“You’ve forgotten your promise to me, Miss Elliot,” Lieutenant Wentworth said as he regarded her, his head on one side. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Anne felt her cheeks grow warmer. “I did not think.” It was impossible to continue.
He came to sit by her side. “How is your finger?”
“Oh, perfectly mended. It is of no consequence, I thank you.” Anne wanted to say something, to explain her sister’s outburst, and the bad manners of her friend, but how could she possibly justify their behaviour?
“Please, Miss Elliot,” he said gently, “if you feel well enough, the children are waiting.”
Anne recalled the gleeful faces of the children, remembered those first feelings of happiness as she and Lieutenant Wentworth had truly taken the first steps to falling in love on that sunny, sparkling day against the backdrop of the green garden, the red-roofed rectory with its barley-twist chimneys, and the golden tower of the church rising above the cheerful scene, framed in her memory like a beautiful painting.
Summer had run its course blazing in light and life as they’d rapidly and deeply fallen in love. Such joy and felicity when Frederick proposed Anne had never known before, and such pain and heartache when she’d withdrawn were emotions she recalled with aching clarity. Persuaded by Sir Walter and Lady Russell that to become involved with a young man who had no money and no connections would be an action of folly had been the reason and their undoing. Anne had broken off the engagement. Acting with a sense of duty and obedience to her friend and father, nevertheless, Anne consequently believed that she’d been right to fall in love with Frederick Wentworth and wrong to deny their future together. When her friend Charles Musgrove proposed later on, she refused him, and when he turned to her younger sister Mary, she knew her instincts and her feelings had been right. Anne was sure she would never have found happiness with Charles. She had only ever loved Frederick Wentworth.
Waiting. Anne considered the years of waiting. For almost nine years she had waited, believing all hope was gone. Anne heard the creak of the door, saw the handle turning, and there at last stood her very own Captain. The sounds that greeted her ears were amicable enough. At least her father was addressing Frederick civilly, but she supposed that would be inevitable whatever the outcome. Anne came forward, but Sir Walter did not. A vivid flash of burgundy sleeve, a crisply starched stock, and the discomposed face above it, florid and severe, did not reassure her. Her father withdrew and the door shut fast. Again, Anne had not expected congratulation. No doubt, her father’s pride had suffered during the interview, for even he would have recognised the reversal in their fortunes as Captain Wentworth divulged all the particulars of his newly acquired wealth that now gave him the undoubted right to offer for Anne’s hand.
But there was something more. Captain Wentworth looked quite as grave as her father had done. His cheeks were suffused with pink. Frederick wore an expression Anne would never forget; the very same countenance she had witnessed when her father had given the young lieutenant short shrift all those years ago. Perhaps all was now lost, after all. Had the Captain changed his mind? Anne’s heartbeat quickened, she felt the threat of tears prick behind her eyelids. Waiting to hear the worst, a million thoughts rushed through her mind.
Captain Wentworth tried his best to compose himself. He had known exactly how Sir Walter would react, so why did he feel so upset? Anne’s father was hardly going to welcome him or his proposal with open arms, but his manner had still been very condescending. Frederick Wentworth had repressed every nerve in his body, had concealed every urge to behave in a manner unbecoming to a gentleman in order to maintain the equilibrium. He did not know how he’d managed it under the provocation, but he’d maintained a calm and collected disposition.
Anne could bear it no longer. Rushing forward, instinctively clasping her hands together as if in silent prayer, her eyes beseeched him to speak even if she could not utter a word.
“I am in need of fresh air and a change of scene.” Miss Elliot heard the clipped tones, his voice strained with emotion. Captain Wentworth gestured towards the staircase. Anne descended, each step feeling more uncertain. By the time she’d fetched her bonnet and pelisse she dreaded knowing her fate. At the front door he snapped open his umbrella and led Anne out onto the wide pavement. Only conscious of the thundering water dripping off the umbrella and gurgling in the gutters, she struggled with thoughts too unpleasant to bear. As they walked towards Belmont, where they began the descent into town, Anne observed the Captain’s struggle expressed in every feature.
They walked in silence amid Bath’s noisy din of rumbling carts, roaring tradesmen, and the clink of pattens on wet pavements.
“Please do not keep me further in suspense, Captain Wentworth,” burst out Anne at last. “I must know what you said to my father, and how he behaved.”
It was a moment before he spoke. “I thought I had forgotten the brusqueness of your father’s manner, and his undisguised contempt, or at least, I did not think it mattered to me anymore. However, I felt very differently when we came face-to-face. I felt as if I were that very young man again, a poor sailor with no fortune and no prospects. I kept remembering how he’d listened that first time with a sneer curling his lip, followed firstly by cold astonishment, then a stern declaration that a more degrading alliance he could not imagine; words to wound my pride, which have haunted me ever since.”
Anne looked up into Frederick’s eyes, trying to find some comfort from his countenance, but he looked straight ahead determinedly. Then he stopped, pausing to regard her, and she saw his mouth begin to twitch. There was a hint of amusement just dancing behind those dark eyes, and then to her utter relief he was smiling.
