Jane Austen Made Me Do It (6 page)

“May I have the next dance, Miss Elliot?”

Anne readily assented, but she couldn't have been more surprised. Elizabeth was regarded as the beauty, and she couldn't think why he had singled her out. It wasn't that Anne was never asked to dance. Indeed, Charles Musgrove from Uppercross seemed to increasingly enjoy her company. It was just that Frederick Wentworth was so extraordinarily different, quite unlike anyone Anne had ever met before. She felt overawed by his intelligence, spirit, and brilliance, but sensing her unease, he took pains to draw her out.

“It is so kind of you to take pity on a fellow who has not had a dance these last twelve months. I confess being at sea for so long has made me forget how much I've missed a ball.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lieutenant Wentworth, but I assure
you there are young ladies enough here this evening who will only be too glad to take pity on you. There is no one quite like an unknown gentleman coming into a neighbourhood to inspire fellow feeling.”

Lieutenant Wentworth smiled. “But, I should not be so grateful to them as I am to you, Miss Elliot. Your pity is the only compassion I wish for, your commiseration the only kindness I desire.”

Anne did not know how to reply, and was thankful when new partners separated them. She knew that he would not ask her again especially when she observed him dancing with Amy Parfitt. Anne felt she had not been lively enough or said anything witty, she'd only blushed like a schoolgirl.

A garden party at the rectory brought them together again. The curate liked providing opportunities for his parishioners to mingle, and besides, he'd observed the way his brother had been taken with Miss Elliot, hearing him drop her name more than once into the conversation. Anne made an early appearance to see if she could help, and to bring a basket of roses from Kellynch. She could see the marquee but there was no one about when she walked into the walled garden. It promised to be a beautiful day. Lances of sunlight speared through the canopies of boughs, highlighting pink brick and rambling honeysuckle but making violet shadows on the green lawn still wet with dew. A few cloth-covered tables were already set out. Anne was placing her basket when she heard a voice call out behind her.

“Miss Elliot, forgive me for not greeting you sooner, but I'm afraid I've rather had my hands full.”

Lieutenant Wentworth advanced bearing plates of cake and thinly sliced bread and butter.

“Oh, do let me help,” cried Anne, rushing forth to relieve him, glad to do something to cover her confusion. Just seeing him again overset all her feelings.

“We're all hands on deck in the kitchen,” he continued. “Mrs. Badcock's fairly cooked herself out with a battery of buns and cakes, and though I can slice a loaf to within a sail's breadth, I must admit to being all at sea with their display.”

Anne laughed. “I'd be happy to arrange slices of cake, or anything at all! Show me the way.”

The curate was rather shocked to find the baronet's daughter in his kitchen but she protested against being shooed out. Anne took pleasure in selecting the prettiest floral china and deciding what must go where, and then she and Lieutenant Wentworth took everything out into the garden to cover it all carefully with snowy cloths before the guests arrived.

“I was rather hoping you might help me with something else later on,” he said, as they both took the ends of a tablecloth between them. “I have a feeling that your particular talents will be needed.”

Anne couldn't imagine what he meant, though she expressed her willingness to be of help.

“I noticed when we were in church last Sunday how you kept some of the noisier children amused with pencils and paper. I confess; it was your gentle way with them that impressed me. You seem able to make them do as you wish with the smallest effort.”

“Idle hands are often mischievous ones. I find if the children are occupied, it follows they are no trouble. Their contentment had little to do with me.”

“You are too modest, Miss Elliot. I've seen how your particular methods work on the most troublesome case. I am certain you could persuade anyone to anything. Indeed, no one could be safe from the charms of Miss Anne Elliot.”

Anne could not decide what he meant nor did she know how to answer. Smoothing the corner of the cloth with her fingers, she avoided looking up directly at the face she knew was scrutinising
hers. “Lieutenant Wentworth, I fear you greatly exaggerate my abilities, and I own, I do not quite know what to say.”

“Just promise that you will assist me. The fact is that my brother has put me in charge of the running races for the children this afternoon. I admit, I'd rather face a whole fleet of the French Navy than a gaggle of small children.”

