“Now, you sound like your father,” he teased.
She chuckled.“Well, my father cannot be wrong all the time.”
Frederick snorted, choking back the laughter bubbling in his throat.“Sir Walter Elliot speaks the truth.What a novel idea that is!”
Anne cried, “Let us take the landaulette and visit Mary and Charles. I will take pleasure in sharing your advancement with my sister.” Anne wrapped her arms around his neck. “My sister always appreciated the fact you were richer than either Captain Benwick or Charles Hayter.”
“And that is important because?” Frederick took an interest in this new side of his wife.
“Because Mary is an Elliot, and she will rush from what she considers her sickbed to share her news with Charles’s family—to let Charles’s family know I am now married to a Rear Admiral of the White and . . .”
“And Louisa is married to retired Captain Benwick.” Frederick finished her sentence. “I am surprised, my Love; I never knew you to be so concerned about status.”
Anne dropped her eyes. “I suppose, like Mary, I, too, am an Elliot; I should be ashamed for having such thoughts.”
“But you are not?” Frederick mocked.
“No,” she sighed. “No, not yet, at any rate. Since our wedding breakfast, I keep hearing Louisa’s voice saying,‘I believe some thought before I found my James, that the good Captain might be my choice.’ If I am taking Louisa Musgrove’s leftovers, I perversely want her to realize she threw away the wrong man.”
Frederick kissed her forehead. “I will ask Ned to call for the carriage. Wear your heavy cloak, my Love.” He laughed as he headed toward the hallway. “If you wish to turn green with jealousy, I do not want you to turn blue from the cold as well. The colors are complementary, after all.”
“Thank you, Frederick,” she said to his retreating form.
He spun around to face her. Giving Anne a very exaggerated bow, he declared in his most military-sounding voice,“That is Rear Admiral Wentworth to you, Ma’am.” Then he disappeared through the open door.
Laughing loudly,Anne called to his departing footsteps.“Yes, Sir!”
In late November, after a night of difficult labor, Sophia delivered a beautiful baby girl, whom she immediately named Cassandra Rose, after her late mother. Benjamin Croft paced the floors for hours, waiting impatiently for his child, but no baby would have a more doting father.
“She is quite the most adorable child God ever created,” the Admiral said softly as he held the sleeping baby to him.“Is she not beautiful, Frederick?” He gently pushed the swaddling blankets away from the child’s face to give his brother a look at his daughter.
“Cassandra Rose will break many hearts, Benjamin.” Frederick gazed down at the child.“You will need a military escort wherever she goes.”
“I never knew—I mean, Sophia and I never thought this could happen. Maybe all those years at sea kept Sophie from…” Benjamin lightly touched his daughter’s face.
Frederick placed his arm around the Admiral’s shoulder. Still looking down at the sleeping child, he barely whispered,“Your and Sophia’s time at sea had nothing to do with my sister waiting until she was six and thirty to deliver her first child. It is just simply God’s plan. The same as it was God’s plan that I return to the service alone all those years ago—because I needed to be there for my men when we were at war—the same as Anne needed to be with me on my most recent voyage or else I would have died. God decided that you and Sophia needed a child, and I will bet a year’s wages He thinks you need more than one. Sophia will look grand with a crew of little Crofts trailing along behind her, and you, my Admiral—my brother in marriage—will have your proverbial hands full.”
“We will take a house together close to Mayfair,” Benjamin Croft said as they all sat relaxing in his study at Kellynch. “Edward and Christine will join us there.”
Frederick sat back in his chair. He turned the invitation, which had come that morning, over again and again in his hand. With France’s signing of the Treaty of Paris in late November, about the same time Sophia had given birth to Cassandra Rose, the country went wild for anything military.The war, now at an end, demanded a celebration, and the Prince of Wales knew exactly what to do. He and his inner circle would recognize the most prestigious of the British war heroes at Carlton House, while all those who had served their country would receive military honors with parades and such. Those invited to Carlton House would spend the evening, along with Prinny, with leaders of the allied countries and other dignitaries: Field Marshal Gebhard Blucher; Prussian General Gneiseneau; the Grand Duchess Catherine and her brother, the Czar of Russia; Prince Frederick of the Netherlands; Francis I of Austria; Levin August, better known as Count von Bennigsen, the King of Prussia; and William II of the Netherlands, who reportedly would marry Princess Charlotte of Wales.
