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Chapter 5

Posted on Thursday, 11 January 2001

The morning had dawned warm and sunny for mid-March. When he had come on deck for the morning inspection, Wentworth could not help but hear the jolly babble of voices from other ships, even those anchored a good distance away. The busy harbour of Plymouth reflected the abundant cheer the clear weather naturally inspired.

With breakfast behind them, and the day beginning in earnest, the voices of the men on deck, particularly those directly above Wentworth's head, were boisterous and happy. While it did him good to hear, he would make an appearance in an hour or so, just to keep the skylarking down to a tolerable level. Good cheer might come with the first of the good weather, but it would not do to lose any men to foolish accidents.

As Frederick mechanically made entries in the Captain's log, he looked forward to the time when they were at sea and the excess energies of the crew would be harnessed keeping the ship in the tightest possible trim as she sailed or in exercising the great guns in the evening. It reminded him that he must speak to Harville about powder and where to stow it until such time as the Laconia's magazine could be filled. All the ruminating on the future and tasks he could not yet complete, made him glad for the interruption of a knock at his door.

"Come."

"Sir," said Hemmings. "May I speak with you?"

The Captain stiffened. "Certainly. Come in." Closing the Logbook, he carefully replaced his pen and straightened several piles of papers and receipts. He took great care with each pile. These chores absorbed a little time. Not that the doctor took any notice. He took a somewhat negligent stance before the desk. This man in nowise resembled the frightened inferior officer who, several years earlier, during his first commission aboard the Laconia, had quailed before Wentworth. The Captain did not keep the doctor waiting so much from spite, but from a desire that the surgeon be reminded with whom the ship's authority rest. Finishing his little tasks, the Captain sat back in his chair, looked up and asked, "How might I help you?"

Hemmings glanced towards a chair. "This will take some time ... might I sit, sir?"

Captain Wentworth felt little fondness for Dr Hemmings, after their fractious first sail together, and he took the Doctor's desire to sit, rather than stand before him as a blatant snubbing of his authority. Though piqued, the captain did not wish to disturb the peace of the morning with an ugly dressing down and so, motioned for the man to sit.

The doctor took his time to arrange his suit coat, which was of the latest cut, and when finished, he looked directly at the Captain and said, "I have come to explain myself. While you said nothing at dinner last evening, I know you must be curious as to why I, of all men, would sign on to the Laconia."

The Captain had not forgotten Hemmings, most generally, possessed a direct manner. It could be plainly seen the evening before, as he had watched the surgeon interact with the other officers who had been invited to dine at the captain's table. Hemmings was gentlemanly; courteous and deferential to those with which he conversed, but, he was also opinionated and not prone to keeping his ideas to himself. The man was ready in speech and able to defend himself and his opinions with flair and humor. All together, the surgeon was a likeable man -- to most.

"I have been curious," Frederick said. "I was very astonished when Harville presented me with your warrant."

The doctor shifted in his seat. "Yes, Captain Harville mentioned your surprise. He asked me to explain your comment on 'flaying.' I told him that while I could offer a comprehensive description of the procedure, I could not comment on any particulars regarding you." He watched the Captain intently.

The very thought would have put Timothy back on his heels, thought Frederick. "Captain Harville is not aware of your entire history in regards to the Laconia and I chose not to inform him of such."

"Thank you for that. I have no wish to poison his opinion of me. I merely wish to do my duty and perhaps enrich myself in the process."

As Hemmings spoke, the Captain searched through a pile of papers, drawing out a sheet. "Yes, I see that you are married now." Turning the sheet that Hemmings might see it, he continued, "and that you have designated Mrs. Ambrose Hemmings, as the recipient. Many men of your rank appoint a male relation to take care of these matters."

"I see no reason to do so. My wife is more than trustworthy, and when at sea, I have few needs that pocket money will not satisfy." The man's expression grew troubled. It was obvious that the conversation's direction was not to his liking.

"I see that your wife's name is ... Janet," he said. "That is a coincidence. Was not Janet the name of that young woman who travelled with Miss Susan Locke?"

The men exchanged looks of acknowledgment. There was no need to ignore the obvious.

"Yes, Janet -- my wife -- is Miss Locke's cousin." He paused and then asked if the Captain would like to know how the marriage came about.

"I will always be grateful that you did not punish me to the full measure possible. The verbal lashing was more than enough. What you said about a man who accepted the attentions of a naive young woman -- his being not much better than a thief -- cut me to the quick. I am a man of science though, and at the time, I felt above all such conventionalities. I had lived my life, to that point, enthusiastically embracing my ... enlightenment." He looked at the Captain. Seeing that he had been understood, Hemmings continued. "I recall telling you that it had been Miss Janet who had been the aggressor and you laughed at me."

The Captain smiled. The lecture given Hemmings, upon finding his surgeon and the female passenger in the cable tier, had been one of his brother's favourites and while Edward had never aimed it directly Frederick's way, it had been heard at various times with various 'gentlemen' caught in difficult and embarrassing situations. While the words had been neither original nor delivered with the curate's moral imperative, it had proven effective.

"I am glad to see that you recall. Anywise, I determined that I should make amends somehow. I learnt into whose keeping she was given and where she had gone. The charitable soul turned out to be an Aunt Mary, the Admiral's maiden aunt on his father's side. -- "

As he was about to go on, the Captain interrupted and asked, "If you do not mind, how does one broach such a topic -- considering the, uh ... circumstances?"

"I wrote a very broad letter," he said matter-of-factly, "ostensibly, to enquire as to the health of Miss Janet -- I had treated her for sea sickness -- and the aunt being very clever, understood that either I had an active interest in her niece or an obligation. Her solution was to invite me to Cornwall and have a visit with the patient."

Rather like inviting the fox to thoroughly examine the chickens, Frederick thought to himself.

"I visited and found that Janet, when taken out of the company of Miss Susan," he cocked his head, "was quite a nice young woman. And the girls' Aunt Mary was not in the least dull; she knew that the finest thing for Janet would be a situation away from her brother's family in general and Miss Susan in particular." The two gentlemen took a moment to reflect upon the infamous Admiral's daughter. The doctor continued, "Captain, my wife is not brilliant, I would not be happy with the thrust and parry of an equal match, but she is kind and gentle. I like to think that we have amended one another for the betterment of each." In a more subtle tone, he admitted, "Janet is a wonderful companion to me, and a loving mother to my children."

The tone in Hemmings voice led the Captain to suspect the man held deeper and more tender feelings towards his wife than his unsentimental words betrayed. He felt he understood the doctor more than ever, but was not certain as to why. As he was about to bring the meeting to a close, a knock at the door brought him Mr. Martin.

"I am sorry to bother you sirs, but the doctor's loblolly has arrived and is waiting in the sick-bay." The boy cast a nervous look from the doctor to the captain.

Hemmings stood. "Thank you, Mr. Martin. Be so good as to tell her I am coming direct -- "

"Her?" Frederick cried, as he rose from his chair. "Your loblolly is a girl?"

Any burgeoning affability between the Captain and his surgeon had vanished. Hemmings countenance betrayed nothing as he turned to face his captain. "No sir. To be precise, she is a woman -- my widowed sister. And she is my Surgeon's Mate, not a loblolly. Mrs. Partridge too is warranted. I explained all this to Captain Harville when I signed on. There seemed to be no objection on his part."

That morning, Louisa had wakened to the same sinking feeling that had greeted her each morning since her husband had left her. Wanting to put off rising for as long as possible, she studied the weave of the linen pillowslips and mused that her appearance downstairs was unnecessary. Her miserable performance in the kitchen the day before had proven to be a humiliation she feared would only worsen as the days passed.

As she had done each morning since Frederick's departure, she drew his pillow to her and breathed in his scent. Since he was not present, the scent was fading and was even growing somewhat fetid. She resisted the need to wash the case, but knew, in the end, that it was necessary and would be accomplished. But, as it was Thursday, and not the day for laundry, the pillow was safe for yet a while longer.

A knock at the door brought her out of her reverie and back to the present.

"Louisa? Louisa, are you awake?" Catherine asked.

"Yes," she called as she sat up, "come in."

Catherine came in slowly, and looked about the room. "I am sorry, I did not mean to wake you, but I have an errand for you ... if you would."

Louisa rose, and walked to the wardrobe. "Certainly I will do an errand." She was glad for any occupation, even the simplest of errands to town would be welcome. "What might I do?" She opened the wardrobe and selected a dress.

Catherine came fully into the room and closed the door. She took a seat on the bed. Taking a scrap of paper from her sleeve, she said, "I need you to order the bed for the nursery. I know that the Captain said he would buy a new one, as the old one was ... broken." She smiled a little at that. "Anywise, it will take some time for it to come from Ludlow I expect, and I wish the room to be ready."

Louisa turned and looked at Catherine for a moment. She came and sat next to her. "Are you having the baby soon, do you think?" she asked.

Catherine shrugged her shoulders. "I do not know. I have never had a baby and all my sisters are different in this. But I do want to be ready ... one never knows." She absently touched her stomach, but soon came back to herself. "And there are some other things that I will need." She handed the list to Louisa. "But I hesitate to have the Rector buy them ... many of them are feminine and you know how men can be."

Taking the list, she nodded as she read. Louisa did not know how men could be about feminine things, but agreed to make the purchases nonetheless.

After breakfast, she and the Rector set out for town. "The sun is certainly a welcome sight, I must say," said the Rector.

"Yes, sir, it certainly is," Louisa replied. She thought her brother-in-law was uncomfortable, alone with only her. To relieve the situation, she was quite willing to make any conversation possible. Though, she herself was not completely at ease. But after the weak attempt at sociability, the two satisfied themselves with continuing their walk in quiet union.

