Sorry for the delay but writers block had me securely locked within its grasp. I have also been ill, but wont gross you all out with all that. Suffice to say my worship of the porcelain god has been frequent recently.

I loved the reviews for the last chapter. I love that you don't like Lord Brockhurst, It proves that I am conveying the right message with my writing to have you all hate him so much. Yeah!

I have to admit that the thought of Frederick riding up on a white horse and whisking Anne (or rather me) away to live with him happily ever after, is a tempting prospect but I hesitate to say anything else on the subject for the moment. I will only say that its going to get worse before it gets better, and in a chapter or two you guys aren't going to like Frederick all that much.

Oh, and Happy Holidays everyone!

Frederick found himself unable to shift the feeling of unease that had descended upon him in the presence of Lord Brockhurst. Marshall had suggested, on their departure from the house, that they head towards his club and enjoy an evening meal there. Frederick had readily agreed, hoping that the change of scenery and company would help settle him.

He could not fault the meal, nor the company, but hours later Frederick was still not able to shake the feeling that he had. He pondered it whilst they sat afterwards, glass of port in hand and decided that it might be a good idea to try and tackle the problem head on.

"What do you know about Brockhurst?" he asked Marshall.

The other man looked across at him. "Not a lot. He married into Phillipa's family eight years or so ago and comes from a family of old money."

"Was the match arranged?"

"Not really," Marshall said. "From what I have heard, his parents gave him a small list of suitable woman that he would be allowed to marry and retain his fortune. Lady Penelope was one of them."

"What is he like as a man?"

"Frederick," Marshall admonished. "Do you really see me keeping company with the man?"

"Have you heard anything about him then?"

"You're going to have to be a little more specific."

Frederick heaved a sigh. "I don't like the man," he said simply. He looked up to see Marshall studying him closely. "I have no reason too, but I just have a bad feeling about him."

"There is no love lost between the two of us," Marshall admitted, "No matter my title or wealth, I am still merely a product of the Royal Navy to him. Perhaps you are just feeling his resentment towards your chosen profession?"

Frederick shook his head. "Its more than that."

"Well," said Marshall "He is not a member of your extended family and excluding Thursday night, you will never have to see him again should you wish it. So stop worrying."

"Its not me I'm worried about," Frederick said quietly to himself as Marshall spotted an acquaintance and left him to his thoughts.

Thursday rolled around and Frederick found himself once again standing on the pavement outside number 2 Lawn Crescent. Home to Lord Brockhurst and his family, and one governess.

The meal in itself was nothing spectacular. Frederick and the Crofts where joined at the table my Admiral Marshall and his wife, as well as two other couples - the Smythsons and the Spurrells - who were obliviously friends of Lord Brockhurst and his wife.

Having ultimately decided that enough time had passed since the birth of her last child, a period of almost four months, Lady Brockhurst was in attendance tonight and Frederick was finally made acquainted with her. She was just as he imagined she would be' handsome, elegant and completely void of meaningful conversation. She was polite enough but lacked a certain grace when speaking and spent most of the evening talking with the other two ladies in attendance. Only speaking with her cousin when it suited.

Anne was not in attendance and Frederick scolded himself for thinking otherwise. Whilst she remained a governess she would not be attending functions such as these. He missed her company. He had willingly put up with countless dinners back when they had first met just so that he had a chance of sitting near her, and the certainty of conversing with her after.

After dinner the men departed for the pool room and the ladies to the library. The party where not split for long, however much the gentleman of the house might have liked, as there had been special arrangements made for his youngest son to be brought down for a short period of time and fawned at by those in attendance.

Marshall's, "Good evening Miss Elliot," was the only warning he receiving that Anne would be in the room before he stepped into it. His gait suddenly seemed lighter, his features lifted and lighten. His whole demeanour changed in an instant and before he could stop himself he felt a longing to be beside her. To talk with her, to walk with her and reaffirm the closeness that they had shared.

He knew then, in that very instant, that however much he tried to deny it, he was still as much in love with her as he had been eight years previous, if not more, and only hoped that she still felt the same for him. The realisation was sudden but not all together startling, as though he might have suspected it deep down within himself, and he looked forward to sitting with her a while and perhaps wheedling an invitation to dinner for her, from his sister. He was sure she would oblige him.

