"Not at all, Mr. Wentworth. I'm sure we shall manage quite well without you."

Anne Elliot could not restrain a blush at her sister's ungracious comment. Why Elizabeth persisted in inviting the local curate to dinners and card parties, in the name of bowing to propriety, when she never bothered to treat him with courtesy--much less respect--was something the younger woman would never understand. How she wished their mother were still alive! She would never dream of being anything but welcoming to any person of respectability, no matter what their station in life. But Elizabeth had been serving as mistress of Kellynch Hall for the past six years, and Anne was forced to admit that nothing was the same.

As the family proceeded out of the church, Anne couldn't resist casting an apologetic look back at the new curate. His eyes caught hers long enough to signal his awareness and acceptance of her unspoken apology before returning to the parishioners waiting to speak to him.

"What a stroke of luck, that we won't be bothered with Mr. Wentworth's presence this Tuesday. It's so tiresome having to invite him simply because he's a clergyman, despite his common birth," Elizabeth commented as the carriage pulled away.

"Quite right, my dear, quite right. I dare say he doesn't even appreciate receiving an invitation from you as he ought. Indeed, declining to attend simply because of a brother shows he does not, for what can a Frederick Wentworth be compared to Sir Walter and Miss Elizabeth Elliot, of Kellynch?"

Anne could not resist attempting a reply, despite knowing full well that neither of her relations would give credence to her opinion. "Father, you must allow for the fact that he has not seen his brother for many months; of course he would wish to catch up on old news. I'm sure Mr. Wentworth is perfectly sensible of the consideration Elizabeth has shown him, and means to make up for his inability to attend this particular evening when he can." Of course, she thought, he seems a man of too much sense to be unaware that my sister's invitations spring solely from awareness of her duty and therefore show no consideration, and to feel any regret in being unable to attend.

It pained Anne to admit it, but ever since her mother's death, her remaining relations seemed to have forgotten all Lady Elliot's good sense and breeding, instead becoming increasingly shallow and filled with their own importance.

"Really, Anne! How could you take his part against your own family? A lowly curate, refusing an invitation from a baronet's daughter, for a mere sailor! What insolence. He ought to feel all the honour of my notice."

"But, Elizabeth, if you do not wish him to attend in any case, why are you complaining about his refusal?"

"It's not that I want his presence, Anne, but his declining the invitation is an insult to the entire family! Surely even you should be able to see that!"

Anne merely sighed and resolved to make no further comments on the subject until she could discuss it with her mother's good friend, whose opinion she was sure would coincide with her own.

Lady Russell had known Lady Elliot for many years, and upon the latter's death had appointed herself to the role of foster-mother for her friend's middle child. Elizabeth seemed determined to adopt her father's foolishness, and the youngest, Mary, found the development of her character entrusted to a school; but Anne, who had managed to leave her school in possession of nearly as much sense as she'd had upon entering, had turned out to be her mother's daughter in every respect.

"You are very right to feel that Mr. Wentworth, as a man of respectability in his own right as well as that of his position as clergyman, has a right to be included in general social gatherings of this nature," she said the next morning upon being applied to for her opinion on the subject. "It is of course wrong of Elizabeth to be so dismissing of him. But my dear Anne, you also have to realise that she does have a point--the Wentworths are of sufficiently inferior birth to make the Elliots' notice a sign of condescension on your part."

"I must say, Lady Russell, that in such a case as this, I can see no disrespect in Mr. Wentworth's refusal. After all, what claims do the Elliots have on his time when compared with that of a long-absent brother?"

"Oh! I don't mean to imply that in this instance Mr. Wentworth was in the wrong; but in the general way of things, one must concede that his disinclination to attend your family's dinners and parties would be ungrateful. Under the circumstances, however, he can and ought to be forgiven, as his brother is only to arrive that same day. I suppose we ought to call on them before the week is out, and welcome Mr. Wentworth's brother to the neighborhood."

"I'm glad you feel so, Lady Russell. I do wish Elizabeth would agree as well, but I suppose one can't have everything."

Lady Russell smiled at her young friend. "No, indeed. And perhaps it is best if Elizabeth does not accompany us on the visit, wouldn't you say, Anne?"

Tuesday's card party passed uneventfully. Elizabeth had the comfort of knowing that her drawing rooms would not be cheapened by the presence of mere clergymen, while Anne felt all the joy that an evening spent in a manner unpleasant to her with people she did not care for could provide.

On Thursday, Lady Russell took Anne to call on Mr. Wentworth and his brother. As they were drawing near the parsonage, they caught sight of the young curate together with another gentleman, walking in the same direction. Lady Russell had the carriage stopped as it pulled up to the pair.

"Mr. Wentworth, we were just coming to call on you," she proclaimed as the ladies alighted.

"Lady Russell, I'm honoured. May I present my brother, Commander Wentworth? Frederick, this is Lady Russell and Miss Anne Elliot. Please, ladies, come inside and join us for a cup of tea."

The company made their way indoors; the curate showed the ladies into the parlor and ordered refreshment before turning his attention back to his visitors.

"My brother has just returned to England after several months at sea; I understand he made quite a name for himself in action off St. Domingo."

"Nonsense, Edward, nothing so extraordinary as all that. Ladies, please ignore anything my brother may say on the subject; his impartiality is questionable," the younger man responded good-naturedly.

Frederick Wentworth was a charming young man of about two-and-twenty, with a pleasing countenance and friendly manners. He was persuaded to relay a couple of anecdotes from his times onboard ship, which he did cheerfully, choosing stories which focused on his fellow-sailors rather than ones in which he was the hero. Anne found herself quite enjoying his tales of navy life, and admired the natural modesty he displayed in passing up the opportunity to show himself off before the ladies.

As Lady Russell began to discuss what most needed to be done for the local poor with Mr. Wentworth, Anne soon found herself alone in conversation with his brother.

"Miss Elliot, I understand that my return prevented my brother's being able to attend your family's party the other night. Ought I to apologise for my untimely arrival?"

"Not at all, Commander. It is only natural that Mr. Wentworth would prefer to spend the first evening of your visit at home; his absence was perfectly understandable."

"So I didn't cause a card table to be short of players? I am fortunate indeed to be spared the wrath of a young lady such as yourself, for ruining all her plans for a perfect party!"

Anne laughed. "I assure you, you have nothing to be concerned about. Indeed, although I cannot speak for my sister, I for one am more grateful to you than otherwise. The altered number of guests necessitated a rearrangement of the card tables, which allowed me to avoid playing myself for much of the evening."

"You are not fond of cards, then?"

"No, I am not; I would much rather spend an evening in intelligent conversation, or music. Cards hold little interest for me, I fear."

He smiled. "In that case, Miss Elliot, I shall remember to tell my brother not to include you in the guest list, in the unlikely event of his throwing a card party himself during my stay."

"I should be most obliged to you, Commander Wentworth!"

The young people's laughter drew Lady Russell's attention, and she decided their call had lasted long enough. The ladies said their good-byes, and returned to Lady Russell's carriage.

Elizabeth was waiting for them when they arrived back at Kellynch, immediately taking Anne to task for not having been available to accompany her sister on her calls that morning.

"Elizabeth, I had asked Anne to come with me today; I felt it only proper for Mr. Wentworth's brother to be welcomed to the neighborhood. Had I not already known you to be engaged to call elsewhere, I would have included you in the visit. As it is, though, I thought there was no reason to ask since I knew you to be unavailable."

"Well! Lady Russell, there can of course have been no question of my coming along today. But really, I do feel you ought to have asked."

"Of course, my dear, you are quite correct. Next time your sister and I go to call on Mr. Wentworth, I assure you I shall be expecting the honour of your accompaniment as well."

Lady Russell and Anne exchanged amused glances as Elizabeth spluttered, "Really, I...you must...I of course didn't mean I could come, merely that I should have been asked!" and flounced out of the room before the older woman could trick her into anything else.

"Oh, Lady Russell, that was too cruel! You know Elizabeth would never call on the curate unless absolutely unavoidable; it's unfair to tease her like that."

"Yes, but there are times one can not resist having a little fun with her." Anne tried unsuccessfully to stifle her giggles at the memory of her sister's reaction, then gave up entirely. She was still laughing as she bid farewell to her mother's friend minutes later.

Anne missed the presence of Lady Russell considerably when the Wentworths returned the call a few days later. As Anne performed the introductions, Elizabeth and Sir Walter greeted the young men civilly, then proceeded to continue their conversation with Miss Morgan, a neighbour whose birth they considered nearly high enough to make her worthy of the condescension they showed in noticing her, completely ignoring their other visitors in the process. Anne felt herself unequal to the task which fell to her, of entertaining the remaining callers by herself while seeming not to notice the slight being paid them by her relations. She bravely made the attempt, helped along by Mr. Wentworth, who knew how much consideration to expect from the elder Miss Elliot, and his brother, who was not disinclined to spend more time in conversation with the younger, yet she could still wish for Lady Russell's presence to reduce the necessity of carrying the principle part of the burden herself.

Mercifully, the gentlemen showed no desire to turn the call into a long one, and soon they rose to depart. As they took leave, Commander Wentworth asked Anne if they would be attending the upcoming assembly.

"Why, of course, sir. I hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing you and your brother there as well."

"Indeed, we wouldn't miss it. May I take this occasion to request the first dances, Miss Elliot, if you are not otherwise engaged?"

Anne blushed faintly. "I am not yet engaged, and it would be an honour."

He bowed again, wished her and her family well, and the brothers departed, leaving Anne to the scornful gaze of her sister, who had overheard this exchange and was less than pleased.

Anne, for her part, simply excused herself to take a walk in the park. She wanted some time alone to consider her new acquaintance and to attempt to understand her reactions during the past few days; she felt she was not sufficiently composed to face her sister's certain disapproval, and wanted to examine her own feelings before returning to company.

Though but nineteen, Anne bore little resemblance to the fashionable young ladies of her station in life. Although she was accomplished enough in other respects, and a particularly fine musician, she had somehow failed to learn to take pleasure in flirtation. Her naturally gentle character was given a more serious turn by the death of her mother and dearest friend when she was but fourteen; Lady Russell's companionship and guidance were invaluable to Anne, but could never make up for the loss of Lady Elliot. Like most young ladies, Anne enjoyed attending balls, but her pleasure arose more from the music and dancing, and a genuine fondness for society, than the number of admirers she may have or her dancing partners' incomes.

Yet of late, she frequently found her thoughts drifting towards a certain sailor. He was not uncommonly handsome, perhaps, but his lively manner made it easy for one to forget that. He had an openness about him which caused Anne to feel as if their acquaintance were of a much longer and more intimate standing than a mere two calls could provide. She was forced to admit to herself that her thoughts of the upcoming assembly had consisted primarily of wondering if he might ask her to dance. Fortunately, the fact that she had never considered his doing so in advance, much less for the first dances, soon convinced her that she was not yet in any danger; upon this comforting reflection, she returned to the house and was able to join in the conversation with her sister's latest caller with little embarrassment.

The day of the assembly finally arrived, and Anne had difficulty deciding whether she felt more excited at the prospect of seeing Commander Wentworth again, or nervous. She had not spoken with him since the day he had called at Kellynch along with his brother, and had only seen him at church. While she was as pleased as any woman at being secure in the knowledge of not lacking a partner for the beginning of the evening's dancing, she could yet wish that she had had both time and opportunity to become better acquainted with him before the occasion arose. For some reason, she felt as if that evening would prove to be of great importance in her life. But of course, that was silly. It was just an assembly, one of many, with little to distinguish it from the others she had attended.

She refused to consider why she dressed with extra care that evening.

As the Elliots arrived at the assembly rooms, Anne found herself wishing to determine whether or not her newest acquaintance had already arrived; to prevent herself from looking for him, she immediately sought out Lady Russell and began speaking of anything but what was most on her mind. Lady Russell was amused that her young friend would be wishing to discuss The Maid of Neidpath with the prospect of an evening of dancing before her, but then, she reflected, Anne had always been different from other young ladies. They were deep in a discussion of the moral implications of the work, and Anne had succeeded in forgetting her earlier confusion, when suddenly they looked up to find the Wentworths approaching.

"Why, good evening, Mr. Wentworth, Commander Wentworth! And how are you enjoying your stay in the neighborhood?"

"I like it very much, Lady Russell, thank you. Very much indeed."

Anne realised that his gaze was directed towards her, and hinted at a seriousness that his tone denied; struggling to prevent the blush she felt was imminent, she began studying a blemish in the floor with great determination.

"And well he should! I tell you, Lady Russell, my brother has hardly spent an evening at home since he arrived. It's been one invitation after another; one would almost think Frederick was the permanent resident, not I!" The curate laughed.

"Indeed, everyone has been most welcoming. But I must own that I have been looking forward to this assembly with great anticipation--after all, tonight I can spend time with all my new acquaintance, not just one or two families."

"Yes, Commander, there is something more satisfying in a large gathering such as this than in a typical private party. Would you not agree, Anne?"

Realising that she had been addressed, Anne attempted to remember what it was Lady Russell had been saying; for while unusually attentive to all Commander Wentworth's words, she had found his silences to be excellent opportunities for her to try to understand and gain control of her emotions, and therefore had not been following the conversation as a whole. Assuming that her friend was merely seeking confirmation for an opinion on which they were in agreement, she managed a vague "Oh, yes, certainly, Lady Russell" with no idea what she was agreeing to.

By that time, the musicians had gathered, and Commander Wentworth turned to Anne. "It looks as if the dancing is about to begin, Miss Elliot. I do hope you have not forgotten our engagement for the first?"

Anne felt more than saw Lady Russell's surprise. Wishing to avoid any awkward questions in public, she quickly answered him in the negative, and allowed him to lead her to the set that was forming.

Although mere minutes before, she had been near dreading the prospect of standing opposite him for so long, his cheerfulness soon put her at ease, and before long they were carrying on a quite lively conversation on all manner of topics. She knew not which she enjoyed more, hearing more of his tales of navy life, or exchanging their opinions on books. The former was all the more fascinating due to her lack of prior knowledge of the subject; every revelation was new to Anne. The latter was, of course, a conversation in which she could take an active part as well, and the way he had of professing opinions which were not his own if necessary in order to promote deeper discussion amused her. Between the two, and the dance itself, Anne was surprised and regretful when the music ended and he had to lead her back to her friends.

Lady Russell and Sir Walter were engaged in a discussion concerning the benefits of changing the Elliot livery to a colour more complementary to Sir Walter's complexion in order to show him to better advantage when accompanied by the footmen, in which debate they had just been joined by Elizabeth, when Commander Wentworth brought Anne over. Lady Russell greeted them calmly enough, but Sir Walter was disappointed that one of his daughters, even though it was only Anne, had opened a dance with a mere sailor. Never being given to disguising his feelings, his reception of the gentleman was rather cool. Elizabeth simply ignored them both. A quarter of an hour's attempted conversation with the group, assisted only by Lady Russell and occasionally his partner, was enough to convince Commander Wentworth that it would be best for him to seek entertainment elsewhere among his acquaintance for the present.

Happily for Anne, she was soon spared her relations' comments by the application for her hand which was made by another, more acceptable, gentleman, and she gratefully rejoined the dancers.

Being a lovely young woman in addition to well-liked, Anne never lacked for partners, and she enjoyed the evening tremendously. Its appeal may have been increased by her dancing a second time with her newest acquaintance, but she was also afraid his attentions may lead to a more vocal censure from her father and sister once the evening was over. And there was also the possibility that what seemed to be particular attentions were in fact merely the result of his being fond of society yet knowing relatively few people in the neighbourhood. However, Anne had resolved not to worry about either until the assembly had ended, determined not to let her current pleasure be spoiled by such thoughts.