Sophia took the card from Frederick’s hand and read it aloud: “The Prince of Wales requests the pleasure of the company of Rear Admiral of the White Frederick Wentworth and Mrs. Anne Wentworth at an evening of celebration.”
“It reads the same as the one Benjamin received,” Frederick assured her as he took back the card.
Anne sat quietly, spellbound with the news. “We are invited to Carlton House.” She exhaled slowly.“The Prince of Wales and the Queen will both likely be there.”
“Yes, Love,” Frederick reiterated. Although the news stunned him also, Anne’s reaction amused him more. “You and my sister both read the card.”
“Frederick, we cannot—” she started her protest, but realized the effort was fruitless.
Frederick crossed to where she sat, joining her on the settee. “Of course, Mrs. Wentworth, I will send our regrets to the Queen of England,” he chastised sarcastically.
“But-But, Frederick,” she stammered,“I never had a Season or was presented at court.”
“Anne, you are a married woman; you need neither of those in this case. We will not even be speaking to any of the royals; there will be hundreds of people there. It is a State dinner; Benjamin and I will be part of the pomp and circumstance of the evening—that is all.We are likely to be seated at one of the back tables; yet, we will be able to tell our children we were part of history. Besides,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “think how jealous Mary and Elizabeth will be.”
Anne’s countenance turned to one of wicked delight. “They will, will they not?”
He whispered even lower.“Mrs. Benwick will not be invited.”
“I love you,” she giggled as the words burst from her mouth.
He laughed as he took her hand in his and settled back into the furniture. He stretched out his legs to their full length.“How could you not? I am, after all, a Rear Admiral of the White.”
“Now who sounds like my father?”
Frederick looked sharply at Anne and pretended to be offended. “I take your words to heart, Mrs. Wentworth.You are right; I will not speak thusly again.”
Immediately, tears formed in Anne’s eyes.“Oh, my Love, I apologize. I never meant to criticize you.” Tears flowed freely down her face. “I would never censure you so; it was a joke.You must believe me.”
Frederick swept her into his arms, ignoring the fact they sat in a room with Sophia and Benjamin. “Sweetheart, I teased you as I always do; I never thought your words to be criticism.”
Although she fought to control them, still the tears streamed out of her eyes, leaving trails of wet powder on her face. “I do not know why I am crying; I feel like such a fool. Sophia—Benjamin, I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” she called out to them.
“You are just nervous, Anne,” the Admiral assured her.“You are to be in the same room as the reigning monarchs.Who would not be nervous? I am nervous.Are you not, Sophia?”
“But none of you cry, even Sophia! What is wrong with me?” Sobs began all over again. This time they came because she knew she was the only one who had cried over the news.
“Come,
Love.” Frederick coaxed her onto his lap.“You are one of the strongest women I know. I recall you were not afraid of armed French ships.You will easily win the approval of any dignitary we might see—or meet.” He wiped away her tears with a handkerchief.“You are incomparable.”
Anne snuggled into his chest as she encircled his neck with her arms.“Thank you for loving me even with all my insecurities,” she whispered in his ear.
Frederick would have loved to kiss her—to make love to her. Instead, he simply pulled her closer and stroked her hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Sophia and the Admiral slipping from the room.
“You are tired,” he said softly. “Let me take you to our room; you need to rest.” He lifted Anne to carry her to their quarters.
“Will we sleep?” she said dreamily.
Frederick chuckled. “You are a tempting one, Sweetling, but I will insist you sleep.At least, initially,” he added as an afterthought.
“Initially,” she murmured, nearly asleep already. “I love you, Frederick.You are too good to me.”
“Nothing is ever good enough for you, Anne—nothing could match your love.” Frederick kissed the top of her head as he carried her down the long deserted corridor to their room.
