-Now enough! A definitive word that is what I want! -

-There are been enough talk about the past, I want to think about the future! -

Frederick's impatience was what kept him awake, those last few nights in Portsmouth.

"Still anxious?" Asked the sleepy voice of James who must have been awakened by his friend's constant tossing and turning in bed.

"No, impatience! Sophia won't take over Kellynch Hall until 29, but Anne and I have already cleared up most of our divergences and all this stillness is torture!"

James smiled and commented:

"It is like trying to keep a ferocious beast in a cage" He knew Frederick and his impetus well; it was exactly what had led him to many successful naval feats.

"Why do you not leave earlier than expected and surprise her?" He then proposed, partly amused and partly pitied by the mood of his friend.

Frederick wasted only a few moments pondering the possibility; James's advice, again, seemed to brighten his hopes.

"I could really do it, but I do not want to completely surprise her, that would be too bold" He answered thoughtfully, and in his mind, he composed the words that he would fix on paper the next morning.

Portsmouth, September the 17th 1814

My beloved Anne,

I can bear no longer to stay away from you,

you pierced my soul,

I'm half agony half hope,

I need a certainty like the air I breathe.

I have loved none but you,

for you alone, I think and plan

I offer myself again to you with a heart even more

your own than when you almost broke it, eight

years ago.

My feelings are unchanged.

I can no longer wait for my sister's appointed day;

I shall leave for Uppercross today, I must be certain

of my fate.

If there is just one possibility that even your feelings

have remained unchanged, a word a look will be

enough to make me yours forever or never again;

only you can make my happiness or my despair.

In a few days, I will be with you and I will know

my fate; until then I can only

convey you all my love

Frederick

Anne closed the letter before Mary became curious and asked for an account, and hastily put it back in her apron pocket.

-He was already on his way! He could have come at any moment! -

And with what intentions! He was coming to propose! Again!

A few steps away from her, the young Musgrove girls were peering through a fashion catalogue in search of a model who could win him over.

Anne felt almost guilty about the secret she kept, but also decidedly inadequate for the competition that surrounded her.

Frederick did not seem to care at all, about her age or what might have been her current appearance; in his mind, she was probably the nineteen years old girl, Anne was been, eight years earlier.

Would he still have found her attractive?

The thought made her nervous to the point that shortly thereafter she came up with the excuse of a sudden headache so that she could retire to her room where she went through her entire wardrobe, and with immense frustration found nothing that could be remotely fashionable or however suitable for the occasion.

What forced her to leave her room, so quickly that she only had time to wear her pelisse directly over her petticoat, were Mary's mangled screams combined with the cry of one of the children and the excited voices of the two Mr Musgrove, father and son.

It had happened that little Charles, Anne's older nephew, had suffered a bad fall and had broken his arm. Mary, far from being of any help, had fallen prey to hysterics and continued to cry and scream while saying she was sure that her child would die.

Naturally, her statements caused the older child's crying to double, that of the younger one to begin, and her husband, Charles, to give in to despair.

As always, the only one able to restore order to that collective madness was Anne.

It was late at night when Anne managed to lie down on the mattress that had been set up for her on the drawing-room floor. After long suffering, Mary had been the first to retire to her room, claiming the need for rest that every mother has as a result of such a fright; little Walter had fallen asleep in Anne's arms and the drawing-room sofa had been set up for little Charles. Just to be able to look after him better, his loving aunt was forced to that makeshift bed in which she was preparing to retire, exhausted.

Before blowing out the candle, however, Anne would have liked to reread the letter in which Frederick had poured all his impetuousness but the child, who could not find a comfortable position, forced her to push away the tiredness and return to take care of him.