As his gaze fell upon her he had to stifle an exclamation. He had never known two days to change a person so, for she was not the same woman he had left in this house on Tuesday afternoon.

Anne was seated upon one of the settees within the room, her young charge upon her lap. If anyone where to look at her, as she was, there would be no difference in her appearance or dress to them but to him there was a world of different.

In the way in which she held herself; as though she was expecting to have to take off at any second. The way her eyes, those that had lost their spark, remained fixated upon the floor except when she was spoken to. Even in the tone of her voice, seemingly devoid of any emotion; too soft and quelled.

In the whole time she was there they said not one word to another. Nor exchanged one glance. It was as though she did not know he was even there.

He stood at the edge of the group an observed her. She sat in the middle and listened carefully to the story that Robert told all about the day he had fallen into the pond. They sat there until Robert yawned for a second time and it was decided that he should be taken to bed.

He thought for a moment that she had glanced his way as she left the room but could not be sure, and by then the previous feeling of bliss (and all that come with it) had ebbed away leaving his heart, not bursting for joy, was constricted through worry. It was then that he decided he would have to see her before he left.

He waited until Lord Brockhurst left the room and then surreptitiously made his way from the drawing room and out into the hallway. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and contemplated whether he should make the dash up them and to where he thought she might be. He started slightly when the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind him, drew his attention.

"Captain Wentworth," he young footman bowed. "If you're looking for Miss Anne then she should be heading back up the stairs in a minute or two."

Frederick took a couple of steps towards him and gave the young man a quizzical look. "How?"

"Merely a guess sir," the footman said, "But I've heard about you from my brother, and I doubt you'd be lurking about for any other reason."

"You're Henry's brother?"

"I am sir."

"He's an interesting lad."

Benjamin grinned. "That's nice of you to say sir, mostly people just call him annoying. Me included."

"He's just curious. I imagine I must have been just like him at that age."

"Then I pity your brother and sister sir, for you must have annoyed them senseless." Ben's eyes caught someone moving in the shadows and crane his head round Frederick to see. "There she is," he said. "I'll leave you to it." and with that stood over to his place on the other side of the inner door.

From the sight of her, Frederick could tell that Anne had relaxed a little. She no longer looked as apprehensive as she had done not twenty minutes before but the moment she realised that someone was standing there, that it was him, she visibly tensed up.

"Captain Wentworth," she said hastily, glancing about. "I uh, are you lost?"

"No," he replied quietly, with a shake of his head. "I was waiting for you."

Anne took a step backwards, towards the door she had just exited. "I am sorry then, but I really have a lot to do and I think it best you be going."

With that she turned and pushed her way through the door. Frederick lunged after her. "Anne!"

He reached out to her as he had done days previously and again succeeded in grabbing hold of her wrist. He was totally unprepared however, for the flinch that she experienced. A blush forming on her cheeks Anne avoided his gaze and attempted to pry her arm from his grasp. He was about to speak to her when his attention was caught.

Pulling her closer to him, nearer the wall and the light bracket, he, using his other hand, slowly pulled up the sleeve of her dress to revel the bruises that had lingered there. He ran his fingers gently over the discoloured skin.

The distinctive shape of the marks left Frederick in no doubt as to what had caused them. The blood drained from his body as, remembering two days previous, he thought for one dreadful moment; 'Did I do this?'

Anger replaced despair a second later when, laying his own fingers gently over the bruises, he saw that the hand that had created them was decidedly smaller than his own. The fingers thinner and longer.

As his thumb caressed the inside of her wrist, Anne let out an audible intake of breath and attempted, with little success, to suppress a tremble. A reaction to his touch. "Please," she murmured, tugging her hand away. "I have to go."

He lent close, pulling her gently towards him. "Not until you tell me how you got this," he said, her wrist still firmly encased in his hand.

Anne refused to met his gaze, instead she looked back over her shoulder. "Frederick," she pleaded, shaking her head. "Please."

