“You were a good while at Lyme, I think?”
“About a fortnight. I could not leave it till Louisa’s doing well was quite ascertained. I had been too deeply concerned in the mischief to be soon at peace. It had been my doing, solely mine. She would not have been obstinate if I had not been weak. The country round Lyme is very fine. I walked and rode a great deal; and the more I saw, the more I found to admire.”
“I should very much like to see Lyme again,” said Anne.
“Indeed! I should not have supposed that you could have found anything in Lyme to inspire such a feeling. The horror and distress you were involved in, the stretch of mind, the wear of spirits! I should have thought your last impressions of Lyme must have been strong disgust.”
“The last hours were certainly very painful,” replied Anne; “but when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure. One does not love a place the less for having suffered in it, unless it has been all suffering, nothing but suffering, which was by no means the case at Lyme. We were only in anxiety and distress during the last two hours, and previously there had been a great deal of enjoyment. So much novelty and beauty! I have travelled so little, that every fresh place would be interesting to me; but there is real beauty at Lyme; and in short” (with a faint blush at some recollections, his question about Benwick and the resulting feel of his body pressed against her the most prevalent), “altogether my impressions of the place are very agreeable.”
His green and blue eyes roamed her face for several seconds, and Anne felt the sting of her blush increase under his scrutiny. He cleared his throat. “About that — ” He paused, and Anne knew from instinct that he had gleaned her thoughts and meant to address his conduct that late, dark night. Anne straightened, prepared to stop him, but he continued. “I fear I have much more than Louisa’s accident to apologize for.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Can you ever forgive me for accosting you so?”
Anne felt her eyes widen. “C-Captain Wentworth — ”
“I was quite overcome by the idea of you and my dear friend as a couple.”
The protest Anne had been ready to voice died upon her tongue as her heart twisted at the unexpected declaration. Propriety demanded she accept his apology and move on. Propriety did not win. “Why?” she asked so boldly she surprised them both.
He drew back slightly at her startling volume, and from the corners of her eyes, Anne saw several people within speaking distance pause in their conversations and eye her curiously. Captain Wentworth chuckled self-consciously, offered them all polite smiles, and turned his attention back to Anne. He stepped closer and barely above the sound of a whisper, he said, “I wish I knew.”
Anne felt her brows draw together. “That is not good enough.”
His brows rose and several awkward beats of silence ensued before his breath left him in a whoosh. “Of course it is not.” A smile tilted one side of his lips, and he looked at a spot over her shoulder as he brought one hand up to rub the back of his neck. Anne’s gaze was snagged by the way his shoulder and arm flexed with the movement, but his next words were enough to draw her attention from even that. “You never did let me get away with anything.” His arm fell back to his side, and his eyes met hers with a sudden intensity. “I could not bear to think of you as Benwick’s, because I cannot bear to think of you as anyone else’s but mine.”
As his cool eyes burned her, Anne felt every part of her body seize and release in rapid succession. She wondered for a moment if her legs would fail her, and she would slump to the floor. His unforgiving gaze demanded she speak, and she forced herself to lick suddenly dry, aching lips. “I f-forgive you.”
The sound of her words was so small, she doubted he heard them, but his eyes drifted shut, and she knew he had interpreted the all-encompassing meaning of the simple statement. She forgave him — for everything: for having to watch him court another woman, for the coldness of his manner since they had been reunited, for his unkind words after their first meeting. His honest, heart-felt declaration went a long way toward healing the hurt he had caused in recent months.
When his eyes opened again, they were flooded with conflicting emotions, and Anne knew in that moment that he wished he could say the same back to her. But he could not.
