“You captured Scott’s tenderness, Captain.” Anne offered him an enchanting smile. “And what of Lord Byron? Do you prefer ‘Giaour’ or ‘The Bride of Abydos’?”
Again, Benwick fell into the rhythm of the poem.
Burst forth in one wild cry—and all was still.
Peace to thy broken heart, and virgin grave!
Ah! Happy! but of life to lose the worst!
That grief—though deep—though fatal—was thy first!
Anne looked concerned. “Captain, you must not let the hopeless agony consume your thoughts. May I recommend a larger allowance of prose in your daily study?”
He smiled sadly.“I loved Fanny Harville, Miss Anne.You cannot know my pain—my despair.”
Anne pulled herself upright.“I preach patience and resignation, Captain, because I, too, suffered the pains of lost love, and I wish most desperately that someone had offered me such advice.”
Had he heard her correctly? Frederick felt his heart would break; his departure had hurt Anne as much as it had hurt him. He knew she spoke of their love, for, without a doubt, Anne had once loved him. When he left that day eight years ago, she still desired him as much as he desired her. After that, Frederick heard nothing either group said. He was lost to his own thoughts. Finally, Louisa Musgrove and the others demanded his undivided attention. For once, Frederick was happy to divine her with his tales; he did not want to think anymore about Anne Elliot and their lost love.All he really wanted was to escape to his own room and replay every word spoken and not spoken today.
“Captain.” Louisa snuggled into his arm. “I thought we might take a stroll before breakfast.”
“Should we not wait for the rest of our party?” Frederick purposely stepped away from her, pretending to look toward the stairway to see if Anne or the others might be about.
“Henrietta wanted to speak to Anne privately about pleading for Lady Russell’s help in securing a position for Cousin Charles. They left a quarter hour ago, and, of course, Mary will not be up for at least another hour.” She smiled winningly.
“Then maybe we should find them.” Frederick started toward the door, avoiding offering her his arm. He would walk with Louisa, but he would not encourage her unduly. During the night, he thought it best to make Anne aware of his constancy. Somehow he must find a way to speak again of his love.
They walked less than a quarter mile down to the sea, where they met Henrietta and Anne, who were returning from their walk, one where the women went to the sands to watch the flowing of the tide. Frederick regretted not joining them. He would have liked to tell Anne about the tide—how a fine southeasterly breeze was bringing it in with all the grandeur, which so flat a shore admitted. He would teach her to praise the morning, to glory in the sea, to sympathize in the delight of the fresh-feeling breeze—and to be silent, just as she was yesterday—and let the world come to her.
Breaking his concentration—his thoughts of Anne—Louisa exclaimed, “I wanted to buy a new fan for Mama! We must go back to town. After breakfast we will be leaving, and there will be no time.”
“Certainly,” Anne added quickly. “Mrs. Musgrove will be quite pleased with your thoughtfulness.”
Frederick watched as Louisa beamed with praise, playing the grown up role bestowed upon her by Anne. Crossing the last of the shoreline, they prepared to climb the steps leading upwards from the beach to the top of the seawall and the path into town. Just as they reached the steps, a gentleman at the same moment preparing to come down, politely drew back and stopped to give them way. He wore an armband, indicating he observed a period of mourning. They ascended and passed him, and as they passed, Anne’s face caught his eye, and he looked at her with a degree of earnest admiration.
Frederick, having gone up the steps first, stood braced near the top, waiting to help each of the ladies over the last step and to safety. Louisa, always taking precedence, waited for the others, and Frederick held Henrietta’s hand to steady her footing when he saw the man’s intense interest in Anne. Frederick followed the man’s eyes. She was looking remarkably well; her very regular, very pretty features, having the bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind, which had been blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of her eyes, which it also produced.
