Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Part III
Betsy took the curling tongs from the heater and expertly captured a lock of hair between the barrel and the clasp. With a flick of the wrist and her smallest finger, the iron twirled around and around, winding the long piece of hair around the barrel of the iron. She held it for a few seconds, then released the ringlet in one swift motion.
Anne admired her skill. She was a neighbor girl whose expertise was renowned in the neighborhood, sent up by the landlord's wife. She was even better than Millie, Lady Wentworth's maid, who was one of the few persons who could make Anne's thick, straight hair hold a curl. Luckily, Millie's niece, Rose, would be coming to work at the Cottage, and hopefully shared her aunt's dexterity. Anne did her own hair most of the time, rather plainly for everyday wear, but she liked to wear it more fashionably on social occasions. Tonight, Betsy had braided the back and coiled it into a low chignon, wound with ribbons and a length of lace. The side hairs, falling from a center part, lay flat against her head; past her chin they were curled into ringlets that lay perfectly against her shoulder, three on each side. Anne regarded her reflection in the mirror; objectively, she thought that she could be called pretty, especially with her hair so fashionably styled, but not really beautiful. Sophie was the beauty of the Wentworth girls; she had inherited her father's height and dark, wavy hair, and had developed a womanly figure that seemed to appeal to men. Well, Charles says that I am beautiful, and that is more than enough for me!
She was wearing the gown in which she had been married, wine-coloured silk with handmade lace trim. Knowing that Charles disliked the big puffed sleeves that were still in fashion, she had it made with tight-fitting white linen undersleeves, with an overdrape of silk descending from the elbows, trimmed with lace and ribbons. It was certainly one of the handsomest gowns she had ever owned, a real grown-up woman's dress instead of the maidenly muslins she had previously worn, and she felt a thrill as she anticipated the look in her husband's eyes when he saw her wearing it.
"Will that be all, Mrs. Musgrove?" Betsy asked as she placed the last curl.
"Yes, thank you," she said. "You did wonderfully well. I wish I could take you home with me."
Betsy was a plump and rosy girl, and dimples formed at the sides of her mouth when she spoke. "I would go with you, ma'am, but I am to be married next month." Their eyes met in the mirror, and they exchanged the smiles of two women who knew themselves to be well-loved.
Anne rose and shook out the dress, adjusting the many petticoats to ensure that the full skirt stood out properly, as Betsy gathered her tools and took her leave. She went out into the sitting-room, where Charles stood in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. "Can you help me with this coat, love?" he asked, his eyes on his wrists, where he was attempting to fasten the studs.
"Of course," she said, and he glanced up at her briefly, then stopped what he was doing and frankly stared. Anne glowed, basking in his admiration.
"Look at you," he said with an appreciative smile. "Just like our wedding day. Except that you are not wearing that white thing," he said, waving his hand around his head, unable to find the proper word in his limited male vocabulary.
Anne laughed. "That 'thing,' my love, is a veil of Brussels lace, a cherished family heirloom that my mother wore on her wedding day and that I hope our daughter will someday wear. I charge you to remember that."
"I know next to nothing about ladies' clothing, Anne, as you well know," said Charles, unaffected by her teasing. "I just know that you look beautiful. Now really, I need you to help me on with my coat." In a fit of pre-matrimonial good humour, he had agreed to accompany Walter to his tailor to have an evening suit made. Charles, who was built more sturdily than his taller, thinner brother, usually had his clothes made larger than fashion dictated in the interest of comfort. Walter's man had done a masterful job, however; the black coat and trousers were perfectly fitted, showing Charles' athletic figure to its best advantage, although he was unable to don the coat without assistance.
Anne held the coat while Charles thrust his arms into the sleeves, then helped ease it over his broad shoulders. She looked at him admiringly as he pulled down the cuffs of his shirt. My husband even puts the Queen's fiance to shame! "If you continue to dress so fashionably, you will have to train Thomas to be a valet," she said.
Her husband laughed at the thought of his employee, a good-natured but not especially genteel man, acting the part of a gentleman's valet. "I have no need of a valet, love, but you should have a maid of your own."
She touched his cheek lovingly. "I thank you, but I was brought up a sailor's daughter, not a fine lady. My mother has a maid now, but she did without for many years. Rose can help me dress very well."
He cupped her chin in his hand. "I just want you to be comfortable and happy."
"If I am with you, I shall always be happy. I love you, Charles Musgrove."
"And I love you, Anne Musgrove."
"I like the way that sounds," said Anne, smiling as Charles leaned closer to her.
"As do I." Their lips met. Anne had feared that after a few weeks of marriage, the thrill she felt at his touch would wear away, but she was delighted to discover that was not true. He placed his hands gently on her waist, and her hands slipped up his arms to his shoulders. He leaned his forehead against hers and said softly, "I am beginning to wish that I had not invited Edward's friend to dine with us."
In the happiness of the previous few minutes, she had forgotten about their dinner guest. She looked away, no longer able to meet her husband's eyes. Charles waited a moment, then finally said, "Are you going to tell me what happened between you and Captain Huntingdon?"
Oakmont Park
October, 1835
Anne poured a cup of tea and handed it to Commander Huntingdon, then a second for her mother. She took a cup for herself and sat down next to the tea-table.
"I am sorry that Edward and the admiral are not here to receive you," Mrs. Wentworth was saying. "They are out shooting with my brother and nephew at Uppercross. I am sure that they would have invited you along, had they known you were not otherwise engaged."
The commander smiled. "Pray do not apologize. I am perfectly happy with your company, ma'am, and that of your daughter." He glanced over at Anne, who sat with her head down, her eyes fixed on the teacup balanced on her knee.
Mrs. Wentworth seemed to sense her daughter's uneasiness. She kept the conversation going, limiting the topics to the weather, the state of the roads, and books that she had recently read. Anne remained silent, picking up her embroidery and working on it diligently. Then Mrs. Wentworth was called away by the housekeeper, who required her presence in the kitchen without delay. She hurried away with a last, concerned look at her daughter, and Anne was left alone in the sitting-room with the commander.
She glanced up once and found his eyes fixed upon her. He had ridden up from Lyme almost daily since Elizabeth's birthday dance, and during each visit he had contrived to spend time with her. Anne had found his company enjoyable until the past few days, when his attentions gained a new intensity that made her distinctly uncomfortable.
With her mother absent, it was Anne's duty to play hostess. She sighed inwardly and asked, "Are you looking forward to going back to sea, Commander?" They were due to sail in less than a week's time.
"I am never happy to leave England, especially knowing that I will not be home for another year." He set down his teacup. "But it would be easier for me to leave if I knew that there was someone waiting for me here." In another moment, he was kneeling beside her, removing the work from her hands and clasping them in his own. "Miss Wentworth," he said. "Annie. Will you be here for me when I return?"
"I do not expect to go anywhere else," she said in confusion.
"You mistake my meaning. I will return to England in a year's time. When that time comes, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
Anne stared at him, aghast. "I had no thought of marrying, sir."
"Annie, I have been drawn to you from the first moment that I saw you, on the verandah at your uncle's home. You walked out of the house like a vision, an angel in the candlelight. You epitomized everything that I have given my life to defend. When we became more closely acquainted, I fell in love with you, with your sweetness, your intelligence, your femininity."
Anne's mouth twitched at this statement. My femininity? He has never seen me after a hard ride through the mud! Oh, why do these men always make me want to laugh when they propose to me?
Commander Huntingdon was still speaking. "I observed you here, among your family, your brother and sister and parents. I have always wanted a family life like you have, and over the past week I have come to realize that I want it with you. Marry me, Annie."
His casual use of her nickname, until now employed only by her father and brother, irritated her. Charles does not call me Annie, she thought distractedly, then wondered why she was thinking of Charles Musgrove when another man was making her an offer of marriage.
The commander was waiting for her answer, his face earnest and his grip on her hands firm. She finally managed to stammer, "You have taken me quite by surprise, Commander. I cannot answer you now. I need time to think upon your offer."
