Today, he rode for another reason. He had spent the night with Thomas and Milly, but one of his footmen had awoken the household before dawn with the news that Anne was to deliver their child. She was a few weeks early, and Frederick worried for her health. He wished now he had never left her. He had changed horses several times on his trip, and he was not sure he should not do so again. He was finally in Dorset, but he doubted the one he rode would make it all the way to Hanson Hall.
“Wentworth!” Lucas Kendrick suddenly appeared on the road. Frederick pulled up the reins on his horse.
“I am hurrying, Kendrick!” he called.“Mrs.Wentworth delivers our child.”
“I was sent to meet you.Take this horse; it is fresh, and you will get there faster. Shipley waits about twenty miles down the road with another.”
Frederick slid from the saddle and hurried to his friend’s horse. “Thank you, Kendrick, for thinking of this.”
“I cannot take the credit. It was your wife; she says she needs you home!” Kendrick called as Frederick rode away at a full gallop.
He traded horses with Shipley with seven miles to go. Horses from his own stable held up better than the nags he had secured at the posting inns across Hampshire. He rode across the wooden bridge leading to the cobbled curve in front of the house. Then Frederick slid from the horse as a footman reached for the reins. He nearly bolted through the door just as Mr. Smythe opened it. Throwing his coat at one of the men, he demanded,“Where is she?”
“Lady Orland is in her room. Mrs. Miller is with her, and Dr. Laraby is standing by if he is needed.” Smythe led the way as Frederick scrambled up the stairs.
“Then I am in time?” he begged.
Smythe could not keep up with him, and so he called after Frederick’s retreating form,“I believe you are, Sir.”
Skidding to a stop in front of Anne’s door, he hesitated, wondering whether he should knock before entering. But he heard the unmistakable wail of a baby, and he burst through the door, completely out of breath. Mrs. Miller and Harriet, Anne’s maid, bustled about the room in a flurry of activity, but his eyes fell on the body reclining against the bed. Her hair plastered her head, and her pale face looked exhausted—the veins in her neck and across her temple were blue lines on white. His heart leapt at the sight of her—his Anne—so fragile—so vulnerable! She looked broken and twisted, and he moved to straighten her in the bed; then he saw the blood covering her legs and the linens.“Dear God,Anne!” he cried out in fright, as he dropped to his knees beside her.
Her eyes fluttered open and then closed again, but a smile took hold of the corners of her mouth. “You made it.” Her lips barely moved, but he heard her.
Frederick gently kissed her forehead as he brushed the hair from her face.“I am here, my Love.” He clutched at her hand, praying she was all right, but he never saw so much blood.
“Mrs. Wentworth,” Mrs. Miller came forward carrying a bundle,“would ye be likin’ to see ye boy?”
Frederick’s head snapped around; he heard the child’s cry, but he forgot it all when he saw Anne. “A boy?” he whispered loudly, his voice raspy.
“Let my husband see his heir,” she wearily told the older woman.
Looking at nothing but the bundle of swaddling clothes in Mrs. Miller’s hands, Frederick reached out to carefully take the child into his arms.“Be holdin’ his head just so,” Mrs. Miller instructed him.
Frederick nestled the child in the crook of his arm, and he turned back the blanket to gaze at the elfin face. In that moment, everything changed. “In all my life,” he murmured as he slid back the blanket and touched the soft silkiness of his child’s hair.
“Let me see,”Anne’s voice came from behind him.
Frederick bent low to lay the baby in her arms.“He is beautiful, Anne.” His words rang in the silent room. “My, God, how perfect you both are!” He leaned forward and kissed the end of her nose.“I am sorry I could not get here any faster.” He traced the outline of his son’s face with the tip of one finger.
“And I—I am sorry,” she said haltingly, “that your daughter could wait no longer.”
Frederick looked confused. “Daughter?” His eyes fell on the black curls of his child’s hair. “Mrs. Miller, is this not my boy?” he asked, wondering why everyone now stared at him.
“Aye, Admiral, he be ye boy.” Mrs. Miller went to the far corner of the room and picked up what he suddenly realized was another child. “This here be ye gal, tho’.” She placed a second child in his arms.“She be little like her Mam, but ye should hear the gal cry.”
Frederick rolled back the covering blanket. In his arms lay a miniature Anne—no doubt about it—the baby would be the spitting image of his Anne. “Perfection again!” He laughed as he returned his attention to his wife.“You did it all without me!” he teased.
