Anne heard snatches of her sister Elizabeth’s conversation with her friend Mrs. Clay, as they discussed the previous evening’s party, taking delight in discussing the faults and shortcomings of the guests present. Sir Walter attended to his newspaper, occasionally interjecting with news of some entertainment to be given at the Assembly Rooms. Anne’s attention was suddenly caught at the sound of his dear name.
“I think Captain Wentworth improves on acquaintance, do not you, Miss Elliot?” enquired Mrs. Clay.
“Indeed, Penelope. One would never mistake him for a lowly sailor now. He is certainly a gentleman by his appearance; what a difference money can make.”
“And in agreeable manners and conversation, he is altogether a perfect companion,” replied Mrs. Clay.
Elizabeth studied her friend intently. “I was not aware that you spoke to Captain Wentworth last night.”
“I did not, but I saw you engaged in conversation with him several times. Indeed, Miss Elliot, it seemed to me as if he were particularly seeking you out. It quite put your cousin’s nose out of joint. Elizabeth is gathering admirers by the dozens, is she not, Sir Walter?”
Elizabeth smirked at the hints Mrs. Clay was making even though she was not quite so sure herself that she had gained such admiration from either the Captain or her cousin, Mr. William Elliot. Her sister Anne put herself forward far too often to talk to those gentlemen, she thought.
Sir Walter put down his paper upon the chaise longue. “Captain Wentworth is a well-looking man, one whom I would not be ashamed to be seen with anywhere. A degree lower or two than I would usually tolerate, but his style is good, and he is less weather beaten than his sister, Mrs. Croft, whom I declare has the complexion to outstrip a mail coach. I daresay the Admiral sees something to esteem in such a square, upright sort, but I like a woman to be less vigorous in her appearance.”
“At least we have been able to escape their acquaintance here in Bath, Father,” said Elizabeth. “They’ve found their own level amongst those odd-looking sailors, I am glad to say. Thank heaven, for I’m certain our cousin Lady Dalrymple would be embarrassed by such a connection.”
“Quite so!” Sir Walter exclaimed. “Still, it is something of a disappointment, I confess, that the Crofts, as my tenants who have all the advantages of presently residing in our family home, should not have a better appearance. A lady’s complexion should be as pale as porcelain, and as fine.”
Anne heard this in dismay. “Mrs. Croft is tanned because she has been at sea with her husband. They are devoted to one another, and share their life together like no other couple I know.”
“Well, I should hate to see a daughter of mine succumb to such abuse,” Sir Walter declared, “though perhaps a catch of twenty-five thousand pounds might be well worth going to sea for, wouldn’t you say so, Mrs. Clay?” He paused in order for them to laugh at his joke before returning to his newspaper.
“Though Captain Wentworth may have made his fortune, we must remember ‘new money’ does not allow for the same privileges that we are afforded,” Elizabeth remarked, “or permit society’s doors to open. He must be aware that he will never be fully admitted to the upper echelons. And the Crofts hardly assist him in both manner and mode. Such hideous fashions I never did see in my life. Do, however, send them my best regards, Anne, next time you see them.”
“Oh yes, I know what’s due to my tenant,” said Sir Walter. “Say I shall call soon, though I am sure they will not expect more than my card.”
Anne’s anxiety increased, but she could not help thinking that if her father had not been such a spendthrift, Captain Wentworth’s amiable sister and her worthy husband, Admiral Croft, would not be ensconced at Kellynch Hall and paying them rent. In the circumstances they had been utterly thoughtful and discreet, a fact her father did not even consider.
Anne promptly turned away to cover her discomfiture. There was a knock at the door; she sat down, her heart in her mouth. When the servant entered she held her breath to hear the announcement she’d been longing for.
“Mr. Elliot,” were the words she heard instead, and to her consternation, her cousin came into the room to greet them all cordially and take the seat next to hers. Anne remonstrated with herself, for she considered her behaviour quite ridiculous. She must remain calm. After all, another five minutes or even an hour in the scheme of things would hardly count. She had managed to wait for nearly nine years. If she had to, she could wait another nine!
“I’ve brought that book of poems I was telling you about,” Mr. Elliot said, proffering a leather bound volume. “I have marked one in particular I think you will enjoy.”
