A/N: This is an expansion of the conversation between Anne and Captain Benwick that happens at the end of Chapter 11 of the novel. It is also inspired by the same scene in the 1995 adaptation, so those of who you are familiar with that version will probably recognize opening dialogue. I hope you enjoy! And as always reviews are very much appreciated :) Thanks for reading!
It had been an adventurous day for the party in Lyme, and everyone was glad of the respite provided by an evening spent in each other's company at the inn. The conversation was good and the group lively, but circumstances being what they were, Anne and Captain Benwick naturally drifted apart from the rest of the group. It was not long before they found themselves rather alone at one corner of the room.
As they sat apart from the others and discussed poetry, Anne found herself recognizing somewhat of a kindred spirit in Captain Benwick. She was glad that Harville had seen fit to bring Benwick with him to the inn tonight, for it seemed to Anne that Benwick was greatly in need of an acquaintance, and acquaintance who could sympathize with his broken heart… Well, so much the better, Anne thought.
As she listened to him quote the melancholy and dismal lines of poetry, Anne could not help but see feelings she recognized all too well reflected in Captain Benwick's expressions. She knew how he must be feeling. Though he knew it not, she had felt similar heartbreak herself.
Anne listened as he told her about the love of his life, his mistake in making her wait, and the eternal grief he suffered from her loss. In her best attempt to cheer him up, Anne carefully recommended he read more prose in his daily study, and less verse.
Benwick smiled forlornly at her. "Thank you for your kindness," he said quietly, "but you cannot know the depths of my despair."
Anne's gaze was sympathetic when she replied, "Come now Captain Benwick, you will rally again. You must."
He shook his head in misery, not willing to hear her talk of optimism. "You have no conception of what I have lost," he assured her bitterly.
Anne looked at him earnestly, doing her best to meet his eyes and convey to him that she understood his feelings, and whispered, "Yes, I have."
Benwick shook his head once more, leaned back in his chair, and sighed bitterly. "How could you?" he muttered sharply, but not unkindly.
Anne looked down at her hands. She wanted to sympathize with Captain Benwick, to let him know that she perfectly understood what it is like to love and to lose. What is more, if she were honest with herself, she desperately needed someone to confide in and share feelings with as well. However, Anne was afraid of saying too much.
Anne sighed and looked back at Benwick once more. Her silence and evasion had perplexed him somewhat, and he was looking at her in slight puzzlement. Finally, she murmured, "I do know what you have lost, Captain Benwick…" Anne paused, trying to resist glancing around the room to ensure that no one could hear her, before adding, "I too lost the person I loved more than anyone."
Benwick stared at her in surprise for a moment. He leaned forward once more, his interest piqued. "Did you? When?"
Anne nodded sadly and glanced down again. She had to focus her gaze on her hands to avoid looking to the other side of the room to where Captain Wentworth was talking to Harville. She did not think he could hear her, and though her instinct was to look toward him as she spoke about him, she feared giving too much away. If she were to look at him now, she knew her feelings would be discerned easily enough from her expressions, and Benwick was intelligent enough to put the pieces together. Therefore, Anne suppressed the urge and focused on her clasped hands, though she tried not to wring them.
"Eight years ago," she whispered, unconsciously lowering her voice in fear that she might be overheard.
Benwick sensed her discomfort, but thankfully it appeared that he thought it came only from discussing her own loss, and not from the fear of her past being discovered. "So," he sighed with a hushed voice, "perhaps then you can understand my passion for Scott and Byron."
Despite herself, Anne smiled. "Yes, Captain, I understand perfectly," she assured him. "However, that is also why I must warn you away from too much verse, for it is the great misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoy it completely."
"I suppose," Benwick exhaled. "But then, how else am I to find expression for the great depths of my anguish, if not in poetry?"
"Perhaps," Anne said with an indulgent little smile, "you might find it in conversation with those who understand you."
Benwick returned her smile, albeit a bit more dejectedly. "Perhaps you are correct there, Miss Anne," he said. "So tell me then, you who have suffered as I have, what am I to do now?" He paused before adding, "how did you move on? How did you, as you say, rally again?"
Anne began to reply, but all she could do was sigh. Benwick looked so earnest, so very much in need of an answer, but Anne feared that in this, she could not help him. She did not want to increase his despair, but she would not lie to him. At last, she whispered despondently, "perhaps I was a bit duplicitous in saying such a thing, for I do not know that I did move on, Captain."
Benwick exhaled and nodded sadly. "I feared as much." In a vain attempt to lighten the mood, he added, "your knowledge of the great poets of our time would not have been quite so extensive had you rallied as you suggested."
Anne laughed sadly and nodded. "I suppose you are correct there," she admitted. "But you must do what you can for yourself Captain Benwick," she told him, earnest in her desire to help him through his pain. "You must find comfort in the Harvilles," she said, "they are good people, they care about you, and they share your love for the one you have lost."
"Yes," Benwick agreed, "I am fortunate to have been taken in by them, for the memory of Fanny unites us, and I know Harville shares my grief, though he has dealt with it better." Anne nodded in agreement, and Benwick asked curiously, "who did you turn to in your time of need, all those years ago?"
Anne smiled ruefully and dropped her gaze. With a shrug, she muttered, "I had no one who shared my grief." After a painful pause, she added, "I am afraid that those who were around me did not understand it, and did not care to."
She said no more, and Benwick sensed she did not wish to expand, so he did not ask for an explanation. Instead, he sighed, "Perhaps it is simply the fate of some to love and to lose in this life, Miss Anne."
Anne nodded sadly and their conversation lapsed. Benwick, lost in his own thoughts and his own turmoil, turned his forlorn gaze into the fire at their side. Now that she had no more to say and no talk to distract her, Anne found that she could no longer resist the unseeable force which had been pulling her gaze to the far side of the room during their conversation. She watched as Captain Wentworth and Captain Harville regaled their company with stories of their adventures around the world, and she sighed. Though Anne knew better than to indulge her darker thoughts, her conversation with Benwick had brought them to the forefront, and she could not help but ardently wish that she was the one standing by Captain Wentworth's side, laughing as he shared his stories with his friends.
Anne knew she was staring, but her dismal spirit pushed all worries of propriety to the side. As she watched, Captain Wentworth finished his story, and Captain Harville took the floor. Captain Wentworth fell silent as his friend talked away, and after a few moments, he stole a glance to the other side of the room. Perhaps his eyes were pulled toward her by the same unobservable force that pulled hers to him. Whatever the case, he was astonished to find Anne's eyes on him, and for a long moment their eyes met before Anne looked away. His smile faded away as he watched her. She looked so sad that it nearly broke his heart. He desperately wanted to go say something to her, but he knew better. She would not want him to anyway. Resisting the urge to sigh, he left Anne to Benwick's company and returned to his conversation, albeit with far less enthusiasm than he had previously enjoyed.
Anne looked back at Benwick as he contemplated the flames that leapt before him, resigning herself to share in his heartbroken fate of love and loss.