"No," he said firmly but gently. "Something's happened Anne, and I am not going anywhere till you tell me what."

She took her lower lip between her teeth and looked at him. "Nothing is going on," she said, unconvincingly. "Why would you think such a thing?"

"Anne," he exhaled. He raised a hand to her face, set on smoothing back a stray lock of hair when she flinched away from his touch. He looked sceptically at her before carrying out his task. "Still want to tell me nothing happened?"

"It was nothing."

"Nothing doesn't leave bruises like this," he said, pulling her arm up against his chest. He felt, and heard, her sighed loudly, her body taking momentary refuge against his.

"Frederick," she said again, her voice muffled against his jacket, "You don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"I,"

"Miss Elliot."

Her gasp was unmistakable this time and she pulled her arm from his grasp with such force that he feared she might have done it some damage. Before he had opened his mouth to say something however, she had left his side and now stood by her master.

Frederick winced, "Lord how he hate how that sounded."

Frederick saw her eyes widen at something he said to her, and Anne glanced quickly his way. Their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments. Sadness, fear and longing were just some of the emotions that he was able to identify in her expression when she looked at him.

Lord Brockhurst said something else to her and Frederick saw her nod before her head bowed and her gaze become fixed upon the floor. His hands curled into fists and he longed to allow them free reign upon the un-weathered complexion of Lord Brockhurst but managed, some how, to keep his anger in check. Not an easy task when the Lord look up and round directly at him. A look of triumph and smugness splashed across his features. It was an ugly expression.

He barked an order at Anne who, with one last tortured glance at Frederick, scurried off to do as he bid. Lord Brockhurst then smoothed down his jacket and walked over to where Frederick stood.

"You will cease this," he said.

Frederick frowned, confused at the way the conversation was starting out. "This?"

"She, and the others, are my servants and I will not have them carrying on behind my back and disgracing me."

"Disgracing you?" Frederick asked loudly, even more confused.

"By having illicit affairs with men such as yourself."

He took a couple of deep breaths before answering. "Look," Frederick began, speaking calmly and clearly. "I do not know what you think is going on, but there is nothing 'illicit' happening between myself and Miss Elliot." He took as step closer to Lord Brockhurst. "Besides the fact that you believe that I am some womanising Crinkleneck of a sailor, which I am not and take strong offence to, how could you even think that of Miss Elliot? Surely by now you have seen that she is as prime and proper as the ladies of high society. Probably even more so," he added as an after thought.

"I do not care what you think," Brockhurst hissed at him. "And I care less for your opinions. I am merely what you to stay away from what is mine."

Frederick could not remember the last time he was so shocked. "Yours! She way work for you, but Anne belongs to no one."

"She is in my employ and living under my roof. For all intents and purposes she does belong to me. And I am warning you to stay away."

"Warning me?" Frederick drew himself to his full height. "I do not like thinly veiled threats sir, speak plainly."

"Then let me say it clearly," Lord Brockhurst said. "I do not like your kind Captain and loathe to have you in my company, and after tonight I do not want to see you round here ever again." He took a step towards Frederick, "Not on your own, not in the company of that Pirate masquerading as a gentleman and definitely not in the company of my governess."

He had taken yet another step towards Frederick on the utterance of his last spoken word and the two men now stood toe to toe, their gazes locked in a furious battle.

Had they of decided to drop the decorum and lock fists, it might have been a closely fought fight. They where evenly matched in height though Frederick displayed a broader chest and shoulders. He was confident he could take Brockhurst physically but there was a mad glint in the Lords eye that concerned him, that it would not be a fair fight for one reason or another.

"Frederick?"

Both men started at the sudden interruption but refused to break their gaze from one another. It was not until Marshall came to stand beside them, his hand going to Frederick's shoulder in show of solidarity, that Lord Brockhurst took a step backwards. Before disappearing into the room that Marshall had just come from, he turned and spoke directly to Frederick. "Remember what I said."

"Frederick?" Marshall questioned.

Taking a deep breath Frederick willed his fists to unclench. "Can you give me regrets to the rest of the party Marshall, seems I have to leave early."