BRITAIN, 1842

The carriage ride was rough and the road full of holes, but the scenery was beautiful. The green countryside went rolling past as the horse-drawn carriage sped along the musty dirt road.

"Sorry to have pulled both of you from your estate, Lord and Lady Shephard." A portly but well-dressed man was sitting at one end of the carriage, his elbows on his large knees as he scrutinized them. His accent was thick and British.

Lord Doctor Shephard, a well-dressed man with thick dark brown hair and eyes that seemed to be fixed in a permanent squint, nodded in acknowledgement. His hand found that of his wife, and he squeezed it reassuringly.

"This was supposed to be our vacation," said Lady Shephard haughtily, clearly not as forgiving as her husband was. She turned and met his gaze with her own as if to convey her displeasure.

He gave her an encouraging smile before turning back to look out the window, still squeezing her hand as if to convey all of his love and affection for her. Rich, well-known, and loved. That was what he was.

His wife, perhaps the most precious thing on the planet to him, was a well-dressed and well-respected young woman with medium-length blond hair and a haughty air to her. He, however, knew how to get past it.

There were times when he was unsure if she just put on the act, or if she really did consider herself better than everyone. The doubt was unsettling and so he pushed it out of his mind before it could gnaw away at him.

"Jack." He heard her voice in his ear and so he turned away from the window and back to the hostility in the carriage.

"We'll still have our vacation later," he reassured his wife. "Don't worry, Sarah. I'm sure they won't have us away too long. How sick did you say Lord Widmoore was?"

To his wife's frustration, he tore his gaze away from her and focused his attention on Benjamin Linus, who was their official escort too and from the Widmoore estate. There was something about his face that Jack didn't trust, but he supposed it must be hard living in Lord Widmoore's shadow all the time.

"Not too sick, I hope," replied Linus. "He's just worried that it might get much worse."

Jack nodded and tightened his grip on Sarah's hand. This was supposed to be their month to get away from the hassle of being the official doctor to Lord Widmoore himself, charity benefactor and Member of Parliament.

"Perhaps Lord Widmoore would be so kind as to have another portrait drawn up of Doctor Shephard," said Sarah icily, staring down their escort.

Jack gave a half-chuckle. "I'm fine, really," he assured Linus. "I don't need another portrait. You'll have to excuse my wife."

He felt Sarah tense beside him, as if she couldn't believe he had just said that. "You'll have to excuse my husband, Mr. Linus. He isn't usually so abrupt or patronizing to me."

"Dr. Linus," murmured brown-haired man so softly that Jack had to strain to hear him. "I have a doctorate."

If Sarah heard, she took no notice. She shrugged and went back to staring at Jack, affronted.

When they made it to the estate, Jack was ushered in to see Lord Widmoore. After establishing the fact that the old Lord was, in fact, fine and just a mild fever that would sweat out easily enough, he retired back to the billiards room to find Sarah sitting at the piano, playing just as her tutors had showed her.

She didn't see him coming in, and so Jack just watched her. He loved his wife – at least, he hoped he did – but there was something rather artificial about her. Did she like piano, or did she just play it to be a lady?

"Want to go for a walk?" he asked. Startled, Sarah turned towards him. Her dour face brightened at the sight of her husband.

They had just walked through the grounds and were about to head into the woods when Sarah complained about her aching feet. Jack planted a gentle kiss on her lips and told her to go back and rest. He, on the other hand, was going to walk through the woods.

He hadn't gone very far when a deer pelted across the path. As if following the animal, the arrow flew through the air and embedded itself in a tree by the doctor's head. Jack froze and slowly turned.

There was a girl standing there. She was probably only a few years younger than him, but she was slight and her eyes were frail. She held a bow in her left hand and her eyes were wide with fear.

Then she ran. Jack lunged after her, for some reason unable to let the girl go. He caught her arm and tried to pull her back on to the path, but she tumbled and they both fell into a patch of bracken.

She was lying on top of him with their noses touching, and Jack felt his heart beat faster. He grabbed her wrists and she gave up struggling after a moment. "Let me up," she said softly.

Jack lifted them both up, a little disappointed when her body was no longer pressed against hers. He kept his grasp on her wrists.

"You're poaching," he stated with a steel glare.

She swallowed and then nodded. "If you hadn't come along, I would have caught that deer," she said, eyes flashing with defiance.

Jack was impressed by her attitude. "How old are you, anyways?" he asked, not letting go even though the urge to brush down his suit was overpowering.

She glared at him. "Twenty-six."

Not that much younger than him then. "You know poaching is illegal," he told her, not sure whether or not to be angry. "Have you even caught anything?"

The girl hesitated. "Some deer. It's not that hard. I learned to track when I was young. I know it's illegal. Some of us need to do it."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Some of us need to do it? What does that mean?"

"Some of us aren't as perfect as you are," she snapped, tightening her grip on her bow until Jack thought it might snap. "Some of us aren't as rich or as good."

She twisted to escape, but Jack grabbed on to her, pulling her body against his as his hands held her back. She pounded once – twice – on his chest before letting herself go limp and wiping her face void of emotion.

"I work hard at what I do," he said darkly.

"You were born into a successful family," she replied. "That's why you're so successful. I'm good at what I do, to. But you don't see me wearing a fancy dress with my nose upturned."

Jack thought of Sarah. She was like that, wasn't she? Born into a rich family, never knowing anything but luxury. He winced. "Do you really need to poach to eat?" he asked gently.

The girl paused for a moment. Her eyes softened and then she nodded, her brown curls bouncing as she did so. "Please don't tell anyone."

"Don't worry," Jack said, moving in closer to her as if compelled by some inexplicable force. "I won't."

She looked up at him, green eyes meeting brown. "What's your name?" she asked, as if his very presence took her breath away.

There was something magnetic about her that Jack kept trying to shake. "Jack. Jack Shephard."

"Kate Austen," she said, and Jack felt a rush of happiness flow through him that she trusted him enough to give him her information.

Her hands were on his cheeks and suddenly Jack felt as though everything was right. There was something undeniably familiar about her. He wanted to pull her against his chest and kiss her right there and then.

But she was a commoner, and he had a wife. More than that, he had a duty. He was sworn to be Lord Widmoore's doctor. That took precedence over everything else.

"This isn't what I'm supposed to do," he whispered before letting her go. Hurt and confusion whipped through her eyes as Jack turned away.

With every step, he felt as though something was dragging him down. He was leaving behind a part of him – something that he couldn't explain, not in a hundred years.

But he had a duty above all else.

So, ignoring the pain in his chest, Jack returned to Sarah and held her hand on the carriage ride back, even though now it felt clammy and fake when pressed into his own.