"I will go in and get the post. Wait here and then we will go over to Fulton's. Catherine's things can be gotten there," Edward said as he entered the small storefront.

Louisa stood by the door, out of the way of others who entered and exited with their post. She hoped there was a letter from her husband. The letter she had written must surely have reached Plym --

"Mrs. Wentworth! I am so happy to see you!" The high, jarring voice startled Louisa and she turned awkwardly to see its owner.

"Oh, heavens! Mustn't fall. There now," a sturdy little woman, the owner of the voice, said. "I did not mean to frighten you ... though I have noticed that many people in this town are very jittery ... I wonder if it might not be the water ... anywise, I am nearly overwhelmed at the sight of you ... I was just saying to Mr. Cooper over breakfast that we must have you to dinner ... oh, and the Rector and Mrs. Wentworth also ... but he was all for having you to dinner ... and your husband too -- if he weren't gone all ready -- "

Before Louisa could even respond to Mrs. Cooper's bombardment, "Good morning, Mrs. Cooper," was heard as the Rector's voice came from behind them.

"Oh, Rector! I was just telling your sister-in-law that the Curate and I so enjoyed your sermon Sunday. I did not have an opportunity to say as much after the service, but I was truly inspired by your words ... the Bishop of Shrewsbury could not have done better ... though never tell him I said that, I would not wish to offend him -- "

"No, Mrs. Cooper. I am certain that you would not." Edward seized the opportunity to take Louisa by the arm and bid Mrs. Cooper a good morning. When out of hearing, he said quietly, "I am not certain that Mr. Copper might better use his wife's talents in a political career. She is quite a campaigner."

Louisa laughed. "Will we be invited to dinner?"

Edward groaned. "Most likely, yes. But not very soon. Catherine's condition will save us from social obligations for a good while." He glanced at Louisa, "Unless, of course, you wish to dine with the Coopers, I could escort you."

She glanced back. "Oh, I think it impossible. I am quite certain that once the baby arrives, Mrs. Wentworth will need the both of us -- more than ever," she added.

"I must say, it is all ready an eventful day. Meeting up with Mrs. Cooper and ... " the Rector reached into his pocket and drew out several letters, "a letter from each of my siblings. That has never happened before."

Louisa looked at the packets he held. There were not two, but three. "Yes it is a very eventful day."

"You know, I do believe that there is also a letter for you." He handed her one of the letters.

It was necessary to read the inscription, as she was not all that familiar with Frederick's hand. It was indeed from him. "It is," she beamed, "a very eventful day." Eager fingers began to open it.

Approaching Fulton's, the Rector said quickly, "I am sorry, sister, you must put that away for now. We have chores to do before pleasure." He touched his hat to a passing couple and ushered Louisa into the store.

The store had become crowded as the Rector and Louisa had made their purchases. When she was finished, Louisa stepped out to stand in the sun and wait for him. She felt satisfied that all her errands were complete. Everything on Mrs. Wentworth's list was bundled in several parcels, the nursery bed had been ordered -- less than a fortnight from Shrewsbury she had been assured. The Rector had assisted her i setting up an account in her own name -- her husband's name actually, but she took delight in knowing it waited at the ready for her exclusive use. She brushed off the seat on a little bench outside the door, sat and waited.

Had Louisa been in Uppercross, where she was widely known and accepted, she would have removed her bonnet as she took the sun. But here, she decided a good impression was more important that enjoyment. She did, however, loosen the strings. As the door to Fulton's opened, she turned to see if it might be the Rector. It was not and she settled herself back on the bench. You goose! she suddenly thought. She took out Frederick's letter, broke the final seal and opened it.

For a moment, all she did was study the writing. It was bold and forthright. The lines were straight and even, no sags or curves. There were few splotches of ink and no words crossed out. It very much reflected the writer.

It would be impossible to say what drew her attention away from the treasured letter, but something had. Louisa looked up and around for a moment. She saw nothing. She turned her attention back to the letter, but before she could even begin, she looked around again. Then she saw something.

Across the roadway, down a few doors, stood Pollard Levant. He stared at her. But this was not the same amiable look he had given her on those occasions when they had spoken, but a pointed look she could not comprehend. He did not acknowledge her in any way. When he suddenly turned and walked away, she wondered if she might have offended him.

"Louisa."

She jumped at the Rector's voice and soft touch to her shoulder.

"I am sorry." He looked at the letter. "Your thoughts are many miles away, I imagine. Let us go home and you may read in private."

He helped gather the parcels as she folded the letter. As they began home, Louisa turned and looked down the way Levant had gone. What had she done?

"Sir," Martin, officer of the Watch, said. His voice cracked as he gave Captain Harville the greeting due the First Officer. "The Captain is below deck, sir."

Timothy smiled to himself as he recalled those awkward days. The Navy saw this young man old enough to be in command of a Division of men, but his body would not allow him even to control his own voice. Harville nodded to Martin and asked, "Is Lieutenant Hunston aboard?"

Before Martin could answer, the man himself called out, "Yes sir. Just taking a bit of air."

Lt Matthew Hunston was as fine an officer one could wish for. He was sturdy and well looking. He haled from a naval family; his brother a newly made captain, his uncle an admiral of the red and very well respected. The fact that he was mulishly closed-mouthed and devilishly close to being considered unsociable was not to be held against him -- as long as he knew his duties and performed them well.

Harville greeted the man in his usual warm manner, though he knew it was useless. Hunston would not reciprocate in kind. "Have you been able to strike a deal about the powder? I am meeting with the Captain now and I would like a bit of good news to give." His hope was, that news of powder would cushion the Captain's shock. On this small ship, Timothy knew that the presence of a female loblolly would all ready be the talk.

"Yes sir. I spoke with the fellow just this morning. Twenty barrels of number one powder. He can hold it for thirty days himself and then, either we take it at the price agreed, or, he keeps it along with a healthy penalty."

Harville did not like to hear about the penalty. He would be glad to get the powder, but there was no guarantee when, or where, they might be able to store it. "That will have to do. We have thirty days to find a place. Perhaps I could take it home and let the wife store it," he quipped.

Hunston remained unmoved.

"No matter. Thank you for striking the bargain. I shall do what I can to complete it." He dismissed the lieutenant and stood for a moment studying the bowsprit.

"Sir, the Captain knows you're aboard and wishes to see you," said Martin.

"D*mn," Harville muttered, "there is not anything kept quiet on a man-of-war." He reluctantly made his way to the captain's cabin.

"Have a seat, Timothy," Frederick said as he motioned to a chair. Taking his own seat, behind his desk, the Captain did his best to look official.

"I have some good news, sir." Harville sat forward a bit and said, "We have twenty barrels of number one powder. It can be held for thirty days, but no longer."

"And a deposit is required, with forfeiture if we can not take the order."

"Yes sir."

Wentworth sighed. "Typical. They hoist their flagons to Crown and Country at the bar, but pilfer her blind in the necessities. Go on and pay it. I intend that the Laconia will be rigged and fitted very soon." This was his intention, but he had no idea how it might be accomplished.

After calling for coffee, the Captain settled himself back in his chair and gazed at Harville. He took a bit of perverse pleasure as his First began to fidget under his scrutiny. The two officers were not so different from a long-married couple; they often would finish one another's sentences, they easily predicted one another's reactions and even, in this unnerving case, read one another's thoughts.

"About Hemmings," Harville began.

"You mean, about Mrs. Partridge, do you not?"

"Yes ... about her ... let me explain."

"Believe me Harville, I am in rapt anticipation of your explanation."

Michaelson entered bearing the coffee. He poured quickly and quit the room, but only to the shadows of the corridor.

Harville placed his cup back on the desk. It rattled when held in his lap. Wentworth held his cup steady and waited.

"About Mrs. Partridge," Harville began. "Her credentials are impeccable, as are the Doctor's. He was quite firm that she be his Mate."

"I have no quarrel with her credentials. As you say, they are impeccable." Frederick slowly took another drink. He had no intentions of making this easy for his friend. Timothy knew his feelings concerning women on ships. He also knew the horrific situation which had brought Wentworth to such a conclusion.

Harville shifted. "The doctor also told me that his late brother-in-law -- Mr. Partridge -- was the captain of a merchantman and that Mrs. Partridge was very often with him abroad. She is very capable on board a ship and very understanding of the ways of the sea."

Wentworth remained unmoved. He put down the cup and folded his arms.

"I see I am making no progress with you," Harville said, as he stood and went to the stern windows. "You know, Frederick, these are not the Dark Ages. Women have sailed for quite some time and in many capacities. What we saw on the Thistle was barbaric and as uncivilised as one could imagine, but it was only once! Most women captured are not -- "

"I am not concerned with most women," Wentworth said as he stood. He came around the desk and continued, "I am only concerned with any woman under my protection. What happened to that woman was disgusting and I was ashamed to be of the male sex."

"I know. I myself will never forget the look in her eyes, but the men responsible were hanged."

"They were hanged for killing her husband -- the captain of the ship -- the mutiny. What was done to her was never mentioned in the trial. Had it been a court-martial, things might have been different. Though I doubt it."

"No matter what, those men paid with their lives. And that was a private ship, not a King's ship, things are not the same."

"Those men did pay, but I wonder if she might not rather be the one dead than to live with those sorts of memories." Wentworth was silent for a moment. He again wondered that he might enquire about the woman. But he dreaded an answer. Pulling himself from the morbid remembrance, he said, "Times are changing and it seems that my attempts to stay in the Dark Ages, as you called them, are futile. I have no choice but to honour the commissions of both the doctor and his Mate." He took his seat at the desk. "If there is a whiff of trouble owing to that woman, you will be held accountable, is that clear?"

