“I do not hold you responsible any more than I do James.Who else is there for him to employ? Yet I cannot easily accept this. Fanny was my dearest sister—the playmate of my childhood.” Harville walked away, needing to distance himself from his own words.
After a long moment, Frederick followed. “Leave it to me,” he told Harville.“I will take care of the commission.That is the least I can do for you. You must cherish Fanny’s memory.—I will not have it tarnished.”
Harville muttered,“Thank you, my Friend.”
Frederick did not acknowledge the thanks—no need existed between them. A person cannot stand beside another in times of war and not develop a deep, unspoken connection—a brotherhood in arms. Instead, he pointed to the elaborate design of a nearby table.“Do you suppose you can duplicate such artistry?”
“I expect I can; I made some preliminary drawings. Seeing all these pieces gives me some ideas of how I can make my mark.” With his fingertips,Thomas reached out and traced the edges of a small table.“I love the feel of the wood,” he confided.“The smell of the oil as it stains the grain.” For a brief moment, he existed in another realm.“I know all that probably sounds fanciful.”
“It sounds sincere.” Frederick clapped him on the back.“It is time to meet Musgrove—let us hear more about shooting and sport.”
Harville laughed—a deep belly laugh.“He does go on, does he not?”They started for the shop’s door.
Frederick spent the evening with the Musgrove party. He would not abandon Thomas to the group’s continual talk of James Benwick and Louisa Musgrove and wedded bliss. Secretly, he hoped that Anne might rejoin them, but she did not come, although Mrs. Musgrove relayed how she had earnestly begged Anne to return and dine—to give them all the rest of the day, but Anne promised to come again for breakfast on the morrow. Frederick vowed he would be there; he and Anne would finish this.
CHAPTER 17
Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face,
I in my mind had waited for this long.
Seeing the false and searching for the true,
Then I found you as a traveler finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong.
—Edwin Muir,“The Confirmation”
Anne did not keep her appointment to break her fast with the Musgroves. Of course, the weather had taken an unfavorable turn, and Frederick knew she would walk to the hotel, but it did nothing for his state of mind.The rest of the party feasted on hearty fare; Frederick ate little of what he placed on his plate. He hungered for something totally unrelated to food; only Anne’s acceptance could fill him.
In the late morning, she made her way to the proper apartment, and Frederick breathed at last.The aura of the room glowed from the moment Anne walked through the door, and her arrival signaled a clearing from the earlier downpour.
Their eyes met immediately. Being close to the door, having positioned himself to greet her upon her arrival, Frederick stepped forward and took her proffered hand and raised it to his lips in greeting; then he forced his legs to move, placing himself at the desk and beginning to separate the papers and prepare the pen.
“Ah, Miss Anne,” Mrs. Musgrove ushered her forward toward a chair at the table, “we are so glad you came. Henrietta and Mary feared that you would not—what with the weather and all. The ladies could not wait once the sky began to clear, but they will be back again soon.They gave strict injunctions before they left; I am to keep you here until they turn back.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Frederick noted how outwardly composed Anne appeared, and he wondered how he must look to the others.The moment she walked into the room, he felt himself plunged at once into all the agitations which he had merely anticipated tasting a little before the morning closed. There was no delay—no waste of time. He was deep in the happiness of such misery or the misery of such happiness, instantly.
Clearing his throat and trying to sound disinterested, Frederick spoke to his friend,“We will write the letter, Harville, of which we spoke, if you will give me the materials.”
“They are on the side table.”Thomas gestured to a small table to Frederick’s left.With materials all in hand, he went to it, and nearly turning his back on the gathered party, Frederick tried to appear engrossed by writing.
His sister, Sophia, spoke to Mrs. Musgrove, and he listened carefully to their conversation, trying to hear any words spoken by Anne. Mrs. Musgrove informed Sophia about the changes taking place at Uppercross, and his sister heartily agreed that young people should not dwell in long engagements. Frederick found himself agreeing in principle with Sophia’s sentiments. He knew that she spoke from experience; she and the Admiral had married a little more than a month after their meeting. As he pretended to draft the letter, which he had composed in his head the night before, Frederick thought about how quickly he could marry Anne after she accepted him. He would not be willing to wait any longer than necessary.
Sophia declared, “To begin without knowing that at such a time there will be the means of marrying, I hold to be very unsafe and unwise. Couples should not delay their coming together.”
His pen ceased to move, his head raised, pausing, listening, and he turned around the next instant to give a look—one quick, conscious look at Anne. She flushed with the recognition, but neither of them looked away. The two ladies continued to talk—to urge again the same admitted truths and enforce them with such examples of the ill effect of long engagements as had fallen within their observation, but Frederick heard nothing distinctly; it was only a buzz of words in his ear, and his mind felt the confusion. Finally, Anne looked away at Thomas Harville, who motioned her to join him by the window.
