For You Alone (Frederick Wentworth, Captain: Book 2) Read online

  “Is he above the law?”

  “Somewhat. He’s a lawyer. You know them. They can write themselves all sort of writs and statements and briefs that bind up the courts and decent people for ages. I do know there are rumours he is not the most loyal subject of the Crown. In any sort of confrontation between powers, he is not averse to profiting from both.”

  “You seem to know a lot about Mr. Elliot. How is that?”

  “I do a little business with him, as little as possible. Enough so that in his eyes I am considered a ‘friend,’ and it keeps me safe from any chicanery he might care to pull.”

  “He has that sort of power?”

  “He has that sort of mind. For me, he would be nothing more than a nuisance, but he’s enough of one that I keep him close and make him feel safe. It is a sop that costs me very little.”

  “What sort of man is Elliot in his private life?”

  Patrick studied him. “He’s the sort of man that if you have a female relation looking his way with anything approaching admiration, you warn her off. Immediately!” He looked away for a moment and then returned to eating his meal. “And if that doesn’t work, you spend as much money as necessary to get her out of town and out of his grasp.”

  He’d certainly not liked Elliot upon witnessing his overt admiration of Anne in Lyme. Seeing him in a position of favour with her and knowing the family would welcome such advances, he was more than a little disturbed. Now that he had what he considered a true rendering of the man’s character, he felt completely justified in interfering.

  Wentworth could not help but wonder how aware of Elliot’s treacherous nature Anne might be. Very little of it, he wagered. However, she had an innate understanding of people, and he hoped it would warn her when it came to allowing Elliot access into her life.

  “You ask about Elliot because of the woman you met in Molland’s, am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you wish to know what the gossips say about her?”

  “Not really. The women in your party seemed to think well enough of her.”

  “Ah, you heard them. They are two of the most rugged scandalmongers in Bath. In their hands, the virtuous are heavily tinged with a whiff of disdain, but I noticed none from them on your lady’s account. That bodes well for her. Now, her father is not so fortunate.”

  Wentworth certainly had his own opinions about the Baronet, some from the past and many from the present. Under any other circumstances, he would decline hearing what others thought, but it was always better to have too much intelligence about an enemy than too little, so he asked, “What about the Baronet?”

  “He has come to Bath to retrench. It took him some years, but he managed to run through quite a lot of money in the wilds of Somerset, certainly all his wife brought to the marriage.” He paused, and then said, “I hesitate to tell you everything.”

  “Don’t be coy, McGillvary. Spill it all.”

  “Well, there is a rumour that even if that eldest daughter of his had an acceptable offer, there might be some embarrassment when it came time to pay out the dowry.” It was clear that McGillvary had his own opinions with regard to Sir Walter. The smug look on his face at this choice bit of news was usually reserved for tales of his personal triumphs over the French.

  Wentworth urged him to continue.

  “It is said that the retrenchment would be more efficacious were he to remove himself from the company of people who far outstrip his ability to play the social game. Bath is an old and withering watering hole, but it is still quite expensive. He will have to be in all the correct places, wearing all the correct fashions, belittling all the correct people beneath him. His ability to reciprocate entertainments is limited. Camden Place is a good address but not interesting enough to impress the old guard. That means he will have to impress them with what is inside the house. It is amazing how the bills for exotic foods and private soirees can add up.”

  “How do you know so intimately about the Baronet’s money troubles?”

  “Our bank bought the paper on a loan of his through a small Somerset bank. He put up part of his estate.”

  “I thought it was entailed.”

  “To our friend, William Elliot, yes, but not all of it. There is some first-rate property attached to the estate that, for some reason, Sir Walter has chosen not to put up for sale. His debt would be reduced wonderfully if only he would.”

  “What do you think are the chances that the retrenchment will succeed?”

  The Admiral measured Wentworth again. “Not much. My best advice to you is to marry that young woman and give her a roof that won’t disappear from over her head.”

  “Is this what you think concerning her older sister as well?”

  Patrick smiled wide. “Perhaps. What would you think of having me for a brother-in-law, Frederick?”

  “I think I feel a sudden chill.”

  McGillvary laughed and pounded on the table. “As you should, my boy! As you should.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I am well able to get myself to the concert, Sophia. There is no need to nursemaid me as if I’m a child.”

  “Certainly not, Frederick, but you are new to Bath. The ferocity with which the First Set attack their entertainments is startling the first few times one engages them.” She fussed with his lace and the knot of his neck cloth once more. Leaning close, she whispered, “I still find the uniform of a captain has more attraction than that of an admiral.” She half smiled and put her gloved finger to her lips. They both looked at Croft, standing by the fire talking with their two guests.

  Frederick lightly touched her hand and whispered back, “I shall not say a word about it, dear.” Stepping away, he did the polite and, extricating himself from the little group, made his way to the door and endured another mother-henning from Harkness.

