Federick Wentworth, Captain by Susan Kaye

Chapter Ten

As he returned to Kellynch-hall, Frederick wondered what sort of spell he'd fallen under. There must certainly be an enchantment about the Mansion of Uppercross for him to accept an invitation to dine with the family of "Damnable Dick" Musgrove, scourge of the Laconia midshipmen’s berth.

However, that was the past, and in all fairness to Richard Musgrove, who would have guessed that he haled from a warm and welcoming family. Not to mention that he had such pretty and amiable sisters?

"Now, the elder is the prettier of the two. And the other, Louisa, is the one with the spirited look in her eye. Sweet enough, but I’ll wager there’s a bit of mischief as well."

He was surprised how much he anticipated the next day and meeting the Musgroves again. It was surprising when remembering this was Anne Elliot’s new family.

The Admiral was up and around the next day, and he and his wife were back to their regular daily habit of riding out together. At breakfast Frederick was glad to see Sophia’s face was relaxed and not drawn and pale as it had been the previous morning. The quality of her state of mind greatly affected the cheerfulness of the household, he realised, as well as his own.

After their travels around the neighbourhood, they returned with the news that one of Mr. Musgrove’s grandsons was injured the previous day in an accident. The Captain reasoned that such a crisis would, by necessity, postpone that evening’s dinner. “It did not sound as if the boy was too badly hurt,” Sophy said, “but perhaps you should send a note, enquiring after his condition. Then you will have the latest knowledge, and if they have forgotten to cancel, it will remind them and it can be done without any embarrassment on their part.”

He proclaimed his sister a genius in manoeuvring the complicated waters of country society.

“No matter the locale, Frederick, it is always best to make allowances and give others the chance to save face,” was her advice.

A note was sent and within the hour came a reply that while there had been some concern the evening before, as of that morning, the child was doing very well, thanks, in particular, to the ministrations of his capable aunt. It went on to say that the dinner was not in any jeopardy of being cancelled, but the boy’s father would remain at home and not be joining them. The note closed with fervent thanks for his most kind enquiry.

Sophia remarked that he and his initial note would be talked of with the highest regard around the social circles of Kellynch and Uppercross. “You are giving yourself an excellent reputation without much effort at all. You have always been lucky in that regard.”

“Well, in this particularly, I did have some help.”

“You have always had help, Frederick. It is just that you are wont to take all the credit for your own.” He puzzled over his sister’s words for a little while, but then put his mind to dressing for the evening.

“My sword, Harkness.”

He stood with his hand out. When the sword did not cross his palm, he glanced behind. Harkness was buffing a spot of plate on the scabbard. He cleared his throat.

“Sorry, Sir. Below they missed a bit of polish.” One last swipe and he handed the sword over.

Wentworth took it and secured it around his waist. It had been weeks since he’d worn the presentation sword. In fact, not since the Plymouth Ball had he worn his dress uniform. He preferred the undress uniform, with its longer coat and less fussy lace decorations. But, now that he was at half-pay, he would dress in his finest costume and take upon himself the part of The Dashing Captain in order to justify decent invitations to dinner. Besides, he anticipated the justifiable reaction the uniform would coax from young ladies Musgrove.

“Your waistcoat, Sir.”

Slipping into the garment, he began buttoning before Harkness could come to his aid. From the corner of his eye he could see the man study his buttoning every button. In these moments he missed the casual, rather slipshod ministrations of Michaelson.

Early in their association, it was tacitly understood that Michaelson would see to the cleaning and mending of his clothing, the orderliness of his quarters and the preparation of his food, nothing more. No shaving, bathing or primping in any way. They had gone on like that way, quite successfully, for many years. For a moment he regretted not asking Michaelson to accompany him.

“My coat.”

The man jumped into action and in a trice the coat was behind him, open to accept his arms.

As Wentworth adjusted his cuffs and Harkness brushed, he asked, “Sir, might I ask a question?”

“Go on.”

"How is your sword kept in such immaculate condition? I mean, it is perfect. No evidence of abuse at all.”

“It is in perfect condition because it rarely sees the light of day. It is a presentation sword. It was given to me by the Merchants Alliance of Bristol. I captured a clever smuggler who was particularly adept at taking their goods and, by various means, sinking their ships.” He chose not to share with Harkness that the man and his associates were captured when all were drunk as lords, and after falling asleep had drifted into the side of the Laconia where they were simply plucked up and piled in the brig. When he requested the presentation be in private, rather than at their monthly gathering of over fifty members, the Alliance Awards Committee lauded him as extraordinarily modest for a man of his rank and position. Of course, had he told the truth, it was an embarrassment that made him request the closed ceremony. The only thing worse than being given such a lavish award, following a capture in which not a shot had been fired nor had a bit of blood been spilt, would be having it attended by the public where particulars would be requested. As it was, the added endowment of humility to the prize doubled the embarrassment. To assuage the shame, he ordered a generous and very expensive meal for the crew. In addition, he pardoned any on report. The evening had given great pleasure to the men. It had done little to diminish his guilt.

Taking the sword from the scabbard, he held it for Harkness’s examination. “There is no cutting edge. Were I to use this in battle, I would be hacked to ribbons in no time.” Regardless of the weapon being useless, he took satisfaction in the fact that the blade rang nicely when removed, and had a fine heft to it. “I keep it wrapped, in my sea chest. I take it out only on special occasions.”

“Ladies must find it very impressive.”

He would allow Harkness the indiscretion. “I can’t think that any ladies have paid it any mind.”

“Well, I can see that it could easily turn the head of a country miss.”

“Perhaps, if a man was inclined to boast.” The man was at once a puzzle and an annoyance. Could he be referring to Miss Anne and their past? In which case the sword had nothing to do with anything; it had been awarded well after he left these parts. Or was he alluding to the Miss Musgroves? In which case his statement was bordering on impertinence. He thought it best to ignore it in either case.

“Well, I must say, they was impressed below.”

No doubt. As he studied the effect of the entire uniform, he decided it would create more trouble manoeuvring through people and furniture than could be worth any amount of awe generated by the ladies. “I have changed my mind about the sword. This is but a simple dinner party, I doubt there will be any need for arms."

"Most likely not, sir. The Musgroves put on a good party, but nothing close to a brawl."

Handing the sword back, he instructed the man to wrap it well and place it back in his sea chest.

"That will be all.” Harkness nodded and headed to the door. “And, you needn’t wait up. I shall see to myself when I return.” The man nodded again and disappeared. Turning back to the mirror and again measured the effect.

The blue wool was brushed to perfection. He reconsidered his missing Michaelson; the sailor never did so well banishing lint from his coat. The gold threads of the braid gleamed in the candlelight. Though daylight was still abroad, Harkness pulled the curtains and lit the candles, claiming it easier to see the offending lint on the dark field of his uniform.

At least Michaelson had kept this coat wrapped well against the salt air. Perhaps after all his traveling, and determining where he might settle, he would have another made. Since he would be caring for himself, it would be wise to have two.

With the occasional tug here and he finished the inventory of his costume.

Glad to be living in a more modern time, he thanked God he did not have to wear a wig. He was pleased to note that Harkness had put his all into tying the neck cloth and seeing that his britches and stocking were sparkling. The only thing he could wish for was a better shine on his pumps.

Settling on the bed with the cloth, he thought as he worked at bringing the leather to a high gloss, and giving the silver buckles a quick polish, he would be ready to meet the younger Mrs. Charles Musgrove on equal terms.

Since accepting the invitation to Uppercross, he had given quite a lot of thought to their respective circumstances, and, by all his reckoning, in terms of family and fortune, she had made a comfortable marriage for herself. But certainly not one of the level aspired to in the past.

Though the Musgroves were second only to the Elliots in position in the area of Uppercross and Kellynch, they had no title to bestow. When she broke their engagement, her reason seemed to be his lack of rank in the Navy, his lack of standing in the world, and fear of being left ashore destitute while he pursued adventures across the world. He suddenly placing importance on marrying a man of greater consequence than even her father had dismayed him. In the beginning of the relationship all that mattered was their enjoyment of one another's company. And even after he proposed, for two glorious days they made plans that never depended upon wealth or position. But after his disastrous meeting with the Baronet, her aims for the marriage seemed to change drastically.

It was hinted that a marriage of equals would be accepted, but certainly no one of inferiority to the baronetcy could be seriously entertained. When asked why, considering his qualifications were deficient, she had played him along, the tears had begun and the name of her godmother had come out. Once that occurred, he lost of sense of reason and she changed her tack and insisted that she was giving him up for his own good. In hindsight, neither of them was at their best.

With her marrying the son of the squire, she was no doubt well off, but without the distinction of a title, there was no elevation that would be acknowledged by her socially conscious family and friends. No doubt, now with the Baronet retrenched, their impeccable standards would be expanded to allow for their change of address.

On the other hand, while he too was without a title, his occupation, though for the moment stifled, put him in the way of monetary and societal rewards that a country bumpkin would have no hope of attaining.

He reasoned that, in the grand scheme of things, it was he who had advanced the furthest, and best elevated himself.

