Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter Eight

Posted on Thursday, 29 November 2007

Edward Wentworth had been told where Lady Russell had taken Anne. A note had arrived after their departure. He had been thinking her most cooperative and concerned until Mrs Dickinson had told him that Lady Russell probably had no idea what to do with Miss Elliot and that she hoped that by confiding in him he would take charge. This had sounded rather odd to him, since she could have left everything to him in the first place, but he believed it when he received her letter.

He told his housekeeper about the contents, since she was the only person to whom he could speak of the matter and he felt a great need to speak to somebody. "Lady Russell writes that she cannot separate Miss Elliot from her child. She leaves it to me, though she writes she could keep both."

He had thought of that solution himself, considering that the woman cared for Miss Elliot, but he would never have dared to suggest it to her. He had been wondering what they were doing in the meantime and he appreciated the letter. Most of all he appreciated that the child would not be given up. He had come to feel some objections to giving it up.

When they had spoken Lady Russell had been adamant that the child must be given away for the sake of Miss Elliot's reputation and since he had not been able to offer any better suggestions, nor a place for it to live, he had had no choice but to agree. He was not the child's father. Uncles had no say in the matter if they could not offer it a home, whatever their feelings might be.

"She has some concerns about Miss Elliot's reputation, but giving up the child is irreversible. Final. The outcome of that is certain, but the damage to her reputation may be less than she fears." He hoped the same. Surely a woman of Miss Elliot's character would impress rather than scandalise? Would she forever be judged on this misstep alone? It was sad, but such was probably how it would be with some people, people who did not care for the particulars of the case.

"She cannot do it, but she leaves it to you? How can she do one thing but not the other? If she is thinking of keeping them, why does she tell you to find a place for the child?" Mrs Dickinson did not understand. "Let her keep both. She is a wealthy woman and they will be better off with her than anywhere else."

Edward looked doubtful. "I suppose that speaking to such a woman -- who would arrange it for her -- is different from letting me arrange it." As he said so, he knew he would not do it. He could not.

"No. It is the same. Mark my words. She will be equally unable to let you come and take the child away. I suppose this difficulty means that Miss Elliot does not want to give it up. It would be easier if she would rather be respectable."

"Well, for my part..." began Edward, who liked her the better for it, if he was allowed to think so. But perhaps a clergyman ought not express such thoughts. His housekeeper, who had a longer experience with clergymen than he had, might think so.

"You do not think her any less respectable with a child."

"No, I shall continue to think of her as I did before." Though perhaps with some more compassion for her situation. He wondered how respectable it made him if he could so easily forgive transgressions. Mrs Dickinson did not seem to mind, but she was his housekeeper. What would Dr Greene think of it? Fortunately Dr Greene lived at a safe distance and until his curate got into such trouble himself he needed not be informed, but Edward was nevertheless curious about his opinion in general.

"And of your brother?"

His face darkened when he thought of Frederick. Although he had thought of him every day, he had not yet reconciled himself to his brother's behaviour. His housekeeper, although she had not mentioned him in the meantime, still seemed determined not to think ill of him. He must not resent that she questioned him now; he had confided in her himself. "That is a different matter. I cannot yet think his actions respectable."

"Why hers and not his?"

It was self-evident to him. "He is a man."

"Does that mean you are more prone to such behaviour than a girl? Less than another man, but more than any woman?"

He examined himself seriously. His good name and character were at stake here too. "Apparently it is in our natures, but I cannot say I have ever felt any evidence of it. It does not appear that he forced her. She did not stop him, but she did not know what he was doing. She defends him, but she loves him. He took advantage." The blame still rested with Frederick.

"Do not think he knew more because he is a man. I know more than you." With these irreverent words Mrs Dickinson left him.

Edward admitted to feeling rather stung by the truth of her remark. She knew more than he did indeed. He wondered if he should have more knowledge. If he married, presumably a young woman who knew nothing either, how was he to deal with it? He would not be able to depend on her and with a brother and sister overseas, he would not be able to depend on them either. He would be ignorant and all on his own. They would not have children, even if they were married.

Perhaps there were books on the matter. Perhaps Frederick owned one. After hesitating for a long while -- it was improperly curious, after all -- went to his brother's room and searched the belongings that had been left behind.

Frederick had amassed rather a lot for someone who spent most of his time at sea. He had clearly not lived very frugally. His brother noticed this once again when he searched the room. All these clothes and other items were very unnecessary, which was emphasised by their having been left here. Edward wondered why they had been bought if they were not needed. Frederick and he had different opinions on what was indispensable, obviously.

There were some books, though none about this matter. Among the documents Edward found something that was vastly more interesting, however.

He had not realised the importance of his discovery instantly, but after a good night's sleep and some good thinking while he sipped his morning tea in bed, he suddenly had a plan. Actually he had several.

He would purchase a book on the subject. He had concluded that Frederick and Miss Elliot were probably not the only ones who found themselves in this predicament. There might be more cases of couples doing too much in the future, but equally well of couples doing too little. As he did not at all trust the extent of his own knowledge, he could well imagine the latter.

Should anybody else apply to him for help, he would understand better what they had or had not done and he would be prepared to give them an adequate response. He would previously have told a childless couple to pray harder, he supposed, but that was before he had realised that certain knowledge did not make its way into a mind on its own. Miss Elliot seemed to think so, but he still blamed Frederick.

His other plan was less simple. It involved his discovery, of course, and he would first write to Lady Russell to gauge her feelings. How much time had passed since she had taken Anne away? Was the child already there? He supposed there was still some time left, but only if he acted quickly. He hoped she did not already have another plan.

Lady Russell had kept a close eye on Anne, but Anne had not really done the same in return. Although they had got along very well and they had done much together, Anne had never asked about any letters Lady Russell received or people she had spoken to. She looked therefore rather surprised when her godmother announced her intentions.

"We must go to Gretna Green." Lady Russell said so very matter-of-factly, as if it were akin to going on a walk.

"Why?" Anne had heard of it as a place where people could be wed, but it was never spoken of in a very approving tone. It was always somewhat exciting and excitement, she now knew, was rarely good. She could not imagine what either of them were to do in Gretna Green. "Are you going to marry somebody?" she asked with a little laugh.

Being in Lady Russell's company day and night had rendered her a little more impertinent and certainly more aware of the lady's shortcomings. It was no longer an elegant neighbour, but only another person with a defective knowledge in some areas. She was quite human.

Lady Russell was unperturbed by such a joke. She had something too important to say. "You are going to marry somebody."

It was such a ridiculous idea to Anne that she chuckled in incredulity. "Who?"

"I cannot tell you that."

"But --" If she was to marry somebody, did she not deserve to know who? It could not be Frederick; he was overseas. It was ridiculous and still unbelievable that she would be made to marry another man. Who? They had not spoken to any single men for weeks, apart from some perfunctory greetings to men at church. Anne would wager that Lady Russell knew no more about those men than she did.

"You will be saved by marriage."

"I only want to marry Frederick." And he could not be had. Mr Wentworth had said he would not be back in time and Lady Russell certainly spoke as if they were going away very soon. If she was to be saved by marriage, they must indeed go before the baby arrived. That meant she could really not have Frederick. What was Lady Russell talking about?

Lady Russell looked a little desperate. "Anne, please. Do you not want to be saved?"

Anne gave her a stubborn frown. "I want to be saved by Frederick."

"Anne, you gave up your right to protest." Lady Russell was clearly not used to a contrary Anne. She did not know what to say. "Let me explain the advantages. A married woman with a child is respectable; an unmarried woman with a child is not."

"Is it Frederick?" she asked hopefully.

Lady Russell looked away. "I cannot tell you who it is."

"Why not?" Anne was very puzzled by the absence of a simple yes or no. Such a complicated answer was very strange. It was either Frederick -- in which case she would gladly go -- or it was not Frederick -- in which case she would remain here.

"Anne, you need to trust me."

"But what if I marry someone else and he comes for me?" Her eyes were wide in despair. There was such an ache in her heart all of a sudden to think of him lost to her forever. It was even worse than the pain she had felt when Frederick had left. What he would feel upon his return if he found her married to another was too awful to contemplate.

