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

by Susan Kaye

  “Had you?” he said, matching her high, romantic tone. “I honour you.” The walk in general was giving him glimpses of a depth of perception in Louisa, until now unseen. Perhaps there was something to be said for physical exercise and the beauty of the countryside when it came to increasing the attraction of young Englishwomen.

  The group continued for a time in silence. When they came to diverging paths, the girls consulted no one but confidently led the way.

  An extended conversation between the Miss Musgroves allowed Wentworth an opportunity to slip from their sight and, setting his own pace, observe the day. Through an odd chain of divisions necessitated by the freshly turned field, he found himself bringing up the rear, following behind Anne, who had chosen to allow a separation between her and her sister. At a clearing overlooking a valley, she stopped for a moment, looked over the scene and asked, “Is this not one of the ways to Winthrop?” Not even her brother-in-law, who walked directly ahead and might hear her, paid heed to the question. The group moved on.

  Looking again over the valley, she sighed. When she noticed that she blocked him, she coloured, gathered her cape about her and, murmuring an apology, hurried to catch the rest of them. He was caught up to her in just a few strides.

  The walking was slower through another freshly tilled field. It was customary for the farmer to leave a narrow strip along the edges so travellers might have a path that would keep them from trampling the growing crop. The owner of this field had ploughed right to the fence-line, leaving no place to walk save through the small ditch left after the last pass of the plough. A large clump of earth had fallen in the trough, and when Anne stepped on it, it collapsed and she stumbled. In an instant, he caught her and, before thinking, said, “Steady on. It won’t do to have you hurting yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir.” There was no telling whether the high colour of her cheeks was from exercising in the brisk autumn air or because he held her so close. “I am quite sound now,” she said, barely above a whisper. Glancing to the group disappearing around a bend, she moved to join them. He did nothing to stop her. His heart was pounding, and now he was not certain whether it was from the exercise or the nearness of her. It did not matter and he applied himself to studying his surroundings.

  On the whole, the change of seasons had little meaning to a sailor. The sea and sky changed as the weather gods saw fit. Days could go by with only the slightest variance in shades of blue and grey. Certainly, he had been fortunate in that his assignments were all in warm weather climes. He had avoided many English winters altogether. Thus, the autumnal foliage was a treat. Its riot of colour was breathtaking, and the brilliant sunshine which accompanied the cool air made a delightful juxtaposition. Regardless of the novelty of his surroundings and his enjoyment of it, he longed to be back at sea. An existence on the water was as natural to him as the turning of the leaves from their supple green to brittle gold or the fading of the verdant grasses to straw. Autumn on land was a glorious sight, but it was one he would happily forego for the white crests of the sea.

  For some time they had been climbing a considerable hill. Everyone saved their breath for the trek, and so, all were silent until they reached the crest, whereupon they all exclaimed their relief. A breeze touched Wentworth’s brow when he removed his hat. It was cool and sweet and nearly as refreshing as those which made the tops of the masts his particular haven. In that moment, he determined that if he were forced permanently onshore, he would build a house on the highest point the territory could provide. If he must be a land creature, he would do as other seagoing refugees and mount a scope on his “Olympus” and spend all his time looking over the countryside.

  “Bless me! Here is Winthrop—I declare I had no idea—well, now I think we had better turn back. I am excessively tired,” Mrs. Charles announced, her voice high as she turned her back to the view of the valley and stalked away. “Come, girls. We should start back now.”

  Wentworth stepped to an opening in the shrubbery. It revealed a worn path and a clear view of a farm sitting at the bottom of the hill. The collection of buildings looked old and undignified, the arrangement of them giving the impression of being carelessly scattered. There seemed to be no grace or order to any of it, but he was no fit judge of the affairs of landlocked farmers.

  Musgrove joined him. “Well, looks as if Charles has done some clearing away.” He turned to his wife. “Mary, we have come all this way; we might just as well pay a call on our family.”

  Henrietta looked anxiously to her sister and then walked cautiously to her sister-in-law. As she joined Mrs. Charles, she, too, turned away. Shortly, she pulled a kerchief from her pocket and began wiping her eyes.

  Stealing a glance at Anne, Wentworth saw her dividing her looks between Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove and some far-off scenery. Her colour was higher than he remembered seeing it the whole course of the walk. It was clear she wished to be elsewhere, as did he.

  “No, no,” cried Louisa. She flew past him to her sister. Catching up to her and taking her hand, they began a warm discussion that soon took on all the features of an argument.

  Charles, with a tussle of his own to settle, said to his wife, “Mary, you have an obligation to your family. You say you are tired from walking; we shall go down and you might rest a quarter-hour in Aunt Hayter’s kitchen. A cup of tea and a little rest will set you right.”

  “Oh, no, indeed! Walking up that hill again will do me more harm than any sitting down could do me good.” It was obvious from Mrs. Charles’s vivid expression and intractable manner that she would not be moved from her opinion.

  Musgrove coloured and the muscles in his jaw flexed at his wife’s refusal. Turning away from her, he moved over to confer with his sisters who seemed to have settled things between them. The trio stood together, but it looked as though Henrietta had little or nothing to add to the conversation. It took some time, but eventually the three began to walk towards the path leading to Winthrop.