Studying the pumps and buckles, he was satisfied and took his place before the mirror once more.

He had risen above all the insults hurled at him. He was no longer just keeping body and soul together, but was a man able to chart his own direction. His labours had been great as had been the rewards. His accounts grew with each prize sold off and now were earning a comfortable interest on their own. To ask a wife to live on that interest, and his half pay, would be short of lavish, but not a martyrdom either.

No, she had chosen to marry a man who could give her a home, and children. He’d not heard how long since the deed was done. Perhaps she’d wed soon after his leaving. Or, she had waited as long as she dared for one with better prospects than him to come along. When none appeared, she accepted Musgrove. His being a first son would certainly be to her advantage. Even if Damnable Dick had survived, all the Musgrove holdings would come to her husband. When the older Musgrove copped it, she would be the mistress of the mansion. And, while it was old-fashioned, and certainly no Kellynch-hall, it was a comfortable and generously sized place to further a successful family line.

The unbidden thought of Damnable Dick brought another strange thought to his mind. The young man had been a terror, but not all that bad looking. He didn’t suppose the midshipman was more than sixteen when he knew him. Not entirely mature, but enough to give a good suggestion of his future looks. Suppose his older brother was the better looking of the two? Between he and his brother, it was Edward who possessed the more conspicuous look with his black hair and deep brown eyes. Frederick’s brown hair and hazel eyes were attractive enough, but not the memorable of the two.

A frown developed with the thought, and it deepened as he continued on.

The overabundance of mirrors around the Hall were a testament of the Baronet’s vanity and with such great value placed on outward appearance, being influenced so heavily by her surviving parent, it was only natural for Anne to be attracted by a man’s good looks. He did not like to brag, even to himself, but more than once he had heard bystanders comment on the fact that the two of them looked well together.

“Of course, if the family could not attract a title, they consoled themselves with an Adonis.”

A knock on the door and a footman saying the Musgrove carriage was waiting prompted him to finish.

He smiled as he considered, though Anne would not be in attendance, it was still vital that he make a presence this evening. His uniform, his bearing and conversation must be quality in every way. This evening would be a rehearsal using all the props and costumes so that when he was finally in the company of Mrs. Charles Musgrove, she would have the most advantageous view of the future she rejected.

He gave another cursory inspection to his uniform, gathered his greatcoat, gloves and hat and left the room.

It was his intention to head down the stairs, obtain a compliment or two from his sister, and be on his way. But, without really thinking about it, he found himself standing at the threshold of the door to the small sitting room. There were no candles lit and the portrait was in deep shadow, but he needed no light. The face he saw wasn't even that of Lady Elliot. The features he envisioned were the genuine, animated, provokingly pretty features of the woman's second daughter.

He turned and left the room knowing that further visits were inevitable and that these forays were only hurting himself. Meeting the real woman would happen soon enough and he was merely torturing himself beforehand.

He was gratified when Sophy was all compliments and did her share in fussing over his appearance. The Admiral, completely recovered from his bout of pain, assured him that he would have a marvelous time at Uppercross. “They are a family that knows a lot about having a fine time.”

It was over his objections that Mr. Musgrove had sent his carriage, but now he was happy to be traveling the three miles in relative comfort. Smiling to himself, he mused that the carriage possessed the same, slightly worn cheerfulness as Uppercross Mansion. His idea of superior behavior and such was ridiculous. These people were genuinely kind and would not think a thing of his having a good time rather than trying to impress.

He noticed something in the shadows and leaning down recovered a young child’s toy from under the opposite seat. There had been no mention of youngsters other than those of the eldest son, thus no reason to think the toy belonged to anyone else.

A knotted string was attached to a horse on wheels. A yarn tail was down to only two strands and he observed with a bit of alarm that the nose was distorted by many sets of tooth marks.

“You must feed them, Anne, else they resort to eating their toys.” He tossed it on the seat next to him where the gentle bounce of the carriage caused it to slid into the corner. Out of boredom, he righted it and pulled it close to him with the string. Giving it slack, he allowed it to roll back into the corner. The child’s toy brought the present into sharp relief.

In the intervening eight years when he did allow thoughts of Anne, he saw her as a nineteen year-old girl who was full of the bloom of youth, and love for him. Occasionally he saw her at their parting, but rarely would he stomach the scene. There was no thought that her life had continued on. He considered now and then that she would no doubt marry, but that coupling never took any form in his mind. In the near future he would see her with her husband, possibly her children, and her husband’s family. The Bower Room portrait came clear in his mind. Instead of Anne’s mother and grandfather in the frame, he envisioned Anne smiling and surrounded by her plump, rosy children, while the older man was replaced by a striking husband smiling down on her with love and satisfaction. To his horror, his imagination supplied even a bit of wicked delight in the man’s smile.

He flipped the toy’s string away. “What in the name of Jove induced me to entangle myself with this family?”

The answer was simple: curiosity. Stark, human curiosity.

The carriage jolted to a halt and the door opened. As he dismounted the coach, the door to the mansion opened and he propelled himself into the midst of the Musgrove clan.

Divesting himself of his outer garments, he could hear ladies voices drifting from the sitting room. As he prepared to engage the fairer sex, the footman showed him past the sitting room, and through a door leading to a little hallway. The hallway was dim, and obviously not for public use, then ended at another door.

The man announced him and he was greeted by an exuberant Mr. Musgrove.

“Captain Wentworth, welcome, welcome.” Though their last meeting had been just a little over twenty-four hours, Mr. Musgrove was as enthusiastic with his greeting as if they had not met for months.

“Sir, I am very glad to be amongst you again. I am looking forward to a splendid evening.”

“I told Thomas to bring you in here to start. The ladies can talk of nothing but little Charles and his accident and will not miss us. I hope you do not think me unfeeling, but the boy is on the mend and I find all the stewing to be a bit much. This is why I thought to have you brought in here, where we may converse in quiet.”

The room was much like the hallway, not a public area of the house. It was clearly dedicated to the gentlemen of Uppercross. Across the room was a fireplace with three rifles and an extra heavy shotgun arranged above. A desk with papers hastily gathered and stacked, ledgers and even a map half-folded to the side. Rods for cleaning pistols and long rifles leant against the wall with a pile of used and unused rags nearby. Two chairs in the corner spoke to Mr. Musgrove and his son’s use of this refuge.

Musgrove, noticing the Captain’s inspection, said, “The room catches everything that my wife will not allow elsewhere.” He smiled and handed Wentworth a glass. “Wives are funny creatures, Captain. They greatly enjoy the fruits of their husband’s labour, but yet they resist there being any evidence of that labour anywhere in the house.” He indicated one of the chairs and took the other.

“I was glad to hear your grandson is doing well. I was concerned that his condition might be grave.”

“Oh no, the boy just took a bad fall. Mr. Robinson, the apothecary, was called. He reset the collarbone, but other than a few cuts and bruises, Charles is quite well.” He hesitated, and then took a drink. “My son should be here soon.”

A mild shock of concern shot through him. “I thought he was obliged to remain at home.” With the son could possibly come the wife.

“Aye, I spoke with him just above an hour ago and he was determined to come and meet you. Miss Elliot, Mrs. Charles’s sister is seeing to him. There is really no reason for a man to kick his heels about the house when a child is ill. Women know how care best for them and it only makes a man irritable to be cooped up. Yes, I know when the children were younger and would all be down at the same time, it was best that I just go out and attend to my business, and leave the nursing to Mrs. Musgrove and Old Sarah.”

Wentworth agreed out of ignorance more than an overwhelming understanding of women and their nursing abilities.

The conversation was waning when the door opened and a red-faced man, approximately his own age, entered. By his familiar greeting, it was clear he thought to find his father alone. He started when he turned and found the Captain alongside the older man.

Mr. Musgrove smiled and rose. “Captain Wentworth, my I present my son, Charles. Charles, this is Captain Fredrick Wentworth.”

Wentworth bowed, then stepped forward and offered his hand.

Well, this is certainly no Adonis, he thought. To his shock the man offered not a hand but a pistol. Perhaps he had been a little hasty in leaving his sword. He stepped back and wondered if, perhaps, Charles Musgrove had discovered, and highly disapproved of his wife's past romantic attachment.

“Oh, sorry,” Musgrove said, pulling back the pistol, juggling it then finally jamming it in his pocket. He offered an empty hand to Frederick. “I left my files here somewhere and the trigger needs a bit of attention. Captain, it is an honour to meet you. My family has been anxious to extend its hospitality.”

Musgrove’s handshake was crushing and hearty.

“I had a taste of that hospitality yesterday and am glad to receive it once more.” When Musgrove released his hand, he flexed it to relieve the soreness.

“And how do you find Somerset? To your liking or would you rather be at sea?”

“Most sailors would rather be at sea, but for this time I am developing a taste for being ashore. That is a fine pistol,” indicating Musgrove's pocket.

"Uh, yeah. A good piece, if I am able to put things right. Do you shoot, sir?”

Musgrove asked, shuffling through papers, ledgers and trash on the desk. “Ah,” he said, pulling a small pouch from under a mass of hand-written receipts. Leaning against the desk, he pulled out a file and began working on the metal around the trigger. “Because if you do, I have found several spots that are prime for pheasant. And quail if your taste runs that way.”