"Anne, you must be saved." Lady Russell spoke very gently now.

Finally, stilled by her godmother's gentleness, Anne realised the meaning of those words. She must be saved. She would not have to be saved if she did not have a child. Therefore she would have a child and it would stay with her. Her heartache vanished instantly. If she could keep her child she would accept any sort of husband. Nothing would be worse than having to give up her child. Husbands could be avoided, but abandoned children were gone forever. Frederick was forgotten for a moment.

Her face brightened. "So I may keep my baby? When are we leaving?"

End of Volume One

Posted on Monday, 3 December 2007

Volume Two

Chapter Nine

Lady Russell was much relieved by Anne's change of heart about getting married. Anne had even flung her arms around her neck and said she loved her. This had all been very pleasant and Lady Russell had not had to reveal any more about the prospective husband. She had basked in that warmth as Anne had basked in her joy.

Witnessing such affectionate behaviour from Anne she could understand Captain Wentworth a little better. If Anne had been even a little less warm to him, who could really fault him for having reacted? This gave her pause, for it rendered Anne more active than she had always assumed.

"Will you be my mother now?" Anne eventually asked. They had pretended to be mother and daughter at church, but it had been mere pretence. It had not felt real. She could now ask it and believe it.

"I am not sure I am very good at it," Lady Russell said nervously. There was much she had done wrong or, even if she had not done it exactly wrong, she had not done it exactly right either. That Anne was now willing to go to Gretna Green had absolutely nothing to do with any of her godmother's actions or persuasive arguments, but only with her own unsteady emotions.

Surely when Anne became more rational she would see it was not truly a matter of choosing between her child and Captain Wentworth. She feared the moment when Anne decided she wanted both. Until now Anne had never shown any signs of having forgotten about him. Although she hoped this change was permanent now, she could not really believe it was. He would be thought of very soon and then Anne would say no to the scheme.

"That does not matter. Will you?"

She was also flattered. "Of course."

After such a request it was even more imperative to look after Anne and she hoped the Gretna Green plan would not fail. It could; that was why it was better not to acquaint Anne with too many particulars. She hoped Anne would trust her, but rather a lot of trust was required if she explained nothing.

Lady Russell feared Anne's questions even more when they were on the road. The closer they would get to Gretna Green, the more Anne might come to feel reservations about having to marry an unknown man. So far Anne seemed to be blissfully unconcerned about her future husband. She was thinking only of her little one.

Although Lady Russell's heart was warmed when she thought of the cold fate the child had escaped and the loving mother she would have instead, she could not help but wonder if there was something amiss with Anne's mind. It ought to cross a clever person's mind that once married, a husband might have a say in matters, yet she never seemed to reckon with him. Perhaps Anne's cleverness had been affected by her pregnancy.

At any rate Anne did not at all seem to worry about that husband. She was so unconcerned that Lady Russell wondered if she perhaps knew what exactly they were going to do, but for fear of revealing the plan, she could not ask.

"I know what to name her if she is a girl," Anne said dreamily. "But I have not yet thought of a name for a boy."

Lady Russell would have suggested Walter under different circumstances, but after Sir Walter's behaviour she could not. Frederick was equally out of the question. In fact, any suggestion was out of the question because Anne had for most of her life been clever enough to use such suggestions to find out her intended's name. That she seemed less clever now should not be a reason to underestimate her and become lax.

"Would you like to know what she will be if she is a girl?" Anne asked when there was no reaction.

"Do tell me."

"Sophia."

"That is a lovely name." If that was the result of three days on the road they might well reach Gretna Green without Anne having devoted a single question to her future husband. Lady Russell relaxed a little. "If she takes after you she will be a lovely little girl. Why do you think she is a girl?"

"I do not know if she is. Sometimes I imagine her as a girl, sometimes not."

It suited Lady Russell very well to imagine the baby as a girl, if only to prevent any thoughts about boys and men.

Anne had thought of her future husband, or rather she had thought that she did not want to think of him, so she had not. It was a very strange concept, an unknown husband, and she had no idea what to imagine. It was easy to avoid such thoughts by focusing on more positive ones. One of her diversions was thinking up names for her child and imagining herself playing with it.

Frederick's sister was called Sophia, but she also liked the name. It would be a little Sophy if it was a girl. If it was a boy she considered naming it Frederick, but there was no question of saying so to Lady Russell.

The remainder of the trip was spent in this same fashion, with Lady Russell dozing off and worrying about her plan, and Anne dreaming of her child.

"Well," Lady Russell said curiously as the carriage slowed down and the coachman announced they had reached their destination. "This seems to be it. Let me make some inquiries."

Anne was equally curious and she peered out of the carriage. It was a pretty day, sunny and dry, though quite cold. She had been looking out at the countryside for most of today's trip and there had been much to see. There was still much to capture her interest here, for the street seemed crowded for such a small town.

There were rather many young folk around. She amused herself by trying to guess which couples were married and which were not. They all looked surprisingly ordinary and not at all frivolous or scandalous. She even looked out for Frederick, although she knew she looked in vain. Something might have happened to bring him back, even if she had no idea what that could be. An injury perhaps, but he would not be walking here in that case. She neither thought it likely nor admirable if he had forsaken his duties for her sake. If there had been any chance at all, Mr Wentworth would have told her.

She watched Lady Russell enter an inn. It took a while before she came out again, but then Anne was helped out of the carriage.

"We are staying here," Lady Russell announced. "Come with me. I have ordered a room and a private dining room. They look very good."

Anne followed her. While she had been watching couples earlier, it suddenly occurred to her that she would be marrying a man here and any of them -- provided he had no woman on his arm -- might be that man. It gave her a little shudder. Perhaps she was simply to marry him and he was to remain here afterwards. That would be nice. Lady Russell had not at all spoken of having to take him back to Kellynch or to Mrs Sutton.

Lady Russell left her in the room and went out with some vague business that could only be translated to finding that man. Anne kept looking out of the window, but Lady Russell did not appear in the street. Just when Anne began to doubt her suspicions, her godmother reappeared.

"Refreshments are being served in our dining room. You must eat a little before you get married. It may be done today, he said. I shall take you to him directly."

Anne dragged her feet as she was pulled along to their dining room. Suddenly she did not want to go through with this plan at all and she certainly did not want to meet that man. Why had she not thought of this before they had set off? It was too late now. She entered the room and hardly dared to look.

"But I do not want to marry Mr Wentworth!" Anne cried when she saw the gentleman. She took several steps back and would almost run away. Her good opinion of him forbade her to be even more uncivil by doing so, as did Lady Russell blocking her way. It was not his fault, but she could not marry him.

"Anne," Lady Russell said soothingly as she tried to make Anne turn around.

Anne shrugged her off and walked towards Mr Wentworth in her agony. "I am sure we should be tolerably happy together, Mr Wentworth, but I cannot marry you. You love your brother. How could you betray him and marry me?" Her feelings were very clear. She could not marry him.

Surprisingly he only smiled. "But how could you betray him and marry a stranger?"

She did not want to do that either, but she had not yet found a good way to protest or run away. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Lady Russell is forcing me. I can keep my baby if I do this."

"Lady Russell is very evil and forceful indeed. Miss Elliot, I beg you to hold your tongue and only say yes at the appropriate moments."

"But I cannot," she said readily. She could not betray Frederick in such a manner. "Or is he dead?"

"No, he is not dead as far as I know. Do not cry," Mr Wentworth said gently. "Unless you can pass your tears off as tears of joy. Will you please trust us? We do have your happiness in mind."

"Trust us? Both of you?" She glanced back at Lady Russell, who was looking very uneasy. She did not understand them. They wanted her to be happy, yet they did this. It was difficult to find that trust they requested.

She thought of her new relationship with her godmother, who had been kind to her, even if she had not confided in her about her plans. Anne looked at her. "Really?"

"Yes, both of us."

"The date," said the minister with an air of distraction. His pen hovered above the paper.

Mr Wentworth seized his chance. In a perfectly unstudied and unhurried voice he said, "the twelfth of April of the year 1806."

