When he had first returned to Kellynch to visit his sister, Frederick had not intended to stay long. In truth, when Sophia had first named their newly rented estate to him, Frederick had considered begging off coming at all. Kellynch, after all, had be the site of some of the happiest days of his life, and the memory of those happy days, now lost to him forever, brought him no warm feelings.
However, Sophia had seemed so gladdened by the prospect of seeing her brother again and so eager to show him her new lodgings, that Frederick had surrendered and agreed to visit once she and the Admiral had moved in. He told himself that he could make it a short visit, appease his sister, and then escape to visit Edward at the first opportunity. Moreover, Frederick had been confident that he could steel himself against any feelings he might have upon returning to Kellynch. It had been eight years after all, and it was only a house. He would manage just fine.
Unfortunately, Frederick's confidence in his ability to govern his own feelings had been misplaced. Immediately upon his return to Kellynch, his sister, unfamiliar with his past business there, had taken him on a tour. While Sophia pointed out all the lovely ceilings and beautiful staircases, Frederick only saw the place by the window where Anne liked to sit and read in the early evenings, or the fireplace by which they'd had such a lovely chat all those years ago.
Against these unbidden thoughts and memories, Frederick raged. He had moved on from Anne, he told himself; he had forgotten her. She had no right to claim his thoughts and feelings anymore. He had steadfastly decided to be indifferent to her. So why could he not prevent the constant thoughts of their short time together?
Frederick shook his head and determined to focus on his sister's voice telling him all about her lovely new dwelling. Frederick told himself that these memories of Anne did not mean anything. These memories were only arising because he was in her home, returning once more to a place he had not seen since the end of those happy times. He did not still care for Anne, would not still care for her. After all, who would not be influenced by returning to the place of such fond and tender memories? It was only natural to remember fond times, but it certainly did not mean anything more.
At least, that's what Frederick told himself.
He needed to remove himself from Kellynch as soon as possible.
Thus it was that Frederick began to spend the majority of his visit to Kellynch at Uppercross Cottage.
One morning, as had become his custom of late, Frederick made his way to Uppercross. On his way, he encountered Mrs. Musgrove, who was perhaps more pleased with encountering Frederick than the latter was with encountering her. Attempting to keep the interaction brief, Frederick inquired after her daughters, mentioning that he was on his way to Uppercross as they spoke. Mrs. Musgrove was quite pleased with this announcement. She had assured him that the girls were at home and would be most delighted to receive him. With that, Frederick bid Mrs. Musgrove a good day and continued to Uppercross, sure of a warm reception from the lively Musgrove girls.
Confident that his morning would be pleasant, Frederick, upon arriving at Uppercross, strode into the drawing room at the cottage.
Once again, his confidence led him astray.
To Frederick's dismay, he immeditaly found himself alone in the drawing room with only Anne and the injured young Charles.
Anne appeared to be nursing the boy. Upon hearing someone enter the room, she had turned her attention from little Charles to see who had joined them. There was a quick, uncomfortable silence when their eyes met, before Anne looked away.
Surprised, flustered, and unsure what to say, Frederick blurted, "I thought the Ms. Musgroves had been here: Mrs. Musgrove told me I should find them here."
Frederick heard how stiff and forced his words sounded. He could feel his face getting hot, so he moved to the window to attempt to hide his own embarrassment. He mentally chastised himself for acting like a foolish schoolboy. He wished to turn back to Anne and apologize for his crudeness, but he found himself entirely unable to form the words with which to do so.
Occupied as he was with his own frustrations, Frederick barely even heard Anne's reply. He was aware that she had turned her attention back to little Charles, and as he could think of nothing else to say, he remained silently brooding at the window.
Once or twice, however, Frederick snuck a glance at Anne as she faithfully attended her patient. He could not help but think that Anne was by far the most caring person in her family, as she seemed to care more for her little nephew than the boy's own mother did. But then, Frederick thought, her family had never been overly caring people, and Anne had always been good with children. He had always admired how Anne had developed such a caring soul when she was surrounded by such uncaring relations, and he had always loved watching her with children.