It was evident that the gentleman, completely a gentleman in manner, admired her exceedingly. Frederick quickly summed up the situation. If he did not make a move soon,Anne would assume he intended to declare himself for Louisa and take up with someone else. I cannot lose her again! he thought, although as quickly as the thought came, he amended it—knowing at the moment Anne Elliot was not his to lose.What was worse was Anne took note of the man’s interest, and she gifted him with a beguiling smile. Frederick wanted to grab the cad’s cravat and throw him from the steps into the sea. Finally, Anne reached him, and as Frederick took her hand to steady her way as he did the others, he could not resist giving hers a gentle squeeze and stroking the inside of her wrist with his index finger. A slight blush radiated from her, and Frederick basked in her heat. She refused to make eye contact with him, but he did not care. He elicited a response from Anne, and she repaid his effort.
They soon reached the town and, after attending Louisa through her business and loitering about a little longer, they returned to the inn. Frederick noted upon their return that the gentleman in question was also staying at the inn. A well-looking groom strolled about the area, and, like the man on the steps, the servant was in mourning.The knowledge that Anne might see the stranger again vexed Frederick; he could not risk their forming an acquaintance. Feeling a bit overwhelmed with how quickly things changed and how little control he had over the situation, Frederick resolved to make an immediate move. He would ask to speak to Anne privately, and he would explain he was foolish in thinking he could forget her. He would explain he would not want to hurt Louisa Musgrove or affect Anne’s relationship with the Musgrove family, so he would travel to Shropshire and spend time with Edward in order to weaken the girl’s expectations. He would reason that with Anne’s returning to Lady Russell’s home, it might not be best for him to call upon her at this time, but he would seek her permission to do so when she retired to Bath with her family. He would let her know he hoped to regain her regard.
Happy with the decision, Frederick waited impatiently in the main hallway for Anne to come down to breakfast. Finally, he heard her light tread on the landing. Blood rushed to his ears, and he could briefly hear only the beat of his own heart. Then a heavy thud—one of a door closing nearby—mixed with the approach of Anne’s footsteps.The voices rang clear as he moved into the shadows.
“Pardon me,” the man responded to Anne’s small gasp of surprise. Then an elongated silence told Frederick they partook of each other’s countenances. There was a moment of silence, and then the man spoke again.“It seems, Miss, I am to plague you with my presence.” Frederick knew instantly it was the man from the beach, and Frederick stifled a moan of disbelief.
“It is perfectly all right, Sir,” Anne replied pleasantly. “You simply frightened me momentarily; my heart you gave a start.”
“My apologies.” Frederick imagined the gentleman doffed his hat with these words. “I would not have you fear me in any way. May I say it is rare to meet such a delicate rose in winter?”
“You are too bold, Sir,” she replied. “Now, if you will excuse me.” With that, Frederick heard her step away from the guest. Before she could see Frederick there in the shadows, he moved quickly away. My timing is off. Damnably off. He could not approach her so soon after the stranger‘s unwelcomed way. He would wait until they prepared to load the coaches; in the midst of the chaos of packing so many bags, he would take her into the private dining room and plead his case.Trying to appear casual, he was at the sidebar filling a plate when Anne entered the dining room.
They had nearly finished breakfast when the sound of a carriage, almost the first they had heard since entering Lyme drew half the party to the win
dow. Henrietta noted, “It is a gentleman’s carriage—a curricle—but it is only coming round from the stable yard to the front. Somebody must be going away.—Look, it is driven by a servant in mourning.”
“A curricle, you say?” Charles Musgrove jumped up, hoping to compare the one outside to his own.
By now, they all stared out the window at the carriage. Frederick had no intention of spying, but when Anne moved to the window, he moved, too. He thought the curricle must belong to the stranger. He reasoned there would not be two gentlemen in mourning staying at the same inn. By the time the owner of the curricle issued forth from the door admidst the bows and civilities of the household and took his seat to drive off, the six of them collectively stared out the window.
Wentworth half glanced at Anne. “Ah, it is the very man we passed.” He waited to see Anne’s reaction, but she turned away to the sidebar once more before he could ascertain her feelings.