The hurt she had caused him eight years ago was still present in the tumultuous depths of his sea-coloured gaze. She nearly leapt with surprise when she felt his hand grip hers gently. Though they both wore gloves, the heat of his skin burned through the barriers. He held the hand that was hidden from the rest of the crowd by her body, and his thumb slowly caressed the inside of her wrist. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Anne knew she was staring at his lips like a wanton woman, but she could focus on nothing else. The feel of his glove-covered hand upon the delicate skin of her wrist was slowly driving her to madness. As she ceased all thought, the entrance door was flung open again, and both of them jumped. Captain Wentworth dropped her hand as a guilty flush crossed his face, and the very party appeared for whom they were waiting. “Lady Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple,” was the rejoicing sound; and with all the eagerness compatible with anxious elegance, Sir Walter and his two ladies stepped forward to meet her. Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, escorted by Mr. Elliot and Colonel Wallis, who had happened to arrive nearly at the same instant, advanced into the room. The others joined them, and it was a group in which Anne found herself also necessarily included. She was divided from Captain Wentworth. Their interesting, almost too interesting conversation must be broken up for a time, but slight was the penance compared with the happiness which brought it on! She had learnt, in the last ten minutes, more of his feelings towards Louisa, more of all his feelings than she dared to think of; and she gave herself up to the demands of the party, to the needful civilities of the moment, with exquisite, though agitated sensations. She was in good humour with all. She had received ideas which disposed her to be courteous and kind to all, and to pity every one, as being less happy than herself.
The delightful emotions were a little subdued, when on stepping back from the group, to be joined again by Captain Wentworth, she saw that he was gone. She was just in time to see him turn into the Concert Room. He was gone; he had disappeared, she felt a moment’s regret. But “they should meet again. He would look for her, he would find her out before the evening were over, and at present, perhaps, it was as well to be asunder. She was in need of a little interval for recollection.”
Upon Lady Russell’s appearance soon afterwards, the whole party was collected, and all that remained was to marshal themselves, and proceed into the Concert Room; and be of all the consequence in their power, draw as many eyes, excite as many whispers, and disturb as many people as they could.
Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as they walked in. Elizabeth arm in arm with Miss Carteret, and looking on the broad back of the dowager Viscountess Dalrymple before her, had nothing to wish for which did not seem within her reach; and Anne — but it would be an insult to the nature of Anne’s felicity, to draw any comparison between it and her sister’s; the origin of one all selfish vanity, of the other all generous attachment.
Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of the room. Her happiness was from within. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed; but she knew nothing about it. She was thinking only of the last half hour, and as they passed to their seats, her mind took a hasty range over it. His choice of subjects, his expressions, and still more his manner and look, had been such as she could see in only one light. His opinion of Louisa Musgrove’s inferiority, an opinion which he had seemed solicitous to give, his wonder at Captain Benwick, his feelings as to a first, strong attachment; sentences begun which he could not finish, his half averted eyes and more than half expressive glance, the grip of his hand, the caress of his thumb, all, all declared that he had a heart returning to her at least; that anger, resentment, avoidance, were no more overwhelming him; and that they were succeeded, no
t merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of the past. Yes, some share of the tenderness of the past. She could not contemplate the change as implying less. He must love her.
These were thoughts, with their attendant visions, which occupied and flurried her too much to leave her any power of observation; and she passed along the room without having a glimpse of him, without even trying to discern him. When their places were determined on, and they were all properly arranged, she looked round to see if he should happen to be in the same part of the room, but he was not; her eye could not reach him; and the concert being just opening, she must consent for a time to be happy in a humbler way.
The party was divided and disposed of on two contiguous benches: Anne was among those on the foremost, and Mr. Elliot had manoeuvred so well, with the assistance of his friend Colonel Wallis, as to have a seat by her. Miss Elliot, surrounded by her cousins, and the principal object of Colonel Wallis’s gallantry, was quite contented.
Anne’s mind was in a most favourable state for the entertainment of the evening; it was just occupation enough: she had feelings for the tender, spirits for the gay, attention for the scientific, and patience for the wearisome; and had never liked a concert better, at least during the first act. Towards the close of it, in the interval succeeding an Italian song, she explained the words of the song to Mr. Elliot. They had a concert bill between them.
“This,” said she, “is nearly the sense, or rather the meaning of the words, for certainly the sense of an Italian love-song must not be talked of, but it is as nearly the meaning as I can give; for I do not pretend to understand the language. I am a very poor Italian scholar.”
