None But You (Frederick Wentworth, Captain: Book 1)

by Susan Kaye

  Craig hesitated and studied Wentworth. “That sounds strange coming from you.” He headed to the door, and then stopped. “Just out of curiosity, what do you think of elopements? She has no close family other than Hammond; so who would be the wiser?”

  Wentworth picked up his scraper and gave it a brush as Craig worked out another fantastical plan to have her for his own. He opened the door and the marine stationed outside snapped to attention, Gil prating on as they came up on deck.

  “Thank you for a good evening. I appreciate all the arrangements you make.”

  “As I said, in a few days you will be able to make your move.”

  Craig smiled and shook his head. “You should be a politician, Wentworth. You have a knack for choosing the most advantageous strategy.”

  The Captain watched him descend into the small boat assigned to row him ashore. Taking a turn on the quarterdeck, the Officer of the Watch gave him a report while a procuress came alongside, offering a bargain price for several of her girls. When she was sent on her way without making a sale, she pronounced a pox on Laconia and all her crew. Wentworth mused that she was too late, for some of the men had already obtained their own curses in their own ways.

  He turned away from the activity of the quarterdeck and walked along the waist, the men giving their obediences and making a clear path for him. Letting them think he was observing the nightly rituals, he watched the sun set behind the western hills. As the last of the orange radiance slipped behind the black mounds, he saw the glass turned and bid the officers a good evening.

  Michaelson was just clearing away the chessboard and glasses when he entered the Great Cabin. He dismissed the steward, removed his coat, and loosened his neck-cloth. Leaning out the stern window, he enjoyed a cool breeze that kicked up. He had no wish to dive into ship’s daily paperwork or to read. Too early to turn in for the night, he dragged a chair before the windows, took a seat, kicked off his boots, and put his feet on the stern lockers. It was an ungracious pose, but at this time of night, short of a skylarker falling from the rigging or a fire breaking out, only Michaelson would dare to interrupt him.

  It felt good to be alone, an uncommon occurrence on a ship of war, but considering where his thoughts had strayed earlier in the evening, it was also dangerous. He’d given no thought to Anne Elliot or his engagement to her for some time. As he recalled, the last miserable go-round with his memories had been the previous summer. Obviously there was something about the hot weather of July that wrung such oppressive thoughts out of him.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  His acquaintance with the second daughter of Sir Walter Elliot of Kellynch Hall, Somersetshire, had not happened quickly. Wentworth was a newly made commander in the Navy when he arrived but only the visiting brother of a local curate. Social manoeuvring of any consequence took some time. Summer gatherings in the country were few, and the heat dictated the activities. Dinners, cards, and the occasional dance allowed for only a gradual acquaintance. But, once made, the acquaintance burst into full-blown love on both sides and only intensified after his proposal. They were everything to one another and being apart was agony. For a man whose only example of marriage was his parents’ unhappy union, he was shocked how the thought of her brought him such peace. That peace, as it turned out, was short-lived.

  When he arrived at Anne’s home to speak with her father, he had every expectation of a warm acceptance. Looking back, he knew his expectation to have been foolhardy. How could it have been otherwise when his very first meeting with Anne had begun with an apology for her father and sister’s scarcely hidden disregard of him? Eventually, others in the neighbourhood began to solicit his company—after all, he was an officer of the Crown and fresh from a very successful, highly profitable, and well publicised battle in the West Indies—and the Baronet seemed happy to join the train and to entertain him as though he were welcome and accepted into the man’s intimate circle. He later found that he was not genuinely welcome into any circle of the Baronet’s—particularly not into the family circle.

  The interview itself had been short and comparatively silent. After informing Sir Walter that Anne had unreservedly accepted his proposal of marriage, he waited for a reply. There had been a look of astonishment, silence, and a general atmosphere of contempt. Other than making it plain that he was disinclined to do anything financial for his daughter, nothing was said. Wentworth sat for some time, unsure what should be his next move.

  He would not beg. It was clear his suit was distasteful to the head of the family. All that was left to him was to make a bow and thank the man for his time, then clear off.

  Fortunately, Anne had arranged to be away, visiting her godmother, when he came to the Hall. Both had been hopeful of a positive outcome, and they had agreed to meet later in a secluded grove that lay between Kellynch and his brother’s tiny house in Monkford.

  The Baronet’s conduct left him enraged, and he was glad for the walk. It gave him time to think and see the situation more clearly. By the time Anne arrived, he was rational again and had a plan.

  “Frederick?”

  Just hearing her voice and knowing she was near made his breath catch. Such raw, though tender feelings strengthened his determination to outwit her father and make her his very own.

  “I’m here.”

  Anne came around a large tree and looked relieved. “I was worried you would not come.”

  “And miss an opportunity to be alone with the loveliest young woman of my acquaintance? Never.” She was such a pretty, gracious little thing and he was determined he would not lose her.

  “I have been worried that things might not go well between you and Father.”

  To lie was useless. Soon enough she would know how things stood between the two men. “It went very badly.” Holding his anger in check, he said it with a smile. Ease and humour were all a part of the plan that was beginning to take shape in his mind.

