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

by Susan Kaye

  Over breakfast he considered how life in Somerset had acquired a pleasant regularity. The Admiral and his sister took advantage of every morning to walk and ride over the territory that was theirs by lease. He thought it amusing that two people who so loved the sea could suddenly become expert in sheep and trees and broken-down fences. On mornings when they took out the gig, they cut an even wider swath.

  As for himself, he was invited to Uppercross often, and he took advantage of it. Kellynch Hall without his family was a gaudily furnished mausoleum full of anger, resentment, and regret. There were spectres at play, and it was clear one of them could harass him anytime she chose. During his waking hours, the portrait presented him with a thorny reminder of Anne in her prime and the recurring dream brought her near even in his sleep. Uppercross was free of such troubling associations. Its only connections to him were of good meals shared with people who respected him for his accomplishments and demanded nothing of him other than his company and stories of the wider world.

  A few mornings after the dinner, Wentworth waved away his brother-in-law and sister and headed to the Great House. The lane to Uppercross was becoming quite familiar to him. Already he was marking trees and bushes changing colour or losing more of their leaves from day to day. Soon the weather would turn cold, but he thought walks would not be complicated by snow before the new year. This reminded him that he had made no plans to visit Edward. It would take several days to travel to Shropshire, and he should at least make inquiries about transportation. He was looking forward to seeing his brother after so long and curious about his new sister-in-law, but the pull to stay at Kellynch went deeper. He knew he could stay as long as he liked. The Admiral and Sophia were glad of his company, and he enjoyed them as well.

  He was sure Edward would understand if he were to put him off for another fortnight or, perhaps, another few months. How anxious could the newlyweds really be to have a bachelor brother insinuating himself into the midst of their marital bliss? He could think of very few things that would be less appealing.

  The old-style house came into view, and all the previous thoughts left him. At one of the windows, surrounded by the sweep of the brocade curtains, he could see Louisa watching for him. Her pleasant face widened into a welcoming smile when she saw him. She waved and then disappeared. He had to admit that it was nigh on impossible for his vanity to resist the lure of Uppercross and his easy acceptance into their family life.

  Returning to Kellynch after dinner with the Musgroves was not quite the chore it usually was, for that day he had been introduced to Charles Hayter, the much-spoken-of but never-before-seen cousin from a nearby property called Winthrop. The young man was civil enough in the beginning, quiet but polite when introduced. Henrietta informed Wentworth that he was a curate and that it was his family’s fondest hope that he would be offered a curacy in Uppercross Parish. There was something of embarrassment in her manner when the young man said nothing for himself and left Louisa to relate his present circumstances.

  Wentworth spoke to the young man, saying his brother, once a curate as well, was now a rector in Shropshire and seemed quite content in his parish. This brought no reply from Mr. Hayter. The conversation carried on apace between the other three.

  When his brother-in-law inquired what he thought of the much-lauded cousin, Wentworth replied, “The young squeaker has nothing to recommend himself to me. He had nearly nothing to say, and that which he did say seemed particularly contentious when directed toward Miss Musgrove. I realize they are family, but even a blood connexion does not excuse such bad manners.” His relief at leaving the presence of Mr. Hayter was tempered by having to take his port and a game of chess in the Bower Room.

  His sister stood behind her husband, and as the Admiral made a move for his bishop, she touched his back with her fan. His hand floated above the board for a moment until it hovered over the most advantageous move. She then said, “All the Hayters seem to be a bit odd and quite unfashionable. From what I understand, he is the most liberal of them all. He is a scholar and has quite ambitious plans for himself, or so says his aunt.”

  With the two of them on one side, the Captain knew he was dished and began to hasten the demise of his little black army. “Even so, I had the distinct impression that he was angry with me. Why, I cannot say, as this was my first meeting with him.”

  “Too many women,” said the Admiral. “There are so many women in those two families that a man can’t be certain when he’ll say something that will ruffle all the feathers and he’s in the soup. Never good for a man to have to watch his words so carefully.”

  “I cannot believe that you truly think that.” Sophia tapped him smartly on the shoulder with the fan and took a seat by the fire. “I think that most wars prove it is men who would do well to be more circumspect in their utterings.” She looked first at the fire, then back to her husband.

  The Admiral winked at him. “Oh, now my dear, you just proved my point exactly.”

  Wentworth laughed quietly. Were he to say such a thing, his sister would cheerfully throw the fan at him, most likely hitting him with it. She had a deadly aim. It mattered not, as the two of them were now bantering gaily without a hint of rancour. It went on for a moment more when she noticed her brother’s amusement.

  “And why do you laugh, Frederick?”

  Sliding his queen to a vulnerable position, he said, “If I observed the two of you, without knowing you as well as I do, I would be amazed. How you progressed past mere acquaintance, I shall never know.” The Admiral checkmated him.

  “Yes, that is a very old puzzle, Frederick,” she replied. “Why is it only certain men and women, when becoming acquainted, chuze to become more deeply involved?”

  There was something about her words and in her tone that unsettled him. He watched as the chessboard was regrouped, listening to her shift in her seat. It seemed that sleeping or waking, speaking or keeping silent, it was impossible for him to avoid being hounded.

