The descent into Lyme was as delightful as it had been earlier in the week. The thrill of another's hand at the whip and reign was not lost on him. Musgrove was a decent driver and handled well the changeover from gently graded road, to the even steeper drop into town. Looking behind, he saw the carriage driver slowing to a crawl to manoeuvre the slope. He imagined the conversation inside. Mrs Musgrove would be afraid and twittering. The Miss Musgroves would be alive with the novelty of the decline and Anne would most likely be holding her sister's hand, trying to convince her that no harm was about to befall them. He shifted in his seat to ward off the vision in his head of he and Anne entering the town, alone, together and anticipating the enjoyment of the sites.

The curricle came to a stop and Musgrove looked about.

"Not much to catch one's eye here."

Jumping down, Wentworth said, "It is not the buildings that hold the greatest delights, Charles. It is what surrounds the buildings."

Giving directions to the inn's stable, he caught glimpses of the sea.

On the ride, Musgrove had spoken of various spots along the coast the family had visited. His major objection to them had been the smell of old fish and wet rope. Realizing he was insulting Wentworth's chosen territory, he apologized. It stood to reason and none of the towns touched in the discussion could be said to be spectacular to the untrained eye of a lubber. But in a true sailor's heart, every yard of coast was unique. Those tethered to the land by their breeding and occupation rarely noticed the dangers lying beneath a placid shoreline, or the skill which made navigating a rocky, frothing piece of coast a real adventure. No, it took a heart for the sea to fully consider her rich enchantments.

The carriage pulled up to the doorway of the Binnacle. The voices inside seemed to be playing, to the letter, the parts he had assigned them.

Muffled, Anne's voice could be heard: "Mary, please, the coach has stopped. We are no longer moving."

There was laughter in the background. Though impossible to know precisely, he suspected the laughter was borne of contempt and not some innocent amusement. Soon Louisa Musgrove's face appeared at the window and she made a gesture with her gloved hand, the fingers working up and down as though a mouth was speaking. Her eyes were bright with laughter.

Musgrove passed him and said to no one, "Best let them out." There was a decided air of resignedness in his voice.

Musgrove helped his wife and her sister down. Wentworth went to the other side and helped the driver and man with the bags. He could hear the two girls inside, their conversation muffled. A knock on the window brought a little wave from Miss Louisa. Henrietta too looked, lingered a moment, then an exchange between she and her sister made her disappear.

"Would you please help me, Captain?" she said, through the glass. She pointed to the door behind her.

He came around to the door and found the others had entered the Binnacle. Even Miss Henrietta had suddenly disappeared. He stood at the bottom of the step, raised a hand for her aid, and waited.

"I seem to have lost an earring, Captain. Might you come and help me to look for it?"

He leaned in, thinking it would be on the floor. Bending to search under the seats, he said, "I see nothing." Straightening, he was face-to-face with her. The young lady had taken a seat and was not at all engaged in the search.

Her gloves removed, she held up something shiny in her hand. "I found it." Tilting her head a little, she replaced it on her ear. It was impossible not to hear the softness in her voice and observe the becoming curve of her neck.

"We should get inside so you can be settled." He offered her his gloved hand. She came to the door and stood as tall as she could.

"Jump me." The statement was not a request, nor was it the good-natured plea that had become her custom when they walked together. It had the air of authority. Her voice implied it was his duty to give her satisfaction. The two words made claims on him.

Noting the driver clambering down from his seat, Wentworth said, "Miss Musgrove, please, let us go inside." He extended his hand further.

Rather than take his hand, she placed hers on his shoulders and stepped out. It was a long step and he unconsciously reached out to lower her down.

She was no more than a hand's width from his face. And she was in no hurry to remove herself from his grasp.

It was undeniable that standing with her in his arms was a pleasurable sensation, but he could not help be aware of the drive's nearness - though the man seemed to be delayed on the opposite side of the carriage, which did nothing to save Wentworth -- or the danger of her brother finding them in such a position.

"Please, Miss Musgrove…" He stepped back.

"Please yourself." She smiled boldly. "I believe we are well enough acquainted that you may call me, 'Louisa'. At least when we are alone together."

With her eyes full of nothing but him, her look was entirely appealing. The blush of her cheeks was a prominent and sweet pink that swept clear into her hair. And the hair was falling teasingly from beneath her bonnet. She reached out the short distance between them and touched the button of his blue coat. "I am sure no one in the family would mind."

No one would and that was the precise reason he must extricate himself from this circumstance immediately. But what was he to say that would not offend the young woman.

"Hobbs!"

Charles calling to the driver preempted his answer.

Thankfully, the moment was broken.

"Let me take you inside. The sooner we are settled, the sooner we can see the sights."

Miss Louisa eagerly took his proffered arm, and they entered the inn.

"We are on the first floor, Captain. You have a room upstairs. I thought you would like it as it has a view of the sea."

"Same as the other day, sir," the landlord said to Wentworth. Taking the key he nodded his thanks. As the group moved away to their rooms, Louisa turned and said she would be back down in an instant.

Her particular attentions to him were becoming embarrassing, but this was soon swallowed up with his pity for Musgrove. As the couple mounted the steps, he heard Mrs Musgrove comment that Charles might have considered her wish to have a view of the sea. Her husband's answer was unintelligible. Before going up, Wentworth arranged for dinner and breakfast the next morning.

Stowing his bag without bothering to unpack, he savoured a quick look at the view and went back downstairs. Taking the opportunity to smoke a cheroot, he found the door handle to be finicky and finessed it open. Stepping outside he was met with a stiff breeze and the sound of the sea in the background. After hours of the sound of the curricle, the horse's cadence and Musgrove's voice, the later was quite welcome.

Catching a whiff of the coming cold weather, he considered a winter spent in Lyme and how the Harville's would manage. Before thinking too long, the door handle clattered. Perhaps the rest of the party was just as anxious to go down to the shingle as him.

Reaching over, he held the handle just so, and lifted. Expecting the great hubbub that seemed to follow the Musgroves, he was surprised by the silence, and to find only Anne looking around the door at him.

"I wondered who to thank. It seems quite particular how it is handled," she said, stepping out. The breeze surprised her and she pulled her cloak close.

His natural impulse was to make comment that the door's hardware had much in common with most women, but he instead said, "Yes, it is in great need of a gentle hand." He suspicioned his irony was not lost on wither of them. He stepped forward to close the door.

"Pardon me," she said, moving away.

"Pardon me," he countered, dropping the cheroot and grinding it out.

She took up a place on the sidewalk and looked around. The way she held her bag and cloak made her seem very small. Almost unnoticeable.

"So, here we are again. Waiting for the Musgroves." It was out and within her hearing before he even knew it.

She thought a moment, and a wry smile accompanied her reply. "Yes, again. It was necessary for Charles to change rooms, and Louisa and Henrietta are freshening up."

No doubt Musgrove changed rooms to keep Mrs Musgrove happy; she would have a room with a view regardless of the trouble. And the young ladies were obviously more concerned with their appearance than looking at the scenery of Lyme.

It occurred to him that they might start out together, leaving the others to catch up. Though it was certainly not polite to abandon their party, and while some might decry two, unattached persons strolling alone, to the others they were old acquaintances, he did not think anyone would question their actions. It was still daylight and he was certain they would not get much past the end of the street before the others came.

"Since we seem to be the only ones interested in the sights, perhaps we might we start-" A gabble of voices just proceeded the jangling of the door's hardware. Before he could reach over and assist, the door flew open and the other four of their party surrounded them.

Looking through the group, her expression gave the impression she had every intention of accepting his suggestion.

There was plenty of chatter about what each wished to see, but in the end, all looked to him to decide the way and they naturally fell into groups of two: he and Louisa in the front followed by Henrietta and Anne. In the rear were Musgrove and his wife.

"Really Charles, we should not be following behind."

"Mary, this is not a bleeding processional. And I will not leave my sister, and your sister to walk behind. Alone."

She lowered her voice, "You might mention to the Captain that Anne is due some deference as the eldest, and her father's daughter."

"Just hush, Mary. Everything is well as is. You just don't like the Captain walking with Louisa."

It was mortification to overhear them speaking so freely about him. He could only guess what Anne must think about such conjecturing. Glancing back at her, he pretended to brush something from his shoulder. Thankfully, she continued on with her conversation with Miss Henrietta and showed no sign of hearing them. This was his hope, but he knew better.

The supreme irony rested in the fact that he who had pointed out to Sophy that country proprieties were more lenient and could now be walking with Anne if only he had appealed to them. He had locked his own shackles in this situation.