“I have had little opportunity to shoot of late, so I should be pleased to avail myself of your offer.”

“Good. I have several young dogs I’m training. If we go out tomorrow morning, I can take out that dun coloured one, Father. I think he’s ready.”

“Yes, certainly old enough.” The older man approached his son. “So you were able to leave the house with little fuss?” the elder Musgrove asked quietly.

“Oh sure. As I said earlier, the boy passed a peaceful night. Besides, there’s nothing I can do for him. We decided that we’d both benefit from an evening spent with family.”

“So, Mrs. Charles is here.”

“Yeah. I left her with Mama and the girls. They’re going over all the bumps and bruises, one-by-one.”

Mr. Musgrove lowered his voice, “Do you think it wise to leave Jemima in charge of the boy. His condition is not too serious but still…”

“You needn’t worry yourself, Father. Miss Elliot has stayed with the boy. I tried to entice her to come after dinner, so she could meet the Captain, but she thought it best that she stay home the entire evening.”

“Well, if Miss Elliot is with him, I will not fret.” He returned to his seat and his wine.

So Mrs. Musgrove the younger is not quite the dedicated nurse, as is her mother-in-law, he thought. He understood her; her curiosity matched his. There was truly nothing new under the sun.

"So, Captain, have you come armed for the country? If not, my father has that Beresford hanging over the mantel. A fine weapon." He looked at it with longing.

Mr. Musgrove laughed. "It is a fine gun, and one day it will be my son's. Until then, he must satisfy himself with his own extensive collection."

Charles and his father exchanged looks that said this was an amusing debate of long-standing. Awaiting the answer, Charles's face twisted as he attacked the trigger mechanism.

"Unless, in these parts, you hunt with a blade, I would appreciate the loan, sir."

Studying the man at the desk, Wentworth was amused at his own energetic preparations to dislike the fellow. Which was really impossible. Charles Musgrove was not hideous, but certainly no Greek god. There must be a dearth of extraordinarily attractive men in the area. Or, perhaps Anne, a woman far wiser than her father, and knowing that looks fade but that money and family last for generations, chose a fellow who could guarantee a gracious life for she and her children. She would not be the first woman to put aside looks for something more substantial. God love him, Frederick thought, as he watched him buff the barrel of the gun with the lining of his dress coat, Charles Musgrove is the son of a prosperous farmer, and one of simple tastes. And this was no doubt Charles on his best behaviour, after a few years of wifely improvements. Trying not to smile, Wentworth speculated how he might have been greeted before such changes for the better.

“I suppose we should join the ladies,” said Mr. Musgrove.

The unavoidable was upon him.

The ladies were clustered at one end of the sitting room. Mrs. Musgrove's ample frame dominated the small circle. Miss Musgrove's more round, pleasing figure, and Miss Louisa's tall slender one stood to either side of a fourth figure.

The woman was obviously the younger Mrs. Musgrove; a small fountain of feathers sprouting from her hair set her apart from the maids. Though her back was to him, he could see that, depending on how you measured such things, the years had been either kind or cruel to Anne.

To some, heft equated prosperity. And since it seemed, looking at both elder Musgroves, this was the feeling about Uppercross, then time had smiled on Mrs. Charles. Her figure was matronly and showed the world that there were children about the cottage, and that there was plenty of cream and butter on the table. But, if in quiet moments of girlish reflection, the loss of a slender figure was to be lamented, this woman was in a state of mourning.

He too felt a twinge at the passing away.

Mr. Musgrove cleared his throat to announce the arrival of the gentlemen.
Louisa turned and smiled when she caught sight of him. Her gaze quickly passed over him and her eyes communicated a respectable amount of esteem for the uniform. Leaning into the circle of ladies, she said something that brought an appreciative glaze and shy smile to Miss Henrietta's face. The elder Mrs. Musgrove moved to the men and welcomed the Captain while the younger ladies discretely primped.

As the lady of the house drew them into the room, he could not help but notice that Mrs. Charles Musgrove had not turned, but still faced away. He had to give her credit that perhaps she was just as reluctant to meet again as him.

With each step he drew closer and with each step he reproved himself for allowing the portrait to trick him and make him think of Anne as unchanged. The fault was not hers, but his alone for indulging in such foolishness. But, the truth was inescapable; though he could discern little change in himself over the years, she was certainly altered.

Just a few steps closer and it would all be over. Why did she not turn and face him? Along with her figure, her manners had fled as well. No matter, once the introduction was made, they both would be free of any personal expectations.

“Captain, I would like to introduce you to my daughter-in-law, Mrs. Charles Musgrove.” As the words were said, she finally turned. He could not help notice Miss Musgrove and Miss Louisa watched with inordinate anticipation.

"Mrs. Musgrove." He was well into his bow when he realised the face was radically different than he remembered. It was nothing like the portrait even. If he were not mistaken, the woman was even a bit taller. Straightening, he tried not to stare.

“We are quite lucky that Mary and Charles were able to come and join us, Captain. But Mrs. Charles's sister was so kind as to take charge of little Charles,” the elder Mrs. Musgrove explained.

The explanation was garbled; too many Charleses. And no mention of "Anne." He heard it, but was still captured by the woman. Her nose, chin, lips, eyes and hair bore no resemblance to Miss Anne Elliot. But of course, the original owner of these features was alone, nursing her nephew at the Musgrove's cottage.

Mary Musgrove curtsied and said, “Captain, it is a pleasure to meet the brother of my father’s tenant.” She looked at him expectantly.

The woman's voice brought all his confusion to a halt. It was rather too high, a bit thin, and while not completely unpleasant, would take some getting used to. Certainly the portrait had no voice, but his memory informed him that Anne's tones were smooth and warm and a delight to the ear. Though he was not terribly interested in the subject, one afternoon, all those years ago she had read him poetry. He could not remember any titles or authors, but he remembered the voice being hypnotic when combined with the heat of the summer and the charm of her company.

Someone cleared his or her throat and it brought him out of his ridiculous trance. He noticed everyone looking at him and he soon realised the woman expected some sort of reply.

Of course she would, she was the daughter of Sir Walter Elliot and must be given what was due her. “Mrs. Musgrove, the pleasure of calling the Hall my home, even for a short period, is one I shall remember for many years to come.” He felt as though he was laying it on with a shovel, but, it was not a lie, and he wanted no room for misunderstanding.

A man entered and announced dinner. Mrs. Musgrove directed everyone to their places and was mildly put out when Mrs. Charles expressed her opinion that it was only proper that he be seated next to her. The other's looks of unease and exasperation, particularly Louisa, were impossible not to notice. He took his new seat in hopes that any and all missteps had just taken place.

Chapter Eleven, Part One

The dinner was satisfying. The food was plenteous if unimaginative. But the conversation was lively and also plenteous. Each Musgrove had an opinion on every topic, except the elder Mrs. Musgrove. She followed the various conversations around the table, giving proper attention to each participant, smiling and nodding at the appropriate times, but adding nothing of her own. The younger Mrs. Musgrove seemed to be above every issue, only adding her usually contrary opinion when the subject was nearly exhausted. Again he spotted private, knowing looks between the sisters.

Wentworth could not help notice that while most of the stated opinions were correct as to morality, and patriotic when to do with national interest, they were still quite provincial in their scope. While enjoying the family's hospitality, warmth and fine stores of wine, he mused that for the past years his daily world, in comparison to environs of Uppercross, was extraordinarily small, encompassing only a few square yards of deck and a few tons of wood, metal, canvas and men, the range of his attitudes, opinions and aspirations outstripped all others at the table. This made it very gratifying when he noticed both Mr. Musgrove, and his son, deferring to him in any matter not related to sheep, hay and vermin. He expected such deference from his crew, but from freemen, under no threat of the Articles of War, it was very agreeable.

After the meal, the gentlemen withdrew and planned for shooting the next day. Over glasses of the same excellent whiskey he'd sampled a few evenings before, Frederick was made privy to all the best locations for hunting and trapping birds, rabbits, foxes, weasels and the occasional badger, offered by hills and fertile fields of the countryside. A few amusing hunting stories of huge successes and colossal failures were passed on. These included a story of Charles falling into an abandoned well as a boy. As with most such tales, the amusement of the parent far out-weighed that of the child. When all the enjoyment was wrung out of the event, Mr. Musgrove proposed that the Captain would think on his hunting preferences and that they should adjourn to the sitting room.

When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, the sitting room was set up for an impromptu concert. A quick survey of faces made it clear that Mrs. Charles was not all together happy with the seating arrangements, the pieces offered by the musicians—except her own of course—or even the selection of refreshments. In hopes of smoothing the waters, the Captain asked if he might take the seat nearest her.

"Certainly, Captain. Though this small sofa is rather hard and placed very awkwardly for listening."

Without saying so, he wasn't sure how the location of the furniture could affect the clarity of the music, but he deferred to her opinion on the matter. Normally he enjoyed music, and welcomed even the most amateurish efforts by any man who brought a pipe or fiddle aboard, but he began to wonder how much of that enjoyment was dependent upon the company. And whether his good manners would do him out of a relaxing evening of entertainment.

