Jane Austen Made Me Do It (25 page)

“Miss Wentworth,” said the captain.

“Yes,” replied Sophy breathlessly.

“Yes,” said the captain, nodding and smiling broadly. “Of course you are. You could not be anyone else.”

Wentworth stood by awkwardly, waiting for them to remember him. At last the captain said, “Mr. Wentworth, you will oblige
me greatly if you go and dance. Spread yourself around, and dance with all the young ladies you can; it is an officer's duty.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” He hesitated. “Sophy, are you going to stay here?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes never moving from the captain. “I will stay here.”

“I shall look after her,” said the captain.

“Yes, Freddy,” said Sophy. “Go and dance.”

“Very well.” He left them, and looked back once as he walked away. Sophy had taken the captain's arm, and they moved into the crowd, still smiling and looking at one another.

The ball was considered a particularly successful one, though several of the officers of the
Viper
were inclined to grumble that Wentworth's pretty sister was rather high in the instep, as she refused to dance with any officer under the rank of commander; though truly, she danced with no other officer than Captain Croft. When Miss Wentworth and Captain Croft were not dancing—and drawing every eye to themselves as a handsome, happy couple—they were sitting out together, taking a turn about the room together; always together.

Wentworth danced with many pretty young ladies, who did not seem at all put off by his outgrown number-one uniform. Harville had similar success, and they annoyed their messmates by talking excessively about how they had enjoyed the ball.

Two days after the ball, the captain went ashore to see the port admiral. An hour later, the boat came back to the sloop without the captain, and the boatswain conveyed the captain's compliments to Mr. Wentworth, and requested that he join him at the sally port.

Mystified, Wentworth obeyed immediately, and found the captain pacing on the pavement. “Mr. Wentworth,” he said, seizing Wentworth's sleeve. “I must see your sister right away. If you
would be so kind as to take me to her, I would consider myself greatly obliged.”

“Of course, sir.”

At the school, they rang the bell and asked for Miss Wentworth; they were shown to a small parlor, and soon Sophy joined them, looking anxiously from one to the other. “What is it?” she said. “Has something happened?”

“No, nothing is wrong, my dear,” said the captain softly. “Mr. Wentworth,” he added, “you will oblige me by waiting outside. I must see your sister on a private matter.”

Wentworth looked his surprise. “Have I done something wrong, sir?” he cried. “I hope you will not send me away like one of the boys.”

The captain smiled and said, “No, Mr. Wentworth. It is nothing about you.”

Wentworth looked at Sophy, who was blushing fiercely. She said gently, “Just go outside, Freddy. I do not think we will be long.” She exchanged a smile with the captain.

“No,” he said. “Not long at all.”

There was nothing else to do; Wentworth went outside to wait. As the door closed behind him, he overheard Captain Croft saying, “Sophy, lass, I just heard—I've got my step!”

They kept their word; he had only to wait five minutes, and the door opened. “Come in, Freddy,” said Sophy. “We have something to tell you; but you must have guessed.”

“Indeed, I have not,” he said.

Captain Croft put out his hand. “Frederick, I have asked your sister to be my wife, and she has accepted. I hope you will welcome me to the family.”

Wentworth stared from one to the other in astonishment; then he let out a whoop and shook the captain's hand energetically. “Yes! This is good news indeed! But how—when—”

Sophy and the captain looked at one another and laughed. “You must take the credit for making this match, Freddy. You told us all about each other,” said Sophy.

“And then we were just waiting,” said the captain. “Waiting to meet. Once we met—we knew.”

“Yes,” said Sophy. “We knew right away.”

Wentworth waited politely, but when nothing else was forthcoming, he made them laugh by asking, “What did you know?”

As Wentworth had overheard, Captain Croft had got his step; had been promoted to post-captain. No longer merely a commander given the title “Captain” as a courtesy, his career was assured; from now on promotion would come from strict seniority, and had nothing to do with interest. He would have to leave the
Viper
, of course, and get a rated ship to command, and all the officers, except Bailey, were disappointed. Though he had lost a captain, however, Wentworth had gained a brother, and he was well pleased.

Captain Croft had asked Sophy to marry him on the strength of his promotion, though he did not yet have a ship. They did not see this as a difficulty. Captain Croft had saved a little money, and Sophy had saved a little money, and on his half-pay they would contrive; and he knew he would soon have a ship. There were no families to consult, and nothing to wait for. Captain Croft heard there might be a command soon available in the North Sea fleet, and he engaged lodgings in North Yarmouth, to which they would go immediately after the wedding breakfast.

The captain asked Wentworth to be his groomsman, an unexpected honor. Sophy had one of the teachers as her bridesmaid; a no-longer-young woman with a squint who simpered at Wentworth over her nosegay. The ceremony was over quickly, and they all signed the register and went to breakfast at the George.

After breakfast, Captain Croft said to Wentworth, “I have done what I can for you. I haven't much interest myself, you understand; but as their lordships of the Admiralty are at present kindly disposed towards me, I convinced them that you and your crony Harville have learnt all you can be taught on
Viper
, and you're to go into a frigate.”

“A frigate!” He was eager to get back to the
Viper
and tell Harville. “Thank you, sir! Thank you!”

