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

  “So, I didn’t know you were a music aficionado,” Patrick said, nudging him back from his reverie. “Not that this is all that good. This is some protégé of the hideously sparkling creature over there, two seats in on the fifth row.” He indicated the older woman seated next to Sir Walter. “A dowager with more pretension than taste, I’d say.” Someone drew the Admiral’s attention away before Frederick could respond. He cared little what the Dowager had in mind when she arranged the concert; his only concern was how it could be used to further his aims in relation to Anne.

  An Italian song began and there was a buzz from the audience and from the gentlemen of the group. McGillvary informed him that the song was scandalous and no Englishman of decent breeding would either sing it or listen to it sung.

  “I was not aware that you are fluent,” Wentworth said.

  “Oh yes, thanks to step-mama. Father got the fool notion that I should speak to her in her native tongue, and so a tutor was pressed into service—swarthy arms and stinking of garlic—and I began my linguistic education. Thank God, Ronan can at least speak good King’s English, not that anything he might prate on about is worth its weight in tripe, mind.”

  Wentworth inwardly laughed at the observations about McGillvary’s little seen and little missed half-brother. “I only know enough Italian to bargain for stores or free a crewman from gaol,” he said.

  “It is amusing to see how many normally upright patrons of the arts find this swill so entertaining. Ignorance of detestable things right under your nose can make life so enjoyable. I do crave it occasionally.”

  As Wentworth pondered this, the cousin began a conversation with Anne that continued for the duration of the song. She turned frequently away from his view and towards Elliot to respond. A program fluttered between them often enough that he could not see much of her expression. He wondered if one or the other of them was fluent in Italian and was mischievously sharing the true meaning of the piece. If McGillvary was correct about the song, a couple even speaking of it might indicate a developed intimacy.

  “That looks like one of those domestic discussions that never end well for the man,” Patrick said, again inserting himself into Wentworth’s private observations. “That is the lady you spoke to in Molland’s, is it not?”

  “Yes, Miss Anne Elliot.”

  “Ah, yes, the sister of the inestimable Miss Elizabeth Elliot.”

  “You are acquainted with the older sister?”

  “No. I would very much like to be, but so far, she has eluded me.” He looked at the group and added, “Truth be told, we do not swim in the same social waters. By my choice,” he added quickly. Wentworth concluded from his tone that McGillvary, for the sake of meeting Miss Elliot, might give the murky waters a try if given the opportunity.

  “You would freeze in less than five strokes.”

  “So I’m told. But think of the fun if I survive.”

  Patrick was again pulled into another conversation, and Wentworth noticed Anne’s expression had grown serious. The conversation’s light tone had changed. She looked quite puzzled, and Elliot smiled in a mysterious way. They talked back and forth for a moment or two more; then, she looked over her shoulder to her father.

  To Wentworth’s dismay, all the gentlemen who had been making up his blind had gradually moved away. He was now exposed to the likes of Sir Walter Elliot, who was speaking and nodding in his direction. Hoping to deprive them of a full view, Wentworth turned towards the front of the room and pretended to listen intently to the salacious song. Energetically ignoring the stares, he recognised a few of the words. He could not help smiling, wondering what the swells might think if they grasped the song’s true meaning.

  “So, you have gotten the attention of the girl’s father. How did you manage that?” McGillvary was at his side a third time. “This is the sort of entertainment the fellow should avoid. The rig he’s wearing is the latest cut, and I’m sure that if Daddy has new, so do the daughters. A new obligation or two will be made when they are invited to dine with someone or other afterwards.”

  “Is there anyone in this room you do not know something...embarrassing about?”

  He smiled and looked Wentworth up and down. “You, for the most part. But, I assure you, I only use what I know to protect myself in business. It’s good to be certain who to avoid and on whom you can depend in a tight spot.”

  The sentiment was true enough, and while he was not quite prepared to depend upon McGillvary in any substantial way, Frederick was ready to mine some of his information when it came to the Elliot cousin.