The morning following the assembly, Anne awoke slowly. She could not remember what she had been dreaming, but it must have been pleasant, as the effects lingered. Unwilling to wake completely for fear of destroying her mood, she drowsily decided there was no reason to get out of bed just yet, and instead burrowed deeper into the warm covers.

The next thing she knew, sunlight was streaming into her face through the now-bared windows, and a maid was setting a breakfast tray on a nearby writing table.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Anne. Miss Elliot had requested breakfast in her room this morning, and Mrs. Wardle thought you might like the same."

"That sounds lovely, Alice, thank you."

As she ate, Anne reflected on the previous evening. She had to admit that, despite her initial confusion, the time spent with Commander Wentworth was by far the most enjoyable part of the ball for her. His dancing was as lively as his conversation, and he excelled at both. She could no longer pretend to herself that she wasn't looking forward to their next meeting, and wondering when that might occur. Contrary to her own expectations, on the way home Anne found that, rather than censuring, her sister and father seemed content merely to ignore him as a topic of conversation--and that, as she was tolerably accustomed to their ignoring herself, it bothered her but little. Lady Russell had always treated him politely, and her approval meant more to Anne in any case.

Anne wanted to discuss the assembly, but knew that her closest friend preferred not to receive callers the morning after a ball; since she did not wish to reveal her growing interest in Commander Wentworth to anyone else, Anne chose to wander through the park at Kellynch instead, and simply enjoy the beautiful day. Her confusion was such that she soon felt a need to talk with someone, however, and for lack of a suitable confidant, she made her way to her mother's favourite grove.

Since Lady Elliot's death, Anne had taken to retreating to the grove which held so many memories whenever she needed peace in which to think; one day she realised that her mother's presence felt so strong that she had been speaking her troubles aloud, pouring her heart out to the one person who had always made her feel special, and loved. It felt silly at the time, but once she discovered that talking to her memory of her mother actually made her feel better, she began doing so more frequently. Upon reflection, she knew that it was better for her not to talk to Lady Russell on the current subject until she had had a chance to talk through matters alone, working out just what it was she felt for herself before trying to explain it to anyone else. And for that, the grove was the perfect setting.

"Mother, I wish more than ever that you were here still, and could give me your advice; I'm so confused, and the more I consider it, the more reluctant I am to turn to Lady Russell about this.

"You see...Mr. Wentworth--the new curate--has lately been enjoying a visit from his brother, a sailor. You would like Commander Wentworth, I think, Mother; he is cheerful, intelligent, kind, charming...well-read...a wonderful dancer....In many ways, he's like you; he makes me feel special--as Anne, not just as a Miss Elliot." Anne sighed. "And that is the problem, or part of it. I feel as if I have known him for a long time, when in reality we've only met on three occasions. He makes me laugh, he challenges my opinions and really listens to my explanations; he seems to take me seriously. I can not think of anybody I more enjoy being around, and while I can't be certain, especially so soon in our acquaintance, I think he may enjoy spending time with me as well. And I'm so afraid, Mother--I know not what to do, what to say, how to act! I want to get to know him better, but would not wish to seem too eager, or to lead him to believe I feel more than I do.

"Yet what do I feel? I cannot tell. All I know is that I want so badly for him to think well of me. Unfortunately, there are all too many reasons why he should not. You would not care, I know, but Elizabeth and Father think that, as a sailor of respectable, but not high, birth, his acquaintance is beneath us. Without you, they have grown so proud! Their opinion has not led them to say anything truly discourteous to him, but they are more inclined to ignore his presence than not. Why, even when he had just arrived in the neighborhood and his brother brought him to call on us, Elizabeth barely acknowledged the introduction! I know not how or why such a young man could consent to suffering their coldness for long. Still...it's so soon, and it scares me to think about, but I already feel that I will want him around for a long time to come--and I don't know how I would bear it if that were to become impossible due to the behaviour of my own relations!"

At this point Anne realised what she was saying, and blushed, despite knowing that no one could have heard her. "Listen to me, Mother--I sound like those silly husband-hunters whom I've always detested." She laughed shakily. "But that's how I feel. I don't know him very well, but it feels so right when we are together; I can't explain it any better than that.

"What would you suggest I do? I suspect you would say that I ought to get to know him better, and I agree. But how? I know Elizabeth would never invite the Wentworths outside of a large party, when failing to include the curate would be unthinkable even for her. Which means I can have no real opportunity for conversation of any depth with his brother, in such a context....I have no reason to expect them to call on us, and even in Lady Russell's company I cannot of course call on them with any regularity. If I am to see him, it will have to be by chance, which seems like such a risky thing on which to rely...." Another sigh.

Still, she knew what her mother's response would be--that it was better to wait and truly get to know the gentleman before developing any more lasting wishes, no matter how difficult that might be--and felt that it was indeed the best course of action. It held the additional benefit of giving Anne more time to be certain of both the nature of her feelings and their duration. While not at all given to "falling in love", Anne was afraid that perhaps what she felt for Wentworth would turn out to be a temporary attraction, and that she might discover too late that she did not wish to spend the rest of her life near him after all.

Satisfied that she had made the right decision, however difficult it might prove to be, Anne slowly returned to the house, determined not to let her preference become known until she felt more certain of it herself.

During the next couple of weeks, Anne rarely saw the Wentworths. They would occasionally cross paths in town, and of course at church, but most often there was time for little more than pleasantries before one party or the other was drawn away. She tried to console herself with the thought that such casual interaction was for the best, as it would give her emotions more time to settle into a more appropriate state, but she could not hide from herself the wish for more.

She forced herself to continue on with her normal activities, however, and sometimes was able to distract herself from the topic that was otherwise on her mind far too often for comfort. Anne was especially able to find pleasure in visiting a lifelong friend of hers, who was now married and had three adorable young children. Mrs. Parri was nine years older than Anne, yet they had always felt that the similarities in their characters and interests made the age difference negligible. Both were delighted when Catherine's husband decided to settle nearby rather than taking his bride to his native Wales, enabling them to continue the friendship.

One fine morning Anne's visit to her friend was interrupted by the two eldest children, who insisted on playing with their "Aunt Anne". It being a beautiful day, the group moved out into the park, where Catherine worked while watching her boys and her friend chasing each other around in some game or other.

While they were thus occupied, Mr. Parri received a visit from Frederick Wentworth. They completed their business together, then decided to head into the park themselves, so Wentworth could pay his respects to Mrs. Parri. Instead, all thoughts of his hostess flew out of his head as the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.

Anne, completely unaware that she was being observed, was running about and laughing with the boys, seeming a child again herself. Wisps of escaped hair were framing her face charmingly, and her cheeks were flushed with the exercise, her eyes sparkling in merriment. The sight of her took his breath away.

It wasn't until she had allowed the boys to tackle her and was lying on the ground struggling to regain her breath that Anne noticed the gentlemen's presence. Her colour deepened further, and she hastily scrambled to her feet, mumbling an apology for her lack of propriety.

"Not at all, my dear Miss Elliot, not at all," Mr. Parri interrupted. "It does these rascals good to get some of their energy run out, and I dare say both their nurse and Mrs. Parri were delighted to have someone else take on that task for once!"

Wentworth remained speechless, utterly transfixed by the scene he had just witnessed.

"Yes, indeed, it's nice to leave the running about to someone still young enough to do it; and Anne is always so wonderful with the children. They simply adore her."

Meanwhile, the young woman under discussion had quietly refused the boys' requests for another game, and sent them in to their nurse before seating herself next to her friend and demurely taking up a piece of work. She snuck a glance at Wentworth, then immediately wished she hadn't. He was still standing there with a shocked look on his face; she was certain he disapproved of her behaviour.

Disapproval was the furthest thing from his mind, however. On the contrary, he thought her playfulness was the most charming thing he could imagine, although he had not expected it of her. It was obvious that despite her habitually serious demeanor, Anne Elliot loved children, and they loved her. He found himself thinking what a wonderful mother she would make some day....

His mind was abruptly called away from that train of thought by his host's issuing him an invitation for dinner that evening.

"Hmm? Oh, no, unfortunately my brother and I are engaged elsewhere this evening. In fact, I really ought to be leaving, as I have business I must take care of first..." he answered, regretfully tearing his eyes and mind away from the young woman on whom they had remained fixed from the moment he entered the park.

Catherine had noticed his preoccupation, and a suspicion was beginning to form in her mind. "What a shame, Commander; we do hope you can join us on some other occasion. Indeed, perhaps I should ask you now--I have been thinking of holding a small dinner party next week, and have only to choose the day before sending out the invitations. Would next Thursday be convenient for you? I know it is the best night for Anne, and I should like it very much if you both were able to attend."

Wentworth's face brightened, and his voice was cheerful as he informed Mrs. Parri that he was indeed unengaged for that particular evening, and would be delighted at the invitation.

Anne gave her friend a questioning look; she knew of no plans for a party, and had been hoping for a quiet evening alone with her friend on the night in question. She was reluctant to say anything until she could do so privately, however, and Catherine was determined not to let her get that chance.

As soon as Wentworth had left, Catherine began energetically planning the menu and guest list, leaving her friend little chance to get in a word of her own. Finally Anne resigned herself to simply accepting Catherine's sudden change of plans, and took her leave.

The next day, she and Elizabeth both happened to be in the parlour when the Parris' invitation arrived. Her sister's response was subdued.

"Well! That little old Catherine Parri actually invited us, the Elliots of Kellynch, to a dinner! Really, Anne, I have never understood why you insist on spending time with her. Lucky thing I am already engaged, so the invitation can be easily declined; you shall simply say you are coming with me. How dreadful it would be, to spend an entire evening with such people! I can't bear to think what kind of people the guests must be; not an ounce of breeding among the lot, I'm quite certain!"

Thinking over the list of names her friend had mentioned, Anne would have privately been of the opinion that most of them had in fact considerably more breeding than certain others, were it not a betrayal of sisterly feeling. Under the circumstances, however, she simply remained silent and let her sister change the subject.

At last the day of the Parris' party arrived. Anne had decided to attend despite Elizabeth, citing as her reason the fact that Catherine had scheduled it for that evening specifically because Anne had no prior engagements, but she could not hide the truth from herself. She was ignoring her sister's request not because of Catherine, whom she could see almost any day she wished, but because it would be the first opportunity she might have for a real discussion with Commander Wentworth since the assembly. If, that is, she could overcome her embarrassment about their last meeting.

She was one of the first to arrive, and was quietly conversing with some other guests when the gentleman she'd been waiting for appeared. The Wentworths greeted their hosts, then the younger lost no time in approaching Anne's group. The conversation remained general, however, and Anne could not decide whether she felt more disappointed in not having an opportunity for a more private discussion, or relieved, since he could hardly say anything about her earlier behaviour in front of so many people. Either way, she was pleased to find him seated next to her when they went in to dinner.

Anne, who had never been much farther than London or Bath, was fascinated by Wentworth's descriptions of the exotic places he had been in the course of his time in the navy. She had to keep reminding herself to spend at least some part of the meal talking with Mr. Stephenson, seated on her other side. Directing all of her attention to Commander Wentworth, pleasant as it would be for the moment, could only raise those suspicions which she had determined to avoid; but it was a hard resolution to keep. By the time the ladies withdrew, Anne found herself grateful for the chance to relax, after having spent the first part of the evening concentrating on both her conversations with Wentworth and the necessity of not appearing to pay him particular attention.

When the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies, she almost immediately found herself being applied to for some music; Catherine had no intentions of accepting a refusal, so a few minutes later Anne was seated at the instrument. Upon finishing the song, she was pressed for another, and decided to play a rather lively piece by way of contrast. A few couples began dancing, so Anne followed that with another, not wishing to end their pleasure.

Catherine, however, was not content with the situation. She had noted with satisfaction that Commander Wentworth was not among the dancers, and decided to test her theory more directly. As the number was drawing to a close, she approached one of the other guests and requested her to take Miss Elliot's place at the pianoforte, so that she could have her turn dancing as well. The young lady readily agreed, and moved to relieve Anne as soon as the piece was over. Her hostess was pleased to see that her friend was soon approached by Commander Wentworth, and that the couple promptly joined the other dancers.

"I must say, Miss Elliot, you play exquisitely. It was quite a pleasure to hear you."

"You are too kind, sir. I am afraid my skills are not nearly as well-developed as I should like."

"On the contrary; I cannot recall the last time I heard such wonderful music. Admittedly," he added with a smile, "being onboard ship so much means I don't often have the opportunity to hear any music..."

"Oh, dear, how dreadful that must be! I confess I had not thought of that. I think I am glad I could not join the Navy, for I would not like having to live without frequent music."

"Yes, that is one of the disadvantages of the profession. However, I feel it makes me appreciate fine musicianship all the more, when I do hear it," he replied, with a warmth of expression that left no doubt of his meaning Anne's in particular.

She blushed, and he allowed her to change the subject to something more neutral. For the rest of the dance, they talked of music in general, concerts they had attended, and the regrettable lack of true appreciation for the art amongst those who were frequently most vocal in its praise.

Anne's hand was claimed for the next dance by another gentleman, and shortly thereafter the party began to break up. Elizabeth, angry that Anne had disobeyed a perfectly reasonable request to avoid the party, had denied her sister the use of the carriage for the evening. As the distance was not a great one, Anne had walked to her friend's, as was her custom; afterwards, however, she was waiting for the Parris' carriage to be readied for her use on the return trip when she heard a familiar voice telling Catherine it would be unnecessary.

"It is a lovely evening, still quite warm out, and it seems a shame to go to all that trouble for what would be such a short walk; if Miss Elliot has no objections, I would be happy to escort her back to Kellynch."

As Miss Elliot did not have any objections, beyond the fact that it would further displease her already dissatisfied sister, and Mrs. Parri had even fewer, the arrangement was agreed to, Commander Wentworth informed his brother that he would be walking back to the parsonage, and the pair set out.

Anne lay awake, far too happy to sleep. She could not help but think back over the evening with a great deal of pleasure, despite knowing what her relations would think. They had finally met again, and talked...and danced...and talked some more. And every phrase he uttered seemed only to confirm his sense and good taste. More wonderful still, he had not been as disapproving of her as she had feared! The scene played itself out over and over in her mind....

They had left Catherine's at a leisurely pace, a little uncertain about being alone together at such a late hour, but at the same time in no hurry to reach Kellynch. They walked in a companionable silence for a few minutes, before Wentworth recalled their last meeting.

"So, Miss Elliot, I take it you are fond of children?" he asked lightly.

Anne was grateful that the moon wasn't quite bright enough for her blush to be visible. "Yes, I must confess I am," she sighed.

"As a matter of fact, I am, too. I have a married sister, but unfortunately so far there are no nieces or nephews to play with and spoil, which is a shame." The slightly sad smile in his voice caused her to sneak a look at his face; his expression convinced her of his sincerity. Dared she hope that she was correctly understanding his intentions in beginning this conversation?

"Well, neither of my sisters is even married, so I don't have any, either. Although to be perfectly honest, Mary is too young to get married yet, and I am not sure Elizabeth would make a good mother, so perhaps it is for the best."

"Ah, but you surely have other friends whose children you can spoil, in addition to Mrs. Parri's! Energetic little things, aren't they?" he commented mildly.

Anne felt her blush deepen, but contrary to her expectations, he actually seemed to approve of her antics with the Parri boys! She could hardly believe it. How many other men would be so generous as to overlook such a lack of decorum in a young lady old enough to know better?