"Of course. Take this night to think upon it. I will call again tomorrow." He reached up and took her face in his hands. "You may be sure that I will be thinking of you, my love," he murmured, and kissed her.
Anne had never been kissed before, although in the past two years she had ducked away from more than a few amorous dance partners and had delivered several stinging slaps upon the more persistent. In her present state, however, the commander was able to get past her defenses, and before she could stop him, his lips were firmly pressed upon her own. She discovered that the sensation produced by this action was not unpleasant, although it did not seem to be like it was in the novels: her knees did not weaken, her hands did not tremble, her heart did not pound. She reached out and clutched his shoulders, meaning to push him away; but the commander took this as encouragement and put his arms around her, pulling her closer. Finally she managed to disengage herself. "No, Commander, you must not," she gasped.
He released her instantly. "Forgive me, Annie," he whispered. "I have wanted to do that for days now--never mind. Until tomorrow, my love." He picked up his hat and gloves and started to walk toward the door.
Anne rose to her feet, uncertain of how she should behave. Well, her mother had always taught her to be a lady, no matter the circumstances. "Good afternoon, Commander," she said, as politely as her emotional state permitted.
He turned back. "John. Please call me John."
She nodded. "Good afternoon, John."
He gazed at her earnestly for a moment, his intense blue eyes full of emotion; then he was gone.
Anne collapsed back into the chair. Her mouth felt bruised; she touched it lightly with her fingertips. What shall I do? She did not think that she wanted to marry Commander Huntingdon--John--but how could she know for sure?
Her mind strayed back to the night of the dance at Uppercross, to her waltz with Charles, as it often had in the preceding month. She still did not understand her new feelings toward him. Sometimes it seemed as though Charles looked upon her with particular regard; then in the next moment he would turn away, or treat he as he would his sister. For a time she had thought that perhaps she had been captivated by the music and the dance as much as by the man. Two days after the party she had ridden over to the Uppercross stables, hoping that if she saw Charles in his usual milieu, she would know her mind. He was not there, and one of the grooms had informed her that Mr. Charles had left that morning to visit a friend in Hampshire.
A noise outside the sitting-room brought her back to the present. My mother. Mrs. Wentworth would know something had happened as soon as she saw her daughter's face, and Anne was not prepared to discuss the commander's proposal just yet. She leapt to her feet and went out into the passage, where the butler sat at a small table writing in the account book.
"Jennings," she said, "will you send to the stables, please, and ask them to saddle Wamba? I am going for a ride."
The admiral's head groom, a former seaman named Flynn--nobody knew his Christian name, including, it was rumoured, his wife--was resistant to the idea of Anne riding out alone. When she arrived at the stables, she had found not only Wamba saddled, but one of her father's hunters as well, and Flynn prepared to accompany her.
"Flynn, please," she said pleadingly. "I have been riding for so long now! I do not need a companion."
Flynn, who had faced the combined might of the French and Spanish fleets, was unmoved by the entreaties of one girl, no matter how her bottom lip trembled. "It's worth my job if the admiral finds out I let you ride out by yourself, miss," he said.
"You will not lose your job if I tell my father that I refused your accompaniment. I will be in for a scolding, but you will be safe."
He knew that she was right. It was common knowledge among the Oakmont Park domestics that the admiral denied his daughters very little. Flynn heaved a dramatic sigh and finally raised the white flag. "All right, miss," he said, leading Wamba over to the mounting block. He helped her into the saddle and watched her ride away, his face troubled. He was as fond of Miss Anne as he was of his own daughters, and he could tell that she was in emotional turmoil of some kind. If I find out that some bounder has broken her heart, I'll... The thought went unfinished as he noticed that one of the undergrooms had failed to properly stow the admiral's tack, and he went back into the stables, cursing the unfortunate man as thoroughly as only a sailor can.
Wamba galloped across the fields through the late-afternoon sunshine. Anne lifted her face to catch the air as it streamed past, feeling her tumbled sensibilities falling away from her like layers of clothing. There was nothing to equal this, the freedom and joy of the pure speed of a responsive animal.
To Anne's delight, her father had purchased Wamba from her uncle Musgrove on Charles' recommendation, happy to procure a proper lady's mount for his daughter with so little trouble. She and the horse had become a team, familiar to all the neighbors and the inhabitants of the village. Wamba loved her as well, she felt; she took him treats, as Charles had taught her, and exercised him regularly, and when she entered the stables, he always lifted his head and gave a soft snort of greeting. Flynn scoffed at her, saying that she was foolish to fancy human feelings in a dumb animal, but Anne knew differently.
She had not given the creature any real direction, but Wamba knew the area surrounding her father's estate as well as she did. Before she knew it, the grove where she and Charles had their picnics loomed in front of them. Wamba was covered with perspiration; I will stop for a bit and rest, let him have a drink. She slowed the horse to a walk, and they entered the grove, the cool shade welcome to them both.
As he walked toward the stream, Wamba's ears flattened and he snorted, lifting his head. Anne wondered what disturbed him, then saw the other horse tied to the tree, the familiar tack...she turned around in the saddle, looking toward the tree where they had always spread the blanket, and saw Charles Musgrove staring back at her in amazement.
This time he had not bothered with a blanket, but had simply flung himself on the ground, his back against a tree. He had discarded coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth; these items rested in an untidy pile on the grass beside him, a battered straw hat perched on top. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway to his waist. He held a book, now forgotten. "Anne," he stammered. "I did not expect to see you."
"I beg your pardon," she said in confusion. "I did not mean to intrude. I will turn back directly." She began to turn Wamba in the direction of Oakmont Park.
He scrambled to his feet and dropped the book. "No!" he shouted, then said more softly, "You do not need to leave. Do not leave. I would like you to stay." He looked at Wamba, who wanted a drink and was still trying to get to the stream. "Your mount needs the rest, I think, and you probably do as well."
Anne remained silent; Charles understood it as consent. He took Wamba's reins and tied them to the tree, then came around to help her dismount. Anne lifted her right leg out of the upper pommel, turned to the side, and prepared to slide out of the saddle. In her agitated state, however, she neglected to completely remove her left foot from the stirrup, and instead of sliding gracefully to the ground, she pitched forward and fell directly into the arms of a very startled Charles.
"I have you," he said, and he did; she could feel his arms around her waist, strong and steady.
"My foot is still caught in the stirrup," she told him, and he turned her so that she could slide it out. Her hat tumbled from her head as he did so, rolling over and away from them.
Charles set her gently on the ground. He still held her tightly. "Are you all right, love?" he asked quietly.
...love... The careless endearment made her shiver, although she knew perfectly well that it was an affectation that he and Walter had picked up at Cambridge and that they bestowed it with equal nonchalance on most of the female population. Charles mistook her reaction. "You are trembling! My dear girl, you have had a fright." He drew her against him, cradling her head against his chest. Anne knew that her trembling had nothing to do with her near-fall, and that his solution, however kindly meant, could not combat it, but had rather the opposite effect.
She closed her eyes, drinking in the feeling of his arms about her, his hand gently caressing her hair, listening to his heart beating next to her ear, breathing in his manly scents of leather and horseflesh. The rational part of her mind warned, He thinks of you as a sister. He only comforts you as he would Eliza, while her soul cried out, Home. I am home.
Several moments ticked by as they stood together. Anne felt his arms relax, and she tilted her head back to look up at him. Charles was regarding her with an expression that she had never seen before; she knew with a woman's sure instinct that he wanted to kiss her, was going to kiss her, and she also knew that she wanted him to kiss her more than she had ever wanted anything else. She closed her eyes and lifted her lips, tingling with anticipation.
But instead he released her, and by the time she opened her eyes she saw only his back as he walked away. "How come you to be riding without a groom?" he asked without turning around.
"I-I wanted to ride alone," she whispered. Her hands were still shaking, her heart was beating a tattoo against her ribs, the blood rushed in her ears. Her entire body ached with the disappointment of the denied caress. She did not trust her legs to support her; she simply folded them and sat on the grass, in the same place where they had stood, in the same place where she had realized that she was in love with Charles Musgrove.