When Miss Musgrove began to play the harp, with Miss Louisa accompanying on the piano, everyone settled down to listen. Even Mrs. Charles was attentive and still.

They were surprisingly good, though he would have to give higher marks to Miss Musgrove for her musicianship than her accompanist. None of that mattered as he listened to their parents lavish the praise equally.

Looking at the shining faces of the girls he wondered what it must be like to parents who praised and patted and bestowed genuine adoration on their child. Perhaps Anne and I were attracted because we saw the results of grim family circumstances stamped on one another.

The thought came out of the blue and if he'd been in different company, he might have considered it the effect of too much drink. But he was not even close to being in that state and so knew the idea to be from his own rational mind and nowhere else.

"If they practice, they may eventually become quite good," Mrs. Charles said.

Trying to clear his mind and attend Mrs. Musgrove, he said, "You would certainly know that better than I." Her looks of supreme satisfaction made him suspect she'd taken his statement entirely wrong.

"I and my sister are quite as accomplished as the Miss Musgroves," she said.

"Yes, as I recall, your sister is quite talented on the piano forte." The room and all its activities came to a halt and grew silent.

The elder Musgroves both were sitting heads cocked as thought they'd not heard quite right. The young ladies were stock still, posed like statues in the midst of exchanging sheet music. Mary Musgrove's eyes were growing larger and she was shifting in her seat to face him. He could not see Charles Musgrove, but there was not a sound to be heard from where he sat and Wentworth was certain his eyes were riveted as well.

The silence was unnatural as all waited for an explanation of how he might know of Miss Anne's musical accomplishments.

Good God, I've fallen in a ditch now, he thought.

The young Mrs. Musgrove met his gaze with a steely determination to know any and all of the facts. "So, Captain Wentworth, may I know how you are acquainted with my sister?"

He looked about and all the faces bore looks of interest and patience, and all echoed the question.

Shifting in his seat, he cleared his throat and prepared to measure every word. "Many years ago I was in this area. My brother was a curate at Monkford and I stayed with him for a summer. We met at a party or two, Miss Elliot and I, but as I was nothing more than an inferior officer, thrown ashore and praying for another commission. We moved in quite different circles."

After the engagement was broken, and a short time of reflection, he could not help acknowledge she did think him inferior. The pain of it fueled a white-hot passion to shake the dust of Somerset from his shoes and never return. Even now, with circumstances so changed, he felt acutely the sting of his own words.

"We were nothing more than nodding acquaintances. I am certain she would not even remember me if you were to place my name before her." He could feel every muscle in his face as he worked to keep his expression unguarded and sincere.

Excepting for Mrs. Musgrove, there was something like a release in the room and everyone smiled and went back to what they were about. She mentioned nothing more concerning her sister, and asked no more questions, but he knew by her look that her curiosity was mounting by the second.

As Miss Henrietta played a solo and Miss Louisa turned her pages, Wentworth considered that there was nothing like a gigantic lie to lay a really good foundation between those forming a new acquaintance. He could only hope when Miss Elliot was confronted with his recounting of their relationship, (and he could not imagine Mrs. Musgrove would pass up the chance to hear the other side of the story); she would not take too much pleasure in exposing him for a fraud. He would deserve it of course, but he clung to the hope her quick mind would see that to set the record straight would open her to more questions than she could reasonably answer.

Eventually it was Mary Musgrove's turn to entertain the party. He was hard pressed to keep his countenance as she painfully made her way through a piece he could not recognise. Thankfully she did not sing.

As his wife accepted the enthusiastic applause of the family, Charles Musgrove leant close and said, "I know it's not the best, but she does try." He straightened then went to her side.

Watching each of the Musgroves go out of their way to praise a performance not worthy, he knew the greatest portion of it was to ward off a fit of pique that would no doubt follow an under appreciated one. But he could also see that while Uppercross was a large piece of ground, it was also a group of people who all knew that to keep the peace, they must sometimes sacrifice their own opinions, no matter how valid they might be. He could respect this, as it was no different than aboard a ship. He stood to receive Mrs. Musgrove back to her seat and give her his congratulations.

When it was proposed that Mrs. Musgrove play for her daughters while they sang, her son took great pains to distract his wife with a plate of sweets and a cup of lemonade. The trio finished to light applause.

"So, Captain, are you interested in thinning my pheasant population?" the elder Musgrove asked.

"Certainly, sir. I should enjoy that above all things." The musical entertainments were finished and all were gathered around the refreshment table. "As long as your offer of a weapon still stands."

Musgrove thought a moment. "Now that I think about it, the Beresford is a bit heavy for pheasants. But not to worry, let me think—"

"If it is a gun you are need of, Captain, I am sure Charles could loan you one of his." Mrs. Musgrove looked to her husband. "He has ever so many gathering dust all over the house."

Again a silence seemed to fall over the small group. This silence he understood perfectly. In offering him one of her husband's guns, Mrs. Musgrove exposed her husband as a man who was, on all occasions, loathe to have another touch his weapons. Wentworth was certain Musgrove was as conscientious a husband and father as any man, but it was obvious that when it came to his collection of guns, all measures to protect them from the hands of Philistines must be employed.

"That is a very kind offer, Ma'am, but I have no scruple in using the heavier weapon—"

"No, Captain," Charles said, putting down his glass a bit hard. "I have the perfect double-barrelled and there is no reason you should not use it. In fact, come to the Cottage for breakfast, look 'em all over and take your pick." A curt nod said he was pleased with his generous offer. His wife smiled and made assurances he would be quite welcome to share their table in the morning.

The Cottage was a little out of the way to the best hunting, as it had been explained to him, but the Captain was interesting in looking over Musgrove's collection and breaking his fast with them seemed the perfect way to kill two birds with one stone. The private quip brought a smile but, as he was about to accept, the spectre of Anne Elliot rose in his mind. He was not sure sitting down to a genial pre-hunt breakfast with his old love was such a perfect way to begin any good day of shooting. Before he could voice a doubt, Mrs. Musgrove interrupted: "I think it would be best if you were to come an dine in the morning with us, sir. The Cottage is in a bit of a jumble these days, I think." A careful glance at Mary came from her mother-in-law.

"Aye, with the boy on the mend in the sitting room and all, it would be better I think to come here—you too, Charles—and dine at the Great House," said the older man.

"But I am perfectly able to see to a guest even when taking care of little Charles. I can wake him early and see that he has his breakfast before the rest of the house is stirring—"

Looks were flying between little Charles's aunts and his grandmother. He felt a bit guilty that the situation was working so much to his benefit; the child's health and comfort certainly was more significant that his pleasure; but he thought it best to take the advantage while it was on hand. "You honour me with your very gracious offer, Mrs. Musgrove, but I would feel terribly guilty to add to your already sizeable duties just for a simple meal. I would not feel right in taking you from your son's side." He was again employing the shovel and while there was no discernible response to his fawning, the younger ladies moved away from the table together.

"Then it is settled, Captain. You shall breakfast here and Charles, you can bring one or two of your best pieces so that he might choose between them." He sensed it was not often that Mr. Musgrove made his authority as the head of the family evident, but he was on this occasion and it ended all further discussion.

The rest of the evening was taken up in making the Captain aware of all the neighborhood gossip, familiarizing him with local characters he might encounter and generally folding him into the community of Uppercross.

The next morning, after a brisk three-mile walk—the Captain having strongly refused the offer of Mr. Musgrove's carriage—Frederick felt energised, keen for his breakfast, and ready to hunt anything and everything the terrain of Somerset could offer.

He was announced and found Charles and Mr. Musgrove already at the table emptying plates of eggs and sausages and piles of toast. It was also a surprise to find Miss Musgrove and Miss Louisa at the table as well. Both were dressed for walking and as he watched his the sugar fall into his coffee he wondered if, to bring luck to the hunt, some arcane family ritual compelled the women of Uppercross to accompany their men into the fields. As he sipped his drink and listened to the conversation, it was soon clear there would be no ladies trailing behind them. This was a relief, as he did not relish the idea of being vigilant over his tongue when he stumbled into the inevitable rabbit hole. Or abandoned well.

"Charles must go to the Cottage and get the dogs, so we thought we would take advantage of the beautiful day and good company to walk over and visit Mary and little Charles," Miss Henrietta said.

"And Miss Anne," added Miss Louisa.

The younger lady's smile disappeared behind her dish of tea as she drank, leaving only her bright eyes for him to study.

He raised a glass of water in a little salute to her, "I for one shall enjoy the company."

After setting off, the ladies walked together, leaving the gentlemen to plan the course of their attack. When they fell silent the ladies joined on either side and brought the conversation around to their nephew.

"Both Charles and Walter were very excited to meet the Admiral. And Henrietta and I think a visit from a much-lauded captain of the navy would cheer our dear, injured nephew," said Miss Louisa. She now walked beside the Captain.

"And you must be sure to properly greet his mother as well," Miss Henrietta added. A muffled snort came from Musgrove's direction.