Having communicated what he wished to, Wentworth gracefully let the subject drop, to spare his companion further embarrassment. He returned to their earlier discussion of music, and they continued in this manner until they found themselves in front of the Elliot home.

"Well, I suppose this is goodnight. I have had a lovely evening."

"As have I. Thank you so much for the escort; I hadn't wanted to trouble Catherine for her carriage, but there seemed nothing else to do...."

Wentworth smiled. "I understand perfectly, and was happy to be of service. I hope we shall see each other again soon, Miss Elliot."

He took her hand and raised it to his lips; Anne's breath caught. She managed to whisper, "Good night, Commander," and slipped inside....

Anne sighed, wishing she could believe that there would be another such evening. Unfortunately, she knew all too well how unlikely they were to meet again away from the disapproving notice of Elizabeth or Sir Walter. She would just have to make the memory last, she decided.

Contrary to her expectations, eventually Anne did fall asleep. When she awoke the next morning, the remembrance of the previous evening was still fresh on her mind. She knew that her good mood would not be able to withstand Elizabeth's interrogation, so rather than going in to breakfast she begged some bread and cheese from the kitchen and took it into the park to eat in solitude.

Deciding that a long walk would be considerably preferable to receiving her sister's callers, Anne soon left the bounds of the park and set off down the lane, not realising that she'd chosen the direction towards Monkford until she looked up and saw the parsonage. Fearing the assumption that might be made were she to be seen in that vicinity so soon after Catherine's party, she was about to retrace her steps when she heard her name called. Turning back, she saw the person who'd been occupying her thoughts approaching her.

"Ah, good morning, Miss Elliot! How nice to see you again. Have you business to take care of, so early?"

"Good morning, Commander Wentworth. No, it is such a lovely day that I just wanted to be outdoors."

"In that case, may I walk with you?"

"Certainly," Anne smiled.

As before, they were content to be in each other's company, feeling no need to talk. In unspoken agreement, they avoided the town and set off down a more secluded lane. Eventually they came to a stile, where Wentworth requested Anne to have a seat "for there is a matter I wish to discuss with you."

Curious, Anne did as he asked; Wentworth looked at her for a moment, paced back and forth in front of the stile, then finally took a deep breath and gazed off into the distance slightly to Anne's left.

"Miss Elliot, I want to apologise in advance for any mistakes I may make in the way I say what I'm about to. I am not the most eloquent of men, and this is not exactly something in which I have prior experience....

"I am aware that at present I have little to offer. I am not a rich man, but I know I shall be; I am confident that I will receive another post soon, and my past experience gives me every reason to expect that it will prove to be a profitable one. I have no home of my own, but that can be easily fixed, and I swear that no matter what else may happen, my devotion will never waver."

At last his gaze met hers, and he came to sit next to her, gently taking her hands in his.

"Miss Elliot, we may not have known each other long, but I have never been more certain of anything than I am that we are meant to be together. Please say I may have the honour and joy of calling you my wife."

Anne was stunned. She sat there in a daze for a few moments, before the anxiety in his eyes and his tightened grip on her hands registered the need to make a reply. She forced herself to speak, not knowing exactly what she said, but assuming it was acceptable from the delighted smile spreading across his face.

"Oh, Anne..." he breathed, one hand slowly coming up to give her cheek the briefest of caresses.

How long they sat there, lost in each other's eyes, neither could tell. The spell was finally broken when the sounds of someone approaching forced themselves into the couple's private little world.

As they became aware of their surroundings once more, the pair exchanged embarrassed glances, and Anne gave a nervous laugh. Neither could quite believe what had just happened between them, and they were afraid to do something that might shatter the still-delicate happiness they were feeling.

Reluctantly, they agreed that Anne should return to Kellynch before her absence drew unwanted attention. Wentworth, while privately resolving to postpone asking Sir Walter's consent for a few days in order to protect Anne for as long as possible from what he suspected would be the unenthusiastic reactions of her father and sister, was nevertheless determined that such considerations would not induce him to spend any more time away from his fiancÈe than absolutely necessary. Unwilling therefore to give any thought to letting her return alone, not caring who saw them (so long as their name was not Elliot), he offered her his arm, which was gladly accepted. They retraced their steps in a less anxious, more joyful silence than that which had existed the first time they walked down that path together, wishing merely to enjoy the moment, and certain that the future would hold plenty of time to say all there was to be said.

As they drew near Kellynch, their steps slowed, until Anne led him into the park. She stopped when they could not be seen from either house or road, and turned to Wentworth with a sigh.

"I wish I did not have to go on. I wish we could just stay like this, forever...."

"I know, my dear, and I feel the same way. We must keep telling ourselves that in a short time, nothing will come between us again. And it will be only a short time--I won't have a long engagement. We must and shall be married before I get sent another post--I will not leave here without you by my side, Anne."

Anne fairly glowed. "No, no long engagement, Frederick," she said shyly.

At length Wentworth tore himself away, after several minutes in which each assured the other of their affection and constancy.

Even after he left, Anne was too happy to enjoy the presence of others, so rather than enter the house, she headed for her mother's grove. While in no hurry to reveal recent events to her sister, she was eager to talk to her mother, who, she was sure, would have been happy for her.

"Oh, Mother, the most wonderful thing has happened! He has proposed!! While it is true we have not been acquainted long, I know we shall be extremely happy together; we are suited in so many ways. And he loves me; what more do I need? I can not remember when I was last this happy! It all feels like a dream, and I am afraid that it will end just as suddenly....How I wish you were here, to share this with...." Anne sighed. She did not like to put it into words, even in her thoughts, but she felt instinctively that telling her remaining relations would not be conducive to prolonging her current joy.

She remained in the grove for another half-an-hour, gathering her strength before returning to the house and facing her family. At least she could take comfort in the fact that it was not her responsibility to inform them of Wentworth's offer, although it did not significantly reduce her anxiety about their reactions.

She entered the drawing-room unnoticed, much to her relief. Elizabeth and Sir Walter were arguing over the menu for that evening, and Anne was able to take a seat in one corner and take up some needlework before either realised she was in the room. The disagreement was presently interrupted by a servant's announcing a visit from Mr. Wentworth; upon hearing his name, Elizabeth looked outraged, Sir Walter exasperated, and Anne embarrassed.

"I cannot believe that he would have the audacity to come calling on us!" proclaimed Miss Elliot. "How vexing, that it should be on my receiving day. Very well, show him in, if you must."

A few moments later, Mr. Wentworth entered the room, unaccompanied by his brother. Having greeted them all, he apologised for the late notice but said that he was giving a card party in two days' time and would be honoured if they could attend. As Elizabeth and Sir Walter were frantically checking their calendar in hopes of contriving a prior engagement, the curate took the opportunity to say, in a voice pitched for Anne's ears alone, "I am specifically requested to assure you, Miss Anne, that you will not be called upon to play. I believe we can contrive to have someone free to keep you entertained."

Startled, she could not restrain a blush; the warm expression in his eyes convinced her that he had been taken into his brother's confidence, and was telling her that he approved the match. Grateful for his support, she ventured to promise that she would attend, just as Elizabeth came over to "regretfully inform him that she and Sir Walter were already engaged to dine with friends that evening". Having received the only acceptance he had wished for, Mr. Wentworth expressed his disappointment in the news, and took his leave directly, having, as he did, a party to organise at the last minute.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Anne. It was too much to think of, that in a few short weeks she and Wentworth might be married; instead, she focused on the prospect of conversing with him again in relative privacy Sunday night, as his brother's other guests would be paying more attention to their playing. She floated through Friday evening, and tried to distract herself on Saturday by visiting Catherine. Unfortunately for her intentions, being in the Parri home only reminded her of the party, which was not at all conducive to forgetting about a certain sailor. She considered visiting Lady Russell, whom she had not seen much of late, but she feared Lady Russell's perception, and did not feel it would be right to tell anyone of her engagement before her father's permission was secured.

At last Sunday arrived. They merely exchanged polite greetings in church, both being reluctant to attract attention, especially when they knew they would be able to see each other without drawing much notice that very evening.

Sir Walter and Elizabeth left for their dinner engagement before Anne had to set out for the parsonage, and she enjoyed being able to finish dressing without having to consider what remarks her appearance might engender. Therefore she took more care with her appearance than Elizabeth would approve, considering where she was engaged for the evening.

When she finally arrived, she was greeted warmly and ushered into the drawing room. The card tables were already set up, but one end of the room remained free of them, and it was there that she took a seat, talking quietly with some other guests until everyone had arrived and it was decided to start the playing, at which point she was abandoned by her companions only to be joined by the person she had come to see.

"I'm very glad you could make it," he said as he sat next to her.

She could not have resisted returning his smile even had she wanted to. "And I was very glad for the invitation."

Glancing around to verify that they were effectively alone, he lowered his voice. "You did not mind, I hope? I could not think of any other way to spend some time with you without risking gossip--which I would rather avoid, for now."

"Oh, yes, I agree. Until something is officially announced, it is best not to appear too particular. But I confess, it is difficult."

"Yes, it is. However, knowing that soon we can be together forever makes it possible for me to bear anything." The expression in his eyes as he said this was almost too much for her; Anne had to look away to regain her composure.

"Perhaps, sir, it would be best if we discussed something else tonight..."

He sighed, only half-seriously. "You are, of course, right, as always, Miss Elliot. Very well, what shall talk about?"

"I believe, sir, it is the gentleman's responsibility to select a topic of conversation that will entertain the lady, not the reverse," she replied primly, eyes twinkling.

"Indeed? But I thought I had found a subject of interest to both the participants; surely I am not to be blamed simply because it proved unsuitable to this occasion?"

"I was under the impression that a true gentleman must be able to adjust his conversation so that it is always suited to the given occasion."

"Ah, well, far be it from me to question a lady's knowledge of propriety. Very well, I freely admit to being no gentleman, and hereby relinquish all pretensions to being an acceptable conversationalist."

At this point, Anne could no longer carry on the "argument" with a straight face, and she struggled not to collapse in a fit of giggles. It was clear from the sparkle in his eyes that he was aware of her efforts, and enjoying her discomfiture. She succeeded in composing herself at last, and eventually they settled into a more sedate conversation. They continued thus until the party broke up, content to be in each other's company despite the need for restraint.

The following morning, Anne felt a need to pour her feelings out on paper, since she could not do so to another person, and took a small writing table out to a secluded spot. Something Wentworth had said the previous evening was just finding its way into a poem when she was startled by a voice behind her saying, "I thought I might find you here."

Anne jumped. She had not even finished turning around before she knew who it was, however; his voice was already more familiar to her than her own. Wentworth smiled, and her face lit up as he came around to stand next to her.

"Good morning, my love. I hope you do not mind; I found I could not wait any longer before seeing you again."

"No, of course I do not mind! I have missed you," she added tentatively.

"I am glad; I would not like to be the only one who cannot spend so much as a single night apart without wishing otherwise." He smiled again, then the poem she'd been writing caught his eye. "What's this?"

Anne blushed and tried to hide the paper beneath some others. "Oh, it is nothing, believe me."

"No, I want to see..." He succeeded in finding the right page, and read:

Nichts ist schwer,
solang Du bei mir bist.
Wenn ich Dich hab', gibt es nichts,
was unertr”glich ist!
Wenn ich meinen Mut mal verlier,
finde ich ihn wieder bei Dir;
es fehlt mir nichts,
wenn Du nur bei mir bist.

"Why, Anne, that's lovely! Absolutely beautiful." His sincerity could not be doubted, so she thanked him shyly. "What does it mean?"

Anne laughed. "You don't understand it, but you think it is beautiful?"

"Of course I do! After all, you wrote it; how could it be otherwise?"

She did not know what to make of this, particularly as he still seemed to mean what he was saying, so she merely offered a translation. "This is merely a rough idea of what it means, of course, but it is something like 'Nothing is difficult, as long as you are with me. If I have you, there is nothing that is unbearable. When I lose my courage, I find it again with you; I am missing nothing, as long as you are with me.'"

"You see, I told you it was beautiful." Anne felt that nothing would be easier at that moment than drowning in the warmth of Wentworth's gaze.

A few moments passed, then Wentworth remembered his other reason for calling. "Anne, last night I knew that we have to make our engagement official as soon as possible; I can't continue pretending we are just common acquaintances. I would not care for myself what suspicions other people may form, but I will not let anything risk your reputation. Therefore, I have decided to speak to your father this morning. Is he at home?"

Anne knew not whether to be happy at the prospect of having their understanding become publicly known, or apprehensive at what her parent's response might be. "Yes, he is, although I know not for how long. I believe he and Elizabeth were to go shopping today."

"In that case, I should go to him now, and hope to find him still here. I shall return to you as soon as I can, my darling." He tried to look cheerful, for her sake, but he was nowhere near as confident as was his wont. He did not care much for himself whether Sir Walter consented to the match, but knew that Anne would be reluctant to defy her father in so important a matter.

When he reached the house, he paused to gather his thoughts and concentration. Taking one last deep breath, he knocked on the front door.

To his surprise, Wentworth was shown into the library, where he found Sir Walter actually in perusal of a book. His astonishment quickly faded, however, when he realised that it was merely a book of fashions, consisting primarily of pictures.

The baronet looked up, surprised at being interrupted. The servant's announcement of Commander Wentworth was met with a blank stare. Feeling that was at least better than being sent out again immediately, he decided that he ought to speak without delay.

"Sir Walter, I must apologise for intruding on your time in this manner, but I have come on a matter of utmost importance. I have--"

"Do I know you?" Sir Walter interrupted.

Wentworth paused a moment in confusion. "Indeed, sir, we have met on a few occasions. I am Mr. Edward Wentworth's brother."

"What? Oh, yes. The sailor." Sir Walter's tone was not welcoming, but Wentworth refused to let himself be discouraged.

"As I was saying, sir, I have asked your daughter to marry me, and she has accepted. Now we would like your consent to the match."

"What?! There can be no such thing. I am sure Elizabeth would have mentioned it to me if she were thinking of marriage. If indeed she were so foolish as to think of it with you in the first place. I can't imagine what you must be thinking of."

Struggling with himself, for it would not do to strangle his bride's father before even obtaining permission to marry her, Wentworth managed to reply in a reasonably calm tone, "Indeed, you are correct; I have no intention of marrying Miss Elizabeth Elliot. I was speaking of your other daughter."

"What?" Sir Elliot repeated. "Mary's far too young. And besides, she has been at school these several months; I am sure you could not possibly be acquainted."

"No. I refer to Anne."

"Who? Oh, Anne. Nonsense. No one would want to marry Anne."

Wentworth forced his fists to unclench before he could do something he would possibly regret. "You are incorrect, Sir Walter. Someone could indeed want to marry Anne, very much--and I do. Will you please grant us your consent?"

Sir Walter froze in astonishment. The amazement that anyone could possibly be interested in his middle daughter soon gave way to outrage that a mere unconnected sailor would dare to consider himself a suitable match for a daughter of Sir Walter Elliot, even if it was only Anne. A wave of hauteur spread over his countenance.

"You can't possibly stand there and tell me you honestly expect me, Sir Walter Elliot, to welcome you to the family," he finally announced coldly.

Wentworth responded in kind. "Indeed, no. I ask merely that you allow your daughter a chance to be happy. Were it not for her sake, I would not be troubling you at all, I assure you. If you would be so kind as to grant your permission, I swear I will do my best never to inconvenience you with my presence any more than absolutely necessary in future, as, indeed, were I to consult none but my own wishes, I would certainly be able to assure you with perfect honesty that I would insure that we never more be in a position to trouble each other in any way."

