Jane Austen Made Me Do It (5 page)

C
aptain Wentworth was awake early to witness the greyness of the day, mists rising in a smoking pall above the city along with the icy rain which lashed at the windows of his lodgings in a manner fit for any storm at sea. His spirits were high, though truth to be told, he was more than a little nervous at the prospect of the interview he was about to face. As he adjusted the cuffs at his wrists, he glanced out of the window to observe the dash of carriages rolling round the square depositing new arrivals in Bath.

Had it only been yesterday when the unimaginable had happened at last? Frederick recalled every second of the encounter, revived every feeling. They'd met in Union Street. He'd been almost afraid to witness her reaction to the heartfelt letter he'd sent. But he needn't have worried. Her eyes had spoken the sentiments she could not immediately express. Anne Elliot had taken his arm, and he'd sheltered her from the rain with his umbrella.

From his viewpoint past the railings on the other side of Queen Square, Gay Street effortlessly progressed up its steep incline, elegant façades on either side ascending to the Circus much as he and Anne had advanced before turning off to find the relative
quiet of the Gravel Walk. Heedless of the sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, and flirting girls around them, they had confessed all their hidden, secret feelings, buried for so long.

“She loves me, as I love her,” he said out loud to confirm the truth to himself. He wanted to open the window and shout it out to the muffin man below.
“Anne Elliot never stopped loving me from the day we parted. Oh, that my stubborn pride had not prevented me from seeking her out sooner. I've wasted almost nine precious years when we could have been together! I admit; I felt very differently all those years ago when she rejected me. I held her in contempt then, although sweet Anne, I now believe, was perfectly justified in withdrawing from our engagement. I was proud, made to feel that I was not good enough for a baronet's daughter, and the truth of it stung me to my very soul. But there is little point in grieving over the past; I must look to the future with the girl I love most in the world by my side. My only fear, nay dread, concerns the interview I am to have with her father this morning. Not that his consent really matters. Anne will not be persuaded against her wishes this time, not like the first time. We are older, and, I hope, much wiser, both secure in the knowledge that our love is ever true and constant. But, this will not do, I have an appointment with Sir Walter, and I must not be late!”

In the most imposing house on Camden Place, Captain Wentworth's beloved Anne Elliot was looking out anxiously through the window in the drawing room, though she tried to give an air of calm. Her thoughts and ideas ran on similar lines to the gentleman whose attendance she expected. Half elation, half dejection, her mind veered from the images of yesterday, which had her spirits dancing in private rapture to the imagined scene of what was about to take place. That is, if he kept his promise and came. She could not help but smile at her own fleeting misgivings, because if she truly examined her heart, of one thing she was certain. He would come. Captain Wentworth would ask for her
hand. Anne did not think he would be refused, but she knew that her father and the rest of her family would be shocked by their news.

Anne heard snatches of her sister Elizabeth's conversation with her friend Mrs. Clay, as they discussed the previous evening's party, taking delight in discussing the faults and shortcomings of the guests present. Sir Walter attended to his newspaper, occasionally interjecting with news of some entertainment to be given at the Assembly Rooms. Anne's attention was suddenly caught at the sound of his dear name.

“I think Captain Wentworth improves on acquaintance, do not you, Miss Elliot?” enquired Mrs. Clay.

“Indeed, Penelope. One would never mistake him for a lowly sailor now. He is certainly a gentleman by his appearance; what a difference money can make.”

“And in agreeable manners and conversation, he is altogether a perfect companion,” replied Mrs. Clay.

Elizabeth studied her friend intently. “I was not aware that you spoke to Captain Wentworth last night.”

“I did not, but I saw you engaged in conversation with him several times. Indeed, Miss Elliot, it seemed to me as if he were particularly seeking you out. It quite put your cousin's nose out of joint. Elizabeth is gathering admirers by the dozens, is she not, Sir Walter?”

Elizabeth smirked at the hints Mrs. Clay was making even though she was not quite so sure herself that she had gained such admiration from either the Captain or her cousin, Mr. William Elliot. Her sister Anne put herself forward far too often to talk to those gentlemen, she thought.

Sir Walter put down his paper upon the chaise longue. “Captain Wentworth is a well-looking man, one whom I would not be ashamed to be seen with anywhere. A degree lower or two than I
would usually tolerate, but his style is good, and he is less weather beaten than his sister, Mrs. Croft, whom I declare has the complexion to outstrip a mail coach. I daresay the Admiral sees something to esteem in such a square, upright sort, but I like a woman to be less vigorous in her appearance.”

“At least we have been able to escape their acquaintance here in Bath, Father,” said Elizabeth. “They've found their own level amongst those odd-looking sailors, I am glad to say. Thank heaven, for I'm certain our cousin Lady Dalrymple would be embarrassed by such a connection.”

“Quite so!” Sir Walter exclaimed. “Still, it is something of a disappointment, I confess, that the Crofts, as my tenants who have all the advantages of presently residing in our family home, should not have a better appearance. A lady's complexion should be as pale as porcelain, and as fine.”

Anne heard this in dismay. “Mrs. Croft is tanned because she has been at sea with her husband. They are devoted to one another, and share their life together like no other couple I know.”

“Well, I should hate to see a daughter of mine succumb to such abuse,” Sir Walter declared, “though perhaps a catch of twenty-five thousand pounds might be well worth going to sea for, wouldn't you say so, Mrs. Clay?” He paused in order for them to laugh at his joke before returning to his newspaper.

“Though Captain Wentworth may have made his fortune, we must remember ‘new money' does not allow for the same privileges that we are afforded,” Elizabeth remarked, “or permit society's doors to open. He must be aware that he will never be fully admitted to the upper echelons. And the Crofts hardly assist him in both manner and mode. Such hideous fashions I never did see in my life. Do, however, send them my best regards, Anne, next time you see them.”

