A/N: I hope this chapter doesn't get too confusing. I wanted some things to happen without Anne knowing about them, so I decided to switch to Gilbert's POV in the middle of the chapter. I hope everything still flows alright and that you all enjoy the chapter as much as the ones in Anne's POV. Thanks for all the reviews! I love getting them!

Unlikely Appointment with Fate

The train ride wasn't as long as I had expected it to be, but nevertheless I had plenty of things to talk about with Gilbert. We actually did a bit of wedding planning on the trip. We finally set a date of July 21, which was Matthew's birthday, and decided to have the ceremony along Violet Vale and the reception at Diana and Fred's. Diana had been begging me to allow her to cater the affair and made me promise her that she might host the reception as well. I was giddy the entire drive to the hotel and Gilbert, I'm sure, couldn't even have anticipated the magnificence of the St. Unionville Grand Hotel.

The hotel itself reminded me much of Ms. Barry's house. Memories from my Queen's days flooded my mind as Gilbert and I were shown to our respective rooms. I was able to take a quick bath and prepare myself for dinner before Gilbert came to my door. I put on my peach formal dress with flower buds sewn on that I had worn to the Kingsport Hospital benefit dance the prior winter. Gilbert arrived, promptly as usual and escorted me to the hotel restaurant on the main floor. The food was amazing and I thought of how grand and wonderful Ms. Josephine Barry's life must be, eating food in elegant places such as that all the time. For a brief moment I thought of how I would ever return to Avonlea, but just as soon as the thought entered my mind, I was flooded with breathtaking sunsets over crystal glassy waters wrapped up in Gilbert's arms. And in those moments I knew that as elegant and grand as Ms. Barry's life may be, it would always seem too stuffy and overdone when compared to Avonlea. After dinner we were met by an adorable pudgy old coachman waiting to take us to the theatre in an equally adorable and old carriage. He said that Ms. Barry sent us her regards and best wishes while we were in St. Unionville.

The opera was amazing; probably the best three hours of my life. I can't even describe how wonderful the evening was. The costumes were beautiful and the singing was incredible. There were so many hair-raising parts that I almost wanted to cry when Pierre died in the end. I felt so captivated by the story line that I felt like I was actually one of the townspeople witnessing the love story unfold. Diana would have cried I'm sure. Everything was so moving that I didn't want to leave. I would have stayed in my seat all night, reliving the beautiful tale and imagining a more romantic ending, although Pierre's death was a very romantic one. Because the theatre was only a few streets down from the hotel, Gilbert and I decided to walk back and take in all the wonderful star-lit romantic sights. He walked me to my room and we said goodnight. I changed into my nightgown and washed my face and brushed my teeth and headed to bed. Because I had done so much running around earlier that day, I never realized how gigantic my bed for the next few days was. I sunk down beneath the down quilt and drifted off to sleep, listening to the waves as they crashed against the rocks outside my window.

- - Gilbert's POV - -

I had no idea I would enjoy the opera as much as I did. I partly enjoyed it because it was good, but mostly I enjoyed it because of Anne. A lot of the time I watched her as she slipped into the mind of the characters. Her mind is far more fascinating than any play or opera ever imagined and her features seemed to change each time she heard a new person begin singing. I could tell that she was living out one of her very deepest and dearest dreams, and I was ecstatic to be sitting there beside her. And oh, how beautiful she looked that night. Her cheeks seemed to flush some when she'd catch me staring at her every once in a while, but it couldn't be helped. I felt like the luckiest man alive to be walking into the theatre that night with her on my arm. I knew that she was getting looks from many of the other men around and each side glance from someone made me a little more proud to be with her. We walked back to the hotel after the show had ended and she had stars in her eyes; both literally and figuratively. She wistfully told me how she had imagined the tale could have ended, and how it would have felt to be Amelia, losing one so beloved the way she lost Pierre. I used to wonder if Anne's imagination ever stopped running, but those thoughts faded long ago, almost as if they were in another lifetime.

I slept well that night, and dreamt of Anne. She had been the only female subject of my dreams for many years and each night it seemed as though my love for her grew a bit more. She was always more beautiful, her hair always a more handsome auburn than the night before. Her grey-green eyes were always star-filled and captivating. In my dreams I was never as suave as I wished I had been and I was usually making a fool out of myself vying for her attention. Thankfully, more recently anyway, I would always wake up each morning and lay in bed and think of how wonderful it was to actually be the one who held her attention, and affection. Such was my story the first morning in the hotel in St. Unionville. I remained in my bed long after I was awake thinking of how wonderful the day would be with her by my side once more. I thought about how we'd spend our afternoon eating ice cream and walking hand-in-hand along the beach talking about our wildest hopes and dreams.