It took Sir Walter a few moments to digest this. Once he felt he understood what Wentworth had just said, he stated that he had no intentions of letting himself be thus inconvenienced. "Furthermore, if you insist on marrying my daughter, be aware that I shall do nothing for her. If you have thoughts of making your fortune by marrying above your station, you will have to look elsewhere. I will not be fooled by such trickery."

This was more than Wentworth could bear. "If that is all you have to say on the matter, sir, I believe this conversation is over. As I have no interest in your money, these threats will not induce me to break off the engagement. Unless you wish to deny your permission outright, we can have nothing more to say to one another."

Sir Walter, feeling it was beneath him to spend much time arguing with a common sailor, and in any case not overly concerned about cutting off his middle daughter if she insisted on throwing herself away like this, declined to answer. Wentworth, for his part, waited only a moment before showing himself out of the house.

He knew Anne would want to hear how it went, and as he was unwilling to tell her the complete truth in this matter, he fought to get his emotions under control. His anger at the insults to his own motives in seeking the marriage was nothing compared to the outrage he felt on Anne's behalf. That her own father could so little regard her worth, so far as to forget her very existence! It was not to be borne. No, he would marry Anne as soon as possible and take her away from Kellynch to a home where she would be appreciated. He must endeavour to be grateful to Sir Walter, much as it pained him, for not actually forbidding the match.

Attempting to adopt a more pleasant expression, he rounded the final bend in the lane that would take him back to where Anne was waiting. The instant she saw Wentworth, she was on her feet, flying towards him.

"Well? How did it go?" she asked breathlessly. Before he had time to think of a comforting yet truthful answer, her exuberance faded, as she noticed his lingering tension. "What's wrong? He did not forbid it, did he?"

A deep breath. "No, Anne, he did not. Therefore, the rest of it does not matter. I just...I just wish I had reason to expect a warmer reception for you upon your return to the house..."

His expression darkened again, and he could not meet her eyes; it concerned her. "What happened? Really?"

No, he decided, he could not let her go back unprepared. His desire to protect her could make things worse for her in the end; much as he would wish otherwise, he would have to tell her everything. With a sigh, he led her back to her seat.

"Anne, I hope you know that I love you with all my heart. I do not want to hurt you, but I also do not wish us to start our life together with a lie. No, your father did not forbid our marriage, but he did not welcome it. He...insulted us both--" He broke off before he could say something he would regret regarding the intelligence of his future wife's closest living relative. "Forgive me; I am too angry to think clearly right now."

"What exactly did he say that has you so upset?"

"Are you certain you want to know?" She nodded. "The principal thing was that he implied my real interest was in your family's money, and declared that he would give you nothing if you married me." He felt instinctively that, asked for or not, Sir Walter's dismissal of Anne herself was one truth that ought never to be spoken. "I, of course, care nothing for that, but to be called a fortune-hunter is not something I can accept lightly."

Anne looked saddened, but not surprised. "I ought to have warned you what he can be like. He was not always this way, or at least, not to this extent; but without my mother's influence, I am afraid that...well. These past few years without her have been a little difficult sometimes."

"I can imagine." He found some of his anger melting into a fruitless desire to give her back her mother, so she could have someone on her side for what was sure to be a difficult time leading up to their wedding. "I wish I had known her; she must have been a remarkable woman."

"Oh, yes! She was wonderful; so warm, and understanding, and clever, and she always knew just how to keep my father and Elizabeth from being quite so foolish as they have now become....You would have liked her, I think. And I know she would have liked you."

"I am sure I would have done. How could I not love someone who clearly means a lot to you, and who must have had a big influence on you? In a way, I have her to thank for my present happiness, have I not?" Anne was relieved to see him smile again as he said this.

They succeeded in turning the conversation to lighter topics, comparing their childhood memories and reminiscing about sorely missed parents (both of Wentworth's having died three years previously) until the emotions roused by Sir Walter's words began to fade in strength. Neither could forget what had been said, of course, but the longer they talked, the more certain they were that it could not matter. Now that their engagement had been officially not forbidden (whether it could be considered as "acknowledged" was not an issue either chose to examine closely), they felt no qualms about remaining together for the rest of the day, and allowed themselves the luxury of losing track of time.

At last Anne looked up and realised it had begun to grow dark, and that she could not delay returning to the house much longer. She reluctantly mentioned it, and Wentworth saw no choice but to agree. After all, they had been stretching the bounds of propriety for most of the day; there was no need to risk exacerbating Anne's situation at home by keeping her alone with him, unchaperoned, at night.

"I wish, however, that I could in some way make it easier for you; I hate to think what they might say once you return."

"I know you do; but it cannot be helped. I will see you again tomorrow, will I not? I should like to give Lady Russell the news in the morning, but after that..."

"Then, Anne, you shall have me all to yourself tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps you might come with me to call on my brother? I know he would like a chance to talk with you more freely than was possible the other evening."

"I would like that. I am afraid we have never had much opportunity to really converse with each other."

"Then I shall call for you early in the afternoon, and we will spend the rest of the day together."

They wished each other a good night, then eventually parted. Anne, already feeling slightly guilty for having hidden her engagement for the past few days, was apprehensive as she entered the house. She was surprised to find the drawing rooms empty; a servant informed her that Elizabeth and Sir Walter had suddenly decided to spend the evening away from home. Relieved to have the confrontation delayed a few more hours, Anne dined alone and retired early.

Tomorrow she would inform Lady Russell.

Anne was looking forward to her visit as she left for Lady Russell's. Elizabeth had simply ignored her at breakfast, so Lady Russell would be the first person she had spoken to regarding her engagement. And, truth be told, she was glad; her friend, at least, would be happy for her; the same could not be said for her sister.

She found Lady Russell at home, and alone. Anne could barely contain her excitement; as soon as the servant had left the room, she ran and embraced her dearest friend.

"I have such wonderful news to tell you! You will never guess--I am to be married! Is it not amazing? Commander Wentworth spoke to my father yesterday. He was...well, he was Father, but he did not forbid it, and we are hoping to have the wedding as soon as possible! Oh, Lady Russell, can you believe this would happen? I can hardly wait!" she sighed happily.

"Indeed?" Lady Russell asked calmly, unsurprised.

Anne's uncharacteristic raptures were brought to a halt as she noticed a touch of coldness in her friend's air. "Are not you happy for me?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, my dear, I cannot honestly say that I am. I was shocked when your father told me of it yesterday evening. Not that someone would wish to marry my darling Anne, of course, but that you would have accepted this particular gentleman. I must own I am a little disappointed in you."

"But...but why? He loves me, and I love him, and I know we shall get along splendidly."

"My dear, you are still so young. You know not what you are talking about, and you must simply believe me when I say, you will regret this one day." She paused for a few moments, trying to decide what approach would best convince her young friend.

"Lady Russell?" Anne asked in a small voice, unable to bear the silence any longer.

Lady Russell made a decision. "Anne, darling, you say you love him, and he you--but how can you know? I have known you all your life, and these past several years we have of course been particularly close; who knows better than I that you have never even fancied yourself in love before? Because that is what you are feeling now--a mild fancy for someone whom you find interesting, because his life is so different from yours and his manners are pleasing. You think it is love only because you have no basis for comparison; all young girls think their first attachment must be love, but they find that after a few weeks, it dwindles away. And yet you wish to bind yourself forever to this man? A man with whom you are barely acquainted? Can you wonder that I am not pleased at the idea?"

She paused to gauge the effect this had on the young woman, then continued. "You probably already know that your father was not happy to receive Commander Wentworth's request for your hand, either. He is right to feel that you ought not to have accepted, knowing as you surely must that his feelings in this case would be against the match. He could easily have refused, and I must say, I would not blame him for doing so. You ought to be more grateful to him for giving you this opportunity to make the right decision on your own, rather than doing what he could to protect his family himself--as he would have been well within his rights to do."

Anne knew not what to think. That Lady Russell might not approve had never entered her mind; all her hope of withstanding her family's disapprobation had been founded on the certainty of her friend's support. The idea that she would not have that support came as a shock; always before, when she and her family were at odds, Lady Russell could be relied upon to present her side to Sir Walter. It was almost inconceivable that in a matter of such importance, the opinion of her friend could differ so greatly from her own. She was barely aware of Lady Russell's gently changing the subject to something more neutral, and said hardly anything more before finally taking leave.

She managed to make it back to Kellynch and safely into her own room before bursting into tears. Lady Russell's advice was the closest she could come to getting her mother's, and she knew not where to turn for guidance and comfort after that morning's interview. It was all she could do to make herself presentable again before Wentworth arrived.

As she went down to greet him, she tried to school her features into a more joyful expression. Indeed, just seeing him did make her feel more cheerful than she had all morning, as if knowing that he was there for her would somehow make everything all right in the end. And since Anne was not generally a very demonstrative person by nature, it took Wentworth a few moments to notice that she was out of spirits.

Asking her what was wrong only seemed to make her feel worse, however, so for the moment he accepted her reply that it was nothing; he would do what he could to cheer her up, and hope that she would be able to talk about what was bothering her later on. Rather than giving her a chance to dwell on her problems, he suggested they immediately head for Monkford and that proposed visit with his brother.

By the time they arrived, Anne had succeeded in putting the morning mostly out of her mind for the moment, and she was truly looking forward to getting to know Mr. Wentworth better. Once again, he greeted her warmly, and soon Anne was feeling comfortable for almost the first time in two days.

"I understand, Miss Elliot, that you are to lose that name shortly," the curate said with a smile. Anne blushed. "I'd just like to say "welcome to the family", and if Frederick here ever gives you any problems, you come to me, and I will straighten him out for you."

"Hey! That is hardly fair, Edward; you ought not to be trying to prejudice my future wife against me. Not so soon, at any rate!"

Anne just laughed. "Thank you, Mr. Wentworth, I'll be sure to keep that in mind!"

"Seriously, however, welcome. What a shame that Sophy--our sister--is not in the area; I know she would love to meet the woman who is taking our younger brother from us. But as Frederick will no doubt agree, she is bound to become fond of you once you have met."

While not doubting the sincerity of his statement, Anne could not help but feel slightly inadequate in terms of the relations she would be bringing to her marriage. "Thank you. I...I wish I could say the same for my sisters...."

Frederick glared briefly at his brother before turning back to her. "Do not trouble yourself about that, Anne; I am sure Sophy will understand, just as Edward and I do. We cannot choose our relations, after all, and if Miss Elliot chooses not to honour us with her acquaintance, well, I think we shall do very well without her."

Anne could have nothing to say to this, and after a few moments of awkwardness the subject was changed, and the conversation shifted away from Anne's family to topics less likely to cause pain or embarrassment. By the time she left the parsonage, Anne's spirits had returned to a state of tolerable normalcy, and as Frederick had predicted, she and his brother were well on their way to liking each other very well.

The walk back to Kellynch was conducted in silence. Wentworth was contemplating the best way to induce Anne to confide in him; Anne was resolving that she would not. It was bad enough that he clearly knew her family's feelings about their engagement; she did not wish to add the burden of Lady Russell's disapprobation. After all, she reasoned, he could do little to alter it, so where was the sense in giving him something else to worry about? His concern for her was obvious, and she was reluctant to increase his anxiety. No, she would simply have to convince Lady Russell that their marriage would not be a mistake on her own, hopefully without his ever discovering that it was necessary.

To that end, she made an effort to look and sound more cheerful than she felt when they reached her home and he turned to her. He clearly wanted to be invited to stay, but she was not up to facing both him and her sister at the same time, and she knew Elizabeth had planned to spend the evening at home. She hated it, but had to admit to herself that she was relieved when he bid her good night and returned to his brother's.

Anne found her sister, as expected, in the parlour. In a way, she wanted to run and hide, but she knew she had postponed this conversation long enough already, so she entered and tentatively wished Elizabeth a good evening.

She was greeted by a cold glance. "Elizabeth, please. I know you and my father are unhappy with me right now, but please try to see this from my perspective. I love Commander Wentworth, and I think--"

"No, clearly you don't think, or you would realise how degrading such a match would be to your entire family. To be intimately connected with a sailor! And a low-ranking one at that! If you must have a sailor, I should think you could at least choose an admiral. It's too much to expect you to marry within our class, but really, you ought at least to try for someone close to it!"

"Oh, Elizabeth, really! Surely even you cannot expect a man so young to have already reached the rank of admiral! I am quite certain that he will be one, some day, so can you not accept that, rather than demanding impossibilities?"

"Have you given even a thought to the rest of us? To what people will say about Mary and myself, if you go through with this...this folly?"

Anne was suddenly struck by a possible reason for the strength of Elizabeth's reaction. Was she... "Elizabeth, are you jealous? That I am the first of us to marry, even though you are older?"

"Not at all!" her sister scoffed. "Jealous, of you? How droll! Really, Anne, I cannot think where you get such ideas!"

"Then why can you not be happy for me? I am not even asking for you to welcome him with open arms, but simply to accept the fact that he is to become part of this family, because he loves me and I love him. I do not want for us to be fighting over this, Elizabeth, but I feel very strongly that Commander Wentworth is the one man who could make me truly happy, and I do not think that the current difference in our social statuses would be a good reason not to marry him." Why could I not have said that to Lady Russell? Anne wondered. God knows she would be more likely to understand than Elizabeth. Or maybe not.... She sighed. "Never mind, Elizabeth. I ought to have realised you would feel this way. I shall no longer attempt to alter your opinion, but I will ask that you please do not try to further influence my father or Lady Russell. As a favour for a sister, even though you do not agree. Surely you can at least do that, since they already share your opinion."

Elizabeth made no answer, but merely turned away from Anne and pointedly directed her attention towards a vase of flowers she had been rearranging before her sister's interruption. Anne decided that trying to get a more positive response out of Elizabeth would be pointless, and resigned herself to her sister's scorn. Were it just for herself, she could bear it with tolerably little pain, as it would hardly be a novelty for her. However, this time it reflected on someone else as well, and she knew it was going to be difficult to ignore.

She found her task no easier the following morning. Quite the contrary, in fact; Anne's pain was increased by an unexpected visit from Lady Russell.

Anne was surprised to find Lady Russell waiting for her in the drawing room soon after breakfast the following morning. After their previous encounter, she had been certain that her friend's disappointment in her would prevent their meeting again so soon. Indeed, were she honest with herself, Anne would have to admit that she was hoping for a slightly longer reprieve in which to bolster her shaken confidence. As it was, however, she must struggle to greet her visitor with the appearance of more equanimity than she actually possessed.

Lady Russell, sensing the younger woman's discomfort, decided not to mention the engagement for the time being, unless Anne did so first. After all, she reasoned, Anne was a good, obedient, respectful girl at heart, with strong attachment to herself; it was probable that her natural guilt at defying her father and oldest friend would work greater changes on her heart than anything Lady Russell could say now.

Indeed, Lady Russell knew her friend but too well. The entire morning was spent, for Anne, in an agony of wondering when the argument would resume, and why the older woman was being so considerate in avoiding the topic. By the time the visit came to an end, Anne was tormenting herself nearly as much as Lady Russell would wish under the circumstances.

The next several days passed in a blur for Anne. Most of the time, she was miserable; Lady Russell soon resumed making occasional comments regarding Anne's duty to her family, and between the coldness of her relations and the fear that she had lost Lady Russell's good opinion, Anne wished more than ever that her mother were still alive to comfort her. The only bright spots were the hours she was able to spend with Wentworth, and those came all too infrequently. Because her father's permission was so grudgingly given, and his approval was undeniably lacking, they had not felt it right to publicize the engagement until Sir Walter's opposition had relaxed, as Anne had hoped it would. Therefore, they were unable to devote as much time to each other as they would like without stretching the limits of propriety further than either was comfortable with.