He had not yet turned to face her, his normally chivalrous manners seemingly abandoned. He raked his hand through his hair, clenching it into a fist in the back of his head. "You should not ride alone," he said over his shoulder. "I will escort you back to your father's house, but you must promise me that you will take a groom with you, or someone, when you ride out in the future. If anything should happen to you, if you should meet with an accident..." his voice trailed away.
I remember when you used to ride with me, my love. It was no use, this futile yearning; he had made it clear that he did not return her regard. I must have imagined that expression...at least now I know my mind. That was what you wanted, Annie girl, was it not?
Charles was buttoning his shirt. He picked up his discarded clothing and began to redress. "If you have had your rest, we should be returning," he said. He seemed unable to meet her eyes.
They remounted their horses and turned back toward Oakmont Park. Neither of them spoke until they were back at the stables. Flynn came out and took Wamba's reins after Charles helped her to dismount, catching her expertly at the waist as she slid from the saddle. The groom looked on approvingly. "I'm that glad you met up with her, Mr. Charles," he said. "She would go out alone."
"I have explained to Miss Wentworth that she should not do so in the future," said Charles.
"You tell her so, sir. She does not listen to old Flynn." He led the horse into the stable.
"I thank you for seeing me back," said Anne. "You and Flynn are both overly solicitous. I do not need a nursemaid when I ride."
"I did not say that you did," he responded. "But from now on, do not ride out alone. 'Twas I who taught you to ride, and I would feel responsible if anything happened to you. Please, Anne. As a favor to me." He asks so casually, without knowing that I would grant him any favor he asks. She nodded.
Charles stood by his horse. He did not seem inclined to leave, although there was no longer any reason for him to stay. "Why do you never ride over to Uppercross anymore?" he asked absently.
"I did ride over, about a month ago, but you had gone away."
"I am sorry. I should have told you about my journey. I only returned yesterday."
"You owe me no explanations, Charles." There was a slight edge to Anne's voice.
"No. But we are friends, are we not? I would like us to remain so." His eyes were upon her, earnest and anxious.
"Yes," she said, catching the sob in her chest before it could escape her lips. "We are friends."
He did not seem to notice her discomposure. "You are welcome at Uppercross any time. You know that."
Anne nodded again, afraid to speak lest the tears just behind her eyes overflow. Charles finally mounted his horse and rode away.
Only when he was gone from her sight did she allow herself to cry.
Anne managed to get back into the house and upstairs to her bedchamber without being accosted by servants or family members. She tossed her hat into a corner and flung herself on the bed face-down.
When did this begin? Memories crowded over one another: Charles riding beside her, a smile lighting his face as she tried to race him; making her laugh with his self-deprecating humour; his wonderful deep voice bringing a story to life; the thousand kindnesses he had shown her, great and small, from making his sister's playmate welcome at Uppercross to introducing her to wonderful books to transforming a frightened young girl into a confident horsewoman. Indeed, how could I avoid falling in love with him? He is kind, intelligent, amiable...he is not really handsome, but there is something about him... At last she knew why she had never been able to love another man: every one of them, from that ridiculous puppy Manfred Pearson to the proud and honourable John Huntingdon, had been held up to the standard created in her mind by Charles Musgrove, and every one had been found wanting.
She was back in his arms, and this time he did not walk away, but kissed her as she knew he wanted to, as she wanted him to do; a thrill went through her body when their lips touched, and her arms went around his neck, her hands plunging into his hair, pulling him closer as his arms tightened around her. She felt his lips move down her throat, heard a voice whisper, "Oh, Annie, my love," but it was not Charles' voice, and when she opened her eyes she saw that it was John. "No," she moaned, trying to get away from him, but his arms were around her like iron, holding her tighter as she struggled...
Anne woke with a small, strangled cry, gasping, her heart pounding, the sheets wound about her thrashing legs, still caught in the dream. From whence came such a dream? John loves me. He would never hurt me. He is a good man, an honourable man. Marriage to such a man could not be a bad thing. Admit it, Annie girl, you are flattered by his attentions.
She rolled over onto her stomach, wrapping her arms around the pillow. And what of my duty to my family? I could spend the rest of my life pining after Charles Musgrove. Should I expect my father or my brother to always support me? After several minutes of soul-searching, she could feel her body begin to relax once again. As sleep overtook her, she knew what her answer would be; the only answer that she could possibly give.
Anne was silent for a long moment. Charles released her, walked away, then turned back with a frown. "What is it, Anne? Did he hurt you, insult you in some way?"
"No, Charles." She sighed. Just tell him, you ninnyhammer! He is imagining the worst. "Captain Huntingdon--he was Commander Huntingdon, then--made me an offer of marriage when I was eighteen."
"Marriage?" cried Charles. He stared at her in astonishment. "How did I not know about this?" he added, more to himself than to her.
"I am sorry," she whispered.
Charles sensed her discomfort and immediately went to her, putting his arms around her. "I did not mean to alarm you, love. I should have known that a pretty girl like you would have had lovers before me."
Anne relaxed in his embrace and rested her cheek against his chest. "Are you angry with me for not telling you?"
"Of course not. 'Twas no business of mine." He laughed shortly. "I have no right to be jealous. I should be counting my blessings that you did not marry him." He held her for a moment, then ventured the question that she had known was inevitable: "Why did you not marry him, Anne?"
Before she could answer, there was a knock on the door of the sitting-room, and the landlord announced Captain Huntingdon.
Part IV
I married such a wonderful man, Anne thought admiringly. Scant minutes after being informed that Captain Huntingdon had been a rival for his wife's hand, Charles welcomed him to their lodgings, and if his sentiments were not entirely noble, it was impossible to tell.
Both Anne and the captain seemed to have difficulty making conversation, so Charles stepped into the breach. He filled the silence with a story of his time at Cambridge, when a group of undergraduates were discussing a lecture on Newton's theories of gravity over several bottles of wine.
"So my good friend Leigh--James Leigh, Captain, he and my sister were married recently--said, 'Why do we not test these theories?' We gathered several objects of varying sizes, along with a set of scales and several more bottles of wine, and climbed up onto the roof of our lodgings. We were all so jug-bitten 'tis a wonder that none of us fell. Each item was ceremoniously weighed and then dropped from the roof. We timed how long it took each object to reach the ground and carefully recorded the results. I must confess that the more likely an object was to shatter spectacularly, the more likely we were to toss it. We graduated from small pieces of fruit to a large vase, avec flowers, pilfered from an absent fellow's quarters, to the empty wine bottles, then a full one. Then somebody came up with the idea of filling a bladder with water and dropping it. It unfortunately exploded directly in the path of a passing proctor and soaked him. He then slipped in the remains of a shattered melon and went heels-up in the midst of the mess, to the tune of the braying laughter of intoxicated undergraduates up on the roof. We were nearly rusticated for that little caper. Luckily Jeremy Stanhope pleaded our case to the dean so persuasively that we were only gated for the remainder of the term. And Stanhope found his life's work; he is a barrister now, and will probably be elected to Parliament. So you see that we need have no worries for the future of Britain, she is indeed in good hands."
Both Anne and the captain were laughing uproariously by this point. "I declare, if I had known how much amusement you had at university, I should not have felt so sorry for you," said Anne, wiping her eyes. "I always had this picture of the undergraduates bent over their books, burning candles late into the night, and here you all were getting foxed and flinging things off the roof. And I cannot believe that James Leigh took part in such goings-on!"
"Believe it. James only seems like a sober citizen. He can enjoy himself as much as anybody."
"Well, I am glad for Eliza's sake!"
"Speaking of wine, will you have another glass, Captain?"
"Yes, I thank you, Mr. Musgrove." Charles nodded to the hovering serving-girl, who hastened to refill the captain's glass.
"Another for you, love?"
