Anne Elliot stood alone, jostled by the crowd in the foyer of the university’s arts center. Every so often, as a gaggle of people filtered into the auditorium, the atmosphere would lighten and the din would decrease, but it was a short-lived reprieve. The outside doors would swing open again, a gust of cold air breezing through the stifling heat of bodies, and words of surprised greeting joined the hubbub.

The end-of-semester concerts were always this well attended, the usual concertgoers filled out by other students looking for an escape from finals studying and parents who came a few days early before move-out to see the fruits of the tuition they’d offered before the gods of education.

“I hate when it’s so crowded!” one of the other professors yelled in Anne’s ear, sounding anything but upset about the excitement in the room. It was probably in some way supposed to be an apology for bumping into Anne, but Mary Musgrove was never so happy as when she could complain about something. Anne made a vague murmur that could have been taken as agreement, had it been in the least audible, but Mary knew without any words that she was correct and so returned to her discussion with the arts chair, Dr. Walter Aryette, about the pieces on the program that evening.

Despite the number of people, or the likelihood she would have to find a chair squeezed between people she didn’t know, if she wasn’t relegated to standing at the back, Anne was happy to be in attendance. Not only were several of her students performing in some regard, but it was also a night out. She’d needed one desperately, after this past semester.

But no, she thought, tugging on her necklace to adjust its drape, she wasn’t going to think about her ex-fiance right now. She’d have plenty of time to dwell on Frederick Wentworth while she was lying awake into the wee hours of the morning, as always.

And, just as if thinking his name had conjured him up, there he was. The door had opened once more to the outside world and the gust of air caused Anne to look in that direction just as the crowd, in that puckish way crowds seem to ebb and flow, parted long enough for their eyes to meet across the expanse of the room and then closed back again into a teeming mass of bodies. Anne found herself straining her neck to catch another glimpse of him -- an impossibility, given her lack of stature -- and chastised herself for her foolishness. She’d been seeing him here and there around the campus now for the past few months, and she still craved these encounters like a woman starving. She had hoped with repetition the feeling would subside, but it was in vain; her longing for the intimacy they’d had all those years ago was stronger than ever.

“Anne.”

She looked up, startled, to see the crowd parting again and Frederick striding through it to stand before her. Her breath hitched as she looked at him. He was so beautiful, and in his suit he looked like a model straight from the pages of GQ. An older woman, some years past the age of subtlety, gave him a look-over as she crossed behind and raised her brows with an approving nod. Anne found herself smiling, her tension fading. “Frederick.”

That appeared to be enough conversation between them for a moment, and they simply looked at each other, their little pocket of the hall falling silent among the surrounding din. “I hope you’re doing ok,” Frederick said at last.

“I am,” Anne replied. “And you?”

“As well as expected,” he said, his tone pausing, as if in preparation for saying more. Anne waited, but whatever was on the tip of his tongue remained there. When nothing seemed forthcoming, she made a comment about the weather, and he responded, and they spoke on that for a few minutes until again the conversation flagged.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Frederick began then, his expression regaining its intensity and his voice its interest. “Not since… I’m still amazed at how calm and collected you were at the time, while we were all panicking and completely useless. But maybe you just delayed the shock until later.”

She assured him it was nothing she hadn’t been trained for, reminding him how she’d taken the CPR and first aid courses offered by the college.

“Right; of course,” he replied, shifting his weight and thrusting his hands in his pockets. His expression fell a bit, and he looked down, but after a moment his lips twitched in a self-deprecating grin and he looked up from under his lashes and said, “But you must admit you were pretty amazing.”

Anne blushed and said nothing.

“And no less for your skills as a first responder than as a matchmaker. Although, when you had the presence of mind to send James to meet the ambulance, you couldn’t possibly have known he would dedicate himself from then on to Louisa’s full recovery.”

This produced a short laugh from Anne, and there was a corresponding lightening of Frederick’s expression. “Indeed, I couldn’t have guessed that,” she admitted. “But it seems like -- I would hope they’re good for each other. I mean, both of them are good people and have a lot of good in them.” She grimaced slightly at her weak encomium, but it was unlikely Frederick noticed: his gaze had drifted to somewhere beyond the crowded hall.