It was during one of their "accidental" meetings that Wentworth brought up the subject of where the couple would live, once Sir Walter had relented and they were married at last. "For although I am certain a new post will be found for me soon, we will need to decide where we would like to be in the meantime. It does not need to be perfect, since we will not be there long, but I thought you might like to spend a few weeks someplace new. And it would make things easier once a post does come, if that place happens to be near the sea...."

Anne had to admit she was a trifle confused. "Why would we only be there for a few weeks? Surely we ought to be planning for the future."

Wentworth smiled; her naïveté about his world was endearing as ever. "Anne, you will learn soon enough that it makes far more sense to give up the house while at sea; returning after a year or two only to find your idea of 'home' has come to mean the ship you just left is far more difficult if you expect it to mean the building you once lived in for only a short time. And then there are the problems inherent in attempting to run a household from a ship....Either you shut it up entirely, and have little opportunity between arriving in port and returning to inhabit the house again for hiring servants and getting the place in shape, or you rent it out, and try to deal with the business pertaining to your tenants when you have no certain knowledge of where you will be landing when....No, it is much more logical to rent a place for the time you are onshore, and be done with the whole issue."

Anne blinked. "Do you mean, you expect me to come with you?"

"But of course!" Wentworth paused. "Are you saying you do not want to be with me?"

"Oh, no, it is not that!"

"I will be at sea most of the time, for several months together, if not years. I could not bear to be separated from you so often, and for so long."

"I have never been on a ship before; I do not know if I will be able to live at sea. What if it makes me ill?"

"Nonsense, my darling; my sister accompanies her husband on voyages all the time, and she has never been unwell in all that time. I am sure you will be fine. And think of all the interesting places you will see! Besides, we will be together, and what can be more important than that?"

"You are right, of course; it would be dreadful to be separated so soon. But I must own, I would like a proper home--a house, with a small park...children...."

Wentworth turned to face her, and gently took both her hands in his. "Anne, love, I want children, too; you know that. When the time comes, I will of course buy a house somewhere, and you will stay there with the children while I am at sea. But until then, I would like to have you with me as much as possible; surely you can understand that?"

Reluctantly, Anne nodded her agreement. She did understand not wishing to be separated, but she also wished she did not have to give up her dreams of a normal home in order to stay together. For the first time, she was discovering that it was possible for her and Wentworth to think differently on an important subject, and she did not like the feeling. It was enough to keep her spirits subdued until long after they parted for the day.

Lady Russell, observing that Anne was more than usually somber on the morning following this conversation, attributed it to the success of her campaign to change her friend's mind regarding the advisability of her engagement, and rejoiced inwardly. Now, she thought, was the time to discuss the subject more openly than they had since that first interview, which had proved so disappointing to them both. If Anne really were coming to see things in a proper light, it would not do to pass up this opportunity to reinforce her doubts.

Accordingly, Lady Russell began to steer the conversation towards the subject of a mutual acquaintance that had, in Lady Russell's view, committed a similar folly and quickly learned to regret it. "Poor Mrs. Hathorne; had she but listened to her friends, she would not be in the position she is now--a widow by twenty-seven, with four children to care for on her own, and scarcely enough money to support one! And there is no way to know how much longer this war will continue, how many more young men will leave their wives unprovided for."

Here was something else Anne had failed to consider! They had talked of the war as a good thing, in that it would provide opportunities for Wentworth to advance in his career, but she had not thought of the other possibility: that he might be killed. How would she be able to bear it, if one day she was waiting for him to return, only to receive an express instead, informing her that he never would?

Her thoughts were occupied by such unpleasant ideas until her attention was once again caught by something Lady Russell said. "...the question of where you would live, of course. He has, I understand, no estate, nor even a small house somewhere. From what I have heard, it is doubtful that he even has enough money saved to purchase a place now. And clearly you cannot go to sea with him! My darling Anne, so clever, so beautiful, so refined, living on a ship? It is of course unthinkable. And I am sorry, but I do not think Sir Walter would allow you to continue living here, after your marriage..."

That Lady Russell should be concerned over the very issue which had divided the young couple the previous day worried Anne. Perhaps her friend had been right, and there were aspects to the engagement that she had failed to understand when she accepted....The thought was painful, but unavoidable. Had she truly thought things through rationally, or did her conviction that the marriage would be successful have only an emotional, and therefore unstable, basis?

Lady Russell paused in her monologue, noticing that her friend's attention was directed inward, rather than focused on the conversation. That would not do; she must persuade Anne to acknowledge her arguments. She had hoped to avoid this step, but clearly there was nothing else to be done....Secure in the knowledge that she was doing the right thing, however much it may hurt her friend for the moment, she went to Anne and took her hands. The young woman, who in truth had nearly forgotten Lady Russell's presence, looked up, startled, and found a regretful, compassionate expression on her face.

"Anne, I love you like my own daughter, you know that. I would not wish to see you hurt, much less hurt you myself. But sometimes it is necessary, in order to prevent much worse in the future. I know you think you love this Commander Wentworth, but he is not the right husband for you; it truly would be better for you both if this engagement went no further. Have you ever considered that his life will also be more difficult, if he has a wife? A sailor can only be furthered in his career if he takes chances, exposes himself to danger; how could he do that while worrying about what might happen to you, if he became injured or worse? Not to mention the necessity of supporting you and, eventually, children, when at this stage it would be more prudent for him to save what he can for the future...

"I am very sorry to cause you pain like this, but I console myself with the knowledge that your darling mother would have said the same, were she here. As she is not, it is up to me to act as I know she would have, to protect you, no matter how difficult I find it to say these things."

This was a severe blow to Anne. She had thought herself prepared for almost anything her friends and relations could say on the subject of her engagement, but this was too much for her. Lady Russell had known her mother for over twenty-five years; if anyone could be expected to know what Lady Elliot's opinion would have been, she could. If even she thought Anne's mother would have objected to the match, then surely it must mean that Anne herself was mistaken in her assumptions. Was it possible that her mother would have agreed with those who felt the engagement was unwise? Had she truly been acting in a manner which her mother would disapprove? The thought was extremely unsettling. Anne's conviction that her situation would have been different if her mother were still alive had been a source of comfort to her; but now, it seemed even that comfort was based on misguided assumptions.

And if indeed she would hold Wentworth back by marrying him, could she do that to him? Two days ago, she would have been confident that it would pose no problem, he could never resent her presence. But two days ago, she had believed they could never have a serious difference of opinion, and clearly she had been wrong on that point. How many other things had she been wrong about? What other mistakes was she making?

Could the others have been right all along?

Anne felt as if she could not breathe. She murmured an excuse to Lady Russell; seeing how pale the girl had become, yet how clearly anxious to be alone, the older woman kept her concern to herself and merely took leave, hoping that some time by herself would be all Anne needed to make the right decision. As soon as her friend had left the room, Anne ran out into the garden. She was halfway to her mother's grove when she remembered what Lady Russell had said, and realised that her mother would no longer be a comfort in this case. For the first time since her mother's death, Anne feared that going to the grove would cause more pain, not relieve it. Instead, she ran to a stream that cut through the park, barely able to see through her tears by the time she reached its banks.

Her sorrow over the possibility that her engagement truly was misguided was nothing compared to the disappointment she felt in herself. She had always tried to live up to her mother's expectations of her. And her wish to do so had only grown stronger after Lady Elliot's death; the very idea that she could have been so wrong about her mother's opinions regarding such an important decision....she did not want to consider it! But she must. Lady Russell, she was certain, would not lie to her; clearly, Anne had failed her mother. How could she continue with the engagement, knowing that? Knowing that every time she looked at Wentworth, she would remember her own weakness, and sense her mother's disapproval? What if she began, over time, to blame him for it--would that not be highly unfair to someone she did, despite Lady Russell's opinion, really love? She would not wish to, but she could imagine doing so eventually all too clearly. And if getting married would truly hinder him in his career at this stage, would it not be selfish of her to do so anyway?

How long she lay by the stream, struggling with such questions, she did not know. By the time she withdrew from her thoughts enough to notice the world around her, it was beginning to grow dark, and she knew she must return to the house.

She also knew what she must do, much as it would pain her.

Anne was pale when she came down for breakfast the following morning, and, had Elizabeth taken any notice of her, she would have observed that her sister barely ate two bites. She had spent the entire sleepless night attempting to gather her strength for what she knew must come, yet she feared she had been unsuccessful. Despite wrestling with her decision for so many hours, she knew not how she would bear putting it into action. And yet, there was no postponing the matter; she and Wentworth had planned to go on a picnic that afternoon, and he would see at once that something was wrong.

When he arrived to pick her up, Wentworth did indeed notice that his darling Anne was not in spirits. He forbore commenting, however, hoping that once they were alone she would confide in him. As they walked toward their chosen spot, he kept up a steady stream of lighthearted, idle chatter intended to raise her spirits without requiring a reply. His efforts were unsuccessful; Anne still did not seem herself when they had arrived and seated themselves on the blanket he spread out.

Still, she knew she could not--indeed, ought not--postpone further. Eyes studiously avoiding his, she took a deep breath, and began.

"Commander Wentworth, I have something I must say that you will not like to hear any more than I like having to say it. But it must be done, and in time I am certain that you will see, as I do, that it is the right thing, however painful it may be for us now."

Wentworth was mildly alarmed, but his certainty of having Anne's love convinced him that whatever she might say would be bearable. In fact, there was only one thing he could think of that might warrant such an introduction, and although he would prefer to avoid it, sometimes there was nothing else to be done. "You wish to postpone our wedding until after I return from my next assignment? I must admit that I would rather not wait so long, my love, but I can understand that it might be better to wait until after I have increased my fortune a little. And it would give your father more time to adjust to the idea; I know how little you enjoy acting against his wishes."

Tears in her eyes--how could she destroy his happiness, when he had ever been so sweet, so understanding of her situation?--Anne shook her head. "No, I am afraid that is not what I was about to say. I wish it were. You must believe that. You have to believe...." Her voice trailed off; she would not cry in front of him, she was determined. But it was so hard. It would be best to simply say what she had to say, with no more painful delays. She closed her eyes; she did not want to see his expression; it would only make her task harder. "I have thought a great deal, and although this is the last thing I would want, it is better for both of us this way. I must...must inform you that, for the benefit of us both, I cannot marry you at this time."

"Anne, what are you saying? I told you, I am willing to wait until I return from whatever my next post may be...." Suspicion was dawning, but he refused to acknowledge the possibility. His Anne would not do that to him; she was too generous, too caring, too honourable...

"Commander Wentworth, I am breaking our engagement. Please do not make this harder than it already is!" she whispered.

The silence that followed this announcement was more than she could bear. She had to see his face, to prove to herself that it was really over. And, she admitted to herself, she could not resist hoping that he would understand, and forgive her.

Her hopes were dashed when she caught sight of his face. The shock was only to be expected; it was the growing coldness which hurt her most. She could understand anger, but not this. Not being looked at as if she were a stranger, by someone who just moments before had been all affectionate concern. The silence continuted to stretch. "Say something..." she found herself pleading.

"And what would you like me to say to that? Might I at least have the honour of knowing why you are withdrawing your pledge? Or am I to be left wondering what it is I did wrong for the rest of my life?" His voice was tightly controlled, its tone as hard as the expression in his eyes.

"Oh, no! You have not done anything wrong! It is not that...that is not why.... You have done nothing."

"What is it, then? Are you, too, concerned over my current lack of fortune, despite your earlier protests to the contrary?"

"No! I care nothing for that. Were it just myself I had to think of, the money would be nothing. But I have come to realise that, at this stage in our lives, our marriage would be a selfish thing for me to do. You would not be able to take the risks needed to advance in your profession, if you were worrying about a wife and children, how we would manage if you did not survive some action. And if we held you back, you would eventually grow to resent it, resent me. You would not intend to, I know!, but it would happen nevertheless. No, you should not marry just yet; you should wait until you are established in your career, and can support a family without having to risk so much danger."

His control was rapidly failing him; despite his desperate struggles to suppress his feelings, some of his pain and confusion slipped into his voice. "You are talking nonsense, Anne! I could never resent being married to you; have I not told you that I love you too much for that? Or are you trying to tell me that it is you who will have this problem, that you will resent it if I do not soon earn promotions and acquire the wealth to which you are accustomed?"

Anne could no longer restrain her tears, but she barely noticed. How could he say such things? Was he not aware of how much she loved him? "I...I know you cannot mean that. You surely do not truly think me capable of such baseness. It is not your fortune--or lack of it--that could ever trouble me."

Wentworth, all attempts at cold reserve abandoned as his anger mounted, refused to let the phrasing of her denial go unnoticed. "Oh, so there is something else you would resent, then? My common birth, perhaps, or lack of connections? Because of course we all know that it would be such a degradation for a daughter of Sir Walter Elliot's to be married to a mere sailor!" he could not resist adding sarcastically.

She could not believe what she was hearing. She had known that this would be painful for him, as it was for her, and she had expected him to voice his displeasure. But for him to imply that she was as shallow as her father and elder sister was simply too much. "You know that is not true! I would have been perfectly willing to give up all that, had there not been other impediments to our happiness. But indeed, I am beginning to understand what Lady Russell meant; my mother would truly not have wished me to forever bind myself to a man who could accuse me of such sentiments, even while he claims to love me as I do him! And to think I nearly disobeyed my own father's will in order to marry you!"

By this time, Wentworth was beyond caring what he said. He merely hoped to inflict as much pain on the woman he had, just minutes earlier, expected to marry as she had on him. "Oh, certainly, Miss Elliot," he declared harshly, "you must do anything rather than consider disobeying the father who could not even be bothered to remember your existence when I asked for your hand. And who, when I finally got it through to him that it was indeed not Elizabeth or Mary whose hand I was seeking, confidently declared that I was speaking nonsense, as 'no one would want to marry Anne'. Yes, he is much more deserving of your loyalty than the man who has loved you with all his being since almost the first moments of your acquaintance." The look on Anne's face as he said this would return to haunt him in the future, but for now he forced himself to ignore it, taking instead a twisted delight in knowing he had succeeded in hurting her.

The shock Anne felt at hearing him confirm what she had long suspected regarding her family's opinion of her was nothing compared to that of realizing that she had come close to marrying a man who could actually say such things to her. There could be no doubt that he had intended to be cruel; at least, he showed no signs of regretting his words, gave no indication that they had merely slipped out in the heat of the moment. He just sat there, glaring at her, his expression challenging her to deny the truth of his statements regarding Sir Walter. For the first time, she began to feel grateful to Lady Russell for not allowing her to make such a horrible mistake. "That may be the case, Commander," she said, exerting all her self-control in her efforts to remain civil, "but he is still my father, and as such I owe him more respect than I have of late been showing him. Good day."

With that, she left him, her inner turmoil not affecting the dignified, proud bearing which was visible proof that, despite all the differences between her and her currently living relations, when it came to dealing with malicious attacks from outsiders, she was indeed an Elliot.

By the time she reached the grounds of Kellynch, Anne was running, not caring if anyone saw her. All she wanted was to reach the safety of her room as quickly as possible; once she did, she threw herself down on the bed and gave free reign to her tears, unaware that she had actually slammed the door behind her, shocking the servants, who expected such behaviour of the rest of the family, but not Miss Anne. But at the moment, their opinion was the farthest thing from her thoughts.