Anne put her hand over the glass and shook her head. "I have a limit, remember." They exchanged a significant glance and burst out laughing.
The captain looked on politely. Charles said, "You must forgive us, Captain. My wife has little tolerance for spirits." Anne found herself unprepared for the look he gave her then, warm and loving; she knew he was remembering their wedding night. Not surprising, I suppose; I am wearing the same dress and acting nearly as silly. She did not realize that she was returning his gaze with equal emotion. The captain looked from one to the other, then looked away, realizing that he was in the middle of an extremely personal moment between two people who loved one another a great deal.
The scent of the roses was strong in the hothouse, the glass roof and walls capturing the warmth in the autumn sunlight and holding in within. The entire end of the room was devoted to her favorite flower, a bank of lovely pink and white and red blooms, a small piece of summer captured indoors.
Anne snipped another of the blush pink blossoms, adding it to the ones already in her basket. She considered the remaining blooms, not wanting to deplete the growing buds. She selected another and was about to cut it when she heard the door open.
"Good day, Annie," said Commander Huntingdon, who was standing in the doorway with his hat tucked under his arm.
"Good day, Commander," she responded, her eyes on the basket of flowers.
"I thought we agreed that you would call me John," he said, not unkindly.
Anne hesitated. "I am afraid that it must be Commander Huntingdon, sir," she said. She glanced up at him in time to see his expression change as he considered the import of her words.
"You have an answer for me, then?" he asked quietly.
She picked up one of the blossoms and turned it in her hands uneasily. "I want you to know that I was extremely honoured by your offer," she said nervously. "Any woman would be. But I cannot marry you."
"Is there nothing I can do or say to change your mind?" he exclaimed.
His stricken expression tore at her heart. "I am sorry," she cried impulsively. "I did not want to hurt you, truly I did not."
"No," he responded. "You are such a good, kind creature. You could not mean to hurt anyone." He would not look at her. "Did I do something to disgust you?" he asked quietly. "Was it because I kissed you? Forgive me, my love, you must believe that I did not mean to insult you--"
"No, no," she cried. "You did nothing. I know that you are an honourable man."
He was silent for a moment. "Is there someone else?" he finally asked. "Another man that you love?"
Anne paused, then said simply, "Yes."
The news seemed to cause him physical pain; he put one arm across his stomach and sighed heavily. "Then I will not stand in your way. I can only hope that he is deserving of you."
"He is," she said quietly. "I am not sure that I am deserving of him."
"He must be a paragon indeed." The commander watched her place the now-mangled rose back in the basket, then suddenly moved to her side. "May I beg one last favor, Annie? May I kiss you once more, for good-bye?"
I should not... Then she looked up at him, and knew that she could not deny his request. He cupped her face in his hands, looked searchingly into her eyes, and brought his mouth down upon hers. Anne tensed, expecting a roughly passionate caress like the one he had bestowed the previous day; but he was more restrained, lightly tasting her lips, covering her face with gentle kisses. "This is how I wish to remember you," he whispered, his mouth against her cheek. "Surrounded by flowers, their scent like a summer day, the softness of your lips and skin and hair. Thank you, my love. This will sustain me until I am home again." He took his hands away and was gone.
Anne stood in the hothouse for a long time, staring blindly at the flowers. What have I done? I have thrown away the love of a good man, to chase after a dream! But she could not regret her decision. All the captain's pretty words and ardent caresses could not make her feel the way she had felt the previous day when she was with Charles. Anne knew that she did not want to settle for marriage to a man for whom she felt less. She was a Wentworth; she could be strong.
Anne sprinkled a few drops of rosewater on her silver-backed hairbrush and took the pins out of her hair. She unwound the coil and unraveled the braid, then shook out her now-loose hair, rippling waves still imprinted from the braid, chestnut highlights glinting in the candlelight, and began to brush it. Elizabeth Musgrove could sit on her fair, curly hair--so much like Charles'--but Anne kept hers cut to a length about halfway to her waist. Her hair was so thick and heavy that, if it were any longer, her head ached from the weight of her chignon.
As she brushed, she heard two sharp raps on the door of her bedchamber--her brother's knock. "Come in, Edward," she called.
Her brother opened the door and entered, looking unusually grave. "May I speak with you for a moment, Annie?" he asked.
"Of course!" she said. "I can talk to you and brush at the same time."
Edward walked over to her and removed the brush from her hand, none too gently.
"What are you doing?" she protested.
He placed a chair next to the one before her dressing-table, grabbed her hands, and turned her to face him. "Commander Huntingdon told me that you refused his offer of marriage."
"And he sent you in to plead his suit, I suppose. You may go back to him and tell him that you have tried and failed. I have made up my mind." She tried to disengage her hands, but he held them fast. "Edward, let me go."
Her brother's face was more sorrowful than angry. "Are you sure you know what you're about, Annie girl?" he asked. "He loves you very much, I am sure of it."
Anne sighed. "I did not enjoy hurting him, but there was no helping it."
"But he can give you so much!" Edward exclaimed. "I assure you that he is thought of very highly at the Admiralty! You may ask Father! He could be Admiral of the Fleet someday, a knight, or even a baronet! Think of it, Annie!"
All of the anger and stress of the past two days finally boiled over. "I tell you, Edward, I have made up my mind! Why do you importune me? Oh, I know. I have seen the way you toad-eat the commander. Your father and your uncle are admirals! Is it really necessary to sell your sister's happiness to advance your career?" She instantly regretted her hasty words, especially when she saw the stunned look on her brother's face.
"Annie, you don't think that I--"
"No, Edward, of course not," she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. "I am so sorry. I have just been under so much strain the past two days, trying to make the right decision. I love you, brother. Please forgive me."
Edward returned her embrace, holding her tightly. "Of course I forgive you! I have the Wentworth temper too, you know. But I just want you to be happy, Annie girl. And Commander Huntingdon is a good man, and I know that he would give you anything you could desire."
"I am sorry that I hurt him, because I know that he is a good man, and because he is your friend. But I do not love him, Edward, and I cannot marry him."
He stroked her hair. "I would not want you unhappily married. If you are sure, then I will importune you no further."
"You will not tell my mother and father?"
"If that is your wish." He released her and stood. He held her hand for a moment, then kissed her on the cheek. "I told you that I would have to drive the men from our door with a shotgun," he said with a faint smile. "I confess that I did not think that my own shipmates would be among them." He sighed. "Once we are at sea, Commander Huntingdon will have other things to think about, and I dare say that your refusal will fade from his mind. I do not fear for my career, but I hope that he will not avoid my company because it reminds him of you. I value his friendship greatly, and not because of any help he can give me."
"I understand," she replied. "I enjoyed his company very much. I just did not desire his attentions."
Edward nodded, then touched her cheek. "Good night, Annie girl."
"Good night, Edward." He left, shutting the door gently behind him.
Anne sat quietly for a moment, then picked up her brush and applied herself to her hair.
"It has been a very pleasant evening, but I am afraid that I must take my leave," said Captain Huntingdon when he had finished his tea. "We sail in two days, and there is much that I must do in the meantime."
Charles stood. "I will tell the landlord to have your horse brought round." He directed a searching glance at his wife and went out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Anne applied herself to her crocheting, her eyes riveted on the thread and the rapidly moving hook.
"Annie." She looked up to see the captain's gaze upon her. How well she remembered those intense blue eyes! "I can see that you are very happy with your husband."
"Yes, I am."
The captain hesitated, then said, "Is he the man that you spoke of, the man you said that you loved, when I offered you my hand?"
"He is."
He nodded. "I am happy for you. You have received your heart's desire."
Anne could not help smiling. "Yes, I have."
He took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. "Then I must let you go. And now that I have seen you happy, and loved, I know that I can. You will always be a precious memory, my Annie, but I will move on now."
The door opened and Charles came back into the room. Your timing is impeccable, my love. The captain's exaggerated sentiment embarrassed her. She much preferred Charles' unstudied, heartfelt flights of romance.
