Anne released her hand from his, but she did so to trace the outline of his lips. “Yours is the face I see every time I close my eyes. It has been so for eight years—nothing you could say or do would ever change that.”
Frederick suddenly felt quite warm.“May I be so forward as to presume there is hope for us?”
“There is more than hope, Frederick. I give you my assurance.” She did not look away.“I am no longer that foolish green girl; I am not so persuadable. If God gives us a time once more, I will never turn from you.You will be my life if that is truly your desire.” She raised her chin to look him directly in the eyes.“I love you, Frederick Wentworth ; I have loved none but you.”
Frederick’s fingertips traced the line of her cheek from her temple to her jaw.“You have no idea,” he began,“how much I love you.” He took her hand once more and pulled Anne to her feet. “Come, my Dear, let us walk. It would not do for me to take you in my arms in the midst of this busy park, and I fear if we sit here any longer, I will ruin your reputation with that or more.”
Anne laughed—a light tinkling of bells drifting on the breeze. “You would never break with propriety, Captain,” she teased.
He leaned towards her, letting his breath tickle her ear.“Do not tempt me, Miss Elliot,” he taunted in return. “When it comes to you, I have little control.”
Redness spread across her chest and warmed Anne’s face. “I recall vividly,” she murmured.
Frederick knew instantly he liked the more mature Anne. She still blushed with his words, a fact in which he took great delight, but she, too, spoke more boldly and accepted his seductive ways. “I plan to give you new memories,” he whispered.
They retired to the gravel walk, where the power of conversation would make the present hour a blessing indeed. There they exchanged again those feelings and those promises, which once before seemed to secure every thing, but which were followed by so many, many years of division and estrangement. There they returned again into the past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps in their reunion, than when it was first projected: more tender, more tried, more fixed in a knowledge of each other’s character, truth, and attachment; more equal to act—more justified in acting. And there, as they slowly paced the gradual ascent, heedless of every group around them, seeing neither sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, flirting girls, nor nursery maids and children, they could indulge in those retrospections and acknowledgments, and especially in those explanations of what directly proceeded to the present moment, which were so poignant and so ceaseless in interest. All the little variations of the past week were gone through, and of yesterday and today there could scarcely be an end.
“Admit it; you were jealous,”Anne suggested.
They walked into a secluded area; a row of hedges blocked their view of the finely worn path. Instinctively, he pulled Anne to him, taking her into his arms; she snuggled into him—her head resting on his chest. Frederick glanced down at her. “Were you trying to make me jealous, Sweetling?”
Anne tilted her head back to look up at him. “If I did, you deserved it, you know.” A smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and Anne’s eyes twinkled with enjoyment.
Frederick outlined her lips with his fingertips, pulling gently on her bottom one. His smile matched hers—his being lost to her closeness. “I believe, Sweetling, I did; but you have no idea how I suffered this past week.”
“I would think that you would know me well enough to realize that Mr. Elliot was not to my liking.”
“Oh, Anne, you do not know the doubt—the torment. It is not pleasant to speak of.” Frederick held her to him until he heard someone approaching at a distance.“We should walk again, my Dear.”
“Frederick,” she began softly as she fell into step beside him. “I would like for us to be honest with each other. When we were together before neither of us spoke the whole truth. For me, it was because I did not want to disappoint; I so desperately feared losing your love. I suppose it was my age or my lack of life experience; I had no idea of what I should expect.—Sometimes, the feelings were so foreign to me, and I wondered if other women felt as I did. For you, I believe you tried to protect me. Unfortunately, because I did not know what to expect, my fears surfaced too quickly.”
“I do not understand,Anne.What do you desire of me?”
“I would like for us to speak what is in our hearts, whether it is jealousy, love, or fear. I want the same type of relationship I observe in your sister and the Admiral.”
“Then you wish to know of my anguish?”
“I would never ask of you to do so, especially if it was a painful experience; yet, if we are to really know each other, we must speak our hearts.” Anne looked up at him, trying to explain the unexplainable.
Frederick nodded.“Your words make excellent sense. Over the past few months, I have observed couples: my brother and Christine, Thomas and Milly, and Sophia and Benjamin. Seeing them, I realized I could not settle for anyone other than you.
“I came to Bath to win your regard, and when I saw you in the company of Mr. Elliot, I regret to say that I lost reason. Jealousy began to operate in the very hour of first meeting you in Bath; it returned, after a short suspension, to ruin the concert; and it influenced me in everything I said or did or omitted saying and doing in the past four-and-twenty hours. It gradually yielded to the better hopes, which your looks, or words, or actions occasionally encouraged; it was vanquished at last by those sentiments and those tones which reached me while you talked with Captain Harville. Listening closely and feeling so much, I knew I must respond.”
“It was a beautiful letter,”Anne maintained.“I was in awe.”
“Every word was true,” he insisted.“I have loved none but you; no one could supplant you in my life; I never saw your equal. I tried to forget you and believed it to be so; I imagined myself indifferent when I was simply angry at your actions. Because I suffered from our separation, I tried to deny your merits; but your character is perfection itself. Only at Uppercross did I learn to give you justice, and only at Lyme did I understand myself.”
