Captain Wentworth's Persuasion (30 page)

“Yes,” said he, “but there I think ends the resemblance.With all my soul I wish them happy and rejoice over every circumstance in favor of it.”The resentment he had held for eight years crept into his words. “They have no difficulties to contend with at home, no opposition, no caprice, no delays.—The Musgroves are behaving like themselves, most honorably and kindly, only anxious, with true parental hearts, to promote their daughter’s comfort.All this is much, very much, in favor of their happiness, more than perhaps some.”

Riled by years of frustration, Frederick nearly allowed himself to be carried away, but a sudden recollection gave him some taste of that emotion, which was now reddening Anne’s cheeks and fixing her eyes on the ground, and he stopped—feeling her pain. Needing
to protect her even from himself, he cleared his throat before proceeding thus,“I confess I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than the 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 I do consider his attaching himself to her, with some surprise. Had it been the effect of gratitude, had he learned to love her, because he believed her to prefer him, it would be another thing. But I have no reason to suppose it so. It seems, on the contrary, to be a perfectly spontaneous, untaught feeling on his side, and this surprises me.A man like him, in this situation! With a heart pierced, wounded, almost broken! Fanny Harville was a very superior creature; and his attachment to her was indeed attachment.A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman!—He ought not—he does not.”

Frederick stopped abruptly and looked at Anne. Suddenly, everything else—the various noises of the room, the almost ceaseless slam of the door, and the ceaseless buzz of persons walking through—faded away. He watched her chest rise and fall with quick breaths.

Finally,Anne found her voice.“You were a good while at Lyme, I think.”

Frederick focused his energies in order to respond intelligently. “Almost a fortnight. I could not leave it until Louisa’s doing well was quite ascertained. I was too deeply concerned in the mischief to be soon at peace. It was my doing—solely mine. She would not have been obstinate if I was not weak.The country around Lyme is very fine. I walked and rode a great deal; and the more I saw, the more I found to admire.”

“I should very much like to see Lyme again,” said she.

“Indeed!” he exclaimed. “I should not suppose you could have found anything in Lyme to inspire such a feeling.The horror and distress in which you were involved—the stretch of mind, the wear of spirits!—I should think your last impressions of Lyme must be strong disgust.”

“The last few hours were certainly very painful,” replied Anne. “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 was all suffering, nothing but suffering—which was by no means the case at Lyme. We were only in anxiety and distress during the last two hours; and, previously, there was a great deal of enjoyment. So much novelty and beauty! I have traveled so little, that every fresh place would be interesting to me.”

She continued,“But there is real beauty at Lyme.” She reddened with a faint blush at some recollection, and Frederick smiled with delight. “In short, altogether, my impressions of the place are very agreeable.”

“Anne,” he stammered wanting to speak the long-lost words,“I need to say . . .” Before he could finish, the entrance door opened again, and the very party appeared for whom they were waiting.

He heard a footman calling out, “Lady Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple,” and to Frederick’s deep disappointment, with all the eagerness compatible with anxious elegance, Sir Walter and his two ladies stepped forward to meet her. Lady Dalrymple and her daughter Miss Carteret, escorted by Mr. Elliot and his friend Colonel Wallis, advanced into the room. The others joined them, and it was a group in which Anne found herself also necessarily included, sweeping her from Frederick—dividing them.

Frederick stood glued to the spot; their interesting, almost too interesting conversation broken up, but slight was the penance compared with the happiness! He had learned, in the last ten minutes, to feel hope.

Frederick strolled into the concert room. He stood in the back, not sure where the Elliot party would sit. He saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of the room; his happiness was from within. He thought only of the last half hour: their choice of subjects, her expressions, and still more her manner and look. Anne still felt something for him; on that, he would bet everything. Anger, resentment, avoidance were no more, being succeeded, not
merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of the past—yes—some share of the tenderness of the past.
Could she learn to love me again?

Leaning against one of the columns, he smiled when Anne entered the room. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks glowed. He watched as she searched the crowd; hopefully, she looked for him. Once she was settled, he would move closer. He noted with some concern that Lady Russell had joined their group; someday he might be able to forgive Sir Walter—the man was hopelessly ignorant about all manner of things—but he was not sure that he could ever forgive Lady Russell. At nineteen, Anne had turned to the woman for guidance, and her godmother had betrayed the trust, destroying their chance for happiness Her party divided, sharing two contiguous benches: Anne was among those on the foremost. To Frederick’s chagrin, Mr. Elliot, with the assistance of his friend Colonel Wallis, maneuvered the seat by her.

Frederick moved to the right-hand wall. From his new position, he could see Anne’s face, and he delighted in watching her abandonment to the music.Anne sat mesmerized by the chords—lost in the melodic strains; it reminded him of her reaction to the sea.

As the first act came to a close, Mr. Elliot made a point of moving in closer to Anne, and they whispered together. Frederick watched Anne flush with color.Whatever Mr. Elliot said to her, she found intriguing, and then she flipped back and forth through the concert bill. Mr. Elliot’s words had piqued her interest. She questioned him eagerly, but the man would not comment further. Frederick heard him tease,“No, no—some time or other perhaps,” leaving Anne visibly disappointed.

