by Susan Kaye
Frederick Wentworth, Captain
A Novel in Two Parts
Book 2
FOR YOU ALONE
by
Susan Kaye
2008 Wytherngate Press
Copyright held by the author
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. Published in the United States by Wytherngate Press
Cover photograph
iStockphoto, Inc.
Cover art direction: Margaret Coleman
Cover design: Galina Vishnevski
ISBN 0-9728529-5-6 ISBN 13 978-0-9728529-5-1
LCCN 2008936528
Wytherngate Press website: wytherngatepress.com
The principal text of this book was set in a digitized version of 10 point
Baskerville. Title appears in Edwardian Script.
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper.
Kaye, Susan.
For You Alone/ Susan Kaye.
228p.; 21 cm. Revised ed.
Series: Frederick Wentworth, Captain; 2.
ISBN 13 978-0-9728529-5-1
1. Regency—England—Fiction. 2. Regency fiction. I.
Austen, Jane, 1775-1817. Persuasion. II. Series:
Frederick Wentworth, Captain; Book 2.
813.54 2008936528
—&—
To my family who continue to smile and shake their heads.
To my online readers and the Austen communities of
Pemberley.com
DerbyshireWritersGuild.com
and Firthness.com
—&—
Chapter One
Louisa insisted on standing and even took the few steps to the window. She has pronounced the day to be beautiful, Captain.” Mrs. Harville smiled at Wentworth as he stood at his usual post near the only window with a view of the sea. There was nothing beautiful in the alternating rain and fog that had been Lyme’s weather for the past week. She said quietly and only to him, “She is still weak as a kitten, but I think it a good sign that she wants to be up.” In a normal voice she said, “I shall send word to the Musgroves at their lodgings. They will be beside themselves with joy. Now, to get her something more substantial than beef tea.” She patted his arm as she passed to the kitchen. Clearly, she presumed he, too, would be beside himself with joy at the news.
Thank God, he thought. If Miss Musgrove were up and around, she would soon be out and on her way home. The sooner she was fully recovered, the sooner he could disentangle himself from his close connections to Uppercross. While the elder Musgroves had endlessly assured him that his position as a close intimate of the family was not affected in the least by the accident on the Cobb, he was feeling the need to separate himself and move on. This meant going to his brother in Shropshire as soon as possible. He would miss Sophia and the Admiral’s company, but he would not miss living in Anne’s family home or miss the portrait of her mother which evoked in him no end of difficult memories.
The note was sent to the Musgrove’s lodgings, and Mrs. Harville bustled about with offerings of solid food to tempt the palate of the rapidly recovering Miss Louisa. With the good news came again the accounts of worry and fright of the first few hours after the girl’s injury, the impressive actions of Miss Anne Elliot, Miss Louisa’s first days of slow progress, and now her sudden gains in health. Wentworth could measure the recovery of his own spirits by those of the girl. All this talk of the past week was threatening to undo all the gains a great deal of solitary riding and walking had accomplished. Finally, Miss Louisa was back abed and resting, and the activity of the day seemed to be over. He could excuse himself for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
“If she’s awake and up to it, I can’t see a thing in the world wrong with allowing Frederick to see his fiancée. A quiet, somewhat private visit will do Miss Louisa a powerful lot of good if you ask me,” Captain Harville said to his wife, who had finally taken a seat and was sharing a pot of tea. “Surely, the Musgroves cannot have any objection if you act as chaperone, Elsa.”
Fiancée! From the moment of the young woman’s fall, a knot had constantly been present in Wentworth’s stomach. It had worsened when he was required to escort Anne Elliot home to Uppercross instead of her sister, Mary Musgrove. The agony of emotions and awkwardness of the seating—he had had to sit between Anne and Louisa Musgrove’s elder sister, Miss Henrietta, in order to drive the carriage—had caused great strain on his body and his mind. He’d not thought it possible, but things had been aggravated still more by the arrival of the Musgroves on the second day. It was only in the last few days, with the improvement of the patient, that the knot had loosened. Harville’s statement firmly cinched it again. It was abundantly clear that his friend was under a horrible misconception concerning his affection towards Louisa Musgrove.
Before Mrs. Harville could make a reply, Wentworth turned to face the couple. It was vital that he put a stop to this new and ridiculous speculation, but to his annoyance, James Benwick had joined them at the table. The smallness of the house required a closeness that was allowing for more attention than was comfortable.
“There is no engagement.” The declaration interrupted their conversation. It was graceless and sounded more rough-edged than he had intended. All three faces reflected shock and puzzlement. Though he was not sure how to explain himself, a clarification was obviously in order.
“I have made no promises...and I have seen no indication on Miss Louisa’s part that she is partial to me...that she expects anything of me...” Except for the first little blast about there being no promises, all the rest were lies and he knew it. Miss Louisa was very partial to his undivided attention and had demonstrated her willingness to manipulate whomever she must in order to ensure it. Moreover, she had proven she was willing to jeopardise her own safety and reputation both in public and private, a clear indication she very much expected him to reciprocate her blatant affections. In lying to his friends, he was, for the first time, admitting the unadorned truth to himself.