Frederick pushed the longing back down and returned to the task at hand. He began writing the letter in earnest.
Scratching out the order for the artist he would commission, Frederick heard Thomas talk to Anne about the miniature. His friend explained to her why Frederick took up the charge of the letter. He thought it ironic that Thomas spoke so openly to Anne when he refused to share his frustration with anyone else in the party besides Frederick. When their words turned to a light-hearted debate on which sex loved better, Frederick heard only their musings; his sister’s conversation no longer existed. Every nerve in his body remained attuned to Anne—only she existed in his world, and he must know how she felt.
“It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved,” she protested against Harville’s assertion that, unlike a woman, a man never forsook a woman he loved. Frederick would never forsake Anne—of that he was sure. Her soft voice brought him back.“Yes, we certainly do not forget you so soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit.We cannot help ourselves.We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey on us.You are forced on exertion.You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions.”
Frederick stopped breathing for a moment. Was that how it seemed to Anne? Does she believe that I did not suffer from our separation? She must think that because I threw myself into my work, I forgot her—that I did not leave my heart behind in Somerset. I must tell her; only her love has ever given me comfort.
Needing to respond immediately, he took another sheet of foolscap from the desk drawer and addressed her passionately:I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach.You pierce my soul! I am half agony—half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.
Anne’s voice now spoke with a fervor, and Frederick jerked his head up and clumsily knocked over the blotting jar, sending it scattering dust across the carpet. His pen followed. He quickly retrieved the items, em
barrassed at being so obvious in his intent.
“Have you finished your letter?” called Captain Harville.
Frederick stammered, “Not-Not quite, a few lines more. I shall have done in five minutes.”
Harville smiled at Anne. Frederick should have known Anne would win Thomas’s loyalty; he and Harville both understood the qualities of a fine woman. “There is no hurry on my side,” his friend shared. “I am only ready whenever you are.—I am in very good anchorage here—well supplied and wanting for nothing.—No hurry for a signal at all.”
As Frederick rearranged the items on the desk, he heard Harville lower his voice to speak to Anne further. They talked of inconstancy, and Frederick’s heart went out to his friend as Thomas spoke with compassion and with insight into how a sailor feels about the woman he loves.“I speak, you know, only of such men as have hearts!”
“Oh!” cried Anne eagerly; “I hope I do justice to all that is felt by you and by those who resemble you.” She offered his friend empathy, and Frederick smiled, knowing it to be her true nature.“I believe you capable of everything equal and good in your married lives. I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long as—if I may be allowed the expression, so long as you have an object.” Frederick leaned forward, hanging on Anne’s every word.“I mean, while the woman you love lives and lives for you.All the privilege I claim for my own sex is of loving longest when existence or when hope is gone.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Frederick watched as Thomas put his hand on her arm quite affectionately.
Hearing his sister speaking to someone behind him, Frederick returned to his letter:Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.You alone brought me to Bath. For you alone I think and plan.—Have you not seen this? Can you fail to understand my wishes?—I had not waited even these ten days, could I read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me.You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice, when they would be lost on others.—Too good, too excellent creature!You do us justice indeed.You do believe there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in
FW
“Here, Frederick you and I part company, I believe,” Sophia spoke loudly enough to recall him from his task. “I am going home, and you have an engagement with your friend.—Tonight we may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party.” She directed her last thought to Anne.“We had your sister’s card yesterday, and I understand Frederick had a card, too, though I did not see it—and you are disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?”
As she spoke, Frederick scratched out his postscript:I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible.A word, a look will be enough to decide whether I enter your father’s house this evening, or never.
He managed to answer his sister, although a bit incoherently. “Yes, very true; here we separate, but Harville and I shall soon be after you, that is, Harville, if you are ready, I am in half a minute. I know you will not be sorry to be off. I shall be at your service in half a minute.”
Sophia nodded her farewell to each of them, and he and Thomas began to make their leave also. Frederick sealed his letter with great rapidity. Having made the decision to write it, he wanted the words in Anne’s hands; Frederick needed to be finished with this part and to start his life with Anne—if she would have him.
He slid Anne’s letter under the blotter pad, having sealed it and marked it with her initials.“Let us be off, Harville,” he encouraged. Frederick picked up his gloves—laying them purposely to the side of the desk—and then his hat before walking to the door. He could not speak to Anne—nor even look at her. His impatience to be gone created a hurried air as he exited the room.
Frederick heard Thomas offer a kind “Good morning. God bless you,” to Anne.
He regretted not being able to speak his good-byes—the agitation too great, but if Anne was to refuse him, he wanted no pity from those who saw their departure.
He and Thomas made it to the outside door before Frederick spoke again.“Harville, wait for me a moment; I seemed to have left my gloves in the Musgroves’ quarters.”
“It is no problem—I shall remain here.” Harville shifted his weight, allowing the cane to support him.
