For You Alone (Frederick Wentworth, Captain: Book 2) Page 13

  He put his cup down and was about to excuse himself when the Admiral said, “When you see Miss Anne next, you might tread lightly on this subject, my dear. And you as well, Frederick.”

  This enigmatic statement roused his curiosity, so, settling back into his chair, he asked, “And why should I take care in this matter, sir?”

  The Admiral looked over to Sophia, who also looked puzzled. “As I said, in the beginning of the conversation she seemed exceedingly concerned about your feelings on the matter. Now that I look back, I wonder if perhaps she had harboured some tender feelings for Benwick.”

  “What on earth makes you think this, dear?” Sophia asked.

  Wentworth shifted in his seat. The idea was not new, of course, but he had hoped that the engagement had laid this ridiculous notion to rest forever.

  “Just a guess. She was quite adamant that Benwick is a fine fellow and hoped that if Frederick was feeling ill-used, it would not affect their friendship.”

  “That is a very kind thought,” Sophia said.

  So, her concern extended not only towards himself, but also to dear, dear James as well. As Sophia and the Admiral discussed other particulars of his trip, Frederick tormented himself with various possible meanings of Anne’s remarks.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  Sophia’s revenge for his careless intrusion was exacted when she showed him his rooms after supper. “Were we staying here permanently, I might be inclined to change it,” she said. They stood in the doorway of a room so feminine that the sight of it was an affront to his masculine senses. The floor was covered with a fine rug of green, scattered with intertwining stems of white and yellow roses. The window draperies were dark green, to mimic foliage no doubt, with under curtains of tiny multicoloured rosebuds. The wallpaper nodded with hedges of fat pink and red roses. The painted surfaces were a tromp l’oeil garden. The various plants, trees, expanses of lawn, and fountain, complete with angels spitting water out their mouths, surrounded the occupant in a grip that was startling to say the least. The room might as well be filled with discordant bells that rang all the time. It all clashed and screamed against any sort of order.

  Frederick took it in, knowing his sister was enjoying herself more than he should allow. Finally, he said, “Not to hurt your feelings, Sister dear, but it is a monstrosity.”

  Sophia stepped around him and went to open the curtains. “You don’t hurt my pride. The woman who did this is in London just now, perhaps doing the same to some other unsuspecting room.” She turned. “The only other accommodation I can offer is a sofa in the sitting room.”

  He finally stepped fully into the room, allowing the effect to surround him. His chest tightened.

  She came close and grasped his arm. “Be of good cheer, Brother, the only time you will be in here, it will be dark.” She patted him and snickered as she walked to the door.

  He was just able to make out his empty case on the counterpane’s riot of flowers. “Yes, but it is just the knowledge that this madness is going on all the time, asleep or awake.” She had turned at the door, and he motioned to the case.

  “I had a blanket in there. Where has it gone?” He could not lose Anne’s blanket now.

  “Harkness is with us. I told him to unpack. I’m sure he’s seen to it.”

  Frederick willed himself to be calm about it. There was no sense rousing Harkness’s curiosity. He glanced over the room again and thought it might all be worthwhile just to hear Harkness’s opinion on the decorations.

  Just as he was about to thank her, Croft entered, laughing. “So, you’ve found the garden. When it’s raining too much to be out, we take a turn in here.”

  And so the little jokes went. If the room were a symphony, every instrument was out of tune, but the place was dry and warm. He was in Bath, and so was Anne.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  The next day he was amazingly tired from the breakneck pace he’d set coming from Shropshire. He idly wondered if his horse fared any better. The large bracket clock on the mantle struck the quarter hour, and he moved away, hoping to remember to be out of the room when it repeated itself on the next quarter. Instead of exiting the room, he moved towards the window overlooking the street.

  “Frederick, my sitting room is not your Quarter Deck. Your pacing is going to wear a trail in my carpets, not to mention what it is doing to my nerves,” Sophia said, pulling a thread taut and tying it off. “There are many interesting shops to visit in Bath and quite a lot of interesting architecture to study.”

  In his mind, Frederick could hear her adding, “Find some of it and be out of my hair.”

  The Admiral lowered his newspaper and leant forward. “I’m sure you will find some pretty girls who are also in need of a bit of exercise.” He winked and went back to his reading.

  This suggestion to walk took on a new shade of interest when he realised that, perhaps, Anne Elliot might be out shopping or studying the local architecture as well.

  “I think you’re right, both of you. I need to get out and see the sights of Bath.” Just then a blast of rain hit the large window overlooking Gay Street. The Admiral didn’t stir, and Sophia looked up only long enough to take it into account. “There is a brand new umbrella in the stand by the door. Feel free to make it your own, for if you wait for the rain to quit in Bath, you will never stir out of your house.”

  “Right,” he said, and headed to the door.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  Several hours later, after walking what felt to be every street in Bath, looking in every shop window and avoiding every crowd of fine and not-so-fine ladies, sailors, tradesmen and even children, he headed down Milsom Street for home. The shops on Milsom were some of the finest he’d encountered and surveying the merchant’s offerings was not a terrible trial. He was amazed that there was so much in the way of trifling rubbish on which people could spend their money. “Loads of trash for the buying,” he said to himself. It was not until he came to a watchmaker’s shop that presented a select grouping of telescopes, compasses, and quadrants that he was persuaded there might be something genuinely useful to be had.

