by Susan Kaye
As Wentworth and Louisa prepared to overtake the group, he could not help but notice Anne’s demeanour as the Musgroves’ domestic drama played out. Staring at the ground, one hand resting on her shoulder, the other tucked into the crook of her arm, she looked like a statue—a statue that cried of unrelenting endurance of a world she did not like and could not change.
They passed and he thought to offer her his arm when he heard Henrietta call, “Admiral, Mrs. Croft! We have been on the other side of the hedge, but heard you approach.” She and Hayter were at the gate, waving to his sister and brother. When Mrs. Charles understood there was a fresh audience, she abandoned her railing and moved off, leaving Charles to take Anne’s arm and follow.
Wentworth stood back while the other gentlemen saw the ladies in their charge through the gate. “And where have you been on such a fine day, Frederick?” his brother-in-law asked.
“Clear to Winthrop and back, sir,” he answered, pulling the gate tight behind him.
“Well, that is an ambitious walk. Even we in the cart didn’t go that far.” The Admiral whispered something to his wife.
“Certainly, dear. We are going right through Uppercross on our way home, and if any of the ladies is particularly tired, we would be delighted to give her a ride,” Mrs. Croft said.
“It will save full a mile of shoe leather,” added the Admiral.
Henrietta clutched Mr. Hayter’s arm and smiled widely, indicating she would not be separated from him. Louisa stated she was not tired in the least. Wentworth knew this to be true; she was having no difficulty in keeping pace with him. Both politely refused and made it clear that to finish the walk was the most desirable thing in the world. The words from Mrs. Charles were all civil refusal, but he noticed her expression was one of offence. No doubt the idea of being seen in the company of her father’s tenant, being drawn by only one horse, was a mortification she would not entertain. Anne, too, refused, but he suspected it was not for her pride’s sake but for the inconvenience of his sister and her husband.
He thanked them for the offer and followed as the group crossed the lane. He went first over the stile to receive the ladies.
“It is a lovely day, and the view is magnificent,” Louisa said, standing on the top step.
“I’m sure the view is not nearly as magnificent as that we just left up the hill,” he responded, offering her a hand to hurry her along.
“I think I could fly,” she cried. Without warning, she jumped.
For a slender young woman, she hit with surprising force; and he took a step back as he caught her. He held her for just a moment. She laughed, saying, “That was magnificent as well.” Pushing away, she turned to talk with her sister.
Wentworth looked to see how her brother took the antic. Musgrove either did not see, his attention being taken up with coming over the stile and assisting his wife, or he did see and did not care. Either way, Wentworth was relieved. Then he saw Anne. She stood a little apart, still in the lane. It was not clear by her expression whether she had seen or not, but it was clear she was exhausted. Her whole being seemed to cry that relief could not come soon enough. With no thought, he hopped the short stone fence, intending to see her over the stile himself. Before he could say anything, he noticed the Crofts were not yet away. He halloo’d as he crossed over the road.
Sophia smiled as he approached. “Don’t tell me you are suddenly in need of a ride.”
He motioned for her to come close. “She may not agree, but I think Anne is fatigued. Please, insist that she join you.”
She straightened and studied him a moment. His request had deepened an already intense curiosity, but he would deal with it later. Without another word, he crossed over to see Anne into the gig.
Mrs. Croft called to her, “Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired. Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home. Here is excellent room for three, I assure you. If we were all like you, I believe we might sit four.”
“Thank you very much, but—” She hesitated, but he continued his approach. He wished to leave her in no doubt of his intention to see to her comfort.
“You must,” Mrs. Croft said. “Indeed, you must.”
He did as he should have done earlier and offered her his arm. She laid her hand upon it and followed him without a word. Though she no longer thought well of him, at least she would allow him to do her this service. He was glad of the slight pressure on his arm as they walked.
The few steps to the carriage had given them time to make room for her. He turned and, as she reached for a handhold, put his hands on her waist and lifted her. She was lighter than he remembered, smaller too, if that was possible. It was disconcerting to think that her slight weight included the bulk of her heavy cloak. For a moment, he thought of her as fading away. His memories of her had dimmed over time but being back in her company had recharged them and made them vivid again. It hurt him to think the woman herself was less than she had once been.
His hand rested on the back of the seat, and he could feel her settle in. He could not bring himself to look up for fear of her looking right through him. A gentle hand patted his. For a moment he felt a wild hope it was her thanks.
“We will see you soon at home?” The hand shook his a little more vigorously. It was Sophia.
He looked in his sister’s direction, but not closely enough to see her expression. “Certainly. Very soon.”
“Walk on,” the Admiral instructed the horse, and the seat slid from under his hand. He stood watching the gig drive away, wishing that his brother-in-law’s carriage seated four.
Chapter Fifteen
Wentworth watched the fire through the ends of the towel flipping around as he dried his hair.
“Sir, your small clothes are laid out along with the black trousers and grey wool coat.”
“That will be all. I shall call you up later.” Harkness bowed and left.