"Yes sir. Clear as crystal. I did not mean to go around you, Frederick. I did not realise that the Thistle was still so fresh in your mind."

Pouring them both another cup, the Captain said, "Not so much, really. But when something like that has formed your opinions, it is nearly impossible to change. Look at my own family. Sophia has sailed for years with the Admiral and never a speck of trouble. Though, I am certain that she is more than capable of protecting herself ... I would hope."

A more relaxed Harville said, "I am sure that there will be no trouble. And besides, a woman's touch is always welcome."

Frederick thought for a moment on a woman's touch. "Yes, a woman's touch is generally welcome, no matter where one might be."

"Here are all the things you asked for, Catherine." Louisa panted as she pressed the bundles into her sister's arms. One fell to the floor and was quickly scooped up. "I am sorry," she said. "I have a letter -- from Frederick," she added as she fled up the stairs.

Catherine watched her pelt away and envied the ease with which she moved.

"May I help you, dear?" Edward asked.

"Oh, yes. He has sent her a letter?

"Yes, and we have one also. And we have a letter from my sister." They moved in unison towards the stairs. "I can not remember when last we were so popular!" He tucked the largest bundle beneath his arm and broke the seal on his sister's letter. Before he began to read, he whispered, "Thank you for asking Louisa to do your shopping. I would have been mortified to ask for some of those things."

After a kiss on the cheek, she said, "That is why, most times, I say nothing, but hand the list to Mrs. Fulton. It makes things so much simpler."

"Ah, I will have to remember that." He began to read.

As they entered their room, Catherine took the parcel from Edward. "What does your sister say? Anything interesting?"

"Oh yes. They will be quitting Somerset all together! They find that Bath is more to their liking and that the Admiral's gout is eased by the waters and walking." He paused and read some more. "Oh, I wish she had not said that!"

"What," Catherine asked as she put things away.

"Oh some piffle about accepting Louisa as a sister, but having harboured a fancy that Frederick was attracted to Miss Anne."

"Oh no." She came to his side and read the words for herself. "At least it is not blatant. Even if Louisa were to see this, she would not know exactly what it meant."

"She is intelligent enough to understand Sophie's comment about," he quoted, "'reconciling herself to the girl,' not terribly welcoming -- and the part about Miss Anne would sting, don't you think?" He looked at Catherine who could do no more than nod in agreement. "We are fortunate, were Sophia ever to know about the two of them and what they once meant to one another, poor Louisa would never stand a chance of being accepted into the family."

"Mark my words, Louisa will never hear anything of it from my lips," Catherine said as she gathered brown paper and string. "The engagement between your brother and Miss Elliot is from the Dark Ages as far as I am concerned. A history not worth the repeating."

Edward folded the letter and tossed it on Catherine's dressing table. "I wonder what the boy has to say," he murmured as he opened Frederick's letter. "Not much. The Laconia is being refitted and in the meantime, they are stuck on a hulk called the Moonshine. That is rich, the dashing captain is quartered in cabin with a low ceiling again -- like on the Asp, and he has knocked himself nearly unconscious more than once. He wishes you well, Catherine and enquires after Louisa and how she is truly doing. Nothing alarming." Folding this letter, it joined Sophia's on the table. "I have things to do in the study."

"Yes, and I must see to dinner." She caught his hand before he could get out the door. "Thank you again for helping me with my parcels, Rector." She kissed him.

"You are most welcome. I am at your service, anytime." As he turned to go, he kicked a small, square parcel that had been in front of the door. Both stepped out into the hallway as the Rector stooped to pick it up. Handing it to Catherine, he said, "I don't remember dropping this."

Catherine took it and turned it over in her hands. You do not think," she said, looking at Louisa's door, "that she left it here -- and might have heard us?"

Looking to the closed door, he said, "No, I think we would have heard footsteps had she left it. Besides, she is not the type to listen at doors, is she?"

"No, but we were speaking in normal tones -- and the walls are thin." Catherine sighed. "I suppose we will know soon enough. She was in raptures over her letter. If that mood has changed..."

He took her by the arms, "If that mood has changed it could be for a thousand other reason. The girl is nineteen and at the mercy of youth. Let us not worry until things prove warranted." The Rector kissed her and headed to the study.

As she watched him disappear down the stairs, Catherine could not help but wonder if, by her own lips, Louisa had not heard something of the pitiful history of Frederick and Anne Elliot.

"I think it will do you good. You are always closeted away, keeping to yourself far more than is healthy."

Frederick glanced at his friend. "Yes, well, I am a man with responsibilities. Shall I leave the paperwork to you -- as do most captains of my rank?"

Harville cleared his throat. "Ah, well you know that I am allergic to ink, my friend. Causes me to loose all sense of propriety and I become fractious." The Captain's point was well made.

Wentworth took stock of the neighbourhood in which the coach had let them off. It was literally, and figuratively, miles away from the tiny house, under the pier, in Lyme.

"You have done well for Elsa. I am certain she enjoys living here. And, entertaining unexpected guests."

"Oh that," Harville replied, a little winded. "She will not mind. She told me to bring you for dinner one night."

"Knowing Elsa, she meant after a properly issued invitation." He stood back and watched his friend.

Timothy mounted and climbed the stairs with more easily than Frederick had seen in weeks. The plan to work his weak leg was being rewarded handsomely.

After entering the home, Wentworth was assured by Mrs. Harville's warm welcome that he was as much a part of the family as anyone, and that there was never a need to await an invitation. He was given the best seat at the table and dinner was enjoyed with all the good-spirits of a domestic celebration.

As the gentlemen took refreshment and the ladies saw to their duties, Frederick fell into a deep study. After a quarter hour of silence, Harville had had enough and asked, "Was dinner to your liking? Solveig is a deft hand when it comes to fish."

The Captain looked up. "Yes, it was excellent. I had forgotten how fine a table Elsa set. You are most fortunate of men." He resumed staring out a front-facing window, as he sat, he absently fingered the stem of his glass.

"She indeed does me proud." He was about to continue when the doors opened and the lady herself entered, followed by her cousin, Solveig.

The gentlemen stood and the ladies took their seats. Solveig went directly to her needlework. This she found to be the most polite way to avoid conversation in English. Elsa also took up a needle, but was more than ready for conversation. "So, Captain Wentworth, how is Mrs. Wentworth? I have been very remiss and have not yet written her in -- Shropshire is it?"

"Yes, Shropshire. She will like very much to hear from you. Though I have not received any post as yet. Knowing the Navy, I could return before the first letter arrives." He took a drink and repeated the jest to himself. He had expected something by then.

Harville brought the ladies each a glass of sweet wine and said, "I think we should toast the post. For no matter how late, it is always welcome when one is at sea." He raised his glass and the toast was made.

The afternoon continued on in the same tone; pleasant, comfortable and familial. When Frederick left, he told Timothy to stay home and report in the morning, that he would stand his watch that evening. As he returned to the Moonshine, Wentworth pondered a question. By the time he reached the ship, he had his answer.

The sun, so welcome earlier, now seemed a cold mockery to Louisa. The brilliant warmth of the day was a stark contrast to the dark, turbulent feelings that now governed her heart. Her reward for eavesdropping had been exactly what was deserved -- she had heard unkind things about herself and things about her husband, that were best left unknown.

After she had gone to her room and read Frederick's letter three times, she had decided to walk by the apple trees. When she had risen, something had fallen from her pocket. She then realised she was still in possession of one of Mrs. Wentworth's parcels. She had intended to simply leave it by Catherine's door and continue out to enjoy the sun and her husband's letter. (At the moment, she had felt certain she would never tire of reading it.) As she had knelt to place the package, she had heard her own name and curiosity had gotten the better of her. She had listened at the door and by the Rector's own words, she had heard that Mrs. Croft was none too fond of her and was unenthusiastic about her becoming a part of the Wentworth family.

If such a revelation had been the half of it, the situation would have been heart-breaking enough, but by that same faithless act, Louisa now knew more about her husband, a woman she considered a good friend, and perhaps even her own brother, than she had ever dared to think.

"I hate you Frederick! I -- hate -- you!" she cried as she brutally tore up his letter. A breeze picked up smaller pieces of it and sent them sailing along the stone fence. Other, larger pieces she snatched back and tore again. "All the while -- it was her --

She laid her head down on her arms and wept.

After a time, she became aware of a presence and as she raised her head, she was startled to find a fine cambric handkerchief being offered to her. The cloth was held by a very attractive, yet very manly hand. The hand was attached to Pollard Levant.

He held up a piece of the torn letter and said, "Disappointment in a loved one is the bitterest of pills, is it not Mrs. Wentworth?"

Louisa looked around and did not see a horse or a rig of any kind. How had he come? Had he materialised out of the sunshine itself? She drew back. It was as though the cloth and the man offering it was poisoned.

Levant laid the cloth on the wall. "Don't be afraid -- merely a simple act of kindness between friends -- nothing more."

Louisa reached out and took the handkerchief. As she did, Levant dropped the bit of Frederick's letter that he had held. "He is not worth all of this fuss you know. No man is."

She turned and made herself as presentable as she could under the circumstances. She turned back and placed the folded cloth back on the wall. "Keep it," he said. "I do not think you are finished crying over his betrayal."

"There is no betrayal," she said. She knelt and began to gather what shreds of the letter were in her reach.

"Then why do you hate him?" Levant asked. He stretched to lean over the wall, to keep her in view.

