A/N Back to Antonia, but I promise that in the next chapter we're going to meet some more old friends.

Antonia was sitting with her head leaning against the carriage wall, staring enchanted at the landscape outside the window. The luscious green of the pastures, the stone houses and the herds of sheep were so different from the Spanish countryside. The villages they passed looked considerably wealthier from these she used to see at home. It was obvious that England hadn't experienced a long and exhausting war not long ago. The English had always been lucky, she thought, and just only after a moment she realized she was half-English as well. Although it was no news to her, it had never hit her as hard as now, when she was travelling across this still unknown country, struggling to occupy her thoughts with anything other than the shivers that ran down her spine every time she remembered how close she was to seeing — no, not her father, not yet, but his house, his family, his world. Her new world.

"What is he like?" she asked her companion more than once, and even a passing grimace on his face at these moments, so similar to that of Uncle Frederico's, couldn't stop her from asking again. "You'll see yourself," answered Johnson every time. "When?" Antonia wouldn't give up. But the officer didn't know the answer to that, so finally Antonia gave up and went back to admiring the landscape and trying to imagine the moment she'd finally meet Colonel Sharpe. After playing out a few scenarios in her head, she came to the conclusion that maybe it was better this way. She'd be able to get to know the Sharpe house, learn more about the colonel from his family and servants, and prepare herself for meeting the man himself much better than she was prepared now.

Although she almost managed to convince herself it was all for the best, when Captain Johnson finally announced they're near their destination, Antonia began to feel sick from anxiety. Having focused on her father, she hadn't devoted much thought to Mrs. Jane Sharpe, and now she suddenly realized she was about to meet her stepmother, who might not be too happy about her presence. It was Colonel Sharpe, not his wife, who had invited Antonia after all. She frantically looked at her clothes. Her dress was creased, her shoes had some mud stuck to them. She couldn't help the former, but there was still some hope for the latter. She reached for her handkerchief and tried to clean the mud off. Johnson snorted.

"It's pointless," he muttered. "It rained last night, you'll get them dirty again before you reach the house."

Antonia recalled the driveway leading to the Moreno mansion, which was no threat to her shoes no matter the weather. Well, England is famous for the rains after all, she thought. And besides, they were in the countryside. She realized it had been long since she last saw a house or any other sign of human presence. Colonel Sharpe must have really liked peace and quiet, since he had chosen such a secluded place to live.

She still had enough time to adjust her hair. She reached for her little mirror and turned away from Johnson, who was eyeing her with a strange smirk. She really disliked the man now. He had been patronizing her from the start and making fun of her, seemingly innocent little jokes, but they annoyed Antonia a lot, especially that Johnson seemed to be very proud of his sense of humour. He who laughs last, laughs longest, she thought spitefully, and suddenly thought about Flora. Maybe it was because her strict governess had often made her think similar thoughts — Antonia would obey her, but in her mind plot, or at least imagine revenge. One time she had almost fulfilled that dream — she had thrown two big toads in Flora's bed. But after some ten minutes of feeling guilty, she had admitted everything to Jacinta and they had both taken the toads back outside before Flora had seen them. Antonia had been only ten on that day. Now she was fifteen and she wasn't going to put toads in Johnson's bed (although she suspected he'd be more scared than Flora would), and she knew she had to be nice to the man, but that didn't stop her from dreaming about her father coming back and wiping that stupid smile of the captain's face. After all, he's Mrs. Sharpe's cousin, not ours, she thought, stealing a glance at her companion, who was focused on combing his thinning blonde hair and brushing dust off his red uniform he had put on during their last stop.

A moment later the carriage rolled onto a muddy driveway and Antonia finally saw the house half-hidden by a couple of trees. It was very different from what she had imagined. The house was a quite small and heavy set two-storey cottage, built of grey stone and visibly run-down. The garden that surrounded it was separated from the road and the forest only by a low stone wall, partly crumbling. The lawn was overgrown and littered with some horse tack, tools and other things Antonia couldn't identify, with only a few narrow footpaths leading to the stables and sheds which, though mostly hidden behind the house, looked even worse than the cottage itself. Only close to the entrance there was one medium-sized flowerbed which was clearly looked after. Some chickens waded in the tall grass, but they ran away when the carriage stopped in front of the house.