"Your horse is ready, sir," said Charles. The captain rose and prepared to take his leave.
Anne set down her work and stood. "Good night, Captain," she said, holding out her hand. "It has been good to see you again."
He took her hand. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "Please give my remembrances to your brother, and your parents."
"I will indeed."
The captain bowed over her hand, then exchanged a handshake and the usual pleasantries with Charles and left them.
Anne seated herself at one end of the settle in front of the fireplace, and Charles took the other end. She felt her husband's eyes on her. "Well, love? Did you make your peace with Captain Huntingdon?"
She smiled at him. "Is that why you left me alone with him?"
"Yes. It pained me to see you made so uncomfortable."
"You are generous, Charles, but I am not sure that our interview was conclusive. Captain Huntingdon said that, now that he knows I am happy, he will not think of me anymore. I hope that is true. I do not like to think that I cause anyone such pain."
Charles was silent for a moment, then said, "You never did tell me, Anne. Why did you not marry him? Did you refuse him, or did he cry off?"
"Are you sure that you want to know?" Anne teased him. He only raised his eyebrows in response. "I refused him, my love, for the simple reason that he was not you."
He gazed at her wonderingly. "That long ago, you knew? You have had feelings for me these four years?"
"Longer than that, actually. But it was around that time that I began to understand them."
Charles looked down at his shoes, chewing on a knuckle. Anne watched him for a moment, her brow contracted with concern. Finally she said, "Charles, what is wrong? Are you sure that you are not angry with me?"
He did not look at her, only shook his head. "I am angry with myself for being such a dunce for all those years, for not recognizing my own feelings. And now I find out that you could have married a man like Captain Huntingdon! I cannot believe I came that close to losing you."
Anne reached out and took her husband's hand. "There was never a chance of your losing me."
He still did not meet her gaze. "How did you know, love? What hint did you have that escaped me?"
So she told him. She told him of meeting him at the grove, of falling from Wamba's back, of finding herself in his arms and knowing that she loved him.
"I remember that," said Charles when she had finished. "And you were right, Anne, I did want to kiss you, and I was thoroughly ashamed of myself. I thought that it was wrong to feel desire for you after you and your parents had placed such trust in me." He reached over and touched her face. "I am sorry that I did not recognize the real and honourable feelings behind that desire. I treated you badly that day, love, and I am sorry. I wish I had it to do over again."
She grinned at him mischievously, rose, and held her hand out to him. He took it and stood, looking at her quizzically. Anne stepped closer to her husband and began to unbutton his coat.
"What are you doing, Anne?" he said, laughing. "Although I confess that I do not object in the least."
"We are going to re-enact our encounter in the grove that day, so that you have a chance to make it up to me." She pushed the coat back over his shoulders, then slid it down his arms. She draped the coat carefully on the settle and began to unbutton his green silk waistcoat. "You may help me, sir."
Charles, eager to assist, began to untie his cravat. "Are you sure that you only had the one glass of wine, love?" He flung the neckcloth away and started to unbutton his shirt.
"Yes, Charles, I assure you that I am perfectly sober." She pulled the waistcoat down his arms and put it with the coat, then took his hands and pulled them behind her.
He caught on immediately, putting his arms around her and pulling her close. "How is this?" he asked, his voice low in her ear.
"Your left hand needs to be a little higher, I think." He made the proper adjustment. "Yes, that's right." Anne looked up at her husband, laughing at their silliness, but her breath caught in her throat when she saw the love in his eyes. She closed her eyes and lifted her face, and suddenly she was back in the grove, the stream bubbling beside them, the birds chirping, the wind rustling softly through the leaves, in the arms of the man she loved, arms that tightened around her as their lips met...
Later, they lay drowsily together, limbs entwined. The fire was dying, and the room was growing chilly; Anne reached down and found the quilt, pulled it up over them, and settled back into his arms.
"Well, it is a good thing that I did not kiss you that day in the grove," said Charles quietly, stroking her arm, which was resting across his chest. "You see where such behavior leads."
Anne laughed. "Then you would have had to marry me." She pushed her hair over her shoulder. It would be tangled in the morning, she knew, because she had not brushed it properly; her husband had taken it down for her by the expedient method of removing every pin he could find and combing through it with his fingers, ruining all of Betsy's hard work in a few impatient seconds.
"Nay, love, I have seen how your father deals with the men who ravish his daughters. Likely he would have tied bricks to my feet and dropped me in the sea a mile from shore."
"And leave me unmarried and ruined? My father would not do that to me."
"Well, there was always the gallant Commander Huntingdon. I dare say that he would have stepped in."
Anne could not help laughing. "Charles! You are absolutely heartless! The poor man!"
Charles smiled and combed his fingers through her hair, tangling it yet further. "No, it would not have been proper for me to kiss you that day. I had not spoken, and had no right to take such a liberty."
"You are the most honourable man I have ever met," she replied with a smile.
"Were I that honourable, I would never have been in that situation in the first place. The only thing that stopped me was the thought that I would not want Eliza treated in such an infamous manner."
Anne considered this. "So you did see me as a sister then."
"Not as my sister. Never that. But you were somebody's sister, somebody's daughter, and as such deserved my respect."
They fell silent. Anne closed her eyes, listening to the distant roar of the sea and the beating of her husband's heart, both equally strong and constant. She felt herself drifting into sleep, and reached up to touch his face. "I love you, my handsome husband. Good night."
She felt Charles' lips on her forehead. "Good night, my beautiful Anne. I love you so very well."
Smiling, Anne allowed the shadows of sleep to claim her, thinking, I did not know that such happiness could exist on earth.
Part VA
The long-time residents of Lyme Regis, who sagely nodded and told each other that the fine weather could not last, had their foresight rewarded as the calendar turned to December. The sun disappeared behind forbidding clouds that sailed in off the ocean with the speed of full-rigged schooners. The rain fell in freezing, wind-driven sheets, occasionally mixed with large, wet snowflakes, transforming the streets to muddy bogs and the sea to a churning grey-green maelstrom.
Charles and Anne had enjoyed the fine, sunny, cold weather. They had taken daily walks along the Cobb, and several times had hired saddle horses and gone riding in the fine country around Lyme. The arrival of the inclement weather perforce kept them indoors, much to the regret of both.
Anne, who loved the sea in all of its many moods, looked out at the storm-tossed harbour longingly. "I wish I could go walking along the shore, Charles."
"You would catch your death, love! A walk in the rain in December is very different from a walk in the rain in August." He poured a cup of tea. "Come and sit with me."
She went to him willingly, happy to sit in the circle of his arm and rest her head on his shoulder. Charles stroked her hair. "I should have taken you somewhere else for your honeymoon. We could have gone to Scotland, like James and Eliza, or even Ireland."
"The weather would not have been any better there. And I do not need Scotland or Ireland, Charles. I just wanted to be alone with my handsome husband."
He smiled and kissed the top of her head. "Since we cannot go out," he said, "would you like me to read to you?"
"Oh, yes! I brought my favourite novel. You have always shared your favourites with me, and I want to share mine with you." She reluctantly left his embrace to fetch the book, along with his reading spectacles. She handed them to him and settled herself once again next to him, then took a sip of her tea.
Charles inspected the volume. "Hmm. Interesting title. It sounds like a collection of sermons."
"I assure you that it is not."
"And an anonymous author! I am always suspicious of an author who will not sign his work."
"Sir Walter Scott published Waverley anonymously, did he not?"
"Touché." He opened to the first page. "Chapter One. 'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'" He stopped reading for one long, astonished moment, then burst out laughing.
Anne laughed along with him. "How do you like it so far?"
"Is he serious?"
"I believe that the author is female, my love. And no, she is not serious at all. Read on!"
But her husband had more questions. "Where did you get this novel?"
"Lady Russell gave it to my mother, long ago, before my parents married. Apparently Lady Russell thought it rather vulgar, but my mother liked it very much. I first read it when I was fifteen, on a school holiday. I enjoyed it so thoroughly that I insisted on taking all three volumes back to school with me, and my mother said that I could keep it for my own. I have read it ever so many times. Please keep reading, Charles. You have such a wonderful voice. I cannot wait to hear you read Mr. Darcy."
