Persuasion (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (31 page)

“A little. I am a little acquainted with Captain Benwick.”

“Well, she is to marry him. Nay, most likely they are married already, for I do not know what they should wait for.”

“I thought Captain Benwick a very pleasing young man,” said Anne, “and I understand that he bears an excellent character.”

“Oh! yes, yes, there is not a word to be said against James Benwick. He is only a commander, it is true, made last summer, and these are bad times for getting on, but he has not another fault that I know of. An excellent, good-hearted fellow, I assure you; a very active, zealous officer too, which is more than you would think for, perhaps, for that soft sort of manner does not do him justice.”

“Indeed you are mistaken there, sir; I should never augur want of spirit from Captain Benwick’s manners. I thought them particularly pleasing, and I will answer for it, they would generally please.”

“Well, well, ladies are the best judges; but James Benwick is rather too piano for me; and though very likely it is all our partiality, Sophy and I cannot help thinking Frederick’s manners better than his. There is something about Frederick more to our taste.”

Anne was caught. She had only meant to oppose the too common idea of spirit and gentleness being incompatible with each other, not at all to represent Captain Benwick’s manners as the very best that could possibly be, much less better than Frederick’s — Captain Wentworth’s; and, after a little hesitation, she was beginning to say, “I was not entering into any comparison of the two friends,” but the Admiral interrupted her with —

“And the thing is certainly true. It is not a mere bit of gossip. We have it from Frederick himself. His sister had a letter from him yesterday, in which he tells us of it, and he had just had it in a letter from Harville, written upon the spot, from Uppercross. I fancy they are all at Uppercross.”

This was an opportunity which Anne could not resist; she said, therefore, “I hope, Admiral, I hope there is nothing in the style of Captain Wentworth’s letter to make you and Mrs. Croft particularly uneasy. It did seem, last autumn, as if there were an attachment between him and Louisa Musgrove; but I hope it may be understood to have worn out on each side equally, and without violence. I hope his letter does not breathe the spirit of an ill-used man.”

“Not at all, not at all; there is not an oath or a murmur from beginning to end.”

Anne looked down to hide her smile.

“No, no; Frederick is not a man to whine and complain; he has too much spirit for that. If the girl likes another man better, it is very fit she should have him.”

“Certainly. But what I mean is, that I hope there is nothing in Captain Wentworth’s manner of writing to make you suppose he thinks himself ill-used by his friend, which might appear, you know, without its being absolutely said. I should be very sorry that such a friendship as has subsisted between him and Captain Benwick should be destroyed, or even wounded, by a circumstance of this sort.”

“Yes, yes, I understand you. But there is nothing at all of that nature in the letter. He does not give the least fling at Benwick; does not so much as say, ‘I wonder at it, I have a reason of my own for wondering at it.’ No, you would not guess, from his way of writing, that he had ever thought of this Miss (what’s her name?) for himself. He very handsomely hopes they will be happy together; and there is nothing very unforgiving in that, I think.”

Anne did not receive the perfect conviction which the Admiral meant to convey, but it would have been useless to press the enquiry farther. She therefore satisfied herself with common-place remarks or quiet attention, and the Admiral had it all his own way.

“Poor Frederick!” said he at last. “Now he must begin all over again with somebody else. I think we must get him to Bath. Sophy must write, and beg him to come to Bath. Here are pretty girls enough, I am sure. It would be of no use to go to Uppercross again, for that other Miss Musgrove, I find, is bespoke by her cousin, the young parson. Do not you think, Miss Elliot, we had better try to get him to Bath?”

Anne must have agreed, for the Admiral patted her hand affectionately and launched directly into a different topic, most likely about his beloved Sophy or how something else should
involve
his beloved Sophy. Anne had trouble paying attention. The idea of Frederick — Captain Wentworth — coming to Bath had snared all capability for complex thought.

It had been difficult enough being near to him when he was actively seeking another’s hand. Whatever would she do if he came to Bath as a free man? She
prayed
he came to Bath as a free man.

She made her excuses to the Admiral, and he gallantly dropped her off at home. Anne went directly to her room, not pausing to say hello to her father, sister, or Mrs. Clay — the pressing need for solitude overriding even the most basic manners.