Anne, who had needed her wits about her earlier, needed them again when the minister wrote that date down without hesitation. Twice. She kept expecting him to seize the paper back for a correction, but he did not do so. Mr Wentworth was rather quick to pocket it, she observed, although he maintained a calmly smug expression on his face that could signify anything. It reminded her of Frederick and she could not help but smile.

Chapter Ten

Posted on Friday, 7 December 2007

"How..." Anne managed to say when she could still not believe she was Mrs Frederick Wentworth and had officially been so since the previous year. The piece of paper in Mr Wentworth's hand proved it. Who would dare to argue with such a document?

"For my niece or nephew," he said. "I could justify it for him or her. And do you not think a higher power was guiding me, allowing that minister to cooperate so usefully? That is weak reasoning to justify my actions, but I very much need such weak reasoning, even if the end justifies the means." He looked at them for agreement.

Anne was too stunned to give it. "But..."

"Believe it. It truly happened."

"That was an incredible piece of good luck, Mr Wentworth," said Lady Russell. She smiled. "I commend your quick thinking. It is even better than the plan."

He smiled proudly. The event had rendered him very talkative, the opposite from silent Anne. "We deserved it, after all our efforts. But may I say, they have a very odd way of going about it here. I arrived yesterday and made some inquiries, but upon my word, they have very odd ways. I was lucky to find an actual minister, but we could easily have done it without one. It was important to me to have a proper one, but I am not sure even he was very proper."

"He did appear to be rather distracted," Lady Russell agreed. "Did you not pick him especially for that quality?"

"Well..."

"All will be well now," Anne spoke. She had not listened to what they were saying. "You must forgive my earlier words, Mr Wentworth."

"Which ones? Oh! But those were very natural and no less than what I had expected," he said warmly. "Now that you are my sister, I should be very glad if you called me Edward."

Lady Russell looked a little undecided about such informality.

Edward caught her look. "This is very proper in my family. But you need not worry, madam. The pretence ends here; there will be no wedding night."

She choked on air. "That --" she spluttered.

"I do admit I had a few drinks of a strong Scottish brew this morning," he spoke apologetically. "For courage. I shall return to my usual self when that effect has worn off and I shall chastise myself severely for having said anything at all."

His disarming grin and his earlier good deed helped a little to restore her confidence in his good character. "I beg you not to shock me so any more, Mr Wentworth."

"I cannot, even if I had wanted to -- I am travelling back home as soon as I can. And you?"

"Tomorrow." She did not like travelling so well as to want to return almost instantly. They had been on the road for days; a few hours of rest, of being able to walk around without being shaken would do them good. She was not becoming any younger.

"Where are you going now?" he asked.

"Bath."

"I do not --" Anne began.

Lady Russell cut her short. "You do not like it. I know you do not, but it offers more anonymity and yet more familiarity than anywhere else."

Anne supposed that was true. Lady Russell would know about nurses and surgeons there, yet those would not know Anne at all. "And I shall not have to go out at all in any case, shall I?"

"No, I think not. It is not customary."

"I do think," said Mr Wentworth as he pulled the document from his pocket to give it another scrutiny. "That it would be rather safer if you had the child baptised in my parish. I shall not doubt the provenance of this suspicious slip of paper. I shall not ask any questions."

"Everyone else in Monkford will," Lady Russell commented. Her preference was still for Bath, although he made a very good point. She did not want to see Anne doubted, yet Monkford was too close to Kellynch.

"I shall go home and tell everyone how shocked I was that my brother eloped to Scotland last year," he said solemnly. "Thus they will be prepared if you arrive. I shall say I have just discovered it, which I think is more credible than saying so after his wife and child come into the village. They do not like secrets kept from them and will be very glad I told them instantly."

"But whatever you plan to say, Mr Wentworth, please refrain from taking a few sips of encouragement beforehand," Lady Russell pressed in a most earnest voice. "You may say too much if you do."

"I have no such encouragement in the house."

She was surprised. "No? Do you not? Did your brother not want it?"

He was surprised as well. "My brother? He needs no liquid encouragement."

Anne giggled at that. She thought it a most apt observation. "He has enough courage of his own."

"Indeed." He gave her a little smile until he remembered that he was supposed to be angry with his brother. Reflecting on that he supposed he could not be angry with everything his brother did and that he should not lose sight of Frederick's good qualities. Frederick had enough courage, that was true. Anne seemed to think it a virtue. Very likely she did not see that it was what had got her into this trouble.

"Will you write to him?" Suddenly she wondered what Frederick would think of it all. What would he say upon his return? She had only been thinking of herself so far. She was made happy by this development, but what about him? Although she did not doubt that he would be happy in the long run, he might initially have some reservations.

"The return of his ship will be published. I shall write to him then, but I do not yet know when that will be or what I shall write. But you will be nearby, I presume." He would be able to tell her instantly if he read that Frederick's ship had come in and they could together decide on what to write. It was not a decision he wanted to take on his own. There was even the possibility that Frederick would write or come of his own accord.

"I must first speak with Sir Walter," said Lady Russell. "Suppose he has no objections to our remaining at Kellynch Lodge?" If she must be honest, she would say she doubted it. He might have promised he would welcome Anne back into his home, but he would not allow her to live with him and Lady Russell would not allow it either. He might deny her all comfort again. For visits, however, he had better not refuse to see his daughter. There were other people to think of.

"I should hate to say something negative about Mr Peters of the Kellynch parish, but he is a bit of a..." said Edward, clearing his throat cautiously. "And he might ask some questions."

"I have never noticed anything wrong about Mr Peters," Lady Russell said a little indignantly. She had always esteemed the man. "He has always been a most upstanding and serious rector."

"Precisely."

"Are you implying we have all of us suddenly become so wicked as to inspire the disapproval of Mr Peters?" She feared that very much.

"No, no, we are far from wicked. Nevertheless, Mr Peters may find it difficult to understand. Perhaps it is better not to put him to that test."

When Mr Wentworth had travelled home, Anne was still having difficulties believing what had transpired. She did not feel married, but she did feel safe and for the moment that was all that counted. "When Frederick comes back..."

"Yes..." Lady Russell had been similarly unable to imagine what he might do. She hoped he would be happy that Anne had condescended to marry him after all. He would finally have what he had set his sights on, a girl far above his station. She could only hope he had not been mistaken when he had boasted of future successes, though how anyone could boast of future successes was beyond her.

He would have to live with Anne, she supposed. That was what husbands did. Yet she was not prepared to give Anne up to him completely. If Anne lived with her she would have all the comforts she desired, but if she lived with Captain Wentworth she would have none. It might be best to allow him to live with her as well and hope he would quickly be needed at sea again.

Anne would not think of poverty. She would think she could survive on love alone, but Lady Russell valued her comforts and she could only imagine others would soon come to feel like her.

Anne spoke hesitantly. "He is very proud. I am afraid he will be angry he had no say in it."

"How could he have had a say in it? He went away. Not all of that was his own doing, I know," she said before Anne could mention his undoubtedly heroic and noble deeds in the West Indies. "But he cannot say we should have consulted him, because he was not there."

"But I shall be able to persuade him to think differently," Anne said hopefully. "He must be shown his child instantly and then all will be well."

Lady Russell wished she could be equally hopeful. If the man had a temper -- and she supposed he did -- it might not be as easy as Anne hoped. "All men like heirs, I suppose."

"But daughters?"

Why did she instantly think of Sir Walter? She willed herself to think of another man, but then she remembered he was very fond of Elizabeth. It would be painful to give Anne that example. "Some do."

Anne was silent for a while. She had no idea whether Frederick liked children, but she was certain he would love his own. She hoped it looked like him.

Chapter Eleven

Posted on Tuesday, 11 December 2007

Anne and Lady Russell arrived in Bath a few days later. A house had quickly been procured and a household set up. Anne did not mind being there as much as she had in the past, although she regretted that she was unable to take walks in the countryside. She consoled herself with the promise of long walks after moving to Monkford and told herself it was all for the best.