Anne laughed. “I haven't much experience at organising races, but for my own part, I must say that the thought is not such a terrifying one compared to fighting old Boney.”

“Thank you, Miss Elliot, I knew you'd come to my rescue.”

Anne was thankful that she spied her basket of roses just then, giving her an opportunity to be busy. She set about snipping the stems and arranging them in a vase under the watchful eye of her friend. They were alone, but the garden was alive with the music of soft air murmuring in the trees. Birds chirruped in a larkspur sky, and the sun's warmth drew the fragrance from the petals blushed with pink to match her cheeks.

“I love to watch someone else working,” said Lieutenant Wentworth, coming closer to observe Anne's movements.

He enjoyed watching her dainty fingers fly. The scissors flashed, a snip here, a tweak there; Miss Elliot was most accomplished. A stirring breeze snatched at her sprigged muslin, outlining her pretty figure and playfully shaking her dark curls.

Anne fixed her eyes on the base of the silver vase where the sun winked in a bright star. Her mind was not entirely on the task. She knew that he was staring, and when she looked up his penetrating expression was entirely her own.

“Ouch!” she exclaimed, as the thorn pierced her flesh, at once wishing she'd been paying attention. And when he rushed to her side, she was mortified. He would think she'd pricked her finger on purpose.

He took her tiny hand. Anne felt the warmth and strength of
his long fingers pressed against her own. Her breath quickened. A bead, like a ruby red jewel, spurted to the surface of her skin. She eased her hand from his grip to bring her finger to her lips knowing that his eyes were on her mouth. Just a small scratch, the flow of blood was easily stemmed, but not before Lieutenant Wentworth took her hand again to inspect the wound. Anne regarded the eyes fringed in black lashes deep in concentration. He seemed to be holding her hand forever. Nevertheless, she was sorry when he finally released it.

“I hope it's not too painful. I'm sorry, Miss Elliot, I wished you to enjoy today so much.”

“It does not hurt. In any case, nothing could spoil the pleasure I'm having. I thank you kindly.” Anne felt she'd said too much, and, blushing again, made a move to walk back towards the house.

At that precise moment, the curate, accompanied by his first guests, Elizabeth and Lady Russell, came bustling in through the gate. Anne turned, immediately hiding her hand behind her back almost as if she imagined they could see the imprints of Lieutenant Wentworth's fingers upon her own.

“Lady Russell, Miss Elliot, here is the delightful Miss Anne and my brother to keep you company. Miss Anne has been working all morning, above and beyond the call of duty, I might add,” said Edward Wentworth.

“I can quite imagine!” Elizabeth cast her eye knowingly over the pair. Their close proximity did not escape her observation. “I don't doubt that my sister makes herself agreeable at every opportunity. And, she has always been very much at home in the kitchen.”

The curate moved away to greet the procession of villagers now straggling through the gate, and Anne was grateful for the flurry of activity. Neighbours, friends, and children started to fill
the garden. Maids bearing pitchers of cool ginger beer or orange wine proffered liquid refreshment.

“Thank goodness, there are the Musgroves arriving. At least there will be one respectable family I can talk to even if they are only farmers,” Elizabeth declared as she watched the gate. “I cannot imagine what my father will have to say when he witnesses the rabble all making for the tea tent with indecent haste.”

“Anne, you will accompany us to greet the Musgroves.” Lady Russell issued her request as a command. Anne felt her cool reserve, sensing her disapproval of the young lieutenant.

Anne saw Lieutenant Wentworth watching them both, and saw the look of disgust cross his face before he turned away with the excuse of going to help his brother. She was embarrassed by her sister's words and Lady Russell's behaviour. The idea that Lieutenant Wentworth might think she shared similar views and manners distressed Miss Elliot greatly. When she heard that the races were due to commence in five minutes, she excused herself to find a quiet part of the garden where she could hide. She was sure he would never ask her now. Sitting down upon a stone seat, Anne could not bear the idea that he would not seek her help. When she saw him moments later, she could not have been more surprised.