“There was a delicious moment when he pretended he did not know why I had come to see him, although there was a look of genuine surprise when I mentioned your name. Perhaps he thought I’d come to ask him if I could marry Elizabeth!”
“Oh, Frederick, you delight in taunting me,” Anne cried, with relief that Captain Wentworth had not entirely lost his sense of humour. “Will I ever hear the truth of the matter?”
He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “And then I had a moment when I wished to tell him everything I was truly feeling, especially when he hardly noticed me for observing his own reflection in the looking glass opposite. How I wished to gloat, to boast of my luck and good fortune. I wanted to make him suffer for the way he’d treated us, for the years we were forced apart, but in the end, I could not.”
“You would never do anything that wasn’t right in your heart. You’ve proved that to me.”
“I could not do or say anything to hurt you or any member of your family, whatever I might feel was a justified grievance. I was suitably humble, and simply asked if we might have his blessing to marry.”
“So, you did not ask his permission.”
“I thought about that, but I was not willing to risk a negative answer, even if I knew that ultimately it would not stop us from marrying. At least, I hoped it would not. If he had said no, what then, Miss Anne?”
She loved to hear him say her name. “You know the answer.”
“But, I want to hear you say it.”
“I would still marry you. No one will ever part us again.”
“And that is precisely why I love you.”
“Do you love me, Captain Wentworth?”
“I love you, Anne, more than I ever have before. My heart is entirely your own, and with your permission, I wish to spend the rest of my life with you.”
The moment she’d been waiting for was here at last. Captain Wentworth took her hand to his lips. “So, we have your father’s professed approval, and I propose, Miss Elliot, that the ceremony will take place just as soon as we can get a special licence.”
They were soon in town and just coming upon the White Hart Inn when Anne’s sister Mary walked out on her husband Charles Musgrove’s arm. Their astonished faces when they saw Anne arm in
arm with Captain Wentworth were nothing but a delight to the betrothed couple, and Mary insisted that they come in to see her relations just as soon as they’d shared their news.
Charles’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove, were initially speechless, especially when they privately considered how a few months before they thought the Captain might marry one of their daughters. Henrietta and Louisa had been quite smitten for a while. Yet they were delighted for Anne, who was always a favourite with them. Mary couldn’t wait to tell them everything they didn’t know about the past.
“Well, it was never divulged, you know, Mrs. Musgrove, but some years ago when I was still at school, Anne and the Captain were engaged once before.”
Anne felt herself blush. Mary never did know when to be quiet. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove tried not to look too curious, Anne observed.
Charles came to her rescue. “May we offer our heartiest congratulations? On behalf of us all, we hope you’ll be very happy!”
Captain Wentworth and his fiancée beamed with pleasure. It was wonderful to feel that someone else rejoiced in their good news.
“It will be very creditable to have a sister married,” Mary declared. “And I flatter myself; it is entirely due to my invitation to Uppercross last October that they are reunited. Just think; if Anne had not come, things might have turned out very differently.”
Wincing again, as Anne realised the reference Mary was making to Frederick’s passing interest in Charles’s sisters, she recognised that there were bound to be many embarrassing moments like these yet to be endured.
“And you will be married from Kellynch, of course,” Mary continued without a pause for breath. “I’m sure a word to your sister and Admiral Croft, Captain Wentworth, will suffice. Anne must be married from home, however settled they have become. It is not as if it is really their home. People who rent other folks’ houses must always be used to moving on, and I daresay they could go at a moment’s notice!”
“Mary,” Anne interrupted quietly, “there will be no need of anyone moving out. Besides, Captain Wentworth and I are to be married in Bath just as soon as we can.”
“Such haste! Goodness me, can you possibly mean it? You will be married before the Musgrove girls have had time to shop for their wedding clothes. What does Father think of that? There will be three rushed weddings, one after another, and then we shall be left to shift for ourselves whilst you’re all off enjoying the pleasures of some seaside place, I’ve no doubt. I’m sure I never heard anything like it, but I have my usual luck. I am never considered when any thing desirable is going on; always the last of my family to be noticed.”
It was time to say goodbye, but not before Mary swept out before them. “I suppose when you are married, you shall take precedence once more, and I shall have to give way to you.”
Anne did not reply; the thought had not even occurred to her, but it very clearly mattered to Mary whose curiosity about the rest of their plans got the better of her as she saw them to the door.
“I do not suppose you will settle near Uppercross, though of course I should like it above all things if you were close to me. But, I cannot think that there is a suitable house in the village. Henstridge House is a significant residence, but you will not need such a large manor. No, a cottage like ours with scope for improvement, and a green verandah, will suit your needs well enough. Charles, isn’t the lease on Cossington Cottage available? I’m sure it is; I shall make enquiries forthwith, and with such a location so close to Crewkerne you will have no need for a carriage either. I do quite well enough without such a conveyance; and I am fortunate to have Mr. Musgrove’s carriage at my disposal, though I always say that if only I had the strength, I should enjoy a walk more often.”