Poor man, he wished so much to be a genuine valet and all Wentworth required was a glorified washerwoman. Dropping the towel to his shoulder, he went to the window. A blanket of cold air came over him when he opened it. Pulling the dressing gown closer, he revelled in the briskness of the air.
Soon after his return from his walk with the Musgroves, the sky clouded and turned an alarming iron grey. It would rain later, he was sure of that. Considering the season, this might have been the last dry day for some time. The walk to Winthrop had been interesting. One thing was clear—from now on the attentions of Miss Henrietta Musgrove would be directed only towards her cousin, Charles Hayter. She had stayed strictly by his side during the return to Uppercross, and there had not been even a hint that she’d ever shown interest in Wentworth.
It was for the best, he thought, folding the towel. Henrietta was an amiable young woman, but she never put forth an opinion that was not an echo of an earlier sentiment, and even then, she seemed unsure of what she thought. She might be the prettier of the two, but she was too mild to suit his taste.
As his sister had pointed out, the Musgrove girls were not the only young women in the area; there seemed to be female Hayter cousins by the dozens. But while he was willing to accept a woman less than his ideal, he was not willing to take one who must be completely built from the ground up.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Wentworth shrugged into his coat and began the ritual of tugging the shirtsleeves into place. Absently counting the steps across the entryway—five long strides in total—he hurried to the dining room, hastily cramming the long ends of his unevenly tied neck-cloth into his waistcoat. Catching the footman unawares, he took his seat; and placing the napkin in his lap, nodded for his fish to be served.
“We are glad you could join us, Frederick,” Sophia said, smiling.
“I am sorry, Sister. I dozed off.”
“Did Harkness not wake you?”
“He did, yes, as a matter of fact,” Wentworth said taking a drink. The fish was always a bit dry at Kellynch Hall. “But I sent him away with orders not to bother me
until I called. The man takes orders beautifully.” He had not actually slept before or after Harkness’s wake-up call. He’d been contemplating all that had passed during the walk, particularly whether anyone had noticed what an ass he’d made of himself bounding the fence to see Anne into the Croft’s gig. For a man who wanted to stifle curiosity concerning their past alliance, he seemed to be unable to keep away from the woman and leave her to fend for herself.
“I will speak to Lowell. The man should know better,” Sophia said, interrupting his thoughts.
“He should know that I wish him to do as he is told, Sophia. I am a grown man, and if I am late, it is entirely my fault, not the servant’s.” The words were harsh, and this was not his home. “Sister, please, as a favour to me, let the man alone. I will do better in allowing him to do his job.”
“Harkness is under your control; use him as you see fit.” She pointed her fork, “Just see that you come to my table on time.”
As usual, the Admiral chose not to insert himself into domestic affairs, but he did comment, “I don’t wonder you wanted a bit of rest, after that walk. All-in-all it was above six miles, was it not?”
“I suppose it was. All I can say is that it felt wonderful to rest after I returned home.”
“Well, I am glad that you insisted Miss Anne allow us to bring her home,” his sister said. “I could tell when we set her down before the Cottage that she was quite exhausted.”
“The situation was simple enough. I merely did what anyone else would do.”
“Well, no one else did anything, now did they?” His sister paused as the footman served her. There was something in her tone he wondered at, but she continued.
“Anywise, we took great care in bringing her home. She was very lavish with her thanks for our trouble.”
He took great care in mutilating his fish, waiting for any further revelations, but, evidently, there had been no lavish praise concerning him.
“The only difficulty in the entire ride was when the Admiral came close to shocking her with the details of our very short courtship.” Sophia winked at her husband, and he lifted his glass to her.
The tale was not terribly shocking when one is acquainted with the quick and decisive ways of sailors when it comes to ordering their personal affairs. But she always enjoyed making reference to it as though it were the scandal of the world. As he recalled, when it was all swirling about the household, he was more interested in returning to sea rather than hearing about the embarrassing details of his sister’s romantic entanglement with a “significantly” older man.
“Did you bore her with Edward’s outrageous behaviour? How he nearly called out Captain Croft when he found the two of you in the sitting room together…alone?”
“No,” she laughed. “Since she does know our brother personally, I decided not to mortify him in her eyes. Who knows, perhaps he will visit one day, and I would not wish her to have a picture of our dear brother as a raving madman.”
“He was seething, was he not?” Wentworth remembered being alarmed to hear raised voices in the house. There hadn’t been any shouting or fighting since the death of their father years before, and for a moment, to his shame, the sixteen-year-old Frederick was afraid again. Sneaking past the loudest of the squeaking boards in the hallway, he had crawled to an advantageous place behind the railings and eavesdropped. He was amazed to see his normally dour brother, dressed all in black, wagging a finger in the face of then-Captain Croft, magnificently attired in his blue and gold dress uniform.
The young Frederick had been a midshipman more than long enough to know that a full captain was the most godlike creature on the face of the earth, next to an admiral. And here was his brother, risking life and limb to explain how Captain Croft would never hurt his dearest girl and what grievous tortures awaited him if he had the misfortune to stumble in any way.
