by Robin Helm
It was quiet by the windows. Her godmother checked for anyone outside. And then she said, “What are you doing speaking with that man? You heard your sister telling me how he forced himself upon her at the Poole’s. How mortifying that he spoke to her with no proper introduction.”
And if they had been introduced by the King himself, Elizabeth would still be annoyed. She glanced over to the middle of the room and saw that the Commander had found his brother and that they were no more than yards away. Was he following her perhaps? She could hope. If only she could find a distraction for her godmother. “There is to be a table or two for cards in the library, I am told.”
The noise in the room was growing more intrusive. “The Musgroves,” Lady Russel said loudly, “Are tolerable people, but why do they bother taking the tables down? I do not know that there is anything in their library but some of the children’s stray school books and those periodicals that all farmers seem to read.”
What did it matter what the Musgroves kept in their library? Her father’s library was the repository of fine porcelains that came from her mother’s family, and shelves of books that were dusted regularly but only read by her.
“Perhaps you could offer your musical talents to Mrs. Musgrove this evening.”
“But she loves to play for her parties.” For an instant she had to wonder if her godmother had suggested her help to Mrs. Poole. Was keeping her away from Frederick Wentworth so important?
“Yes, but you are able to keep time, and play all the notes in the order they are written. And play something in this century.” A covey of ladies passed by them on the way to the library. “I will leave you now, Anne. I want to see that I am not at Sybil Tate’s table.” She bent closer. “I am sure she cheats, though I have no idea how it may be done.” Lady Russell caught up to the ladies and took Mrs. Tate’s arm.
It was always her godmother’s habit to keep close those she loved, but to keep closer those she disliked. The two women sat at the same table, partners for the moment.
The guests ebbed and flowed through the rooms and Anne went with them for the most part. It would not do to examine her motives too closely for she was certain to find she was hunting for the Commander.
“I have brought you something.” She turned, and her fan hit the cup of punch he offered. “I am sorry, sir. I did not realize you were so near.” Warm summer nights were an excellent cover for a blush of embarrassment.
“It is a crush anywhere near the food or the drink. That being the case, I thought I would save you the trouble of waiting. You are thirsty, are you not?”
With a bit of juggling, she took the cup from him. “Yes, I am. Thank you for thinking of me.” The gesture was nothing more than a bit of politeness, surely. She followed him to a set of chairs in a corner by the huge, old fireplace. The place must be associated with warm winter evenings for no one else was near.
“Did you like this person your godmother wished to introduce you to?”
For a moment she was clueless. “Fine. A cousin of one sort or other.” Anne deemed it politer to tell a little lie than give any hint to the truth about Lady Russell’s opinions. “How do you find our entertainments? Fairly tame compared to Plymouth?”
“Everything is tame compared to Plymouth. They call most ports ‘Gomorrah’ for a reason. But I will not elaborate.” He put aside his undrunk punch and took a small green notebook from his breast pocket. He wrote something with a tiny pencil stub, closed the book, and held them in his hand. “I am sure your father would not appreciate me opening that sort of world to this polite society.”
“No, not very likely. I know it is none of my business, but do you always take notes at parties?”
“Not usually, but I am debating whether to show this to you.” He held out the notebook.
“Is it a puzzle?” She took it by the corner, but he did not release it. He held it and her gaze for a few beats of the music.
“Now that you mention it, yes. Somewhat.” He released the paper to her. “I would be interested in your opinion of my work.”
They were just outside the glow of a sconce, so Anne stepped into the pool of light. He was watching elsewhere. She hesitated to open the book. What if it had to do with Elizabeth? His disappointment at being snubbed? What if she was as much the object of his pointed observations of the populace of Somerset, only she was blinded by his handsome smile and laughter?
You are a fool. Anne. All his looks are true. Open it.
She did.
One graceful, barely curving line created a woman’s neck and shoulder. Another sweep of the lead filled out her bosom. It took her a moment to recognize herself. That would have been enough to make her blush, but it was the curve of the jaw, the faint lines that contoured the cheeks, and deep flecks of black making up her eyes that told her everything. In just a few lines and flourishes of the pencil Frederick had captured her utterly. Her stomach churned, and she drew in a breath.
“What is it? Have you cut yourself on the paper? Of course not, your gloves.” He touched her hand. “What is it?”
“Is this truly how you see me?”
The music and chatter of the crowd filled the silence between them. “You do not like it.”
Like it? She hated it. It was an exact representation of her deepest feelings about herself. The head tilted down, the slack mouth, the eyes that searched but never found. “I fear you have sketched me more accurately than I could ever wish.”
A maid came by to trim the wick in the sconce. They stepped aside and as she went on with her duty, Anne contemplated leaving him to seek out a quiet corner of the garden. First Elizabeth’s accusations and now—
“Thank you, sir.” The maid left them to their silence.
“Your expression says otherwise. I am not trained, and so I fear that my understanding of the subject has not translated well, or even satisfactorily to the paper. I have been told that good art needs no explanation. However, I fear my skill is not equal to the task. Perhaps this poor sketch needs words for it cries to be understood.”