Her intimate conversation with Mr. Elliot made Frederick wonder,
What games does Anne Elliot play?
Not half an hour earlier, her attitude toward
him
had his heart singing; now
Mr. Elliot
brought a flush to her face. The man was an obvious rake; he feigned regard with a practiced ease. Could Anne not recognize those qualities in him? Of course, she was an innocent—not used to the ways of a depraved soul; but she should listen to her intuition!
He knew her to be intelligent.Why could Anne not see what was clearly in front of her?
Perfection is not achievable in a man, nor in a woman,
he reminded himself. Could she not remember how Mr. Elliot had snubbed the family when they sought his alliance years earlier?
A tiger does not change its stripes.

Watching the scenario playing out in front of him, Frederick hated the liberties the man took with Anne—with
his
Anne. Elliot sat too close—laughed too loudly at her wit—touched her hand or her arm or her shoulder with too much familiarity.

Engrossed in his brooding, at first Sir Walter Elliot’s words did not penetrate Frederick’s thoughts.

“A well-looking man,” said Sir Walter,“a very well-looking man.”

“A very fine young man indeed!” said Lady Dalrymple.“More air than one often sees in Bath.—Irish, I daresay. Do you know him?”

“No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaintance. Wentworth—Captain Wentworth of the Navy. His sister married my tenant in Somersetshire—Admiral Croft, who rents Kellynch.”

Frederick’s body turned first hot with anger and then cold with humiliation. Sir Walter did not even do him the courtesy of remembering him, the man who had asked for his daughter’s hand.

His heart raced with anger—first at Sir Walter and then at Mr. Elliot, and then even at Anne for not accepting him years earlier. Trying to quiet his contempt, Frederick joined a cluster of men standing a little distance away. He seethed from the insults and from the uncertainty.
Maybe I should just walk away—accept the fact the barn door is closed.
He looked over at Anne, but she still spoke with Mr. Elliot.

The next few minutes saw a reshuffling of positions. The performance was recommencing, and the cluster of men restored their attention to the orchestra, so Frederick moved away. The first act was over, and he tried to decide what to do.After a period of nothing amongst the party, some of them did decide on going in quest of tea. Anne was one of the few who did not choose to move. She remained in her seat, but so did Lady Russell. How could he approach Anne with Lady Russell close by?

When the others drifted back in, some further changes occurred as they resettled. Colonel Wallis declined sitting down again, and Elizabeth and Miss Carteret invited Mr. Elliot to sit between them. Eventually, Anne placed herself much nearer the end of the bench than she was before—much more within reach.

Now!
he told himself as he moved forward a bit at a time; he did not make a direct line to where Anne sat. Frederick tried to look grave and seem irresolute, as by very slow degrees, he came at last near enough to speak to her.With the others nearby, he would, he knew, find it hard to express himself with the same freedom they had enjoyed in the octagon room.The difference was strikingly great.

Before he could speak, she spotted him. “Are you enjoying the concert, Captain?” Anne searched his eyes, but although he chastised himself for doing so, he met her with the same gravity he had offered when at Uppercross.

“In truth, Miss Anne, I am disappointed.—I expected better singing. In short, I must confess I should not be sorry when it is over.”

“I am sad that you feel so, Captain; I thought it quite good, especially the Italian arias at the end, but I expect that, having heard the pieces in Italy, you have a different perspective.”

Anne always touched his heart. His countenance softened.“You are a true diplomat, Miss Anne.”

“Do you think so, Captain Wentworth?” She gave him a beguiling smile.“Should I apply to the Central Office for Naval Affairs?” she joked.

“May I offer you a letter of reference, Miss Anne?”

“Ah—a letter from a naval officer! I am indeed lucky.”

Frederick looked down toward the bench, seeing a place on it well worth occupying. Just as he started to move and be with her despite everything, a touch on her shoulder obliged Anne to turn around.

“Miss Anne,” Mr. Elliot said as he leaned in close—
too
close—“I beg your pardon, but you must explain the Italian again. Miss Carteret is very anxious to have a general idea of what is next to be sung.”

“Certainly.” Anne nodded to Frederick and turned toward her extended family.

Noting their motioning to him, Frederick took a few steps to the left and held a stilted conversation with Lieutenant Harding and Lady Susan. Although they invited him most earnestly to join them, he declined.
Every time
, he thought. His gut twisted.
Every time I think we have escaped their pull,Anne’s family drag her back in.

As quickly as possible, he excused himself from his friends, promising to join them at the theater one day in the coming week. He could take no more of this evening. He noted that Anne had finished her translations, so he took his leave of her. “I wish you a good night, Miss Anne. I am going.—I should get home as fast as I can; Sophia will be expecting me.”

“Must you, Captain?” she asked.“Is not this song worth staying for? It is an Italian love song.”

“No!” he heard himself say curtly.“There is nothing worth my staying for, even an Italian love song.” He bowed and left the room.

“Why, with my luck, it will be raining,” he grumbled as he retrieved his hat. Frederick turned up the collar of his jacket against the wind before starting to pull on his left glove. Suddenly, he stopped.
Why am I so upset with Anne? Did she seek out Mr. Elliot?
Slowly, he pulled on his right glove.
What did you expect her to do? Ignore her family?
Frederick looked back at the concert hall he just left.
Should I go back in and apologize to her?
He stood still for a moment, lost in thought.

He made a decision. “I will call on her tomorrow at Camden Place. I have embarrassed myself enough for one evening.” He would go home and construct a proper apology—an earnest pledge. He would extend to Anne Elliot his sincere regrets for tonight—for Lyme—for Uppercross—and for leaving her, eight years earlier.

Frederick and Anne completed their first circuit of the deck.Today he walked without assistance; although he was a bit slow, he relished finally being on his own.