How could he say that to me? It may be true, but he ought never to have repeated it in front of me like that! How abominably rude! I am better off without him, she tried to convince herself, but although she succeeded in making herself even more angry at Wentworth, the pain of losing him did not lessen in the slightest. Eventually her physical and emotional exhaustion caught up with her, and she feel asleep despite the early hour.

She did not awaken until the following morning. At first she had a vague sense of something missing from her life; when she remembered what that was, she turned and buried her face in the pillow, wishing she could block out the memory of the previous day as easily as she could the light coming through the window. She was in no humour to be sociable, and spent the entire day in her room, hardly even acknowledging the girl who brought meals she had not requested. The Kellynch staff, however, was worried about their favourite mistress, and when they saw that she would not be taking her meals with the others, insisted on seeing to it that she at least had nourishment available to her, although they could not make her eat it. In addition, it gave them an excuse to send Alice in to check on her periodically, although the reports she brought back were not heartening. While they expected fits of pique from Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, Anne had never been one to sulk or indulge in black moods, not even when dear Lady Elliot had died, and they knew not what to make of the fact that she was doing so now. It was obvious that something was very wrong, but they could not ask her about it and certainly could not rely on Anne's family to offer the consolation she clearly needed. So they worried, and tried to make her as comfortable physically as they could.

A few days passed with little variation before Anne found she could no longer bear it; she needed to escape from her room for a time. She was feeling trapped, and knowing that the only person forcing her to be so was herself did little to relieve her frustration. She still did not wish to speak with anyone, however, so she took care to sneak out of the house without being seen, and soon was heading, from force of habit, towards her favourite grove.

When she arrived, she just sat for several minutes, enjoying the feeling of the gentle breeze and the warmth of the sun on her face. She did not want to think for a while, since lately the only thing she could think about at all was her argument with Wentworth. Years of telling her troubles to these very trees were impossible to resist, however, and she soon found herself doing so yet again.

"I tried to do as you would want, Mother, and only succeeded in ruining everything. I did not expect him to be pleased at what I had to say, but I thought he would come to understand why it was necessary, as I did. Instead, he gave me no chance to explain before leaping to conclusions about my reasons, saying I cared more about his lack of money than I do about him, and that I broke off our engagement because I would resent him as being beneath us! He must know that is not true! Although," she had to admit, "I was concerned that I might resent him for inducing me to go against your wishes, Mother. Still, it is not the same, and he ought not to have accused me of being mercenary that way. And then he tried to make me feel guilty for refusing to disobey my father, just because he does not care for me as much as Mary and Elizabeth....But he is still my father! I could never do something so important as marrying, knowing he was opposed to it. I owe him more respect than to disregard his authority simply because I think him a trifle silly, do I not?" Anne sighed.

"Mother, I miss him so much already. I miss knowing that there was someone who thought well of me...who loved me, and loved me for myself, not because I remind them of you, as Lady Russell does. I miss...I should not think this, Mother, much less say it, but I miss feeling that soon I would be part of a family again, one that could accept me as I am. Mr. Wentworth has always been kind to me, and he seemed actually pleased to learn that we were to be related....When I visited the parsonage, I felt as if I belonged, in a way that I have not at Kellynch since you left. And now I will never have that. I ought to have realised before, to have prepared myself for the loss, but somehow it feels worse than I had expected; our argument was so final, in a way that I had not imagined."

She contemplated their final interview for a few moments. "I wish he had let me explain how much it hurt me to do what I did. Maybe then he would have realised that I do still love him, and he would not have treated me so cruelly. I knew it was hard for him, but it was difficult for me as well. He ought to have known that. At the least, he should have known that I would never have accepted him at all if I had not cared for him! But now...oh, Mother, now it is too late. He thinks me mercenary, I am sure, and proud, like Elizabeth. When all I wanted was to do the right thing...We are both so young, and it would have been ill-advised for us to marry now without even my father's approval, would it not? Oh, how I wish you could tell me I did what was right! I think I could bear it, if I knew you approved, but how I shall come through this on my own, I cannot imagine..."

Anne fell silent, trying not to let her mind dwell on the events of the past few days. Her attempts were unsuccessful, however, and after a time she found snatches of their final conversation flitting through her head. "...Commander Wentworth, I am breaking our engagement...." "...it would be such a degradation..." "...had there not been other impediments to our happiness..." "...the man who has loved you with all his being since almost the first moments of your acquaintance..." "...I cannot marry you at this time..." "...You wish to postpone our wedding until after I return from my next assignment?"

Suddenly she sat up, in shock. "I am willing to wait until I return from whatever my next post may be...." How could she have been so foolish? He had offered the perfect solution to their dilemma, yet she had been so focused on her painful resolution that she had not even heard it! They could indeed wait until he returned from sea after a year or two, with hopefully enough funds to support them comfortably; and they would then have the time to grow more certain that they were truly right for each other. Surely her father and Lady Russell would have to see that their marriage was a good thing, if their attachment could bear such a separation and a long engagement, would they not?

She could not wait; she jumped up and began running towards the road. She had to tell him immediately that she had been wrong, and that she wished to renew the engagement on the terms he himself had suggested. He must not continue thinking that she did not love him, not if there was a way around their present difficulties! If only she could be certain he would forgive her...

Out of breath, Anne arrived at the parsonage, her mind in a painful state of anxiety; how would he receive her? Would he even listen to her apology? It seemed too much to hope...

She was shown into the parlour, where she found Mr. Wentworth alone. He looked at her with some surprise. "Miss Wentworth, I own I had not expected to see you--" he began, with only a touch of coolness, certainly far less than she deserved for what she had so recently done to his dear brother, but she could not wait for him to finish. As coherently as she could manage, she told him that she needed to see Commander Wentworth urgently, on a matter of utmost importance, and begged that he might be called.

Edward Wentworth gave her a compassionate look; there could be only one reason she came calling on his brother in so much distress. "My dear, I am very sorry. Frederick left for Portsmouth three days ago. The letter requiring his return arrived the day before he went to Kellynch last; by now he is already at sea. I am afraid you are too late."

Anne could not believe her ears. "Too late?" she repeated numbly.

"Miss Elliot, you must allow me to lead you to a chair. May I get you some wine? I fear you do not look well." Edward Wentworth was very concerned; he had always been fond of Anne Elliot, and despite her argument with Frederick, he had no desire to see her hurt. Yet there had been no truly kind way to give her the news. Her reaction seemed to confirm his suspicion that she had come to apologize to his brother, and he wished now more than ever that he had been able to persuade Frederick to at least try to talk to her once more before he left. He had been convinced leaving in anger would be a mistake they would both regret, but his brother remained adamant, claiming he and his former fiancÈ had nothing more to say to each other. And now Edward was left to break the poor girl's heart all over again; at that moment, seeing how Frederick's departure affected her, he could almost think his brother deserving of the pain he was feeling, if he could be so indifferent to such a sweet young lady who clearly cared for him.

Anne let herself be seated, hardly aware of what she did. It could not be true. She could not have lost her final chance to make things right between them. That last day, before their argument, he had not said a word about having received a letter, or going away shortly, or anything! Yet now he was gone, forever, and she could not even tell him how sorry she was, how foolish she had been. It was all her fault; she would never be able to forgive herself for wasting so many days hiding in her room rather than truly thinking about what had happened. Maybe if she had realized sooner that there was still a way for them, she might not have arrived only to find him beyond her reach.

"Miss Elliot? Pardon my presumption, but perhaps you would like to send a letter to Frederick? It will take some time to reach him, but by then he ought to have had opportunity to calm down, to realise...that perhaps he was a trifle over-hasty in his assumptions, and that this can all end more happily than he lately expected."

She turned a blank gaze on the man before her. The resemblance was remarkable; a small portion of her mind remained clear, detached from recent events, and it wondered at the physical similarity between the Wentworths, when there was almost none among the Elliot sisters. They had the same eyes, the deep gray of a storm cloud...a colour she had always loved....But she should stop thinking this way; it would come to no good. She must put him out of her memory as much as possible, if she hoped ever to be happy again.

"Shall I fetch writing materials, Miss Elliot?" he repeated.

"A letter?" Anne shook her head mournfully. "I thank you for your kindness in suggesting it, but I am afraid that a letter would no longer be sufficient. You do not know...no, a letter is too impersonal. I suppose I shall simply have to learn..." To forget, she would have finished, but she found she could not voice that thought.

He shook his head. "I cannot agree, Miss Elliot, but I will not try to force you. If you will forgive my frankness, I must confess that Frederick told me some of what occurred the other day, and while I am not acquainted with all the particulars, I do feel it likely that had he still been here when you called, the situation might have been resolved to everyone's satisfaction. I sincerely hope you will reconsider the letter."

"No, it would be no use. There was only a slim chance he might have forgiven me had I been able to explain directly, but at such a distance...There is nothing I can do." Suddenly she remembered that she had been talking to a comparative stranger, and blushed. "I beg your pardon, sir; I ought not to have taken up your time this way. I thank you for your patience, and must beg your further indulgence, in asking that you please not speak of any of this. I should not want..."

"No, of course not; I understand completely. I only hope that somehow everything will reach a happier conclusion than seems likely at the moment."

Anne blinked back tears. Could he really be so generous as to wish her well despite what she had done? To think that this man might soon have been her brother...it was too much. She whispered her thanks, and took leave hurriedly, wanting to be back in the privacy of her own home before she could further embarrass herself.

As he watched her progress down the street, Edward Wentworth formed a resolution of his own. If she would not write Frederick, he would, and he had no qualms about telling his brother how childish he was being in his determination to leave no word for Anne Elliot. Nor would he hesitate to describe her distress, in hopes it would bring Frederick to his senses and convince him to attempt his own letter of reconciliation.

Although refusing to retreat entirely to her room once more, Anne spent the next couple of weeks leaving the Kellynch grounds as little as possible and endeavoring to be unavailable when callers came. While acknowledging that she must move on with her life, she felt unequal to the trivialities of social discourse. She most particularly had no desire to encounter Lady Russell; for though her friend would be sympathetic, she must also be pleased at recent events, and Anne did not wish to face sentiments so opposite her own just yet.

Gradually, however, she began to return once more to her accustomed habits, occasionally venturing into the town on some errand, and remaining in the drawing room if she happened to be there when a visitor called, although her part in any conversation remained unwontedly brief. In this manner, her thoughts were slowly less and less occupied by her own folly and regret, and began to return their focus to the world around her, which must be the best remedy for her depressed spirits. She saw Mr. Wentworth only at church, and was grateful for his discretion in keeping his distance there, and not revealing the greater degree of acquaintance that had existed between them during her brief engagement, or the concern for her which he had seemed to feel when it ended.

One morning she received a call from Catherine Parri, with whom she had not really spoken since soon after her party. At first due to reluctance to reveal her engagement before it received her father's approval, then more recently because she felt unequal to appearing her usual self before those who knew her well. However, she could no longer avoid it, for she knew she had been seen through the window as Catherine came up the walk; and as Elizabeth was visiting shops that morning, the interview was to be a private one. Anne hoped she would be able to meet her friend with some cheerfulness.

Once the greetings were past, Catherine inquired after Anne's health. "For I have noticed that not only have we not had the pleasure of your company for quite some time, but you have not been much about lately at all until recently. Have you been feeling unwell, my dear?"

"I confess, I...have not been quite myself of late. Do forgive me for neglecting you for so long, but I hope I shall be tolerably well before too much longer."

"No matter, Anne. You are looking perhaps a trifle weak still; so you just sit there comfortably and let me tell you everything that has been happening while you were ill..." Anne decided not to correct Catherine's assumption that her indisposition was physical; too many painful explanations would be necessary otherwise. Instead, she listened to the town gossip of the preceding weeks, glad of an opportunity to think about such things so wholly unconnected with her own troubles as poor Mr. Gordon's ailing pig. She even found herself beginning to take an interest in her friend's information, until a familiar name came up.

"...and then, you probably do not yet know that Mr. Wentworth's brother has left us already. His departure was quite sudden, took us all by surprise; Mr. Wentworth says the Commander received an urgent request to take up a new post immediately, but I cannot help feeling there was something more to it. He went without even bidding farewell to any of his acquaintance here, which I daresay is not at all like him. I wonder at it. And I must confess--and dear Anne, please do not be angry with me for my presumption--but I had thought I would very shortly hear an announcement that would have pleased me tremendously. But, as he clearly left without speaking to you, my observations must have been tainted by my wishes. It seemed to me he was quite attracted to you (and who would not be?), and I should have thought you would make a perfect pair. Ah well. As things turned out, I am glad I did not mention my suspicions to you before, and risk raising hopes that would not have been fulfilled.--Anne? Are you certain you are up to receiving a visit? You look quite pale all of a sudden; perhaps I should leave so you can rest."

"I am sorry--perhaps I--you must excuse me!" Anne quickly left the room, feeling as though she could not breathe; not only had she not regained sufficient strength to listen to his name without pain, but to learn that she had not been alone in thinking they were right for each other...it was too much. For added to all her other mistakes in the affair was the realization that, had she only confided in Catherine instead of Lady Russell, she might never have felt a need to break the engagement at all! Her tendency to think of Catherine as her own age perhaps misled her; despite their closeness, the other woman remained several years older, and was married herself. Although she was quite a bit younger than Lady Russell, she did have more experience of married life than Anne, and if she too thought...oh, it was not fair! To be constantly learning that their misery could have been avoided, had she only done this or that little thing differently...

But she must not continue thinking this way. She could not expect to improve her spirits if everything reminded her of him, and what might have been--and what she had done wrong. She had to put him behind her, or she would never learn to be content with her lot in life once more; and if she did not do that, she knew not how she would be able to face the years ahead. She had to discipline herself to forget--or at least to suppress the pain and regret associated with those memories.

She simply had to pretend she had never known him, because there was nothing else to be done.

True to her word, Anne immediately began making efforts to drive all thoughts of Frederick Wentworth out of her mind. Much to her surprise, she found that once she began fully participating in the world around her once more, letting herself be distracted by it was not nearly so difficult as she had feared. Her pain remained, but it gradually became possible to forget its existence; first for a moment or two, then for longer periods. As her self-assurance returned, she resumed spending time with the friends she had felt unable to face before, Catherine and Lady Russell in particular. The Parri children, while a reminder of what she might have had, were always a delight; their complete ignorance of the subjects which had been giving Anne so much trouble was refreshing; even if they noticed their Aunt Anne was sometimes not as playful as she used to be, they did not speculate on the reasons, but simply told her stories of their latest findings in the garden or each other's recent misbehaviour in the schoolroom, and their cheerful innocence was a comfort to her. As her confidence in her own strength grew, she began returning to her long-standing friendship with Lady Russell. There was one subject which was never raised between them, but in general they were able to rekindle their affection and, in time, trust.

Anne also threw herself into her duties as a landlord's daughter. Elizabeth, while technically the lady of the house, had never cared for those responsibilities, which detracted from her social obligations; they had instead fallen to Anne, who was more than willing to take them on. Now, her renewed enthusiasm arose from guilt at having neglected their tenants as well as a need to occupy her time and thoughts. She took great pleasure in helping those less fortunate, and no assistance she could give--whether it be in terms of food and other material goods, or simply her time--was too great a sacrifice to ask of her. The poorer tenants were always happy to see her, for unlike Elizabeth, Anne never made disparaging remarks about the size of their cottages or the quality of their clothing, and she could always be counted on for a kind greeting if their paths happened to cross in the town. Their children loved her; she always brought them a little trinket or a handful of sweets when she came visiting. She greatly enjoyed her talks with these people, most of whom she had known since her childhood, when she would accompany her mother on similar errands; their outlook on life seemed a lot more realistic than those of her father or sisters. They never pried into her own affairs, but the more observant among them offered a general comment or two calculated to console.

