winter he had grown to be, a bitter, cruel man who treated Anne with potent disdain, too proud to raise money from his son-in-law; he had ruined what little wealth he retained.
With constant alcohol ingestion he had become wan, unwell and unsightly.
So as Anne beheld her youngest son, Elliot named for the proud relatives, she was reminded of the lesson her innocent boy had yet to learn, but was certain that he would not make his grandfathers unwise lapse of judgement nor slither into his vices. His parents would guide him though.