This would be worse than her own fears. Her eyes stung and fearing tears she looked away from him and around the room.
“This is not an expression from tonight.”
The man will not be stopped. She pushed the paper at him and walked away.
He took her arm. “The dress is the one you wear tonight, but the expression is from the other day when we met. When your godmother admonished you about our conversation. He picked up the sketch. “What were you thinking?”
It was a good likeness of that day. It was a sad moment of contemplation. “I was thinking how you were making light of your injuries. I knew that your brother had been worried for you. I was thinking how silly we are to avoid talk of unpleasant things.”
“Don’t worry about me. I have been hurt before and will be again no doubt.” He took the book and put the picture away. “I wanted merely to capture a beautiful young woman, elegant in mind and body, distracted.” He patted his pocket. “I have obviously failed in that.”
He was genuinely sorry, but for what? He only sketched what he saw. “May I have it? I think it is mine by rights.”
He took it out of his pocket and put it in her hand. Then he took her hand. “You must promise you will give me the benefit of the doubt that my lack of skill in no way makes me think other than what I have told you. You are an elegant creature that I tried to capture.”
“I am not elegant. Elizabeth is elegant.”
He looked around and found her. “Make no mistake, your sister is elegant. And she is very beautiful. But you are elegant and neat. Uncomplicated.”
In future, when she looked back on her silly crush on this man, she would look at the picture and remember him fondly, hoping to forget this evening.
“Thank you. You make me sound like a well-kept desk.” She found her fan and turned to leave.
He pulled her back and pressed her close. The buttons warmed against her skin. “I mean nothing
of the sort. How to explain this to a landsman. The elegance of a ship is in her neatness, its matter-of-factness. To know she has everything you need, and that she will not trip you up if you care well for her is the joy of a sailor. Your sister is a yacht for amusement and showing off. If the current changes, you will play merry hob trying to survive if she’s acting up. Am I right?”
“You are. Though she is not a hobgoblin.”
“I stand corrected. You are open and free with your mind. You don’t hide yourself in manners and form. You are uncomplicated by design and habit. You exhibit no pretentions of your own and you definitely don’t suffer them in others” He cocked his head. “Is my explanation clear?”
“It is. I am simple.”
“You deliberately mishear me.”
“How should I hear you?”
“You are not complicated. You are honest. Pure in your presentation to the world.”
“I sound like ice.”
“Not at all.” They looked at one another, each waiting for the other to continue the meandering exchange.
“Maybe I do wish you to speak in more direct terms. I am used to my family and their need to complicate things.”
“You are not icy, nor simple in the way you meant. You are just the sort of woman a sailor needs.”
“I am tired of hearing about ‘sailors,’ Commander. What precisely do you need?”
He said nothing in response to her question.
Chapter Five
The Lovers Discover
“It looks like the world is here for this ball.” Another farm cart rattled by the Wentworths as they neared Kellynch Hall. It was the third of its kind in the last twenty minutes. After seeing Sir Walter in action at the home of another prominent family a few nights before, Wentworth was curious to see how the baronet, along with his eldest daughter, would treat the invited rustic hoard.
“It is one of the few opportunities the neighbors have to meet the great man and see how he lives.” Edward chuckled. “And eat as much of his food they can stuff themselves with.”
“That is why I’m here.” It was not precisely true but having a meal that didn’t literally take food from his brother’s mouth was a welcome notion. Had Frederick known Edward was so poor, rather than wait it out in Somerset, he would have taken his lumps in Plymouth with his fellow sailors. “Let the Elliots feed the Wentworths for a night is what I say.”
“Hear him! Hear him!” Edward cheered. They came around the open gate to behold the Hall.
The view down the avenue to the house was magnificent. It was precisely what a good architect would intend; a straight, wide, tree-lined track that stimulated respect as the visitor travelled it to the front door. That feeling of respect was intended to inspire awe for the Baronet of Kellynch Hall.
“There will be fun to be had, but all in all, it will be like many of those deadly dull affairs you attend elsewhere.”
“They are only dull if you are not watching closely enough.” Frederick pulled his brother aside, off the drive onto a patch of dusty grass inside the wall. He pulled a stained cloth from the outer pocket of his coat and bent to dust his boots. Without asking, he dusted his brother’s as well. “Stay on the grass so they remain clean.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I mean it, Eddy.” Frederick nodded towards the house as he put the cloth away. “Must I remind you that the swells are terribly impressed by some pretty unimportant things.” He reached up and brushed Edward’s shoulders as well. “I had a captain once who bragged that he checked the hair and fingernails of his superiors no matter their rank or what they had accomplished. He said that neither beauty nor heroics were worth a sou if an officer ignored such basic matters.”
“Don’t tell me you have come to believe such nonsense.”
“No,” he said, starting to the house, careful to stay on the grass. “But I’ve seen this man rise high enough to believe that there might be something to it.”