Lady Russell had written to Sir Walter, but she had not yet received a reply. Perhaps he was still trying to understand how Anne had been able to slip away to Scotland the previous year. It was fortunate he had been in London with Elizabeth at the time and Anne could indeed have gone, as far as he knew.

She had also written she wished to give up Kellynch Lodge. He might ask more questions about that than about Anne's marriage, for it would suit him very well to believe the latter. It would on the other hand be incomprehensible to him that someone would want to quit Kellynch Lodge to move to a lesser house in Monkford, of all places. He had frequently said that nobody of consequence lived there.

"But one must be the first," she said philosophically.

Anne was startled by the sound. "I beg your pardon?"

"One must be the first person of consequence to take up residence in Monkford, I was just thinking," she explained. "We can be the first."

"Oh. Why is that?"

"Because I am always being told nobody lives there."

"And Mr Wentworth preaches to an empty church?" Anne said a little sarcastically. People were definitely living there.

"Ah, not empty! But full of inconsequential people, which is more or less the same in some people's eyes." She wondered if she dared to be so irreverent because she had given up the house. All the duties she had once felt towards Lady Elliot and later her daughters had been discharged. She would be happy to look after Anne only now. Sir Walter and his other daughters did not need her at present. If they did, he would have written back already.

"But would Monkford have a house to suit you? Have we considered this? It is a small village. How can we be sure there is a house available?" Suddenly Anne wondered. It would be too great a coincidence.

Lady Russell had wondered the same, but she did not want to admit it. She spoke lightly. "That is Mr Wentworth's business, my dear. I am sure he knows I shall never move into a pigsty."

Anne imagined her face and she giggled. "I think you could. You would turn it into a very elegant pigsty."

"Yes, perhaps," Lady Russell said very seriously. "But it would be a lot of work."

"And we shall be busy enough."

"Indeed. I have sent Jenny out to find a nurse." She had not wanted to be surprised by the arrival of the child. They must be well prepared.

Anne was suddenly nervous. "Is it happening soon then?"

"I cannot say. Perhaps the nurse will be able to tell. It is her profession, is it not? There are none in Kellynch. There is only Mr Fletcher. I had thought that now that we are in Bath we could send for a woman, as I am sure you would prefer one." She would prefer one in Anne's stead, having a slightly clearer idea than the girl of where the action was to take place.

"If she cannot do it, I am sure she will recommend someone else," Anne said reassuringly, though it was ironic that she was the one to do the reassuring when she felt so uncertain herself.

A nurse had been found and she had even come, although she had provided Lady Russell with the names of more qualified persons to assist in childbirth. Anne was relieved that there were people who seemed to know a lot about the matter and who would come if they were called.

She had been out a few times with Lady Russell, but since that lady was usually not in Bath at this time of the year, she did not meet many acquaintances. Anne was Mrs Wentworth to everyone, for which she was glad. She must get used to thinking she really was Mrs Wentworth, not simply when they met someone.

There were no sailors in Bath either. Anne was a little sorry to notice the absence she could nevertheless have predicted. They were at sea and had no time to be idle in fashionable places like Bath. Besides, she knew well they might not be recognisable in ordinary clothes. They would look like perfectly ordinary gentlemen, whatever Lady Russell was still thinking.

They had not been in Bath for more than an uneventful fortnight when Anne began to feel something. She did not want to worry Lady Russell unnecessarily, so she did not inform her until it did not go away but became progressively worse.

"Oh dear," said Lady Russell and she looked frightened. "This must be it."

It was that indeed and after summoning Mr Cooper on recommendation of the nurse it got even worse. Anne did not know how she would survive it and Lady Russell thought the same, but then of herself. Anne seemed calm enough. Mr Cooper remained cheerful and never saw any problems.

Little Sophia was born in the middle of the night and without any trouble, or so Mr Cooper declared. Anne was too preoccupied to wonder about that, but Lady Russell certainly shuddered at the remark. If this was considered to be all that was easy and speedy, what did a troublesome birth look like? Fortunately the little girl seemed healthy and so did Anne.

Lady Russell was very tired, but she did not know whether she could go to sleep. She only went when Anne and the nurse told her to. Sophia was asleep for a few hours but then roused everyone by being hungry.

It was now daylight and they could all examine her better. She had wrinkled little hands, dark eyes, and a little bit of dark hair. Anne did not know if Sophy looked like her, but she was a very pretty little girl. She was tired, but she did not mind waking up because Sophy was hungry. It was now her duty to do so and she acquitted herself with pleasure.

"How are you feeling this morning?" asked Lady Russell, who was still in her nightgown. She had left her bed upon the first howls, worried that something was wrong. But she had come here to find everything quiet again, with Sophy drinking as if she had always known how.

"I hardly slept, I think. I was so excited."

"It was horrible. I am glad I never had any." But when she looked at little Sophy sweetly suckling, she admitted to feeling a little regretful that she had never had any.

Anne smiled. "I have already forgotten the pain. I thought it was very interesting. I wonder why I had not realised it must go like that."

"Anne, really." Lady Russell gave her a look of distaste. It was bad enough she had had to witness it; she was really not interested in discussing the experience. They must now move forward and take care of Sophia.

"It makes much more sense to me now and I am glad for that. Are you not glad you know everything now? I know you did not before."

"I was not ignorant," Lady Russell defended herself. "But I had no need to know all the particulars. I am glad you and Sophia are doing well." She really was very glad; although she had tried not to show it, she had been very concerned.

"I want to write to Mr Wentworth when Sophy has finished drinking," Anne said.

"You?" She agreed he must be informed, but she would think it a task for herself. Anne needed to recover from that horrible ordeal.

"I can hold a pen." Anne was a little surprised.

"But should you not rest?"

"I can rest afterwards. I must write to him."

"I shall write to your father." They had never received a reply from Sir Walter, but she had concluded he had nothing to add to their communication. It must mean he had reconciled himself to Anne's marriage and he had no questions to ask. Perhaps he was relieved.

She hoped for Anne's sake that he would send some sort of congratulations after he was told about his granddaughter. Yes, she would put that in -- granddaughter. It would remind him of the blood ties between them.

Edward Wentworth was very surprised when he received their letter. Lady Russell had written to him -- and Anne herself! He had been most surprised at reading those lines, which had apparently been written down a few hours after the birth. If he saw any infants and mothers shortly after a birth, it was because one or both of them had died. Consequently he had no idea how healthy women conducted themselves and what they were capable of doing.

He had a little niece called Sophia. Although his name was not Sophia, he felt as flattered as if it was, for he loved his elder sister dearly. It was a good name.

"When might I visit my niece?" he asked his housekeeper after he had told her the good news. "They invite me. As soon as possible, they write, but I do not know when that is. Is that tomorrow? Or when Anne's confinement ends?"

"I think she would have been capable enough to write the word confinement if that is what she meant," Mrs Dickinson concluded after thinking about it for a few moments. "Shall I pack something for you to eat on the road, sir?"

"But --" He was not sure.

"They can always refuse you entrance if you are there too soon," she reassured him.

"That is true." His face brightened, but then he remembered something. "I never asked you if I had sunk in your estimation after my trip to Scotland." He had wondered and worried, but he had not dared to ask.

"That would have been a very foolish question."

"Would it? Why?" Edward supposed it was true nevertheless. She was his housekeeper and it was not her place to have such an opinion.

"Because I could have prevented you from going, I suppose," she said reflectively.

He was relieved. She had indeed not stopped him, although he had told her why he was going away. "I suppose so too. But now my niece is Sophia Wentworth and that is a good thing. For the moment. Frederick can ruin it all when he returns. He may even get me hanged." He had so far not given any thought to a punishment, although he supposed there was one if he was found out. It frightened him a little and he told himself not to think of it.

"Your brother will not get you hanged."

"I hope so. Though he may flog me or administer some other unpleasant naval punishment. I hope Sophia is a really sweet little girl who will take his mind off that. She may have to live here for a while, so I hope she is sweet indeed."

He had not yet found a house. Monkford was small and houses did not vacate very often. He supposed he could always take them into his own home for a short while. Anne would say it was only until Frederick returned.