  “It looks like this song is about at an end, sir; shall we step out for some refreshment? I shall buy,” he said, indicating McGillvary should lead the way.

  Manoeuvring through the crush was difficult but not impossible for two men skilled in such things. Everyone from Anne’s party had left the concert room except Anne. For a moment, Wentworth considered leaving McGillvary and going back in to see if he might gain some position, but now that they were out of the room, it was too tempting to stay.

  Elliot and the lobster had cooperated wonderfully, placing themselves directly behind Frederick and McGillvary. It may have had something to do with McGillvary waving them over so he might make introductions. “Know thine enemy, Captain,” he had whispered. Acknowledgements were made and now Wentworth knew the lobster to be Colonel Matthew Wallis. He also got a better look at William Walter Elliot.

  After a few words regarding business were exhausted, the colonel and Elliot turned away to their own affairs. With this, McGillvary excused himself to get some fresh air, and Wentworth was free to eavesdrop on the others.

  “I told you to leave the tactic to me and that I would get you the perfect seat. Make any headway?” It was Wallis speaking.

  “A bit. I was hoping she would translate that dreadful song word-for-word, but she is too much a lady and far too clever to bumble into such an awkward situation. She did very well, I must say.”

  “Was it really so bad?”

  “As bad as anything your men might sing in the evening around the fire.”

  “Bad enough, to be sure, then.”

  “I complimented her nicely and then begged her to help me to improve my poor Italian. She was quite willing to lend whatever assistance I might require.” Both men laughed. Wentworth seethed.

  “This is serious! You hate being perceived as ignorant. Having to pretend that you don’t know the language...this will be interesting.”

  “It will only be for a visit or two. The rest of the household will be bored silly by it all and make any number of excuses to escape. That will leave me free to visit with my dear Anne.”

  “What about the mourning for your dear wife, Elliot?”

  “Only five more months. Surely you do not think that every wedding that takes place a fortnight after the removal of the crepe is due to a sudden surge of love, do you? She is an intelligent woman and will be more than ready by the time—” They were jostled by a group returning to the concert room, and Wentworth lost his advantageous position.

  He wandered away from the refreshments, the confidence from his encounter with Anne now coming undone. The sight of the whole of her party gathered together was now as good as seeing into Anne’s future life. He paced along the back wall of the room, but as he did so, he kept an eye on Anne. She seemed to be moving from place to place on the bench until finally she came to a stop one seat in from the end. As he was about to walk over to her, the Dowager and Sir Walter passed by him to regain their seats. A second acknowledgement from the Baronet did nothing to bolster Wentworth’s confidence.

  In an interesting turn of events, the colonel seemed to beg off and join another officer in another section of seats. Miss Elliot and the young woman attached to the Dowager snagged Mr. Elliot’s attention. Wentworth took pleasure in noting his sour expression when he looked in Anne’s direction, but he took a seat with the young ladies. Now that the dust had settled, Anne was free of companions a
nd the complications they brought. Patrick is right, go straight at it, man. He moved the few more steps necessary to put him within reach of her.

  “Good evening, again, Miss Anne.”

  Her smile was worth the exertion. “Good evening again to you, Captain. I know you like music; is the concert performance up to your expectations?”

  “Not at all. I am, in fact, quite disappointed in the singing in particular. I shall not be sorry for it to end.” As he spoke, little by little her expression dulled. He railed at himself for not thinking up some clever little lies pertaining to the music beforehand.

  “I am sorry to hear that, sir. It is disappointing to look forward to an event and have it fall short. But, I think there are many who have enjoyed the surprises that the program has thus far offered.”

  He understood her meaning immediately and thought she hadn’t looked this innocent since the day she was born—clever thing! He was glad to share the joke.

  “Yes, my companions said it was rather... suggestive. I smoked out a suspicious word or two, but I am not proficient enough to fully understand the complexities of the song.”