"Mr. Who?"
"Oh, just read it, Mr. Musgrove! You take delight in vexing me!"
"I really wish that I knew the name of the authoress. From the first sentence, I rather suspect that my mother could have written it. It sounds like one of the speeches she took such pleasure in delivering to me before our marriage."
"My mother told me the name of the authoress once, years ago, but I have forgotten. She was terribly popular when my mother was young. I believe that she died only a few years after this was published. Will you read it?"
"Yes, love, I will read it, because you want me to read it and because if the rest of it is equally amusing I will enjoy it very much indeed." He found the first page again and began to read where he had left off.
He continued for nearly two hours, not covering as much as he normally might because he kept stopping to laugh. Finally Anne declared that he deserved a rest and a fresh pot of tea.
Charles rose and stretched while Anne rang for a servant. "I like your book very well, love. But it does not strike me as being terribly realistic in parts. I have never met a young lady like Miss Bingley, so manipulative and greedy!"
Anne stared at him. "Charles, you are an eldest son, and will inherit a very good estate. Surely you must realize that there was more than one avaricious young lady who was as determined to become the mistress of Uppercross as Miss Bingley was to become the mistress of Pemberley."
Her husband looked bewildered. "I met young ladies who seemed to enjoy my company, but they never showed an interest in my inheritance."
"Of course they did not show their interest, my love, that would be vulgar. But I know that some of those young ladies were interested in you solely for your inheritance."
Charles crossed his arms in front of him and looked her over speculatively. "Why do I suspect that you know something I do not?"
London
May, 1838
Admiral Wentworth's duties called him once again to London, and he determined that his wife and eldest daughter should accompany him. Anne was not completely happy at the idea, nor was she completely unhappy. She did not really look forward to the social crush of the London season, but nearly a solid month of rain had kept her inside at Oakmont Park, and any change was welcome.
She also had to admit that part of her reluctance stemmed from the presence of the Uppercross family in town. Anne missed Elizabeth and would be glad to see her, but it was still difficult for her to be near Charles. She had become hardened, in a way, to his presence; at least, she no longer cried herself to sleep after spending time with him. Not that she often had such an opportunity. He seemed to avoid her, and when he could not, he barely spoke a word. He knows; he can tell, somehow, and he is letting me know that he does not return my affection.
To forget him was impossible. She tried to form attachments to other young men, but found herself unable to do so. Just when she thought her affection had died, she would see him again, hear his voice or see his smile, and she knew that there could be no other man for her.
Occasionally she gave into her longings and rode over to the Uppercross stables, knowing that the ever-gallant Charles would insist on personally helping her dismount. She took sustenance from the feeling of his hands on her waist, her hands on his shoulders, the few precious seconds of closeness. Sometimes she actually went hours, even days, without thinking of Charles Musgrove; but there were many, many more hours and days in which she could think of no one else.
A note arrived from her aunt Musgrove on the afternoon that they arrived in town. Mrs. Wentworth read it as Anne poured tea for herself and her parents. "Mary writes that there is a dance tonight," her mother said to her father. "Would you care to attend, Frederick? I would like to see Mary and Charles and the children."
"That is why you and Annie came to town, is it not?" the admiral said, accepting a cup of tea from his daughter. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of your social whirl."
Mrs. Wentworth raised her eyebrows at her husband. "Does that mean yes, dear?"
He grinned at her. "It does. What say you, Annie girl? Are you feeling perky enough to dance after our journey?"
"I would like to see Eliza," Anne volunteered. And Charles will be there. Perhaps he will ask me to dance... No, she would not torture herself by thinking of what-ifs and maybes. If she allowed her happiness to reside in the power of Charles Musgrove, she would run mad.
"Then it is settled," the admiral declared. "Don your finest frocks, ladies, the Wentworths go dancing tonight."
"Is this not an elegant assembly room?" said Mrs. Musgrove, looking around her appreciatively. "Look, Anne! Gas lights! Is it not perfectly delightful?"
"It is indeed modern," agreed her sister. "But I think I prefer the softness of candlelight."
"But I detest candles in chandeliers! I cannot count the gowns I have had ruined by wax dripping down. And the smell, the smoke..."
Mrs. Wentworth wrinkled her nose. "These gas lights do not smell any better, Mary, nor do they smoke less, judging by those black streaks on the walls."
"I confess I am astonished to find that you are such an enemy to progress, Anne. Did you or did you not come to London by rail?" Mrs. Musgrove was terrified of trains and refused to go anywhere near one.
"We did indeed, and it was very pleasant and quick. Much better than a jolting carriage and having to stop so many times to change horses."
"Better to stop than to be burned to death when the train explodes."
"Mary! Hundreds of trains enter and leave town every day, and none explode!"
"None have exploded yet, perhaps."
Elizabeth Musgrove looked over at Anne and rolled her eyes. The girls walked arm-in-arm just behind their mothers. Anne was acutely aware that Elizabeth's brothers walked behind them, in particular Charles, although he had not yet spoken a word to her.
"Do you think that there will be any handsome men here tonight?" Elizabeth whispered.
"I do not know," said Anne absently. "I suppose so."
Elizabeth gazed at her curiously. "Are you well, dearest?"
"I suppose I am more fatigued from the journey than I realized," Anne replied. Sometimes she wondered if she should confide in Elizabeth. But she was afraid; her cousin would insist on interceding for her with Charles, and Anne knew that she would never be able to trust his love if it was so tainted. If he learned to love her, she wanted it to be his own idea, not one planted by a third party.
"There is Lady Oldham!" cried Mrs. Musgrove. She introduced the party to her close friend of approximately four days, who was standing with her daughter and niece. Mrs. Musgrove drew her eldest son forward and presented him so particularly to Miss Oldham that he was obliged to ask her to dance. Walter immediately claimed the favour of the niece, and another young man solicited Elizabeth's hand. Anne found herself alone with her mother and her aunt, her father and uncle having wandered away almost as soon as they entered the rooms.
"I must find you a partner, Anne," said Mrs. Musgrove, scanning the room. "I declare, we have been here two weeks, have been to these rooms at least four times, and there is not a single young man of our acquaintance who is not already dancing! That is very unlucky for you, my dear."
Anne knew that she meant well. "Do not worry, Aunt," she assured her. "I am just as happy to watch."
"You will never find a husband that way, Anne," her aunt responded.
"Mary," said Mrs. Wentworth warningly. The warning was unnecessary. Anne had no illusions about her circumstances; she knew perfectly well that, at the age of one and twenty, with no suitors or prospects, she was perilously close to being on the shelf. And I have only myself to blame. I could have been well married, the wife of a respected naval officer, traveling the world as my mother and my aunt Croft did before me... She closed her eyes and forced down the despair. No regrets, Annie girl, remember. And she knew that she really had none. Her mother looked at her keenly and touched her arm, conveying warmth and strength in that single motion.
Anne watched Charles' progression about the dance floor with Miss Oldham. She was a lovely girl, tall and slender, with fair hair and delicate features. Her dress and her manners were equally fashionable and elegant. She was the type of girl who made Anne feel short and hopelessly countrified. I could have worn my riding habit, for all the difference these ruffles and ribbons make.
"Mother, I will return shortly," she said suddenly.
Mrs. Wentworth looked at her with concern. "Anne, are you--"
"I am fine. Do not worry. I just--I just need to get away for a moment."
The compassion in her mother's eyes was nearly as painful as watching Charles smiling at Miss Oldham's banter. Anne turned and left the room as quickly as she could without running.
She lingered in the crowded ladies' waiting-room, regarding her reflection in one of the mirrors that had been placed for the attendees' convenience. The curls that Millie had so carefully placed in her hair with hot pipes and curl papers were already drooping a bit, and her face was shiny. She blotted her nose with her handkerchief and tried to fix her hair, only causing the curls to weaken further.
