Not wanting to waste what might be his only chance of getting his friend alone, and not very sorry to quit the company of Charles Musgrove, whose conversation he found somewhat lacking in interest, Benwick took the first opportunity of occupying the seat which Anne had just abandoned across from Frederick. Glancing around the room to ensure that no eyes were on them for the moment, Benwick quietly asked, "Fancy a walk, Wentworth?"

Frederick, whose mind was still absorbed elsewhere, took a moment before responding. In truth, he did not very well fancy a walk with Benwick at the moment, as he was hesitant to leave the inn. He very much wanted to be present in the breakfast room if and when Anne came back downstairs. However, when Frederick registered the conspiratorial look on Benwick's face, he realized his friend would brook no argument to his suggestion. Reluctantly, Frederick nodded, and he and Benwick slipped out the door before anyone else noticed.

Once outside, the two walked in silence for a bit, each trying to compose his own thoughts. Eventually however, Frederick, who had not wanted to go for a walk in the first place, could remain no longer in ignorance of his friend's design in suggesting it. Seeking rather unsuccessfully to sound indifferent and unbothered, he asked, "Did you have a purpose in engaging me to sneak out of the breakfast room with you like a guilty conspirator, Benwick?"

Benwick grinned at his friend's sarcasm. "I thought I might give you an opportunity to unburden yourself, Wentworth," he suggested lightly. When Frederick did not respond, he added, "your conversation seemed quite heavy this morning, and you appear to have chased your companion from the table."

To his own chagrin, Frederick's face colored. "She had a letter to finish," he muttered.

"Ahh," Benwick responded, unconvinced. "But that does not explain your exceeding interest in my conversation with her last night," he prodded.

Benwick's evasion was beginning to exasperate his companion. Frederick stopped walking and sighed. He turned to his friend and asked, "what is it you want to know, Benwick?"

Benwick smiled sympathetically. "Look, Wentworth," he said gently, "I am not your enemy here. I am trying to help you."

The lack of an answer to his question only frustrated Frederick even more. "I do not need your help," he replied gruffly, turning away to continue their walk.

Benwick sighed and stopped Frederick with a hand on his arm. When his friend turned back to him, Benwick said, "you want to know what I want to know? Alright, I shall tell you. I want to know why our talk of Miss Anne's heartbreak put you into such an ill humor last night. I want to know why you spent the entirety of breakfast staring at her like a lovesick schoolboy, when hitherto you have hardly said three words to her. In short, I believe you know more about that lady's past than you have let on, and I want to know what you are keeping from us."

Frederick, surprised by Benwick's speech, was momentarily at a loss for words. He was simultaneously annoyed by his friend's forwardness in asking such things and surprised by how much he had noticed. Finally, his face turning color and his voice gruff, Frederick responded, "and what is all this to you anyway?"

Benwick smiled sadly and looked toward the ground. He sighed once more before saying quietly, "I know what heartbreak feels like, Wentworth. I know what it feels like to lose your chance at happiness. And if I may be so forward, I think you know this feeling too." He paused and looked back up at Frederick, whose brows were furrowed in confusion. "So does Miss Anne," he added.

There was a heavy pause before Benwick sighed and continued, "I may have lost my love forever, but you two still have a chance. It grieves me to see you both in such a misery which could easily be avoided." Frederick still said nothing, so Benwick added, "And if I am right in my conclusions, I was hoping only to make you see what I have seen."

Frederick did nothing but stare at his friend. At a loss for words, he did not respond. He knew he had not concealed his emotions well last night, but were they so very obvious? Perhaps, he hoped, Benwick was more in tune than most to the heartbreak of others, having suffered a similar emotion himself. Perhaps only Benwick had noticed and the rest were still oblivious. This thought, however, brought him little comfort, as the idea of his feelings having been so easily discerned by another disconcerted him greatly.

When it became obvious that Frederick was not going to respond, Benwick prodded him. "Wentworth," he said intently, waiting until he had his friend's full attention before asking, "it was you whom she lost, wasn't it?"

Frederick nodded slowly. "Yes," he breathed, "it was."

Benwick nodded as well. "I thought as much." After a pause, he asked, "and do you still love her?"