Harville rose and joined Wentworth at the window. “You needn’t worry, old man; I am sure that in spite of there being no formal declarations, Miss Musgrove knows how you feel about her. A visit will go a long way to proving that.”
“But there is nothing to prove, and I do not think it would be prudent to—”
“I know, I know, you do not wish to excite her beyond what her condition will bear. That is admirable, Frederick. But really, Elsa will keep a close watch on her and see that she is not overtired.” Quietly, for Wentworth’s hearing alone, he said, “I understand you regret the accident and that it has caught you up short. As soon as you knew how you felt, you should have asked, but this is your chance to mend that. Visit her, and when she is well enough, do the right thing.” It was shocking to see that his friend had not gleaned an ounce of understanding from what he had said.
“There is nothing to mend—”
“That’s the spirit! Go straight at the task. No one will think any less of you for waiting so long. Even if there are some hurt feelings on the matter, once a proposal is made, those will disappear forever.”
This tack is useless, Wentworth thought. He put his faith in another direction. “Really, Timothy, I do not think it wise to see her without the approval of her parents—”
“A courtly gesture to the in-laws is wise but unnecessary, I am sure. Come, man, a glimpse of you will be just the tonic the girl needs! The encouragement of the man she loves will do wonders.”
The man she loves. That is the central issue, Wentworth thought. He had come to know his own feelings plainly
enough. Nevertheless, it was her feelings that mattered the most at this juncture. Timothy’s insistence that he should risk a visit with Miss Louisa made him wonder if the girl was saying things to Mrs. Harville, which Elsa was communicating to her husband. The two women spent a lot of time together now that Miss Louisa was conscious, and he imagined they conversed about all manner of subjects. Mathematical odds, not his own vanity, dictated that at some point he would be one of those subjects.
“—besides, they shall be here soon. You can enquire of Mr. Musgrove then. He will surely bless a visit, and Mrs. Musgrove can oversee it.” Timothy made a face. “If my stairs can withstand the strain.” Mrs. Musgrove’s considerable size made climbing the steep, narrow stairs of the Harville house an awkward and time-consuming process. He had even gone beneath and braced the frame to protect against any future embarrassment or injury. “I haven’t room enough for another invalid,” was all he had said as he put away his tools.
A commotion at the door diverted their attention from Wentworth’s objections. “My dear, dear sister is up and about, and I must be the first to see her. I simply must.” A bonnet and cloak flew at the maid, revealing not Miss Henrietta Musgrove, but Mrs. Charles Musgrove. One of the little boys was unlucky enough to be in her path as she made for the stairs. Fortunately, children have an amazing sense of self-preservation, and he just missed being trampled. The rest of the Musgroves entered, talking loudly. Certainly joy is understandable, he thought, but the hilarity of it seemed more appropriate to a circus tent rather than a sick room. The mass arrival required that Harville should quit Wentworth’s company and play host. This gave Wentworth an opportunity to slip out the door and away from the aggravation of the misunderstanding to contemplate his options. There would be no need to make himself available at Harville’s until the next day. With all the fresh excitement, he would not be missed if he stayed away.
He considered a ride along the scenic cliffs extending east of town but this prospect raised no real interest, and he thought of a walk by the shipbuilder’s along the waterfront. This was always a pleasant diversion, but today, because of its close associations with the worries of career, his mood was not inclined towards it. Instead, he bought a fortnight-old copy of the Plymouth and Cornish Advertiser and headed back to the inn for a drink. As he exited the shop, he saw Miss Henrietta and Charles Hayter walking down the street, undoubtedly heading to Harville’s. They were deep in conversation and not a happy one by her sad eyes and his knitted brow. Wentworth hesitated injecting himself into the couple’s conversation, but on the off chance they had already seen him, he stepped forward.
“Miss Musgrove, Mr. Hayter, good day. I am surprised you are not at Harville’s celebrating Miss Louisa’s progress.”
“The same might be said of you,” Hayter said. Miss Musgrove looked at each man and then cleared her throat.
“Good day to you, Captain. We are just on our way there.” She tightened her grip on Hayter’s arm, looked up at him and said, “But it will be a precious short visit on account of my sister.” Wentworth said nothing, and his judicious silence was rewarded. “My dear Mr. Hayter has just arrived from Winthrop, and now my sister-in-law is insisting that he should ride back this very night with a letter for Miss Anne telling her of the good news concerning Louisa’s recovery.”
“You have heard from Anne...Elliot?”
“She is with Lady Russell now and, I am sure, must have lots of time for writing letters.” The young woman sighed and then looked into her young man’s eyes. “Considering Miss Anne’s good sense, I am sure she would not think this a good reason for Mr. Hayter to forego rest and be parted from me so soon.”
