"So." Lottie stared at Anne with a wicked grin on her face.

"So? So what?" Anne looked up briefly before going back to looking out to where the kids were enjoying the water. The old friends had decided to hit the beach quickly before dinner to let the kids play off the sugar from earlier.

"So you told him, and he didn't freak out. And they get along. And-"

"I think he's in shock, personally." It was the only thing that made sense to Anne really, even though she was trying to focus on the beauty of the nature she was immersed in rather than Frederick. However… her mind couldn't push him out once again. Plus it was a normal reaction to stress, she kept thinking. "Besides, it was all a long time ago. He knows now, and it's not like I was telling him so that I get some sort of compensation. He was going to figure it out once he saw her."

"And you don't think Mary hasn't?" Lottie grimaced when Anne shot a glare her way. "She's not a total idiot, you know. Despite popular opinion."

Smiling despite herself, Anne nodded. "I thought about that. She never knew about my love life, in fact she thinks my uterus has spider webs in it." Giggles broke her chain of thought as Hattie and Dani were getting splashed gently by spray of the water. "Not too close girls!"

"Mhm." Sighing, and rolling her eyes, Anne turned to look at Lottie – who had an expression that was akin to a little kid with a huge secret. "You honestly expect me to believe that you're just…not having heart flutters seeing them together. The way he held her hand as we were coming back. And gave her piggyback rides-"

"Lottie."

"What!?" she chuckled, smiling wide. "Your life is straight out of a daytime melodrama. It's the most exciting thing that has happened to me in years."

"Oh brother," Anne shook her head and stood from her place on the bench to call the girls in. "Are you going to be this way at dinner?" The only answer she got was a huge grin.

Dinner was modest, but smelled like something Anne recalled in a distant memory. She tried her best to cook, but it was wasn't her strong suit – however Hattie never complained. She wondered if that might change being exposed to this feast. As everyone was getting settled as to where to sit, whom hadto sit by whom and so forth, Anne noticed another person in their midst.

"Ah, James!" Harville shouted just as everyone was getting settled, making every one turn and look at the newcomer. He was tall, dark and handsome – all in that order is what Anne noticed about him. They had made eye contact immediately, dark eyes meeting her own. Freckles matching hers. Black hair tied back into a ponytail.

He looked like an athlete, his muscles accentuated in his baby blue long sleeved shirt, grey dress pants and a very handsome dark blue blazer. It made the beautiful tones of his dark skin come alive, as though he has been a painting. Even Mary was staring.

"Come sit by Anne and Hattie. Anne, Captain James Benwick. James, Anne Elliot." Mary cleared her throat loudly, as if to indicate that she and her family were more important – or more noteworthy of being introduced at least. Harvy looked embarrassed as he tried to correct himself. "Oh…..hehe…right. Everyone-"

Laughter was all that followed of the blunder, and soon everyone was seated and passing food around the table. Anne watched as Hattie took a generous helping of mashed potatoes and gravy, trying to bit her tongue about the lack of vegetables on her daughters plate when a voice startled her.

"So, you are a doctor Miss Elliot?" Benwick asked, his voice gentle as it was soft. One would have missed it easily without meaning to.

"Yes," Between a bit of chicken and potatoes, she replied. "What do you do Captain? Or are you still in active service?"

"Oh," A small sigh curled around a smile made Anne very aware how much sorry was buried beneath his calm exterior. His dark eyes were guarded, but she understood instantly. "I'm trying civilian life now. Perhaps…writing is my calling."

"What would you be leaning towards, spy novels or a thrilling murder mystery?" In part she was teasing, probing to see what this kindred spirit would say.

"Neither, sadly. I write poetry." He said it so gently that it made her blink twice before she truly registered the words.

"I think that's beautiful," she gave him a smile. "I have always thought poetry was an underrated form of literature. Though, I feel like this century is against you."

A laugh escaped his lips and a blush rose on his neck, making his dark skin glow. "In that we agree, I was born far too late. If only things were different and I might be have been as famous as Byron."

"Who's Bryon?" Hattie asked, looking up as though she hadn't been eavesdropping.

"A famous poet who lived long ago." Benwick replied, looking from mother to daughter "Don't they teach him in school?"

Hattie sniffed in that typical way children do and replied, "I never read fiction."

"Right now, anyway. You were hooked on Harry Potter last week." Lottie chimed, risking the glare she might get from the child.

"Non fiction is more formative, and much needed for brain stimulation." Hattie said, before beginning to eat again.

Benwick exchanged a glance with Anne, who smiled and shrugged, both of them laughing and the conversation continued between mouthfuls, tea, dessert, and into sitting by the fireplace with a tired child in her lap. It was the easiest part of this journey thus far.

"What's your story?" he asked, breaking a lengthy silence that had been comfortable between them. "You're young, a doctor and a mum."

"Is it that obvious?" she whispered back, stroking Hattie's hair.

He smiled gently, shrugging a little. "To me, maybe. You look at her like I looked at Phoebe. Love emanates from you to her, and vice versa." Seeming to catch her hesitation he watched her for a moment more. "Do the others not know?"

"Some do," admitting it to a perfect stranger was easy enough – he wasn't likely to jump on the phone and tell her father about her sins. "Some might guess, I suppose. As long as no one says anything rude or makes snide comments about it, then they can gossip all they want."

"Because you had her young?"

She shook her head, adjusting so that she could drink from her mug. "Some of that, more so that she has never been brought up thinking she's anything but a normal kid. My family isn't exactly tolerant, as you can surmise."

He nodded, looking into his cup. "I've been there."

"Phoebe?"

"No, actually," Benwick let his voice drop down into that soft, gentle zone that made it hard to hear him. "Mine. My parents are landed immigrants, and there are a lot of cultural things that made it hard for them to accept I was in love with a British girl."

"Did you two break up?"

"She died," he admitted, looking up. "While I was away. She wanted to get married," tears formed slowly at the edges of his eyes. "before I left. I said to wait….for money," he looked back down into his cup – as though his salvation or damnation lay there. "Money." Anne listened silently, her expression a mix of concern and empathy for this pain. "She died in a car crash two weeks after I left. I didn't even know because we couldn't receive mail at the time. I found out two months afterwards. Two months."

"You couldn't have known," Anne whispered, reaching out a hand to him. "It's not your fault."

"That doesn't bring her back," he growled, looking at the ceiling suddenly. "You don't know what I have lost."

"Yes I have." Their eyes met, and he let a teardrop fall as he recognised the sadness in her as well. She didn't even know she had any more tears left in her, but drops fell onto the hardwood floor as they told each other of their great lost loves.