Anne’s spirits sank on reading the love poem, only recalling how much Lady Russell had hoped for a match between herself and Mr. Elliot.
“Do let us have our share in the poem,” demanded Elizabeth. “Anne, read it aloud.”
“Allow me,” Mr. Elliot insisted, and with looks only for the girl at his side, he started to read with feeling.
Anne only heard the rain drumming against the long floor-length windows. She folded her hands in her lap, resisting the urge to pleat the fine white muslin of her gown under her fingers as she waited.
Another knock on the front door was heard. Anne was trapped with Mr. Elliot; it was impossible to move. She listened. Voices were distinguished, a man’s deep tones. Elizabeth was talking, Anne could not be sure. The click of heels rapidly ascending the stone staircase heralded their visitor. And then all of a sudden Captain Wentworth was there waiting for her father. Anne felt the flicker of Frederick’s eyes upon hers for just a moment.
When Sir Walter and Captain Wentworth left the room, it was impossible to avoid the enquiring looks of Elizabeth, Mrs. Clay, and Mr. Elliot, who had not missed Captain Wentworth’s request or the way he’d looked at Anne.
“Do you know why the Captain wishes to speak to my father, Anne?” barked Elizabeth, her foot tapping impatiently. “He seemed very particular in his address.”
Anne heard the hostility in her sister’s voice, and felt the charge of all that she implied. All three straightened in their seats; the only sound came from the ticking of the elegant clock on the mantelshelf.
Anne dared to say the words she had only dreamed of uttering out loud. “We are to be married. Captain Wentworth and I are engaged.”
“Engaged!” Elizabeth’s laugh tinkled like the little brass bell upon the Pembroke table at her side. “Anne, you always leap to the wildest imaginings. Besides, he’s already promised to another!”
Anne noted the amused expressions of her accusers, glimpsed the spiteful gleam in their eyes.
“Why, you must know that he’s in love with one of the Musgrove girls,” continued Elizabeth. “What’s her name, that girl who fell off the Cobb at Lyme? She laughs too much, and her hair is too outré for words. Anne, she is a good deal younger and prettier than you; it’s common knowledge that Captain Wentworth is to marry her!”
For an instant, Anne’s old fears revived until sense finally prevailed. “You mean Louisa, I suppose, but I can assure you that there is no love in the case, whatever might formerly have been presumed.”
As she calmly repeated her news, Anne watched their faces change from stupefied astonishment to a realisation of the truth. The air vibrated with seething emotion kept under regulation. Elizabeth’s face turned white with anger, her eyes narrowing as her mouth twitched with indignation, but not another word was spoken.
Congratulation, she had not expected, but this silence, the sense of resentment, was unforeseen. In the next moment, Elizabeth turned away with cold unconcern to resume her conversation as if Anne did not exist. And when Mr. Elliot and Mrs. Clay exchanged glances, his disappointment etched plainly on his features, she could not bear it a moment longer. It was too much to stay in the room. Making her escape, Anne waited, listening to the murmur of voices coming from the library.
“Frederick, is it true you are really here at last?” mused Anne, hoping that all
was going well behind the closed doors. “There have been so many misunderstandings. The expectation that you were to marry Louisa truly broke my heart. But, in the end, your beautiful letter changed everything. Your heartfelt words I will treasure forever. ‘You pierce my soul,’ you declared; ‘I have loved none but you.’ After waiting for so long, I cannot believe I deserve such happiness.”
After their marriage they planned to stay a while with Frederick’s brother and his wife in Shropshire. Just thinking of Edward Wentworth took Anne back to the time she’d become acquainted with his sailor brother. It was summer when they had first met. Anne was nineteen, extremely pretty, gentle and modest. At an age when she was beginning to go out into society, Monkford, a market town within walking distance of Anne’s home at Kellynch, provided much entertainment in the way of shopping, the monthly balls at the Assembly Rooms, and attendance at the parish church.
Anne first spied Lieutenant Wentworth across the aisle. He commanded her attention by his dark, good looks, framed as he was against a vase of country flowers, and by his air that was striking in its confidence. She knew immediately he must be the curate’s brother, and on being introduced, her first impressions were confirmed. He was a most cordial gentleman with pleasing manners and address.