"I do not," she said. Standing, she looked his way. Her eyes were drawn to his and she stammered, "I was upset, I often say things I do not mean when I am upset."

"Ah, I see. I never say anything I do not mean. I always act." He took hold of a limb of a nearby apple tree. "Just as the next occupant of the Rectory will have to act quickly to save this years crop. Poor old trees." The last he said to himself.

Wanting, with all her soul, to look away, Louisa continued in his gaze. "Always?"

He nodded. "Always."

There was an odd feel to their words. It was almost as if for every word spoken, a hundred were being communicated by their eyes. While she was not the most clever in conversation, Louisa felt she knew precisely what he meant with every reply, and the news was not good for the Rector.

"Then you never delay," she asked.

Again he shook his head. "Never. I find that boring. Better to act, and deal with the consequences as they manifest themselves."

She stepped closer to the wall. "But what if the consequences are dire ... injurious to someone?" Louisa had worn no bonnet, and the heat of the sun made her feel flush, nearly nauseous.

Letting the branch go, he considered. "I suppose an action of that nature would be sad, but hardly my concern." He took out his watch and looked at it.

"But there are people's lives -- " she cried.

He snapped the watch shut and interrupted. "This has been an interesting discussion, Mrs. Wentworth. But I must go. We will talk again I am sure." With that he strode along the wall, to a wild hedge that bordered the Rectory. He reached into the hedge and led a horse from behind. She watched as he mounted and rode away.

There was nowhere Louisa could rest her eyes, there was no thought that could give her comfort, so strong was her agitation. She had nothing except fragments of the letter she had destroyed. Slumping down in a corner of the wall, she cradled the bits in her hands, and helplessly remembered all that had gone wrong that day.

Chapter 6

Anne closed her eyes and groaned as another peal of womanish giggling sounded from inside the drawing room.

The Assembly, no doubt, she grumbled. Again. She stood for some moments before the door, reluctant to enter.

Tomorrow's ball, with all its delightful social opportunities, intruded into every conversation in the house on Camden Place. Mary was positively frenzied with anticipation over it; she could speak of nothing else. Unfortunately, Elizabeth and Mrs. Clay had been happy to oblige her -- and from the sounds of the voices inside, so too were Miss Carteret and their father.

Anne sighed as she thought about Mary and her intense concern over appearance. Mrs. Clay was not at all helpful in this regard; by her continual admiration, she only encouraged this unbecoming self-preoccupation. And it was quite clever of her adopt such a strategy, for Mary's opinion had undergone quite a change. Just this morning, she had pulled Anne aside to insist that Penelope Clay was the most excellent of companions, and hadn't she noticed how her taste in fashion had grown in sophistication since she had come to Bath?

I wonder how Mary will like calling such an excellent companion, 'Mama'? Anne grumbled to herself, as she signed for Burton to open the door.

For Penelope Clay was growing bolder in her attentions toward their father, or so it seemed to Anne. The woman had issued an invitation and Sir Walter had responded; to please her, he would be joining their Poetry Group today. Anne kept silent about this, but she was mindful to watch Mrs. Clay's every move.

And she was not the only careful observer in the group that afternoon. James Benwick kept a watchful eye on Anne, for today he intended to address the duplicity of William Elliot -- if only he could speak to her alone. He was very pleased to notice that Mr. Elliot was not present.

"Mrs. Clay," said he, as he began the discussion. "I believe our selection today is of your choosing. If you will please give us the title and the number of the page, we shall follow as you read."

"Oh yes, Captain Benwick, certainly." Penelope Clay's fingers fluttered through the pages of her book. "I have chosen this one because of the wonderful Assembly tomorrow night! This poem is, oh, I don't know if I can put my feelings about it into words..." She broke off speaking and smiled shyly to her companion on the settee.

"I learnt this poem as a girl, Sir Walter. It is so thrillingly romantic! Now that I am older, even after a life of heartbreak and disappointment, it still speaks to me. Oh, to be loved with such pure adoration!"

Mrs. Clay turned back to the group to see Sir Walter's second daughter regarding her with a fixed look. She quickly dropped her eyes to the book and began to read.

'Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.'

As she read the last line, Mrs. Clay's voice trembled with emotion. Unable to continue, she sought refuge behind her handkerchief.

"A-hem! We are looking at Mr. Jonson's 'To Celia,' on page thirty-two," Captain Benwick said, in an attempt to make up for Mrs. Clay's omissions. "And, Sir Walter, we have extra copies of the book on the table beside you, if you would prefer to have your own."

"I don't mind sharing," Mrs. Clay was quick to say, from behind the handkerchief. "Truly, it is no trouble."

Anne noticed that her father made no move to procure his own book. Her lips compressed into a line; she directed her attention to finding the proper page.

"Very well," she heard Captain Benwick say. "Since Mrs. Clay has paused here, has anyone a comment to make about the first stanza?"

No one said a word. At last Elizabeth spoke.

"Why is it so wonderful, Penelope? I do not see it as particularly romantic."

The ladies gave a collective gasp.

"Why, Miss Elliot! Of course it is!" Miss Carteret objected. "This is true love!"

"Eternal adoration! Sincere devotion!" Mrs. Clay added.

"Oh, I see. True Love." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and smiled. "True Love must be very odd, indeed. Contrary to nature, it drinks with its eyes."

The ladies exclaimed in protest, while Sir Walter chuckled at his daughter's witticism.

"They say," he quipped, "that love is better than wine, although I say, maybe not! It all depends upon the vintage!

"Oh dear," Mary groaned to Miss Carteret. "Men are all alike. Wine, indeed! That's just the kind of thing my husband would say!"

"But a man wrote this poem, Mrs. Musgrove," Captain Benwick pointed out.

"Then a man should explain it," snipped Elizabeth.

"What a pity that Mr. Turner is not present," Miss Carteret sighed. "He would explain it splendidly. In his absence, I suppose we must appeal to you, sir."

All eyes turned to James Benwick. An uncomfortable silence followed, but Anne had no fear for him. He always took a few moments to collect his thoughts.

"A deep and abiding love between a man and a woman does not need words to make itself known, Miss Elliot," he said at last. "Propriety often separates such a couple, yet even in a crowded room, they communicate without uttering a sound. Here we see the poet's desire for this, that his eyes would meet his beloved Celia's above the rim of a wine glass, in a silent toast to one another across the table." He raised his hand, his fingers held the stem of an imaginary glass.

"They share a look, and this meeting of the eyes is all that is needed to say, 'Although this room is filled with people who demand my attention, I care for none of it. You alone are my one true love, and your love is worth more than anything I could ever desire.' "

The ladies sighed in unison and smiled at one another, except for Anne. She lowered her eyes and studied the cover of her book. As if this day was not bad enough, she was now forced to recall the loving glances of long ago!

But Elizabeth was not convinced. "And love makes a wilted wreath come alive?" She pointed to the final stanza, the one Mrs. Clay had been unable to read. "Come, now. That is impossible."

Anne looked at her sister and wondered, not for the first time, how one who was so lovely could understand so little of love. Her eyes then shifted to the sofa. Her father and Mrs. Clay were now examining her book; their heads were very close together. An angry flush mounted to Anne's cheeks; she willed it down and did her best to attend to what Captain Benwick was saying.

"You must look beyond the words, Miss Elliot, if you are to discover the meaning of the poem. Yes, it seems foolish that the man would send 'a rosy wreath' to his lady love and her breath upon it would make it live. What is meant by that?"

No one said anything, so Captain Benwick finished his thought. "Here we see illustrated a wondrous truth: love renews even the most withered of lives. One may spend years in secret pain, in loneliness, with such an empty dryness inside that one's heart feels as barren as a desert wasteland. Then love comes ... and all is made new. The desert blooms ... and the wreath of cut flowers, which is dead, lives and grows."

There was silence as the group absorbed these words. Mrs. Clay looked meaningfully to Sir Walter, or so it seemed to Anne.

"Speaking of Love, I have something to share with the group, if I may." Mozelle Carteret's eyes were bright with excitement as she brought out a rolled a sheaf of papers: a musical score. Her fingers trembled as she unfastened it.

"This song is about the passions of True Love," she said feelingly. "Since Miss Anne translated it for me at the Concert, I have been unable to think of anything else! Mother had the Concert Master bring me a copy. May I play it for you now?"

Amid the nods and murmurs of approval, James Benwick asked, "Er, which song is that, Miss Carteret?"

"Per Favori, Amore Mio," she sighed happily.

"Ah ... are you going to sing it? I mean, the Italian pronunciation is a little tricky, as I recall."

"No, I have not yet learned the words but I am working diligently to do so," she replied, as she seated herself at the pianoforte. "The melody is enchanting." And with a flourish, she began to play.

Meanwhile, several blocks away a young man was peering out of the window of his father's travelling coach as it rumbled along. He hated being shut up like this, but he had kept his promise to his mother and had remained inside for the entire journey. They were now within the city, probably not far from his destination.

Charles Musgrove sat up straighter and adjusted his cuffs and the tilt of his hat. No doubt his father-in-law would find fault with his appearance, as he always did. He hoped his wife would not be quite so critical.

Despite these apprehensions, Charles was quite pleased to arrive in Bath. He had made the journey in easy stages, taking two days to travel the fifty miles. And he was feeling better, more so than any time since leaving his sick bed. His original intention was to fetch his wife and sons home as soon as possible, but now he was changing his mind.

Perhaps Mary would enjoy an evening out, say, to the theatre, he mused, as he surveyed the crowded boulevard. That would please her. This last thought brought an expression of concern to his pleasant face. Mary had not been at all happy with him just before he had fallen ill.