“I believe you are right, Captain,” Henrietta confirmed and then kindly watched the man as far up the hill as she could.
“I wonder who he is,” Mary Musgrove mused as she sat down again.
At that moment, the waiter came into the room. “Pray,” said Wentworth,“can you tell us the name of the gentleman who is just gone away?”
“Yes, Sir, a Mr. Elliot, a gentleman of large fortune—came in last night from Sidmouth—daresay you heard the carriage, Sir, while you were at supper—going on now for Crewkherne, in his way to Bath and London.”
“Elliot!” Louisa gasped.
Charles returned to the window for a second look. “Did he say Elliot?”
“Bless me!” cried Mary.“It must be our cousin—it must be our Mr. Elliot; it must, indeed!—Charles,Anne, must not it? In mourning, you see, just as our Mr. Elliot must be.You recall that disgraceful first marriage of his. How very extraordinary! In the very same inn with us! Anne, must not it be our Mr. Elliot, my father’s heir?” Turning to the waiter, she continued, “Pray, did not you hear—did not his servant say whether he belonged to the Kellynch family?”
“No, Ma’am, he did not mention no particular family, but he said his master was a very rich gentleman and would be a baronet someday.”
“There! You see!” cried Mary, in an ecstasy. “Just as I said! Heir to Sir Walter Elliot!—I was sure that would come out if it were so. Depend upon it—that is a circumstance, which his servants take care to publish wherever he goes. But, Anne, only conceive how extraordinary!” Mary clutched at Anne’s arm. “I wish I looked at him more. I wish we had been aware in time, who it was, that he might have been introduced to us.What a pity we should not have been introduced to each other!—Do you think he had the Elliot countenance? I hardly looked at him; I was looking at the horses, but I think he had something of the Elliot countenance.” She jumped up and paced the floor, trying to organize her thoughts.“I wonder the coat of arms did not strike me! Oh!—the great-coat was hanging over the pannel and hid the arms; so it did, otherwise, I am sure, I should have observed them and the livery too; if the servant had not been in mourning, one should have known him by the livery.”
“Of course, we all would have,” Charles assured his wife.
“We saw him briefly on the steps to the beach,” Louisa wanted desperately to be a part of the action.
When she could command Mary’s attention, Anne quietly observed, “Mary, Father would not wish us to renew an acquaintance with Mr. Elliot. Father and Mr. Elliot have not for many years been on such terms as to make the power of attempting an introduction at all desirable.”
Frederick spoke with an edge of sarcasm:“Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together, we must consider it to be the arrangement of Providence, that you should not be introduced to your cousin.”
Mary Musgrove ignored Frederick’s snide remark.“Of course,” said Mary to Anne, “you will mention our seeing Mr. Elliot the next time you write to Bath. I think my father certainly ought to hear of it; do mention all to him.”
“Mary, I will not bring such news to our father; you may write him if you choose, but I shall not be the bearer of such tidings.You were away at school through much of Father’s dealings with Mr. Elliot. I know the offense offered our father, and I suspect Elizabeth’s particular share in it.The idea of Mr. Elliot always produces irritation in both.”
“Do not be silly, Anne!” Mary cried.“Prior to the man’s arrival at an assembly or a holiday soiree, Father would want news of Mr. Elliot’s appearance in Bath if our cousin truly plans to travel there.”
Anne avoided a direct reply. Arguing with Mary would be fruitless.
“Well, all that can be decided when we return to Uppercross,” Frederick offered. “We promised Captain and Mrs. Harville a final walk about Lyme.We ought to be setting off for Uppercross by one.”
CHAPTER 11
Are flowers the winter’s choice?
Is love’s bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love’s appeals to know.
—John Clare,“First Love”
Breakfast was not long over when Captain and Mrs. Harville and Captain Benwick joined them. As a group of nine, they started to take their last walk about Lyme. Frederick noted how quickly Benwick sought Anne’s attention; evidently, their conversation the preceding evening did not disincline him to see her again. He walked beside her, talking as before of Mr. Scott and Lord Byron.