"I am quite certain Mrs. Musgrove would not appreciate an unexpected guest so early." His hope of merely seeing the ladies to the door then helping Musgrove fetch his dogs was clearly not what the others had in mind.

"Oh, sir, please? He is just a little boy who needs some cheering up." He wondered why it was so important to both the ladies that he greet the boy.

"All right, I shall go in for just a moment, but Musgrove, you must go ahead and warn your wife. I'll not take responsibility if she flies at you for being unprepared to receive company."

"A capital idea, Wentworth." He touched his hat and trotted ahead.

"Miss Anne will no doubt be attending Charles."

No doubt, he thought. It was now clear that their desire to get him in the house had little to do with comforting a sick child.

His admission of a prior acquaintance had piqued their interest. How could he blame them? It was amazing that in this small, unvarying neighbourhood, two such unconnected people as himself and Miss Elliot would be found to know one another, and now be meeting after so long apart. The circumstance amazed him as well.

He steeled himself to see her again. As they turned a corner and came into view of the cottage, he realized that this unforeseen meeting was not something to be dreaded, but embraced. Again the situation was all to his advantage.

Meeting Anne Elliot in this way, early in the morning, without anything but a moment's notice and in the presence of her family was perfect. It was not a proper morning call where suitable conversation would be expected. It was not a dinner or party where people would be at their leisure to measure the intensity of their recently discovered acquaintance. And at no other meeting would he have the most excellent excuse of Charles Musgrove, impatient to set loose the dogs and hunt. The whole silly venture was brilliant.

"All the more reason to do this now," he said under his breath.

"Did you say something, Captain?" Miss Henrietta asked.

Looking from one sister to the other, he said, "No, nothing really. Just something about the season. Here we are." Miss Louisa opened the door and he followed her in.

Frederick Wentworth, Captain

"None But You…"

Chapter Eleven, Part Two

The entry emptied right into a small dining area that was flooded with morning light. Crumbs and dishes and steaming cups testified to a meal interrupted. He greeted Mrs. Musgrove, taking care to say everything that was due her, all the while searching out her sister.

"Our little Charles is in here," Louisa said, gesturing towards a doorway.

Mrs. Musgrove hurried to precede them into the room. He heard, rather than saw, toys being moved aside. As the lady of the house roughly opened the curtains, she said, "May I present my sister, Anne. But you two already know one another."

She continued to fuss with the curtains while motioning her sister forward.

The light was a bit bright and he could not say exactly that she did not look away from him owing to that and nothing else. "Yes, Miss Elliot. Good morning." He bowed and she curtsied and murmured something he was certain was appropriate for the occasion.

As she looked by him, she took a blanket from the back of a chair near the sofa and began to fold it.

Never did their eyes meet.

Speaking a greeting to the boy, he wished him a speedy recovery. The boy said nothing but nodded vigourously and smiled widely. He glanced over at Anne. She had come to sit on the edge of the sofa and was smiling and nodding along with her nephew.

"There, you have made a little boy very happy," Miss Louisa said, tilting her head in a very pleasing way as she looked at him.

"It is my aim to make as many happy as I am able."

Before he could feel completely the fool, a knock on the window reminded them that Charles was waiting. "I must be off for the hunt, Ladies. Mrs. Musgrove a pleasant day to you." He glanced at Anne, who was busy with the boy, and said nothing.

As he was going to the door, Miss Louisa announced it was her intention to follow the hunters to the edge of the village, and Miss Henrietta agreed.

Getting outside in the sun and the fresh air did little to clear his whirling mind.

Immediately, Musgrove began talking about guns and dogs and where they would go to shoot. There was no need for his participation other than a well-placed nod or murmur now and then. This was good, as he could not help being shocked by the alterations time had made in one once so dear. Her person was always slender, but now he would call her thin. The youthful complexion was now drawn and pale. This made her eyes more intense, but they were no longer the bright, sparkling windows of curiosity they had been. She would not look at him, though he admitted he gave her little chance. Curiosity was now satisfied and he thought memories should best be left untouched.

"So, what did you think?"

Obviously Musgrove was finished with him and Miss Musgrove was now seeking his opinions. "Pardon me?"

"What did you think of Miss Anne? Has she changed at all since you knew her?" Both she and her sister were looking at him with expectation.

"Time makes many changes, and I think it would be foolish to expect none over so many years. I will freely admit, she is altered. Were she to go by me on a busy street I dare say I would not have known her. And I hope I would not be offended when she passed me by as well."

He was grateful that this answer pacified them and there were no more questions. The ladies left them to return to their visit and the gentlemen began to cross a field heading to the hunting grounds.

"Thank you for doing the polite and paying your compliments to Mary. The boy was carrying on last night and this morning, it's put her in a bad mood. Having people stop by helps in lifting her spirits."

"Well, I hope I should know what is due. Particularly when one considers the generosity of your family."

Musgrove brightened at the mention of his liberality, set down his pack and declared this the spot where the finest hunting was to be had. Wentworth was offered the choice of several shotguns. After hefting and looking down the barrel of each, he realised he much preferred the heavier Beresford. Not wishing to make Musgrove's sizeable offer of a loan of no effect, he chose one that was the most similar. Between reloading, while taking a few practise shots to acquaint himself with the piece, he considered the morning visit to the Cottage.

A natural sympathy sprang to mind when he thought of her standing there, studiously looking away from him. The feeling angered him and he shoved it aside as he took aim on an apple hanging from the limb of a wild tree.

As bits of fruit and leaves settled to the ground, he thought she had no right to look so worn and used up. It was first thing in the morning and housebound women in particular had no reason to look as though they had worked the night through.

What could be her excuse? Even the mother of the child looked remarkably well rested. If the mother could look so well when the child was in a bad way, what was the excuse of the aunt?

The groom handed him his weapon reloaded.

She stood there doing nothing but tidying up, folding a blanket. Her hands so sure in the task she barely looked at it. Sighting in another apple, he then saw clearly the truth of the scene. Mrs. Musgrove looked well rested as she had obviously passed the night in her own bed while it was Anne who used the blanket as she sat by the side of the woman's injured son.

He pulled the trigger and recovered his sight in time to see bits of apple raining down onto the brush below. Handing his gun to the groom, he saw the beaters were in place and the dogs were restless and ready for employment.

"Musgrove," he called out, "I am quite ready to kill some birds!"

"So how are you when it comes to hunting rabbits, Frederick?"

He thought a moment. "Not good at all, Sister. Birds we have at sea and I enjoy the occasional practice on them, but rabbits are another matter entirely." They were arranged comfortably in the Bower Room after a fine meal of pheasant. He took a drink and waited for his sister to continue the genial harassment that had begun at the table.

"I was just thinking that since you seem to be making yourself at home, perhaps you could hunt to help divert the costs of feeding you and supplying you with wine."

"Ha! In the last two days I have only eaten twice at your table. At this rate, you should be sending a little something to the Musgroves for my care and feeding."

She smiled in a way that made him nervous. A low snort from the direction of the Admiral told him he had reason.

"Yes, that is precisely my point. Then I think Mrs. Musgrove sets a very interesting table to entice you away from us."

Her face was fixed with a slight smile, and her eyes were trained on his with brilliant intensity. His sister was doing a little hunting of her own.

The day had been a long one. Having begun with such an emotional scene and the physical exertions of hunting with a stranger, on unfamiliar territory, he was drained and suddenly his stock was cutting his throat. He got up and went to the window. For all the world he wished he could look out and see the churning wake that was his accustomed view from the stern windows of Laconia.

"Frederick, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Sophia. I heard you." He found himself resting his hand on the mantel, his fingers excruciatingly near the portrait.

"Well, tell us Frederick, what is being served up at Uppercross that is so appealing?"

He glanced up at Lady Elliot as he turned. Pulling back his hand, he leant against the mantel and said, "Mrs. Musgrove offers simple country fare. Good and wholesome, nothing exciting. But it is always in good quantity." He turned back to the window, hoping the interview was ended.

"Well, yes. There are two of them after all."

It was clear to him now what she wanted. Before he could answer, the Admiral interjected. "Leave the man be, Sophy. He has a right to make up his own mind without any interference from his overly inquisitive, older sister."

Yes, he needed no interference from anyone. The last time he was interfered with he lost quite a valuable prize. He was determined that should never happen again. There was no reason he should not take advantage of the peace and marry. And there was no reason that either of the Miss Musgroves should not make settling down a pleasant proposition. There was no reason almost any young woman in the area could not do so.

And there was no reason his sister should not know it.

"Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a foolish match. Any body between fifteen and thirty can have me for the asking. A little beauty, and a few smiles, and a few compliments of the navy, and I am a lost man. Should not this be enough for a sailor, who has had no society among women to make him nice?" He ended his farcical speech with hands open wide and an expression of pure innocence.

Her good-humoured look faded quickly and she said, "I shall not take your bait, Frederick. You and I both know you are good. You are in fact too good for some women. Do not allow haste, and desire to drive you into a union with someone you will eventually find unsuitable."