  Her colour drained away and her posture slacked; everything about her diminished markedly. Clearly he should not have been so blunt. He gave her the remaining details laced with hearty self-assurance.

  Perhaps he had taken unfair advantage of her when he held her hand and stood closer to her than he had ever dared before. He kissed her fingers and said, “It’s all right though. I have come to believe the old boy was only testing me. He wants to see what I do when laid low; do I crawl away and lick my wounds, or do I stand like a man and pursue what I want?”

  Her gaze eventually met his, and though her countenance was still pale, she gripped his hand like iron. “I do not think my father is the sort of man who would test you. I think he cares little about understanding the character of other men.” The tears were pooling in her eyes and threatening to spill down her cheeks. He suspected this had little to do with admitting her father’s disinterest in the moral quality of the man offering for her hand. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, he was tempted to wipe her tears, but instead put the cloth in her hands. At his touch, she smiled. This tiny respite from the pain was comforting. Now, relieving her internal agony was his only concern.

  “Come, have a seat here and let me explain.”

  Nearly carrying her to a fallen tree, he seated her. “Annie, I have learnt over the years that when a man is dressing you down, it is best to listen very carefully since they generally say as much by the words they do not use as those they do.” He could tell she only partly comprehended him. Her eyes struggled to stay with his as she blinked to keep the tears at bay. “While your father did not precisely say, ‘I give you my blessing to marry my daughter, Anne,’ he also did not expressly forbid us marrying. All he said outright was that he had no intention of giving us any sort of settlement.”

  “I do not understand how you can be pleased with any of this,” she said, trying to pull away.

  Drawing her down next to him, he continued. “Don’t you see? He wants to know that I am not after your settlement money. All I need do is stay around here and prove myself;
show myself to be constant to you and your family. I know I can change his mind. He’s only looking out for your good.”

  Even as he spoke the words, he only half believed them. While it was true the old goat had not forbidden the marriage, he knew the Baronet had no interest but his own at heart. Regardless, he would grasp at anything to keep Anne’s hopes afloat. He was flooded with his own ridiculous sort of hope, and even as he spouted the bilge about changing the Baronet’s mind, he came to think it a real possibility. He even considered help from another, untapped quarter.

  “Perhaps your godmother would help us. Lady Russell is forever saying your happiness is her chief concern. When you tell her how much we love one another, I am sure she will be glad to use her influence with your father on our behalf.”

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  At this long-forgotten piece of history, he muttered, “Good God, Frederick, could you have chosen a worse person in whom to place your faith?” After many years, he had determined that, had he kept Anne from rushing to her godmother, their engagement might have been saved. Perhaps she had not loved him as deeply as he loved her, but when she broke the engagement it became clear that Lady Russell had worked on her, had used her considerable influence against him, and convinced her that a marriage with him would only bring her grief. If he had not been so eager to use every means at his disposal to win over the father, he might not have lost the daughter. However, half measures were not his way, and, though it was maddening, he long ago forgave himself the blunder. Anne Elliot had made the choice to break the engagement. To lament it now was only a momentary disturbance in his exceptionally ordered life.

  Determined to break the hold of such dreary memories, he rose and filled his glass, then settled back in the chair. The freshening breezes were pleasant but brought along the disagreeable smells of the rotting garbage dumped overboard by the numerous ships crowding the channel. In any case, the gentle winds were more welcome than the heat.

  The stirring gusts also brought the show of the gulls weaving, screaming, and diving to pick at the leavings of this nautical civilization. The inelegant amusement of watching them would be denied him after he was thrown ashore. Unless he chose to live on the bottom floor of a very busy boarding house, he would no longer have the sound of many feet shuffling, pounding, dancing or skipping above him, as they did now. Even if he found quarters in a basement, landsmen wore shoes and the sound would not have the softness of bare feet. Moreover, no matter where he lived, the floor of a land home would never creak and heave or faintly sway, as did the deck of his ship. Overall, being thrown ashore would be abominable.

  Suddenly, he was angry that such melancholy thoughts would choose this time to attack him. Did he not have newer, more pressing worries to override his old, worn griefs? With his usual matter-of-factness, Gil had touched on it earlier. It was certain that Laconia would be taken from him. He had had her for six years—a miraculously long time in the Navy for one man to command a particular ship—and she was getting old. At best, a merchant would buy her at auction and she would begin a new, though less dignified, life. At worst, she would go to the knacker’s yard and be stripped of all useable parts, then broken down into scrap and firewood. The very thought of it was painful. Laconia had taken him further than he had ever expected to go in life. A truer and more trusted friend would have been hard to come by. It was bitter to think about her future, nearly as bitter as his thoughts of his past. Draining the glass and regretting his choice of water, he nonetheless remained seated. The heat and the memories were taking their toll, and he thought it perhaps time to retire. Having no energy to make a change of scene in the present and judging the cruel little history to have no power to harm him, he allowed himself to return to the grove and study the past.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  After ignorantly urging Anne to do the single most destructive thing possible in consulting with her godmother, she pulled away from him and, covering her face with her hands, began to shake.

