DECISION
A Persuasion Story
"Tell me if, when I returned to England in the year eight, with a few thousand pounds, and was posted into the Laconia, if I had then written to you, would you have answered my letter? Would you, in short, have renewed the engagement then?... It is not that I did not think of it, or desire it, as what alone could crown all my other success; but I was proud, too proud to ask again…I shut my eyes and would not understand you, or do you justice." Frederick Wentworth, Ch. 23
It was generally agreed that Frederick Wentworth, newly promoted Captain of the Laconia, was a man upon whom Fortune had smiled. He had risen to command on his own activity and merit, having very little interest, despite a brother-in-law in one Admiral Croft. For although respectable, Admirals are not as heeded as noble or wealthy patrons are.
Captain Wentworth was famed for his courage under fire, and composure in a crisis.
But today, the day after receiving the precious papers confirming the hoped for, longed for promotion, his agitation was severe. Back and forth he paced between the writing desk and fireplace in his lodgings, his easy gait that of one who is accustomed to the pitching and rolling of a deck beneath them. In his hand, he held a half finished letter, which he had been painstakingly composing since dinner.
The writing table was littered with previous attempts, many of them spattered with ink from where he had hesitated too long, pen poised, mind blank, searching for the right words.
His brow was contracted, his usually open countenance gloomy, as his thoughts traced a familiar path into the past. Back to the year six. Back to Monkford and Kellynch. Back to Anne.
Anne, his beautiful, sweet fiancée. Anne who had betrayed not only him, but herself, sacrificing the happiness of both at the suggestion of another.
She had ended their brief but felicitous engagement at the direction of her mentor and confidante, the stern, autocratic and snobbish Lady Russell, who had deemed a penniless Captain with bright prospects unworthy to pay addresses to an Elliot.
All that had changed. He now commanded a respectable vessel and possessed a very modest fortune with his prize money from the Asp. His promotion and latest posting to the Western Islands boded well, as the pickings were rich there. If he was lucky – and Captain Wentworth was counted as lucky and capable – he would be able to add a handsome sum to his current savings.
Enough to buy some property. Enough to support a family. Enough, in short, to marry. He was now considered an eligible bachelor.
But was it enough for an Elliot?
This was his dilemma.
All his predictions of success and rapid promotion had come to pass. His circumstances had changed. But had she?
He thought of her, mewed up in Kellynch Hall, slighted by her foolish, vain father, subject to the whims of her two selfish sisters. To them she was "only Anne." To him, she had been everything. How many times had he fumed as he watched them take advantage of her sweet, gentle nature and yielding temper?
That same yielding temper had been their undoing.
He had thought she loved him. He had thought that she believed, as he did, that his success was assured. He thought she believed in him.
How wrong he had been. How little impression his hopes, dreams and plans must have made, that they could be swept away in a single, though lengthy interview with Lady Russell!
He weighed the half finished letter in his hand.
It was directed, in his best handwriting, to "Miss Anne Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, Somersetshire."
Did he really want to put himself through that again?
Did he really want to expose himself to the damnable Elliot pride and caprice once more?
And if he succeeded, if she actually read the letter, and was moved by it, could he depend on her? How long would it take for her to be moved again – especially if he was not there before her to press his case. Instead, on top of her father's ill will and her sisters' contempt, Lady Russell would be on hand to drip poison in her ear.
Could she stand firm in his absence where two and a half years ago she had yielded? Or had yielding become even more of a habit since then, the girl he had loved swayed and submerged in the opinions and whims of others?
Could he stand her breaking his heart a second time?
Mild dark eyes brimming with tears beseeched him to understand, before she turned and walked away from him, head bowed. He watched her go, numb with shock.
The pain came later.
No. He could not.
He may not have the "Elliot pride" but he did have pride and self respect. He would not throw himself at the mercy of her caprice again.
In a swift, decisive movement, he thrust the letter into the fire, and watched it burn, searing away his doubts and forging a new resolve within him.
A tap came at his door, and a servant delivered his dress uniform, freshly pressed and laundered. There was to be a ball on board the Laconia tonight to welcome the new officers. He was to meet his crew, including his second in command, Harville, an excellent, steady fellow by all reports, and his new wife. They were recently married after a short engagement. They had not waited.
He shook the thought off. He would pine no more.
He would go. He would be merry. He was only five and twenty. He had a bright future in his profession. He would concentrate on that. And when they had taught that upstart Frenchman a lesson and peace was declared, perhaps then he would come ashore and settle down. There was plenty of time.
Captain Wentworth strode onto the Laconia that evening with new resolve.
Firmness of mind and strength of purpose would be what he sought in a woman, although he would admit a little beauty, a few smiles, and a few compliments to the Navy would not go astray.
And though he danced a great deal with much apparent enjoyment with a number of young ladies, any admiring glances from delicate features and mild dark eyes were hastily turned away from, although Captain Wentworth was not sensible of doing this, and nor would he be for a long time.
And in his quarters, the fire dimmed to embers and crumbled to ash.
He was decided.
"Let those who would be happy, be firm."
A/N: I hope you enjoyed that! I had idly wondered what Frederick would have written, had he actually decided to write to Anne in the Year Eight while reading Persuasion last week. I pictured him pacing in an agony of indecision.
Then I sat down to copy out the recipe for Mars Bar slice on the weekend and somehow, this ended up on the page instead!