"I am not foolish, Sophia. I know what I want in a wife. A strong mind, with sweetness of manner is what I want. And either of the Musgrove girls is strong minded and sweet enough for the likes of me."

"But, Frederick, they are not the only young women even in this neighbourhood."

He wondered if she had any notions of presenting Anne Elliot as a candidate for his approval. Before she could say anything of the like, he concluded the discussion. "This is the woman I want, something a little inferior I shall of course put up with, but it must not be much. If I am a fool, I shall be a fool indeed, for I have thought on the subject more than most men."

Again he presented the open look of one imparting objective truth.

Sophia shifted in her seat and looked at her husband.

He was about to bid them a good night when she asked, "And why is that, Frederick? Why have you thought so much on the subject and yet done nothing about it?"

Though they were only fashioned of paint and canvas, he was acutely aware of Lady Elliot's eyes resting on him. It was as if she too were curious to know his answer.

"It is because I have desired to marry for quite some time, but the proper partner has—" He searched for the proper phrase.

"Eluded me."

He may have been deserted by her all those years ago. She may have been the one who forced the break and obliged him to leave, but over the years, the damage had been done. The warm attachment he felt for her could never be equaled, he had seen no one over the years with whom he would bother to try. He saw no one now, but he was tired of being alone. If it could not be her in his life, nearly any other amiable woman would do.

Chapter Twelve

May I?" he said, reaching for the List.

"Certainly," she closed it and offered it to him with a smile. As he took the slim volume from Miss Louisa, the tips of her fingers met with his. The pleasant tingle made him return her appealing smile with one of his own.

Turning his attention to the task at hand, he cleared his throat, fully expecting to read the ship's listing as it had stood for nearly six years: HMS Laconia; Fifth Rate, 32-gun, At Sea, Frederick Wentworth, Captain.

Previous lists would have included a brief history of his career and a listing of his officers and warrants, but this was a new list published quarterly by the navy. It was not Steele's Navy List, but a very new, and very up-to-date list.

For once, the normal creeping nature of the navy's inner workings had been put aside and the most current information for the quarterly printing was used. The listing read: HMS Laconia, Fifth Rate, 32-guns, Ordinary, Plymouth.

There was no hint he was ever connected to her.

"She was the dearest friend a man could ask for." As he looked down at the volume, he thought how good it was that he need not look up. He could keep his expression in check, but he was certain his eyes would give him up.

There was no use in being miserable, she was gone from him forever, and eventually another would commander her. He did have his memories and those would suffice for the evening. He launched into a short summary of his first cruises with her: the Western Islands with Harville as his first Officer and then his next summer in the Mediterranean.

"And I am sure, Sir, it was a lucky day for us, when you were put captain into that ship. We shall never forget what you did."

Mrs. Musgrove had been, at various times, speaking to Miss Elliot and to her son as Wentworth praised his Laconia, but now it was clear she was speaking directly to him.
One of the girls said, "My brother, mamma is thinking poor Richard."

"Poor dear fellow, he was grown so sturdy, and such an excellent correspondent, while under your care! Ah, it would have been a happy thing, if he had never left you. I assure you, Captain Wentworth, we are very sorry he ever left you."

For a moment, he wondered if Mrs. Musgrove knew all of his dealings, concerning her son, would she be so lavish with her praise.

He recalled one day coming on the quarterdeck and finding the Officer of the Watch missing. When he'd enquired as to who was standing the duty, his coxswain, Eyerly, had said, "That would be Mr. Musgrove, sir," as he pointed to the mainmast tops. Climbing up the mast, he found the young man writing a letter, to his parents he claimed.

Wentworth encouraged the young men to write home with some regularity. It was out of no sense of domestic care, but early on he'd discovered that well-connected mothers felt slighted by their sons if they did not receive regular correspondence. These injured feelings could cause a world of trouble for a captain and he had determined that, as far as possible, he would impress upon his young men the value of letter writing. All his inferior officers who had dealings with the midshipmen were forever making clear his personal wish: each of Laconia's mids would write home quarterly.

Seeing that Musgrove was actually cooperating, the Captain was inclined to allow him a certain amount of latitude this one time. But out of curiosity, he demanded to read the letter. When he found it to be no more than a slipshod, mewling, badly spelt plea for money, his inclination changed. After that it was a test of wills as to whether Mr. Musgrove could be forced to write a single letter to his family that did not cry poor. In six months, Wentworth managed to force two disinterested letters from the thickheaded laggard.

Though it revolted him that anyone should mourn poor Richard, or have any tenderness concerning the blighter at all, he could not deny the woman her motherly feelings. However infuriating Musgrove might have been to him as a captain, and to every other member of the crew, he was still the woman’s son. And by the look of her, she missed him greatly.

Wishing to speak privately with Mrs. Musgrove, he made his way to the sofa where she sat. He'd not noticed her, but Miss Elliot sat the other side of the sofa. Their eyes met for an instant. Though he'd looked her way numerous times, he'd never caught her looking at him.

Years before, he would have made his way to the sofa, not to console a grieving mother, but at the enticement of her soft brown eyes and sweet smile. Soon after their initial introduction, her very presence invited him to surround himself in their warmth.

Now, with the formidable frame of Mrs. Musgrove between them, they were as far apart as a man and woman could be.

Perhaps he should have taken comfort in the fact that she did not willingly break off her gaze, but did so only when Mrs. Musgrove enthusiastically made room for him It should have, but it did not.

Taking his seat, he thanked heaven the many guests were entertaining themselves and, at the moment, paying him no mind. His only desire was to be plain and sincere rather than clever for the crowd.

“Mrs. Musgrove, as the captain of two ships, it has been my grim duty to order men into battle. And part of my penance has been to write the letters informing the families when they are lost.” It was clear that while Mrs. Musgrove was generally attentive, as Dick was not being spoken of directly, she was merely waiting for particulars of him. It mattered not. Despite her imperfect powers of comprehension, this was the truth as he had come to understand it. “Some time ago, I came to the realization that in war, the most arduous task is for those at home.” Mrs. Musgrove began to apprehend his speech. "Those who serve the Crown have their daily duties to attend, and constant preparation for battle. We fight for our lives, and then bury our dead. But you at home have no occupation but that of waiting for news. I do not envy you that."

As he paused, he considered that he knew not how Musgrove had died. When he was on Laconia, the boy had seen little close action, and he knew nothing of his career after the happy divestiture. Moreover, he could not determine if Mrs. Musgrove even understood him, but it did not matter. These were his feelings regardless of the young man's end, or any comfort they brought his mother.

“Please know that your family's sacrifice is understood and appreciated by the likes of me.” He knew that not every man with his authority cared, beyond his usefulness to the ship, which of his crew lived or died. But he did. It was painful to think he probably cared more now that he was out of the action than when he was in the thick of it.

Mrs. Musgrove began to cluck and thank him for his kindness. Anne’s expression was troubled and she did not look his way again. She no doubt considered his words excessively stark and unsentimental. But obscuration was not in his nature. It would have been quite simple, and expected, that he should toss out some kind words concerning the son of the house. This might have been acceptable, however he refused to give her a false impression of her useless son while miscasting his opinion of the brat. Anne’s disapproval aside, he was happy to have paid due honour to a mother's sacrifice and grief and yet maintain his integrity.

They were all beginning to feel the awkwardness of the close moment and he was relieved to hear the voice behind him:

“If you had been a week later at Lisbon, last spring, Frederick, you would have been asked to give passage to Lady Mary Grierson and her daughters.” The Admiral stood over them, hands clasped behind his back. His smile was a challenge to the captain’s long-standing opinion concerning women aboard ships.

As to the woman in question, a picture of her fantastic turban came to his mind and he said, “Should I? I am glad I was not a week late then.”

"Why, Captain, I think that to be glad to leave a lady, and her daughters, stranded is not very gentlemanly of you." Wentworth noticed the expression on his face, and that he winked at his sister.

When the Admiral felt things turning dull, he always seemed to know precisely how to liven up the evening.

"Sir, I was on a commission for the Crown. I must be prepared for any and all possibilities. To have supernumeraries, particularly of the female persuasion on board, would have complicated matters excessively. Lady Grierson, the wife of a sea-going admiral, would more than understand my feelings. And while I do not mind allowing women, in limited numbers, with limited freedom, aboard for balls or short visits, I stand by my opinion that the best place for them is dry land."

The tone of the exchange, though completely honest, was light and amiable. Those listening in raised a good-natured commotion. He smiled and rose. Motioning for quiet, he continued.

"But I know myself, that this is from no gallantry towards them. It is from feeling how impossible it is, with all one's efforts, and all one's sacrifices, to make accommodations on board, such as women ought to have. There can be no want of gallantry, admiral, in rating the claims of women to every personal comfort high—and this is what I do. I hate to hear of women aboard, or see them on board; and no ship, under my command, shall ever convey a family of ladies any where, if I can help it."

With just a few lines, his sister's countenance was becoming rosy and he knew she was preparing to rise to the defense of all women that he would so cruelly snub.