At last the vehicle turned the corner onto Camden Place and Charles' heart sank. This neighborhood was extremely fashionable; Mary would not be eager to leave. He eyed the elegant residences resentfully. This was exactly the sort of house his wife would like for herself -- a far cry from the cottage they shared at Uppercross.

"Miss Anne?"

Anne blinked to hear Captain Benwick's voice so nearby. She had paid no attention to him, being occupied with listening to the song -- and with watching Mrs. Clay. While the eyes of the group were focused on the pianoforte, he had exchanged his seat for one near hers.

"I see you have brought my father's book with you," he said, in a low voice. "Have you had read the selection I marked?"

Anne lifted the volume from the table beside her and brought it to her lap. "Binnorie? I have, yes."

"And what do you think of it?"

Anne met his questioning look evenly. His choice had puzzled and annoyed her. Why should he deliberately give her such a piece? Since he was the only person in the room with whom she could speak frankly, she decided to tell him so.

"It is a perfectly dreadful story, Captain Benwick," she replied. "And the worst of it is, after the elder sister drowned the younger in the river, that wretched musician made a harp out of the dead girl's breast bone! Which is completely barbaric!"

Benwick grinned in sympathy. "I suppose that part about the harp was included as a dramatic element, to allow the murderess to be publicly exposed -- the harp crying out her name and all."

"Such a practice is utterly disgusting, regardless of artistic value! And ... you are laughing at me, Captain Benwick! What is so amusing?"

Benwick held up a hand. "No, no, forgive me, please. It's simply that hearing this song again ... er, some of the Italian expressions in it are a little ... unusual. But, to continue with our discussion, may I say that I agree completely about the barbaric harpist."

"I should hope so! That certainly wouldn't be what any reasonable person would do if he were to find a dead, eh ..."

"Mmmm. And I have been in such an unfortunate position. But in those instances we sailors seek only to give our fallen comrade a decent burial at sea, with as much honour as possible. Never would we want to make a musical instrument out of him! Although, we did have one instance ..."

Anne lowered the book; her eyes narrowed in amusement. "Was this before or after you hunted and sold the rats?"

"Oh, er, after, long after," he chuckled. "I didn't mean to let that slip out yesterday! I do apologise. It seems I am always telling you things I shouldn't."

"Yes, you are! You have always done so, even from the beginning of our acquaintance!" Anne felt her lips twist into a smile. "But, please continue. You were going to tell me about a dead body?"

"It is not a proper story for a lady," he murmured.

"By that standard, neither was this horrid ballad!"

"True. Er, very well, Miss Anne. It so happened that several years ago we were called upon to transport an elderly statesman, who had the misfortune to die during the middle of the cruise. We weren't at all sure what to do with the body. Should we bury it at sea or bring it back to England? Our surgeon suggested we could preserve it in a keg of rum ..."

"Good heavens!" Anne choked back a laugh.

"Harville, who was First Officer at the time, thought it was a good idea, but he wanted the keg towed behind the Laconia in a skiff. Corpses are rotten luck on board and you know how superstitious Harville is! But Wentworth disagreed, he thought it was a waste of perfectly ... er ..." Benwick coughed self-consciously. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..."

Anne raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. Frederick thought it was a waste of perfectly good rum!"

"That he did. But ..."

"And what happened to the statesman?"

"The situation resolved itself, much to Went, er, to the Captain's relief," he said awkwardly. "A French frigate was spotted on the horizon; we were forced to give chase. So the gentleman was laid to rest at sea, er, quickly. Miss Anne," he added, "I am the most complete clod. I did not mean to ..."

The expression on his face caught at Anne's heart. Without thinking she put out her hand, then caught it back quickly. Her face became warm with embarrassment, for she had been about to touch his arm! Nevertheless, she felt she must speak.

"Captain Benwick," she whispered. "Please do not feel badly for mentioning him. Frederick Wentworth is my sister's brother-in-law and your particular friend. Sooner or later, I must hear his name. Mrs. Croft speaks of him nearly every time we meet."

Benwick was about to reply, but just then the drawing room doors opened and a voice called out a greeting. To everyone's surprise, who should saunter in but Tino Turner. His skin was pale and his face had obviously been painted, but he was in some degree of health. Regardless of his appearance, his spirits were excellent.

Of course, the others were delighted. Miss Carteret could not rest until she had played her song again, and all repeated their exclamations of rapture over it, even more enthusiastically than the first time. Anne shook her head over this, but she was pleased to see that her father no longer sat on the settee with Mrs. Clay. But for some reason, Captain Benwick was intent upon Binnorie; at the first opportunity, he brought the conversation back to it.

"So, tell me," said he, when the others of the party were busy discussing Miss Carteret's song. "Who is the villain in this ballad, Miss Anne?"

Anne frowned at the page and then at Captain Benwick. This was an absurdly simple question.

"Can there be any doubt? It is 'the false Hel`en'! She murdered her sister in order to steal the man she loved!"

"Are you certain?"

Anne looked at him with growing irritation. Was he laughing at her? She had asked this of him once before, though his answer then had satisfied her. His mood today was very strange, an odd combination of gravity and amusement. No, she decided, he is being deliberately provoking!

"Are you?" she shot back.

"You would so readily accuse one of your own sex?"

"If she is guilty, yes!"

"Ah! This question lies before us, then. Who is the most guilty?" He looked at her intently, then brought his chair closely alongside hers. "And I do agree, the villain is named. Let us go back to the beginning." He took the book from Anne's resistless grasp and pointed to the text. "Would you read this section again, please."

Anne swallowed a retort and complied as graciously as she could, which she knew was not very well.

There were twa sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.

He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a thing.

The eldest she was vex`ed sair,
And sair env`ied her sister fair.

Upon a morning fair and clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:

"O sister, sister, tak my hand,
And let's go down to the river-strand."

She's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river-strand.

The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest cam and push'd her in.

"There, do you see?" Anne cried, unwilling to read further. "And the poor girl drowned! And the miller's son found her, dead, and then that harpist happened by! It is too horrible!"

"Anne, look again. Hel`en murdered her sister, but what brought that about?"

"Jealousy. Envy."

"Envy, yes, but envy caused by whom?"

"Hel`en herself, obviously. She was jealous of her sister." Anne returned his fixed look. James Benwick sighed heavily and made another attempt.

"Perhaps you see this differently because you are a woman. But look here." He reached over and pointed to the text.

"He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a thing."

"He courted the eldest; he gave her a ring. Why? Must he marry this one in order to obtain favour and position with her parents, who are the king and queen?" Benwick's eyes looked into hers with an earnestness Anne did not understand.

"And I ask myself, Anne, what sort of man courts one sister while he loves the other? Not an honest man, certainly."

Anne leaned closer to him in order to read the words again. So great was her concentration that she heard nothing else in the room, save the soft opening of a nearby door.

"Did the youngest sister see the flaw in his character?" he continued gravely. "I doubt it, though she knew of her sister's jealous feelings. When she begs for help, here is what she says:

"O sister, reach me but your glove!
And sweet William shall be your love."

"And Hel`en would not," Anne murmured. "She allowed her poor sister to die in the water."

"What a pity. Hel`en became a murderess, for sake of his love. I wonder if 'sweet William' was worth it."

Anne looked at the page for a long while. "I see what you are saying," she said at last. "He does share some of the blame in this. Or ... it may be that William simply mistook his heart." Her voice sank to a whisper. "He courted one woman and then discovered he loved another. An innocent mistake." She raised her eyes to his. "Like Frederick."

"What?"

"Like Frederick," Anne repeated, as tears began to well up in her eyes. Through them she saw a stricken expression form on his face, and that was even worse.

"Please excuse me, Captain Benwick," she whispered brokenly, as she struggled to rise from her seat. "I am not myself today ..."

"No, Anne, wait! That is not who I meant! Not Frederick! William!"

Anne heard none of this, or if she did, she could not comprehend his meaning. She brushed away her tears with a shaking hand.

"Please give my regrets to the others. I must ... this has been ... the most wretched day!" And with that, she blindly headed for the door, nearly colliding with the man who was standing just inside it.

"Hello, Charles," she said blankly, and then she was gone.

The man moved quietly to stand beside James Benwick, who was rooted to the spot.

"Hullo, Benwick," he said softly. "Hit a little rough water, eh?"

"Musgrove." James greeted him with a strained smile. There was no use pretending; it was obvious the man had seen his last exchange with Anne.

"You are better, I see." It was difficult to converse normally but James made a brave attempt. "That is good. Then perhaps ... you may be able to tell me ... " His voice cracked, but he gained control. "Who can comprehend the mind of a woman?" he said at last.

"Lord, I don't know!" Charles grimaced, in his good-natured way. "Not me, I'm in the same boat! I've got sisters; I thought I knew all about women, until I married!"

"Everything I said, she misunderstood. Everything. I tried to be so precise, but ... I failed miserably."

"Oh, that's nothing to my fatal flaws!" Charles replied, in a cheerful whisper. "Nowadays, I'm like that fellow in the Bible, the one who saw the hand write on his wall ... whatever his name was ..."

"King Belshazzar."

"That's it! Belshazzar. You know, you're a handy fellow to have around, Benwick. Anywise," Charles said, more seriously, "I'm like that Belshazzar fellow: I've been 'weighed in the balances and found wanting' ... by my own dear wife. Speaking of Mary," he nodded at the group clustered around the pianoforte and asked in a low voice;

"Who's that fellow she's been flirting with for the past five minutes? The blighter in the ... what colour is that coat he's got? Purple?