At the Assembly Ball on the following Wednesday, Lieutenant Wentworth wasted no time in presenting himself. Anne stood with her friend Lady Russell, watching her sister Elizabeth surrounded by gentlemen.
“May I have the next dance, Miss Elliot?”
Anne readily assented, but she couldn’t have been more surprised. Elizabeth was regarded as the beauty, and she couldn’t think why he had singled her out. It wasn’t that Anne was never asked to dance. Indeed, Charles Musgrove from Uppercross seemed to increasingly enjoy her company. It was just that Frederick Wentworth was so extraordinarily different, quite unlike anyone Anne had ever met before. She felt overawed by his intelligence, spirit, and brilliance, but sensing her unease, he took pains to draw her out.
“It is so kind of you to take pity on a fellow who has not had a dance these last twelve months. I confess being at sea for so long has made me forget how much I’ve missed a ball.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Lieutenant Wentworth, but I assure you there are young ladies enough here this evening who will only be too glad to take pity on you. There is no one quite like an unknown gentleman coming into a neighbourhood to inspire fellow feeling.”
Lieutenant Wentworth smiled. “But, I should not be so grateful to them as I am to you, Miss Elliot. Your pity is the only compassion I wish for, your commiseration the only kindness I desire.”
Anne did not know how to reply, and was thankful when new partners separated them. She knew that he would not ask her again especially when she observed him dancing with Amy Parfitt. Anne felt she had not been lively enough or said anything witty, she’d only blushed like a schoolgirl.
A garden party at the rectory brought them together again. The curate liked providing opportunities for his parishioners to mingle, and besides, he’d observed the way his brother had been taken with Miss Elliot, hearing him drop her name more than once into the conversation. Anne made an early appearance to see if she could help, and to bring a basket of roses from Kellynch. She could see the marquee but there was no one about when she walked into the walled garden. It promised to be a beautiful day. Lances of sunlight speared through the canopies of boughs, highlighting pink brick and rambling honeysuckle but making violet shadows on the green lawn still wet with dew. A few cloth-covered tables were already set out. Anne was placing her basket when she heard a voice call out behind her.
“Miss Elliot, forgive me for not greeting you sooner, but I’m afraid I’ve rather had my hands full.”
Lieutenant Wentworth advanced bearing plates of cake and thinly sliced bread and butter.
“Oh, do let me help,” cried Anne, rushing forth to relieve him, glad to do something to cover her confusion. Just seeing him again overset all her feelings.
“We’re all hands on deck in the kitchen,” he continued. “Mrs. Badcock’s fairly cooked herself out with a battery of buns and cakes, and though I can slice a loaf to within a sail’s breadth, I must admit to being all at sea with their display.”
Anne laughed. “I’d be happy to arrange slices of cake, or anything at all! Show me the way.”
The curate was rather shocked to find the baronet’s daughter in his kitchen but she protested against being shooed out. Anne took pleasure in selecting the prettiest floral china and deciding what must go where, and then she and Lieutenant Wentworth took everything out into the garden to cover it all carefully with snowy cloths before the guests arrived.
“I was rather hoping you might help me with something else later on,” he said, as they both took the ends of a tablecloth between them. “I have a feeling that your particular talents will be needed.”
Anne couldn’t imagine what he meant, though she expressed her willingness to be of help.
“I noticed when we were in church last Sunday how you kept some of the noisier children amused with pencils and paper. I confess; it was your gentle way with them that impressed me. You seem able to make them do as you wish with the smallest effort.”
“Idle hands are often mischievous ones. I find if the children are occupied, it follows they are no trouble. Their contentment had little to do with me.”
“You are too modest, Miss Elliot. I’ve seen how your particular methods work on the most troublesome case. I am certain you could persuade anyone to anything. Indeed, no one could be safe from the charms of Miss Anne Elliot.”
Anne could not decide what he meant nor did she know how to answer. Smoothing the corner of the cloth with her fingers, she avoided looking up directly at the face she knew was scrutinising hers. “Lieutenant Wentworth, I fear you greatly exaggerate my abilities, and I own, I do not quite know what to say.”
