For You Alone (Frederick Wentworth, Captain: Book 2) Page 19

  “You were not then, I know. You did not use to like cards; but time makes many changes.” Her smile widened at that, and he realised this was the first explicit mention of their past together since his return to Somerset. He could not help but wonder how their reunion might have been different had he been more frank earlier.

  “I am not yet so much changed,” she said. She seemed to have more to say but chose not to.

  Did she refer to her dislike of games? Or was she signalling that her feelings for him had remained unchanged all these years? His heart began to beat harder, and he needed to breathe deeply. He was about to mention how stuffy the room had grown and suggest they take a walk when Miss Henrietta approached, ruining his plans.

  She smiled at the Captain then said in a low tone to Anne, “We must hurry before we are set upon again by another gaggle of Mother’s friends.” She smiled to each and left them.

  Anne watched her move away. Her expression, he thought, mirrored his own of disappointment. She stood. Neither of them realised how close to her chair he’d placed himself. He did not mean to press in on her, but it took a moment for him to step away fully. Her smile was nervous but friendly as she, too, moved.

  “I am perfectly ready, Henrietta.” She looked to the girl and then to him again. Voices outside the door drew everyone’s attention. In an instant, looks passed between those preparing to leave which lamented not doing so soon enough. Charles rubbed his hands at the prospect of new victims to taunt. Mrs. Musgrove adjusted her cap in preparations for meeting another wave of her friends.

  The door opened wide, a footman entered and announced, “Sir Walter Elliot and Miss Elizabeth Elliot.”

  This announcement suspended everything in the room: laughter, time, breath, anticipation of pleasant things, comfort. Wentworth was not certain if all those things were pulled out the door past the new arrivals, or if their ruthless sophistication so filled the room that everything good was pushed past the panes of glass in the windows. Either way, the pair’s arrival demanded everyone’s attention.

  As they entered, they surveyed the room. Frederick contemplated Dante’s reference to surrendering “all hope” when entering certain places. It struck him that the thought applied equally to a place being entered by certain people. Wentworth also observed that a visit to this place, with this assemblage, was everything Sir Walter and Miss Elliot could possibly want. There was no one of equal status with whom they might be compared. What’s more, there was no one of superiority to require their fawning or detract from their excellence. They were far above all and could revel in the absolute pleasure of looking down on everyone else. Wentworth bristled as their unified gaze swept over the room and blatantly settled on him.

  Contrived smiles in place, they crossed to Charles. The Elliot connection made acknowledging him a priority. Mrs. Charles’s deep curtsey was duly accepted with a mumbled greeting and heartfelt clasp of her finger tips by the Baronet. She beamed as she received a frigid peck on the cheek from her sister. Poor Mrs. Musgrove was out of her element, uncertain of the protocol. She began to stand, but once Sir Walter saw she was willing to stir herself, he felt properly acknowledged and could employ his false modesty to the fullest extent by mouthing phrases like, “family circle” and “no formality needed.”

  Miss Henrietta and Timothy Harville were in turn forced to greet their betters. Wentworth detested having to watch the annoying social game that must be played out. He knew his time was coming, but the annoyance he felt was stripped away when he looked at Anne. His heart ached for her. She stood motionless, still facing towards him but watching her father and sister. Her purse in hand and partly opened as she was preparing to leave, she stood just a few steps from him. The disappointment was gone, replaced with utter mortification.

  “Captain Wentworth.” He was finally being summoned to make his obeisance.

  “Sir Walter.” He made a most proper bow, only stopping himself from tugging his forelock. For an instant he felt a stab of guilt. When such gestures were directed his way, he freely accepted the acknowledgements of authority and greater rank. Pride is a nasty, insidious thing, he told himself as he bowed prettily to Miss Elliot. When he rose, there was a subtle smile on Anne’s face. He doubted she could read his mind but took it to be satisfaction that he was again, openly, being given his due.