"Mamma says that his father's estate is very extensive," said a nearby voice, "and that the family is very high in consequence in the neighborhood."
Anne sighed. The girls with whom she had been at school had talked thus, more concerned with a man's fortune than his mind. As if money and consequence could make up for marriage to a man for whom one felt nothing.
"Where is his estate?" asked another voice. Anne was rapidly losing interest, and it was terribly rude to eavesdrop anyway, although it was nearly impossible to avoid it in such a crush.
"Near Crewkherne, in Somerset. It is called Uppercross," said the first voice.
Anne nearly dropped her reticule. She turned cautiously; it was indeed Miss Oldham and her cousin, who were crowded in front of the adjoining mirror. Miss Oldham was applying rouge from a small pot. So much for her maidenly blush. They were not looking in her direction, and apparently had not recognized her when they came into the bustling waiting-room. She wanted to walk away, knew that she should stop listening, but could not help herself.
"He is not at all handsome," said the cousin, a Miss Parr. "And his clothes, my dear! That coat! These country men are hopelessly coarse."
"Nothing that a visit to a good tailor will not remedy," said Miss Oldham archly. "When we are married, I shall see to it. And just listen, Portia. He does not hunt! I have never had such luck! You know how these tiresome young men go on and on about their horses and hounds and the way they took the fences. He wanted to talk about literature, if you please! I shall have to read a book occasionally, I suppose, to keep him happy. A small sacrifice. Poor Papa's debts are so extreme that he can give me nothing. I am lucky to find such an eminently eligible parti. Mamma says that Mrs. Musgrove is delighted at the thought of her son marrying the daughter of a baronet, even a necessitous one."
"But to be stuck in the country all year! In Somersetshire, my dear Daphne! You know that you will hate it!"
"Oh, I dare say I shall be obliged to spend a month or two at the homestead. But I shall insist that he hire a house in town, and we shall give the most fashionable parties! And London is so unpleasant in the really hot months, you know, that it will be just as well to get away. I shall work my charms on him, make him take me to Brighton in the summer and fall. We will have Christmas at the farm, then back to town. A very good life, my dear Portia, you must agree."
Anne was no longer looking at her reflection, but if she had, she could not have failed to notice the angry flush that covered her face.
"What about Mr. Vernon?" asked Miss Parr. "You have not forgotten your attachment so soon, Daphne?"
"Poor Mr. Vernon," Miss Oldham sighed. "And I do mean poor. I cannot marry him, Portia! He has not two farthings to rub together. Oh, why do I always fall in love with impecunious men? Well, I dare say that I will be able to see him after I marry, as long as we are discreet. You know how these things are done."
Anne made her way blindly out of the waiting-room. Miss Oldham and Miss Parr did not see her, which was fortunate. She knew that if either one of them spoke to her just then, she would have given them a show of the Wentworth temper that would have kept tongues wagging for months.
She entered the ballroom, where she spotted Charles standing on the side, watching the dancers. Her anger melted into loving compassion. He stands there, so innocent of the machinations of women! His own mother, plotting his future so boldly, and without his knowledge! Watching him, an idea sprang into her mind nearly fully-formed. No, I dare not! It is too awful! But how else am I to untangle him from that cat's claws?
Before she could lose her nerve, she went to his side. "Good evening, Charles," she said brightly. "I have not had an opportunity to speak to you tonight. I hope that you are well."
Charles looked down on her, surprised yet pleased. "I am indeed well, Anne, I thank you," he responded.
"I saw you dancing with Miss Oldham," Anne went on. "She seems to be a very lovely and genteel young lady. Her name sounds terribly familiar. I believe that we share an acquaintance. A young lady with whom I was at school, a Miss...Bennet," she said, extemporizing rather wildly. I hope that he has not read Pride and Prejudice!
"I am not acquainted with her, uh, acquaintances," said Charles politely, unsure where the conversation was heading.
"Yes, the more I think on it the more I am convinced. Miss Oldham's father is a baronet, is he not?"
"He is."
"Then I do believe that she is the Miss Oldham of whom Lizzy spoke. If so, then you and she should have a great deal in common. Lizzy told me that Miss Oldham is very interested in horse breeding. Apparently she has great charts of bloodlines and even advises her father's man on which stallions to geld and which to put out to stud."
Charles' face flushed. "Anne!" he protested. "It is not fitting for young ladies to speak of such things!"
"Upon my word, Charles!" she laughed. "You are a great deal too fastidious! How long have I been riding now? Do you think that I am unaware of the condition of my own mount? I understand the necessity of that operation, and I am sure that Miss Oldham does as well. I assure you that you need not be afraid to discuss it with her. That is," she added thoughtfully, "if she is the Miss Oldham of whom I am thinking."
Charles looked down at her earnestly. At that moment, Miss Oldham and Miss Parr joined them, their cheeks becomingly pink. Miss Oldham took Charles' arm, saying sweetly to Anne, "Miss Wentworth, do you mind if I steal your cousin away for another dance? I know that you have not asked me, Mr. Musgrove, and I hope that I do not shock you with my boldness. I cannot help it; I am a modern girl and have modern manners."
Anne smiled at her beatifically. You have played right into my hands, you wretched creature. "By all means, Miss Oldham," she said, just as sweetly. "You dance so elegantly." She watched them move out onto the dance floor.
The music began; a waltz. Perfect. She will not be able to get away from him. She saw that Charles was speaking to Miss Oldham in a rather animated fashion. The young lady responded, then bowed her head, looking away, looking around her, her demeanor that of a wild animal caught in a trap, desperate to escape. Anne suppressed a rather evil grin and went to stand with her mother.
"Charles is dancing with Miss Oldham again!" Mrs. Musgrove was saying, clutching her sister's arm. "I have never seen him favour a young lady so! They will make a match of it yet!"
Mrs. Wentworth looked at her daughter searchingly. "Are you well, Anne?" she asked in a low voice.
Anne smiled. "I am feeling better, Mother, I thank you," she responded. Relieved, her mother smiled back and squeezed her hand.
The music ended shortly afterward, and Miss Oldham practically ran to her mother. She took the older woman's arm and dragged her away, whispering fiercely in her ear. Lady Oldham directed a look at Charles that would have curdled new milk. She made a hasty excuse to Mrs. Musgrove and left them, leaving her new friend staring after her in astonishment.
Anne said to Charles, "I gather that I was mistaken as to Miss Oldham's identity?"
"I am afraid so."
"Then I am sorry. You two were getting along so well."
He smiled down at her. "Do not be sorry. I knew that we should not suit. From things she had said before, I did not think she could be your Miss Oldham. I thought that a discussion of horse breeding would disgust her and she would lose interest. I thank you for the idea, Anne."
Anne laughed behind her fan. He never needed you, Annie girl. He is a grown man and perfectly able to take care of himself. And it did not escape her notice that, for once, he seemed comfortable in her presence, that he spoke easily with her, that his quick smile was much in evidence.
They stood silently for a moment, watching the dancers. "Well, since I have lost my partner," he added, "would you do me the honour of standing up with me for the next?"
"Yes, indeed," she replied, trying desperately not to sound overeager.
Just then, a voice cried, "Musgrove! Is that you?"
Charles turned to the owner of the voice and cried, "Leigh!" He shook the other man's hand heartily. "I did not know that you were in town!" He turned back to Anne. "Miss Anne Wentworth, may I present Mr. James Leigh?" Mr. Leigh bowed politely as Anne curtseyed. He was a pleasant-looking young man, not handsome, but with the same good-natured air and courtly manners as Charles. She liked him immediately. "James and I were at school together," Charles explained.
"Is that scapegrace brother of yours in town as well?" asked Mr. Leigh.
"Yes," responded Charles. "Last I saw him, he was chatting up a very attractive young lady."
"Some things never change," said Mr. Leigh, and both men laughed. "Do you remember my cousin Harris? He is here as well. I see him now, over by the window. Come along, Charles, he will be glad to see you again."