Captain Wentworth heard all of this with a good deal of amusement. He knew that Mary could never truly be pleased for her sister Anne, who would soon become the owner of a pretty landaulette that he’d already picked out as a wedding present, and be established in her own substantial home, with all the riches that Mary had ever dreamed about. It occurred to him that in marrying Anne he had also married her family, with all the consequences that entailed, but it had given him the idea that when looking for a permanent home, they might find somewhere at a suitable distance where the ordeals of family life might not encroach upon the Wentworths too often. And, there was always the additional hope that in time he might yet win them over, and come to regard them all with something nearing affection.
Anne knew there were yet many trials to overcome, but nothing could dim her happiness, no mortification could prove too much. And as they walked towards Rivers Street where Lady Russell lodged, she knew the worst was not yet over. Anne was convinced that it would still be some time before Lady Russell would take the Captain to her heart. But everything could be accomplished in time, and she more than anyone else knew that to be true. Waiting had been the story of her life, and she could wait for her friend to love Captain Wentworth. They paused before the door. He took her hand; his eyes told her of his true attachment and constancy.
Frederick Wentworth gazed at the girl of his dreams, thinking she had never before looked so beautiful or been so precious to him. He wanted to preserve the moment, to capture it like an exquisite fragrance in a bottle, to be enjoyed forevermore in cherished droplets relinquished in sweet reminiscences. “Just think,” he said, his voice filled with love and longing, “that the very next time we’ll cross this threshold, we shall do so as Captain and Mrs. Frederick Wentworth.”
Anne Elliot returned his sentiments in a look of her own and a squeeze of his hand whilst she rejoiced in the old proverb that, “good things come to those who wait.”
JANE ODIWE lives in North London and Bath with her husband, family, and two cats. More than anything she loves a house full of people, music, and good books, which is just as well, because that’s the norm! She is the author of Effusions of Fancy, Lydia Bennet’s Story, Willoughby’s Return, and Mr. Darcy’s Secret. When she isn’t writing, she loves painting watercolors, especially of Jane Austen and the world in which she lived.
www.austeneffusions.com
www.janeaustensequels.blogspot.com
@janeodiwe on Twitter
“Northanger Abbey stands low in a valley, sheltered from the north and east by rising woods of oak. But”—Fred’s voice dropped to a thrilling whisper—“what lies within?”
Straightening, Fred brushed his hands off against his gray cords. “All good?”
“I thought it was excellent!” gushed Erin. “Your best work yet!”
Cate threw up a little in her mouth. “Gag me with a spork,” she muttered to Lenny, the cameraman.
“What’s a spork?” asked Lenny.
“It’s a—never mind,” said Cate. If it wasn’t electronic, Lenny wasn’t interested.
Lenny peered fretfully at the clouds gathering over the low stone roof of Northanger Abbey. “We’d better finish up here before the sky opens. Rain isn’t good for old Bessie.” He dealt his camera an affectionate pat. “Is it, old girl?”
“I’ll just leave you two alone, shall I?” said Cate.
How in the hell had she gotten here? Not to Northanger per se (answer: by van), but here in the larger sense. Here in England, here with Lenny and Fred, here doing investigative reports for that hard-hitting, cutting-edge miracle of modern scientific journalism, Ghost Trekkers.
Ah, Ghost Trekkers. Cate even had the parka to prove it. Black with white lettering. Very snazzy. There was always a shot at the beginning of the show where Lenny zeroed in on the logo on the back of their jackets, panning to follow them as they all clambered into their big, black Ghost Trekkers van, ready to take on another gang of hardened ghouls.
Ghost Trekkers was Fred’s baby. As lead investigator (read: prime tool), Fred scouted out locations and schmoozed up the owners, convincing the gullible to open their houses for the team’s dubious paranormal ministrations. His brother, Hal, lovely, kind Hal, with the M. Phil. in history from Oxford and a p
erpetually perplexed expression, was head researcher, cobbling together the historical bits and pieces that formed the ostensible background of their “reports.”
The day Cate stopped using inverted commas to describe what they did would be the day that she knew she’d officially lost it.
The rest of the team consisted of Lenny, tech geek extraordinaire, and Erin, the program’s femme fatale, whose primary qualification for the job appeared to have been spilling her Cosmo on Fred at a West End watering hole. And Cate? She was a lowly assistant investigator, which meant, generally, that she swished her hair in the right places and squealed on cue.
This wasn’t the way it was meant to be. She had left Columbia J-School with all sorts of bright and shiny dreams about a career in investigative journalism. She was going to ask probing questions of prime ministers, parachute into Afghanistan, exchange professional courtesies with Barbara Walters. Everyone had to put in an apprenticeship; she was okay with that. A few years with CNN in London or maybe one of the larger news networks in New York, and then, ten years down the road …
Cate Cartwright Presents!
Instead, two years out, it was Cate Kartowsky Babbles Psycho-Rubbish, Cate Kartowsky Fetches Coffee, or, on an exciting day, Cate Kartowsky Trips over Stray Wires because Lenny couldn’t be bothered to pick up his electromagnetic whatchamacallit. Fred was saving that one for the show’s annual bloopers tape. Just the thought of it made Cate want to slink beneath the van.
Jane Austen Made Me Do It Page 5