Back in her room at the inn, Anne was in agony. She instantly regretted fleeing the room as she had, for she feared Frederick – Captain Wentworth, she mentally corrected herself – would think she wished to avoid him. The truth was that she had been so overcome by his intensity and insinuations that she had been unable to do anything but remove herself immediately. She needed to be alone, to think, so she had run. But now that she was alone, she realized how her actions must have looked, and blushed at the consequences of her rashness.

Anne paced the room in consternation. What had he been trying to say to her? He had barely so much as looked at her since that fateful morning at Uppercross, let alone looked at her like that. The looks he had given her over the breakfast table painfully reminded Anne of the way he had looked at her all those years ago, as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered to him. She had thought she would never see such looks in his eyes again, so to have encountered such an intensity this morning had been more than she could bear, so she had fled.

Anne cursed her own weakness. If only she had stayed, he might have told her what was on his mind. How desperately and ardently she wanted to know.

She momentarily considered returning to the breakfast room and reclaiming her place across the table from him, but she checked the impulse. That would appear foolish, and foolish was the last thing she wanted to appear right now. Leave the foolishness to the Musgrove girls, she thought uncharitably before checking such thoughts. She could not afford to let herself fall into the trap of jealousy. If Fre– the Captain fell in love with one of them, she had no one to blame but herself.

Desperately trying to discern some answer for their surprisingly intimate conversation, Anne replayed every word of it in her mind. However, she could not get past one thing that he had said: I heard something, last night, which I was not expecting. He had given her no answer when she had ventured to ask what it was that he had heard, but the intensity and emotion in his gaze thereafter had led Anne to the conclusion that it must have been about her. Why else would he have brought it up with her in the first place, when recently he had done all he could to avoid her?

But what could he possibly have heard?

Anne racked her brain for an answer. He had seemed perfectly composed all evening and had left to accompany Harville and Benwick home in good spirits. The Musgrove girls, who had spent the majority of the evening in his company, had not supposed anything to have been amiss with him. It was only Harville who had revealed that Frederick had been in ill humor last night. Anne therefore concluded that whatever he had heard must have been told to him on their walk home.

So, Anne mused as she paced her small room, what might he have been told by Harville or Benwick?

A sudden realization hit Anne and she stopped in her tracks.

Benwick.

Benwick must have told Frederick what she had admitted to him last night. Anne's face grew hot as she silently cursed herself for having been so foolish as to reveal her feelings to anyone. She could not fault Benwick for relating her words to his friends, for she had not asked him to keep it in confidence, and Benwick was unaware of Frederick's role in her past. However, the thought of Frederick's knowing that she still suffered from losing him while he appeared perfectly indifferent to her absolutely mortified Anne. She fell back on her bed with her hands on her face in shame.

So he knew. And by all accounts, the revelation of her continued love for him had put him in ill humor. Harville said Frederick had been out of spirits during their walk last night, and then this morning he had addressed her with no more than civility. What was it that he had said about what he had heard?

I suppose I let it affect me more than I should have.

So he knew, and he did not want it to affect him. Anne concluded that his looks and addresses this morning must have been out of pity, for she could not believe he still cared for her. She would not be so foolish as to hope for that.

Anne took stock of the situation. He must now know that she had never forgotten him and had never recovered from the heartbreak of losing him. This knowledge had put him in ill humor, so Anne could not but conclude that he did not feel the same. Embarrassment and shame washed over her, and Anne fervently wished that she could simply disappear.

However, to Anne's ultimate dismay, she heard Mary's voice calling her from downstairs. "Anne! We are all to go for a walk, Anne. Won't you accompany us?"

Anne considered pleading illness or some other indisposition, but she knew that if she were to do so, Frederick would know she was avoiding him. She was already embarrassed enough, but to prove herself unable to even be in his company would only make her look worse. Reluctantly, she called her assent to Mary.

Gathering strength which she did not feel, Anne rallied herself and climbed off her bed. She heaved a heavy sigh before opening her door and heading down the hallway to the stairs. She dreaded entering the breakfast room more than anything, but she resolved not to give in. She had managed to avoid Frederick and hide her embarrassment in his company ever since Uppercross, and she must do so again.

With a deep breath, Anne struggled to compose her features and made her way down the stairs. However, when she at last mustered the courage to turn the corner into the breakfast room, she saw that he was gone.