"Oh Frederick! I cannot believe you. All idle refinement! Women may be as comfortable on board, as in the best house in England. I believe I have lived as much on board as most women, and I know nothing superior to the accommodations of a man-of-war. I declare I have not a comfort or an indulgence about me, even at Kellynch-hall,"

Comparing the Hall to even a First Rate ship was a gross exaggeration and when she nodded to Miss Elliot, he knew she realised her blunder. Even at this, he knew she would not give up the fight.

"… beyond what I always had in most of the ships I have lived in; and they have been five altogether."

"Nothing to the purpose," he replied. "You were living with your husband; and you were the only woman on board."

What one woman would endure for the love of her husband he knew a tribe of them would not countenance for sennight. And besides that, one woman uses only a mildly alarming amount of water. In groups, they have no conscience wasting the stuff barrels at a time. She was overreaching and he could see victory.

"But you, yourself, brought Mrs. Harville, her sister, her cousin, and the three children, around from Portsmouth to Plymouth. Where was that superfine, extraordinary sort of gallantry of yours, then?"

His sister's exacting intelligence concerning the precise numbers of the Harville party surprised him. The accuracy of the scuttlebutt could never be under estimated. With the winds of the argument backing against him, a hasty change of tack was required. So like a woman, he thought.

"All merged in my friendship, Sophia, I would assist any brother officer's wife that I could, and I would bring any thing of Harville's from the world's end, if he wanted it. But do not imagine that I did not feel it an evil itself."

When first asked to transport his family, Harville had acknowledged what he knew to be his friend's opinion. But the need was great and the appeal was rendered with such courtesy and respect that there had been no possibility of any answer save: yes.

“Depend upon it, they were all perfectly comfortable.”

And that was true. Because of time and tide, sleeping arrangements for the ladies had to be worked out. Mrs. Harville and Miss Fanny Harville were quite understanding of the less than spacious accommodations, and, from what intelligence had made its way back to him, made the land loving cousin to understand as well. They all behaved themselves perfectly; none expected that anytime they were above deck that they were welcome to wander at will. He suspected Harville had reminded his wife that the quarterdeck was sacrosanct and that it was his soul that would be in jeopardy if they dared to tread its sacred boards without an invitation from the captain.

“I might not like them the better for that perhaps. Such a number of women and children have no right to be comfortable on board.”

“My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly. Pray, what would become of us poor sailors’ wives, who often want to be conveyed to one port or another, after our husbands, if everybody had your feelings?”

He indifferently leant against a chair where Miss Louisa had come to rest. “My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking Mrs. Harville and all her family to Plymouth.” She had him and he knew it. Though, looking at the expressions around the room, the assembly seemed less interested in the logic and rationality of their contest, and was more engaged by his abundant confidence and eloquent speech-making.

And though he would never admit it, his feelings had not prevented him from having a boson's chair rigged and arranging for all the children, even the little girl, to be taken into the tops. Their childish wonder of viewing the horizon was a feeling he still had yet to forget. It was of the same pure and unblighted quality as his own. Their questions were mostly silly, but occasionally insightful. When he had offered the boys the use of his second-best telescope, they had gone a little wild. Crouching next to Harville's daughter he held the scope to her eye, for it was too heavy for her to lift. After bringing them down he understood a little better why Harville's voice softened when he spoke of his children. That understanding was tempered a bit when it took him an hour of polishing to remove the mass of tiny fingerprints.

“But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman, and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures. We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days.”

He glanced at Anne. There was no smooth water for anyone. None of us sails precisely as we wish, he thought.

“Ah! my dear,” said the Admiral, “when he had got a wife, he will sing a different tune. When he is married, if we have the good luck to live to another war, we shall see him do as you and I, and a great many others, have done. We shall have him very thankful to anybody that will bring him his wife.”

“Ay that we shall.”

“Now I have done,” he cried. At this jab, the expressions of the spectators turned to him with great expectance. “When once married people begin to attack me with, —'Oh! you will think very differently, when you are married.’ I can only say, ‘No, I shall not;’ and then they say again, ‘Yes, you will,’ and there is an end of it.” It was best to leave the field with his perceived victory and wait another day to win the war. He got up and moved away.

Taking advantage of the lull in the conversation, he excused himself to a little terrace he discovered earlier in the week. It was the perfect place to escape the din of Uppercross, which had grown excessively loud.

The evening had started well and was continuing so. The arrival of the Hayters after dinner had made things a bit wild. The parents and the older girls were civil enough, but the younger boys were just barely what he would call civilized. One of the little barbarians had asked how many pirates he had beheaded. The question itself was not nearly as disturbing to him as the cold-blooded gleam in the young man's eyes as he anticipated the captain's answer. When he'd answered that the number was not nearly as many as one might think, there had been a general groan of disappointment from more than just the boy.

Looking through the smoke from his cheroot as it curled and dissipated in the clear, cold air, he watched the servants finish clearing the now-empty dining room. He would have to soon finish his smoke, for when the servants were finished, the lights would be put out. Earlier in the week he'd found that this particular side of the house was confoundedly dark, which made manoeuvring through to the door, treacherous as best.

The last serving girl left the reordered room, and a lighted branch of candles was left burning on the table. He relaxed against the railing of the steps, confident there would be light enough for him to find his way back.

As he enjoyed the quiet, he stared at the dining room and recounted bits of the meal and conversation. It was disconcerting to find his eyes always going back to the same chair. She had been seated next to the Admiral to her right with Charles Musgrove on her left.

Their eyes had only met briefly during the introductions. The more dangerous moment had been when the younger Mrs. Musgrove made mention of his previous, slight acquaintance with Miss Elliot. His sister had come alive at this bit of news and he could see there would be questions later about why she knew nothing of it.

Through dinner Miss Elliot had said little to anyone not to either side of her. A time or two he thought she looked as though she had an observation; a look of amusement or thoughtfulness would pass across her face, but still she kept to herself.

The topic of cold-water sailing had come up at one point and he had bowed to his brother-in-law's superior knowledge on the subject. It was during this time he had noticed the necklace she wore.

It was a simple piece, a few blue stones in silver. During the removes, she fingered it often. At first, he wondered if he had given it to her, and that she wore it as a sort of goad; a reminder of their engagement. Soon that thought was thrown overboard. The summer he'd landed in Monkford, he'd had just a shilling or two above ten pounds to last him until he was called back into service. After he knew his mind concerning her, he had thought to buy her a token, but found, even if he had had all the money in the world, there was no necklace, set of earrings, bracelet, hat pin or pin case worthy of her position as a the daughter of a baronet, within the confines of the surrounding market towns.

The necklace she wore was not a goad to him, for he had left her with nothing but memories of his ill wishes. As he listened to the footsteps of someone approaching, he wondered if her memories of that summer left her as dry and empty as those he kept.

"I thought you might be here," Miss Louisa said, taking the steps two at a time.

He tossed down the cheroot and ground it out. "I find that some ladies, like my sister, do not care for the smell of cigars." As with his excuses concerning women on ships, he thought the truth was better kept to himself.

Pulling her cape close, she joined him leaning against the stairway. "Well, with deference to your sister, I like the smell of cigars. It is quite different than the scent of ladies and, therefore more interesting."

He laughed. "My sister finds the scent alarmingly close to that of burning dung—excuse me. She does not like it at all." He was certain Miss Louisa was not offended by such a candid observance, being country bred. But, he did not like assuming.

Now she laughed. "I respect your sister, but I cannot disagree more strongly. It is quite manly, and I like it."

Her firm tone left him in no doubt of her opinion on the matter.

A voice called, "Captain," from the darkness, just as Louisa touched his arm.

"Captain? Louisa?"

He scanned the shadows and head Miss Louisa sigh. Seeing Miss Henrietta Musgrove emerge from the dark, coatless and stumbling over unseen obstacles was gratifying for some inexplicable reason.

Coming into the little halo of light from the dining room, she joined them on the steps and said, "Mama, missed you, Captain. And I was determined I would find you."

"Are you certain it was Mama who missed him?" Miss Louisa asked.

The sisters looked at one another for a moment.

They were remarkably good tempered with one another, and even now, as some tension was passing between them, they were not obviously angry. Henrietta broke the gaze and said generally, "It is awfully cold out here." She chaffed her bare arms.

Miss Louisa began to unfasten her cloak. "Here, take this…"

He touched her hand, and said, "No, keep yourself warm. Allow me." Pulling his coat from his shoulders he placed it on Miss Musgrove's shivering frame. She pulled it close and thanked him sweetly.

"Regardless of who noticed my absence, I am now found out. Let us head back and join the party." Offering each lady and arm, they began to pick their way through the dimness.

The evening was beginning to lose momentum and the young ladies debated how it might be saved. The Miss Musgroves suggested an impromptu concert, with all the ladies presenting an entertainment.

"Very well for you, Henrietta and Louisa, for I am sure you have done little but practice," one of the Hayter ladies said. The scheme was roundly rejected and it was made clear that they wished more of the evening than being lost in a rather sizeable audience and singing the occasional song. The elder Mrs. Musgrove agreed that compelling the Captain to sit through a second concert in just a handful of days would be very bad manners. The alternative she suggested was dancing.