“And there ends the resemblance,” he muttered, seemingly more to himself than to her. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter much, given how happy they are and how happy everyone is for them. With how much she’s gone through, I suppose everyone wants this to work, and no one would ever tell them it couldn’t. Not like--”

But here, he recollected himself and his gaze snapped back to hers, his cheeks flushing a dull red. Anne felt her heart beat harder against her chest as her thoughts took her to where his had undoubtedly gone. WIth a visible effort, he cleared his throat and went on:

“I’ll admit I worry a bit at how different they are. Louisa’s a nice girl, and enthusiastic and not altogether unintelligent, but James is something more. I had him in my program back at A.S.P.U. and now here on his doctoral thesis; he’s clever, an academic, and I’m a little surprised he’d be at all interested in someone who’s not much more than your typical sorority undergrad. Had I thought it was because of her gratitude, that he had learned to love her because she preferred him, I’d believe it, but it seems less that than something completely spontaneous on his side. And for someone like him, with his heart broken only two years ago by the car accident... Fantine Avilova was a brilliant woman, and they were completely devoted to each other. A man doesn’t just forget a relationship like that. He shouldn’t; he doesn’t.”

And whether because he remembered that clearly James Benwick had forgotten, or for some other reason, Frederick stopped and didn’t continue. Anne, her heart racing, the sounds of the hall buzzing in her ears, her breath coming quickly, couldn’t have added her thoughts if she’d had any, or the bravery to speak them aloud. Was he speaking of himself? Could he possibly --

Unwilling to let the subject completely go, Anne spoke on something tangential: “I think I’d like to go visit Lyme State Park again some time.”

“Really!” he said, his amazement showing. “I should have thought your last impression of the place to have turned you off it. Blood, injury and ambulances tend to do that.”

She looked out over the crowd, unable to meet his eyes. “The last hour was, without any doubt, distressing, but I cannot condemn all of it because of that. We cannot lose our love of a place simply because we have suffered there, as if it were nothing but suffering. I enjoyed my time there; it was not without happy memories, and some day I would hope to be able to recapture it.”

When he didn’t respond, she turned her gaze back to find his expression thoughtful. At last he looked up and would have spoken, but she was not fated to learn more, for at that moment the doors opened again and Dr. Walter, his voice ringing through the hall, cried out, “Mrs. Dalrymple! Mrs. Dalrymple!” and hurried over to where the arts patron was just entering. The crowd shifted, and Anne was divided from Frederick; for a few minutes all was confusion, and when she looked for him again he was gone.

The next few minutes were a blur as the lights dimmed in the foyer and everyone went into motion. Without quite knowing how it happened, she was making her way into the performance hall in the wake of the arts chair and the arts college’s primary benefactress and being gently pressured into a seat beside one of her colleagues, WIlliam Liotta. The man had taken hold of her arm and chattered the whole while, but the sound had washed over Anne as she continued to scan the crowd for the only man here that mattered to her.

When she didn’t find him, she scolded herself for such inanity. She was at a concert, where she was expected to show some interest in her students’ progress and performance. Her inattention also showed disrespect to the people around her. She forced herself to concentrate on what William was saying.

The man was quite handsome, really, and had a certain captivating presence that could charm even the hardest of hearts. It occasionally felt just a little bit forced, and a few moments in which he had been a little more overtly flirtatious with her had put Anne on her guard, but for small periods of time and in public, certainly, he was enjoyable company.

He was talking now about the music and his critiques of the composer’s oeuvre, leaning towards her to share his program, and she politely engaged him on the topic, speaking softly until the lights dimmed again and the orchestra began tuning their instruments. The choir soon emerged and the conductor made his appearance, introducing the program briefly to the audience and explaining his choice of pieces.

At last the concert began, and Anne sat back to listen to the first piece, a Mass setting. Occasionally William leaned over, his breath warm on her ear as he asked her for a translation of the Latin. It was on one of these occasions as she turned her head to respond that she caught sight of the man standing at the back of the hall in the shadows. Frederick wasn’t watching her, but it seemed to her as if, had she looked a moment earlier, he might have been, and her breath caught at his solemn expression. She stared, wondering what he was thinking, wishing for him to turn his eyes to her, but he stayed steadfastly focused on the musicians. Her reverie was broken when William turned his head and she suddenly realized how close they were, their face and lips a breath apart. She jerked backwards and turned forward again, looking down at her hands now clenched around her purse in her lap.