When she arrived at her room, she shut the door and leaned against it, her breath whooshing out of her in a sigh as every bone in her body sagged with weariness. She was so
tired
. Tired of being alone, tired of having her needs go unmet, tired of having her love life be the focus of everyone’s speculation — just tired.

Unbidden her eyes landed on her bed, and her mind pictured the box of Frederick’s letters that she knew were hidden underneath. Longing stole through her, and she resisted as long as she could before she trudged over to the bed, kneeled down on the floor, and pulled the box toward her.

With a steeling breath, Anne opened the box while still kneeling on the unforgiving floor, and Frederick’s faint scent wafted toward her from the collection of sentiment inside. With shaking fingers, she sifted through the yellowing letters to the very bottom where she knew she would find his last missive along with the present that had accompanied it.

Her fingers encountered the cool brass first, and she pulled forth the small telescope. She warily eyed the little folded square of paper that was attached to the metal with a sturdy knot while setting the box down on the floor without looking.

She knew what the letter said without having to read it, but she undid the knot with one pull in the right place and unfolded the letter anyway.

Do not stop looking for me, for my heart is never far from yours.

Love,

Frederick

He had sent it after she had broken their engagement, on the day that he left for the sea. Anne had taken to her bed and held the telescope to her chest as she cried without end for days upon days.

And, truth be told, she had obeyed his plea. Never once had she stopped looking for him: around every corner, at every party, during every holiday.

“I have never stopped loving you,” she whispered. The lines of Frederick’s script blurred, and Anne blinked back tears as she tried to stay the tide of longing for him — for his touch, his kiss, his love — that threatened to sweep her away. “Please.” She closed her eyes and held the telescope against her cheek. “Come back to me.”

While Admiral Croft was taking this walk with Anne, and expressing his wish of getting Captain Wentworth to Bath, Captain Wentworth was already on his way thither, and he was very confused as to why he was. He hoped the timing of his journey — just after finding out he was a free man with Louisa’s engagement announcement — was not as suspicious to others as it was to himself. He was certain — that is to say, not certain at all — that he was coming to Bath for very good reasons, none of which involved Anne Elliot or the way their last encounter and its aftermath had been foremost in his thoughts in her absence. An absence, by the by, that carried the sharp sting of new heartbreak, a problem Captain Wentworth had not anticipated. His much-needed distance, a gift of time, seemed to be a disappearing commodity, and so it was that before Mrs. Croft had written requesting Captain Wentworth’s presence, he was arrived, and the very next time Anne walked out, she saw him.

Mr. Elliot was attending his two cousins and Mrs. Clay. They were in Milsom Street. It began to rain, not much, but enough to make shelter desirable for women, and quite enough to make it very desirable for Miss Elliot to have the advantage of being conveyed home in Lady Dalrymple’s carriage, which was seen waiting at a little distance; she, Anne, and Mrs. Clay, therefore, turned into Molland’s, while Mr. Elliot stepped to Lady Dalrymple, to request her assistance. He soon joined them again, successful, of course; Lady Dalrymple would be most happy to take them home, and would call for them in a few minutes.

Her ladyship’s carriage was a barouche, and did not hold more than four with any comfort. Miss Carteret was with her mother; consequently it was not reasonable to expect accommodation for all the three Camden Place ladies. There could be no doubt as to Miss Elliot. Whoever suffered inconvenience, she must suffer none, but it occupied a little time to settle the point of civility between the other two. The rain was a mere trifle, and Anne was most sincere in preferring a walk with Mr. Elliot. But the rain was also a mere trifle to Mrs. Clay; she would hardly allow it even to drop at all, and her boots were so thick! much thicker than Miss Anne’s; and, in short, her civility rendered her quite as anxious to be left to walk with Mr. Elliot as Anne could be, and it was discussed between them with a generosity so polite and so determined, that the others were obliged to settle it for them; Miss Elliot maintaining that Mrs. Clay had a little cold already, and Mr. Elliot deciding on appeal, that his cousin Anne’s boots were rather the thickest.