“Just promise that you will assist me. The fact is that my brother has put me in charge of the running races for the children this afternoon. I admit, I’d rather face a whole fleet of the French Navy than a gaggle of small children.”
Anne laughed. “I haven’t much experience at organising races, but for my own part, I must say that the thought is not such a terrifying one compared to fighting old Boney.”
“Thank you, Miss Elliot, I knew you’d come to my rescue.”
Anne was thankful that she spied her basket of roses just then, giving her an opportunity to be busy. She set about snipping the stems and arranging them in a vase under the watchful eye of her friend. They were alone, but the garden was alive with the music of soft air murmuring in the trees. Birds chirruped in a larkspur sky, and the sun’s warmth drew the fragrance from the petals blushed with pink to match her cheeks.
“I love to watch someone else working,” said Lieutenant Wentworth, coming closer to observe Anne’s movements.
He enjoyed watching her dainty fingers fly. The scissors flashed, a snip here, a tweak there; Miss Elliot was most accomplished. A stirring breeze snatched at her sprigged muslin, outlining her pretty figure and playfully shaking her dark curls.
Anne fixed her eyes on the base of the silver vase where the sun winked in a bright star. Her mind was not entirely on the task. She knew that he was staring, and when she looked up his penetrating expression was entirely her own.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed, as the thorn pierced her flesh, at once wishing she’d been paying attention. And when he rushed to her side, she was mortified. He would think she’d pricked her finger on purpose.
He took her tiny hand. Anne felt the warmth and strength of his long fingers pressed against her own. Her breath quickened. A bead, like a ruby red jewel, spurted to the surface of her skin. She eased her hand from his grip to bring her finger to her lips knowing that his eyes were on her mouth. Just a small scratch, the flow of blood was easily stemmed, but not before Lieutenant Wentworth took her hand again to inspect the wound. Anne regarded the eyes fringed in
black lashes deep in concentration. He seemed to be holding her hand forever. Nevertheless, she was sorry when he finally released it.
“I hope it’s not too painful. I’m sorry, Miss Elliot, I wished you to enjoy today so much.”
“It does not hurt. In any case, nothing could spoil the pleasure I’m having. I thank you kindly.” Anne felt she’d said too much, and, blushing again, made a move to walk back towards the house.
At that precise moment, the curate, accompanied by his first guests, Elizabeth and Lady Russell, came bustling in through the gate. Anne turned, immediately hiding her hand behind her back almost as if she imagined they could see the imprints of Lieutenant Wentworth’s fingers upon her own.
“Lady Russell, Miss Elliot, here is the delightful Miss Anne and my brother to keep you company. Miss Anne has been working all morning, above and beyond the call of duty, I might add,” said Edward Wentworth.
“I can quite imagine!” Elizabeth cast her eye knowingly over the pair. Their close proximity did not escape her observation. “I don’t doubt that my sister makes herself agreeable at every opportunity. And, she has always been very much at home in the kitchen.”
The curate moved away to greet the procession of villagers now straggling through the gate, and Anne was grateful for the flurry of activity. Neighbours, friends, and children started to fill the garden. Maids bearing pitchers of cool ginger beer or orange wine proffered liquid refreshment.
“Thank goodness, there are the Musgroves arriving. At least there will be one respectable family I can talk to even if they are only farmers,” Elizabeth declared as she watched the gate. “I cannot imagine what my father will have to say when he witnesses the rabble all making for the tea tent with indecent haste.”
“Anne, you will accompany us to greet the Musgroves.” Lady Russell issued her request as a command. Anne felt her cool reserve, sensing her disapproval of the young lieutenant.
Anne saw Lieutenant Wentworth watching them both, and saw the look of disgust cross his face before he turned away with the excuse of going to help his brother. She was embarrassed by her sister’s words and Lady Russell’s behaviour. The idea that Lieutenant Wentworth might think she shared similar views and manners distressed Miss Elliot greatly. When she heard that the races were due to commence in five minutes, she excused herself to find a quiet part of the garden where she could hide. She was sure he would never ask her now. Sitting down upon a stone seat, Anne could not bear the idea that he would not seek her help. When she saw him moments later, she could not have been more surprised.
Jane Austen Made Me Do It Page 4