  “It was not, to be honest, very complex at all.” Anne smiled and looked away, but not before he saw her cheeks bloom with colour.

  He cleared his throat, and she looked up to him again. “I suppose relationships between men and women are not actually that complicated in most cases.” He had no idea where the conversation might lead; all he cared to do was engage her in the same light manner that marked their earlier talk.

  “Miss, are the seats next to you taken?” a gentleman interrupted, looking from Anne to Wentworth. Before Anne could answer, the woman with him pointed to seats she liked better. The man bowed to them and moved on. Idiot! Take the seat before it’s taken from you and finish the evening in the best of company.

  He was about to join her when a well-groomed hand came to rest on her shoulder.

  “Excuse me, dear Cousin.” She turned to Mr. Elliot, whose expression, to Wentworth’s jaundiced eye, was a cross between a lost little boy and a ravenous wolf. “Miss Carteret is anxious to know what we will hear next.” He said some other things, but the blood pounding in the Captain’s ears prevented him hearing any more.

  The familiarity of the man, the manner in which he touched her and spoke to her, made it obvious their intimacy was established, firmly established. At the cousin’s call, Anne had swept Wentworth aside to do as she was bidden. There was dutiful compliance on her part and presumption on his. Earlier in the evening, it had been the confidence of an engagement that had enabled her to present herself in public and speak so freely to him. It was that engagement now that drew her so effectively away.

  Suddenly, he was exhausted with the charade: hers that had raised his hopes and his own at playing the fool. If only he had discovered his own true feelings sooner or had not allowed pride to blind him in the first place, this evening would be very much different. His thoughts and mood were too black for him to remain in her presence or that of the man she had clearly chosen. He would toss off a pleasant farewell and end the comedy.

  Just as he was about to bid her good evening, she turned. The musicians were starting and her face became all smiles and pleasantness. Were he not convinced of her feeling towards Elliot, he might think she genuinely wished for his company. “You will excuse me, Miss Anne. I must wish you a good night. I must leave and get home as soon as possible.”

  She looked disappointed for a moment and as he began to bow, she asked, “Is not this song worth your staying for?”

  If he had an inkling that the smile was out of true affection for him, he might stay and take the seat that had held a moment’s promise. But he was sure it was habitual politeness that dictated the gentle protest at his departure. “No, there is nothing worth my staying for,” he said. As he turned, he saw Elliot giving him a nod and jaunty salute.

  To compound the agony, a few seats over he spied Lady Russell just looking away and beginning to speak to the Baronet. Her expression was light and smiling. He paused for an instant, briefly toying with a perverse impulse to remain and toss the snake of his presence in the pair’s satisfied musical garden, but his weariness overcame his audacity. He left.

  Chapter Ten

  The tide of music lovers returning to the concert room for the second act was against him. Just as he was about to step into an alcove and allow the current to weaken, McGillvary joined him. “Shall we be gone, Wentworth? The music is tedious and the room is becoming quite oppressive.” His expression was like stone, his tone barely civil. He tapped the face of his watch and then let it drop.

  The Admiral’s obvious intention to flee the hall put him and Frederick in a compact of the minority, bolstering Wentworth’s sense of ill use and misconstruction. “Certainly, sir. Lead the way.” Again, the colour and rank of the men’s gleaming uniforms worked their magic and soon they were collecting their greatcoats from the attendant in the cloak room—who was much obliged for the very generous tip—and heading to McGillvary’s carriage that had evidently been circling the block for some time.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  “Thank you for the ride, my friend.”

  “No thanks necessary. My plans were being thwarted on every side anywise. Offering a service to a friend seemed the least I could do.”

  “And what, precisely, were your plans.”