  Miss Elliot took from her purse some cards and waved them just a little so all could see them and know they were important. “I am sure you have heard that we are having a small, intimate gathering. It is to be tomorrow evening. Just a little fête to meet friends, nothing formal.” The delivery of the invitation was elegantly and properly done. It was also clear, most unashamedly so, that as little trouble as possible was being taken on the part of the hostess. Miss Elliot laid down the cards on the table in front of Mrs. Musgrove. Frederick was grateful she’d said her piece and that father and daughter would be disappearing soon.

  To his dismay, Miss Elliot picked up a card and moved in his direction. As she had spoken, the young woman had glanced about the room a time or two, but he was certain he was the only one with whom she had made eye contact. And now, she was boldly approaching him, a card in her smartly gloved hand. “Captain Wentworth,” she said, placing herself in the small space between Anne and him. He took the card and thanked her. She gave him a gracious curtsey, rose with a smile on her lips, and turned away. Anne had to step aside to allow her sister to pass, her distress and embarrassment palpable.

  His first impulse was to tear up the card, but he would not embarrass Anne, himself, or his friends in such a rude manner. Pondering an alternative was not necessary; Sir Walter and Miss Elliot announced that their social schedule required they immediately take their leave. He observed them just in time to nod.

  Life and breath and movement returned to the room. Even his heart knew when it was free of the presence of the Elliots, and it began to beat more normally. Voices began to rise, and the plans that were halted were being renewed. He could not help but stare at the card. He turned it over and over. The printed side, “Miss Elliot at home,” alternated with the stark white of the blank side. Wentworth wanted neither the card nor the attention of the Elliots. A card party with his own gentlemen friends would be enjoyable, perhaps profitable. A card party at Camden Place could only be enlivened by the Musgroves.

  Charles began prodding Harville to go out again, and Wentworth was naturally included. The ladies were gathering themselves as well. They went as a group down the stairs, Frederick trying all the while to overhear the ladies’ plans. No places mentioned were familiar to him. Short of outright stalking, there would be no opportunity for him to separate from the men and accidentally meet with the ladies.

  Once on the pavement, Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove bid one another a teasing farewell, and the ladies and gentlemen moved apart, heading in opposite directions. He looked over his shoulder for one last look. Anne did as well.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I enjoy the company of the Musgroves, don’t misunderstand, but sometimes the bickering becomes like a hurricane: no choice but to batten the hatches and wait it out,” Harville said, as they made their way through the crowd near the Abbey. Charles had earlier left them for a shop he’d spied dealing in leather goods. He was keen on having a look at a new saddle scabbard for his prize shotgun and saw this as his chance to investigate the possibilities without his wife present.

  “They have been extraordinarily kind to us. I think they feel they owe us for taking care of Louisa.”

  “They are kind people. Loud, but kind,” Wentworth said. He wished to ask about the unexpected attraction between Miss Louisa and James Benwick. He was a bit shamed at having already made his opinion known freely enough to Anne and to his own family, based on little more than supposition. He wanted to know, but then again, he hesitated.

  Harville laughed. “They are that. The children, our normally sweet and quiet children, become screeching banshees when they’ve been with them for a period. It
amazes me.” They walked on for a moment, and he continued. “There are many things which amaze me these days.”

  This was an invitation, but an invitation to what? Frederick wondered. Maybe he had some opinion concerning Anne’s family, or he had observed his conversation with Anne and wanted some intelligence of his own. Of everyone he could name, Frederick knew that Timothy would understand his feelings if he were to take the man into his confidence.

  Harville took something from his pocket and offered it to Wentworth. “This amazes me. He had it done at the Cape. It was to be Fanny’s wedding present.” Frederick took the miniature painting. It was a good likeness of Benwick.

  “The fellow was German,” he said. “Those Germans are very good artists, if this is any indication.”