“You are not eating this morning?” Sophia asked as Anne pushed her plate away. They would leave for London that day, nearly a month before the celebration at Carlton House.The four of them would take a house together on the edge of Mayfair.
Married nearly a year,Anne looked forward to seeing her father and her sister Elizabeth again. Sir Walter had taken her and Frederick’s advice. He had given up the house in Bath and took one in a reasonably fashionable area of London.According to Lady Russell’s most recent letter, Sir Walter actively wooed a war widow—a Mrs. Bradley. Elizabeth—who had not written to Anne since Anne and Frederick’s wedding—had tried to sabotage the relationship, but Sir Walter denied his eldest daughter’s wishes.The eldest Elliot had suddenly found herself supplanted by a woman two years her junior. Anne would see the situation for herself at the end of the week, when she and Frederick dined with her family.
“I did eat a little.”Anne nodded her thanks to the footman who removed the plate. “I will take something at the posting inn; I am sure we will stop several times today.” She took a sip of her tea. “Besides, I am so nervous that my stomach is in knots.”
“Have you had to use your chamber pot, I mean for your stomach condition?” Sophia held her teacup to her mouth, but she did not drink. Instead, she watched Anne carefully over the rim of the cup.
“Yes—but only yesterday and today.You do not suppose I am coming down with something? That would be disastrous; this is Frederick’s big moment.”
Sophia put the cup down, fully interested.“How long has your stomach been bothering you?”
Anne thought back—trying to give an accurate answer.“About a week, I suppose. It is worse in the morning—dry toast usually does the trick, though.”
“Anne, when were your last courses?”
Anne’s head snapped around. “What do you mean, Sophia? I cannot be!”
“Morning nausea—emotionally crying for no real reason—exhausted all the time.Think about it, Anne; it says ‘with child’ to me.Why can you not be carrying Frederick’s baby? Do not tell me it is your age; I am nearly seven years older than you, and Cassandra Rose says it is possible.” Sophia coolly summarized what Anne already suspected—but did not allow herself to truly consider.
Panicking, she begged Frederick’s sister. “I will not tell Frederick until I am sure. Please, Sophia, you must say nothing. I cannot raise Frederick’s hopes, only to have them dashed.These next few weeks are too important to let my nerves be mistaken for the possibility—the reality of—a child.”
“I will say nothing,” Sophia assured her. “But you must watch carefully. The next few weeks will be filled with ceremony after ceremony. Do not let the demands of Frederick’s obligations risk your health or that of a child. My brother would never allow harm to come to you. His career—everything—is secondary to the love Frederick feels for you.”
“I will exercise caution until I know for sure,”Anne promised.
“Anne!” Sir Walter scrambled to his feet as a footman announced her and Frederick. “My, do you not look well! Your complexion glows, and you look less thin in your person and in your cheeks. Have you been using Gowland’s lotion as I suggested?”
“No, Father—nothing at all,” she replied as she offered him a kiss on the cheek.
“Certainly you cannot do better than continue as you are; you cannot be better than well.” Her father moved past her to greet Frederick, who stood to the side, amused by what Sir Walter chose as the first thing to say to his daughter after they had been apart for nearly a year. “Captain,” the man offered his hand, “it has been a long time, Sir.”
“Father, remember I wrote—Frederick is now a Rear Admiral of the White?”
“Of course, you did,” Sir Walter looked at Frederick with a new respect.“How could I commit such a faux pas?”
“It is perfectly understandable, Sir. I am afraid I, too, am unaccustomed to the title.” Frederick took Sir Walter’s hand, vowing to be civil to the man.
“Come, I have someone I wish you to meet.” Sir Walter gestured to a woman of approximately Anne’s age. Raven-haired with astonishing blue eyes, the lady was taller than Anne by at least three inches. She had a small waist and a well-developed bust line, which her gown of lavender, a color often worn by a widow after her mourning period, prominently displayed. “This is Mrs. Amelia Bradley. Mrs. Bradley, this is my second daughter,Anne Wentworth, and her husband, Rear Admiral Frederick Wentworth.”
