A/N: I have been meaning to update this for a looooong time, and I finally got around to it! I hope you enjoy this little addition. Please let me know if you want more! Thanks for reading :)

The slow realization of continued affection was agonizing.

Frederick's mind rebelled at the idea that he still cared for Anne, but his heart yearned the other way. He was a man torn in two.

As the rest of the party was merry and did not share Frederick's troubles of the heart, the dinner was followed by lively dancing. Frederick hoped to use this opportunity to throw himself into the festivities and share in the merriment of his company, but he was frustrated to find that his mind was consumed by internal turmoil. On the surface, he paid the requisite attention to each of his partners and laughed merrily along with them. Beneath the surface, however, conflict reigned.

Despite his best efforts to focus on his dance partners, Frederick's eyes were drawn more than once to the face hidden in shadows behind the piano. He watched as the candlelight flickered, only occasionally revealing Anne's features. Frederick tried not to stare, but his glances likely lasted longer than was truly proper. He prayed no one noticed.

From what he was able to discern, Anne's face appeared downcast. She played lively jigs to entertain the party, but she seemed impervious to the cheerfulness of her own tunes. Frederick wondered whether she was truly melancholy, or just subdued or tired. He tried to stop wondering, telling himself he did not care, should not care, but his eyes, ever the betrayer of one's soul, lingered on Anne's face nonetheless.

She had been so quiet during dinner. Since his return, Frederick had found an Anne that was so much different than the lively girl of his memory. By Frederick's count, he had danced six songs so far this evening, yet Anne had never left her seat behind the piano. Would she ever dance? The girl he had known all those years ago had taken so much pleasure in dancing that Frederick could not help but wonder what had changed her so much.

When the next song came around, Frederick found his partner to once again be the younger Miss Musgrove. She was a pleasant dance partner, happy and eager to please him. Frederick nonetheless could only give her part of his attention. He chastised himself for his preoccupation and attempted to focus only on his partner.

It was no use. Before his inhibitions could stop him, Frederick's mouth betrayed his thoughts: "Does Miss Elliot ever dance?"

Immediately, Frederick's face reddened at his own words. He hadn't really meant to ask. He prayed his partner, if she even noticed, would presume his color was due to the exertions of dancing and not his embarrassment. These preoccupations almost made Frederick miss the answer to his question, but he focused enough to hear Miss Musgrove reply, "Oh no, never, she has quite given up dancing. She had rather play. She is never tired of playing."

Frederick nodded and smiled, trying his best to look disinterested and enjoy the dance. In truth, however, the answer to his inquiry only deepened the conflict raging in his breast. He desperately wished to ask why Anne had given up dancing, and more importantly when she had done so, but he could ask no such thing. He had already pushed the bounds of propriety enough. He must act indifferent.

When the dancing had finished, Frederick noticed that Anne had vacated the piano, so he made his way to the seat behind it. He remembered a tune a friend had taught him awhile back and figured he might have a go at entertaining the Miss Musgroves with it. While he tinkered away at the keys, Frederick was aware of Anne's presence in the room. She seemed to float about with no real destination in mind, as if she were as preoccupied as himself.

Eventually, when the Musgrove girls had lightly teased him about his poor playing skills, Anne drifted back toward the piano. Noticing that her eyes were on him, Frederick found he could no longer focus on his attempts to play the piano. He was constantly aware of her presence and even more acutely aware of the effect it was having on him. He needed to remove himself from the spot before his feelings overpowered him.

No longer able to sit still and pretend to pay the piano, Frederick rose abruptly and said, "I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat." He moved away so quickly that he barely heard Anne's denial.

Once he was safely on the other side of the room, Frederick immediately chastised himself for reacting so harshly. He wished he hadn't been so cold toward Anne, as he in truth he has no desire to hurt her. However, he knew no other way to be as indifferent toward her as she seemed to be about him. She had given him no encouragement since his return, and why should she? After all, she had been the one to end their previous engagement. It would be absurd to allow himself any false hope that things might be different now.

Despite Anne's downcast indifference and mere civility toward him, Frederick was unable to completely banish her from his heart, however much he thought he had forgotten her. What was worse, he feared that if he was anything more than barely polite to her, he would be unable to mask true feelings, and his secret would be revealed. And if there was one thing Frederick truly could not bear, it was the thought of being once again rejected by Anne. He did not wish to be callous or haughty, but he told himself that if it were the only way to avoid allowing his emotions to guide him into repeating his previous mistake, so be it.

He must be indifferent.

He would be indifferent.

What else could he possibly do?