  “Henrietta and I shall go down. I assure you that we shall not be very long,” Musgrove explained to Wentworth and Anne. “We shall stay long enough to prevent any insult to our uncle and aunt.” This was meant for his wife and no other. Taking his sister’s arm, they began down the hill. Louisa held her sister’s other arm and went a short distance, talking to her all the way.

  “It is unpleasant, having such connexions! But I assure you I have never been in the house above twice in my life.” Mrs. Charles glared at the three as they moved farther away.

  Wentworth’s eyes met hers. It was all he could do to manage a civil smile. When she gave him a pert nod, presuming his agreement, he was angered even more. Gritting his teeth, he turned away to keep from making a malicious observation. In turning, he was eye-to-eye with Anne. She said nothing, then looked down and away from him.

  There was nothing he could say with Mrs. Charles standing so close. But why should he apologize for his silence? Certainly, Anne knew better than most what her sister was and how this outburst proved her to be as prejudiced and ill-mannered as their father. He had said the same sorts of things in the past; there was nothing new to discover concerning the arrogance of the Elliot clan.

  Louisa returned, her eyes bright and her complexion flushed. “They are well on their way,” she breathed, with a wave of her arm in the general direction of the descending pathway.

  Mrs. Charles made a noise of contempt, and then began making a fuss about finding a place to sit. In short order her hunt became ridiculous. One place was too damp, another too shaded, this one too high, or another too low. Finding a stile in a sunny spot, she finally sat herself down on the second step, looking to each of them as if congratulations were in order.

  This is the typical Elliot attitude, Wentworth snorted to himself. Not only is she contemptuous of her husband’s family, she expects me to congratulate her on such despicable opinions. What could have induced Musgrove to marry such a woman?

  Through all the excitement, Anne stood silently b
y, her attention conscientiously fixed away from them all. Her embarrassment was palpable. To have such relations must be a trial. He repented his harsh attitude and could not help feeling pity for her. But pitying certain of the Elliots would do nothing to improve them. Pride was in the blood and ingrained in their behaviour, as Mrs. Charles was proof. Though Anne did not show it overtly, she was still an Elliot; and there was no doubt that her true colours would be hoisted at the proper time.

  A tug at his sleeve brought him to the present. “They shall be gone for a little bit. Might we glean some hazelnuts? There are some growing wild in the hedgerows,” Louisa pointed out. It was a better plan than paying homage to Mrs. Charles’s grievances and her sister’s mortification.

  “There is a gate just over there,” he said, taking her arm.

  As they entered the heart of the hedgerow, he found a tree that bore a decent number of nuts. Jumping up, he easily plucked down a fat cluster. While pulling the browned, frilly husks away from the small rounds, Louisa laughed and bid him listen. He could hear Mrs. Charles’s voice as she moved closer. They stood silently and then breathed in relief as she moved away again.

  “Poor Anne,” she said. “I don’t know how she manages to stay civil when Mary is in such a mood.”

  He followed Louise down a rough, natural passageway that cut through the hedge. The ground was thick with leaves. The browning carpet crunched under their feet, beneath which reposed spongy layers of leaves from past autumns. At times, the track narrowed so that passing through was difficult. The hedge was shot through with rambling holly, the spikes of their glossy green leaves adding to the difficulty. Occasionally, he found it necessary to reach out and around Louisa to force the limbs from her path. As they made their way, she informed him of the importance of the walk that day.

  “Henrietta and Charles Hayter have cared for one another for a long time. Our mother and father are not against it at all. It is just recently that she has become muddled as to her feelings. But after a long talk, she has come to know her own mind concerning him. I told her I thought it best that she should make her thoughts known to him as soon as possible, and when she agreed I said we should set off for Winthrop the very next thing. There is no reason to put off that which must be done.” She stopped in the shade of the path. Her satisfaction at mending her sister’s relationship was quite visible in her expression.

  Tossing aside a branch she had plucked bare, she continued, “When I have made up my mind, I have made it. Henrietta seemed entirely to have made up hers to call at Winthrop today, and yet, she was near giving it up out of nonsensical complaisance.”

  They arrived at a wide spot in the channel and happily found a small tree full of the nuts they sought.

  “She would have turned back then, but for you?”

  “She would indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it.”

  This confirmed his earlier observations of Charles Hayter. The country seemed to breed men and women who might be fit in body but were weak in temperament and lacked strength of mind when it came to getting and keeping what they wanted. He told her this. She listened intently as she crumbled the frills from the nuts he gathered.

  “If you value her conduct or happiness, infuse as much of your own spirit into her as you can. But this, no doubt, you have been always doing. It is the worst evil of a too-yielding and indecisive character that no influence over it can be depended upon. You are never sure of a good opinion being durable; everybody may sway it. Let those who would be happy be firm.” Checking the tree, he saw a large nut he had missed. He jumped up and snagged it. Pulling away the ruff, he said, “Here is a nut.” He held it up between his fingers for examination. “To exemplify, a beautiful, glossy nut, which, blessed with original strength, has outlived all the storms of autumn. Not a puncture, not a weak spot anywhere.” He raised his arm slightly to elevate the nut to its rightful place. “This nut, while so many of its brethren have fallen and been trodden underfoot,” he intoned, “is still in possession of all the happiness that a hazelnut can be supposed to be capable of.”