"Puce," James muttered. "Its all the fashion, according to your father-in-law. His name is Turner. He's the author of this." He passed Charles a copy of the green volume.

"Lord," Charles breathed, as he opened it and flipped through the pages. "A writer? Mary ain't bookish, not at all!"

"She is now. He's a poet, Musgrove. The darling of Bath society."

"You don't say." Charles gave the book another glance and then tossed it onto the cushioned seat of a chair. "Mary's been having a fine time, hasn't she? Chasing after some foppish poet while her husband lies abed with the fever!" He and James exchanged a look.

"He's harmless, Musgrove, truly. He hasn't singled her out in any way. She's been nothing other than silly." James bit his lip, and added, "I, on the other hand, have been a thoroughgoing clod. Everything I say or do is wrong ... and hurtful."

"Ah! Understand the feeling, Benwick, all too well." He looked once more to Mary; his expression became more melancholy. "Do you suppose she'll be pleased to see I've come for her?" he murmured. "Wouldn't let that top-lofty butler announce me, after he mentioned this group. Thought I'd slip in quiet, take in the lay of the land. Good thing I did. You have any advice, Benwick?"

"Advice from me? About a woman? That's rich." James smiled sadly. He looked at Mary Musgrove thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "You've brought your evening gear?"

"Of course," Charles grinned. "Couldn't visit The Great Man without it."

"Ah. Well, sooner or later you're bound to hear. There's a grand and glorious Assembly tomorrow night. My advice is this: be there."

And with a nod of farewell, James Benwick collected his books and quietly left the room.

As Charles watched him go, a wary expression crept into his eyes. He stood alone for some minutes, watching and listening until he was satisfied that none of the others were aware of his presence. Then he too exited the drawing room, and waited. After the butler had closed the main door behind Benwick, Charles took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and approached the man.

"You may announce me now," he said.

Author's Notes: Quotations are from To Celia by Ben Jonson and Binnorie or The Twa Sisters, a Scottish ballad.

Chapter 7

To my dear friend and writing partner-in-crime,
SusanK,
who has patiently listened for the past year (at least!)
as I talked out endless variations of this wretchedly complex chapter.
"Merci beaucoup!" ~~ LL

A soft clattering jostled its way to the front of Anne's consciousness. It was the housemaid come to build up the fire in her bedchamber. Anne rubbed her eyes, stretched her limbs, and pulled the extra pillow over her head. It was early and it was cold!

After a brief time of silence, someone else entered the darkened room. From beneath the pillow, Anne could hear the swish of silk and some soft muttering in French. This was obviously Elise. Anne peeked from under the bedding. By the dim light of the fire, she could see the woman hanging a dress on the front of the wardrobe door. Then Anne remembered, this was the day of the Assembly.

"Bah! So much work I must do aujourd'hui! Je travaille du matin au soir!" Elise grumbled in a perverse whisper as she knelt to pull the skirt of the gown straight. 'Maintenant, Elise!' 'Tout de suite, Elise!' For so many! Les deux mademoiselles, Madame Mary, et," and then she nearly spat, "la souillon, Madame Clay!"

Anne smiled into her pillow. Of course! Poor Elise, desperately loyal to Lady Elliot, would surely dislike Penelope Clay! Did even the servants see what the woman was about? She decided to sit up.

"Bonjour, Elise," she called, very cheerfully. "Qu'est-ce qui se passe?"

A few minutes later Anne was scrambling out of her nightdress and into the beautiful deep blue ball gown. Elise was pleased to complete the final fitting this early in the day and Anne was just as happy to comply. She ran her fingers over the lustrous silk fabric of the bodice and sighed in quiet delight. It was difficult to see the reflection in the mirror, but it was obvious that the dress was perfect. Anne stared at her image as Elise fussed with the hem. Such a wondrous gown! Even with her hair hanging loose and her feet encased in thick stockings, Anne felt beautiful. And what was more, the puzzling emotions which had oppressed her yesterday had disappeared entirely. It was a new day.

"A new day. Wonderful." James Benwick muttered the same sentiment several hours later, as he sat at the desk in the library at Chauntecleer. "A new day, plum full of blunders -- to be made by me!"

He scowled at a document on the desk, checked a reference in a worn notebook beside it, and then sat back and stared into empty space. The translation was complete; he had made it as painfully accurate as possible. It would probably end up in the fire, as it was not fit to be seen by such a great lady. But in a case like this, truth must triumph over propriety.

James took another sip of coffee and folded the paper neatly. As he was putting it into the pocket of his coat, Yee brought in the morning's post.

It must be sorted and James did so listlessly, until his attention was arrested by an all-too-familiar scrawl on the face of the last one: his brother Milton's. The rest were pushed aside and he quickly broke the seal. For a few moments there was silence as he read it through, twice. He lowered it with a groan.

The news at first was excellent: Agatha Wrenwyth's will has been found in London. The second paragraph brought home the dismal part. In his usual high-handed way, Milton had set the time for the reading of it to suit his own schedule, without consulting James.

Benwick tossed the letter onto the desk in disgust. "In London, not Bath, thank you, Milton," he grumbled. "On Monday, this Monday morning, at ten. How very typical." In order to arrive before Sunday, James would need to drop everything and head for the Metropolis today -- with the account books, his great aunt's jewelry cases, and the assessment of valuation for the house in hand.

"Well, this just caps it," he mumbled to himself. "Finally, the inheritance. Finally, I am able to speak to Anne. And what have I done but ..."

The memory of Anne's tears, as they began to spill down her cheeks, brought a tightness to his throat. What he had wanted to do yesterday was to take her in his arms and kiss those tears away, to make her forget Frederick and her painful memories -- but how could he? For this time he had been the cause of them!

Of all times to be called away on business, this surely is the worst, he thought bitterly. For the London mail left at five o'clock -- and this was the evening of the Assembly, his chance to see Anne and somehow make amends for yesterday's disaster! James bit his lip and forced himself to think clearly.

After a while, the expression on his face underwent a change. Perhaps things were not as hopeless as they first appeared. He counted the hours on his fingers, double-checked his calculations, and sat back, considering an idea.

He didn't want to think about the cost of hiring a private chaise, but Anne was certainly worth any amount he would spend. He had worked hard for the money he had saved; perhaps it was now time to make that money work for him. And besides, if all went as expected, he would be inheriting a tidy sum. What would Harville say, James wondered with a wry smile, if he could see me now, spending a small fortune to attend an odious formal ball!

In the meantime, he had another chore: to visit the Vicountess with his translation of that Italian folk song. It was nothing to him if an opera singer made an idiot of herself in public, but it was another matter for a gently bred young woman to do so, especially if she was ignorant of what she was singing. And after, I'll call on Anne to explain my departure," he decided, That is, if she'll consent to see me.

"A caller? Do you mean now?" Elizabeth turned round from her seat at the dressing table, where Elise was busy papering her hair. "Who on earth would be so rude as to call today?"

"Certainly no one we know," Mary added.

Anne laid down the ivory-handled fan she had been examining. "I'll go down, Elizabeth. I don't mind. There is nothing else for me to do until Elise is free."

"It's probably just Charles, " Mary said, as she adjusted the towel which was wound around her damp hair. "He would come around now! I suppose he has nothing to do. Can you imagine, he wanted to cart us back to Uppercross today! And cause me to miss the Assembly!"

"But he has changed his mind, so all is well," Anne reminded, and she crossed the room with light steps. She was wearing the soft kid dancing slippers to become accustomed to them; they felt delightful on her feet.

"Monday morning is bad enough, but I suppose it could be worse. Papa Musgrove needs the horses, or some such thing," Mary muttered, as Anne opened the door. "Tell Charles to take himself off, Anne!" she called after her sister. "There must be plenty of gun shops he can visit in a city this size."

But the man who waited in the drawing room was not Charles Musgrove.

"Why, Captain Benwick! Hello!" Anne greeted him with a sunny smile. "I did not expect to see you 'til this evening. Won't you sit down?"

As she took a seat opposite his, Anne could not help but notice the grave expression in his eyes. She hastened to say, "I apologise for running off and leaving you with the Poetry Group yesterday. I ... don't know what came over me! I'm so much better now. Mary told me everyone had a delightful afternoon. I thank you." And without giving him a chance to speak, Anne chatted on about Charles' recovery and how excited everyone was to attend the Assembly. As she talked, she saw his countenance brighten.

"I doubt I have attended such a grand event as this Assembly promises to be," he confessed, with a bashful smile. "Although many of the Admirals entertain on quite a lavish scale." A sparkle came into his eyes as he added, "I'm quite fond of dancing, or at least I became so, once Fanny took me in hand. She liked dancing very well. Do you?"

Anne hesitated; she was reluctant to say that she had given it up, for he would no doubt think of Frederick -- and her foolish tears of yesterday. She could not bear to see the sad, stricken expression return to his face. Instead she said, "It has been so long; I fear I have forgotten many of the steps. And I have never exactly learned the new ones. Which is rather ironic," she smiled, " for I have played the tunes often enough, for others to learn by."

"However, I do not repine," she added cheerfully. "I shall content myself to enjoy the music and the beautiful surroundings."

"Will there be waltzing tonight? The steps for that are simple enough. In fact, I could teach you those myself."

"The ... waltz? Oh, no, I could never ... It is quite improper to ..." And then she saw his eyes begin to cloud. "Well," she amended, "It may not be so improper as it once was, and I'm sure there was no harm in dancing it with Miss Harville ... but ..."

Anne did not know what to say; the last thing she wanted to do was wound him. She decided she needed to make amends for her behaviour yesterday. Perhaps a small compromise was in order.