  “We have no more than to look right here in this very house. Perhaps you can say why it is that, upon meeting not one but two good-humoured, unaffected girls, you have obviously chosen to pursue knowing them better. But, when it comes to being reacquainted with a superior young woman such as Miss Anne Elliot, you show not the slightest interest. No interest at all on your part.” She finished her speech and he realized they were locked in a stare.

  The exchange put him in mind of his boyhood when she’d asked why he had taken a biscuit without permission or if he had hidden the pieces of a broken bit of crockery. However, old they were, he always played the little brother to her older sister. He marvelled how she was able to take a man who skillfully commanded other men, fought bravely for his King, and possessed an independent fortune and reduce him to a boy not yet out of leading-strings.

  When a ready answer was not at hand, he had learnt it was best to keep quiet and buy some time. He rose and refilled his glass, waving away the footman. Feeling an answer resolving, he took a drink. The words began to order themselves as he put down his glass. Now that he knew his tack, he took his time drawing a chair closer to his sister’s side. It was almost a pleasure to think of laying it all out for her.

  Stretching his legs, he balanced the heel of one boot on the toe of the other. “Well, my dear Sister, are you now ready to hear the sad business that led up to my reacquaintance with Miss Elliot?”

  “Certainly, Frederick, we would be most interested in hearing about this affair from the very beginning.” Both their expressions agreed with her statement. He could not be certain whether her choice of the word “affair” was an unfortunate mistake or a calculated turn of phrase. For a moment, he considered laying out the whole truth of the sad experience.

  In the day-to-day business of living, particularly on land, it was his sister who saw to the mundane practicalities of the Crofts’ joint life. If asked, she would surely know, to the last penny, how much the butcher was owed, which of the servants were to be truste
d, and how much they were to pay in taxes for the year. Above that, in her knowledge of sailing, she was capable of taking command were the unthinkable to happen to her husband. And yet, though she was as practical as any man, she possessed the tenderest of hearts. She had often lamented Edward’s single state and wished he would find a good woman to share his life. He assumed that she stated the same to Edward concerning himself. In the Admiral’s opinion, there was no finer material for a husband than a good, decent man of the sea. To have had the support of two such people would have made the initial blow more bearable. To have their support now… Rather than entangle himself further, he gave a brief sketch of the meeting between Anne Elliot and himself in the year ’06. It was matter-of-fact and to the point.

  When he finished, she asked, “And there was nothing more to it? A few dances and then a loss of interest on both your parts?” He was not certain she believed him.

  “It is difficult to lose something you never had.” He wondered what Edward would say about the guilt of sins of “omission” and those of “commission.”

  “You were not interested in Miss Elliot? Not in the slightest?”

  “Sophia, I was staying with the curate of a parish smaller than that of Kellynch. She was the daughter of the manor. The hand was dealt before I came to the county.”

  “But as I recall, in the year ’06, you were fresh from Domingo and all over the papers. I’m sure that counted for something with the ladies,” the Admiral offered.

  Frederick nodded. “It did indeed, sir—with some.” Oh that he’d set a better watch over his words that evening with the Musgroves. This slip of the tongue was growing into a monster, and he would be glad when he finally hit upon the excuse that would slay it once and for all.

  “You are sure there was no interference from anyone? Edward perhaps?” He thought it odd, not to mention troublesome, that she would think to name their brother. To date, the good reverend had said nothing significant about that summer, but would he withstand questioning? A little truth would sound plausible just now.

  “He was not pleased with any ideas I might entertain in her direction. He thought it overreaching my station.”

  “So he did think there was something developing.”

  The woman was relentless. She should sit at Courts Martial. It was certain that neither the cleverest pickpocket nor the most heartless murderer could withstand her questioning. “He did not express it in so many words. It was more his looks and his tone when I would enquire about certain young women. The man can say much without uttering a word.”

  Her doubtful look induced him to continue. “There was nothing to it, Sophia. You know how it is! We were introduced as a matter of form, and then I went my way and she hers. You can’t really think that any Elliot would pay serious attention to a lowly lieutenant, even in the wilds of Somersetshire.”

  “Certainly not the eldest daughter, but the second is a different kind of woman all together.”

  “Yes, she is, and I think you can see by her behaviour that she has no desire to see the acquaintance elevated to its former intensity. She is civil and no more.” He turned away and cursed his own choice of words. If God were smiling that evening, she would not notice them.

  “What I see is grave civility on both your parts. It strikes me as odd how two former acquaintances, no matter how insignificant the association might have been, are both so disinterested when you yourself say there was an ‘intensity’ to the relationship.”

  Turning back, he said, “To be quite honest, I did have a little more to do with Anne Elliot than I let on to the Musgroves.” Before his sister could ask any questions as to how much they had to do with one another, he continued. “We were acquainted over some time. The usual things—cards, dances. We got on very well it seemed.”

  “And you came to care for one another very much.” It was not a question. To tell her would be a relief. To tell her would be to admit his failure in love.