The brothers Wentworth were ushered into the entryway of Kellynch Hall, which led the eye through a wide hall of glittering black-veined marble and a row of liveried footmen to a massive stairway that diverged into two half-way up. The grand man was allowing the masses full access to a good portion of the house. He was certain the baronet would insist that the maids and footmen immediately start wiping away all traces of finger smudges from his fine stone just as the door shut behind the last departing guest. If Wentworth was wrong, and Sir Walter deigned to give the servants a few hours’ rest, he was sure the man himself rested very ill until the residue of so many commoners was removed.
As the crowd made their way farther into the house, Frederick was glad of the cool summer. In comparison to summers in the Indies, where a wool uniform was less an honor than a form of torture, this unusual English weather was very accommodating. The guests were finally coming to a greeting line of sorts.
He had to admit, it was better organized and civilized than some mob scenes he’d attended under the guise of naval society.
“The large formal dining room is upstairs. We will make it there eventually, but I would like to peek into the ballroom and see who graces us with their presence tonight.”
Music drew them through a broad hall to the ballroom. Several doors leading to the room showed it to be stuffed with dancers, those waiting to dance, those hoping to dance, and many wanting to watch the dancers dance. Aside from children and servants, every freeman and woman in the county must have been in attendance. He would never have imagined that what looked to him to be a sparsely settled county contained so many people.
“Well, here we are brother,” said Edward. “All of the Great and the Small, all in one place.”
His brother’s excitement at being in such fine company surprised Frederick. Was it excitement on Edward’s part, or was it that the evening was a rarity in the life of a single curate? With no money to speak of, the man’s choices for entertainment were severely limited and dependent upon the kindness of his betters. It made things no easier that Edward was an older man toiling under and taking orders from younger, sometimes stupider, men.
Enough philosophizing. Frederick looked at the room and thought how it was exceptional to see so many seemingly happy people in one place.
The music came to a sudden crescendo and stopped. Then came a few seconds of polite applause from those older while the younger rushed to gain a place in the new line forming.
A murmur moved through the spectators and then the pastel colored crowd gave way in biblical fashion to a small group of young ladies. They wore various shades of beige, pink, blue, yellow, and green that blended into a sort of camouflage, masking their true numbers. All except for one of the ladies. She wore deep grey.
“Miss Elliot is in fine form tonight,” Frederick said, searching for someone else.
“She is holding Court as always.”
As if by magic, a few chairs appeared and Miss Elliot and four of her cohort were seated. There was a little flurry of activity and one of the girls was deposed, banished to stand behind the rest while another was brought forward.
“Well, look at that. I wonder why she wants Anne to sit with her.”
“A friend once told me there are only two reasons one woman will bring up another to be her equal.”
“McGillvary? What wisdom has he in the matter of women?”
Careful, Freddy. You know how Edward feels about him. “The first if she has a fellow in mind for her companion.”
“Never. Though only someone tip top will do for Miss Elizabeth, she would never allow Anne to choose from one of the local unworthies. She’d rather see her unmarried than such a degradation.” Edward’s comments pertaining to Miss Elizabeth were growing more pointed and dark as the summer went by. “What is the second?”
“If she feels confident that the other lady is unequal in looks and therefore makes her shine even brighter.”
“In this case, it would be the latter. What a dreadful person.” Edward turned away.<
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He suspected Miss Elliot was no more dreadful than any other beautiful woman with high expectations, and a right to them. But, as he had learned at the Pooles’, she could be cruel when she was in the superior position. As she was with her sister.
He watched Anne take the seat next to her sister. She arranged her reticule and smoothed her gloves. Her movements were simple. Economical. He was still unsure why gestures he found so alluring were anathema to her. The rejected girl stood behind Anne and glowered down at her for a moment. She made a face and then looked up, catching Frederick looking in their direction. She covered her smiling face with her fan and dipped a little curtsey. Blast, she had caught him smiling. It was all for Anne, but the other one mistook it for herself. The girl flipped and wiggled her fan, and then watched the dancers. He now realized that Anne was looking his way, smiling as well.
She wasn’t the beauty her sister was, not in the can’t-be-denied way. Hers was the sort of beauty that lingered in is mind. That sort that came on a fellow at odd moments when you weren’t thinking of women at all. Her voice, her way of being was that rare mix of desire and comfort. She looked away when her sister addressed her.
“What precisely do you need?” Her question had hung in the air and went unanswered. An interruption that he could not even remember had saved him.
What did he need? He needed a smart, gentle woman who could accept him and the life he’d chosen. She was such a woman.
Chapter Six
The Lovers Agree
The hall was so full it was a wonder that the dancers could move at all. The music was lively and well-played. Anne was pleased to be sitting with her sister. There was no need to question too closely the reason, all that mattered was her perfect view of Commander Wentworth across the floor. His beautiful blue uniform flashed between the couples as they wove the set’s pattern. The only thing bothering her at the moment was Lady Russell’s opinion of the very tall and very handsome officer.