They returned to the main courseway, and Frederick led her to another bench. “When Mr. Elliot gazed at you admiringly on the steps at Lyme, I wanted to throw the man into the sea; I had no right, but I admit to such violent thoughts.You mesmerized me as I watched you on the Cobb—the way the ocean played at your feet; you were like a water sprite.Your superiority shone through at the Harvilles’ home, when you showed empathy for Benwick. And I have nothing but respect for the calm, confident way you handled Louisa’s accident on the beach.”
Anne dropped her eyes and pretended to straighten a seam on her dress. Frederick took her chin in his palm and raised it once more.“Anne, I am a foolish man—very foolish. I wanted to punish you for not loving me enough.” Anne started to protest, but he silenced her with a touch of his finger to her lips.“I know you love me—I knew it then, but my pride would not let me admit it, so I tried to attach myself to Louisa Musgrove, although I soon realized we had nothing upon which to build a relationship. At Lyme, I tried to distance myself from her; I planned to approach you before we boarded our coaches to return to Uppercross, but fate twisted those plans. Louisa’s mind could never compare with the excellence of your mind or the perfect, unrivaled possession it has over mine. At Lyme, I learned to distinguish between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will. I deplore the pride, the folly, and the madness of resentment, which kept me from trying to regain your love the moment I returned to Somerset and found you unattached.”
Anne responded slowly, “It was a terrible time for both of us. I knew we could still be friends from the moment you took Little Walter from the room; I believed you no longer hated me when you secured the Admiral’s carriage for my comfort.” She slid her hand under his cupped one, and Frederick tightened his grip, guaranteeing she could not change her mind and withdraw. “Of course, I would have preferred not to listen to the Admiral specu
late on which Musgrove you would marry.”
Frederick chuckled.“Do I detect a bit of jealousy in your tone? I would relish in knowing so.”
“Then fancy yourself satisfied, Sir. I wanted you for myself, and as much as I esteem Louisa Musgrove, I could never picture you with her.”Anne’s voice did not falter.
“I was so pleased when Louisa began to recover, thinking I could wait a reasonable amount of time and then present myself to you. I no sooner began to feel alive again, than I began to feel, though alive, not at liberty. I found Harville considered me an engaged man! Neither Harville nor his wife entertained a doubt of Louisa’s and my mutual attachment. I was startled and shocked.To a degree, I could contradict this instantly; but when I began to reflect others might have felt the same—her own family, nay, perhaps herself, I was no longer at my own disposal. I was hers in honor if she wished it. I was unguarded. I had not thought seriously on this subject before. I had not considered that my excessive intimacy must have its danger of ill consequence in many ways; and I had no right to be trying whether I could attach myself to either of the girls, at the risk of raising even an unpleasant report, were there no ill effects. I was grossly wrong and must abide the consequences.
“In short, at precisely the time I became fully satisfied that I did not care for Louisa at all, I regarded myself as bound to her, if her sentiments for me were what the Harvilles supposed. Therefore, I chose to weaken whatever feelings or speculations existed by removing myself to Shropshire, meaning after a while to return to Kellynch and act as circumstances might require.
“I was six weeks with Edward and saw him happy. I could have no other pleasure. I deserved none. He inquired after you particularly—asked even if you were personally altered, little suspecting to my eye you could never alter.”Anne squeezed his hand and offered a little smile.“I remained in Shropshire, lamenting the blindness of my own pride until at once released from Louisa by the astonishing and felicitous intelligence of her engagement to Benwick.
“Here,” said he, “ended the worst of my state; for now I could, at least, put myself in the way of happiness; I could exert myself; I could do something. But waiting so long in inaction was dreadful. Within five minutes I said, ‘I will be at Bath on Wednesday,’ and I was.Was it unpardonable to think it worth my while to come? And to arrive with some degree of hope? You were single. It was possible you might retain the feelings of the past as I did; and one encouragement happened to be mine. I could never doubt you would be loved and sought by others, but I knew to a certainty you refused one man, at least, of better pretensions than myself in the form of Charles Musgrove, and I could not help often saying,‘Was this for me?’”
“Yes, I overheard Louisa tell you about Charles’s proposal.” She added,“Charles is very amiable, and as much as I respect him as my sister’s husband, the thought of spending my life with a man who rarely reads or who prefers sport above all else was not tolerable. Besides, my heart was elsewhere.” She offered him a flirtatious smile.
“You are even more beautiful when you smile.” Frederick stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb.
“You, my Love, are giving me more reasons to smile.”
Frederick spoke again, more seriously now. “Your presence in Molland’s confectioner’s shop was exquisite torture.You were in front of me—all I saw was you, but horror in the guise of Mr. Elliot broke that splendor. Then you stepped forward in the octagonal room to speak to me, and my heart was again yours. No one else existed at that moment. But again, your family whisked you away.”
“I turned back to speak to you after acknowledging Lady Dalrymple’s entrance—but you were gone!” she protested.