Thus the days passed, winter came, and before Anne thought it possible, her father and sister were talking of their annual visit to London. She tried to stay out of their preparations, and they were perfectly willing to let her do so, but Lady Russell refused to allow it. She insisted that her young friend accompany her to Bath, if she did not wish to go to London, telling Anne that she deserved her share of pleasure as well. Unspoken, but never forgotten, was a more urgent reason for her desire of Anne's making the trip: she hoped the entertainments of a city would help the girl recover her spirits and put the events of the summer more firmly behind her. And so early spring found Anne in Lady Russell's coach, pulling up to the building where her friend had taken rooms for the season.

Anne had never much cared for Bath; her years attending a school there after her mother died were far from happy memories. Her sole consolation in returning there now was that it must be easier for her to gain access to navy lists and current news in Bath than it would be at Kellynch; although she was beginning to make it through some days without her thoughts constantly turning towards a certain sailor, she had by no means stopped wondering about his welfare. When she thought herself in little danger of discovery, she eagerly poured over newspapers, searching for his name or that of his ship. Every report of a new battle had her fearing for his safety, until details could be obtained that reassured her of his not being among the casualties--or better still, not in the action at all. All anyone had to do to gain Anne's full attention was to mention the war; once the topic came up, she listened eagerly in hopes of learning more about the commander of one small sloop.

As for the usual diversions of Bath, Anne took little pleasure in them. Each assembly reminded her of the one in which she had first danced with him, each morning of idle chatter in the pump-room was unfavorably compared with those precious few conversations she had enjoyed with him and his brother. Although her new acquaintance seemed agreeable, none could erase the remembrance of a certain late-night stroll, or a card party at which her mind was on anything but cards. No matter how often she told herself to forget, this return to society after her self-imposed isolation made the memories impossible to ignore. For her friend's sake, she tried to appear cheerful, but in her heart Anne knew that she would find no relief in Bath.

Lady Russell, though she took care never to say as much, observed that the girl's smiles were forced, and that her conversation lacked her natural enthusiasm. Her best efforts at introducing Anne to pleasant, eligible young men yielded no results; she spoke to them politely while they were present, then seemed to forget their existence once they were out of sight.

At length, she acknowledged to herself that the trip was unsuccessful, and although she herself loved the city, Lady Russell knew her friend had always preferred the countryside; she decided there was nothing to be gained in staying longer in Bath. Therefore, Anne was returned to the familiar rooms of Kellynch before summer was fully underway.

Anne was frankly relieved to return to her home; there, she could spend nearly as much time as she wished alone, out of doors; she would not be forced to be sociable with people she barely knew. She could indulge her tendency to be lost in her thoughts; she could daydream of what might have been all she wanted. She could live quietly, her desire of making it through each day with as little effort as possible far easier to realise in the country than in Bath. She was, too, grateful to Lady Russell for not berating her for her lack of spirits; she knew her friend was trying to draw her out, and she made every effort to comply, but it had been too difficult; Lady Russell, however, never broached the subject, merely suggesting Anne looked fatigued and might be more happy if she returned to Kellynch earlier than they had planned.

Anne could scarcely credit that nearly a year had passed since Frederick Wentworth had first entered her acquaintance. Soon each day brought a fresh reminder of what had occurred exactly twelve months before, the memories' joy tainted by the knowledge that their promise had not been fulfilled. The days surrounding the anniversary of their argument were especially difficult for Anne; she could not resist reliving them, even though they were among the most painful times of her life. She managed to bear them, though, and once she got past the worst days she found being able to tell herself she had survived one year without him gave her courage to face the next.

That autumn and winter progressed much as the previous had, with Anne's time spent primarily in visiting their tenants and spending time with the Parris and Lady Russell. Spring saw another trip to London for Elizabeth and Sir Walter and to Bath for Lady Russell, but this year Anne was permitted to remain at Kellynch. She found spending her favourite time of year in surroundings she loved quite healing, and regretted even more that she had been convinced to go to Bath instead the year before. Her relations returned to Kellynch all too soon, in Anne's opinion as well as their own, and once again she faced the approaching summer with apprehension, yet ever-increasing belief in her own strength.

One day as Anne was returning from a visit to some tenants, her mind could not be kept from drifting to the past; she was still incapable of walking through the meadow in which she had once become engaged without thinking of that other, happier, morning. She raised her eyes, and thought she spied a familiar figure waiting by that very stile. She chastised herself for doing so; she had thought the days of seeing him around every corner, behind every tree, were finally behind her; this sign of her continued weakness was all the more disappointing for being unexpected. She would have to try harder.

Suddenly, the other person started towards her, raising his arm and calling out something indistinguishable as if to attract her attention. As he drew nearer, she saw that he was not someone she knew, although his face seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps she had seen him about the town, she mused, not really paying any attention to him until he was upon her.

"I say, miss, have you seen a young dog come this way? She got away from me about a quarter of an hour ago, and has not yet learnt to come when called. She shall ruin my sport once the season begins, I am sure of it. Doesn't want to take to training, that one...," the young man explained.

"No, I am sorry, but I have not seen any dogs this morning. Have you perhaps tried searching the woods on the other side of the lane?"

"Yes, blast it, not a sign of her. Oh, beg your pardon, miss. It's just so blasted annoying, I can't help it. The pup's from a line of excellent hunters, you know, but she seems determined to be anything but."

Anne smiled faintly. "Well, I am sure you will find her soon, sir."

"If you do happen to see her, would you please send word to Uppercross? Name's Charles Musgrove. 'Twould be greatly appreciated, Miss...."

"Anne Elliot. Certainly, Mr. Musgrove, although I am sure she will turn up at home; dogs generally do. She may even be waiting for you there now."

"Yes, yes, in most cases I would agree. This one's just so stubborn, never does what one expects. Well, I had better get on with the search; nice meeting you, Miss Elliot, and please don't forget to keep an eye out."

"My pleasure, Mr. Musgrove. Good day." Anne remained where she was for a few minutes more as she watched him continue down the lane, bemused. This was clearly not a person to stand on ceremony; he may, in fact, have been the most natural acquaintance she had made since...well. For a long time, at any rate. Two years, in fact. She rather hoped he would find his poor dog, and thought it might perhaps be worth pursuing a friendship with the young man. It would be nice to have a friend around who knew nothing of her former folly, and who therefore could not judge her for it. And even Elizabeth could have no objections, surely; although there was no prior acquaintance between the Kellynch family and that of Uppercross, Anne had heard enough over the years to know that the Musgroves were certainly respectable, and looked up to in their sphere the way the Elliots considered themselves to be in their own. No title, certainly, and probably not so large an estate, but of sufficiently gentle birth to satisfy even Elizabeth's requirements for being an acceptable acquaintance.

No opportunity for furthering the acquaintance presented itself, however, and she soon forgot all about their chance meeting, until she was coming out of a shop one day and he bumped into her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, miss, my fault; I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, I'm afraid."

Anne recognised the young man immediately, and smiled; this frank admission fit perfectly with her previous estimation of his character. He probably gave little thought to other people at all, she had surmised, and was therefore able to be just as open with people he did not know as with longtime members of his acquaintance; she suspected he found it difficult to remember who belonged to which group, and just treated everyone equally.

"Quite all right, Mr. Musgrove. I hope you found your dog?"

"My dog?" He looked blank for a moment, uncomprehending and clearly not knowing her.

"The one who had run away from you a few weeks back, who, you said, was being difficult to train," she prompted.

"Oh, yes! Her. Yes, she came home on her own later that night, the scoundrel. But how did you--? Oh, yes, the young lady. Pardon; I had forgotten. Miss...Elliot, was it?"

"Yes, that's right. I am glad to hear that everything turned out all right." She assumed their brief conversation would end there, and started to continue on her way, but he turned and walked with her.

"For now, perhaps, but I've still no idea how I'm going to get her in shape before it's time to start shooting. Always running off on her own, won't listen to any commands. No, I suppose I shall just have to leave her behind, and not take her with the others...but it's a dashed nuisance to have a useless dog like that."

Anne knew little of hunting, it not being a pursuit her father had ever taken an interest in, and was therefore limited to making vague, noncommittal comments, Mr. Musgrove did not seem to notice, however, and cheerfully continued a discussion of what appeared to be his favourite pastime with no need for her assistance. When they reached Anne's next destination, she stopped walking and prepared to take her leave, but it was several minutes before he noticed.

"Oh! I beg your pardon, Miss Elliot. You're wanting to finish your shopping, and here I am going on about topics I am sure you take no interest in. You should have said something."

And when does he think I could have gotten a word in? she wondered, once more amused by his willingness to admit what some might view as grievous errors of propriety. "I beg you, do not concern yourself, Mr. Musgrove."

"Well, I shall take myself off now, and let you go about your business. Perhaps we shall meet again one day."

Anne smiled. "I am sure we shall."

"I should like that," he acknowledged, then bowed and continued down the street. Anne shook her head, wondering what the rest of the Musgroves must be like, and hoping very much that she would get to know them some day.

Uppercross being only three miles from Kellynch, and Charles Musgrove being an active young man, Anne began frequently noticing his face about the town. Most often he seemed wholly absorbed by his own thoughts, Probably of hunting, but when he did see her, he always greeted her warmly, though occasions for actual conversation were but few. Anne mentioned making his acquaintance to Lady Russell, who heartily approved. In her opinion, it was past time that Anne started meeting new people. The only way to recover from an attachment was to form a new one, and while he may not be all she could wish in a husband for her dear friend, this was the first man Anne had seemed to show a genuine interest in since her disastrous engagement. Although Lady Russell had not been acquainted with Charles Musgrove herself, she took advantage of a nearly forgotten former friendship with his mother to secure an introduction. Wishing rather to meet him without Anne's knowledge, so she could judge his suitability without her friend's accusations of interference, she made an opportunity to call on Mrs. Musgrove one day.

That lady was very surprised to receive the visit, for many years had passed since the two could really have been considered friends, it having always been Lady Elliot who was the common bond between them; yet she welcomed Lady Russell with characteristic warmth. The years that had passed without much communication between them provided ample topics for conversation, and it was not difficult for Lady Russell to convince her hostess to discuss her own children. Unfortunately, these were so numerous that gaining as much information as she wished about the eldest was difficult. She heard enough to establish him, in his mother's eyes at least, as a very kind, moderately intelligent young man. Perhaps a bit over-concerned with hunting, but there were worse pastimes a man of his age and situation could take an interest in, and at least he was responsible enough to give his parents no great cause for worry. This was in stark contrast to the next oldest son, a worthless young reprobate who had been sent to sea as soon as he was old enough, in hopes that hard work would effect a reform. Despairing of receiving any more detailed information about the real focus of her curiosity once Mrs. Musgrove launched into an obviously oft-repeated complaint about her second son, Lady Russell took her leave soon after, pretty well satisfied with the outcome of her visit.

Soon thereafter, she was able to meet the young man himself; she happened to be out with Anne when they ran across him, and the introduction was performed. He seemed easily distracted, but amiable enough in other respects. And Anne was not getting any younger, after all. Yes, he would do...and his being the heir of an estate within such an easy distance of herself was another point in his favour. Before they parted, she made sure to express a hope of seeing him at the upcoming assembly. He did not strike her as a young man much given to dancing, but once she broached the subject, he did not express a resolution of never attending such frivolous gatherings, either, so she did not despair of his making an appearance and asking Anne to dance.

To Anne's own surprise, when the evening of the assembly arrived, Charles Musgrove did in fact attend, along with his parents. Mrs. Musgrove soon approached Lady Russell, and revealed that although it had been a long time since she had mixed in Kellynch society, tending to remain closer to Uppercross, the visit from her old friend had led her to feel a desire of renewing old acquaintances. Therefore she had persuaded her husband to accompany her to the ball, and found their son had no objections to coming along. Anne, who had long been wishing to meet more of the Musgroves, was perfectly willing to accept the introduction now made; and to Lady Russell's disappointment, she spent several minutes in conversation with the older couple before even glancing around in search of their son. The latter had abandoned his parents immediately upon entering the room, in favour of some young men he occasionally hunted with. Some time after the dancing had begun, however, he made his way over to the party from Kellynch, and stood listening to his mother's conversation with Lady Russell until Anne's current partner returned her to the group. Lady Russell was at first disappointed that he had not approached earlier, until she realised that in waiting, he had avoided the necessity of speaking with Elizabeth or Sir Walter, as the former was now holding court among the circle of her admirers on the other side of the room, while the latter was off in search of the punch.

He and Anne greeted each other with evident friendship. Lady Russell, through subtle maneuvering, was able to arrange for them to be standing a little apart from the rest of the group, so as to afford them what little privacy might be possible in a ballroom. She was, therefore, a trifle put out that he failed to seize the opportunity to ask her friend for a dance. She was soon able to console herself, however, with the realisation that supper was due to be served very shortly, and that he must be the one to accompany Anne. Afterwards, Lady Russell found herself unable to escape the card-rooms any longer, leaving her incapable of continuing her close observation of the pair. And since when the Elliots were ready to depart, she was unsuccessful in persuading Anne to stay a little longer and ride home with her, any discussion of the evening would have to wait until the following morning.

The following morning Lady Russell called at Kellynch as early as she supposed it might be possible to find its inhabitants awake and dressed. Upon arrival, she discovered that in fact two of them were still abed, but as Anne was not, she thought that mattered little. She had only a brief wait before Anne entered the parlour and greeted her warmly.

"Good morning, Lady Russell; I am afraid Elizabeth and my father are still sleeping. We do not usually expect to see you so early the morning after an assembly, you know!"

"Yes, my dear, I must apologise for coming this early, but I was longing so to know what you thought of the evening."

Anne looked puzzled. "I cannot see why that would interest you so greatly; it was a ball like any other. I enjoyed it as well as I might expect; not to the extent I might once have, but certainly as much as I have any in the last couple of years."

An uncomfortable silence followed, as each was reflecting on the unspoken reason for Anne's decreased enjoyment of such activities since the time in question. Not wishing to be distracted from her purpose in visiting, however, Lady Russell soon cleared her throat and attempted to sound as if the moment had not occurred.

"Well, Anne, and what did you think of the company? Particularly your more recent acquaintance."

"Hmm? Oh, you mean the Musgroves, do you not? They seem very nice. Quite different from our family, of course.... Mrs. Musgrove struck me as being all that is amiable; not very refined or intellectual, perhaps, but quite warm-hearted and surely a devoted mother."

"Yes, yes. She always was fond of children; we knew she was destined to have a rather large family of her own. Speaking of children, I noticed you talking to her son quite a bit. I have only exchanged a few sentences with him, of course; what would you say he is like?"

"We did not converse that much, Lady Russell, but what was said did confirm my previous opinion of him. I dare say Elizabeth would not like him at all, for he quite often completely forgets to pay attention to propriety, but he is so natural and well-meaning that I find it refreshing."

"Yes, Anne, I do believe you are correct. If that is the case, then Elizabeth most certainly would not like him," Lady Russell agreed dryly.

Anne smiled. "I am afraid he would not be willing to pay her compliments simply because she is an Elliot. Perhaps it is quite a good thing that he is not likely to ever call here, for I should hate to have her learn that such a lack of 'proper manners' is possible!"

"Quite. But do go on, my dear. What did you talk about?"