Edward’s tenacious protection was now very understandable to him. Even so, he and his sister laughed at their brother’s expense. The Admiral did not join them, but said, “The two of you say what you will. Though I never went in much for dandling with the ladies, Edward’s outburst made me know you meant a great deal to him and that I would see Hell’s fire if I so much as made you uncomfortable. Sometimes a man must make a fool of himself to show how much he loves those in his sphere.”
Sophia thanked her husband for the warm sentiment, but Wentworth was uncomfortable with his words. What might his recent behaviour hint about his own emotions? There was no need to reply, and he was thankful the footmen were swarming the table to serve the next course. Later, as they were going up for coffee and chess, the butler entered and announced that a marine was in the library and had an urgent communiqué for the Captain.
“Ha, you lucky dog, Frederick! This is orders, no doubt.” The Admiral and his sister both smiled their congratulations.
A palpable sense of relief set in as he rose. This was just what he needed. To be doing something useful would set him free from all the mundane worries that were beginning to choke his days. As a matter of form he mouthed nonchalant words he hoped would disguise the excitement rising in him.
The crimson-coated marine stood in bold relief against the ancient elegance of Kellynch Hall’s library. It seemed to be the ultimate of ironies that his haunted past was being eclipsed by his burgeoning present. He said a little prayer of thanks that he was about to be sent back to the life he loved so well.
The marine saluted smartly and handed him a sealed packet. He was struck by the fact that the packet was too light, wrapped in paper and not sailcloth, and not nearly thick enough to be official orders. There was not even any string encircling it, and turning it over, he saw that the seal was not of the Admiralty.
“These were found in the posting office. It was thought you should have them immediately.” The man threw him a second precise salute and left when absently dismissed.
Holding the packet, Wentworth stared at the seal. It was not the elegant seal pressed deep into the glossy black wax customarily used by Plymouth’s Port Admiral, but a thin, sloppy red splash of some inferior secretary in an unimportant office at the port. Whatever was contained in the packet was definitely not his salvation.
Crossing the hallway again, he told the butler to inform his sister that he would be occupied for the rest of the evening. Once in his chamber, he tossed the packet on the table, lit a cigar, and took a seat by the fire.
He was a fool to feel so hopeful concerning orders. If a packet of old letters could stir such deep anticipation in his breast, it proved he was not cut out for living quietly in the country and that it was time to find something more substantial than shooting and walking to occupy himself. Cracking the seal on the packet, he pulled out two letters. One was from his brother dated just after he left Plymouth. He’d heard from him since, making the letter of little value. He tossed it on the table to be read later. The next did nearly as much to excite his interest as the notion of receiving orders had. It was from Timothy Harville.
He read through the letter a second, then a third time. Along with the news of a move to the small coastal village of Lyme, there was also news that the Grappler was decommissioned and James Benwick had been thrown ashore by the same wave of peace as himself. This cruelty of Providence angered him. To nearly crush James with the sudden death of his fiancé was harsh enough, but then, to further press him by taking away the man’s only source of pride and livelihood was enough to make Wentworth question the very idea of a generous God. The fact that Benwick had landed on Harville’s doorstep seemed to testify to a need on both sides. He decided that a visit to both friends was his duty.
Setting the details of the visit aside, he took up the letter from his brother. The address was in his brother’s hand, so he was surprised to find the opening paragraph in one unfamiliar to him. Introducing herself and apologizing for taking up his time, Mrs. Edward Wentworth wrote that she looked forward to his arrival, as did his brother.
He misses you great
ly and wishes you to come as soon as possible. He will not ask it anymore, fearing you will grow weary at his nagging. I have no such scruples and so will take it upon myself to beg. Please, come to us at your earliest convenience, Captain. The Rector is very excited to have you under his roof again. I, too, anticipate your coming and am looking forward very much to putting a face to all the stories I have heard. Again, please come when you are free of your obligation to our sister and her husband.
“What a singular woman,” he said, scanning her part again. Her hand was compact, without much flourish, but strong and neat. Though the wording possessed a certain charm, between the woman’s script and having some knowledge of the sort of lady who marries a religious man, Wentworth began to think the letter less an entreaty than a summons.
“If my brother has been telling her stories, she should be in mortal fear of the sort of family she’s got herself into,” he said, scratching at the wafer which had kept the letter closed. Putting aside his speculations about his new sister, he continued on with Edward’s portion.
To begin, the Rector apologized for his wife’s familial intervention. The words alone were pettish, but when read with what he knew to be his brother’s occasional dip into sarcasm, they were almost endearing.
Though she has me dead-to-rights on this, I do wish you to make haste and give your old brother some of your precious time. I must tell you, Frederick, I am the most fortunate of men. I had grown very accustomed to the knowledge that my past almost certainly predestined me to dying alone. I may very well yet do so; no one knows the future except God, but I will not live my entire life alone and unloved. I now know love and that I was but a shadow before my dear Catherine’s touch.
The letter closed with another invitation and the desire to be remembered to their sister and brother. He was puzzled by Edward’s reference to his past. His brother never spoke of any part of his life that happened before returning to England the year their parents died. Once, he had mentioned sailing to New Holland and having been in Barbados, but nothing more.