“Oh yes, I know what's due to my tenant,” said Sir Walter.
“Say I shall call soon, though I am sure they will not expect more than my card.”

Anne's anxiety increased, but she could not help thinking that if her father had not been such a spendthrift, Captain Wentworth's amiable sister and her worthy husband, Admiral Croft, would not be ensconced at Kellynch Hall and paying them rent. In the circumstances they had been utterly thoughtful and discreet, a fact her father did not even consider.

Anne promptly turned away to cover her discomfiture. There was a knock at the door; she sat down, her heart in her mouth. When the servant entered she held her breath to hear the announcement she'd been longing for.

“Mr. Elliot,” were the words she heard instead, and to her consternation, her cousin came into the room to greet them all cordially and take the seat next to hers. Anne remonstrated with herself, for she considered her behaviour quite ridiculous. She must remain calm. After all, another five minutes or even an hour in the scheme of things would hardly count. She had managed to wait for nearly nine years. If she had to, she could wait another nine!

“I've brought that book of poems I was telling you about,” Mr. Elliot said, proffering a leather bound volume. “I have marked one in particular I think you will enjoy.”

Anne's spirits sank on reading the love poem, only recalling how much Lady Russell had hoped for a match between herself and Mr. Elliot.

“Do let us have our share in the poem,” demanded Elizabeth. “Anne, read it aloud.”

“Allow me,” Mr. Elliot insisted, and with looks only for the girl at his side, he started to read with feeling.

Anne only heard the rain drumming against the long floor-length windows. She folded her hands in her lap, resisting the
urge to pleat the fine white muslin of her gown under her fingers as she waited.

Another knock on the front door was heard. Anne was trapped with Mr. Elliot; it was impossible to move. She listened. Voices were distinguished, a man's deep tones. Elizabeth was talking, Anne could not be sure. The click of heels rapidly ascending the stone staircase heralded their visitor. And then all of a sudden Captain Wentworth was there waiting for her father. Anne felt the flicker of Frederick's eyes upon hers for just a moment.

When Sir Walter and Captain Wentworth left the room, it was impossible to avoid the enquiring looks of Elizabeth, Mrs. Clay, and Mr. Elliot, who had not missed Captain Wentworth's request or the way he'd looked at Anne.

“Do you know why the Captain wishes to speak to my father, Anne?” barked Elizabeth, her foot tapping impatiently. “He seemed very particular in his address.”

Anne heard the hostility in her sister's voice, and felt the charge of all that she implied. All three straightened in their seats; the only sound came from the ticking of the elegant clock on the mantelshelf.

Anne dared to say the words she had only dreamed of uttering out loud. “We are to be married. Captain Wentworth and I are engaged.”

“Engaged!” Elizabeth's laugh tinkled like the little brass bell upon the Pembroke table at her side. “Anne, you always leap to the wildest imaginings. Besides, he's already promised to another!”

Anne noted the amused expressions of her accusers, glimpsed the spiteful gleam in their eyes.

“Why, you must know that he's in love with one of the Musgrove girls,” continued Elizabeth. “What's her name, that girl
who fell off the Cobb at Lyme? She laughs too much, and her hair is too outré for words. Anne, she is a good deal younger and prettier than you; it's common knowledge that Captain Wentworth is to marry her!”

For an instant, Anne's old fears revived until sense finally prevailed. “You mean Louisa, I suppose, but I can assure you that there is no love in the case, whatever might formerly have been presumed.”

As she calmly repeated her news, Anne watched their faces change from stupefied astonishment to a realisation of the truth. The air vibrated with seething emotion kept under regulation. Elizabeth's face turned white with anger, her eyes narrowing as her mouth twitched with indignation, but not another word was spoken.

Congratulation, she had not expected, but this silence, the sense of resentment, was unforeseen. In the next moment, Elizabeth turned away with cold unconcern to resume her conversation as if Anne did not exist. And when Mr. Elliot and Mrs. Clay exchanged glances, his disappointment etched plainly on his features, she could not bear it a moment longer. It was too much to stay in the room. Making her escape, Anne waited, listening to the murmur of voices coming from the library.

“Frederick, is it true you are really here at last?”
mused Anne, hoping that all was going well behind the closed doors.
“There have been so many misunderstandings. The expectation that you were to marry Louisa truly broke my heart. But, in the end, your beautiful letter changed everything. Your heartfelt words I will treasure forever. ‘You pierce my soul,' you declared; ‘I have loved none but you.' After waiting for so long, I cannot believe I deserve such happiness.”

After their marriage they planned to stay a while with Frederick's brother and his wife in Shropshire. Just thinking of Edward Wentworth took Anne back to the time she'd become
acquainted with his sailor brother. It was summer when they had first met. Anne was nineteen, extremely pretty, gentle and modest. At an age when she was beginning to go out into society, Monkford, a market town within walking distance of Anne's home at Kellynch, provided much entertainment in the way of shopping, the monthly balls at the Assembly Rooms, and attendance at the parish church.

Anne first spied Lieutenant Wentworth across the aisle. He commanded her attention by his dark, good looks, framed as he was against a vase of country flowers, and by his air that was striking in its confidence. She knew immediately he must be the curate's brother, and on being introduced, her first impressions were confirmed. He was a most cordial gentleman with pleasing manners and address.

At the Assembly Ball on the following Wednesday, Lieutenant Wentworth wasted no time in presenting himself. Anne stood with her friend Lady Russell, watching her sister Elizabeth surrounded by gentlemen.