“Next time.” Her eyes began to drift closed.
“We be needin’ to get ye and the boy cleaned up, Lady Orland. We let His Lordship take the gal to his room.” Mrs. Miller began to shoo him away as she took his son and returned him to the makeshift nursery on the far side of the room. Frederick watched it all very carefully before bending to kiss Anne once more.
Standing slowly, he noted Anne’s exhaustion taking over.“I will be back shortly, my Love,” he whispered to her.“Take good care of Her Ladyship,” he ordered both of the women, even though he knew they would. “Come, Sweetling,” he spoke softly to the child he carried.“Let me show you your new home.” He left, humming a sailor’s song to the child.
Strolling casually through the house, he took the newborn from room to room—cooing words of love as he went.“Would you like to see your nursery?” he asked as he walked into the room. “Is it not a fine room?Your mother prepared it well, and you, my darling daughter, will thrive in this room. It is made especially for you.” He touched his daughter’s hand, and the little fingers curled around his.“Your mother claims you will wrap me around these baby fingers.” He touched the child’s hand with his lips.“Your mother is a very smart person, and like me, my child, you are blessed to be loved by her.” Frederick rubbed his cheek against the baby’s hand. “I am sure they are finished; let us go find your brother.”
By the time he had returned with his daughter to Anne’s room, Harriet and Mrs. Miller had cleaned up the bed and Anne.With a fresh gown and her hair combed, Anne’s pale skin, less pallid, showed some returning color in her cheeks, bringing him some relief. “Your daughter returns,” he said jovially, coming to sit by Anne’s bed.Then he handed his new daughter to Mrs. Miller.
“My daughter?” Anne accused. “I suppose our boy is your son? My daughter and your son? Is that how it will be?”
“No.” He laughed lightly at her renewed playfulness.“They will be my daughter and my son when they are on their best behavior. They will be your children at all other times.”
“That hardly seems fair,” she countered. “I did all the hard work; I should reap the rewards.”
Frederick touched her bottom lip with his fingertip. “Is not the fact that your husband loves you more than life itself reward enough?”
“It has its benefits,” she retorted sleepily. “Are you happy, my Husband? After all, you warned me about having more than one crew member at a time.”
“Ours will be a houseful, but as long as you and the children are well, I will be content. I have a daughter to protect and a son to be my heir; plus, I have their mother to love. God gave me much in one fell swoop today.”
Anne slid her hand into his. “Have you considered names for our children?”
“Not at all. I assumed we still had weeks to discuss it, as you were not to deliver so soon.” He brought her hand to his lips, rubbing them back and forth against her knuckles. “Do you have preferences?”
The corners of Anne’s mouth turned up in delight.“I do have a thought for our daughter.”
“Pray tell.”
“You will think this insignificant, but it crossed my m
ind several times of late.” She hesitated, not sure how to explain what she wanted to say. “Traditionally, I should name her after my mother Lady Elizabeth, but my sister dampens the ‘enchantment’ of that practice. Some would suggest we name our daughter after me, but that is not my wish. I always hated my name because it allowed my family to treat me as ‘plain Anne.’ I felt the name fit me quite well until you saw me—until I was no longer invisible. I do not want my daughter to be ‘plain Anne.’ I want my baby to have a name others will remember—a distinctive name.When we met again at the concert, you spoke of once being in Romola, Italy. I thought the city’s name the most beautiful sound—the way the word rolls off the tongue. Could we name our daughter Romola? If we wish to follow the traditional route, we can use Anne as her middle name. Romola Anne Wentworth. What do you think?”
“Just like the child, I believe the name is perfect.” Frederick would never disagree with Anne’s decision. It was the ideal name for their beautiful daughter, and some day he would tell the girl of how her mother reasoned out the choice.
Anne smiled, happy that he had agreed with her suggestion. “What of our son? Do you want him to be named Frederick?”
“Like you, I would prefer something else.The name fits me, but as you once told me, it is a mouthful—Frederick James Wentworth. My grandfather was a Robert. What do you think? Robert James Wentworth, the Honorable Lord Orland?”
“It is an excellent choice; your family will be pleased that you honored your patriarch.”
“Romola and Robert—our children, Mrs. Wentworth.” He laughed as he bent to kiss the top of her head. “Can you believe all this? How we arrived at this point? In ’06, would you have believed we would be married and live in this house and have these children?”
“We are living our dreams,” she whispered. “Your father and mother would be so proud of the man you have become.This land will belong to Robert some day. And both he and Romola will marry for love, as their parents did.”