  “I am perfect, man; leave it all alone.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Wentworth had noticed when Harkness took offence—which seemed to be more often now that he was a permanent fixture as the Captain’s valet—he would fall into using cant naval phrases to express the simplest irritations. As Wentworth put on his greatcoat, he said, “I will be late and have no need of you.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” It was sharper, more piquant this time.

  Wentworth turned to the man as he fitted his gloves and said, “Perhaps, when I get another ship, you should come to sea with me, Harkness. It will give you the opportunity to hone your seamanship and that patois you are developing.”

  “Thank you, sir. That is a most generous offer. But I think I should stay on land. My skills are of great benefit to the grass combers, sir.”

  The man is becoming quite a pip, Frederick thought. There was a bit of a shuffle between Wentworth, Harkness, and the footman, but eventually, the Captain was out the door.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  The chair let him off a block from the concert hall. He welcomed the walk. As he planned his strategy, he savoured the crisp, late winter air knowing that soon enough he would be stuffed into a large but close room with many of Bath’s finest. Through the alchemy of crowds, the heat produced would render the scents, so pleasing at the beginning of the evening, stifling, perhaps even sickening.

  He was used to crowds now and walked around the edge of the one gathered at the entrance to the concert hall. There was the usual throng of elderly matrons airing their finery and jewels along with a strong contingent of older gentlemen of dubious strength escorting them. With the peace had come a fair number of men of both the Navy and the Army who now battled for supremacy amongst the more-than-average number of walking sticks and push chairs. All the jostling around obstacles and for position would call for clever manoeuvring.

  He was pleased to find there was plenty of respect for the heavy gold lace of his rank, and he took advantage of the path it blazed straight through to the door where, again, the uniform brought him only a little less deference than he was accustomed to at sea. It was as he diveste
d himself of his hat that he saw Anne.

  She wore a flattering soft blue gown with a silk stole. Her hair was simply fashioned with deep blue ribbons. He especially approved of a pendant of deep blue stones and a simple gold chain she wore around her neck. He put aside thoughts of her on his arm when he saw that her family surrounded her. He cursed his luck. To expect simplicity and ease was foolish when it came to the battle to re-establish a claim on her heart, but he would have welcomed those qualities had they been present. Tonight they were decidedly absent. So be it.

  If their one face-to-face meeting was any indication, Anne would graciously acknowledge him without hesitation. If Miss Elliot was any indication, the rest of the family would look the other way. He would acknowledge Anne’s efforts with as much delight as a single man was allowed in such a public way and then would stay in the stream of people flowing into the rooms for as long as possible. When he got the lay of the land in the rooms, he would set himself up in a favourable spot from which to listen and plan a further encounter during the intermission.

  His plans were thrown completely into confusion when Anne stepped away from her family and placed herself in his path. “How do you do?” She curtsied, and when she raised her face to his, it shone and gave him to hope that his venture out to the concert, perhaps his entire journey to Bath, would not be wasted. He bowed and then stumbled through his own, similar enquiries. The room was warm, and her unexpected, forthright acknowledgement made the temperature rise even higher.

  “I am quite well and looking forward to the music. And you are well? Are the Admiral and your sister well...as well?” She smiled at the excessive greeting.

  “Very...well,” he said. Such silliness was a reminder of their past when she was so much younger and he less concerned about whether he’d shipwrecked his life. He was about to elaborate when, to his shock, Sir Walter and then his daughter acknowledged him with just enough genuineness to fool a casual observer into thinking there was true respect between the parties. Wentworth would be an idiot if he thought either heart was in the act, but that was of no consequence. He had no great desire to trade more than insincere gestures with father or daughter. It was only due to an intimate understanding of self-preservation and habit that he was able to return their tokens with one of equal, nay, superior quality.

  To see Anne’s smile was worth any aggravation the exchange may cost him. Her sister’s snub at Molland’s had disturbed her. This must seem to her a sort of vindication. Better and better, he thought. She believes I deserve this and wants it for me.

  The rainy weather, the various amusements available to the hardy visitor, and the concert’s beguiling promises of musical enchantment were all touched upon in the conversation that followed. There was little left to say that was appropriate for the venue, but he had not come for lively debate or her opinions on the city and its music. He had come to see her and make her understand his presence in Bath was solely for her. This being the case, it was time to clear the decks and begin to deal with the most unpleasant topic he could imagine.

  “I have hardly seen you since our day at Lyme. I am afraid you must have suffered from the shock, and the more from its not overpowering you at the time.” There, he put it out there and was surprised to see her smile rather than turn thoughtful as he expected.

  “It was shocking at first, to be sure, but that dissipated as the situation began to right itself. Once we knew she would recover, there was little reason to be always downcast.” These were sensible words, words that he had heard repeatedly in the Harville household and repeatedly ignored.