It was fixed accordingly, that Mrs. Clay should be of the party in the carriage; and they had just reached this point, when Anne, as she sat near the window, descried, most decidedly and distinctly, Captain Wentworth walking down the street. Wherever he had come from, the rain must have already arrived, for his blonde hair was slicked back and drying in waves, and his breeches were just damp enough that they stuck to his thighs and outlined every cord of muscle. Anne’s eyes caressed every dip of his legs as they flexed and relaxed with his hurried stride, and her eyes traveled upward until she noticed that his legs were not the only part of his lower body hugged by wet fabric. Even from a distance, Anne could see Frederick’s member in vivid detail. She jumped and forced herself to jerk her eyes from their target, though such a move took a good deal of fortitude.

Her start, and the instant arousal that inspired it, was perceptible only to herself; but she instantly felt that she was the greatest simpleton in the world, the most unaccountable and absurd! For a few minutes she saw nothing before her; it was all confusion. She was lost, and when she had scolded back her senses, she found the others still waiting for the carriage, and Mr. Elliot (always obliging) just setting off for Union Street on a commission of Mrs. Clay’s.

She now felt a great inclination to go to the outer door; she wanted to see if it rained. Why was she to suspect herself of another motive? Captain Wentworth —
not
Frederick — must be out of sight. She left her seat, she would go; one half of her should not be always so much wiser than the other half, or always suspecting the other of being worse than it was. She would see if it rained. She was sent back, however, in a moment by the entrance of Captain Wentworth himself, among a party of gentlemen and ladies, evidently his acquaintance, and whom he must have joined a little below Milsom Street. He was more obviously struck and confused by the sight of her than she had ever observed before; he looked quite red.

Anne could not resist, she found her gaze drifting south and her lips parting. Just a peek, she promised herself. But when her eyes reached their destination, she was shocked to find the state of things in his breeches to have changed. Even had the cloth of his breeches
not
been wet, anyone could have seen that Captain Wentworth was becoming blatantly aroused at an alarming rate. Most fortunately for Anne, that was not the case, and the wet fabric made his arousal even more pronounced. From the tops of her eyes, she spied Captain Wentworth dip his head, apparently for the purpose of seeing what she was staring at, for he immediately took a stumbling step to the side and leaned against the wall behind a barrel, effectively cutting off the view of his body below the waist from everyone in the room, including Anne. He then crossed his arms over his chest and obviously tried to appear relaxed only to uncross his arms and begin to fidget with the buttons of his coat.

For the first time, since their renewed acquaintance, she felt that she was betraying the least sensibility of the two. She had the advantage of him in the preparation of the last few moments. All the overpowering, blinding, bewildering, first effects of strong surprise were over with her. Still, however, she had enough to feel! It was agitation, pain, pleasure, a something between delight and misery.

For several minutes, they looked at each other without looking at each other, and then she saw him heave a great sigh, push off from the wall, and begin to walk toward her. A quick flick of her eyes southward, and she gained the disappointing knowledge that Frederick had regained control of himself. Her heart beat sped like a racing horse, and she wracked her brain for something — anything — intelligent to say to him as he obviously meant to converse with her. He stopped when he stood before her, and Anne could see none of the rest of the room through the bulk of his height and shoulders. It would not have mattered if the whole of the room was before her eyes anyway, for she could not look away from his face. He watched her warily, as though she may spook at any moment. He spoke to her, though what he said, Anne could not force her mind to interpret, and then turned away, staring at a point over her shoulder, which Anne knew was merely a blank wall. The character of his manner was embarrassment. She could not have called it either cold or friendly, or anything so certainly as embarrassed.

After a short interval, however, his eyes drifted back towards her, and he spoke again. Mutual enquiries on common subjects passed: neither of them, probably, much the wiser for what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible of his being less at ease than formerly. They had by dint of being so very much together, got to speak to each other with a considerable portion of apparent indifference and calmness; but he could not do it now. Time had changed him, or Louisa had changed him. There was consciousness of some sort or other. He looked very well, not as if he had been suffering in health or spirits, and he talked of Uppercross, of the Musgroves, nay, even of Louisa, and had even a momentary look of his own arch significance as he named her; but yet it was Captain Wentworth not comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was.