  Thinking he had sunk himself completely, he whispered, “What is wrong? Why do you cry? I told you that I shall convince him, never fear—”

  Lowering her hands, he could see the colour had come back, and she was now a lovely shade of pink. She was not crying, but laughing. “You have cast a spell on me, Frederick, and I am thoroughly bewitched. I truly believe you are capable of changing Father’s mind.” She paused and, with some hesitation, touched his brow. “What sort of hold is it you have over me?” Her eyes were bright with tears and her breath was quick. She looked intently at him. Finally, she said, “When I first saw you, the warmth of your confidence persuaded me that there was nothing you could not do. And now, now that my heart is hopelessly entangled, I know that my father has no choice but to see your reasoning.”

  Joining her in laughter, he said, “You make me sound like those fellows in India that charm animals to do their bidding.” It was then he realised it was he who was being charmed. She moved close to him once more.

  “No, I just know that all your future plans and hopes of which we’ve spoken will come to pass. You will see to it that they do. In addition, once we are married, there is no freedom I shall not feel; no joy we will not share. What stirs me is the only thing you ask is that I give you my love. It is a small thing for all that I receive.”

  The heat of the day was nothing compared with the heat of his passion. Her words fired every masculine instinct dwelling in him, and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and follow Nature’s course. But he would not. They would be together soon enough. Regardless, he would have to leave her. The isolation of their meeting place indeed sheltered their trysts, but such seclusion offered nearly irresistible temptations.

  “No, it is I who come out best in this bargain. I never harboured a hope in the world of a woman such as you giving me a second glance.” Wentworth had been confident he would marry a beautiful woman, one with sense and intelligence, but to have a well-born woman so naturally elegant and refined as Miss Anne Elliot look his way, much less consent to be his wife, was miraculous.

  “It would seem we both have been given our heart’s desires.”

  Again, she reached up, this time touching his hair and then caressing his jaw. The velvety fire of her fingertips made breathing impossible. Closing her eyes, she moved close. He supposed she meant to kiss his cheek, but missing her mark, her lips came painfully close to his. It was only natural that he should make a course correction. To begin, as he gently teased her mouth, she was tense, but almost immediately, she relaxed and accepted his kiss.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  The fog, which clouded the past, lifted and he was able to clearly see this Anne, still as bright as anything. This was the Annie he loved the most. This Anne had haunted his dreams for years. This was the little brown-eyed ghost he cursed when the occasional black mood settled in.

  One hot summer exchanged itself for another and his thoughts shifted abruptly to the bumboat offering reasonably priced female company. He would not boast, but there had certainly been other women in his life. All they knew of him was his rank and that he possessed enough coin to buy an allotted portion of their time. However, such encounters were a two-edged sword; the physical release was welcome, but they left his soul empty. He knew his Annie was the woman he longed for in all those previous encounters. It was the only kiss that ever mattered—the only kiss that mattered still.

  “Enough for this night,” he muttered. Rising, he shoved the chair out of his way with his knee and headed to his bed. Though agitated, he stopped and listened to the sound of several sets of feet above. They were unhurried, there seemed to be no emergency, but it was late enough that all should be quiet for the night. A single set of steps moved to the gangway, and he readied himself for the business as hand.

  At the obligatory knock, he called in the messenger. It was the youngest of his midshipmen, Mr. Guy. The boy did his duty well enough, but was still overawed by those of superior rank and stuttered dreadfully when r
equired to speak.

  “B-beggin’ your pardon, sir. There’s a f-fella come on board who requests to see you. Says his name is Captain Harville, sir, but he’s got no uniform. Mr. Cranmer tried sendin’ him on his way, but then Mr. Eyerly said you knew him and would raise a breeze was he denied.” The boy made a face. Wentworth suspected the dust-up between his first officer and coxswain was not intended to be part of the announcement.

  “You have done well, Mr. Guy. Please show Captain Harville to me.” The boy touched his forehead and bobbed, then shot out of his presence as if blasted from one of the forward guns.

  The hour was too late for a social visit. They had only been anchored two days, and it had been his intention to visit Harville as soon as matters concerning Laconia had been settled. Though Harville was a good friend and had served on Wentworth’s first command, the Asp, he could still observe courtesy and come on board at a decent hour. He knew the man well and only something dire would bring him aboard at such a late hour. He could hear Harville’s approach. It was slow, but his friend suffered from less-than-perfect health. Though he had time to gather himself, he was not prepared for Eyerly lurching through the door, with Harville clinging to his shoulder, searching for some place to put the man. Bringing them to the chair he’d just vacated, Wentworth saw his friend gently placed.

  “There you go, sir.” Looking about, the coxswain spied the water and fetched a glass. “Here you are, Captain. The heat can be right taxin’ in here.”

  “Thank you, Eyerly. That will be all.” The man made a little gesture, requesting Wentworth to join him at the door.

  “He had a deuce of a time makin’ it up the accommodation ladder, sir. I feared for ’im every step.”

  “I can see he is extraordinarily unwell. Thank you for informing Cranmer of my desires.”