"I don't think I could ever waltz in public, Captain Benwick," she confided. "But perhaps you could show me the steps ... There would be no harm in that. It is not as if I would be actually dancing it."

And so began a waltzing lesson -- with a most reluctant pupil. Anne could hardly believe she had consented to such a thing! She and Captain Benwick stood side by side at the far end of the drawing room and together counted the beat as she learned the footwork: one-two-three, one-two-three. She was flustered at first, but she relaxed as the steps became familiar. Benwick then took her hand in his, holding it by the fingertips to aid her with balance, while he hummed a waltzing tune. Gradually they increased the tempo until they were moving quite well together.

At last he said, "Shall we?" and came about to face her. He now took her hand fully in his and placed his other on her waist. Anne swallowed down her embarrassment and tried not to blush. It was quite ridiculous to be so shy of him; did not other couples who meant nothing to one another dance this way in public? Still, she did not know where to look. He was not so tall as Frederick; his eyes were nearer to hers. Her heart was pounding as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Anne bit her lip and frowned in an effort to concentrate on the dance.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, er, that is ... I'm trying to remember which foot to move first."

"That one," he nodded. "You step back as I step forward. Ready?"

"Er, yes ... I ... think so." And at his signal, Anne promptly stepped the wrong way, colliding directly into his chest.

"I'm so sorry!" she stammered. "My feet! I'm ... I'm so stupid when it comes to dancing!"

But James Benwick did not step back, nor did he release her. In fact, his hold tightened slightly.

"Anne," he whispered, "Anne, I ..."

But he was cut short by the tiniest sound: the opening of the drawing room door.

"Hullo?" a cheerful voice called. "I say! Is anybody here?" It was Charles.

Elise was now working on Mary's hair, thus setting Elizabeth free to move about the room. She gently caressed her new ball gown, a warm toffee-coloured silk. Not quite golden and not quite light brown, the colour suited Elizabeth exactly. It was her choice of jewelry which was troubling.

The Stevenson diamonds, which had not yet gone for 'cleaning,' were the obvious choice for anyone wanting to press her social standing. But Elizabeth knew the colorless stones would look drab with such a gorgeous dress. Her mother's string of pearls, with their creamy, lustrous patina, would be just the thing.

The pearls or the diamonds? Elizabeth wrestled with the decision for quite some time. It was imperative to be right, but it was equally important to be beautiful. She looked to the dress with a sigh. Anne would wear the Elliot sapphires ... and here she was, wanting to wear such a simple necklace. How lovely it would be if she could dress as she pleased, without worrying about the impression she made!

Perhaps, as Mrs. Rushworth, I could, she mused. She knew his former wife was very beautiful and had been expected to become a new leader of fashion, before she had run off. Mrs. Elizabeth Rushworth ... She released the fabric of the gown and sighed as she thought. It sounded very well but 'Lady Elizabeth Elliot' sounded so much better -- though she would not be half so rich. Perhaps tonight she could attach her reluctant cousin, for he would be transporting the family in his carriage.

The pearls, she decided firmly, as she thought some more about him. It was much more important to be beautiful.

Meanwhile, things in the drawing room had taken an interesting turn. Anne and Captain Benwick had hastily released one another, obviously flustered by Charles' arrival. And Charles had been embarrassed, too, as he saw the expressions on their faces. In an attempt to make conversation, Anne mentioned the lesson he had interrupted. It then came out that Charles had always wanted to learn the waltz, to please Mary. In fact, he wished he had learned before tonight, so that he could dance it with her. His expression was so pitiful that Captain Benwick was goaded into offering to show him the steps, if Anne would consent to play.

And so, another waltzing lesson commenced -- a very different sort of lesson than the first, especially when the time came for the 'couple' to dance together.

"Anne," Charles complained cheerfully. "Slow up! You're playing too fast." He then returned his attention to the task at hand.

"Now then, Benwick, start again. And aren't you supposed to be pushing me around?"

Anne removed her hands from the keys and waited, barely able to keep a giggle in check as she listened to the dancers' banter.

"Do you mean leading you? No, you do that, Musgrove. You guide me through the dance, remember?"

"But I thought I was the woman this time!"

"No, I'm the woman. And you've got the footwork all wrong. Step forward with that foot as I step back, like this." He demonstrated the movement.

"Benwick! Now you're pulling me! Er, 'leading', I mean. Sorry. Are you sure I'm not the woman?" Charles could barely keep a straight face. He shook his head and muttered, "You know, I could've sworn I was the wom ..."

"Say, Anne!" he called, in sudden inspiration. "You don't happen to have a spare petticoat that would fit Benwick, here ..."

"NO, Musgrove! And quit tramping on my feet!" James ordered. "You would wear your boots today," he added, under his breath.

"Sorry, Benwick. Now, when do we get to the twirling part?"

"Later! After you've mastered the basic steps. And you spin me around, I'm the woman!"

"If you say so ..."

"Look, Charles. You have your hand on my waist! That means you're the man."

"Then you're in need of a corset, dear James. For you have no waist!"

Captain Benwick gave his dancing partner a withering look.

"Go ahead, Miss Anne," he called over his shoulder. "You play, and we'll start as we are able." He looked back at Charles. "Ready?"

"Yes, dear," Charles smirked, as the music began. "But you know, James, you should be leading me, if we are to be true to life.

"Charles, you are not the woman this time! How often must I tell ..."

"But it's true!" Charles protested. "All the married women I know -- every last one of 'em -- lead their husbands around ... by a ring ... in the nose!"

James raised an eyebrow. "But we are not married, dear-heart!"

"Hah! Don't get your hopes up, James. I'm the man and I shall never ask for your hand!"

Anne could barely control her laughter, indeed, it was a good thing she knew this particular waltz so well or she could never have played it. Her eyes watered, she began to sniff, and at last she knocked the music to the floor as she attempted to turn the page! And so, alternately wiping away tears and choking back the giggles, Anne bravely struggled on through the remainder of the lesson.

As the time for the Assembly drew near, an air of anticipation filled Sir Walter's house. The members of his family began to gather in the drawing room, with many a smile between them. Unfortunately, Mr. Elliot's carriage could hold only four, so they were to travel in two groups. Sir Walter, his two unmarried daughters, and Mr. Elliot would be first and Charles, his wife, and Mrs. Clay would follow after.

"What a pity you are yet in mourning and cannot dance, Cousin," Elizabeth, as she moved to greet her cousin.

"It is a great pity," Mr. Elliot replied, bowing over her hand. "But although I do not attend, I count myself privileged to be able to convey you tonight. And may I say, Cousin Elizabeth, that you are looking particularly beautiful. That gown is perfection itself. But ... I do not see Miss Anne."

Miss Anne was caught in her bedchamber, waiting for Elise to finish the final adjustments to her apparel. At last the woman stepped back and surveyed her handiwork with a critical, yet satisfied eye.

"So much as your mother!" she sighed. "So beautiful! You lack only ... a ... a ... (Comment dit-on cela en anglais?) Ah! A fan, Mademoiselle Anne. You have no fan."

"It does not matter, Elise. I do not need one, truly." Anne reached up to finger her unfamiliarly elegant hairstyle. "I should go down; the others will be waiting." Anne was now feeling more anxious than beautiful. She gingerly made her way to the door, mindful of the arrangement of her skirts.

"Have no worry for spoiling the robe, Mademoiselle Anne, Elise called. "The soiree you enjoy. And you will danse, no? And perhaps ... find a husband, eh?"

Anne merely smiled and opened the door. "Bonsoir," Elise.

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle." As the door swung shut, Elise turned and began to tidy Anne's dressing table. "Dieu sait ce qui'il en sera,*" she whispered. "Annette, ma chere ... God alone, He knows."

Anne descended the stairs as quickly as she dared, carefully holding her skirts with one hand while the other gripped the railing. If only her father was not angered by her tardiness! She could hope for the best but the situation did not look very promising. By the sounds of the voices, she could tell that the others were standing in the entry hall -- waiting for her. Beneath the heavy Elliot necklace, Anne's heart was racing.

Just as she reached the final landing, William Elliot chanced to look up. He caught his breath in wonder.

"Dear G-d," he whispered. "She is ... amazing!" His heartfelt exclamation drew the attention of another.

"Ah yes, the Elliot sapphires," Sir Walter crowed, as he followed the direction of Mr. Elliot's gaze. "I do not believe our Anne has worn them before. They make you look pretty, my dear," he called, "very pretty indeed."

Sir Walter turned again to Mr. Elliot. "I believe all is now in readiness. Not too early and not too late. Splendid! Shall we depart, then?"

And so, with the usual bustle which accompanies such an undertaking, the baronet and his two eldest daughters were conveyed to the assembly rooms by Mr. Elliot. Their cousin was graciousness itself, going even so far as to let down the steps of his carriage himself, with a particular smile for Anne.

It was with great interest that William Elliot watched the threesome disappear into the crowd at the entrance. Truly there was no one else like Anne! Had not Smith's wife said so all those years ago? No other woman was so elegant and yet so truthful, so beautiful and yet kind, so truly good as Anne.

William had debated between the sisters for weeks and weeks; he had first favoured one and then the other. But tonight his opinion solidified into a definite, binding decision: Anne alone was worthy of him. Anne would become his next wife.

It really is too bad that I must waste precious time with the Musgroves and Mrs. Clay, he thought, as he reentered the carriage for the trip back to Camden Place. To leave his lovely cousin alone at such an event now seemed intolerable. I may not be able to dance, he decided. But I may certainly attend and be company for Anne!