The wind was rising the closer they drew to the water's edge. The sun was setting behind the hills and the air was cooling. He would not care what the weather, but the murmurings from the others let him know they would only stay a few minutes on the beach and then move onto Harville's.

The ladies stood together in a little knot and discussed how much they were missing by being so late in the season. There might be a better choice of accommodations, more activities and people to see. In all, it was a wonderful excursion, but would be much improved by doing it in the warmer months. Musgrove found entertainment chucking rocks in the waves. Anne alone seemed to be content watching the water lap at the rocks and the sky change and darken with the sun's setting.

Stepping back a few paces, out of the sight of the others, he could watch her more freely. She removed her bonnet and raised her face to the breeze. Pulling her cloak close, she stood motionless making an attempt to lessen its effects. He could easily imagine the two of them alone, he standing behind with his arms encircling her. They had stood such a way once all those summers ago. He could still feel her warmth against him, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder and neck. Her sighs of that summer were still a pleasure to remember.

"Captain-!" Miss Louisa was smiling at him and shaking his shoulder. "Captain, everyone is ready to move on." His gaze had fallen to the stony shingle. Looking around, no one besides Miss Louisa seemed to notice his woolgathering.

It was arranged that he would go to the Harville's and announce their arrival. They would see more of the sights from the pier and wait for him.

He was welcomed with the same heartiness and cheer as before, and when he told them he had brought his friends, Harville, his wife and Benwick were overjoyed and anxious to meet them all.

"I am sorry to burst upon you completely unannounced this time, but the party was arranged and executed before I had a chance to send word."

"Captain, there is nothing to worry about. Your friends are as welcome as you." Harville said as Elsa helped him with his coat.

As the three prepared to go out, Wentworth took James aside and enquired as to Timothy's strength that day.

"He's very well. As he was, after you left, yesterday. Elsa owes it to your visit. She says a visit from a good friend has been a tonic to him."

As they approached the Cobb, he explained the family connexions of the party, between the Elliots and the Musgroves.

"This proves mating rituals in the country are not any different than those of King's Navy."

"Timotee. That is not a subject for polite conversation."

Wentworth laughed, but as the group was still a ways off, and as he was intrigued by Harville's conclusion, he urged him on.

"Well, as I see it, the young squire marrying the daughter of the local gentry-a baronet in this case-is not much different than an inferior officer of the navy marrying the sister of his superior officer. Eh, James?"

Benwick looked stricken for a moment, then softened. "Yes, for regardless of the results, such ties strengthen the bonds between brother officers."

Harville clapped Wentworth on the shoulder. "Now, Frederick, if you really wanted to strike a blow for yourself, you would marry the baronet's other daughter, and then you'd have the Elliot's blood and position on one hand and an alliance with the Musgrove's would give you money and land on the other. In no time you would have a little dynasty of your own in Somerset."

Leave it to his good friend to navigate straight, albeit blindly into the mare's nest presently at the center of his thoughts.

There was nothing to answer as they were joined with the group from Somerset. The introductions were made and, as far as Wentworth could figure, everyone was disposed to liking everyone else. Timothy might as well be Lord Mayor of Lyme for his prodigious welcome of Musgrove, and particularly his wife. Mrs Harville was gracious to the Miss Musgroves and Miss Anne. Even Benwick put himself out and greeted them all accordingly, though he soon retreated to his customary shell.

"Well, I feel the wind picking up and that means my wife will be insisting that I be inside soon. Frederick, I insist that you all come back to the house and we shall make ourselves comfortable while dinner is prepared." He raised a brow to his wife and she took the signal.

"Certainly, the gentlemen can entertain you with all their favourite stories while I see to the meal." Looking directly at Wentworth, she said, "I am anxious to have so many new friends in our home."

"You can't be serious wanting to feed this crew," Musgrove said. "I alone would put you in the poor house." They laughed at his jest.

"I assure you, it is no trouble. And I know for certain, Mr Musgrove that would not be able to do any damage to my larder." Her confidence at making provision for them all gave him deep satisfaction. He wished more than anything to oblige her, but nonetheless he had ordered their dinner and it would not due to sour his relationship with the innkeeper of the Binnacle.

"Well, Captain, I shall forgive you this once, but the next time you bring such good friends to visit, you will be under firm obligation to dine with the Harville's. Is that clear."

Wentworth smiled. "You take a great deal upon yourself for an inferior officer, Captain Harville. But yes, I understand perfectly."

"Regardless that you cannot come for dinner, you must all come and have something to warm yourselves," Elsa Harville insisted.

The visit to the Harville home was somewhat brief. The house was so small that to accommodate so many there had to be a great deal of moving of chairs and little tables and enough upheaval that when the children joined them, the atmosphere was a bit like Bedlam.

It was easy to see the shocked expressions on the faces of those who had wondered about dancing and card parties and splendid dressing for dinner. He wondered if Lyme might not be a great disappointment for some of the party. For another, there was a touch of surprise and then genuine interest in a collection of small wooden statues, which Mrs Harville enthusiastically explained and allowed to be handled.

Standing aside, Wentworth watched the two groups mingling. Harville was in his element, excitedly entertaining them all, Benwick directing the girl to those who were yet to be served refreshments, and Mrs Harville taking Miss Anne on a tour of Harville's curiosities. He could not help knowing that Anne so much more belonged with the one group and not the other. Were she to be left in Lyme, she would be a perfect fit with his friends. Though she was raised amidst the elegance of Kellynch-hall, he now saw she was made of finer stuff. Not that the Musgroves were not genuine, but for them Harville and Benwick and this life was a novelty, someplace to visit and then return home, feeling thankful that Uppercross Mansion was their home and that it would stand when the little house under the pier finally washed away. He did not blame them for such feelings; they were right and true for a family steeped in their country heritage. But Anne was a different matter all together.

"Captain, the ladies are wanting to get back and change for dinner. And I'd like to see to father's horses before nightfall."

"Certainly, Musgrove." As he paid his compliments to Harville and is wife, thanking them for the hospitality and making plans to see the gentlemen later in the evening. The difference in his life, his friends and his deepest desires were more and more coming clear.

It was a bit of a relief to be out of the confines of the Harville's home and into the waning sunlight and fresh air. As they walked back to the inn, he and Musgrove brought up the rear of the party, leaving him free to watch the ladies.

As they walked ahead, Mrs Charles and Miss Musgrove walked arm-in-arm while Miss Louisa and Miss Anne followed. It was clear the younger woman did all the talking, and he could imagine the elder's patient expression as she did do. A bit of the conversation floated back to the gentlemen.

"…their character is beyond reproach and their friendliness is unmatched by any others. Their brotherliness is stronger than blood. They are upright and open as no other men in the world. I believe sailors have more worth than any other set of men in England and that only they know how to truly live. I do not think I shall ever be able to respect or love a man not a part of them."

The statement was breathless and eager and he knew that, at this moment, she meant every word. And though her judgment was naïve, and based on little experience of sailors, he could not help admiring her zeal.

Beside him, Musgrove snorted. Giving him a sharper look than was intended, Musgrove said, "Sorry, no offence intended. It's just that all her high blown talk of sailors is a bit ludicrous. After all, 'Poor Richard' was a sailor."

They were approaching the inn and Musgrove moved ahead of the ladies so he might open the door for them. Wentworth pondered how there was more to Charles Musgrove than initially met the eye.

The food was adequate in quality and plentiful in quantity. The service was prompt and respectful. The keep's wife deferred to him in all matters and saw to their every need. There were several apologies for the quietness of Lyme at this time of year. Regardless, nothing could dampen the cheer of the party. Even Musgrove seemed to have shaken off his brown mood of earlier.

As Harville had promised them a visit that evening, after the meal was finished, there was a certain amount of coming and going to prepare for him, and Wentworth found himself alone with Anne. A serving boy took away the last of the dishes, having wiped the table and refreshed the candles. When he left the room, there was no one to readdress their attention. He moved himself closer to her and asked, "And how do you find Lyme, Miss Anne?"

When he approached, her demeanor closed somewhat, but his question brought an expression of thought. As she considered, her countenance lightened and she replied, "I think it is a beautiful place. A winter here might be a hardship in some ways, but in others, it would be a very great pleasure. The scenery for one is lovely, and the sea…" She hesitated and looked the merest of seconds at him. "The sea is beautiful any time, I suspect."

This was an attitude he took much pleasure in hearing. As he was about to ask her opinion on his friends, it seemed the room filled with the Musgroves returning from their various errands. Miss Louisa entered and looked around the room. Spotting him, she approached them and took the seat next to him. Anxious to have her share of the conversation, she asked what was so important that they both looked so serious.