Anne spent the rest of the first half of the program focused squarely on the performance. She jotted down a few notes to mention to her students later, and William seemed to sense her clear intention and refrained from his interruptions.

At intermission, after the conductor, choir, and orchestra had filed out and the lights went up, William was called over to Dr. Walter and Mrs. Dalrymple, leaving Anne to herself. She stood for a moment, stretching her legs, neck and shoulders, and glanced casually over to where she had seen Frederick, but he was gone. Her heart sank, and she wondered if it had been something she’d done. Perhaps… but no, she scolded herself, it was nothing to her. For all she knew, he had just gone to the restroom or had only intended to come for the first half. It was his choice and none of her business.

But, oh, she thought, realizing the futility of lying to herself, how she wanted it to be.

She was just about to sit down again, tired of feeling awkward standing alone, when she suddenly felt a presence next to her in the aisle and turned, expecting to have to let someone through. There stood Frederick, tall and serious.

“Are you enjoying the concert?” he asked.

Anne nodded. “I haven’t heard The Seasonings performed before, so that was a treat, though I am in general more fond of his work from his Soused Period.”

Frederick agreed, looking over towards the empty stage. “I’ve always enjoyed those pieces -- the Schleptet , his Concerto for Piano vs. Orchestra . But there is something to be said about his later work,” he continued, returning his gaze to hers. “It’s a period I find speaks to me in a particular way recently.”

“The Contrition Period?”

A half smile formed on Frederick’s lips, but he said nothing for a moment, and Anne felt her heart beat a little faster.

“I remember you being very fond of his music.”

Anne smiled widely. “I was -- I still am. He’s always been my favorite composer.”

“You don’t prefer the more popular works of his brothers, or even his father?”

“There’s something to be said for the forgotten child,” she replied.

Frederick looked keenly at her. “How is your father? And your sisters? I haven’t asked after them in all this time.”

She replied hesitantly, knowing his dislike of her relatives, describing her father and Elizabeth’s new downtown condo, and Mary’s trouble with her nanny. She then asked after his sister and her husband in the navy, and they engaged in amiable conversation. Frederick smiled more, and Anne felt at ease in smiling back, and she was just considering offering to see if they could find seats together when she felt a hand placed on her back. Turning, she found William asking her if she would be able to come over and explain more about the workings of the tromboon and settle it for them whether its first appearance as an instrument had been in The Seasonings .

With an apologetic look at Frederick, and an “I’ll be right back,” she approached the little group around Mrs. Dalrymple and answered their questions. But she kept glancing towards her former seat where Frederick stood. His expression had grown progressively solemn, and his gaze never wavered from her -- or, at least, somewhere just behind her. With a nervous look, she glanced over her shoulder, but all she saw was William. And then she became aware of his hand, still resting on the small of her back, and it suddenly hit her, just as she looked over again at Frederick and saw him mounting the steps to the doors, through which he strode without looking back.

Anne excused herself from the group quickly, saying she needed to go, grabbed her purse from her seat, and flew up the steps and out into the foyer, pushing through the people filing back into the performance hall. With uncharacteristic force, she shoved her way against the tide until she was free of the crowd.

Across the foyer, just opening the door to the cold outside, was Frederick, his coat pulled tightly together. She called out his name, and he paused, looking back over his shoulder. Surprise clear on his face, he turned and let the door close behind him just as Anne came skidding to a stop before him.

“You aren’t leaving?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly.

His brow furrowed. “I am.”

“But--” she hesitated. “The rest of the concert! Is there nothing worth staying for?”

He said nothing for a moment, looking at her, and then glanced toward the door to the hall. With a short shake of his head, he answered, “There’s nothing for me here.”

At first, Anne could not reply, but then felt a surge of laughter bubbling up in her chest. When she released a chuckle, his eyes widened in surprise and a little hurt, and she shook her head, her laughter quieting. “Then there’s nothing here for me, too,” she said. “How would you like to go out for coffee instead?”

The smile that lightened his face was all the answer she needed, and she grabbed her coat from the nearby rack and let him help her put it on. Together they ventured out into the cold, hand in hand, with warmth in their hearts.