  “It is very good. Not amazing, in my opinion, but good.” The picture was a very true likeness. The cheeks were a bit too round and florid, but it was essentially the enthusiastic Benwick who had looked forward for so long to marrying Fanny Harville. This was surely the perfect picture of a young man determined to make his fortune so he might finally claim his bride and set up house in comfort. He’d seen this eagerness in Benwick when he’d been taken aboard the Grappler in July. This bright young man had died the moment Frederick informed him of Fanny’s death. He was still of the opinion that Louisa Musgrove was not woman enough to revive his friend.

  “It’s not the picture that amazes me, but that he wishes me to see it framed so that he can give it to her.” Harville’s voice was raw with emotion.

  “I do like her, Frederick—please, don’t think otherwise—but how could he claim to love my sister for two years and then, with such ease and speed, give his heart to another woman?” Wentworth was about to answer when Timothy continued. “To ask me, of all people, to do this for him! He can’t see anything past his own nose.” Harville extended his hand to take back the painting.

  Wentworth took his handkerchief, swathed the painting in it and tucked it into his breast pocket.

  “I will need that. Miss Henrietta was able to tell me of a place to do the job.”

  “I shall see to it,” Wentworth said, not looking to see Harville’s response. Timothy sighed.

  “Benwick is happy again. Of course, he can’t see past his own nose. And what he can see is full of Miss Louisa,” Frederick said. He was definitely more in sympathy with Harville than Benwick, but he also knew that time would heal Harville’s hurt feelings. There was no sense in dividing loyalties by denigrating their mutual friend.

  “I am thoroughly confused how a man so intelligent, a man who was so completely in love with a woman like my sister, his equal in every way, could settle for a giddy, silly—” Harville was suddenly silent.

  Wentworth looked back to see if Harville had taken a spill. He hadn’t but had fallen behind for reasons of his own. “I’m sorry, Frederick. I shouldn’t speak about her so, knowing you once felt for her.”

  Wentworth laughed. “I never felt nearly as much as you and Elsa presumed. Yes, I suppose I was attracted to her, but it was more because she was an enthusiastic, vibrant young woman, and my life needed some vibrancy at the time. I never loved her, and I should never have acted in a way that could leave anyone in doubt of that.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. No damage there, at least.”

  “None! Anywise, I will see that Benwick’s picture is framed for you.”

  “Thank you. Considering what you did for me in July, this is over and above anything.” They walked on in companionable silence for a quarter of a block or so. Harville stopped before the window of a print shop. “Look at this nonsense,” he said, pointing to a print of a small boat with two men aboard. “It is quite obvious that this artist is not a sailor.”

  Wentworth joined him at the window. “There is no danger of mistaking him for one. This must be the place of which my brother-in-law told me. They have more such folly inside if you’d care to look.”

  “No, I’ve not the stomach for it,” Harville said, moving on down the pavement. Again they were quiet for a time. “I miss the sea.”

  “You live right on the sea.”

  Harville sighed. “You know what I mean. I miss being at sea. When the Musgroves asked that we accompany them back to Somerset, I turned them down. It was Elsa who convinced me that we should take some time in the country. Though Lyme is not much of a seaport, it is hard living by the rhythms of the tides and knowing I shall never again sail.”

  For some time Wentworth had suspected Timothy was unable to return to duty, but nothing final had ever been said. He did not wish to cause his friend further pain by enquiring. Though he might be able to lend some comfort, the subject was still a reminder that, despite robust health, he, too, might never return to his former life.

  “So, I went to the country to get away from the sea and now find myself in this blasted city.” He nudged Wentworth’s arm. “But I am relieved to find my good friend here and to find others here, as well. Knowing I shall see Miss Anne on occasion is something I look forward to very much.” He laughed. “Now that you tell me you never cared deeply for Miss Louisa, I can see that I am no good judge of romantic matters. At one time I had thought James was quite enamoured of Miss Anne. He spoke about her all the time, it seemed. You remember, don’t you?”