He'd not realized their expressions were out of the ordinary. Would others notice them and question their exchange? Shifting in his seat, he said, "We were merely discussing Lyme and its charms." Turning to Anne, he asked, "And the Harvilles, how do you find them?"

Her eyes answered first. In them was expressed genuine affection for his friends.

"I thought they were wonderful," Louisa said. "Wonderful, and so brave to be unashamed of their poverty before strangers. I cannot imagine what I would do if I had so little and were faced with the opinions of so many. Oh, here is Captain Harville," she said, smiling and rising to her feet. "And he has brought Captain Benwick as well." Her look and tone were less than enthusiastic. In spite of this observation, she smoothed her gown and hurried to the door.

Turning he watched her greet the gentlemen. Though he perceived Miss Louisa too capricious at times, she seemed to have taken her own pronouncements concerning sailors to heart, and was, by playing hostess, doing all she could to show it in every possible way. She spoke briefly to Harville, and then speaking with Benwick, she pointed to he and Miss Anne. He shook his head and spoke, then shook her head, took his arm and brought him to the table.

"Captain Benwick did not wish to interrupt the two of you, but I assured him that Anne would much prefer his company to yours Captain."

He was taken aback at what was surely a muddled phrase on her part. "And precisely why would Captain Benwick's company be preferable to mine, Miss Musgrove?"

Urging Benwick to take the seat next to Anne, she said, "Well, all those books at the Harville's; they are his, and Anne is a great reader. I am sure they have ever so much in common. I don't believe I have heard you say a word about books or reading since being in our acquaintance, Captain."

Benwick did as Miss Musgrove bid and took the seat. His expression was hesitant and Wentworth thought to save them all the embarrassment of the situation.

"My reading habits, or lack of them, are nothing to the point. I am sure that the commander and Miss Elliot would be more comfortable joining the rest of us at the other table."

"Pardon, sir, but for my part I think I would much prefer the quiet of this corner. I know that Timothy is not in the least sympathetic to the discussion of poetry, and I am sure no one else will care to either." He smiled at Anne and then Wentworth.

"You needn't concern yourself about us, sir. We shall do quite well here." Anne smiled as well and made it clear she was comfortable with things as they stood.

"See, everyone is settle. Let us join the others." Miss Louisa tugged at his arm. He nodded to Anne and Benwick and left them.

As they approached seats at the larger table, Louisa leant close and said, "He is so morose, he absolutely draws all the life out of any room he is in. I am determined to have fun this evening and I think Anne is the perfect one to entertain him so that can happen."

The comment was shocking as she had shown a great deal of sympathy and interest in Benwick's grieving state when it was told to her the day before. As he took his seat he watched her do the same. She smiled as she joined the company, absolutely unconscious of how pitiless her statement was and how cold it left him.
 

Though put off by Miss Louisa's comments concerning his friend, as the evening progressed, and the ladies and gentleman pressed Harville and him for stories of their former days, his vexation was overruled by the good company and his own natural cheerfulness.

Each traded turns sharing anecdotes involving foreign ports, strange and curious mates with whom each had served, good times and bad that left them each changed forever. Their audience was alternately breathless, awaiting the resolution of tense and dangerous circumstances, or caught up in helpless laughter depending upon the tale.

When he was not the storyteller, he had a difficult time keeping strictly to the conversation. If his eyes were not drifting away from the faces of his Uppercross companions, then his mind was drifting to the small table in the corner.

It appeared, at first, the conversation between Anne and Benwick was a bit awkward and unproductive. This was satisfying to Wentworth, though his conscience nagged him that to take joy in the discomfort of others was unchristian. But, his conscience could rest easy as he observed their evening progress.

She spoke more than Benwick to begin. It was clear her manner was gentle and her countenance mild, unthreatening, undemanding. On both sides there were occasional smiles, but never anything approaching laughter. He could see Benwick warm to her ministrations, and soon, losing his reserve, the Commander looked most glad to be positioned as he was.

Bowing to Harville's prowess as a narrator, Wentworth waved off his next turn and continued to watch the couple over his pint. It pained him to notice neither of them wasted a look in the direction of the more animated table.

Even at a distance he could feel the perfect perception growing between them. There was a mutual understanding drawing them closer together. It was difficult to watch Anne listening intently, encouraging Benwick to reveal himself, and his grief, to her; for years ago, then Commander Wentworth too had revealled himself.

However, his revelations had been of grand future plans and assurances of the successes to come once he gained a ship. It was clear the conversation between Anne and his friend was not all on Benwick's part; she was revealling herself to him as well. To Wentworth's shame, in all the time they spent together, he could think of no single hope or dream Anne Elliot had shared with him. Again, to his shame, he could not think of a single time he asked; all their confidences had been tied to his prospects in one way or another.

As much as he wished to be angry with Benwick, he could not stir the feelings. Knowing how utterly broken-hearted Benwick was left by the loss of Fanny Harville, Wentworth deemed the man to be safe from any warm feelings that might be credited to Anne's kindness. Such was his one cold comfort in the whole, very instructive, evening.

As Harville made noises to leave, he called to his friend that they must be going soon. Benwick waved an acknowledgement. To Wentworth's shock, instead of rising to leave her, Benwick took out a pencil and small notebook and began to write. More precisely, Anne spoke and Benwick wrote.

Once she pointed to the page and he crossed out something out and wrote some more. The only thing the Captain could think was they intended to exchange correspondence. Surely the Anne Elliot of the past, who was acutely mindful of propriety, would not now throw decency to the wind and accept letters from a strange man.

Of course she would not. There had to be another explanation. Not being able to bring one to mind, he cursed the assumed safely of Benwick's broken heart.

The next morning, Wentworth dressed while it was still dark. Standing before the window, he watched the sea, the pier, and the shingle appear with the rising sun. Small boats were pushing out to sea for a day's fishing. They joined boats that had gone out earlier under the cover of darkness. He would again miss the sea when they left for home, but this time leave taking could not come soon enough as far as he was concerned.

Abandoning the window, he took a seat on the bed and eventually lay down.

“…he absolutely draws all the life from any room he enters…” Much of his night had been spent thinking on the girl's interaction with his friends.

He had not seen much between Miss Louisa and Mrs Harville when they were together, and could not speak to the prospects for their becoming friends, but he knew Harville liked her open ways and quick opinions. Then again, his friend did not think too deeply about any woman other than his wife.

Despite Harville's good opinion, he was still shocked by the girl's lack of compassion. Earlier in the week, when he had explained Benwick's plight to them at Uppercross, she had seemed genuinely interested and eager to meet him. But that was either a misreading on his part, or, to be fair, in her youth and exuberance she incapable of comprehending the depth of his grief and pain. It still did not excuse her behaviour. This visit had proven his doubts about Miss Louisa's substance, and that taking himself off to his brother's for a time was the most prudent solution.

Regardless of any manoeuvring on Miss Louisa's part, Benwick did not seem to mind being passed off to Anne’s care. In fact, the more he thought about the pair of them, the more galling it became that neither had seemed to notice being purposely separated from the rest of the party. He did not mind their rudeness nearly as much as the fact that every time he was in Benwick's presence, his rest was always the first casualty.

The church clock struck a decent hour, and he decided to go down and see who else might have risen. The one feature of the uppermost floor that was not an attraction for him was the squeaking floor and stairs. On his previous visit, it had been amusing to find various combinations of floorboards or treads which did not make noise enough to raise the dead. On this visit, on this particular morning, he was not in any mood for games. He supposed himself lucky that Mrs Musgrove had not cajoled a room alongside him, and that he was the sole occupant of the top floor. Trying another combination of stairs as he descended, it did not matter what he tried, they all squeaked alarmingly.

Reaching the lower floor, as he approached Anne's door, he slowed and listened. He stood motionless for a moment, and then scolded himself for being a fool. Even were she up and about, he would hear nothing. One small woman would not make any discernable noise. He passed on by but did consider waiting and acting as if they were both headed to the same place at the same time.

Smiling at the absurdity of such a manoeuvre, the door he was passing flew open and he nearly walked into Miss Louisa.

“Good morning, Captain. It is very kind of you to come for us."

It was certainly not his intention, but to straighten out the misunderstanding would be extraordinarily rude. "Providence is everywhere."

The statement was rather ridiculous on its face, and the idea of blaming God for what, on his part, was an untimely meeting, was surly close to blasphemy. Without commenting, she nodded and disappeared for a moment, returning with her pelisse and bonnet.

Quickly pulling the door shut, she said, "Henrietta is not ready just yet. She will join us later." Taking his arm, she assumed the place she now claimed as her own.

They had made their way to the edge of the shingle. "Shall we go down here?" she asked.