Chapter Twelve

Posted on Saturday, 15 December 2007

Anne thought Sophy was very sweet. She was the most perfect baby she had ever seen, but one with a strong will even at her age. This surprised Lady Russell, but Anne thought it was amusing. With the help of the nursery maid Lady Russell had hired for the duration of their stay in Bath she was quickly becoming used to taking care of an infant. Even Lady Russell herself displayed an interest.

As Lady Russell sat with the little thing in her arms, she felt glad she had not forced Anne to give it up. She would in that case have had neither a happy Anne, nor a happy baby. Sophy, if she got her way, was very happy. It was intriguing that she knew exactly what she wanted, be it food or attention.

Anne for her part was glad her godmother had taken to the baby so quickly that she would even hold her while Anne was busy with other things. "I am so happy we did not give her to somebody else," she said. "I am sure someone else could think her very sweet, but it would not be the same. You like her because she is mine, do you not? Not because she is a sweet little baby, but because you are her grandmother."

It was an important question, Lady Russell recognised. If she could attach herself to a strange child, so could someone else. Anne wanted to hear that her child belonged with her and that it would have been cruel to give her away, because no one else could attach herself to the baby like her. "I like her because she is yours. She knows she is, too." She was pleased to see Anne was thrilled with such an answer, though less pleased with Anne's next question.

"Would she know Frederick?"

"I cannot say." She had no idea when he would return to England -- or if he was going to come back to Anne at all. He must be forced, of course, but there was no telling what he would think of the child. "But if she is a little older he may recognise her as his." Some similarities might help to win him over to their plan.

Anne wrapped her arms around her neck. "Am I doing it right, Mama?"

Lady Russell felt a little uncomfortable at being consulted about something in which she had no expertise whatsoever, or so she felt. They had both become mothers, perhaps. "You are much better than I am."

"But you let me keep her. For that I shall love your forever. She needs me."

Lady Russell thought it was indeed gratifying to be needed, since she believed Anne needed her probably as much as Sophy needed Anne.

Anne had not realised that Lady Russell had remained indoors with her all this while until a card was brought in. It struck her only then that Lady Russell could have gone out, but that she had not. She had not been walking or shopping or anything they had previously done together, yet she was in perfect health and she could have gone out whenever she liked.

Anne considered herself to be quite close to perfect health again, but she was not yet ready to go out. She was however very ready to receive a visitor, although it surprised her that she was shown the card and not Lady Russell. She was not the mistress of the house. Only when everyone else was absent did she ever receive cards. "It is Mr Wentworth," she exclaimed in delight. "He has come to see Sophy. May we receive him?"

"Of course. He is family." She had been a little in doubt when she wrote the letter, as it might be very soon, but she had not known why the little girl should be kept from him. He had been interested.

"Yes, he is family." Anne had not known she would be so excited to show Sophy to family. They had been content to be inside just the three of them, but now that there was a visitor, she was suddenly all anticipation.

"I hope all went well and that you are recovering speedily," Edward said a little nervously after he was shown in. He studied Anne closely, but she was sitting on the sofa as she would normally have done. Not upright, but next to Lady Russell everyone seemed to sag.

"It was horrible," Anne smiled. She was really glad to see him. For himself, but he was Frederick's brother and she would have been really glad to see anything of Frederick's. "It took Lady Russell days to recover!"

"Horrible," he repeated. "But you smile."

She jumped up. "Would you like to see her?"

He was startled by her jump and looked as if he was afraid she might hurt herself. "Er...did Lady Russell give birth? I thought you did." He looked from one to the other as if he was confused.

"No, she watched, but she thought it pretty gruesome. I did not see a thing, so I have nothing to recover from." Anne pulled at his arm. "Come to the nursery."

"You are much thinner," he observed.

"Indeed. And Lady Russell is as thin as she ever was, so it was I who gave birth." She suspected he could probably also tell from Lady Russell's face that she was not the one.

"But you are running about."

"Anne, do behave sedately as a mother would," Lady Russell admonished, but not too sternly. "You are not a girl anymore."

Anne could not contain herself, thrilled as she was to be able to show her little girl. Although she did not run, she sometimes skipped. That she had given birth to a child did not suddenly make her feel less like one herself. She could not possibly be sedate. Perhaps when Sophy was five or six. "Here she is, my little Sophy." She carefully lifted the baby from the cot, kissed it and held it out for him to see. "Would you like to hold her?"

Edward stood with her in his arms, visibly impressed. "It is a miracle that something like this could grow from --"

"Let us not delve into that," Lady Russell said hastily.

"Oh, you need not fear for my innocent soul, Lady Russell," he spoke. "I bought a book to educate myself."

This was too much for the lady's nerves. She sagged against a chest of drawers with an incredulous look.

"For professional purposes, madam, as I may be consulted by childless couples." He had got through the foreword so far and had not yet got to any exciting parts -- he had been too embarrassed to venture further -- but she needed not know that.

Anne left Sophy in his care while she revived Lady Russell. "I understand it is a great shock to hear that there is a book you might have consulted," she said softly.

"I should never have looked into a book," Lady Russell managed to say. She had not even known there were books. In that respect Anne was right, but she was wrong in supposing that she would ever have looked into one. She expected these books were for men and not even for gentlemen at that.

"Well," Anne said doubtfully. "Perhaps you are glad then that someone else bore me for you."

"Very. Make sure he does not drop her." She was not too overcome to keep an eye on Sophy.

"Amazing," said Edward, biting back any comments on where she came from. "It really is different when she is one's niece and she is much prettier too."

The ladies of course quite liked hearing that. They beamed.

"I have not found a house yet," he continued, giving Sophy back to Anne. "They all have people living in them still, I mean. If you have no objections you could live with me for a while. If you bring Lady Russell I am sure it is very respectable."

"In a parsonage." Lady Russell needed some time to get used to that. She supposed it was not much different from the Lodge, if one really looked at it. It might even be bigger, to accommodate for the huge size a rector's family usually had.

"It is large enough. It would be better than living with someone else, or even above The Bell. Do you know cheap lodgings in Bath?" Edward wondered. "I cannot travel back today, or I should have to leave you almost instantly."

Lady Russell wrinkled her nose. "I only know good lodgings in Bath."

"But are they cheap?"

"No, good lodgings are never cheap. Why do you not stay here?"

At dinner with Mr Wentworth, Lady Russell suddenly thought of Mary Elliot, who was at school here in Bath and who had not been told anything at all. She did not think Mary should be told anything at all at her age, but she had not reckoned with the possibility of running into Mary with a fat Anne. They had completely forgotten about her. Anne had not mentioned her either. They had escaped the public scene Mary would undoubtedly have created had she seen Anne.

"Mary," said Lady Russell.

"Mary?" Anne replied curiously.

"Your sister."

"She is an aunt."

"She has not been informed."

"She will be cross." Mary was always cross if she was not informed and Anne recognised that this was something important. But as far as Mary knew her sister was not married. There were two important things that had been kept from her and Anne, who had been her principal correspondent, did not see how she could make her understand or accept how both things had been kept from her. "But I do not know how I could explain where I got Sophy."

"There are certain things young girls should not be told," Lady Russell said decidedly. "But I suppose there are certain things aunts should certainly be told. Let me think about it."

"And your father?" Edward inquired. "Has he visited?"

"He has not even written, has he?" Anne looked towards Lady Russell for confirmation. "But he may be in London." She hoped that was the reason for his silence. He knew about the child; it could not shock him that it was born. She did not want to think he did not care.

"I wrote to my sister directly," Edward said with a reassuring smile. "Her reply will probably not arrive until the next year, but I know she will be thrilled."

Chapter Thirteen

Posted on Wednesday, 19 December 2007

The next morning Edward was to leave again. Lady Russell felt wrecked after having had Anne and Sophy sleep with her. She would not say so, but she was glad Anne could return to her own bed when Edward was gone. Sophy was a darling girl, but she woke very often and she was very insistent about being fed directly. Their uninformed idea of keeping Sophy in the nursery at night had quickly proved unworkable, but she had not known Sophy woke so very often until Anne and Sophy were sleeping with her.