This explained the grave look on Miss Musgrove’s normally cheery face. A plan began to take shape, and he, too, agreed it would be a shame for the young couple to be so soon parted. If he were to offer to take the letter, a side trip to Kellynch Hall would not be out of order. He had only written a hasty note the day of the accident, leaving his own family with little but the village gossips for news. Having a definite commission to deliver the letter to the Lodge would also afford him the opportunity to enquire after Miss Anne’s health and deduce her state of mind. No matter how any other inhabitants of the place might feel, such politeness on his part would be expected. It would be rude if he did not ask to see her. When he made the offer formally, even prickly Mr. Hayter’s face shone with delight. For once this past week, rather than bearing ill tidings, his words brought happiness.
He began to regret his largesse later that evening when he had a drink with Musgrove at their lodgings while waiting for the letter to be finished. In the beginning, Mrs. Charles scratched away quietly while the gentlemen traded predictions concerning the next day’s weather, rejoiced upon the felicitous news concerning Miss Louisa’s first few steps, debated whether Wentworth should take a horse from the inn or use Musgrove’s gig—he opted for the horse when Mrs. Musgrove opined she longed for a ride to Charmouth so she and her husband might explore the lovely little place—and they were well into concluding that the port they drank was some of the foulest stuff on earth when Mrs. Musgrove clumsily hinted that the Captain’s presence and conversation were an impediment to her thoughts.
“My sister expects such perfection when it comes to correspondence, and simply knowing someone is waiting for it is causing me no end of troubles,” he overheard her saying to her husband when he returned from a breath of fresh air. “I am quite rattled now and may not even be able to finish it.” Wentworth’s only comfort in the lady’s complaint lay in being equally blamed along with Anne. After making it clear that he would be around in the morning for the letter, he quickly took his leave. His suspicion that the letter would never be finished was put to rest when Charles brought the four-page monster around to the inn at nearly midnight. They shared another drink, and then Wentworth saw him off, feeling a bit guilty for the effusive thanks heaped on him by the thrifty, younger Mr. Musgrove.
The next morning’s weather was precisely what one could expect so early on a late November morning: cold clean air, sporadic rain, and gusty breezes chilling the bones of anyone who must be out and about. The weather mattered nothing to him, for he was away from Harville’s ill-conceived notions about Miss Louisa and him. No less was he also pleased to be away from the celebratory clamour of the Musgrove clan. He did not begrudge them their happiness, but it was a constant reminder of his part in the evil. He did not appreciate them, quite unconsciously, stirring his conscience. The quiet of the road was a pleasant change from the stifling surroundings to which he had become accustomed.
He progressed at a good pace, his horse more than up to a run now and then. The scenic landmarks that had become so familiar over five daylight trips were slipping by in quick succession. No memories of any of the trips save the one with Anne came to mind. A bad patch of rutted road forced him to slow to a trot. As he allowed the horse to pick her way through the channels, he convinced himself that this was the very spot where the carriage had slipped from the road and he had rescued her from a certain fall from the carriage. He felt ashamed that he could look back upon it with a certain pleasure, for the incident had not only put her in danger, but into his arms. There had been no pleasure in it for her. He recollected the disappointed looks they exchanged over the remainder of the trip. Such reminiscences nudged out any sort of satisfaction and brought on a renewed sense of guilt. His only hope was that Mrs. Charles’s letter would relieve Anne’s mind concerning Miss Louisa and begin building a new foundation for an improved opinion of him.
This journey passed as quickly as the others, and soon he found himself in the environs of Uppercross. As he passed through the village, he was greeted here and there by the bustling residents. The closer he drew to the Mansion, he could not help noticing hard stares and was certain if he looked back, he would see more harsh opinions in evidence. Before Mrs. Charles had become agitated by his presence, she had emphasised that her sister would be now installed with her godm
other at Kellynch Lodge. “I shall render you a map, so that you will have no trouble in finding the place,” she proudly told him. “Everyone rates my artistic skills as superb.” He had glanced over at Musgrove for a confirmation of such a declaration but the man’s expression was unreadable. Later, when the letter was delivered and he had a chance to look at the map in his chambers, he thanked God that no lives depended upon the cartography skills of Mary Musgrove. It was so badly drawn that, were he foolish enough to be guided by it, he would miss the Lodge by a mile or so. The map was burnt that very night. Nothing would stand in the way of the promised delivery or in the way of an opportunity to see Anne.
~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~
A young man was quick to meet him and hold his horse as he dismounted. When questioned, the groom said that the ladies were home and that not a soul had been in or out of the house so far this morning. Standing before the door of the Lodge, he harried his cuffs and neck cloth as he buffed his boots on the backs of his trouser legs. It was not the first time he had stood on the steps of Kellynch Lodge, but for the first time, he felt more than equal to the place and all it stood for. He touched the letter in his breast pocket one more time and smiled, taking a wicked sort of pleasure in bearing a document guaranteeing him admittance into Lady Russell’s home. “You care little for doing good, and are enjoying the idea of the poor woman’s suffering far too much,” his brother, the Reverend Edward Wentworth, would have lectured. Poor woman, he scoffed.
“Captain Wentworth.” The butler stood aside to allow him entrance.
The use of his name caught him off guard. The man at the door was the very same butler of years before, but he was at a loss for the fellow’s name, putting him at a disadvantage he did not care for. He removed his hat, though no offer was made to take it.