"I'm sure the others will be about, and breakfast near serving." They had retraced all their usual haunts on the Cobb and now she wished to go down to the beach. He would not mind so much but he suspected that afterwards, there would be attendant complaints about sore feet and sand in her shoes. It was not as though these were strident complaints, but merely things said in passing that had begun to grate in his nerves.

"I am sure we have time," she said, with just a hint of a pout. "Besides, you never told me the sea was so beautiful in the morning."

To his way of thinking, the sea was beautiful in the morning, or at any time. This made her suggestion immediately appealing. But, as he offered her a hand to come down the steps, he looked into her eyes and was sure he saw a hint of smugness, a surety that he'd never acknowledged before. It was clear that either by art, or natural understanding, she was rapidly and precisely coming to know just how to work him.

She came down only a step or two when she stopped. "Jump me," she said, smiling, as she looked him in the eye.

"I think not, Miss Louisa. It is too high. The stones are terribly uneven and make getting a firm footing impossible." He raised his extended hand a bit higher and set his mouth in a firmer line.

"I shall not trot down like a sheep. I like to jump."

Docility was not a trait he would attach to her. "I have already explained about the stones, and besides that, you are far too high. It would not do to have you fall."

"I think you very much underestimate your own strength, Frederick. I believe I could jump from the highest point and you would have no trouble in catching me."

For a brief moment he panicked that she might try it. But she stood still, smiling and watching him.

I have no one to blame but myself for this. I started it with the stiles and she's taken it to these ridiculous heights. He knew his adjournment to Shropshire was coming too late.

"Please, Miss Louisa, come down now." The scene was becoming an embarrassment for there were a few walkers out, and he did not wish to continue with their test of wills.

Without looking away, she sidestepped down a few of the stairs. "Frederick, it would please me very much if you would call me Louisa."

The game was no longer about jumping down the steps, but their becoming more intimate. He considered walking away; her pettish behaviour was far too annoying at this point, and a couple was standing at the top of the stairs, wishing to come down.

"Please, Louisa." He disliked being blackmailed, but it seemed to be the only choice he had to bring about her compliance.

Hopping down several more steps, she was a mere five steps from the bottom. "I shall never fear as long as your strong arms are there to catch me." Taking his hand, she leant a bit forward and hopped into his arms. "See," she said, "you can do anything." He said nothing as he lowered her to the ground.

It was hardly what could be called a jump, but that had not been the point. She made no move to separate herself, and stood oddly poised.

Good God, she expects a kiss.

Were this another time, years ago, there would have been no hesitation. In fact, he had not hesitated and could even be called a thief as he stole a kiss from another young woman. His pause spoke volumes and confirmed the rightness of his decision.

He cleared his throat and stepped back. Laughing, she turned away and headed down the shingle.

Wentworth looked around, fearing the waiting couple noticed her antic. To his relief, they had moved on and there was no one in immediate sight. This escape did not preclude someone at another prospect from observing them, observing and jumping to the utterly wrong conclusion.

They walked the shingle for a brief time and he had been right about Louisa's complaints. They made their way back up to the firmer footing of the Cobb. In the distance she saw two female figures and guessed them to be Henrietta and Miss Anne. He thanked God they were a quarter of an hour late in taking their walk.

Suddenly, Miss Louisa said, “I know Henrietta is having a wonderful time, but I am not certain about Anne.”

“And why might you think this,” he asked.

“She has had so little to say for herself, and is always attaching herself to Captain Benwick. Not that they do not seem very suited.”

This observation angered him, as it was her machinations that threw the pair together. It was a clever trick of the mind that she now viewed Anne as 'attaching herself' to his friend. Were she not more interested in keeping all their meetings as free of serious thought as possible, she might actually engage Benwick in conversation and see that aside from his grief, there is a fine, intelligent man.

Pleasantries were exchanged, and then Louisa said, "The Captain insisted I accompany him on his morning walk."

Henrietta's smile widened while Anne looked away from the pair and off to the sea behind them. A gust of wind nearly unseated his hat, and caused all the ladies to pull close their cloaks.

"We came to walk until breakfast. Perhaps it is ready and we should go back," Miss Musgrove said, looking to her companion.

"Perhaps you should," Louisa said, "I have some things I must get in town. We can meet you at the inn." She gave him a look that said 'we' meant just the two of them.

"We shall go with you, Louisa. We are not in a terrible hurry, are we Anne?"

Anne looked from Henrietta to him, then away. "No, we are at your disposal, Louisa."

Perhaps it was a trick of the mind, but he was certain he saw again a hint of amusement on Anne's face. He watched her as she turned to walk with Miss Henrietta, and was gratified to see the wisp of a smirk bloom into a full-on smile.

Ah, there you are! His suspicions were confirmed, and she was still as much his clever Anne of old.

Miss Louisa took his arm, and they headed to the town.

Coming to the stairs leaving the shingle, he noticed a gentleman at the top, stepping aside to allow them to pass. The gentleman touched his hat to both Miss Henrietta and Miss Louisa. When Wentworth drew even with him, prepared to acknowledge the man, the fellow's eyes were already looking past him, taking in the one who followed.

Turning for a look, he spied Anne. By her expression she knew she was being watched, not only by the stranger, but himself as well. It was impossible to ignore how the sea had brought to life her normally pale cheeks, and the whole of her pretty face.

Smiling, modestly, she nodded to the fellow as she passed. Well, well, that man certainly is struck with you, he thought. And I cannot disagree for at this moment I see something like Anne Elliot again.

It was good to see her more like her old self, but Wentworth could not shake the thought that a gentleman in mourning, for the man had worn a black armband, should not be quite so open in his appreciation of unacquainted women.

As they passed the shops, Miss Louisa seemed undecided as to what she needed until they came to a store with a window full of fabric, ribbons, trims, threads and pin cases. "This is where I wish to go," she said, waiting for him to assist her.

Opening the door, they could see the shop was crowded with many others who had awakened and realised they had a vital need for sewing supplies. Henrietta had already entered while Anne demurred and walked on to a bookstall next door. "I think I shall stay out here and wait," he said, holding the door for Miss Louisa.

"That might be best," she said, with a silky tone of voice, and cat-with-cream smile. She entered the store, and he closed the door firmly behind her.

Taking up a post between the store and the bookseller, he enjoyed the warmth of the sun for a moment. He first removed his gloves and checked his watch. Then, quite naturally, he fell into a study of his other companion, who studied the selection of books in front of the next shop.

As was her habit, she'd not tied the ribbons of her bonnet, leaving them to arrange themselves over her shoulders. The stiff breeze caught them; first they waved separately, and together in a staccato fashion. Moving to another display, she turned to read the titles. Again, as the sun touched her face, he could not help but notice her improvement.

At first glance, there was a look of health that accompanied fresh air and sweet sea breezes. The pink in her cheeks was more appealing than any rouge could accomplish, and upon further examination, there was not the customary strained expression she wore at Uppercross. Her appearance was all ease enjoyment. He speculated that, given a few more days he might even see her laugh again.

Soon, she too removed her gloves so that she might touch each book as she read their titles. Now and then she would pick one up, open it, read a bit then return it to its place.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" he asked.

At first, she looked towards the store. Seeing no one, she glanced his way. "No, not really. I just thought I might find something for Captain Benwick. We talked much of the evening about books."

"I thank you for being so kind to my friend. I am afraid Harville is not quite up to matching wits with Benwick. Intellectually that is." It was more than he intended to say to her, but there it was and could not be taken back.

"He is a very interesting young man," she said. "Very knowledgeable about many things."

"Yes, James is quite a brain box. Puts me completely to shame."

She did not answer, but picked up a book and smiled. "John Gay."

It was obvious she expected him to know this Gay fellow, but it rang no bells. "Philosopher?"

"Poet." She opened the book, and turned the pages without reading. Stopping midway through, she glanced at a page and said, "You do not remember—"

The door to the notions shop opened, and Henrietta stepped out, saying, "Captain, please. My sister needs you."

Joining her in the doorway, Miss Henrietta pointed to Miss Louisa arguing with the man behind the counter. He could hear her across the shop, along with the other patrons who were neglecting their notions in favour of the show.

"I have told you, my brother, Charles Musgrove will pay. We are at the Binnacle, and as soon as I tell him, he will come and pay you." She held a packet to her bosom. This obviously was what her brother was to redeem.

"Well, Miss, if yous all stayin' at the Binnacle, I can't trust that your brother won't decide that he don't need this odd bit of cloth that you've had cut, and head on out of town. And if he don't come, I'll have a devil of a time sellin' it to anybody else."