It is well not to be too early, Patrick McGillvary mused, as he checked the clock and then calmly poured himself another glass of Madeira. He strolled over to the full-length mirror and took in his reflection. The dress uniform was of the latest cut; the gold braid and decorations for heroic service glinted in the soft candlelight. He was beginning to wonder what colour the elusive Miss Elliot would be wearing this time when a knock sounded on the door.

"Come," he called.

"Admiral, sir," said the man who entered. "A gentleman of the Marines has come. Shall I bring him up?"

McGillvary frowned. Such was life in the Admiralty; time and again Whitehall had proven that 'business before pleasure' was no idle slogan.

"No, I'll be down directly, Wilson," he replied crisply. "Put the Marine in the blue salon; I'll see him there. And Wilson. Don't forget to feed him."

After the orders had been presented and signed over, McGillvary headed for his office on the main level of the mansion. Two footmen with lamps were waiting in the hallway when he got there. The Admiral unlocked the door, they quickly lit the candles in the room, and left. McGillvary locked the door behind them.

"Orders, orders," he muttered, as moved to take his seat behind the massive oaken desk. The wineglass he set beside the blotter. " 'Every man must do his duty,' " he quoted, and he opened the packet with a slight grimace. "I wonder who it is this time." As he began to read, a frown creased McGillvary's rugged face.

"Good G-d!" he swore softly, and ran a hand through his russet hair. "I've not seen the dear boy for, what, three years? And now, this." McGillvary rose from his chair and took a turn about the room. The news, though not unexpected, was actually quite good for all involved -- except for the unlucky Captain appointed to the cruise.

Well, he's the best man for the job, McGillvary thought grimly, as he pulled the bell to summon Wilson. But something like this should be told in person. I'll do it over dinner. Tomorrow.

By the time the man's knock sounded at the door, the orders had been stowed in the hidden vault in the wall. McGillvary exited the room and relocked the door, while issuing his own set of orders.

"Wilson, I shall be travelling to Plymouth this evening, quite late. Please see to the arrangements. I'll be staying no more than two nights. And I need civilian clothes, in addition to the uniform; nothing conspicuous." He then checked his timepiece. "I'll be leaving for the Assembly within the quarter-hour. Any questions?"

And before Wilson had finished the requisite "No, Admiral. Very good, Admiral," Patrick McGillvary was halfway down the hall.

It took longer than I expected, but it has happened. Anne sighed and silently smoothed her gloves. I suppose I am on my own until Charles and Mary arrive. She had entered the Assembly Rooms with her father and Elizabeth, but after a myriad of introductions and distracting exchanges, both of them were nowhere to be seen. Anne searched the crowd for glimpse of Elizabeth's golden gown -- but carefully, for it would not do to appear anxious. Her own lack of height was an hindrance to this task. To Anne's eyes, there was a staggering number of people present -- and more were continuing to arrive at every moment.

If only I had waited for the second trip with Charles and Mary, she thought. But Anne knew this would have been impossible, as well as impolitic. Propriety required that she be placed beside her father -- and had she decided against this, Mrs. Clay would gladly have taken her empty seat. To allow Penelope Clay enter the Assembly Rooms on the arm of Sir Walter Elliot was absolutely unthinkable! Anne took a deep breath and resolved not dwell anymore on her present isolation; she would simply wait for Charles and Mary.

After some time, Anne gave up looking for them. Her sister was well known for last minute mishaps and delays; obviously something had gone wrong. Poor Mary, she thought, as surveyed the elegantly clad ladies and gentlemen who paraded past. Without thinking much about it, Anne allowed herself to be carried along by crowd into the brilliantly lit Ballroom.

The music had drawn her there, for by this time the dancing was well underway. The couples were moving through the figures of a country dance; its hauntingly beautiful tune made her heart swell. Sometimes sweet and melodic, sometimes melancholy, these country dances were especially beloved to Anne. An opening in the crowd allowed her to watch the long line of dancers as they wound their way through the intricate patterns of the dance.

I have not forgotten ... It has not been so long ... This observation caused Anne to sigh as the ladies and gentlemen gilded past. The orchestra played a few bars more and then the dance was over. As the couples left the floor, Anne turned away. It was then that she heard a gasp of recognition from someone quite close by.

"Miss Anne? Great Heaven! I thought it was you ..."

Anne looked to see who it was and a smile of relief spread across her face. "Good evening, Captain Benwick! Hello!" She was ridiculously pleased to find a friend.

"You are absolutely lovely tonight, Miss Anne," he said, with complete sincerity. "That gown could not be more perfect."

Anne's eyes twinkled. "May I say the same about you, sir? I mean, you are very fine ... and we are wearing nearly the same colour, are we not?"

"That shade of blue on a beautiful woman is a delight to a sailor's heart, Miss Anne," he grinned. "We do look well together! Er, I wonder. Would you do me the honour of standing up with me for the next?"

Anne felt her face grow warm. "Oh, ah, well," she said slowly, " ... you see, I ..." Again, she felt like a fool saying to him: I have quite given up dancing. To one who knew so much about her past, would not such words appear petulant and childish?

"Is it difficult for you?" he asked softly. The crowd had thinned and quieted somewhat; conversation was easier. "At one time I thought I would never be able to dance again -- after Fanny. But now ... er, unless you'd rather not stand up with me, of course."

"Oh, no. It isn't that, Captain Benwick, it's just that ... I ..."

Anne felt ashamed at her ungraciousness. She was the worst of hypocrites too, for hadn't she danced with him this morning? But Benwick did not press the matter and instead began asking questions about the history of the Assembly Rooms. They moved about the Ballroom together, inspecting the wall hangings, the glittering crystal chandeliers and various architectural features.

Anne was glad to tell him all she knew, for she had been several years at a school in Bath. Eventually they stood together in the center of the room while he examined the ceiling. She became caught up in trying to understand what had captured his attention there and did not hear the orchestra play the first few bars of the next dance. But she came to herself quickly enough when Captain Benwick stepped back and the music began in earnest. Anne's eyes grew wide, for he was pulling on his gloves! In his quiet, unassuming way, James Benwick had brought her onto the dance floor itself! In fact, a set had been forming around them as they stood there!

He made the nicest of bows and the couples began to move to the tune of a familiar country dance. Before Anne knew what was happening, it was time to make her curtsey with the other women; her feet then began to move of their own accord. Poor Anne did not know what to do. Short of causing a scene by leaving the set in the middle of the dance, she knew she was helplessly trapped.

Did Benwick know what he had done in forcing her hand? By the laughing sparkle in his eyes, Anne was absolutely certain that he knew.

"You are outrageous, Captain Benwick," she remarked tartly, at the earliest opportunity. "I have not danced this one for years! You will be well-served when I make a dreadful misstep and embarrass you!"

"I shall do worse," he replied laughingly. "Watch and see. You are a much more accomplished dancer than I!"

"You won't think so when I trample on your feet," she warned. "I heard what you said to poor Charles!"

"But you are not Charles! An important distinction, very much in your favour. Tramp away!" he grinned, and then they were parted.

"Slide left, one-two; turn, one-two," Anne counted under her breath. The movements were coming back as the melody swelled around her; the skirt of her gown flared beautifully as she danced. The soft shoes on her feet made her feel as though she were gliding on glass, as light as a feather. As she and Captain Benwick made their way down the line, Anne found it impossible not to smile, for an indescribable feeling was bubbling up within her. Did she dare to name it ... triumph?

And of course, once the dam had been breached, there was no going back for Anne Elliot. James Benwick danced the next with her, too, and when that dance was completed, he meekly led her to a chair against the wall. But before she could take her seat, who should appear but Charles Musgrove -- with an outstretched hand.

"You can't very well refuse your own brother, you know," Charles grinned. "Not after dancing with him!" And of course, he was perfectly right. She was duty-bound to dance twice with Charles. After that, Mr. Rushworth came up. The words of refusal were on Anne's lips, but he looked so uncomfortable and was so anxiously friendly that she took pity on him. And once those dances were finished, Mr. Turner showed up (in a satin suit of eye-popping orange), obviously expecting a dance. By this time, she had given up the fight. Miss Anne Elliot had obviously taken up dancing again and there was nothing to be done about it ... but dance!

This did not go unnoticed, of course. Mary arrived in the Ballroom in time to see Anne dancing her second with James Benwick. Mary stood openmouthed for a moment or two, then she rushed over to Elizabeth and began plucking at her sleeve.

"Elizabeth!" she hissed excitedly. "Elizabeth, look!"

Miss Elliot was in a very good humour this evening and did not give Mary the crushing snub she deserved. She politely excused herself from the conversation and turned to face her sister.

"Well?"

"It's Anne!" Mary whispered loudly, barely able to contain herself. "I cannot believe it! Elizabeth, Anne is actually dancing!"

Elizabeth's gaze traveled across the room. "Well, well. We do not need to guess what this means, do we?"

"Er, we don't?" Mary blinked twice and then twitched at Elizabeth's sleeve. "What does it mean?"

"Obviously, this Benwick is going to be our new brother, Mary. Isn't that too bad." Elizabeth shook her head as she watched the couple finish the dance. "Anne had better taste in sailors the first time around. And it was all for nothing, for he preferred a Musgrove in the end. What a farce!"

"What are you talking about?" Mary demanded. "Who prefers a Musgrove?"

"A bit of ancient history, dear, quite before your time," Elizabeth replied loftily. "I see your poet is coming this way, Mary. Heavens, has that man no taste? Best to snatch a dance with him while you may, dear!" And with that, Elizabeth moved off, leaving Mary to puzzle over the identity of 'he.'

Continued In Next Section