Frederick bowed and Anne curtsied; Mrs. Bradley responded in kind. “Mrs. Bradley,” Anne took the lead, “it is pleasant to meet you, at last.We have heard much of you from Lady Russell.”
“I hope Lady Russell spoke of my finer qualities,” the woman answered charmingly.
“I assure you, Ma’am,” Frederick led Anne to a nearby chair, “that we heard a glowing account.”
Mrs. Bradley nodded to a wing chair for Frederick’s use. “I am pleased to hear it,” she murmured. “Your father speaks often of your union, Admiral Wentworth. Sir Walter became quite enthralled by stories of your recent captures; I cannot imagine the dangers, Sir! And you, Mrs. Wentworth,” she continued, “traveled with your husband?”
“I did, Mrs. Bradley,” Anne spoke softly. “A woman should follow her husband.”
Frederick interrupted, “My wife is adamant about our not being separated, as am I. We waited many years to share a life together.” He cleared his throat. “You may be unaware, Mrs. Bradley, of how close I came to death’s door in this most recent journey; if Anne had not traveled with me—to tend me—I likely would have succumbed to my wounds.”
“Really,Wentworth?” Sir Walter questioned him. “I never supposed Anne to be capable of handling such a crisis!”
“Then you, Sir, misjudge your daughter. Anne is sensible, compassionate, and intelligent. She can be stubborn, but sometimes that trait is the one that the situation demands. I have heard Anne compared to the late Lady Elliot. No one is more capable than Anne.”
“We-Well,” Sir Walter stammered,“I expect that I still see Anne as the little girl always with a book in her hand—lost in her world of make believe.”
Anne, ever the diplomat in the family, added quickly,“I suspect I am a combination of both the fanciful girl and the sagacious woman—both the little girl and the grown-up Anne.”
Mrs. Bradley joined in again. “I imagine you would be, Mrs. Wentworth. Most women are, although the men in our lives sometimes see us as one dimensional.”
Frederick took the woman’s words to heart; he imagined she spoke from first hand experience when dealing with Sir Walter.“I understood, Mrs. Bradley,” he returned his attention to the woman seated before him, “that your late husband served in the Iberian campaign?”
> “He did, Sir.” Amelia Bradley paused. “Stephen lost his life trying to break Napoleon’s military hold on the rest of Europe.”
“Did you follow the drum, Ma’am?”Anne asked.
“No—No, Mrs. Wentworth, I do not possess your determination. I wish I had been there when Stephen…” Her words trailed off.“But I suppose that there would have been nothing I could do.”
“The men who served in both Andalusia and in Portugal dealt Napoleon a major blow—but they suffered unbelievable losses. Your husband, Ma’am, was very brave.”
“Thank you—you are most kind, Sir.”
An awkward pause ensued. Anne knew talk of Mrs. Bradley’s’s late husband probably wounded Sir Walter’s ego, so she changed the subject. “Father, where is Elizabeth this evening? I had hoped to see her.”
“Elizabeth is out with Mr. Stitt and his family at the theater.”
“Mr. Stitt?” Frederick asked in an amused tone.
“A nobody,” Sir Walter noted. “Mr. Stitt has made his own way—he has wealth, although he has no title. Owns a silver mine or some sort of hole in the ground—near Cornwall, I believe. Of course, I dare not object; the man is your sister’s first serious suitor in several years.At least, he can afford her tastes; if he presents himself, I will agree most readily.”
“Father!”Anne protested.
Just then, a footman announced dinner, and they moved to the dining room. Anne took her father’s arm, and Frederick escorted Mrs. Bradley. Mrs. Bradley and Sir Walter sat at opposite ends of the table. Anne and Frederick occupied the middle.The dinner was in four courses, and the conversation remained cordial throughout.
“And you will be in town through the end of the month?” Sir Walter asked after motioning for the last course to be removed from the table.
“We will, Sir.” Frederick placed his cutlery to the side of his setting. “We took a house with the Admiral and Sophia; my brother will join us after a fortnight.”
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