She willed herself to be civil, but she could not even bring herself to dress completely for seeing Edward off. The first thing she would do when he was gone would be to get back into bed and she did not want to waste any time.

"You look a little fatigued," Edward observed as he attacked his breakfast.

Lady Russell postponed eating until she would feel better. Her appetite was only for sleep. "Is it very visible?"

"Perhaps not if you were not still wearing your nightclothes." He said so very respectfully. One must, to an older woman.

"It would take too long to change." And she was too tired to care what he might think of the papers in her hair. She had done him the civility of getting up to keep him company, but she could not do more. Taking the papers out and putting them back in -- for her hair would look a mess otherwise -- would take too long and she would collapse halfway.

"I heard some crying during the night. Once or twice. Was something wrong?" It had not really woken him and he now felt some guilt at perhaps having slept through something of importance.

"She was hungry. More than once or twice." She had stopped counting, but it might have been five or six times in all.

"I am sorry to hear it," he said. "Although I am all in favour of her being fed. She has much growing to do."

Lady Russell saw Edward out and then returned to her bed, finding in surprise that Anne and Sophy had returned to Anne's room. She hoped that was not because she had sighed and groaned once too many. Although she had briefly spoken to Edward about going to live with them, she had forgotten to ask for three different rooms. It had been sweet, all three of them in the same bed, but she was too old for it.

Lady Russell had thought for two days on what to do about Mary. Eventually she had decided that Mary must be told something, although preferably not the entire truth. She left Anne alone while she went to Mary's school; although Anne would have loved to show Sophy, it was impossible.

Mary, the youngest of the Elliot girls, had to draw attention to herself, whereas to her prettier sisters attention came naturally. Elizabeth and Mary liked attention, but Lady Russell had always thought that Anne did not. Obviously she had been wrong there; Captain Wentworth's attentions had been welcomed all too eagerly. He had not had to do much to make Anne do his bidding. A few words of admiration had probably been enough.

Lady Russell had, as far as she recalled, in her youth not been exceptionally pretty. That she was now a good deal handsomer than many women her age -- she would otherwise not have been allowed to live at Kellynch Lodge, she thought scornfully -- was completely insignificant. Other qualities were valued in older women and widows.

That she had once got married was a point of consideration, but she had nearly forgotten how this had occurred. She was inclined to think it had happened without any flattery about her looks. One thing Sir Henry Russell would never have succeeded in, nor did she think he would ever have attempted it, was to get her to engage in scandalous behaviour.

She would have told him no. But then, she had at some point been told explicitly to say no to everything. Nobody seemed to have told Anne anything at all. How else was it possible that she had met Captain Wentworth out of doors and that she had even engaged in such activities with him there? Had he come into the park? Anne should have known not to meet men out of the park.

She banished such thoughts from her mind when the school came into view.

Mary did not look especially glad to see her, but any departure from her usual routine was good. She greeted her, at least, with a modicum of curiosity.

"I came to tell you something, Mary," said Lady Russell because she must, but she had not at all decided on what to say. Time was pressing now, however.

"I am leaving school so I can come out?"

Lady Russell imagined Mary out and married within a season, with a child the next year. This must be prevented at any cost. Mary was not Anne. Anne knew how to take care of a child, Mary did not. She wondered how to break the news. Mary would undoubtedly spread it without any concern for the consequences for herself. A sister who had eloped was a blemish. "Anne is married," she began.

"Anne? She never wrote to me. Nobody ever tells me anything," Mary said plaintively. "While Elizabeth and Anne have all the fun, going to balls and London, I am stuck here at this boring school. Who is he? Is he titled? Rich?"

"I do not know how rich he is," Lady Russell replied truthfully. He might well be richer now. In fact, she hoped he was. "He is a captain in the Navy."

Mary looked disdainfully uncomprehending.

"They have a little girl." She hoped Mary would not ask for a detailed time frame. Although it was probably her duty to enlighten Mary, she hoped it was not to be now.

"A little girl? Do you mean a child? Anne? She is married and she has a child with a captain in the Navy? I can do better than that."

"I am sure you can, dear Mary." Lady Russell felt a mixture of relief and astonishment. It was selfish to feel so relieved that no explanations were required, she told herself. It was cruel to Anne. "If you stay at school and work on your accomplishments."

"Where does Anne live? Does she have a maid of her own?"

"She lives with me." She would lend Anne her maid as often as Anne wished, but it was really Sophy who had a maid of her own. Perhaps Sophy even had three.

It was clear from her face what Mary thought of her sister's situation. "Not even in a house of her own?"

"No. Her husband is at sea."

"Why did she do it then?" Mary did not understand a match with so few advantages. Anne had given up her life to be the wife of a Navy captain, without any servants to boast of and without a household to run.

"She loves him." She had never thought she would come to defend the couple in such a way. But it was true. Anne loved him. If he had been willing to marry her he had loved Anne too. For a moment she felt for him. Although she would still not consider him a good match for Anne, she now gave some thought to his feelings.

She left Mary when there was no real conversation. Her feelings of guilt occupied her on the way home. Was it everybody's neglect that caused Mary to be so uninterested? Anne had seemingly been the one who wrote most often. Elizabeth did it only if it could not be avoided and Sir Walter never wrote at all. Perhaps poor Mary would have done better with some more interest, but now all she was capable of was envy and a desire to do better than her sisters.

Whether Mary was truly neglected or she would merely always fancy herself thus was unclear, but Lady Russell did at present not have time to look into the matter. Although she felt a little guilty about that, she told herself Anne needed her more.

"What did she say? Will she come to look at Sophy?" Anne met her in the hall, the inevitable Sophy in her arms. She rarely put her down, especially not when Sophy was awake. Anne said that she was too curious.

Lady Russell took a long look at Anne's expectant face and regretted the disappointment she was about to cause. Mary had not displayed any interest in Sophy. She hesitated for too long.

Anne knew what that meant. Her face fell. "Nobody will come. Only Frederick's family care."

It was unfortunately true. Anne's own relatives had not cared. They had only Edward's word for his sister's interest, but Lady Russell had no reason to doubt him other than that it would cast far too favourable a light on the Wentworths. Where two siblings cared, should the third not also do it? She knew that where two siblings did not care, the third might be like Anne, so she ought not think the other Wentworths at all representative of Captain Wentworth.

"Why do they not want to see Sophy? She did nothing wrong. She is only an innocent little child."

It was not a matter of despising Anne or of thinking someone had done something wrong. It had simply not occurred to Mary to care, Lady Russell thought, because Mary knew nothing. This was no better than Mary thinking the daughter of a captain beneath her notice, of course. It was better not to say anything about it. "Perhaps you should put Sophy down, my dear. It is better for her to lie down."

"No, she is awake and she must feel someone loves her. Nobody loves her except me." Anne's tears welled up.

"Oh Anne." She was most definitely still very young, Lady Russell thought, and she embraced her. "I love her too. And Mr Wentworth does. Now do not cry and upset Sophy, my dear."

Anne sniffed her tears away. "But it hurt."

"Yes, of course it does and I felt it for your sake. But," she said, pulling herself together. She was not good with crying people. "Think of who do care. Two friends is enough. It is not much, but it is enough."

"Three."

She sighed. Captain Wentworth, she supposed. "Three."

Chapter Fourteen

Posted on Saturday, 22 December 2007

Anne had spent some time upstairs in her room recovering. She was a mother now and a grown-up young lady. There was absolutely no need to cry over the realities of life. As Lady Russell had said, two friends were enough to carry her through. She did not need hundreds. It was a pity that her family could not be counted among her friends, but instead of sad she ought to feel grateful that other people were willing to be her new family.

It was therefore a very dignified Anne who returned downstairs. She had left Sophy with Lady Russell, but they seemed to be doing fine. Sophy was looking around and Lady Russell was reading a magazine with her free hand.

"I feel better," Anne announced. "I am resolved not to let it trouble me any further. Do you think it would be all right if I went for a walk?"

Lady Russell felt her relief instantly supplanted by amazement. "A walk? Outside?"

"It is quite boring to walk indoors."

"But you cannot walk very far."

