What If … Frederick had told Anne he could not marry Louisa?
"It was growing quite dusk, however, before they were in the neighbourhood of Uppercross, and there had been total silence among them for some time, Henrietta leaning back in the corner, with a shawl over her face, giving the hope of her having cried herself to sleep; when, as they were going up their last hill, Anne found herself all at once addressed by Captain Wentworth. In a low, cautious voice, he said-"
"Anne, about what I said, back at the Harville's … You have to know … I must tell you-" he started.
"Do not!" Anne interrupted, sharply but quietly as to not awaken Henrietta. "Do not speak it. Please, it is too painful. It is what it is. Louisa shall be well and you shall be very happy together."
All was quiet for a few moments, and she believed he was acknowledging she was correct in her observation.
"You are wrong." He murmured.
Her automatic reaction was to turn to him, to ensure it was his lips which had spoken the words, but she could not allow it. She could not look at him for fear of the final bit of hope remaining in her being quashed.
Frederick risked a glance at her, but her eyes were downcast on Henrietta's sleeping face. "Louisa shall be well, and we undoubtedly will be forced together -by my own stupidity, and I shall endeavour to make her happy, but I shall be forever unhappy in that life." he added quietly.
Anne finally turned from Henrietta to him, "you must not say such things" she hissed. "You may not love her now, but you may develop feelings for her in the future. There are many happy marriages that were not born from love. Louisa is an amiable girl from a good family and you should consider yourself lucky to have made such a fortunate match." She looked away embarrassed at her outburst, but unable to stop the words from falling from her lips. "Many of us, may not be as lucky." she admitted sadly. "You may grow to love her."
"And what if I do not?" he whispered also, not wanting to wake their companion. "Am I to live in this sham of a marriage to a girl I could never love, when my heart is broken in two?" Anne blushed unable to answer him, so he continued. "Are we to have children, share memories, grow old together, when all the while I would be wishing she was-"
"Please!" she interrupted, Henrietta stirred at Anne's raised voice, but the gentle rocking of the carriage soothed her back to sleep. "Please" Anne whispered urgently. "Stop this! I am begging you. It is too late. We must learn to live with our regrets, our mistakes," she discreetly wiped away a tear that had escaped her. "Without the ones we love." she added sadly.
Frederick's eyes flew to meet hers, but she had already turned her face away again. He could not dare to imagine; could it be? Did she still have feelings for him? He had put all of her previous grievances against such a match, down to her jealousy for want of his wealth, now her family were in reduced circumstances, he had never thought it possible she may actually still harbour feelings of ardour for him; that she could still care for him as she once did. As he felt for her, then, and now. He opened his mouth to say as much when he remembered her words. She was right, it was too late. What good could such words do them now? Confessions of love were no good when one was already considered engaged to another. It was only destroying them both, prolonging the agony, if she did not want to talk about it, he would not force her to.
A few minutes of tense silence ensued. Anne had closed her eyes against the reality slowly hitting her in full force; he would marry Louisa.
"The fault was mine alone." His whispered words seemed as loud as a trumpet in the silent confines of the carriage. He flinched against them. "I encouraged her, I let her playfulness and flattery towards me, take over my better judgement, she is nothing but a child and I should have been responsible."
Anne almost snorted out loud. Louisa maybe young but she had known what she as doing, granted she probably did not intend to fall from the step, but she had up until that point known exactly what she had been doing. She had planned to attach herself to Frederick since she first heard of him and Anne could hardly blame her for that, but it wasn't right that he should blame himself for the mischief of a girl. Louisa's head had been filled with ideas of matrimony rather than sense, and she had suffered because of it, why should Captain Wentworth suffer too? He had nothing to feel guilty for. She sighed, "She is a grown woman." Anne clamped her mouth shut, before she said anything more to taint Louisa's character. She was still family, and a friend after all. "What is done is done. All you can do now, is what is right. You are an honourable man Captain, and you will do the right thing. I know you shall." She said adamantly.
Frederick turned to face her, his face taught and strained, "and just what is the right thing to do Miss Elliot?"
Anne looked past him and announced: "we are here."
The subject was closed. She would not listen to anymore. It would do nothing but cause distress.