Sophy said what they were all thinking. “You will have a chance for more prize money now, Freddy. You must take care to save it, and not spend it frivolously.”

“I will.” He was determined to do so.

The happy couple's post-chaise was announced, and Wentworth went outside to see them off. Sophy kissed him and embraced him for a very long moment. “Remember to order some new uniforms before you go on your frigate,” she said.

“Yes, Mrs. Croft.” She started at the use of her married name, and then laughed.

The captain smiled at her fondly. “Someday, Frederick, you will meet a young lady and you will know that she is the one for you. When you meet her, I advise you to marry her as soon as you can. You have only yourself to please; and so I advise you.”

“Yes, sir.” Captain Croft had always given him good advice, so Wentworth mentally filed this useful item away for the future.

The captain handed Sophy up into the chaise, and then followed her, and they drove away, waving goodbye. Wentworth momentarily forgot he was a Royal Navy officer, and he ran after them hallooing and waving his hat in the air until he could keep up no longer.

Anne sat with her chin on her hand, her dark eyes shining. “And did you take your brother's fine advice, Captain Wentworth?”

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Indeed I did; eight years and a half passed between the start and the finish, but I carried it off at last.” He had been dreadfully angry, and Anne wretched, when she had broken off their engagement all those years before, but now they could laugh about it. They exchanged smiles full of love and remembrance; remembrance no longer bitter, but sweetened by their present happiness.

The Crofts looked at them, the admiral's brow furrowed with confusion, and Sophy's eyes bright with dawning comprehension. “I think,” she said, “there is another story to be told.”

Wentworth looked at Anne, who nodded. “Tell them, Frederick,” she said.

He accepted a fresh cup of tea, and said, “In the summer of the year six, you will remember, after Santo Domingo, I was promoted to commander and, not having a ship, put on the beach.…”

S
ara stood in the hallway, the note in her hand, the front door still open behind her. She read it again, then turned it over, as though when she looked at the familiar handwriting once more, the words would have transformed into a love letter or an affectionate note.

He'd been here. The note hadn't come in the post; the envelope
had been left on the table in the hall. Feeling as though she'd been punched in the stomach, she hurtled into the sitting room. Empty spaces on the walls, where pictures and photos had hung. No books lying around, no papers on his desk, no sign he had ever been there.

She shut her eyes, willing herself to turn the handle of the bedroom door. With a gulp and a violent twist of the handle, she did so and, leaning against the side of the door for support, opened her eyes.

Gone were the shirts, the jeans, the underwear, the dark suits. No shoes, no sports clothes, no squash racquet. Two steps took her into the bathroom. No toothbrush, no shaving things, no aftershave, no shampoo.

No Charles.

She went back into the bedroom and sank down on the huge double bed. Desperate thoughts raced through her head—had he met someone else? In what way was his love for her not enough? She searched the bedroom, looking for something of his, a dressing gown, a jacket, something she could bury her face in and remember the feeling and the sense of him. And then as the shock and numb bewilderment began to fade, they were replaced by anger.

She went back into the other room and felt in her bag for her cell phone. She'd call Fiona.

“He'll be back,” Fiona said. “It's just a gesture.”

“A gesture? When he's taken all his things?”

“Where were you today? It must have taken him awhile to pack and move out.”

“I was in the Cotswolds, doing research for my new book.”

“Must go,” Fiona said. “I'm sure he'll be back or will get in touch. Why don't you ring him?” Click and the line went dead.

Of course, she could ring him.

No, she couldn't. His line had the buzz of a disconnected number. Email, then, and she dived into her study. She worked at home; Charles, a well-paid lawyer, didn't, so she had the study. It was a tiny room, with shelves filled with Jane Austen novels and DVDs and every empty space festooned with pictures and photos from every film or programme ever made of
Pride and Prejudice
.

She checked her email. Nothing from Charles, no one-line message, “Can you collect my dry cleaning,” or “Love you to bits, see you later.”

Nothing from Charles, but there was an email from her agent.

“Have had thirteenth rejection of
She Walks in Beauty
. No point in sending it out to anyone else. PsychePress don't want any more books from you as your sales aren't high enough. Your two-book contract with Cocktail Dress at Cavell & Davies has been cancelled; they're dropping the list. This is the third book of yours I've been unable to place. Move on. Pick a new genre—historicals are big right now. Livia.”

Sara stared at the screen. Rage was followed by dismay and then by alarm. Not just the natural hurt and despair of a rejection; all writers were familiar with rejections. Midlist was a dangerous place, but she hadn't done too badly and she'd always been able to pay towards the expenses of the flat she shared with Charles. How was she going to pay for that now if Charles had gone? She'd never afford the rent on her own; in fact, never mind the rent, she wouldn't be able to afford to eat if she couldn't sell her books.

She wrote several heartrending emails to Charles only to find they were all bounced back—he'd changed his email addresses.

Later, suffering from an excess of chocolate ice cream and tears, she was about to fall into bed when she remembered that Charles had said he'd left a present for her. She padded into the
hallway and found it, wrapped in plain brown paper. On the back was a label saying Sellit & Runn, Auctioneers.