The remainder of the morning was spent walking along the boardwalk and collecting seashells. Anne said that they would help her give Marilla and Rachel a more realistic vision of the beach if they could hear the ocean in the shells. I laughed at the thought of Anne holding a seashell up to Rachel Lynde's ear. We went back to the hotel for lunch and then returned to the beach and swam for a little while. Then we went to the hotel's grand lawn and sat under a tree. Anne brought one of her books and read Tennyson to me. The afternoon was beginning to cool off and a breeze was beginning to blow in. On the other side of the lawn Anne and I noticed a young lady frantically running around picking up papers.

"Anne, do you suppose she needs help?" I inquired.

"I'm sure she does," Anne responded getting up quickly.

"No, I'll go," I insisted holding her back. I ran toward the girl and picked up a few of the remaining papers from the ground.

"Here," I said holding out the papers to her.

She looked up at me quickly as if I had startled her and responded shortly and quickly, "You didn't have to do that."

"I know, but my fiancé and I saw you and thought you could use some help," I was curious why she didn't want help. "My name is Gilbert Blythe" I offered, hoping to make a better second impression than first. I extended my hand to her.

She stood up and froze for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not to introduce herself. She adjusted her glasses and pulled at her braid before extending her hand to me. "Emeline," she said quietly, her blue eyes looking into mine. "My name is Emeline."

Her name seemed to trigger some distant memory in the back of my head but I couldn't place why. Her face too seemed somehow familiar.

"Sometimes I get so caught up in my imagination that I lose track of what happens in reality," she claimed. "I guess my imagination went a little overboard today."

"Are you a writer?" I asked, shrugging off the fact that she had just said something very characteristic of Anne.

"A student of the arts," she replied wistfully. I looked at her strangely thinking of how she could remind me so much of Anne. "Yes, I'm a writer."

"Do you live in the area?" I asked, "My fiancé and I could give you a ride home." I was otherwise at a loss for words.

"No, my father and I are vacationing along the gulf this summer. We're staying at the estate he's rented for the season." The nagging feeling that I'd heard of this girl would not leave me alone, and I wanted to place how I knew her before we said goodbye. "It was a very kind thing you did for me today, Mr. Blythe. I would like to repay you by inviting you and your fiancé to dinner tonight. My father would be very happy to have you both." She handed me a slip of paper and ran off as if she had already received my answer.

"What time?" I called to her.

She never stopped running, only turned around and ran backwards to give me a response. "You can arrive as early as 6:00."

I walked back to Anne, staring down at the ripped slip of paper the young woman had practically thrown into my hand. "She invited us to dinner with her family," I said awkwardly.

"Oh really?" Anne inquired. I could tell one of her adventurous looks had taken over her façade and I was afraid the evening wouldn't end up as gracefully and fun-filled as I had imagined.

Anne and I headed back to the hotel so that we could clean up and be ready for dinner at Emeline's house on time. The same nice gentleman that drove us to the theatre the night before took us to the address that Emeline had scribbled down and given me. The estate was huge; I doubt I'd seen a bigger house in all my life. The fact that the place was rented meant that Emeline's father was quite a success at whatever he did. Anne was mentally preparing herself for her crazy adventure. I hoped she wouldn't make too much of a scene in the presence of people we hardly knew.

"What did you say her name was again, dear?" she asked me.

"She said it was Emeline I believe."

"Emeline, it's such a romantic name, don't you suppose? I can imagine her perfectly as Tennyson might create her to appear. She would have velvety black hair, and a beautiful olive complexion; and dark starry violet eyes. Yes, she would be the perfect romantic heroine by Tennyson's standards, I think."

I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of the tall, somewhat gangly girl of no more that fifteen being Tennyson's perfect heroine, and how Anne would be somewhat disappointed when she actually met Emeline.

"Anne, you might want to know…" I began. "This Emeline is nothing like the heroine you expect her to be. She's tall and…"

"Nonsense. In my mind she is whoever I wish her to be. And tonight, in this wonderful fairytale mansion, she is Tennyson's heroine."

I knew there was no use in arguing with Anne. Somehow she always managed to win at any debate. Strong willed as I was, I knew I was no match to her wit and sarcasm. We walked toward the door and a cold rush of wind made the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck stand on end. Actually, I'm not sure if it was the wind, or just the eerie feeling that something was drastically wrong about us being there that night. Pushing the feeling aside, I took a hold of the over-sized knocker that went perfectly with the rest of the over-sized house and knocked loudly. Within seconds the door slowly creaked open and the familiar face of Emeline greeted us. However she didn't appear happy to see us; rather a look of confusion and enthusiasm crossed her face.

"Anne Shirley? Is that really you?" She practically squealed with delight and was greeted by Anne's open arms. They embraced for a long time but neither spoke, giving me plenty of time to wonder what was going on.

"Oh Emeline, I was afraid I'd never see you again," Anne sounded so happy; however there was a quiver in her voice when she spoke the last three words.

"Father!" Emeline shouted. "You'll never guess who is here!" The door opened the rest of the way and for the first time I stood face to face with Captain Morgan Harris.