  In a short time, a man in the store came to the window and indicated he would be pleased to show the Captain any of the fine, gleaming brass items. As he was about to be lured in, a voice behind him said, “Enter at your own peril; they are some of the finest craftsmen in the whole of England, Captain Wentworth.”

  The use of his name and rank by the strong voice from behind startled him. Turning, he was shocked to be face-to-face with his oldest and dearest friend, Admiral Patrick McGillvary.

  “I know how you hate to part with any of your significant fortune, so I thought I’d give you fair warning.” They greeted one another as only old sailing friends are able. “So, have you come to this glorified watering hole to buy navigation equipment or expand your mind with the cultural wonders available?”

  “Neither and both, I suppose. I am visiting my sister. You remember Croft? They are living here for the winter.”

  “And they allowed you a place to lay your weary head.”

  “Yes. You are living here still?”

  “I’m afraid I must. The old man’s usury business is here, and the family pile is comfortable. I’m too lazy to go off and make a home of my own; so I just took it all over when father passed.”

  “Did you ever retire?”

  “God, no! But Whitehall is happy to have me out of their hair on a daily basis and sopping up merely half-pay. I live a quiet life now.” The look in McGillvary’s eye said his definition of a quiet life and what that generally meant were very different, indeed.

  Before any more was said, a group of three ladies and a gentleman joined them. Introductions were made. Wentworth was glad to note that one of the ladies was married to the other gentleman and, in a short time, their rapid-fire conversation established that the other two were also attached to men not present.

  The rain had picked up again, and the group packed themselves under the m
odest awning of the watchmaker’s. To Wentworth’s amusement, the six of them blocked nearly the entire pavement. He had noticed during his ramble that if there were a walkway, someone would eventually encamp, thinking it the perfect place to hold court. When the genial gentleman from the shop rapped on the window, it was suggested that they should move on to Molland’s, a nearby teashop, and leave the crowd on the pavement to sort itself out.

  McGillvary and the rest of the party made their way across the street and like barbarians at the gate entered the shop. He observed that they moved through the shop with the coolness of very frequent, very favoured customers. As he brought up the rear, Wentworth caught the tip of his umbrella on the cloak of a woman exiting. A sharp look was all he received for his apology. Inside, the warm, damp air, fragrant with the smells of spices, sugar, and coffee enveloped him. The babble of the local genteel society burst on him like that of a jungle he’d once trekked through, a place that assaulted the senses and teemed with life, some parts of which lay ready to attack.

  Suddenly, all was silent. There stood Anne Elliot.

  As he moved towards her, he noticed the room growing inordinately warm and that everyone standing between them seemed to clear away to open a path. Soon, he was bowing with all the elegance of an oaken plank and imposing upon her with an insipid salutation of, “Good morning, Miss Anne.” As if that were not enough, he immediately turned away from her look of surprise before she could even respond. No, no, you bloody idiot, don’t walk off! He rebuked himself with every step. You’ve searched Bath for hours looking for her! Here she is, and you retreat like a raw coward. No! Not a coward, but like the bumbling ass you’ve become.

  “There you are, Wentworth. Thought I’d lost you in the throng,” the Admiral said. “We are over here.” He pointed to the happy group gathered around a small table, giving their orders to a waiting woman.

  “I shall join you presently, sir. I have seen a friend I wish to speak with.”

  McGillvary’s eyebrow arched. “A friend, eh?” he said. “Take your time.”

  Anne still stood in the midst of the maelstrom. Again, the noise, movement and bodies of those between them seemed to fade away. He stood before her, silent. A faint smile came to him but he could think of nothing to say.

  “You look well, Captain,” she finally said. It was not much of an opening, but he could not expect that things should be made simple for him.

  “Thank you, Miss Anne. I am well. And you? And your family?”

  She answered in the affirmative. “The Admiral and Mrs. Croft, they are well today?” she asked. Her interest seemed genuine, but he wondered if he was merely a channel for information about them.

  Answering in the affirmative, he added, “Though Bath is a very crowded place, I think even this mob is barely equal to the parties at Uppercross. Not that they were this large, but that there were so many with the Hayters and the rest.” Did that make a bit of sense, he wondered. And, by all means, dolt, do bring up the wretched past. Her open smile at the comparison eased his mind a bit.

  “Yes, Bath is very busy. It would seem that everyone has chosen to stop into Molland’s today.” She glanced around briefly and then put her full attention on him again. He, too, looked around and saw her elder sister seated at a table with another young woman, both of them making preparations to leave. He would have to be quick and try to separate Anne from the rest of her party with an offer of his arm.

  “The Musgroves, I think, would like all the commotion of Bath. I heard last autumn that they were planning to come and spend some time here this winter,” she said.

  “Ah, well, I am sure they will enjoy themselves.” Not satisfied to leave well enough alone, he continued. “And, if she comes, perhaps Louisa could take the waters. Though she is much better, I am assured.”