“I did not suspect,” he muttered. “It was such a time—to see you,” cried he, “in the midst of those who could not be my well-wishers, to see your cousin close by you, conversing and smiling, and feel all the horrible eligibilities and proprieties of the match! You could be Lady Elliot, just as your mother was! To consider it as the certain wish of every being who could hope to influence you! Even, if your feelings were reluctant or indifferent, to consider what supports would be his! Was it not enough to make the fool of me, which I appeared? How could I look on without agony? Was not the very sight of the friend who sat behind you, was not the recollection of what had been, the knowledge of her influence, the indelible, immovable impression of what persuasion had once done—was it not all against me?”
“Oh, Frederick,” Anne sympathized, “I am sorry you suffered because of me. I assure you that from the beginning, there was a sensation of something more than immediately appeared in Mr. Elliot’s wishing to reconcile with my father. In a worldly view, he had nothing to gain by being on terms with my family. In all probability, he was richer, and the Kellynch estate would as surely be his hereafter as the title.At first, I thought it to be for Elizabeth’s sake.”
“How could any man consider your sister Elizabeth once he met you?” Frederick asked rhetorically as he leaned back against the seat. “I am sorry to speak poorly of your sister, Anne, but from our first day in the mercantile, Miss Elliot held no sway over me; my thoughts were only of you.”
Anne looked around quickly, as if worried that someone might overhear. “I cannot explain everything at this time, but believe me when I say that Mr. Elliot’s intentions were not simply to seek my regard. He was more concerned with preventing my father from taking up with Mrs. Clay. Mr. Elliot has spent a great deal of his time of late trying to convince me of Mrs. Clay’s supposed intentions to become the next Lady Elliot.”
“Now I see,” replied Frederick, leaning forward. “If your father would have another child—a boy—Mr.Elliot would not gain the title.”
Anne confirmed,“Exactly.”
“Yet, I had no idea at the time. All I could see was the benefit of your connection to your cousin and my fear of being too late!” he exclaimed.
“You should have distinguished,” replied Anne.“You should not have suspected me now; the case so different, and my age so different. If I was wrong in yielding to persuasion once, remember that it was to persuasion exerted on the side of safety, not of risk.When I yielded, I thought it was to duty; but no duty could be called in aid here. In marrying a man indifferent to me, all risk would be incurred, and all duty violated.”
“Perhaps I ought to have reasoned,” he replied,“but I could not. I could not derive benefit from the late knowledge I acquired of your character. I could not bring it into play: it was overwhelmed—buried—lost in those earlier feelings, which I smarted under year after year. I could think of you only as one who yielded, who gave me up, who anyone, rather than by me, influenced you. I saw you with that very person who guided you in that year of misery. I had no reason to believe her of less authority now.—The force of habit was to be added.”
“I should have thought,” said Anne, “that my manner to yourself might have spared you much or all of this.”
“No, no! Your manner might be only the ease, which your engagement to another man would give. I left you in this belief; and yet—I was determined to see you again. My spirits rallied with the morning, and I felt I had still a motive for remaining here.”
Anne laughed lightly.“We certainly misconstrued each other!”
Frederick stood at last; he reached out his hand to her.“Yes, we did, but no more.There will be no more misperceptions—and no one else will come between us.” Anne took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “You must know, Anne, that it is my intention that we will be married as soon as the banns can be read. I will not spend one more minute than necessary without you in my life.” He held both her hands grasped tightly to his chest, where she might feel his heart beating for her.“Although we do not need his permission any longer, if you will agree, I will speak to your father this evening after the party. I have fortune enough for us to live comfortably, and I have plans for ways to secure your future. Please say you will be my wife.”
“I have been y
ours since we met all those years ago.Yes, address my father, but I will be your wife no matter what my family may say.We will make our plans tomorrow.”
Frederick brought one of her gloved hands to his lips.“Tomorrow,” he murmured.“I suppose that I must see you home,” he said after a long pause,“although my heart hates the idea of leaving you even for a few minutes.”
“But you will accept Elizabeth’s invitation for the evening?” she teased.
“I never realized, Sweetling, that you were such an evil woman; I may need to rethink my offer.” They turned toward the park entrance.“Should I give your sister my attention this evening?”
“Only if you wish to be alone on your wedding day,” she warned.
“I will be with you, my Dear, tonight—and on our wedding day—and on every day for the rest of our lives. Is that understood?”
“Giving orders so early on, my Captain?” she mocked.
“As if,” he laughed,“you would allow me to order you about or you would allow me to think you would obey. I expect from this moment on, I will contentedly walk the plank daily for you.”
Anne tightened her hold on his arm. “I promise it will be a pleasant walk.”
Frederick cupped her hand in his. Leaning in, he whispered, “I can barely wait for it to begin.”
CHAPTER 18
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies, was not mix’t equally;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.
—John Donne,“The Good Morrow”
Back on Gay Street with Sophia and Benjamin, Frederick found it difficult to contain his happiness, but he and Anne had agreed that they would not announce their engagement until he had spoken to Sir Walter. Even though they no longer needed her father’s permission, Frederick felt it best to, at least, inform Anne’s father of their intentions. He anticipated less resentment on Sir Walter’s part this time, but he still assumed the worst in dealing with the man—prideful vanity could be unpredictable.
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