  “It was a frightful hour,” he said, “a frightful day!” He passed his hand quickly over his brow, hoping to forestall the perspiration he felt now that he was engaged upon discovering Anne’s feelings on all that had happened in Lyme. Without naming Louisa Musgrove, he commented on the unanticipated results of sending Benwick for the surgeon. Anne’s face glowed with a smile as she acknowledged her surprise and her hope for their happiness.

  He blathered on for a moment about the couple, and then, to his horror, he heard himself saying, “They have no difficulties to contend with at home, no opposition, caprice, or delays.” And it only got worse from there. “The Musgroves are behaving like themselves, most honourably and kindly, only anxious to promote their daughter’s comfort. All this is much, very much in favour of their happiness; more than perhaps—”

  He was finally able to control his tongue only after making her blush and look away from him. No doubt, she had taken it as a thinly veiled accusation of her and her family’s behaviour in the past. He must do or say whatever necessary to make amends. The best tack, he thought, is to the lee side.

  “I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than of mind. I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding, but Benwick is something more. He is a clever man, a reading man; and I confess that I do consider his attachment to her with some surprise. Had it been the effect of gratitude, had he learnt to love her because he believed she preferred him, it would have been another thing. But I have no reason to suppose it so. It seems, on the contrary, to have been a perfectly spontaneous, untaught feeling on his side, and this surprises me. A man like him, in his situation, with a heart pierced, wounded, almost broken!

  Fanny Harville was a very superior creature, and his attachment to her was indeed devotion. A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman! He ought not; he does not.”

  This last had been delivered too sharply, with too much force. Anne’s discontent was obvious. She breathed more quickly and looked about as though she wished to escape. But rather than make excuses and return to her waiting family, she paused and then asked what occupied him while he was in Lyme. He did his best to make what amounted to avoiding his responsibility sound like a holiday by the sea.

  “I should very much like to see Lyme again,” Anne said. If he was not mistaken, there was wistfulness in her voice that made him believe the feeling was authentic.

  He uttered his surprise. “I should have thought your last impressions of Lyme must have been that of strong disgust.” There was nothing in her expression to make him think he was either correct in his estimation or that he had changed her mind in any way.

  “The last hours were certainly very painful,” she said, “but when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure. One does not love a place the less for having suffered in it, unless it has been all suffering, nothing but suffering—”

  Her words from there faded away. “One does not love a place less for having suffered in it.” He knew that to be true. Were it not, no man could endure sailing the seas on ships that encompassed such pain, illness, death, and loss of humanity. But they did. Men did and they thrived because of it. He was the perfect example. Perhaps the principle could be applied to people as well. Perhaps she would agree that a person might not lose all love for another because they had suffered by them. As he had recently come to understand, he had not lost any of his love for her though he had suffered under her withdrawal from him. He could only hope this was her way of telling him that she, too, felt the same even after his former anger and his more recent conduct.

  Suddenly, the noise of the crowd rose and drowned out what she said. Before he looked to see what was causing the clamour, he gazed at her and was heartened to find her smiling and even a bit pink. The crowd separated them, and she moved back to her original place. The hubbub telegraphed the arrival of the patroness for the evening.

  She was a middle-aged matron accompanied by a young woman. A daughter or niece perhaps? To his dismay, the nefarious Elliot cousin and a ranking lobster he’d seen a time or two around town, accompanied them. There was no place for Wentworth, so he allowed himself to be sluiced into the concert room with the rest of the human tide.

  A quick survey of the room led him to a group of men that included McGillva
ry standing near a door on the far side. The Admiral seemed glad to see him and made introductions all around. The gentlemen were talking business, which held no interest for Wentworth. He positioned himself to view the newcomers to the room as he congratulated himself on the cache of goodwill he had built with Anne. With the elapse of only a few minutes, he saw her enter the concert room with her family and their exalted party.

  All the goodwill crumbled away when he saw that she was with her godmother. The sight of Lady Russell always struck him with something akin to fear rather than the mere distaste engendered by Sir Walter and Miss Elliot. Why should he fear the old she-dragon? Aside from her ability to influence Anne, she no longer possessed social weapons powerful enough to ward him away. Her influence with Anne, nonetheless, could be everything. Suddenly, his musings on Lady Russell were cut short by the lobster. He made a show of speaking with the patroness and escorted her to her seat. This left Mr. Elliot—where had he been?— to accost Anne and impose upon her his playing at the attentive gentleman. When the party was finally arranged, he discovered Anne and the cousin were side by side on the first of two benches the group occupied, and Lady Russell was relegated to the second. Wentworth was happy to see Anne separated from her, but it came at a bloody high price.

  Music filled the air and some of the lamps were dimmed. He noticed the gentlemen surrounding him lowered their voices but did not completely quit their discussion. It seemed that talk during the performance was not limited to unattached men standing on the fringes of the room. Many among those seated were chatting occasionally, flirting outrageously, or earnestly thrashing out matters that may or may not have related to the concert. Anne was not one of these. She sat quietly, smiling in a way that seemed completely unconnected to the room, its activities, or its occupants. Unconnected to him as well.