  “Early on in the acquaintance, I had an opportunity to dine here at the Hall, and there was a neighbour in attendance. She took an immediate dislike to me. As Anne Elliot’s godmother, she used her influence and saw to it that I was not welcome after that. As you can see, things are little changed.”

  “Might that be Lady Russell?” she asked. “She’s the woman who lives in the Lodge,” she explained to the Admiral.

  “Ah, I see you know the lay of the land. Yes, that neighbour would be Lady Russell.” The name still could not be said without a tone of derision.

  He could see his sister thinking. The Admiral interjected: “Well, then the woman did Anne a great disservice. There would have been nothing unequal about such an alliance. You came out of Domingo quite well as I recall. The payout on your prize was handsome. The girl could have done much worse than what you had to offer.”

  He had come out of Domingo well, but by the time he had landed under his brother’s roof most of it was gone. He had little to show for it besides two newly made uniforms, one dress and one undress, and the custom-made boots he wore that very night. Shortly after, when he’d made Commander, it had been a trick to trade the uniforms around for just one proper outfit of that rank. Anne could have done worse, but the cold light of his foolishness was difficult to avoid.

  “That is true, dear. But I think we should put ourselves in the place of our neighbour. If she is the godmother of a girl with no mother, she has to be extraordinarily scrupulous in looking out for her interests. While you and I might be amenable to a young lieutenant looking in the direction of a young woman we have interest in, someone not familiar with our ways might not be so broad-minded.”

  It was nettling that his own sister seemed to be taking up for the woman who was chiefly responsible for ruining all his hopes. In addition, he could see her mind was at work on questions of the past. The present would just have to sort itself out later. He determined that a calculated retreat was in order.

  Rising, he stowed his glass and approached his sister. “I am tired and off to bed, Sophia.” Kissing her cheek, he nodded to the Admiral. She caught his hand as he moved away.

  “Frederick, might there be some chance?” Her sympathy was there in spades. She chafed the top of his hand while she grasped it with the other. “Anything?”

  He knelt by her chair and spoke from his heart. “Sophia, I think it best that Miss Anne be the one to determine what she feels about the past. Thus far, I think it fair to say she thinks nothing of it.”

  Her smile was taut as she stroked his hand. Again, the “good nights” were said, and he left them. The door closed and he stopped in the muted light of the hallway. He hadn’t meant to, but he thought how he might have stumbled on the absolute truth. Anne’s scrupulously proper dealings with him, the dream, his partial confession to his sister—all served to convince him that she did not care.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  Wentworth rallied in the morning and, giving a last thought to the evening before, consigned it to the dust heap. He enjoyed the walk to Uppercross and was not bothered in the least when to that walk was added another half a mile to meet the Miss Musgroves, who were visiting their sister-in-law at the Cottage.

  “I will show myself in, thank you,” he said to the maid. He was becoming as much a fixture at the younger Musgrove’s home as at the Mansion-house and was treated nearly like the family.

  Entering the drawing room, he anticipated the ladies and Mrs. Charles but found only Anne tending the boy, who lay on the sofa. When she saw him, she stopped in the midst of the room. To be in company with her alone, with no one but the boy, was startling. He paused in the doorway. “I thought the Miss Musgroves were about. Mrs. Musgrove told me I should find them here.”

  “They are upstairs with my sister; they will be down in a few moments, I dare say.” She motioned towards the stairway and gave him a vague curtsey. He nodded and decided to take up a post at the nearest window.

  “Aunt Anne, I want you.”

  Her shoes tapped across t
he floor to her small charge. Wentworth leant against the window’s frame, turning slightly that he might watch her. She sat on the sofa and helped the boy with a plaything that was not working. She struggled with it for a moment, and he thought to approach and offer his assistance. But whatever the malfunction, it righted itself, and she handed it back. The child was talkative and she stayed close, taking the opportunity to pick up blocks and play-figures that littered the floor. As she was about her work, she glanced up and caught him watching.

  She stopped and looked at him as well. For a moment, there was no little boy, no young ladies upstairs, no time between them. There was only a kind young woman who once loved him. Her cheeks reddened and she went to a small box and emptied the toys from her apron.

  Quickly, he regained his composure and said, “I hope the little boy is better.” Turning back to the window, he heard the child summon her back to his side. Again he watched as she knelt beside the sofa.

  She talked quietly but with energy, occasionally reaching up to brush aside a stray lock of his hair or straighten the blanket covering him. It was clear she cared greatly for him. This is why she stayed home the night the boy was hurt, and this is why she had sent his mother on to the Great House. She, unlike her sister, cared more for him and his injury than she cared for meeting a newcomer to the neighbourhood. Since he was really no stranger to her, the child’s well-being had naturally outweighed his presence. At this revelation, he could not but be a bit ashamed of his grand notion that she used the boy as a convenient excuse to avoid being in company with him.

  There were voices at the door and the sound of steps. Turning fully, he saw Charles Hayter.

  “How do you do? Will not you sit down? The others will be down presently,” Anne said, getting to her feet. The younger man merely nodded and motioned for Anne to remain next to the boy.