"With Mr. Musgrove? There can only be one subject for him, it seems--hunting!" She laughed. "Although as he does not require a response, one does not mind so much. If nothing else, it means one does not have to pretend to know anything about the subject. To be perfectly fair, though, last night he also talked about other topics. His family, for instance; he has two sisters who are away at school, and who he thinks will enjoy assemblies tremendously once they are out. He said they would be overjoyed at the thought of finding themselves the object of the company's admiration on such occasions--and he seemed to think highly enough of them to believe that such would be the case. But of course, that may just be brotherly partiality."

"Yes, most likely it is. But then, he seems to be showing good taste in bestowing his own admiration, so perhaps he will prove right on that score after all," Lady Russell commented pointedly.

"I am sorry, but I cannot think to what you may be referring. I did not notice that Mr. Musgrove seemed to admire anyone particularly."

"No, dear, I am sure you would not. You lack the vanity necessary to have correctly interpreted his actions; but I assure you, he was clearly attracted."

"What, to me? I have not heard something so ridiculous in quite some time! While I do think, and hope, that we are becoming friends, I neither wish for more nor believe he wants more than that himself. I cannot think where you got such an idea; you are normally more perceptive than that, Lady Russell."

"Well, well, that's as may be. Only time will tell which of us is correct in this matter, my dear, but I am quite certain I am not imagining things."

Anne could not be convinced, however, and both tacitly agreed to let the subject be changed before the disagreement could develop into an argument. They spoke of more neutral topics for another hour before Lady Russell decided she would learn no more from Anne that day, and took her leave.

Anne herself was a little surprised at her friend's assertions. That Lady Russell, who knew her whole history as well as her temperament and therefore ought to realise that her love for Commander--now Captain, she had read--Wentworth would not be diminished simply because they were no longer in the same circle. She had never even considered looking on Charles Musgrove as anything more than a potential friend, and was in some degree disappointed that one of the people who knew her best could think her affections so inconstant as to be altered by a mere separation, when her conscience would not even let her blame him for it. Catherine would not have expected her to now be interested in Mr. Musgrove as a potential husband, she was sure; that is, she would not do so if she had known of Anne's short-lived engagement. Thinking of Catherine's probable disagreement with Lady Russell's opinion in this case recalled to mind their opposite reactions to the idea of her marrying Wentworth, and once more she was left wondering which friend she ought to be guided by. Her duty was clearly towards the woman her mother had asked to look after her, but her own wishes drew her towards Catherine instead. Was that because Catherine was proving to be more accurate in these situations, or merely due to the fact that it was Catherine who told her what she wanted to hear?

To clear her head, Anne decided to take a long walk, away from the distractions of home and her sister's post-assembly callers. Her steps automatically guided her towards the road she knew so well even after all this time--the path to Monkford. Once she became conscious of her direction, her reason insisted that she ought to turn into some other route, but her heart persisted in reliving old memories, even the happy ones inevitably tinged with regret. Her attention was at length caught by a greeting from the subject of that morning's discussion, recalling to her mind the fact that the road she was on also led to Uppercross. Making an effort to compose her features, for the last thing she wanted was for Charles Musgrove to inquire what was wrong while her thoughts were engaged on such a subject, she greeted him with tolerable cheer.

"I am a bit surprised to see you here, Miss Elliot. If my younger sisters are to be believed, no young lady ever emerges before noon the day after a ball!"

"I dare say that is true for many, but I am afraid I could never sleep that late myself, morning after a ball or not! You will just have to inform your sisters, Mr. Musgrove, that not all young ladies are so fashionable as to behave thus."

"Yes, and what a blow it will be to them, no doubt. But as I think I told you last night, they are still quite young and their ideas of such things as public assemblies are certainly not formed from experience. A trifle silly, perhaps, but no more so than most their age, I wager, and very good girls overall."

Anne smiled. "I am sure you are right. And schoolgirls do get some fanciful notions at times; they will learn better when the time comes. Having an elder brother to guide them will make it all the easier, I feel certain."

"Who, me? I know nothing of such things, I'm sure! All too fancy and genteel for the likes of me. I show up occasionally, spend the evening trying like the devil not to be roped into dancing, and look forward to the time I can leave without rousing too much notice. Not my idea of a good way to spend an evening, I confess."

Anne's good opinion of him rose still further. Having seen the way most young men would have tried to correct such a blunder by expressly making an exception for the time spent with the lady he was addressing, she liked knowing that if Mr. Musgrove were ever to pay someone a compliment, it would be sincerely meant. She was not inclined to take a lack of such words of course as an offense, and instead entered into the conversation with no ill feelings.

"Assemblies can be tiresome at times, I must agree. And I am sure you would much rather spend the time with more agreeable companions, such as your dogs. Am I not right, Mr. Musgrove?"

He laughed unabashedly. "Yes, Miss Elliot, you know me well. My mother would say I ought to apologise, but dash it, I don't like being surrounded by that many people, most of whom I don't know or don't care to, for several hours together. I am much more comfortable in smaller gatherings."

"That is perfectly understandable. I prefer evenings spent among a handful of friends myself."

"Always assuming that the evening in question is not being devoted to cards, you mean, Miss Elliot," interjected a well-remembered voice from behind her. Before she had finished turning to meet him, Mr. Wentworth came up and wished them both good morning.

Anne blushed, remembering that they were still in close proximity to Monkford, and wishing she had suggested to Mr. Musgrove that they continue walking. She did not wish to have Mr. Wentworth draw the same conclusions Lady Russell had voiced just that morning, however untrue she herself might know them to be; and while they had carefully let their incipient friendship fade back to the level of common acquaintance in the past two years, she could not bear the thought of his thinking ill of her, which he surely must do if he decided she had transferred her affections from his brother after so short a period.

As the men conversed, Anne took herself to task for such thoughts. Just because Lady Russell saw more than existed between herself and Charles Musgrove, she was now expecting everyone she met to do the same. That was nonsense. She knew, after all, that her friend was far from unbiased regarding herself, and must therefore be likely to assume admiration in others, whether it was actually felt or not. For her own part, she felt no hint of improper intimacy in their friendship; why, then, should she suspect others of imagining such? Mr. Wentworth surely had no motive for doing so, and he had always seemed fond of her; there could be no cause for him to look for a reason to change that opinion now; not if the disastrous way her engagement to his brother ended had failed to turn him against her, as had certainly seemed to be the case.

She resolved not to allow Lady Russell's erroneous suspicions to alter her behaviour so long as she knew herself to be innocent of any wrongdoing in this matter; yet she could not be entirely easy knowing that such conclusions could be drawn, and that she would not always have the opportunity of refuting them.

Her attention was drawn back to the conversation at hand when Mr. Wentworth mentioned leaving Monkford. "Leaving us, sir? I do hope I heard that incorrectly; I confess my mind had been wandering...."

He looked at her compassionately, clearly surmising that her concern over his departure was for his brother's sake rather than his own. "Indeed, Miss Elliot, you heard correctly. I will be leaving in less than two months; I have been granted a living in Shropshire."

"How sad--for us, I mean, although I am of course happy for you. We shall miss having you around."

"And I shall miss the people here as well. I know I already regret not having had the opportunity to become closer acquainted with you, Miss Elliot," he said, with a particular look which she was very well able to interpret as a reference to their having almost been brother and sister, but which made her glad for Mr. Musgrove's habitual inattention to such nuances in the people around him; the last thing she needed was for more rumours to start, this time concerning herself and Mr. Wentworth!

"I, as well," she answered sadly. "But it cannot be helped. I hope you will be pleased with your new position, and wish you all the best."

"Thank you, Miss Elliot. I hope the same for you. And who knows? Perhaps we may meet again one day."

Anne shook her head. "That is not very likely at this point, I am afraid. I should like it a great deal, but I find I cannot believe it possible, Mr. Wentworth."

He sighed. "Perhaps you are right; but I know you will forgive me for hoping that, in this case, you are mistaken, unlikely as it may seem to us now."

His persistence seemed more than could be accounted for by common courtesy; dared she hope he knew something of his brother's feelings or intentions which led him to conclude that they might indeed be drawn back into the same circle? "Mr. Wentworth," she ventured, "is there some reason you feel so? Do you know anything which I do not, to give you this conviction?" Mr. Musgrove had by this point been completely forgotten, she would be ashamed to realise later.

Mr. Wentworth was suddenly conscious of the false hope he may have given. "I am afraid not, Miss Elliot. I am speaking only from my own wishful thinking, and not out of any secret knowledge or even true expectation of such an outcome. But if it should occur, I would be very happy to learn it."

They stood a moment in silence, Anne temporarily unable to summon the courage for a casual reply; Mr. Wentworth wondering if it might indeed be possible to convince his brother to return to the area and set things right; and Mr. Musgrove reflecting that the morning promised fine hunting weather for the next day or two. At last Wentworth recalled them from their separate thoughts by wishing them both a good day, and continuing his interrupted walk towards the town.

Lady Russell had by this point come to the conclusion that she must help her young friend if she wanted to see her married. Ordinarily she might feel there were a few years yet before it would be time to worry, but despite her youth Anne's bloom was already beginning to fade; and while he was not all she could wish, Charles Musgrove seemed like a pleasant, if single-minded, young man, and was more importantly heir to a nice bit of property; and since Anne avoided London and Bath, and was not likely to meet with many better young men in the relatively secluded, withdrawn society to be found around Kellynch, he would have to do.

Once she had decided to take an active role in the couple's courtship, the first step was to throw a dinner party. The perfect excuse soon arose: the youngest Elliot, Mary, had finished her schooling and was due to return to Kellynch. Inviting the Elliots was a matter of course under any circumstances, and her expressed desire to renew the friendship between herself and Mrs. Musgrove provided the perfect reason for asking the Musgroves and their eldest son despite their not being acquainted with Mary. The Parris and one or two other couples from among their neighbours rounded out the guest list; to Lady Russell's delight, everyone accepted.

The evening in question proved to be a fine, clear night, the pleasant weather a good omen, to Lady Russell's mind. There was, in truth, no reason the party should not be a success; Anne showed more interest in Charles Musgrove than she had in any man since that disastrous business with the sailor a few years prior; and he certainly seemed taken with her. At the least, he did not seem to mind when she pulled him out of his thoughts by speaking to him, and that was more than could be said for most young women, according to his mother's laments and Lady Russell's own close observation. It appeared that the only thing hindering their alliance was the gentleman's regrettable diffidence in social matters--an affliction she was determined to cure him of with all speed.

As was their custom when she was their hostess, the Elliots were the first to arrive. In former, happier times, Lady Elliot would have spent much of the afternoon with her, adding final touches to the seating arrangement and helping to direct the servants in the decoration of the rooms. Anne would gladly have continued her mother's tradition, but Lady Russell refused to hear of it. A young, unmarried woman should spend the final hours before a social engagement in anticipation and experimenting with her hairstyle, not assisting her hostess; and on this evening in particular, her friend had not wanted to risk Anne's tiring herself before the event even began. Shortly after their entrance, the other guests began making an appearance, and soon the entire party was collected.

The attentions she knew Sir Walter, Elizabeth, and Mary were expecting prevented her from observing the pair of particular interest to her as much as she would like, but as they all went in to dinner she was able to reflect with some satisfaction that the evening seemed to be going according to plan. She had no fears for the meal itself; Anne and Charles Musgrove were carefully seated both next to each other and as far from Anne's family as possible. A hint to Catherine Parri, on Musgrove's other side, would be all that was required to see to it that she did not attempt more than a minimum of conversation with him; and on Anne's other side was an older gentleman who had been invited primarily because he preferred to focus on his food rather than discourse. To the extent possible in such a setting, the couple would be effectively alone; she only wished that they could have been situated closer to herself, so that she could have overheard their conversation. Still, she had high hopes.

From Anne's perspective, the evening so far had been enjoyable, but nothing to excite particular interest. She took some pleasure in being among a small company of, mostly, friends like this, but she still had not regained her former fondness for society. After dining, she spent the time before the gentlemen joined them primarily in conversation with Catherine. Later, she once more found herself seated next to Charles Musgrove; she glanced over at Lady Russell suspiciously, but the latter's apparently being engrossed in a discussion with Sir Walter made it unlikely she was manipulating the pair. Still, Anne resolved to do what she must to make it clear to her friend that there was no attachment between herself and Mr. Musgrove. In the meantime, she returned her attention to him.

They had been talking of Mr. Musgrove's siblings again; Mary's being just returned from school had called to mind his absent sisters, and the unfortunate brother who was away at sea. "But it is the most amazing thing, Miss Elliot--we actually received a letter from Dick last week! It seems he recently got posted to a new ship, and his new captain insisted he write his parents! I think this may be the first letter he ever sent that did not just beg for money. Perhaps there is hope for my brother after all, if only he can manage to stay in this post long enough to benefit from it before this new captain, too, is forced to get rid of him."

Anne was pleased for her new friends. "Why, that is good news indeed! I imagine your mother is particularly happy to hear from him; I know she regrets having to be separated from one of her children for so long."

"Yes, well, my mother has almost become resigned to the fact that there was really nothing else to be done with Dick. It helps her, I think, knowing that Louisa and Henrietta are doing so well at their school. They miss home, of course, but it sounds like they are having a good time and doing well with learning all those fancy things ladies all know how to do."

"...and which you see as worthless, if I am not mistaken," Anne laughed. "And in many cases, I would have to agree with you. But then, we women must have some way of passing the time, since we are unable to enter any profession and most trades, and one might as well do needlework or paint as anything else available to us, I suppose. After all," she could not resist adding mischievously, "it is not as if we were permitted to hunt."

Her companion laughed. "I understand your point, Miss Elliot, and will confess that I do feel sorry for you. But though you apparently believe me only capable of thinking on one subject, I am in fact quite aware that you don't share my fondness for sport. But then, not many ladies do, and it is quite kind of you to put up with my talking about it so often nonetheless."

She just smiled in return. "It is nothing, Mr. Musgrove. What else are friends for, if not to listen when we wish to talk?" She noticed him casting a glance towards the other side of the room, one of many since the gentlemen had returned, and a thought struck her. Catching her younger sister's notice, she indicated that Mary should approach them. "I don't believe you have been properly introduced. Mary, this is my friend Charles Musgrove; Mr. Musgrove, my younger sister Mary."

"How do you do, Miss Elliot?"

"Quite well, I thank you, sir," Mary smiled.

Anne saw that her friend and her sister were equally uncertain as to what to say next, so she decided to come to their rescue. "Mary, Mr. Musgrove has two young sisters who are away at school. I believe they are several years younger than you, and were sent at a rather early age. Is that not correct, Mr. Musgrove?"

"Oh. Yes, I believe it is. I mean, I do have two sisters at school, and from what I understand they must have been sent there unusually young, and I believe that they must be several years younger than Miss Mary Elliot. Actually, they are practically children still, but fourteen and fifteen," he managed to reply.

Mary ventured a smile. "I hope they are enjoying themselves, Mr. Musgrove. I should dearly like to meet them; there are not enough proper young girls in this neighborhood, and one so dearly likes to have friends of about one's own age and station. I am sure they are delightful."

Mr. Musgrove relaxed. If there was a sure way to win him over, aside from expressing a love of hunting or admiration for his dogs, it was praising his much-loved sisters.

Gradually the conversation became easier, and once Catherine had joined them, Anne spent the remainder of the evening in a state of reasonable contentment; her two friends, and the sister she hoped to rescue from following Elizabeth's footsteps, might perhaps seem an unusual group to observers, but to Anne, it was all she could ask for. All she might hope to attain, rather. There was still someone missing whose presence would have made it perfect, but for the moment, it was enough.

It had to be.