  He was about to add that the poor wretched thing, while escaping the ravages of the weather, would not escape having its shell ruthlessly cracked open and eaten by the hungry pair. He glanced her way and, to his shock, saw that she was taking his silly drivel seriously! She stood in the midst of husking a handful of nuts, her gaze riveted on him. He had seen this look before on the faces of those under the spell of a captain firing up his crew as they prepared for battle. His own pride allowed him to admit that he could produce such results under the proper circumstances. A part of him wanted to laugh and teaze her for being so gullible, but a better part went ahead and finished, though with moderation, in the vein in which he had started.

  “My first wish for all whom I am interested in is that they should be firm. If Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy in her November of life, she will cherish all her present powers of mind.” He presented her with the nut and quickly turned to look for more.

  They moved along quietly for a short time. He felt like an idiot and considered several ways he might open a less enthusiastic line of conversation. There was no need, as Louisa rendered him that service.

  “Mary is good-natured enough in many respects, but she does sometimes provoke me excessively by her nonsense and her pride—the Elliot Pride. She has a great deal too much of the Elliot Pride. We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead. I suppose you know that he wanted to marry Anne?”

  Wentworth stopped for a moment to take a jab at the hole of a mole with a stick he’d just collected. Why in God’s name would I know such a thing? He stepped on the mound to flatten it.

  “Do you mean she refused him?”

  “Oh, yes, certainly!”

  “When did that happen?”

  “I do not exactly know, for Henrietta and I were at school at the time; but I believe it was about a year before he married Mary. I wish Anne had accepted him. We should have all liked her a great deal better. Papa and Mamma always thought it was her great friend Lady Russell’s doing that she did not. Charles was not learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell, and therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him.”

  So, there was a time when being Mrs. Charles was a possibility! In quick order he thought it a shame she had not accepted him. By her very nature, the improvements to the family would have been great and brought much credit to her…to the Elliots as well, in a round about fashion.

  The voices of Mrs. Charles and her sister were quiet but close as he and Louisa emerged from the hedge alongside the stile where they had left. There was no more time to think about Charles and Anne. Thankfully there was no time for conversation or questions from anyone, for Charles, Henrietta, and Mr. Hayter joined them at the top of the hill.

  Wentworth knew he was no romantic, but one would have to be blind in one eye and wearing a patch over the other not to see the happiness and scarlet of embarrassment on Henrietta’s cheeks. Even the dour curate was beaming with delight.

  Hayter joined the group for the return to Uppercross. In light of the way he took the young lady’s arm, there would be no need for the Captain to divide his attentions between the two sisters—now or ever. When the path allowed, natural groups formed again, the most natural being the lovers, who led the way, speaking only to one another. Charles had the pleasure of offering each arm to a lady, though his wife was not acting the part. Louisa and Wentworth were left to bring up the rear.

  He was anxious to hear more of Louisa’s opinion concerning Lady Russell’s second interference in Anne’s personal affairs. To his own shame, he felt a sort of satisfaction that he was not the only man to suffer from that woman’s superior and meddlesome nature. It was dismaying, though, that Anne should still be so biddable when it came to her godmother’s judgments. Not that it mattered in the least, but he would like to know if at any time in the preceding eight years she’d ever got up the courage to tell the woman to mind her own affairs.
/>   “As I said, they have liked one another for a very long time, probably from their childhoods. Do you not think that romantic?”

  “Ah,” he hedged. He’d been caught off guard by her question. “It is most romantic. More romantic than anything I have heard all day.” It seemed that to agree would be the best course.

  “They will be very happy; I just know it. He will have the curacy of Uppercross soon, and they will make a home for themselves in the village. I am certain Mamma and Papa will insist on that.”

  Though he cared little about the marital felicity of the Hayter lad, he was aggravated by the assumption that elders had the right to inflict their wills upon their young. Let the young make their own decisions. When mistakes were made—and there would be mistakes—they would learn their lessons more thoroughly by muddling through them. And when the successes came—and there would be a few—the enjoyment of them would be all the sweeter and the dependence, one upon the other, more lasting.

  “But this is not one of those times,” Louisa whispered, leaning close.

  “Eh?” As he was very close to appearing a dunce, he would have to leave off the philosophising and pay his companion closer attention. “Sorry, I was distracted by the beauty of the day.”

  The girl smiled and continued; “I said before that Mary is good-natured in some respects.” She pointed ahead. “Not in this one,” she laughed.

  The trio before them proceeded, but there had been little conversation. Mrs. Charles had certainly talked a lot, but there had been no replies. Musgrove had more than once released his wife’s arm to slash at weeds along the path’s edge. This in turn made the lady angry, and she told him so…repeatedly. Now, Musgrove simply let go of both his wife and sister-in-law, taking after something in a clump of grass.

  “Charles, it is bad enough that you embarrass me by favouring my sister with the easiest path, but now…”