This was greeted with a great deal of enthusiasm from both families. Wentworth enjoyed dancing and looked forward to the activity. But even before the men were called to move the furniture, nearly the entire assembly turned, en masse, to the sofa where Miss Anne sat.

"You will of course play, Miss Anne," asked Mrs. Musgrove.

She smiled as she stood and went to the piano. The smile was practiced and as he watched her take her seat at the bench, he could tell everyone was quite accustomed to this arrangement. All were accustomed, but not all were necessarily happy with it.

With her tacit consent, the room burst into a flurry of activity. Footmen gathered vases, candlesticks and glasses while others moved furniture out of the room. "Sets me to mind of a well-ordered clear-for-action," the admiral said as he too observed. Sophia joined them, reminding her husband that the last time they had danced was on board the ship leading the convoy from the East Indies.

"Remember, dear, there was a storm approaching and the deck was pitching more and more as the evening progressed."

"Aye, one had to be careful, else you wound up with a broken leg."

"Or worse, the wrong partner." she said, a bit of fun in her voice.

"And such proves my case concerning ladies on ships. No woman should be left to the caprice of Mother Nature to pick her a dancing partner." He smiled at his sister and before she could respond to the jab, he walked away.

A table with refreshments had been tucked into far corner. He worked his way through the crush of aunts, uncles, cousins, sister and brothers to pour himself a cup of punch. He helped himself to a biscuit. The slightly bittersweet tang delighted him. Finding any sweets made with arrack was always a pleasure, but especially so out here in the wilds of Somerset.

Dipping another in his punch, he enjoyed the commingling of the sweet and the bitter when his enjoyment was cut short. He realised he was staring at the piano. And that he had no other desire but to watch her.

The young ladies were crowded around Miss Elliot, making their requests for particular pieces of music to be played. She shuffled the sheets together, looking at each for a moment as she did so. There was no look of pleasure on her face. Nothing that might indicate that she would enjoy playing the music. Everything about her was about duty. She was expected to play and she would accomplish it well; he knew her talent was more than up to the task and that her keen sense of responsibility would not allow her to disappoint the party. Anne would play and persuade herself that she was doing the best for all.

When they were becoming acquainted, it had pleased him a great deal to see that she was most accomplished on the dance floor. She knew all the steps perfectly, and she had the ability to make even an unsure partner feel extraordinarily confident. And besides that, she was the most beautiful woman any man could partner with. He knew that when they danced together people were drawn to watch, and it was a good deal of satisfaction that he noticed the envious looks of several fellows at those assemblies.

He was certain she was no less a dancer now, and his skills had been honed on dance floors in many parts of the world, but he felt a twinge when he thought of the two of them even passing one another during a set. There was no question that he would avoid, at all costs, asking her to be his partner. It would not be expected, as there were so many women dancing. No, the chaotic nature of the affair would free him of any duty towards her; dancing with Miss Anne would be the responsibility of the Admiral and her brother-in-law.

The party had been dancing for nearly an hour when a break for refreshments was called for.

Standing apart from the crush around the punch bowl, he again watched her. As she stood amidst the younger women, she spoke only when spoken to, which was very little. He could tell she was observing them over the rim of her cup, and not joining them in the spirit of the evening. When she moved to join his sister and Mrs. Musgrove, again she was amongst them only in body, not in mind or spirit.

"You are a very good dancer, Captain."

Miss Louisa had joined him at his little outpost.

"Thank you. I enjoy dancing. It is one of the few civilized pleasures sailors might indulge onboard ship."

She laughed heartily. "But, since you allow no ladies on your ship, do the men dance with one another?" Her eyes were full of mischief and begged him to join her in the fun of the tease.

"Certainly not, Miss Musgrove. But we have instruments—tin pipes mostly—but the occasional fiddle comes along. And in the evening the men gather on deck and take their turns at jigs and fancy steps from whatever part of the world they hale. Again, Miss Louisa, I must remind you that we are not savages."

"And you drink your tea, in a bone china cup, and watch your men. Do you ever dance, Captain?"

It was her audacious question that made him picture himself on the capstan, like one of his men, dancing a jig. It was vulgar and hilarious at the same time. "No, Miss, I do not dance onboard ship; aside from the rare ball. And that is why I am enjoying myself so much this evening."

"What sort of music do the men play?"

"Canty tunes and shanties. Sometimes hymns. But they do not, of course, dance to hymns."

She caught him by the sleeve. "Show me," she said, taking him to the piano. He glanced about and saw that she was occupied with his sister and Mrs. Musgrove.

After a few moments of trying to hum a tune for her to pick out on the keyboard, he took the seat himself and plucked at the keys. Looking at Miss Louisa, she wore an expression of frustration. It was then he noticed her sister and the young Hayters were joining them.

The tune was quite familiar to him, and he wondered why he was having difficulty with it. After several tries, he succeeded in remembering the fingering, and played the short tune completely. The ladies applauded and proclaimed him a wonder. It was ridiculous that such petty accomplishments were greeted with such adulation. It was also ridiculous that he enjoyed the attention so much.

"Perhaps we should have you play for the next set," Miss Henrietta said.

Turning to answer her, he could not help notice, standing off to one side, Miss Elliot watching them. Her color was much improved and the weariness lessened. There was an obvious softness about her face. Her eyes were brighter than earlier in the evening and a trace of a smile graced the once pale lips.

Glancing about, the young ladies were awaiting a clever replay. "I don't think that wise. These are the only bits of music I am able to play." It was all he was able to muster under the circumstances.

Her smile had grown a bit and suddenly knew why. His reply, to his way of thinking, came extraordinarily close to telling the group that it was Miss Elliot who had taught him how to play the sections in the first place.

It had taken some time from them to become acquainted. After being introduced, they gazed at one another across one or two crowded rooms. Finally working up the nerve, he had approached her to ask for a dance. Her warm acceptance bolstered his opinion that she was quick and intelligent and a good judge of character. After that first dance, her attentions were paid to others only as far as it would keep the two of them from being the topic of gossip in the neighbourhood.

He cared nothing about such trivial matters, but she knew the lay of the land and was determined that nothing untoward might travel back to the ears of her father.

The acquaintance between them was quickly growing and, he was certain, becoming more serious. It was only a fortnight or so before he was speaking of it as a fixture in his life; that it would extend past the time he would leave and go back to sea. While she was always quick to point out the difficulties, and dangers of carrying on such a relationship, her expressions all said that she looked forward to it. And more.

Nothing had yet been declared between them, but he was feeling the pull. Every meeting was sweet and anxious at the same time. Every meeting was an exercise in strategy. The problem was age-old: how to be as close to her as possible without rousing the suspicions of the entire neighbourhood, or even herself.

It was a happy accident that brought the two of them to the piano bench.

She had been curious about a tune he hummed occasionally. He told her as much as he knew about its origin, and it was she who, noticing the piano was unused, suggested an experiment. For some time, at a party such as this, they sat side-by-side while he hummed to her various snatches of songs, and she transposed them to the keyboard. Her natural talent, and acute ear for notes, could not help but impress him. As he liked music a great deal, her talent added itself to the growing number of reasons he felt he should marry her. But it was more than her musical talent that cemented his feelings for Anne Elliot.

Like most proper young women, on any given evening, she smelled of roses or lavender. As they passed one another while dancing or just walking together he could not help catching the occasional whiff of sweet and proper flowers. As this one particular night went on, he noticed still the occasional scent of lavender, but as the heat of the day lingered and they kept always together, that innocent fragrance was fused with something richer, deeper, something not born of flowers. Whatever it was, he knew it was a little wild and conjured in him both desire and attachment. There was a creeping certainty that he would do any damage necessary to have her for his own. The idea of cutting and breaking for prize money was reasonable, but such primitive thoughts concerning a woman shocked, and excited him.

That excitement was no less present at that moment than it had been all those nights ago.

"I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat." He rose and left the bench.

It had been a delicious torture to be seated next to her on that bench long ago, but now the stark recollection was a thunderous disturbance that threatened to sink him.

Stepping back, and motioning towards the seat, she said, "Please, Captain, continue with your songs."

To remain in her presence and continue at a diversion that started years ago with her was, of course, impossible now that he remembered. Taking the cup offered by one of the Hayter ladies, he said, "No, Miss, this was just some idle foolishness, nothing really serious at all." Without looking back, he walked off to search out something stronger to drink.

In short order, the next set began. Miss Elliot was again playing for the party.

The particular dance was neither long, nor very interesting and when they had finished, he asked, "Will Miss Elliot play the entire evening? Surely she will want to dance as well."

Miss Musgrove answered: "Oh! No, never; she has quite given up dancing. She had rather play. She is never tired of playing."

As kind as the Musgroves were to him, it was obvious they were too caught up in their own enjoyment. To anyone really looking at her, Miss Elliot was indeed tired of playing. The color and softness of the previous hour was gone. In their place was a pale fatigue and discrete stretching to loosen tired muscles. She began again to play and he turned back to his partner and the dance, hoping to put away stray thoughts of her aching muscles giving way to the gentle pressure of his hands.

Chapter Thirteen