"They do this for me all the time at home."

"But you ain't at home, are you? Now give me the stuff." The man held out his hand to take the package.

"Excuse me," Wentworth interrupted. Both turned and began to rush him with talk.

"Oh, Captain, thank you for—"

"Are you the brother?"

"No, I am not the brother, but how much is Miss Musgrove's purchase?"

The merchant named his price, and Wentworth settled the bill. As they left the store, Miss Louisa thanked him for his thoughtful intervention, but was still aggravated that the man could not see his way to handle the purchase as they did at home. The Captain said nothing as Miss Henrietta pointed out that it really wasn't a purchase as she had no money, and that the man didn't know them, and therefore, did not know he would be paid.

Approaching the door, Miss Louisa stopped and said, "I understand, Henrietta, but still, it was mortifying." Pushing the packet into the pocket of her pelisse, she said, "And please, don't tell anyone what happened." Looking to her sister and the Captain, both promised their silence on the matter. The little group was all smiles when they collected Anne from the bookseller.

There was modest conversation as the group returned to the inn. With nothing to distract him from his own thoughts, he contemplated a breakfast of kippers and eggs. Just as he was adding a decent slab of ham, and a generous helping of potatoes, Anne and Miss Musgrove passed them. It was then he realised his and Miss Louisa's pace had slowed markedly.

She came to rest against a low wall directly across the street from the entrance of the Binnacle. Slowly she took the packet from her pocket. "Thank you for rescuing me." Her smile was pleasing and sincere. "I really thought I had some money when I ordered the cloth cut. But, as all of Lyme now knows, I did not. It must be in another purse. The sensible thing would have been to leave it and return with Charles after breakfast."

Her frank, openhearted confession was refreshing, and intriguing. He wished to hear more from this Miss Louisa. "And why did you not 'leave it'?"

"But, as you saw, it became a challenge when he would not do as I wished. I apologise for making a spectacle of us all."

He was glad she could see and admit her folly. "It was nothing. I am only glad I was there to help." At moments such as these, he was reminded that Louisa Musgrove was a well-brought-up young woman, intelligent and kind. Her youthful lack of experience, and growing need to have her own way, overshadowed the good qualities she possessed.

"I suppose I would not have been so stubborn had the materials not been for something special."

She obviously wished him to ask about her undertaking. "And what might this special thing be?"

"I am no seamstress, but I am determined to embroider a pillow or some such memento. It will serve to remind me of this wonderful trip with my family. And friends."

Miss Louisa could be quite charming, and her idea of creating a reminder of the trip was just that.

Reaching out to take his arm, they started to the inn. "You are the sort of man who is always at the ready when someone needs help, aren't you?"

Indeed she was charming, but he would always be a little suspect of her compliments. "I fear you make me out to be more gallant than I deserve."

She laughed and leaned into his shoulder. "Never."

"And, I assure you, I am the one who needs help just now."

"And what sort of help might that be?"

"Finding breakfast."

Their laughter mingled as they crossed the road to the inn.

The boards were as bothersome as ever, and he could well imagine Mrs Musgrove's complaints were she installed on the top floor. Such frivolous thoughts gave way to more serious considerations about breakfast. Those too scattered when, part way down the stairs to the first floor, he heard the voices of a man and woman. Stopping to listen, he could not yet see anyone, but the woman he knew to be Anne.

She said, "No, it is quite all right. The hall is a bit dark and it is easy to stumble. I am unhurt.”

The man replied, “You must think me a clumsy ox. I am not usually thus.” It was not Charles to whom she spoke, and he had seen no other male guests.

“Not at all, sir. You were no such thing earlier. Since we are both safe and sound, I will bid you good morning."

“And I shall do the same, but only after I claim the right to introduce myself the next time Fate throws use together.” The sound of steps indicated that they were walking away. There was nothing left for him to do, if he wished to hear the rest, but to follow.

Taking a step, the stair tread groaned. He stopped. Refusing to feel guilty about fetching his own breakfast, he said to himself: I will not sneak about. Let them see that their meeting does not go unobserved.

Making his way to the landing, he tread more heavily than he might otherwise and took a sort of odd pleasure as he scraped and squeaked down the hallway.

The pair took no notice of him, and his wooden symphony as they continued down to the end of the hall. Here they were forced to part company.

The dining room lay at the end of the right turn, and the stables to the left. Anne pointed towards the right, and when the man turned to point left, Wentworth knew him instantly to be the man from the stairs. This was the poor, grieving man who had taken care to make his admiration of Anne very apparent.

Even as they parted, Wentworth was annoyed to see both were smiling.

"Well, Miss Elliot, you seem to be gathering new gentlemen friends right and left." His feelings of ease suddenly vanished, and his desire for a hearty breakfast turned sour.

Chapter 18, Part 1

The newly acquainted strangers disappeared in opposite direction as Wentworth continued down the empty hallway. Turning towards the dining room, he thought how the gentleman took a good deal upon himself in assuming he and such an attractive stranger would meet again. He also wondered if Anne had deliberately pointed out their earlier meeting, on the sidewalk, to ensure the gentleman's remembering her. Perhaps he should have taken greater pains to arrange for a chance meeting between the three of them.

Surveying the dining room, the only seat open to him was next to Miss Louisa and across from Anne. With this particular arrangement, of these particular ladies, all he could look forward to was the fresh fish promised for breakfast.

Most were already tucking in as he took a seat. Mrs Charles was the only one who found fish for breakfast not to her liking.

“Fish is not a food one should eat in the morning. I believe it to be upsetting to the humours. I heard of a woman who developed a very shocking case of boils and it was all due to eating fish in the morning."

Besides the prospect of such repulsive talk along with his morning meal, he was amused by the idea that an item he enjoyed with great regularity, and even the time of day he enjoyed it most, should be the cause of such a painful and disobliging malady.

“I do believe, Mrs Musgrove, you can be assured that the eating of fish in the morning hours is rarely the cause of anything dire, and is an excellent remedy for an empty belly,” he said, taking his first bite.

Mrs Charles assured the captain that she would be just as satisfied with a generous slice of good English ham. As he silently pondered the nationality of these particular fish, Miss Louisa cleared her throat rather loudly and tapped his ankle with her foot. He did not look at her, but was certain the expression she wore was one of derision.

Pots of tea and coffee were being emptied and skeleton-filled plates were pushed aside when the sound of a carriage drew several to the window.

“It was a gentleman’s carriage, a curricle, but only coming around from the stable-yard to the front door," said Mary, the first to the window. At the mention of a curricle, her husband joined her.

"Somebody must be going away. It was driven by a servant in mourning,” added Henrietta. At the mention of this detail, Anne rose to see.

Wentworth had his suspicions as to who the "somebody" might be, and stood along with Louisa to confirm them.

“Ah! It is the very man we passed.” He gave half a look to Anne as he regained his seat. Her expression gave no hint that the two were more closely acquainted than a mere nod on the sidewalk.

“Yes, it certainly is. I remember the coat. The very one,” Miss Louisa said, taking the opportunity to move a bit closer.

The waiter returned with fresh pots of hot drinks and began his clearing chores.

“Pray, can you tell us the name of the gentleman who is just gone away?” Wentworth asked. He was determined to learn the identity of the impertinent man in mourning.

“Yes, Sir, a Mr Elliot,”

All turned when Mrs Charles cried, “Elliot.” But returned their attention to the waiter when he continued.

“A gentleman of large fortune, came in late night from Sidmouth,” a small murmur went up. He was certain it had more to do with the gentleman's fortune than his unremarkable arrival from Sidmouth.

"I dare say you heard the carriage, Sir, while you were at dinner; and going on now to Bath and London.”

At the mention of Bath, he looked at Anne. She was apparently too busy rearranging the bones of her kipper to make any comment. Or, he wondered, was she contemplating this very interesting intelligence concerning his destination, and the presumed third meeting with the gentleman in question?

“Bless me! It must be our cousin; it must be Mr Elliot, it must be indeed. Charles and Anne, must not it? In mourning, you see, just as our Mr Elliot must be. How very extraordinary! In the very same inn with us! Anne, must not it be our Mr Elliot; my father’s next heir?”

Miss Louisa nudged him, eyes wide, mouthing: "The Elliot Heir." He raised a noncommittal brow and turned back to the pratings of Mrs Musgrove. Her observations concerning the Elliot family lines were becoming excessively educational and he wished to hear more of them.

“Pray, Sir, did not you hear, did not his servant say whether he belonged to the Kellynch family?” Excellent question, Madam, he cheered, ask as many questions as the poor man will endure.

“No, ma’am, he did not mention no particular family; but he said his master would be a baronet some day.”