A broad smile lit his face, and he used the fact that she still held one end of the program and he the other to pull her closer. “Yes, yes, I see you are.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head sorrowfully. “I see you know nothing of the matter. You have only knowledge enough of the language to translate at sight these inverted, transposed, curtailed Italian lines, into clear, comprehensible, elegant English. You need not say anything more of your ignorance. Here is complete proof.” He held her eyes for several seconds, and soon Anne could not resist returning his smile. At that instant, his own smile morphed from blatantly amenable to something else that was both blatant and embarrassing.
Surely Anne was reading him wrong. She blushed when she realized they were practically nose-to-nose and looked back at the program. “I will not oppose such kind politeness; but I should be sorry to be examined by a real proficient.”
“I have not had the pleasure of visiting in Camden Place so long,” replied he in a deep voice that felt far too intimate, “without knowing something of Miss Anne Elliot; and I do regard her as one who is too modest for the world in general to be aware of half her accomplishments, and too highly accomplished for modesty to be natural in any other woman.”
“For shame! for shame! this is too much flattery. I forget what we are to have next,” turning to the bill. His attention was creating quite a reaction within Anne. If she did not know herself better, she would say it was annoying her.
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Elliot, moving his lips near to her ear and speaking low, “I have had a longer acquaintance with your character than you are aware of.”
Anne jumped back — putting a proper distance between them — with an embarrassed, breathy laugh. “Indeed! How so? You can have been acquainted with it only since I came to Bath, excepting as you might hear me previously spoken of in my own family.”
He stretched his arm across the back of Anne’s spot on the bench, and his scent — an entirely different one from Captain Wentworth’s, but nonetheless pleasant — wafted over her. He grinned so that a dimple showed in one chiseled cheek. “I knew you by report long before you came to Bath. I had heard you described by those who knew you intimately. I have been acquainted with you by character many years. Your person, your disposition, accomplishments, manner; they were all present to me.”
Against her will, Anne felt herself softening to him — to his nearness, his flattery. If the twinkle in his eyes was any indication, Mr. Elliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped to raise. No one can withstand the charm of such a mystery. To have been described long ago to a recent acquaintance, by nameless people, is irresistible; and Anne found herself leaning toward him, all curiosity. She wondered, and questioned him eagerly; but in vain. He delighted in being asked, but he would not tell.
“No, no, some time or other, perhaps, but not now. He would mention no names now; but such, he could assure her, had been the fact. He had many years ago received such a description of Miss Anne Elliot as had inspired him with the highest idea of her merit, and excited the warmest curiosity to know her.”
Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken with partiality of her many years ago as the Mr. Wentworth of Monkford, Captain Wentworth’s brother. He might have been in Mr. Elliot’s company, but she had not courage to ask the question.
“The name of Anne Elliot,” said he, “has long had an interesting sound to me.” At this point, Anne realized how close they were to each other. His mint-scented breath fanned over her heated cheeks, and she could practically taste the spice on his words. He dared to lean even closer so that his next words were barely audible. She felt them more than heard them. “Very long has it possessed a charm over my fancy; and, if I dared, I would breathe my wishes that the name might never change.”
Such, she believed, were his words; but scarcely had she received their sound, than her attention was caught by the feather-like stroke of his fingers across her nape. He was using the opportunity of having his arm across the bench to touch her! The physical contact paired with the intimacy of his words jolted Anne fiercely, and she was on the verge of moving away from Mr. Elliot when she detected other sounds immediately behind her, which rendered every thing else trivial. Her father and Lady Dalrymple were speaking.
“A well-looking man,” said Sir Walter, “a very well-looking man.”
“A very fine young man indeed!” said Lady Dalrymple. “More air than one often sees in Bath. Irish, I dare say.”
“No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaintance. Wentworth; Captain Wentworth of the navy. His sister married my tenant in Somersetshire, the Croft, who rents Kellynch.”