Frederick became aware that a smile wasbeginning to form on his face. He quickly curbed it, maintaining a neutral expression before he betrayed himself. He would not think about that now. He would not think about Anne at all. Instead, he would look out the window and admire the lovely weather. Anything was better than letting himself think of the tender feelings he had once had for the girl kneeling at her nephew's bedside. Anything.
Frederick silently prayed that the rest of the household would soon make their way to the drawing room and release himself and Anne from this strained and painful silence.
At long last, after what seemed an eternity to Frederick, there came another person to the drawing room. To Frederick's dismay, however, the addition was not either of the Miss Musgroves. It was Henry Hayter, who seemed in no mood to entertain a conversation with Frederick. Frederick was thus left to his own devices at the window once more. The painful silence prevailed, though Frederick was constantly aware of Anne's presence behind him. He longed to turn around and engage her, but he could not.
Not long after Henry Hayter's arrival, Frederick heard the light and quick footsteps of a child enter the room. As young Walter promised no relief from the strained silence in the room, Frederick barely paid attention to his entrance. It was not until he heard Anne's voice that he turned around.
Frederick did not catch Anne's exact words, but he gathered she was scolding the child. When he turned, he found the boy climbing on Anne's back and generally making a nuisance of himself. Anne, compromised as she was in her position kneeling at Charles' bedside, was helpless to rid herself of the troublesome child. For a moment, Frederick watched the scene unfold in front of him as if he were merely an observer, incapable of intervening. Henry Hayter, not willing to bother himself with the child, did no more than order the child to leave his aunt alone, which order the youngster promptly proceeded to ignore.
Without being quite aware of how or why it happened, Frederick found himself frustrated with the situation. Where was the boy's mother? Why was Anne, who was tending to her sister's injured child while her sister did whatever she chose to do, suddenly forced to curb her sister's other child? Why was it that Anne, who always sacrificed herself for her family, was never paid any mind or offered any assistance by those she did so much for?
These thoughts raced through Frederick's mind so quickly that he hardly registered them. Instead of dwelling on them for more than a brief moment, Frederick found himself forced into action. In sympathy for Anne and frustration with those who seemed not to care about her, Frederick crossed the room and pulled the child off Anne's back in one swift motion. He deposited the child on the floor and quickly looked back at Anne, who was staring at him with a surprised and confused look on her face.
It was only then that Frederick realized what he had done, and how it must look to Anne. No sooner did he register her surprise than she looked away, and his face grew hot once more. He longed for something to say, anything to say to explain his actions, but he came up empty. After all, he could hardly say in his own mind why he had done what he had. There was no way he could have communicated that to Anne.
Frederick once again returned to the window, annoyed with himself for his lack of eloquence. This had perhaps been a chance to say something, to lessen the strain between himself and Anne, to perhaps establish some sort of passing civility between the two of them. But he had failed. Had anyone asked him why he had done what he had, he would have had no answer.
It was at that moment that the Miss Musgroves decided to make their appearance. Frederick, who only moments before had been longing for their arrival, was now displeased to see them. He had no desire to make small talk with them now. And, to his great dismay, he saw Anne quickly leave the room. The chance to talk with her was over.
Frederick watched Anne depart with an aching heart. Though he was determined not to let himself make the mistake of falling for Anne again, he did not want to remain on such unpleasant terms with her forever. The two of them, who once had been able to talk for hours without tiring of each other's company, could not even manage one sentence to each other. It was endlessly frustrating for Frederick, as he neither knew what he wanted to happen nor what he ought to do about it. He was not even sure that Anne would wish him to do anything, as she had shown no desire to lessen the tension between them.
As he watched Anne go, Frederick had to admit to himself that perhaps the day would never come that he and Anne could put the past behind them enough to be civil to one another.
Perhaps he ought to leave for Edward's at once.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I really thought this scene needed to be told from Frederick's POV, and I hope I did it some justice. Please please let me know what you think! :)