He slowed the horses, exhaled long and loudly, and then with a blank expression asked: "I have been wondering what we had best do. She must not appear at first. She could not stand it. I have been thinking whether you had not better remain in the carriage with her, while I go in and break it to Mr and Mrs Musgrove. Do you think this is a good plan?"
She agreed and watched from the carriage as he disappeared inside the house, awakening it's inhabitants with the grave news. She imagined the looks on the faces of Mr and Mrs Musgrove as he shared with them the events of earlier.
The rush of activity both inside and out of the house, signalled he had broken the bad news and she knew she must make her entrance with Henrietta. She was wondering how she could climb down safely herself and then help Henrietta, when he was at her side offering his hand. "It is done. They are as to be expected. I have confessed my part in things and explained the situation. Mrs Musgrove is asking for her daughter. Allow me." He took Anne's hand and helped her down the step, holding on to her longer than necessary. He then turned his attention to the now woken Henrietta, lifting her from the carriage and carrying her inside. Anne followed, clutching her shawl that she had held tightly to her throughout the atmospheric journey, and only being slightly envious of the fact another woman was once again in his arms.
The house was in uproar as Mr Musgrove gave orders and requests to be followed, allowing them to prepare for their journey to Lyme. An apothecary had been summoned for Henrietta, even though Anne was sure a strong dose of salts would have done the job of pulling her out of her swoon just as well.
Anne positioned herself in a corner out of everyone's way, ready to be a help if needed. She felt eyes on her and looked across the room to find Captain Wentworth staring back at her. In a room filled with mayhem, it felt as if they were the only ones there. He raised an eyebrow at the chaos and she felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, in spite of everything. If it had been left to him –or her- the whole matter would have been organised without fuss, and little distress. As it was, it was not, and they were both forced to stay and bare witness.
When at last matters had been settled, Frederick begged to be excused, so that he could return to the Harville's post haste. Anne felt a pull inside of her. From here, she would surely travel to Bath as soon as transportation could be arranged. She would most likely not see him again for quite some time. He would most probably be married to Louisa when she did. She swallowed hard, straining to keep the tears that were threatening once again to fall, at bay. Frederick was already making his way outside, asking if a horse was ready for the journey back. Anne found it easy to slip outside amidst the commotion.
He looked up surprised when he saw her. She looked smaller stood there in the large courtyard. He fought the urge to gather her up in his arms and assure her all would be well and that he would find a solution, one that meant they could be together. Because the saddest truth in it all was, he could not make her any such promise. The fact of the matter was, he probably would be forced to make an offer of Louisa, and Anne would end up married off to someone her father deemed necessary to redeem his status, or end up alone. He swallowed past a lump forming in his throat, and addressed her. "Miss Anne? Are the Musgrove's in need of me?"
"No, it is just …" she looked down embarrassed, but seemed to gather her strength and met his eyes once again. "Have a safe journey back, and please tell my sister I shall write to her once I am settled with my father."
He looked up as if just recollecting and realising what she meant. "You are to Bath."
"Yes. I doubt my presence here shall be required any longer."
He nodded. "Then I should wish you too a safe journey." They stood looking at each other unable to say the word they knew they must. "When do you leave?"
"I believe I shall be travelling with Lady Russel, and it is her wish to be there soon after Christmas."
He frowned at the mere mention of her god mother's name. "Oh I see." He answered sorrowfully. "Well then I suppose I should take my leave of you Miss Elliot." He took a step forward unsure what he meant to do, but he longed to be closer to her. "I wish you well."
"Thank you Captain." She looked down at the item clutched in her hands and offered it to him. "I …I thought you may be in need of this- for the journey. It is cold tonight." She explained.
He took the bundle from her without comprehension of what it was, and thanked her with a bow of the head, unable to speak; so touched by her gesture and the fact she had made it a point to say goodbye to him, despite everything that had passed between them. He quickly withdrew, climbed on to the now saddled horse and fled the scene.
Neither had said goodbye. For neither could.
It was not until later, when he was alone on the road, did he unwrap the bundle and see that it was Anne's own shawl she had offered him for comfort. He refused to use it. To taint the soft subtle scent of her which lingered, embedded in the fabric. Instead he placed it carefully in his saddlebag, hoping beyond hope, he would one day have the opportunity to return it to its owner.