“Your Miss Anne was most kind in speaking so long to James,” Harville confided as he and Frederick walked along together.“She did a good deed in making that poor fellow talk so much. I wish he could have such company oftener. It is bad for him, I know, to be shut up as he is, but what can we do? We cannot part.”
“Then you should tell her so.” Frederick nodded in Anne’s direction.“It does not surprise me, though;Anne Elliot is the kindest woman I have ever known.The man who receives her affection is blessed indeed.”
Frederick’s words sparked Harville’s interest. “How long have you known Miss Anne?” His curiosity flamed into being.
Frederick still watched Anne as she spoke to James Benwick. “Nearly eight years,” he mumbled.
“Eight years?” Thomas’s voice rose with anticipation. “When you were in Somerset with Edward?”
Frederick’s attention snapped back to his friend. “I understand the implications,Thomas, but you are mistaken. Miss Anne’s family is the only aristocratic one in the area. Of course, my brother would be familiar with them.”
“Anything you say,Wentworth.” However, his tone told Frederick that Harville did not believe him.
“Get on with you.” He laughed as he lightly shoved Harville in Anne’s direction.
They continued on for some time, each pair engrossed in their conversations. Eventually, Milly Harville became concerned for her husband’s leg injury, and she insisted they return home. The group would accompany them to their door and then return to the inn and set off themselves. By all their calculations there was just time for this; but as they drew near the Cobb, there was a general wish to walk along it once more.
“We really must,” Frederick heard Louisa beg Charles.
“Louisa,” he tried to reason with his sister,“we must be off. Late November days are short of light, and Mama will worry so if we do not return home by dinner.”
“Be patient with me, Charles,” she nearly whined. “How long would it actually take us to walk the length of the Cobb? I may never get a chance to see the ocean again. Do not deny Henrietta or me that pleasure.”
Her words softened Musgrove’s resolve; the man had little backbone when it came to making decisions regarding his family. Frederick thought it ironic Louisa spoke so poorly of the manipulative ways of Mrs. Charles; from his point of view, Louisa incorporated the same techniques into her dealings, as did Mary Musgrove. She whined and cajoled until she got her way, and Louisa always “demanded” to be the center of attention. Poor Charles! He lives a life of constant compromise! th
ought Frederick.
“What is a quarter hour, give or take?” Charles assured the others in a loud voice.
“We depart from you here, Wentworth.” Harville turned to take his leave of his friend. “You will no longer be a stranger to us; we insist that you return soon.”
“Wild horses could not keep me from seeking your hospitality.” He took Milly’s ungloved hands and brought each to his lips.“You are charged with keeping this rascal in line,” he teased as he lightly kissed her knuckles. “I leave him in your able hands.” With those words, he took Harville’s hand and placed Milly’s in it.
Thomas interlaced his fingers with hers.“Only my Milly could have such control over me. As you recall,Wentworth, I do not take orders very well.”
“Neither of us does, my Friend,” he said, and he bowed to Milly. So with all the kind leave-taking and all the kind interchange of invitations and promises, which may be imagined, they parted from Captain and Mrs. Harville at their own door, and still accompanied by Captain Benwick, who seemed to cling to them to the last, proceeded to make the proper adieus to the Cobb.
“My, it is very windy today!” Mary noted as she grasped her bonnet to keep it from blowing away. “Should we not turn back, Charles?”
“What do you think, Anne?” Like everyone else in the group, Charles constantly sought Anne’s confirmation when it came to dealing with her sister.
Anne’s cloak whipped around her. She stood steady, allowing the wind to dance about her, rather than to fight its force. Anne offered her brother-in-law a slight smile, knowing Charles would suffer if the group did not agree with Mary’s request. “The wind seems especially powerful today. I am sure that now you know the beauty of this place, you will return in the spring, when it is more lively in its entertainments.”
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