“There! You see! Just as I said! Heir to Sir Walter Elliot! I was sure that would come out, if it was so. Depend upon it, that is a circumstance which his servants take care to publish wherever he goes.” Her discovery brightened her look in a way he had never seen before. Taking the seat by her sister, she pulled a plate, not her own, to her, and began eating the fish thereon. "But, Anne, only conceive how extraordinary! I wish I had looked at him more. I wish we had been aware in time, who it was, that he might have been introduced to us."

Even the discovery that she had eaten an entire kipper did nothing to stop Mrs Musgrove's lamenting the lack of introduction to Mr Elliot, and whether he bore the Elliot countenance, the notice of his the horses, and her missing seeing the coat-of-arms. Anne listened, looking occasionally at her sister, while continuing to pick at the bones on her plate. She was a master when it came to listening, but he was certain that while she indeed lent an ear, she was quite preoccupied with her own private thoughts.

Miss Louisa cleared her throat, and he could feel her moving closer, hoping to draw out a response no doubt. Regardless of who might notice, he continued to watch the sisters.

“…if the servant had not been in mourning, one should have known him by the livery.” All was quiet for a moment. It seemed that Mrs Charles was finally through with her treatise on the gentleman.

This last mention, again of the man's state of mourning, seemed to be of interest to Anne and she raised her head, but before she could make any reply, Wentworth said, “Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together, we must consider it to be the arrangement of Providence, that you should not be introduced to your cousin.”

She was obviously puzzled by the remark, and to an extent, he was puzzled as well. His tone had been lamb-like innocence, but in his own mind the words reeked of sarcasm. But really, what right did he have to entertain resentments, even privately, prompted by nothing more than an innocent meeting in the hallway of a public house? It was well he was leaving Somerset to clear his head concerning Miss Louisa, though it seemed there was some clearing out needed concerning other things as well.

Anne made no reply, then turned to her sister and said, “That would be unwise as father and our cousin have not, for many years, been on good terms. It cannot be doubted that an introduction would not be desired by either of them.”

So, he mused, my bile is spilt for nothing. There is a breech that guarantees there will be no third meeting. And certainly no cozy family gatherings in Bath where the two shall laugh and reminisce about their fortuitous meeting in Lyme.

Mrs Musgrove's voice cut through his musings. “Of course you will mention our seeing Mr. Elliot, next time you write to Bath. I think my father certainly ought to hear of it; do mention all about him.”

He was very certain by Anne’s expression, that as far as was in her power, the Baronet would know nothing of Mr. Elliot’s travels to Sidmouth, Lyme or any points south and west of Bath.

Breakfast was done and everyone returned to their rooms to prepare for going out. All gathered back in the dining room just as Harville and Mrs Harville, and Captain Benwick arrived for their promised last walk about. Such timely preparations made Wentworth hopeful that their departure from Lyme would have none of the confusion and frustrations marking their departure from Uppercross.

The wind was cold and bracing as they walked down the street, making for the shore. Harville spoke of the warm breezes of the Western Islands and how he missed them in the fall and winter.

"Yes, but there is nothing like an English spring to waken the heart, said Mrs Harville. "So, Captain, might we expect another visit from you this winter?” she asked. The two looked at him hopefully.

“I can not say definitely. I have a brother, with a new wife, in want of a visit.” He smiled. “Edward is getting most insistent. And, in truth, I am anxious to be off myself.” He looked off towards the others as they followed along after.

“I am surprised at your wishing to be away from there. I would think there is quite a lot to keep you in occupied in Somerset these days,” Mrs Harville said, smiling.

There had been so little time the day before, but had something passed between Elsa Harville and Anne that might give her a reason to suspect their previous attachment? Harville was quick with a word in her ear and then said, “The area, from your descriptions, is beautiful and we are just surprised that you would not wait it out until spring.”

The whispering left him uneasy, but he was sure there were a thousand things married people could find worth whispering about aside from him. He said, “While the accommodations with my sister and brother are very elegant, I have a duty to pay to the new Mrs Wentworth. Besides, I am curious to get a look at Edward’s new wife. By all his accounts, she is all charm and perfection.”

“She sounds very nice.”

“Yes, I am anxious to meet the woman who has my dour brother using such superlatives.”

“Captain, I insist you and I lead these landlubbers to the beach, that we might all bid a fond farewell to the sea.” Miss Louisa joined them, indicating Mrs Musgrove, Charles and Henrietta to be the lubbers.

The three exchanged amused looks at the irony of Louisa’s statement. Her insinuation into their nautical union was grating, but, he reminded himself of her frank vulnerability and excused it immediately.

Heading on, he noticed Harville dropping back to speak to Anne. Benwick joined Wentworth and Miss Louisa, offering an arm to Mrs Harville. His stomach began to churn, and the most alarming thoughts of what they could be discussing teased him. Again, as on the walk a few days previous, he missed large portions of conversation and had to be urged again and again to the present. That, along with suppressing a desire to look behind, made the walk a miserable experience.

"I believe my husband will have quite enough exercise once we reach home."

"Ah, where would I be without my dear wife to see to all my little necessities?" Unnoticed, Harville had joined them and now planted a kiss on his wife's round, pink cheek.

The group, though surprised at their open affection, approved and began to move towards the pier. He was relived when Miss Louisa chose to join her sister, who walked alone.

"We are to leave by eleven, and after seeing you off at your door, if I am able to urge them all back to the inn, and see the vehicles loaded, we shall depart on time."

Harville laughed. "Leave it to Frederick to give a pleasure trip all the feel of an urgent mission for the Crown. I suppose if they dally, you will have them up on charges?"

Only Musgrove's horses knew of his earlier grumbling, and they would be silent he was sure. "Certainly not, Captain. You must think me an over-zealous monster."

"No, merely a man who sees punctuality as a near cousin to constancy. You can't help yourself, you are faithful to all you serve, in all you do." A little bow added to the jest.

The group had reformed as they drew nearer the Cobb, and there was a general desire to revisit it before taking their leave of Lyme. Miss Louisa in particular made it clear that one last walk on the Cobb was her fondest wish, and that she would not be satisfied short of it. "You must agree, Captain that one last walk on the Cobb will make our trip to Lyme complete. Do you not as well?" The sweet, contrite girl of earlier was vanished.

"I doubt a quarter hour will make a great deal of difference, will it Captain?" Charles Musgrove asked. "Even Father's horses can make that up with no trouble."

Harville made a show of looking away, but Wentworth caught the smirk on his face. Unless he wished to take up the title of Iron-fisted Monster, he had little choice but to acquiesce. It was agreed they would walk Harville to his door, and then return to the Cobb. As they were about to set off, he noticed Anne examining him. Her expression was perplexing and when she realised he saw it, she turned quickly and walked away with Benwick.

"Thank you for bringing us your friends, Captain. Mr Musgrove, Mrs Musgrove, it was a pleasure meeting you and your family. Please return to us when the weather is warmer than the amusements more plentiful." Harville's expression indicated he regretted their parting as he bid them farewell.

"We surely will, Captain. And if you are ever in the neighbourhood of Uppercross, you are most welcome. We would be insulted if you did not stop and visit," Musgrove reciprocated.

Wentworth knew all of the promises and invitations to be perfectly genuine, though it was doubtful any of them would ever be drawn upon. It was odd that his navy life and his life on land should intersect, but it had been done with such ease and cheerfulness that he could not be more pleased about that.

Chapter 18, Part 2

From Part 2: Wentworth knew all of the promises and invitations to be perfectly genuine, though it was doubtful any of them would ever be acted upon. It was odd that his navy life and his life on land should intersect, but it had been done with such ease, and cheerfulness, that he could not be more pleased about that.

"When you decide to return from the north, come back and reacquaint yourself with the sea. By then, I am sure you will be nearly wasted away for want of her," Harville said as they shook hands.

"Count on it. Benwick," he offered his hand, "take care. Write me, and keep me apprised. If a letter might help, any good word I can give, I will."

"Thank you, sir. I shall."

With all the good-byes finished, the Uppercross party made their way to the Cobb.

They stood silently for some time, admiring the sea. Eventually Mrs Musgrove complained of the wind, and they made their way towards the steps to the lower Cobb.

Wentworth descended first, to receive the ladies. He then noticed Benwick had rejoined them. He saw to Anne, and Miss Henrietta; even Mrs Musgrove followed without undo ceremony.

"Louisa, go on down, and I shall follow," Musgrove urged.

"No, Charles, you go on." She moved aside, letting him pass. "Captain Wentworth will help me down." Fixing her eyes on him, she said, "Jump me."