  “Yes, he spoke of her very warmly, very often as I recall.” Of all the possibilities concerning him and Anne Elliot, thankfully James Benwick was no longer one of them.

  “Now, were he to have come to me and said it was Miss Anne he fancied, I think I would have had no objections to it at all. I wonder why that is.”

  “In the same way that Fanny was James’s equal, Anne is as well.” He would have to take greater care in using her Christian name, lest he say anything that might rouse Harville’s suspicions.

  “True, true. I respect Miss Anne Elliot’s mind and her ways. If James were attracted to a woman like her, it would be easier to understand. He seems to have settled—” Harville sighed. “I am too hard on the girl. She is likeable and kind. Louisa Musgrove will make him a good wife.” The statement was said with determination and the beginning of conviction.

  In the same vein, Wentworth added, “If anyone can enlarge Miss Louisa’s intelligence, it would be James. Out of self-defence, she will learn all the major poets he loves, and he will, perhaps, learn to smile more often.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Elsa and I have amended one another. Marriage does that quite naturally.”

  Wentworth contemplated what changes might come were he to marry Anne. Their tastes in literature were similar in theme, though her knowledge far outstripped his. He enjoyed cards, and this afternoon she made it clear that her preference in that regard would not soon change.

  “—I said have you ever considered Miss Anne?”

  “Considered Miss Anne how?”

  “Romantically, of course.” Harville was smiling, but it soon faded. “No, I suppose not.”

  “Why not, may I ask?”

  “Well, as we were saying, she is quite intelligent and enjoys a good deep conversation. You, on the other hand...” Harville let the sentence dangle and continued walking away.

  “I, on the other hand, what?”

  Harville turned. “I just don’t think the two of you would get on, now that I put my mind to it.”

  “I see. Benwick would give her the challenge you fancy she desires, but I am a man with a head full of straw.” He joined Harville.

  “Hardly, Frederick. It’s just that your intelligence runs more to the practical...and devious. Hers is more in the line of great thoughts and notions.”

  “Devious, you say! When have I proven to be devious?”

  Harville stopped, and turned to smile at him. “Study your bank accounts, my dear friend. For every pound, there was a wily plot attached. Devious and practical.” He continued down the pavement.

  “I never thought of myself as such. Perhaps I should find a devious, practical wife and settle down to the per
fect marriage.”

  Harville stopped again. “Now you’re angry. I didn’t mean it that way. I will admit that, away from the quarterdeck, you are not in the least bit sly. And, if you like, Miss Anne would be a perfect match for you.” He pressed on. “With her kindness and intelligence, she might teach you some humility.”

  Wentworth laughed a little. Timothy, if you only knew just how much I wish to be taught.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  The following morning, Sophia was sorting through a sizeable pile of mail as the Captain and Admiral sorted through their respective breakfasts. “We are quite popular, my dear,” Sophia said, holding up a note. The Admiral inquired who had sent it. Frederick paid it no attention. “This is just one of several invitations. It is for a small party at Camden Place. There are some others, but there is one in particular from Mrs. Musgrove. She invites us for a visit today. Anytime we find convenient.”

  This was interesting. There was a chance Anne would also be invited to be with the family. It would not look strange if he accompanied his sister and brother, not that he really needed any sort of excuse to visit the Musgroves.

  “So, we are invited to Camden Place. That is a little surprising.”

  “Why surprising, dear?”

  “We’ve been in Bath for awhile now. This is the first hint of interest from the Baronet’s quarter.”

  Sophia smiled as she refolded the fine stationery packet. “We should really attend. It is wise to keep the landlord happy.”

  “I suppose so, my dear; though I do not look forward to a quiet evening with Sir Walter and his set.”

  “It shouldn’t be such a trial, sir,” Frederick said. “The Musgroves were invited, and Mrs. Charles was particularly interested in being introduced to members of Sir Walter’s set. Harville and I shall be there.”