Charles looked back at Anne. "I am afraid that I am engaged for this dance, James," he said.
Mr. Leigh smiled and inclined his head toward Anne. "The lady's claim must take precedence over mine, of course."
Anne pushed away her disappointment. "Go on, Charles," she said with a brightness that she did not feel. "Go and see your friends. Do not concern yourself with me."
"Are you sure, Anne?"
"Very sure. It was very good to meet you, Mr. Leigh."
Mr. Leigh bowed politely, then took his friend's arm and pulled him away. "...my cousin," she heard Charles say as they walked away.
Well, you have certainly gotten what you deserve, Annie girl, she thought wryly. Left without a partner once again. You have behaved as badly as that Oldham creature, trying to manipulate a man that you claim to love. She watched him, surrounded by his friends, their youthful high spirits reverberating throughout the room. Suddenly she was tired of it all, the glaring lights and the overheated air and the false sentiments that hung around them as thickly as the dirty fog hung over London. I love you, Charles, but I do not know how much longer I can wait for you.
Part VB
Would you mind if I did not stay?" she asked her mother. "I find that I do not feel at all well. You and Father need not leave."
"I will take you home," her mother said immediately. "No, Anne, I will brook no argument. Just let me tell your father."
The admiral refused to stay as well; he insisted on seeing his womenfolk back to their lodgings. When they arrived, Anne turned to her concerned parents. "I am going to retire. Good night."
Her father kissed her on the cheek. "Feel better, Annie girl," he said softly.
She smiled at him. I am so fortunate to have such parents! "I thank you, Father. I dare say that I am just a little overtired."
"Good night, my dear. Get your rest. I will see you in the morning."
Anne was climbing into bed with her book when she heard her mother's soft knock. Mrs. Wentworth entered and sat on her daughter's bed. She stroked Anne's hair back from her forehead. "I just wanted to say good-night, Anne."
"I am sorry that you had to leave the dance, Mother. I know that you were looking forward to it."
"Only to seeing my sister. And I must confess that a little of her goes a long way." They both laughed.
"I should have let her find me a partner," Anne mused. "Mamma, I begin to despair that I shall ever marry."
"Anne, you are only one and twenty! You have plenty of time for marriage. I did not marry until I was nearly eight and twenty."
Anne looked earnestly at her mother. "How did you know that you were in love with Father?"
Mrs. Wentworth smiled. "I have never told you our story, have I?" Anne shook her head. "I met him when I was nineteen. Your Uncle Edward had the curacy of Monkford. Frederick came to visit him in the summer of the year '06. We were acquainted gradually, over a period of time. I thought I had never seen such a handsome, charming, brilliant man. I was so happy when he offered me his hand, Anne." Mrs. Wentworth had a dreamy, far-away look on her face that fascinated her daughter.
"Why did you not marry when you were nineteen, then?" Anne asked softly.
Her mother took her hand. "My father was against it," she said quietly. "He did not actually withhold his consent, but made it clear that he found it a very degrading connection." Anne made an indignant noise. "Yes, you may find it hard to believe, but in the year '06 your father was only a newly-made commander, with no fortune, no ship, no connections to help him to rise in his career. I was still willing to marry him, of course, but Lady Russell convinced me that it would be a most unwise alliance at that time of our lives."
"How could she interfere in such a manner?" exclaimed Anne. Lady Russell had passed away when Anne was still young, but she remembered her as a kind but very proper woman, usually vaguely disapproving of the rambunctious Wentworth children. Edward had once confessed that she terrified him.
"I cannot blame Lady Russell," said Mrs. Wentworth. "I made the decision. I felt that your father had his place to make in the world, and a wife would have been a hindrance to him."
"So, you cried off?"
"I do wish you would not use such vulgar expressions, Anne. Yes, I ended the engagement. I thought that was for the best, at the time. But I am afraid that your father did not take it at all well. He made his fortune shortly afterward, and returned to England in the year '08. By that time, I heartily regretted my decision. If he had applied to me then to resume the engagement--and he told me, later, that he seriously thought of doing so--I would have, in spite of every opposition or any sense of duty. I am afraid that I made him very angry by my reversal. We did not see each other again until 1814, when your uncle Croft rented Kellynch Hall from my father. It took some time for him to forget his anger, but when he did, we realized that we had never stopped loving one another."
"That is so romantic," Anne breathed. One certainly never thought of one's parents as being romantic, although the proof was before her daily, she realized. Every glance, every touch that her parents exchanged spoke of their love at such a volume that all around them were aware of it. She had grown up with it, and was so used to it that it failed to clearly imprint itself onto her consciousness until it was placed before her so forcefully. "That is what I want, Mother. I want to love someone who loves me as you and Father love each other."
"You will not find that by marrying the first man who comes along, just to make a suitable connection."
Too late for that, thought Anne wryly, remembering John Huntingdon.
"Do not feel that you must marry. Your father has provided for you and Sophie, and you will always have a home at Oakmont Park, either with your father and me or with Edward. You know that, my dear."
"I do," she whispered.
"I would not have you marry a man that you did not love," Mrs. Wentworth said earnestly. "I cannot stand the thought of my daughter having less than I in her marriage. Wait, Anne, and do not despair. You do not know the days, the nights I spent in the eight years and a half of our separation, regretting my decision. But it was all worth it, the moment I read that letter."
"What letter?"
"I did not tell you. Your father offered himself to me in a letter." She smiled at her daughter. "Frederick writes wonderful letters. But my point is, take your time and be sure. Marriage is a lifetime commitment. Do not make that commitment with a man that you cannot love or respect. You will meet such a man someday, my darling, I feel sure of it."
Anne was surprised to see a tear slip down her mother's cheek. My mother never weeps! She reached out and embraced her, feeling her own tears beginning. I should tell her about Charles, about how I feel. But an instinct told her that it was not the right time. She said only, "Thank you, Mamma. I will do as you say. I will wait for the man that I love."
Mrs. Wentworth held her daughter tightly. "You will not regret it, Anne."
"I know that."
Her mother released her, and they both wiped their tears away with their fingers. Mrs. Wentworth laughed. "We are a terribly weepy pair tonight, are we not? I suppose that I am overtired as well." She kissed her daughter on the forehead. "Do you feel better?"
"Yes, Mamma, thank you." If she could wait eight years and a half for Father, surely I can wait a little longer for Charles. To be his wife, to have him return my affection, is the dearest wish of my heart. I am my mother's daughter, and I will wait.
Anne looked at her husband through narrowed eyes. Dare I tell him of his narrow escape from Daphne Oldham? Well, he wants to know. "Do you remember a Miss Oldham who was very interested in you, about one year and a half ago, in town?"
Charles frowned. "Yes, I remember her. An empty-headed baronet's daughter that my mother kept parading past me. Why do you ask?"
"I overheard her making plans to spend your money. They included a house in town and yearly trips to Brighton."
"I thought she was an acquaintance of yours, Anne." He looked thoughtful. "No, you said a school friend knew her, a Miss--" He stopped, his mouth open, then starting laughing. "A Miss Bennet! Miss Lizzy Bennet! You devil!"
Anne looked down sheepishly, but laughing. "I had to rescue you, Charles. I could not stand her plotting, the cold-hearted way she counted your inheritance. It was disrespectful to you, and to your father."
He regarded her admiringly. "Oh, you rescued me masterfully, love. To suggest I have a discussion with her about gelding horses! 'Twas a stroke of genius!"
"I thank you, sir. But you had no real need of rescuing. Your own good sense told you that she was not a suitable match."
"My sense, good or otherwise, had nothing to do with it. The fates were trying to tell me that my future wife was right in front of me. I was simply too thickheaded to listen." He walked over to her, tilted her chin up with his hand, and kissed her firmly. "Now, back to your book, love." He settled himself comfortably on the settle. Anne seated herself at the other end, taking up her work. Charles opened the volume, and began to read once more as the rain drummed steadily against the windows.