"I do not know that," Anne pointed out very reasonably. "I have not been further than trips up and down the stairs. I want to be outside and opening the window will not do. Will it be all right? Do we know the neighbours? Will they care?"

"But what about Sophy?"

"She is happy where she is."

While it was pleasant to hear Sophy was happy in her arms, Lady Russell could not be at ease. "But if she becomes hungry, there is nothing I can do."

Anne gave her a grin. She knew she had won. "I shall feed her first and then walk out. Unless you wish to come and we can take Sophy or leave her with the maid."

"I do not think Sophy should be out."

Sophy at that moment looked quite indignant and Anne laughed at this unwitting token of support. "Nobody knows how old Sophy is and if anybody asks, we can lie."

"Oh, why do you even consult me, headstrong girl?" Lady Russell scoffed. She gently deposited Sophy in Anne's arms and went upstairs.

Anne hoped she was changing her clothes and shoes. "Lady Russell will take us out," she cooed to Sophy, whom she suddenly very much wanted to take. "And if she will not take us out, we shall take ourselves out. Mama and Sophy will go to the park. You will like that, will you not? It is a very nice day."

She unbuttoned her gown and let Sophy drink while she read Lady Russell's magazine. A while later Lady Russell reappeared and Anne noticed in satisfaction that she was indeed wearing different shoes. Undoubtedly something would first be said about the wisdom of taking an infant out, or of a woman wanting to go out to a public park during her confinement. Anne expected no less. After it was said, they could go.

"The nursery maid says --"

"But she is only a nursery maid," Anne cut in a little wickedly. "I am a headstrong girl. I really do not think it could do Sophy any harm. She is all wrapped up. Only think, if Frederick's sister gave birth on board --"

"Did she?" That was the first Lady Russell heard of it.

"She has no children, but if she had, she might have given birth on board and she would not have been able to keep the child indoors for so long."

"Anne, really. Do not try to persuade me with irrational arguments. If Frederick's sister --" Here she paused a second, for she had been tricked into saying Frederick rather than Captain Wentworth and she hoped Anne had not noticed. "-- if she had been carrying a child she would have left the ship long before it came out."

"But I want to go out." Anne pouted. "Do you not understand? I want someone to ask if they may see Sophy and to tell me she is beautiful." Vanity had never been her greatest fault, but after having been slighted by her own family she grudgingly admitted that she needed some compensation. Just one other person would do and then she would be able to return to her good sense.

"Oh, my dear Anne!" Lady Russell exclaimed. She understood, truly she did, but it was so soon. "Could this not wait three weeks?"

"I suppose if you said it is really harmful for Sophy, I could, but I think it is nothing but an affectation." She was tired, but a stroll outside would only do her good. She really did not see the advantages of locking herself up inside. "What did my mother do after I was born? Did she keep to the house?"

"I think she may have kept to her bed, but I am not sure. This was twenty years ago!" She felt a little distress as she tried to remember.

"My mother will have done everything that was right and proper." Anne looked undecided. Her mother would have known what to do and she did not want to behave improperly. "However, I am not thinking of attending an assembly. I would go into the park if we had one, but we do not, so I must go into a public park. Neither you nor my mother would have argued with anything twenty years ago, because I suppose you were both quite young. How old were you twenty years ago?"

"Twenty, but --"

"What does one know at twenty?" Anne wondered. If Lady Russell knew very little at forty, she could only have known even less at twenty. "I am not trying to be rebellious; I am trying to have my way."

"Having your way is of course not in the least rebellious," Lady Russell remarked in a sarcastic voice.

"Not in the least," she agreed very seriously. "Because if you counter me with sensible arguments, I shall of course listen. But you base your opinion on what other people do and think, not on what is sensible. Those other people may well not have been sensible at all. And I know now from experience that what other people consider awful and improper can in fact be quite pleasant."

Lady Russell blushed. "Anne, must you?"

"But it is an example of --"

"Yes, yes. Anne, I cannot keep you from going. You are married. You must make up your own mind. And I wish you would no longer refer to such examples. A lady does not."

"Yes, Mama," Anne said contritely. She would say nothing about ladies lying. "May I bring Sophy?"

"Anne, I advise you to leave Sophy here. She is so small. Besides, ladies do not carry their own infants to the park." She sighed. The nursery maid had said as much, but both of them knew Anne left very little for the maid to do.

"Ah." Anne let that follow by a significant silence. "That was it. I am proud of my Sophy. I do not care that other ladies are not. I should like to be a lady, but I do not see how I cannot do both. Mama took us out herself as well."

"Not in Bath."

"Is it dangerous for Sophy to be taken out?"

She could only reply truthfully. Even the nursery maid had said there was no harm on a beautiful day like this, as long as Sophy did not go out naked. "N-N-No."

"Then she will come. If people look at us oddly I can always decide not to go tomorrow."

Lady Russell had accompanied her very self-consciously. She was sure all eyes were upon them and that everyone was speaking of them. She hardly dared to meet the eyes of people who passed, but she could see Anne met them with her head held high. Anne was so proud of her little bundle.

Sophy was wrapped up well. She could not possibly be cold. Lady Russell nevertheless expected her to wail in protest any second, but she did not. They reached the park without a sound and they sat down.

Anne peered into her bundle. "She is asleep," she said tenderly. "She really enjoys walking."

"I suppose we shall be out here every day then," her companion said in resignation, though she was glad Sophy seemed to enjoy it. "If the weather allows."

"Oh, but an umbrella..." Anne grinned at Lady Russell's sharp turn of the head. "That was a joke."

Whether Lady Russell appreciated such a joke or not, she could not discern, but they sat in silence for several minutes until an elderly woman passed. A few people had passed before, but either they had not looked at them, or they had not looked endeared by what they saw. This elderly woman was different. Anne quite liked her.

"What a nice day for the little one," said the woman. "May I have a look?"

Anne tried not to be too eager.

"But she is very young," the woman said in amazement. "It is a girl?"

Lady Russell hoped Anne was not setting herself up for disappointment instead of gratification. Whatever she thought of it all, she was prepared to come to Anne's defense.

"Yes," Anne replied, but nothing else.

"What a beautiful child."

"Thank you." Anne was immensely gratified. She sighed happily when the woman had moved on after heaping much praise on little Sophy. "I am happy now."

Lady Russell was glad for it. That one person had reacted favourably to Sophy's being in the park said nothing about the hundreds of people who frowned upon her being there. To be out here with a baby of a week old, with its mother, without a nursery maid -- it made her very nervous. It also made her very eager to remove to Monkford, since she did not think Anne would let this victory on propriety pass.

"Anne, I do feel you are taking advantage of my inexperience with certain matters," she said eventually after having debated whether she ought to bring it up at all.

"I did not want to be disrespectful," Anne said contritely. "I was being selfish."

"I cannot help but feel -- I do not know how to say it -- that now that everything has come right, you are not --"

"I do not enough live in perpetual fright about the future and gratitude for the present," Anne said with some bitterness.

Lady Russell finally found the right words. "I was thinking more along the lines of your being overly imprudent."

"Overly imprudent." Anne considered it. "Yes, perhaps, but you are asking much of me. I am only nineteen and one knows even less at nineteen than at twenty. I cannot be all -- prudent, proper, grateful, repentant of the past, suddenly grown up, an excellent mother, sedate, happy, hopeful, afraid -- I cannot! I cannot behave as if I am forty and I do not feel half of those things anymore."

Considering that Lady Russell felt she was behaving very unsteadily herself, she did not think her behaviour was exemplary of someone of forty. But here Anne was saying something very odd. "People of forty have lost half of their feelings?" Did this mean she was heartless and unfeeling? It troubled her, but Anne moved closer rather than further away.

"I am sure they feel less conflicted."

"No, my dear, it only grows worse."

"But things are no longer new."

Lady Russell thought about acquiring daughters and granddaughters and having to cover up scandals and she sighed. "My dear, even at the terribly ancient age of forty things can be new."

Chapter Fifteen

Posted on Tuesday, 25 December 2007

Just when Lady Russell was thinking they really needed to move to Monkford soon and wondering how quickly this might be accomplished, Anne spoke again.