Frederick bent to kiss her cheek. Anne closed her eyes and relaxed.“You are exhausted, and rightly so, my Love. I will have the wet nurse take the children to the nursery for the night.You may see them in a few hours.” He adjusted the bed linens about her as she settled back against the pillows.
“We will need to employ another wet nurse,” she mumbled.
Frederick smiled down at her. “I will do so with tomorrow’s light.” He kissed her forehead. Frederick caught his breath on a sob of relief. “You and the children complete my life,” he whispered. “Rest now; we will talk in the morning.”
“Come lie with me,” she muttered.
“I will bathe and join you,” he assured her.
Sometime later, Frederick slid his long frame under the blanket. Anne slept, so he simply warmed her backside by cuddling next to her. The fragrance of her hair wafted over him as he relaxed into the familiarity of her body. He removed the strands of hair from about her face; seeing the thick lashes resting on the rise of her cheeks, Frederick realized the impact of the moment: In an instant, he had fallen in love with Anne Elliot, and, decisively, he won her. “The children are a testament to our love,” he whispered to her sleeping form.
She rolled over into his embrace, snuggling into his chest. “Umm,” she moaned.
“I look into your face,” he murmured as his lips brushed against her cheek, “and I see God’s plan at work. In His infinite wisdom, He brought me to your doorstep twice.”
She snaked her arm up over his shoulder. “Do you plan to talk all evening?” her lips barely moved. “I am sleepy, and I hoped you would skip the adorations and go straight to the kissing part.”
“I can be as silent as the lambs.”
“Prove it,” she challenged.“Just prove it.”
AFTERWORD
When the Treaty of Paris was signed on November 20, 1815, Napoleon was already in exile on the tiny South Atlantic island of Saint Helena. Forced to accept the defeat of his Imperial Guard at Waterloo, Napoleon fled first to France, leaving behind coaches loaded with gold and jewelry and his private papers—his personal fortune. Reaching Paris on June 21, 1815, he still refused to admit his failure; on June 22, the Chamber of Representatives demanded that Bonaparte abdicate.
Even with his renunciation, Napoleon did not give up hopes of escaping the British and Prussian armies. On July 8, he tried to escape to the United States by boarding the French frigate La Salle; however, the English warship Bellerophon blocked the French emperor’s escape. But Napoleon had contacted more than one ship and asked it to prepare to receive him. Still smarting from the War of 1812, where British embargos nearly destroyed American naval commerce, some French-born Americans reportedly sympathized with Bonaparte and tried to help him escape from the Duke of Wellesley’s justice.
Captain Sir Thomas, Lord Cochrane, held radical ideas, in the form of saturation bombing and chemical warfare, on how the British should conduct naval warfare. A decorated hero, Lord Cochrane advanced quickly through naval ranks. Napoleon himself dubbed Cochrane “The Sea Wolf.”
However, Cochrane fell out of favor when he first became consumed by the 1809 court-martial of Admiral James Gambier. Cochrane’s inability to properly express himself in a public debate forum played out during the trial, allowing the general public to see his “imperfections.” To complicate matters, he earned political enemies with his election to Parliament. A “tarnished star,” Cochrane eventually went to jail, charged with illegally manipulating the London Stock Exchange in 1814.
An interesting fact about Cochrane’s career was his plan to conduct chemical warfare. Even the Prince Regent approved of Cochrane’s plan, and Whitehall considered the merits of it—turning it down only when British military leaders considered that the enemy might reciprocate with a like technology.
In Cochrane’s plan, a hollowed-out ship’s hulk would be layered with clay, scrap metal, a thick layer of powder, rows of shells, and animal carcasses.This “loaded” ship would be sent among the enemy vessels and then exploded—sending deadly mortar in a circular path. Other seemingly empty ships would be layered with clay—and then charcoal—and then sulfur, creating a floating stink bomb. The “noxious effluvia,” or toxic, clouds would quickly subdue the opposition.
In 1818, released from jail, Cochrane left England and became a mercenary, not returning home until King William IV pardoned him in 1829. He continued to purport his ideas, even to Queen Victoria during the Crimean War. The details of Cochrane’s plans never became public, and, with the end of the Crimean War, all thoughts of radical warfare were sealed away in the record rooms of Whitehall. Ironically, ten years after the files were unsealed, soldiers faced yellow sulfuric clouds of mustard gas during World War I.
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