Antonia wanted to get out gracefully, but she slipped on the treacherous mud covering most of the driveway, and the captain had to catch her to prevent her from falling down on her face.

"Jed," he yelled, not paying any more attention to the girl. "Jedediah! Where are you, you rascal?!"

A head appeared behind the corner. Bald and red, it belonged to a middle-aged servant who looked as if he was wondering whether to approach or to run away.

"Eh?" he muttered, finally making the decision, and he walked in a wobbly step towards the carriage.

"Take our luggage upstairs," Johnson ordered. "Is Mrs. Sharpe home?"

"No. Walkin' or sumthin'..."

If it wasn't for the driver's assistance, Jedediah would have probably fallen down the carriage steps the moment he climbed them to reach for the first trunk. It was only then that Antonia realized the servant was utterly drunk. She shifted her gaze to the captain, but he didn't seem surprised nor angry at all.

"Welcome to our humble abode, Miss," he offered with one of these annoying smirks, and not waiting for Antonia, he walked towards the entrance.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure it was the driver, not Jed, who was taking care of her luggage, then she followed her companion.

The inside of the house looked a bit better. It was modest, but at least clean and decorated with taste. The captain led her to a small drawing room with pale blue walls, and a servant appeared soon afterwards. She was young, probably not much older than Antonia, and looked extremely uncomfortable as she offered them something to drink and explained that Mrs. and Mr. Sharpe went for a walk and should be back soon.

"Mr. Sharpe?" asked Antonia quietly, unable to hide her surprise.

Johnson sent her an irritated glance, but before he had a chance to say anything, a door creaked somewhere in the house, and soon after that Jane Sharpe entered the drawing room. She was a slim woman with pale skin and somewhat sour expression. She was accompanied by a dark-haired boy who, thought Antonia, couldn't be older than nine, maybe ten years old.

"Antonia, my dear child!" Mrs. Sharpe exclaimed, spreading her arms in a gesture which seemed a bit too theatrical for Antonia's taste. "I'm so delighted to finally meet you!"

"Good morning, Madam," Antonia answered in a faint voice. She suddenly felt very embarrassed, so she didn't hug her stepmother, who was obviously expecting that, but only curtsied stiffly — just as she had practised with Flora many, many times.

"Oh, you're such a lovely a young lady!" Jane chirped on. "You have, of course, met my cousin?" To Antonia's surprise, the captain got a much colder welcome than her. "And this is Johnny, my son."

"Your son?" Antonia repeated and immediately scolded herself silently. She wanted Mrs. Sharpe to like her, so she'd better remember about good manners. She eyed the boy more closely. He was skinny, his complexion had a sickly pallor to it. When he saw the guest, he backed away and now stood half-hidden behind a big armchair like a scared mouse.

"From my first marriage, of course," Jane explained quickly. "His poor papa was killed at Waterloo."

"Oh." Quick calculations made Antonia realize that the boy must have been at least twelve. He looked much younger, she thought. "I'm very sorry, Madam," she added after a few seconds, hoping her first reaction didn't seem rude. "I'm pleased to meet you, Johnny," she addressed the boy and took a step towards him. He mumbled something under his nose and moved to hide behind his mother. Antonia suppressed a laugh.

"I'm sorry, darling, he is very shy." Jane smiled too.

This expression made her seem much more friendly, so Antonia answered with her own smile, as sincere as she could manage. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Maybe it was because everything was so different from all she had imagined? She was a bit disappointed, both with this house, so unlike the Moreno mansion, and with her stepmother. It's not Mrs. Jane's fault she's not who I have imagined, she tried to convince herself. I'm just tired, and everything is so new and strange. I'm sure it will get better. But despite these attempts, she wasn't fully convinced, and when after a modest supper she finally found herself alone in her new bedroom, she lay down on her bed and wept.

A/N If Jane's explanations seem wrong to you, then no, I didn't mess the timeline, you have to trust me on this one, I'm afraid ;)