“You've forgotten your promise to me, Miss Elliot,” Lieutenant Wentworth said as he regarded her, his head on one side. “I've been waiting for you.”

Anne felt her cheeks grow warmer. “I did not think.” It was impossible to continue.

He came to sit by her side. “How is your finger?”

“Oh, perfectly mended. It is of no consequence, I thank you.” Anne wanted to say something, to explain her sister's outburst, and the bad manners of her friend, but how could she possibly justify their behaviour?

“Please, Miss Elliot,” he said gently, “if you feel well enough, the children are waiting.”

Anne recalled the gleeful faces of the children, remembered those first feelings of happiness as she and Lieutenant Wentworth had truly taken the first steps to falling in love on that sunny, sparkling day against the backdrop of the green garden, the red-roofed rectory with its barley-twist chimneys, and the golden tower of the church rising above the cheerful scene, framed in her memory like a beautiful painting.

Summer had run its course blazing in light and life as they'd rapidly and deeply fallen in love. Such joy and felicity when Frederick proposed Anne had never known before, and such pain and heartache when she'd withdrawn were emotions she recalled with aching clarity. Persuaded by Sir Walter and Lady Russell that to become involved with a young man who had no money and no connections would be an action of folly had been the reason and their undoing. Anne had broken off the engagement. Acting with a sense of duty and obedience to her friend and father, nevertheless, Anne consequently believed that she'd been right to fall in love with Frederick Wentworth and wrong to deny their future together. When her friend Charles Musgrove proposed later on, she refused him, and when he turned to her younger sister Mary, she knew her instincts and her feelings had been right. Anne was sure she would never have found happiness with Charles. She had only ever loved Frederick Wentworth.

Waiting. Anne considered the years of waiting. For almost nine years she had waited, believing all hope was gone. Anne heard the creak of the door, saw the handle turning, and there at last stood her very own Captain. The sounds that greeted her ears were amicable enough. At least her father was addressing Frederick civilly, but she supposed that would be inevitable whatever the outcome. Anne came forward, but Sir Walter did not. A vivid
flash of burgundy sleeve, a crisply starched stock, and the discomposed face above it, florid and severe, did not reassure her. Her father withdrew and the door shut fast. Again, Anne had not expected congratulation. No doubt, her father's pride had suffered during the interview, for even he would have recognised the reversal in their fortunes as Captain Wentworth divulged all the particulars of his newly acquired wealth that now gave him the undoubted right to offer for Anne's hand.

But there was something more. Captain Wentworth looked quite as grave as her father had done. His cheeks were suffused with pink. Frederick wore an expression Anne would never forget; the very same countenance she had witnessed when her father had given the young lieutenant short shrift all those years ago. Perhaps all was now lost, after all. Had the Captain changed his mind? Anne's heartbeat quickened, she felt the threat of tears prick behind her eyelids. Waiting to hear the worst, a million thoughts rushed through her mind.

Captain Wentworth tried his best to compose himself. He had known exactly how Sir Walter would react, so why did he feel so upset? Anne's father was hardly going to welcome him or his proposal with open arms, but his manner had still been very condescending. Frederick Wentworth had repressed every nerve in his body, had concealed every urge to behave in a manner unbecoming to a gentleman in order to maintain the equilibrium. He did not know how he'd managed it under the provocation, but he'd maintained a calm and collected disposition.

Anne could bear it no longer. Rushing forward, instinctively clasping her hands together as if in silent prayer, her eyes beseeched him to speak even if she could not utter a word.

“I am in need of fresh air and a change of scene.” Miss Elliot heard the clipped tones, his voice strained with emotion. Captain Wentworth gestured towards the staircase. Anne descended,
each step feeling more uncertain. By the time she'd fetched her bonnet and pelisse she dreaded knowing her fate. At the front door he snapped open his umbrella and led Anne out onto the wide pavement. Only conscious of the thundering water dripping off the umbrella and gurgling in the gutters, she struggled with thoughts too unpleasant to bear. As they walked towards Belmont, where they began the descent into town, Anne observed the Captain's struggle expressed in every feature.