  Just then, Miss Elliot and her companion left their seats and began smoothing coats and poking at their hats in preparation for an imminent departure. Miss Elliot looked at him directly. As he prepared to bow, she looked away and then turned her back to him. Still not good enough, he thought. So be it. When he turned again to Anne, he found her cheeks were red. She had obviously witnessed the snub and was sensitive enough to be embarrassed for the discourtesy. He had determined to prove her sister’s cold shoulder meant nothing to him when a finely liveried servant approached and announced a carriage for the “Miss Elliots.” The elder sister made such a stir it was impossible for the crowd not to know that she was the object of the declaration. The two women joined the servant and left the shop.

  Turning back, he tilted his head towards the door. Surely she was not staying just to converse with him. To be allowed to take her home was a delightful prospect, but one he could not hope for so soon upon his arrival.

  “I am much obliged to you, but I am not going with them. The carriage would not accommodate so many. I walk. I prefer walking.” This was no surprise. Anne’s nature would seek any means to be excluded from her sister’s social spectacle. He was happy to see that being amongst the fashionable of Bath had not changed her.

  He glanced out the window. “But it rains.”

  “Oh, very little. Nothing that I regard.” She smiled and then seemed awkward and looked away.

  He would take the opportunity to escort her home if she would allow it. Then again, she may genuinely wish to be alone. Or, perhaps, solitude was not her real object, and she just wished to be away from him. The spinning thoughts and incessant second-guessing were becoming tiresome. He determined that it was best to build the foundation of their re-acquaintance slowly but firmly. “I came only yesterday but have equipped myself properly for Bath already, you see.” He held out the new umbrella to her. “I wish you would make use of it. Though, I think it would be more prudent to let me get you a chair.”

  “Thank you very much, Captain, but the rain is so light and not really worth the expense of any sort of covered conveyance. Besides, I am only waiting for Mr. Elliot. He will be here in a moment, I am sure.”

  The mention of Elliot was an unexpected blow. The morning in Lyme came painfully back to him. The look they exchanged on the Cobb and the time she spoke to him on the stairs before going down to breakfast he recalled with bright clarity. Now, his suspicions that the fact that they were cousins would make a meeting inevitable had come to pass. The only question was whether her statement betrayed any anticipation of the cousin’s arrival or, better yet, could he hope she was disappointed at being previously engaged? The answer was not long in coming as Elliot entered the shop.

  “I am sorry to have left you alone, Miss Anne. You must be bored stiff,” he said as he claimed a place at his cousin’s side. “I was detained at the chemist’s shop. The cold preparation for Mrs. Clay took longer than expected.” He glanced at Wentworth but did nothing to acknowledge his presence. “Shall we set off? The rain is unpredictable today.” He offered her his arm and smiled with sunny anticipation.

  Anne glanced at Wentworth and blushed, sighing as she took her cousin’s arm. “Good morning to you, Captain,” was all she had time to say as the man whisked her towards the door. Wentworth refused to stand like a love-struck mooncalf in the midst of the busy shop and watch her leave him behind. He turned and walked away.

  The meeting of the Elliot cousins had not gone unnoticed by his group. As he joined them, his ears burned with their blithe conversation: “Mr. Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?” one of the ladies said to the other two.

  “Oh, no, that is clear enough. One can guess what will happen there. He is always with them, half lives with the family, I believe. What a very good-looking man!” She glanced towards the door with an avid eye. Wentworth resisted the temptation to do the same.

  “Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallis’s, says he is the most agreeable man with whom she was ever in company.”

  “She is pretty, I think. Anne Elliot is very pretty when one comes to look at her. It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess I admire he
r more than her sister.” He wondered how closely Anne’s cousin looked at her. Did he notice what was so obvious to casual onlookers?

  “Oh, so do I.”

  “And so do I,” said the third. “No comparison. But the men are all wild after Miss Elliot. Anne is too delicate for them.” The lady’s tone was mocking and drew laughter from all the others. For a moment, Wentworth was angry that they would ridicule Anne, but considering their previous claims and listening as the conversation resumed, it was clear their derision was aimed at the arrogant Elizabeth Elliot.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  “The tea is like wash water, but the coffee is good.” The Admiral handed Wentworth a cup. “The ladies like the chocolate. So do I, but not in public. It gives a man an air of being a bit frail and insipid.” He took a drink then stepped closer. “So, you are acquainted with the Elliot clan.” Taking another drink, he looked over the rim of his cup, inviting Wentworth to confirm the statement.

  “I am acquainted with both the Miss Elliots, Miss Anne more so than the other.”

  McGillvary nodded, a smile playing on his lips. Wentworth was not certain he liked the thoughts he assumed lay behind Patrick’s cheeky expression.

  “And what about the fellow? You know he’s a cousin?”

  “Yes, I became aware of him on a short trip to Lyme late last year.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  “Nothing. We did not meet face-to-face then, and I have never spoken with him.” McGillvary was either trying to find out about the man for his own reasons, or he was merely taking a survey of Wentworth’s personal information. He added, “I did come to understand that Sir Walter, the father of Miss Elliot, and this fellow were not on good terms. That seems to have changed.”