Making his unexpected return, Frederick said, “I apologize, Mrs. Musgrove,” as he crossed the room,“I left my gloves behind.”
Mrs. Musgrove stood by the window, looking out for the rest of their party. “It is quite all right, Captain Wentworth.” The woman did not even turn around.
However,Anne stood close by, and she watched his every move. Stepping beside the desk, Frederick purposefully slid his fingers along the edge of the blotter paper. He locked eyes with Anne and then he drew out the letter and placed it on the desk. With the slightest of nods, he hastily collected his gloves and was again out of the room—the work of an instant!
His future was now in her hands. Frederick found Harville where he had left him, and they started toward the portrait studio to meet with the artist. They walked two blocks in complete silence—Frederick’s vexation clearly evident.
“Do you want to tell me who will receive the second letter?” Thomas asked softly, never looking at his friend.
Frederick hesitated.“You saw that?”
“Obviously,” Thomas taunted. “Was it a love letter for Miss Anne?” Then he guffawed at his own joke. His friend chuckled some more at seeing Frederick flinch, but when Frederick did not answer, Harville gasped a little too loudly, “It was a love letter for Miss Anne!”
Barely audible, Frederick acknowledged, “Yes—yes, it was for Anne.”
“Anne?”Thomas responded with disbelief. “How long has she been Anne?”
“From the first day I laid eyes on her—”
“In Somerset more than eight years ago,”Thomas finished the sentence for him.“I knew it, you sly fox!” He slapped Frederick on the shoulder.
Obviously distressed, Frederick countered, “Do not congratulate me,Thomas; I know not my fate.The letter professes my love, but will Anne accept a renewal of my regard?”
Thomas took pity on his old friend. “May I ask why you are with me? Give me the miniature and the letter; I can well do this without you.” Frederick started to protest, but a wave of Thomas’s hand stopped him short.“Go—go back to the White Hart and win the woman you love. Do not leave there until she is yours!”
“Dare I risk it?” Frederick looked back the way they had come; he was unsure what to do.
Thomas grinned.“Do you truly love this woman?”
“Most wholeheartedly,” Frederick insisted.
“I never knew you, my Friend, to allow anything to keep you from what you most desired.This would be a first.”
“No.” Frederick shook his head. “It would not be a first.” His anxiety increased as he looked away once more.“I must go—I am sorry, Harville, but I must go!” As he strode away, he heard Thomas chuckling.
Turning the corner at Bath Street, he noted that Anne and Charles Musgrove had crossed to Union. He quickened his step to catch up, but when Frederick reached them, he paused. Knowing that within a few minutes he would speak what was in his heart, he froze—irresolute whether to join them or to pass on, saying nothing, after all. He stared at her, wondering what to do, each heartbeat infinitely long.Then Anne, sensing his approach, turned suddenly; she blushed—the cheeks, which were pale, now glowed, and the movement, which hesitated, was decided. Frederick stepped up beside her, and they were lost to each other. Eyes danced in happiness, and they were as before—united—hearts interlocked, needing no words to declare their love.
“Say,Wentworth,” Charles implored him. “Which way are you going? Only to Gay Street or farther up the town?” Charles appeared most anxious to leave.
; Frederick did not take his eyes from Anne’s face. “I hardly know,” he replied.
Charles continued, oblivious to the lovers. “Are you going as high as Belmont? Are you going near Camden Place? Because if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take my place and give Anne your arm to her father’s door. She is rather done for this morning and must not go so far without help.And I ought to be at that fellow’s in the marketplace. He promised me the sight of a capital gun he is just going to send off; said he would keep it unpacked to the last possible moment, that I might see it; and if I do not turn back now, I will have no chance. By his description, a good deal like the second-sized double barrel of mine, which you shot with one day, round Winthrop. What do you say,Wentworth?”
Frederick tried to stop smiling, but he gave up the effort when he saw a like smile on Anne’s face.“It is fine, Musgrove. Go see the gun. I will be most honored to escort Miss Anne home; she will be safe with me.”
“That is superb news! I am in your debt,” Charles added quickly. Then he disappeared, hurrying along Union Street.
“Which way, Miss Anne?” Frederick’s voice remained husky with emotion.
“Some place quiet, Captain—you may choose.”Anne placed her hand on his proffered arm, and Frederick pulled her close to his side. Relief rushed through him as they turned away from the crowd.
As they entered the park, Frederick led her to a nearby bench. “May we sit for a time?”They spoke little over the last few blocks other than small talk about the weather and such.When he properly seated himself beside her, Frederick took her hand in his, clutching it to his chest. “Anne,” he whispered, “my heart beats again because of you—with the hope that you will receive me—that you understand how ardently I adore you.” He brought her palm to his lips and planted a kiss on the inside of her wrist.“Please say that I am not too late.”
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