Philloise Re-Written

Prologue

February 1820

Gloucestershire, England

It was ironic, really, that it had happened on such a sunny day.

The first sunny day in, what had it been—six straight weeks of grey skies, accompanied by the occasional sprinkling of light snow or rain? Even Phillip, who'd thought himself impervious to the vagaries of the weather, had felt his spirits lighten, his smile widen. He'd gone outside—he'd had to. No one could remain indoors during such a splendid display of sunshine.

Especially in the middle of such a grey winter.

Even now, more than a month after it had happened, he couldn't quite believe that the sun had had the temerity to tease him so.

And how was it that he'd been so blind that he'd not expected it? He'd lived with Marina since the day of their wedding. Over six long years to know the woman his brother had loved. He should have known something was wrong. And in truth . . .

Well, in truth, he had expected it. He just hadn't wanted to admit to his shameful prediction. He didn't want to admit that he in fact did have an inkling that... something was going to happen and that he felt powerless to stop it. Instead, like a coward, he chose to hide from the obvious, hoping that if he didn't think about it, it would never happen.

But it did. And on a sunny day, to boot. God certainly had a sick sense of humour.

He looked down at his glass of whiskey, which was, quite inexplicably, empty. He must have drunk the damned thing, and yet he had no memory of doing so. He didn't feel woozy, at least not as woozy as he should have been. Or even as woozy as he wanted to be.

He stared out the window at the sun, which was slipping low on the horizon. It had been another sunny day today. That probably explained his exceptional melancholy. At least he hoped it did. He wanted an explanation, needed one, for this awful tiredness that seemed to be taking over.

Melancholy terrified him.

More than anything. More than fire, more than war, more than hell itself. The thought of sinking into sadness with no way out...

Marina had been melancholy. Marina had spent their life together melancholy. He couldn't remember the sound of her laughter, and in truth, he wasn't sure that he'd ever known it.

It had been a sunny day, and—

He squeezed his eyes shut, not certain whether the motion was meant to urge the memory or dispel it.

It had been a sunny day, and . . .

* * *

"Never thought you'd feel the likes of that on your skin again, eh, Sir Phillip?"

Phillip Crane turned his face to the sun, closing his eyes as he let the warmth spread over his skin. "It's perfect," he murmured. "Or it would be, if it weren't so bloody cold."

Miles Carter, his secretary, chuckled. "It's not as cold as that. The lake hasn't frozen this year. Just a few patchy spots."

Reluctantly, Phillip turned away from the sun and opened his eyes. "It isn't spring, though."

"If you were wishing for spring, sir, perhaps you should have consulted a calendar."

Phillip regarded him with a sideways glance. "Do I pay you for such impertinence?"

"Indeed. And rather handsomely, too."

Phillip smiled to himself as both men paused to enjoy the sun for a few moments longer.

"I thought you didn't mind the grey," Miles said conversationally, once they'd resumed their trek to Phillip's greenhouse.

"I don't," Phillip said, striding along with the confidence of a natural athlete. "But just because I don't mind an overcast sky doesn't mean I don't prefer the sun." He paused, thought for a moment. "Be sure to tell Nurse Millsby to take the children outside today. They'll need warm coats, of course, and hats and mittens and the like, but they ought to get a little sun on their faces. They've been cooped up far too long." Phillip smiled to himself, glad to know the children will finally have a chance to enjoy the sun after so long.