Her tone was playful, but he knew the phrase was under girded with rods of iron. Indeed, she looked at him and smiled as sweetly as anything, but the fact was, the indomitable Miss Louisa had returned.

The wind, even on the lower level, was freshening and the other ladies were pulling their cloaks and pelisses closer to ward it off. Looking about, he decided it would be simpler to give in to her whim than to try to reason with her. Removing his hat, he said, "I really must insist this be the last time, Miss Louisa." The act was accomplished with no ill effect. He retrieved his hat in preparation to walk.

"Again, please," she said, making her way back up the steps.

The childish behaviour had played out. Any sense of charm or excitement it once elicited was spent. He would not relent, and bow to her petulance. A second jump from the steps was completely out of the question.

"Louisa, come back down this minute." Mrs Musgrove's admonition was surprising, and very welcome. He could only wish Charles Musgrove would add some brotherly authority.

He turned away, and allowed Mrs Musgrove her say. "Louisa, stop this. The pavement is hard-"

"Once, more. Please, once more. There will be no chance for another, and I do so love the feel."

"We must be on our way, we haven't the time for-"

"Oh, please, please Captain. I am determined I will," Louisa cut Mrs Musgrove short.

There was no choice but to relent, and be done with it. He stepped back to the place he had caught her before. Remembering his hat, he turned and tossed it onto the pavement. Resentful it would need a good brushing; he looked up, saying, "You will have to come down several steps-"

She had already jumped.

He heard nothing but his own heart; fear and disappointment mingled as she realised he could not possibly catch her. The horror of her expression was heartrending.

Instantly, everything about the scene slowed. Still hoping to stop her fall, even his own response was reduced to a snail's pace. When he did reach the spot, only her pelisse brushed his hand as she fell to the pavement.

Though everything surrounding them was moving at a crawl, when she crumpled onto the paving stones, it was jarring.

They all stood motionless, gaping as her bright red pelisse settled gently around the heap. "Oh my God," he cried, as he went to her side.

"Louisa." Her eyes were closed, and she did not respond to his voice. Gently he shook her, and called her name again. "Louisa. Please, Louisa, answer me." He looked and felt as much as was proper; moving her pelisse and dress, hoping he would find no hidden blood. Thankfully, there was none, or any visible injuries for that matter.

Despite the fact, her eyes remained shut, when he leant closer, her warm breath touched his face. There was no sound from her, though he could hear other voices far off.

"She is dead! She is dead!" Suddenly Mrs Musgrove's voice cut through the eerie silence shrouding he and the girl. There was a scream, and he heard Anne call Benwick's name.

"Is there no one to help me?" He felt completely undone, and his mind might as well be empty for all the good the varied, swirling thoughts could do him. "Please," he called again.

"Go to him, for heaven's sake go to him." In this moment of chaos, Anne's voice was sweet relief.

"…rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts-take them, take them."

Her voice carried intelligence, and authority, and helped to subdue the agony swelling in his chest.

Suddenly Musgrove and Benwick flanked him. Each helped to raise her, and support her more firmly between them while administering the salts and doing all Anne suggested. He could no longer endure being close to her and had to move away. The men moved together, closing the gap he left. Backing away, he crashed into a nearby wall, knocking the breath out of him. This brought him fully into the calamity. "Oh God! Her father and mother!" The realization of the hurt to the Musgrove family burst upon him.

Anne's voice touched him again. "A surgeon!"

A surgeon! "True, true a surgeon this instant." This brilliant suggestion might be the saving of him.

"…would it not be better for Captain Benwick?" she said. "He knows where a surgeon is to be found."

James looked at Anne, and nodded, handing off his share of her weight to her brother. He seemed to vanish from the scene. Without much thinking, Wentworth moved back to Louisa and Musgrove.

Musgrove, crying his sister's name softly while trying to comfort his wife and other sister, stayed with Louisa even as Mrs Musgrove insisted that he must come to her.

Wentworth knelt, taking some of the burden off Musgrove. Looking again to Anne, she endeavoured to comfort them that Louisa would no doubt recover, and that all would be well as soon as the surgeon returned. He prayed the words to be true for they did nothing to lift his hopes.

Just then, Louisa's bonnet slipped and fell away from her face, her hair spilling over his hand and swinging freely across his knee. The peaceful expression on her face was chilling. Had he not known better, he would guess her dead.

"Anne, Anne, what is to be done next? What in heaven's name is to be done next?" Musgrove, beseeching his sister-in-law, again drew Wentworth back to the hard cobblestones and the crowd that had formed.

Wentworth's resolve was flagging; nonetheless, he looked to her also, hoping she would supply more answers.

"Had not she better be carried to the inn?"

Thank God, her voice however remained steady, and her directions certain. "Yes, I am sure, carry her gently to the inn."

Anne had not failed him. Her instructions were all he needed. "Yes, yes, to the inn."

Her brother did nothing to stop him as he carefully took Louisa in his arms. "I will carry her myself. Musgrove, take care of the others."

He was aware of the crowd again, and that there seemed to be approval of the action on their part. Laughter was coming from some quarter, and voices were yelling, but he could make out no words. All he knew was he must hurry to the inn. The inn would bring regulation to the circumstances, and the surgeon would come and tell them what to do in order to make Louisa whole.

Out of nowhere, another trusted voice came to him. "God, man, what has happened? We saw James fly. The fellow never moves that fast for anything so we knew there must be something wrong."

"She has fallen from the top of the stairs." Again, Anne supplied the answers. "We are taking her to the inn, and Captain Benwick is to bring the surgeon."

As the others spoke, Mrs Harville examined Louisa closely. A look passed between her and her husband. "Bring her to our house. All of you need looking after," she said, touching Mrs Musgrove's hand. The acknowledgement brought her around, and salved the Elliot Pride, damaged by her husband's disregard.

"It is very generous of you, but we do not wish to importune you, and your family," Anne said. The others added their thanks, but raised their own objections as well. Harville put aside every opposition. Meanwhile, all Wentworth could do was look at Louisa, willing her eyes to open.

"There is nothing more to be said," said Mrs Harville. "Frederick," she touched his arm to get his attention. "Take her to our house."

Anne moved aside to allow him by. Even in his state, he could not help notice a look pass between her and Mrs Harville. There was an understanding there.

Harville shoo'd them on while he arranged for a boy to run ahead, and tell Benwick where they had taken Miss Musgrove.

They entered the tiny house, which was growing smaller yet in the presence of their crisis. "Hannah," Mrs Harville called softly, moving to the back of the house. Turning to Wentworth, she directed him to the stairs. "Come, straight to the back and lay her on my bed, the one with the blue counterpane."

He did not slow, and began to go up. The narrowness of the stairs made for difficult manoeuvring. Holding her close to his chest was the only way to take care of her head. Her sister followed close behind, and he heard someone call out, "Henrietta, do you think it wise for you to go up?"

Anne's calm voice added, "Yes, I wonder that you should stay here, with Mary."

"She is my sister, and I will see to her." The reply was punctuated by a teary-sounding gulp.

There was no time to worry who would attend Louisa, the women and the surgeon would decide those incidentals.

"Here. Lay her here," said Mrs Harville indicating the low bed.

Where Anne appeared from he knew not, but he was grateful that she was at his side. As if she knew his arm was weakening with fatigue, her small hands covered his, lifting, guiding, assisting in laying Louisa in the bed. It felt like forever, but eventually the tri-palmed hand met the pillow.

Anne's hands slid away leaving the burden in his alone.

"Captain," she said.

He could not move.

"Frederick," she whispered. "You must move that we may attend her."

Turning, he was surprised to find her face mere inches from his own. There was anxiety in her expression, but he saw something he hoped was sympathy as well. Regardless of her feelings for him, there was no joy in seeing what his weakness and folly had produced.

Taking his arm, she eased it from under Louisa's head.

"Louisa," Henrietta cried loudly. She threw herself between the Captain and Anne.

"Louisa," she cried again. "Look, her eyes. Her eyes are open!"

Everyone turned. They were indeed open, but soon closed again.

"No, no, Louisa! No, wake up!" She grasp at her sister's cloak. Her sobbing was pitiful.

"Captain," Anne said, "might you help her downstairs?"

"Yes, Captain," Mrs Harville helped Henrietta to her feet, "I think Miss Elliot and I are quite able to see to her sister." She gently folded Miss Musgrove's hand around the Wentworth's arm, and gently urged them to the stairs.

He supported her down the narrow steps as best he could, and when reaching the bottom, she ran to her brother.