  “They involved meeting Miss Elizabeth Elliot. When I slipped out during the interval, I found her in the hallway. I was pleased to find that she had had a disaster involving the laces of her right shoe. I offered her assistance. She took it but then set out to torment me by refusing to allow me to introduce myself. I decided to play the game only because I’d found a chap who knows the family and was willing to help me manoeuvre her into a position where she could not refuse me.” Gesturing with a decanter from which he poured a lovely tawny liquid, he said, “But that weasel, William Elliot, got between us and made himself at home next to her.”

  Wentworth thought it best to keep to himself that Elliot was not the one who had ruined Patrick’s plans and was about to reiterate his earlier observations about the woman’s coldness; but he thought better of it. McGillvary was a grown man, quite capable of surviving his own blunders without the aid of a nursemaid.

  “I am shocked that you would give up so easily.”

  “I did not notice you drawing your weapon and putting the little bugger in his place,” the Admiral said, handing him a glass of whiskey. He poured just a tot of water in to cause the flavour to bloom.

  “You saw that.”

  “Yes, I did. It seems that both of us have been beaten back by that miserable, under-hung, silk-breeched fop. Here’s to battling another day.” With that, he raised his glass slightly and took the contents in one gulp. “Great stuff,” he said, holding the glass to the light and watching the amber rivulets work their way down. “Another?”

  “No, this will do for now.”

  Patrick shrugged and refilled his glass. He took a seat and motioned that Wentworth should do the same.

  Frederick had desired to return to Gay Street and lick his wounds, but McGillvary had sensed as much and cajoled him into joining him at Belsom Park for a late dinner. The kitchen at the Park was standing at the ready, for the meal was laid in no time. Wentworth discovered an appetite and enjoyed himself as they talked of younger days and entertaining times when they had the permission of the Crown to chase and break as they saw fit, taking whatever they believed would turn them a profit.

  It wasn’t until Patrick spilled his wine into his lemon shrub that he noticed how much his friend had drunk with dinner. Frederick was surprised that he had drunk so little, considering his disappointment at the concert. Now that they were in the library, and Patrick had brought out the very good liquor, he was glad of his unintentional moderation. He watched a third glass of the whiskey being prepared and again bit back a warning.

  “Your Miss Anne Elliot is a lovely young woman. How d
id you come to know her?”

  He hesitated to confide in McGillvary on this matter. Despite the seeming innocence of the question, the man’s bearing was growing more antagonistic with each drink. Wentworth was more than willing to fend off any sort of ridicule or attack directed at him, but he would not allow Patrick to abuse Anne’s character to his face. It would be a shame if he were forced to cut out one of his few allies in Bath.

  “We met years ago in Somerset. Just after Domingo.”

  “Ah, so that’s where some of that not insignificant prize money went. I always wondered why you crawled back to Portsmouth so broke.”

  Frederick shook his head. “No, to my shame, none of it was spent on her. I’d already used up most of it by the time I landed on my brother’s doorstep. To my surprise, she was willing to take me penniless...for awhile at least.”

  “Marriage?”

  He nodded.

  Patrick smiled and leaned deeper into his chair. “And here I’d thought you were just a solitary animal. All the while you’ve carried the torch for a pretty country miss. Why did she go off you?”

  “Things just wore out between us.”

  He shook his head. “Probably for the best. If the feelings can’t sustain themselves in the ease of being ashore, they surely won’t last through more than a commission or two. Gentle women are susceptible to that more than most, I think. They are like mice, most of them. Just one good-sized cat in opposition and they run squeaking away.”

  This childish characterisation of Anne angered Frederick until he realised that, childish though it was, it was almost exactly how he’d viewed her all these years. He credited himself with a bit more sympathy in his mental depictions, but Patrick’s down-to-earth picture was most apt.

  “Little brown mice. Harmless looking until they have nibbled through all your moorings and left you completely undone—”

  “Have you figured out another plan to meet Miss Elizabeth Elliot?” He could not hear his friend go on; the accusations were directed at him as much as Anne. Miss Elliot seemed to be the only topic that might distract him. It was worth a try and, perhaps, worth a listen.