"Did you hear that?" she asked in excitement.

Lady Russell had been far too caught up in wondering about travel arrangements and packing and civilities to pay attention. "No, what should I have heard?"

"That one gentleman called the other Admiral. Do you think they know Frederick?" There were a great many ships in all those fleets and scattered about the world as they were, its commanders could not possibly know all others and their crews, but there was a small chance. She was quite excited about a possible connection.

Lady Russell looked around to find the gentlemen in question. She was surprised to see they indeed looked like gentlemen, but apart from that they looked too old to be friends of Captain Wentworth's -- seventy or eighty, was her guess. "They probably retired from active service before he was born. I hope you will not accost them."

"I think they retire from active service when they die," Anne said doubtfully. "And they do not look dead to me. But why do you think I would accost them? I should not dare. Do you not think they look ordinary?"

"Ordinary." She studied them again, which was difficult. They were walking away from them. "Old."

"But you would not think they were sailors if you saw them at the Pump Room." She thought Lady Russell was all too apt to think she would recognise sailors if they were out of uniform. In reality, of course, they looked much like any other gentlemen, provided they were gentlemen from birth. She only knew a sailor who was.

"I never go to the Pump Room to see gentlemen, my dear," Lady Russell said in a most dignified manner. "And the number introduced to me there is very small."

Anne giggled at the image of Lady Russell being like one of her sisters, though Elizabeth would likewise deny it was her object to look at gentlemen. "I am sorry."

"I think we should move to Monkford very soon, before you get it into your head that I must go to the Pump Room to look at gentlemen." She was about twenty-five years too old for that, although she could not recall having done very much of it in her youth. She must have, having got married once, but she did not exactly recall how it had come about.

"Oh! Now that you mention it..." Anne said teasingly. "But no. It is in my best interests to keep you as you are."

Lady Russell thought it was in her own best interests as well, but she did not even want to think about it. "I was wondering when we may arrive in Monkford."

"If we are to stay with Edward, we may arrive when we like. Oh, the country! I shall look forward to it. I shall like it better than Bath." She looked around at what constituted a park here. There was hardly any walking possible and there would be no animals except for a few birds.

"But I shall have to write and await a reply." They could not arrive unannounced and Lady Russell would also not arrive at a moment that was inconvenient to Mr Wentworth. It would make her very uncomfortable and he would think ill of their manners. No, she must ask him when he could receive them.

"I suppose," Anne said reluctantly, although she knew he would welcome them whenever they appeared. But she must not forget her manners in her selfish desire to be back in the country. She was being very selfish lately. "I mean, yes. I think we ought to ask him if we are welcome, even if we are. He might be away."

Edward was not terribly likely to be away, but it so happened that one of his rare trips was taking place at exactly that moment. He had for a few days gone up to see Dr Greene, who held the Monkford living. Although they usually corresponded, sometimes there were books or texts that were better examined together.

He felt he had learnt much when he returned and his head was still full of this knowledge when Mrs Dickinson requested him to focus on more mundane tasks such as the running of the household and the weekly menu. He was always content to leave the menu unchanged, but now something or other was in short supply and he had to give his opinion on a different meal.

And the mail, naturally.

"Are we ready to receive the ladies, Mrs Dickinson?" he asked after he had read Lady Russell's letter. "When will they be welcome?"

"It is your house, sir," she reminded him.

"Yes, but I would not invite them and upset you because you have not had time to prepare."

"They would be welcome if they walked through the door this instant, sir," she said a little indignantly. She was not such a bad manager as to be unable to handle surprise guests. "I do not need much time. The house is always ready to receive your friends."

He wrote back directly.

Perhaps he should have informed Dr Greene about the situation. He had just spent a few days there, but without thinking of it. There had not been any ladies in Dr Greene's house to remind him. Mrs Greene and the children were away visiting relatives, which they always seemed to be. Edward reflected that Dr Greene probably did not like solitude much and that was why he invited curates over to study when Mrs Greene took a trip. She could not always be away.

He slowly returned to local matters. "And what is the general opinion of the village after I disseminated the news that my brother was secretly married?"

"Ah." Mrs Dickinson installed herself a little more securely by his desk. "They always suspected it of him."

Edward looked perturbed. "Do they think he is a rake?" In the face of disapproval from others he felt strangely compelled to defend his brother.

"They would like to think so," she corrected. "Because he is handsome. But he left no debts when he left and no other conquests than Miss Elliot, about whom the village did not even know. They know it could be worse. One of your predecessors..."

"He had a brother?"

"Oh, no. He was a rake himself. A man of the church, I am sorry to say."

"A rake?" Edward could not imagine it.

"Dr Greene quickly disposed of him. As far as I know he never quite got to fathering a child, but he managed to be secretly engaged to a handful of girls at once."

Edward stared at her in astonishment. Such behaviour was beyond the scope of his understanding. It would be unbelievable even if it did not concern a curate. Why should anyone get himself engaged to more than one girl at once?

"Your brother," she continued. "Merely eloped with Miss Elliot at some point, then met up with her again here and took to what he was entitled."

"Entitled," he echoed. That was a very odd way of putting it, though perhaps Anne with her romantic notions would even agree.

"Nobody is pitied except you, sir."

"Not even Miss Elliot?"

"Strangely enough, no."

"Not even for having to live with me when she previously lived at Kellynch Hall?" His house, though it would have to do for a poor curate as well as a wealthier rector, was far from offering the comforts and elegance that had always surrounded Anne.

"No."

"But I am pitied because she has to live with me?" He tried to make sense of it.

"You are pitied because your brother only came to live here to be near her."

"I suppose," said Edward after a few moments. Luckily he knew the truth. He was a likeable brother and Frederick had come for him. "That this is good. I shall gladly suffer any pity if that is the only price we must pay. Has nobody said it must be my child because it will come to live with me?"

Mrs Dickinson thought it unlikely. "Mr Wentworth, your brother smiled at shop girls, but you do not even appear to realise there is such a thing as the opposite sex. Since you came to live here, you have not looked at any eligible young woman twice."

He was surprised. "But such young women must have been eligible in their parents' eyes, not in mine. I cannot afford one. Why should I look at them twice? I take it you do not mean the sort of looking at them that is required as a basic civility. But now I shall be looking at all of them twice to see if they are the sort of women who are considered eligible to me."

Lady Russell was glad that the weather prevented Anne from going out. The girl was at least sensible enough not to want to expose Sophy to cold and rain, although that one elderly lady and her praise seemed to have satisfied Anne's needs for attention very well and she had not complained about the weather.

She had also not spoken of going out to ask elderly sailors if they knew Captain Wentworth, which was even more pleasing to Lady Russell. They would not be acquainted with him, though if they were they would hardly be able to tell Anne anything about his current whereabouts.

She had much to write herself, but Anne did not, no longer having the task of relaying messages from Sir Walter and Elizabeth to Mary.

Sir Walter finally wrote. Before she told Anne about it, she first wanted to read it. It might be better if she threw it away directly if the contents were bad. But surprisingly the letter was very handsomely phrased. It astonished her very much. "Anne, your father has written."

"Do not tell me about it," Anne said dismissively.

"But I must. It is surprising."

"I have no wish to hear it." She would only be disappointed.

"I think you do. He very handsomely congratulates you on the birth of your daughter --"

Anne wondered how he could be congratulating her, if he was writing to Lady Russell.

Lady Russell spoke on. "He asks me to share the contents of the letter with you. He knows of a house in the vicinity that would be better situated to a family than Kellynch Lodge --"

It would be better suited because it was further away, Anne thought. She was not sure it was helpfulness. He might not want them near, but he did not want them to live in circumstances that reflected badly on him either. "You are welcome to think him all generosity," Anne said serenely. She must not allow it to affect her.

Lady Russell lowered the letter and looked confused. "Do you not?"

"I should like it probably as much as you do, but I fear it cannot be so. Such a change of heart."

It bothered Lady Russell a little, she admitted, but she wanted to think well of him. "He may simply have forgiven you."

"I have done nothing for which he needs to forgive me. I hope for Frederick's forgiveness, not my father's."

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