Before Sir Walter had reached this point, Anne’s eyes had caught the right direction, and distinguished Captain Wentworth standing among a cluster of men at a little distance. As her eyes fell on him, his seemed to be withdrawn from her. It had that appearance. It seemed as if she had been one moment too late; and as long as she dared observe, he did not look again. However, the moment she moved to look away, she noticed him shift, and she immediately looked upon his face once more, only to feel the anger of his gaze hit her full force. Any amiability that had been in his countenance when they’d talked before was now absent. His looks were dark and furious, and his fuming gaze flicked down from her face to where Mr. Elliot’s fingers still brushed against Anne’s skin.
Now Anne jerked away from her cousin, and she longed to relay some sort of silent message to Captain Wentworth with her eyes, to offer some sort of explanation that she dimly realized she did not owe: but the performance was recommencing, and she was forced to seem to restore her attention to the orchestra and look straight forward.
When she could give another glance, he had moved away. He could not have come nearer to her if he would; she was so surrounded and shut in: but she would rather have caught his eye.
Mr. Elliot’s speech, too, distressed her. She had no longer any inclination to talk to him. She wished him not so near her.
The first act was over. Now she hoped for some beneficial change; and, after a period of nothing-saying amongst the party, some of them did decide on going in quest of tea. Anne was one of the few who did not choose to move. She remained in her seat, and so did Lady Russell; but she had the pleasure of getting rid of Mr. Elliot; and she did not mean, whatever she might feel on Lad
y Russell’s account, to shrink from conversation with Captain Wentworth, if he gave her the opportunity. She was persuaded by Lady Russell’s countenance that she had seen him.
He did not come however. Anne sometimes fancied she discerned him at a distance, but he never came. The anxious interval wore away unproductively. The others returned, the room filled again, benches were reclaimed and repossessed, and another hour of pleasure or of penance was to be sat out, another hour of music was to give delight or the gapes, as real or affected taste for it prevailed. To Anne, it chiefly wore the prospect of an hour of agitation. She could not quit that room in peace without seeing Captain Wentworth once more, without the interchange of one friendly look to assure Anne all was still well.
In re-settling themselves there were now many changes, the result of which was favourable for her. Colonel Wallis declined sitting down again, and Mr. Elliot was invited by Elizabeth and Miss Carteret, in a manner not to be refused, to sit between them; and by some other removals, and a little scheming of her own, Anne was enabled to place herself much nearer the end of the bench than she had been before, much more within reach of a passer-by. She could not do so, without comparing herself with Miss Larolles, the inimitable Miss Larolles; but still she did it, and not with much happier effect; though by what seemed prosperity in the shape of an early abdication in her next neighbours, she found herself at the very end of the bench before the concert closed.
Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand, when Captain Wentworth was again in sight. She saw him not far off. He saw her too; yet he looked grave, and seemed irresolute, and only by very slow degrees came at last near enough to speak to her. She felt that something must be the matter. The change was indubitable. The difference between his present air and what it had been in the Octagon Room was strikingly great. Why was it? She thought of her father, of Lady Russell. Could there have been any unpleasant glances? Could the slight touch of Mr. Elliot be upsetting him so greatly? He began by speaking of the concert gravely, more like the Captain Wentworth of Uppercross; owned himself disappointed, had expected singing; and in short, must confess that he should not be sorry when it was over. Anne replied, and spoke in defense of the performance so well, and yet in allowance for his feelings so pleasantly, that his countenance improved, and he replied again with almost a smile. They talked for a few minutes more; the improvement held; he even looked down towards the bench, as if he saw a place on it well worth occupying; when at that moment a touch on her shoulder obliged Anne to turn round. It came from Mr. Elliot. His fingers curved around her collarbone, and he cast an indescribable glance Captain Wentworth’s way before leaning down so close that Anne could see every one of his eyelashes. Anne saw Captain Wentworth stiffen as Mr. Elliot spoke to her in a low, intimate voice. He begged her pardon, but she must be applied to, to explain Italian again. Miss Carteret was very anxious to have a general idea of what was next to be sung. Anne could not refuse; but never had she sacrificed to politeness with a more suffering spirit. She could not even bear to look at Captain Wentworth as she mumbled an apology and turned toward her cousin, who seemed to ignore her pointed glance at his hand where it still touched her.
Persuasion: The Wild and Wanton Edition Page 26