"Frederick, you look a fright. Drink this." Handing him a small blue glass, Wentworth drank down the slightly viscous liquid without hesitation. As it burned its way down his throat, he thought it must be brandy, but he could not be sure. "Take a chair," Harville directed. He took the offered seat, joining the others gathered about the dining table.

"She opened her eyes; she looked directly at us! Do you think she will be all right, Charles?" Henrietta said.

"I, I can't say, Etta. I have no knowledge of things in the medical line."

A knock at the door took Harville away for a moment. He returned with a stout, pink-faced man dressed in a red waistcoat, carrying a tattered black bag. Mr. McCracken was introduced as the finest surgeon Lyme had to offer.

"I will be down as soon as I have something useful to tell you." He looked over the assembled group and gave them a confident nod.

With the arrival of the surgeon, and Musgrove's wooly answer concerning her sister's survival, Henrietta began to weep. Wentworth despaired that the group's hopes were all pinned on a man who looked no more skilled than the average bookkeeper.

"Come and sit by me, dear," Mrs Musgrove said, taking her sister-in-law by the shoulders and moving her to an out-of-the-way seat. He was surprised to find that unaffected kindness was possible in the Elliot family.

It seemed Harville had no more begun reassuring them of McCracken's qualifications than the man reappeared with a confident look about him.

The man sat his black bag on the table, and began putting on his coat. "She has no broken bones, but she took a right smart crack to the skull. I think this case is not so grave as first I imagined. Considering the dire nature of my summons, I thought it would be only a few hours before the end." At this, Henrietta muffled a sob with her sodden kerchief, hearing only his mention of "the end."

"It's all right, young lady, the skull is the strongest bone in the body actually. It can take an amazing amount of pounding without death occurring."

"When do you expect that she will be back to complete health, sir?" Wentworth asked, anxious to steer the report away from the shocking and back to useful information.

"Well, that is another matter. The skull is quite strong, but the grey stew within can take its own time to settle. And even then, there's no tellin' whether things will be completely normal again."

A little murmur went through them. It was then he noticed Anne, standing on the bottom stair. She still looked concerned, but not nearly as such when they were above in Mrs Harville's room.

The surgeon continued: "But that bein' said, there's no reason to think that she won't recover completely and be as healthy as she ever was. I've seen much worse, and the patient was eventually as good as new." He opened his bag, shuffled things about and closed it. Harville and his wife appeared from the kitchen, thanked him for his time and saw him to the door. Looking back at the group, the surgeon said, "Leave her where she's at, and time will do its work."

There was no reason to think the man was hedging his opinion. They were strangers, and he had no reason to spare their feelings. At that moment, Wentworth decided to pin his hopes on the surgeon's statement about her being "as good as new." In addition, by the sound of it, the others did as well. The first wave of thanksgiving was loud, lead mostly by Charles Musgrove In the midst of the rejoicing, he watched Anne as embraced each of the Musgroves, accepting as well as the good wishes of the Harville household. Including smiles from James Benwick.

Rapidly, fatigue wracked his mind and body, and all that was manageable for him was a hushed, but heart-felt, "Thank God."

After a little time, Harville said, "A toast to the good news, then."

Musgrove stood and took the glass offered him. "Aye, it is. However, as the man said, she must be left here to heal. I wish that there were some way to remove her to some other place. Even if it were just to the inn-"

Mrs Harville interrupted, "Certainly not, Mr Musgrove. I'll not allow that to be risked. Timotee and I have discussed this and-" she was interrupted by the nursery maid, calling her upstairs. "You tell them what we decided." Indicating that Anne should accompany her, the two disappeared.

Picking up a decanter, Harville began to refill the cordials, explaining their thoughts as he went about the room.

"My wife is an excellent nurse, as is her nursery-maid, she's been everywhere with us. Anywise, Elsa was pretty certain that Miss Louisa would have to stay put. McCracken tends to be of the mind that one should wait and watch before blundering in. He's usually right. So, we have taken the liberty of removing some of the decisions from your shoulders, and making our own plans."

Your sister will stay in our room for the duration, and Benwick will find a bed elsewhere. Now, perhaps by putting the children away in the maids' room, or swinging a cot somewhere, we could make room for one or two others, if they should wish to stay."

Musgrove interrupted. "We've cut too wide a swath as it stands. Puttin' a man out of his own bed is the worst I can allow. To either of you." He nodded to Benwick to acknowledge his sacrifice as well. "Perhaps this McCracken can recommend to us a nurse. I want her to have the best no matter what time of the day or night."

"I shall see to her. In fact, I insist." Mrs Harville had rejoined them. "My nursery-maid is as experienced as I, and between the two of us, she will be well-cared for, have no fear."

"You've left us nothing to do. I have to say thank you on that score," Musgrove said.

Looking at Wentworth, and Musgrove, Harville said, "We've done what we could, but I think you still have some things that can only be decided by the family." He and his wife left them in privacy.

"Someone must return home, and tell our mother and father," Henrietta said, her voice low and strained from crying.

Musgrove reached for the cordial decanter Harville left on the table. "I must confess that I have no stomach for the task."

Wentworth knew that, short of Musgrove declaring his intentions of being the one to break the news, there was only one solution. "It is getting late. They will worry as it is now impossible to be in tolerable time."

"Dear Louisa. It is usually Henrietta who makes us late," Musgrove smiled.

"We must be decided, and without loss of another minute. Every minute is valuable. Some must resolve on being off for Uppercross instantly. Musgrove, either you or I must go." Wentworth dreaded the answer he knew was to come.

"You're right, Captain. Nevertheless, I cannot go. I'll sling my own hammock if need be, but I can't, nay, won't leave her alone."

"And I shall stay as well. She will need me when she wakes up. And that will be at any time now." There was no hint of resolve in Henrietta's voice.

"Sister, please, I think it best you go home." Mary Musgrove looked her in the eye, as she straightened her bonnet. "Henrietta, the Captain had to practically carry you down the stairs for all the weeping. It will not do, in a sick room, to have someone about who has not the nerves for it. There are others much better suited to the task."

Of course, there were others better suited, he thought. There is one in particular.

Miss Musgrove had been convinced that her staying was worse than useless, and that she would be much more comfort to her mother and father. Wentworth could see her relief, and that now she was anxious to be home.

"Then it is settled, Musgrove, that you stay, and I take care of your sister home. As to the others-" He would tread carefully here. Though Mrs Musgrove showed good sense in convincing Henrietta to leave, that was no guarantee that she would do the same when it came to her own leave taking. "If one is to assist Mrs Harville, I think it need be only one. Mrs Charles Musgrove will, of course, wish to get back to her children; but if Anne will stay, no one so proper, so capable as Ann!"

Musgrove and his sister both brightened at this suggestion. A glance in the direction of Mrs Musgrove warned him that these congratulations were by no means unanimous. Nevertheless, as she said nothing, he was convinced she would go along with the plan.

"So, Anne, what do you think of the Captain's proposal?" Musgrove said.

He turned to the doorway, and there she stood. "You will stay, I am sure; you will stay and nurse her." The words were loud and bleating to his own ears; he hoped they sounded less so to her.

Smiling, her cheeks grew pink. He too felt suddenly warm, and could say nothing so moved away.

"I am most happy and willing to remain. I had been thinking of it and wishing to be allowed to do so. A bed on the floor of Louisa's room will be sufficient, if Mrs Harville would but think so."

Wentworth looked out the window, considering what was to be done next. Upon hearing Anne speak about staying, he could only remember his outrage when he realised she slept on a chair in order to care for her nephew. Now he must own the outrage, and direct it where it belonged. If he had the chance, he would speak with Harville, and insist she be given more than on a palette on the floor. However, this would have to wait, there was still much to do.

"Musgrove, your parents will be quite alarmed that we are so late, and taking the travelling coach will only extend the time. I propose to rent a chaise from the inn to take your wife and sister home." Musgrove smoked the plan as he told it, and nodded his agreement. "You can send the carriage home in the morning, along with an account of how Louisa passed the night."

It was all agreed upon, and he left them to see to his part of the plan.

The walk from Harville's was his first chance to recount the events of the past few hours. Out of the company of the others, he was acutely aware where all the blame for the wretched events should rest.

After a short explanation, the innkeeper gave orders that the blue rig, and the best horses, should be readied immediately. On the way to retrieve his bag, he passed the room the sisters had occupied, Hesitating, he thought for a moment about Miss Henrietta's luggage, but soon dismissed it. Musgrove would have ample time to see to such incidentals. Grabbing his satchel, he glanced out the window. The sun was shining, and everything looked distinctly normal. He thought how, thank God, the world does not reflect our individual calamities. Surely our blood would freeze were we to realise how quickly change can come.

Chapter nineteen

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