Despite his inclinations, and perhaps his better judgment, Frederick did not leave for Edward's at once.
Though he could not name the source with any precision, some inexplicable force seemed to keep him at Kellynch. Perhaps, he thought, he simply liked spending time with his sister and the Admiral. He must admit to himself, though, that their domestic felicity often made him feel as though he was missing something in life. Perhaps he stayed because he enjoyed the company of the Musgroves; he often dined with the family in the evenings and went out riding or shooting with Charles during the day. In fact, they had just gone out shooting this very morning.
The shooting had been nothing spectacular, as Charles was not particularly accomplished at the sport. Even worse, Charles had not carefully reared his hunting dogs, and one young pup had become overeager and frightened away all the birds. The party was thus forced to return early from the hunt. The dog's antics amused Frederick, who mused that the dog's lack of discipline was likely inherited from its owner.
Nonetheless, Frederick had enjoyed himself on their outing. Charles became more and more impressed with Frederick's shooting skills each time they went out, and Frederick enjoyed his admiration. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he enjoyed the admiration of all Musgrove family. He accepted their attentions with gladness, if not with as much grace as he ought to.
Frederick did not think himself a prideful or vain man, but he was forced to admit that he did savor the attentions of the Musgroves. He thought, perhaps, if he could allow himself to relish in the attentions the Miss Musgroves paid him, he could forget about the one woman in Kellynch who seemed determined not to pay him any attention at all.
And so, as they made their way back toward Uppercross cottage, Frederick entertained Charles' long-winded speech on the virtues of his sisters. He told Frederick what wonderful young women they were and was careful to mention, more than once, their admiration for the Navy and their esteem for self-made men. He went on and on about their accomplishments and continued to seek Frederick's approval of their characters long after the latter had stopped listening.
It seemed to Frederick that Charles was attempting to judge which of his sisters Frederick might prefer, if of course he should be disposed to prefer either. But Frederick was not much interested in Charles' speech, for as much as he enjoyed the attentions of the Musgrove girls, there was nothing in the character of either that much appealed to him or set them apart from each other. They were both lively young women with accomplishments enough, but they were alike enough in character to any number of young women of Frederick's acquaintance that he thought nothing particular of either of them. However, he was of course too much of a gentleman to say this to their doting brother, so he simply smiled and allowed Charles to blather on as they walked, only occasionally making a noncommittal reply.
When they had almost made it back to the cottage, Frederick saw a group of women in the distance. As the two groups converged, he recognized Mrs. Charles Musgrove, the Miss Musgroves, and Anne. It was the latter he watched as the parties approached one another, but when she raised her eyes toward him, Frederick looked away quickly.
Louisa Musgrove declared that they were going for a walk, and beseeched her brother and the Captain to join them. The latter were only too glad to comply.
As they set out, Frederick found himself in conversation with Louisa. They talked idly of inconsequential things, and Frederick found his mind wandering. He wondered what his sister and the Admiral were doing; he wondered what the destination of this walk might be, if indeed there was one; he wondered what Anne was thinking about, as she had said very little to anyone during the walk; and he generally wondered about Anne. He was acutely aware of her presence behind him, but as he was occupied with Louisa, neither attempted to engage the other in conversation.
At some point during his musings, Frederick was aware of Louisa having made some comment about the lovely weather. At that point, Frederick had been thinking of his sister and the Admiral, so he made a joking comment about how they must have set off in their gig and would surely be overturned somewhere along their drive. He assured Louisa it was a common occurrence when the pair set out.
Louisa, who discerned Frederick's love for his sister and shared his appreciation for the life she had built with the Admiral, exclaimed, "Ah! You make the most of it, I know, but if it were really so, I should do just the same in her place. If I loved a man, as she loves the Admiral, I would always be with him, nothing should ever separate us, and I would rather be overturned by him, than driven safely by anybody else."
Frederick, who for the first time had actually listened to Louisa's chatter, grinned. Here, he thought, is a girl who would never be persuaded to give up the man she loved. Here was a woman who was strong enough to resist the pressures of others and willful enough to get what she wants and keep it. Perhaps this walk had done him good, he thought, as it seemed he may have stumbled upon point of differentiation which distinguished one Musgrove sister over the other in his estimation.
The parties continued on, with Frederick occupied by Louisa's chatter, until Mary Musgrove stopped abruptly. "Bless me! Here is Winthrop," she exclaimed, stopping the whole party in its tracks. She suddenly claimed exhaustion and determined that the party should turn around and return to Uppercross at once. Henrietta seemed about to follow her, but Charles stopped her, saying he wished to call on the Hayters. Frederick seemed to remember meeting a relation of the Musgroves by the name of Hayter, but he hadn't taken much notice of the man at the time.
Louisa, however, appeared to be determined to get her sister to go down to Winthrop. For the first time since the party had set out, she left Frederick's side. She pulled her sister aside and and engaged her in an animated conversation, the details of which Frederick could not hear. Mary and Charles were likewise muttering to each other. It seemed to Frederick that everyone was making quite a fuss over whether to go down to Winthrop, which, in Frederick's estimation, seemed a matter of little enough importance. He resisted the urge to sigh at the banality of it all.
As he observed the parties and their fierce discussions, Frederick found himself longing for the days of the past, when he would have pulled Anne aside and asked for her observation of their companions. She was always so adept at reading people and knowing their motivations and desires. She would surely know why the unimportant issue of visiting Winthrop had caused so much drama. Frederick did not much care who thought what or why, but he longed to hear Anne's interpretation of it, for her observations of people had always amused him. They used to share private laughs as she observed the petty motivations of those around them, as neither of them generally shared such superficial cares.
But, of course, as much as he longed to, Frederick dared not do something so familiar as draw Anne aside for a chat. He resigned himself to simply observing the party and wondering what Anne might be thinking of it all.
But before Frederick had really read the situation, Lousia abruptly took her sister by the arm and began walking her down the hill toward Winthrop. As they left, Mary sighed animatedly. She turned toward Fredrick, who had the bad luck to be standing next to her at the time, and scoffed, "It is very unpleasant having such connections! I assure you, I have never been in the house above twice in my life."
Frederick blinked. Many sharp replies rose immediately to his mind, but he schooled his tongue before letting them escape. He was not, however, completely able to keep the scornful look off his face. It seemed Anne's family had not changed in the eight years since he had last encountered them. The hypocrisy inherent in scorning a hardworking curate while her own family was in financial trouble despite never having to work for anything in their lives seemed entirely lost on Mary. He resisted rolling his eyes.
It astonished Frederick that the humble Anne was directly related to these people.
While Frederick was working to control his inner frustration, Louisa returned up the hill. Slightly out of breath, she grinned at Frederick. "Captain Wentworth," she called, "would you be so good as to help me glean nuts in the hedgerow?"
Frederick, who had not been paying Louisa much attention, was brought out of his musings by her question. Without much thought, and acting on a desire to be away from the vexing Mary, he assented. He followed her down the path away from the small clearing where Anne and Mary had found a seat to wait.
When they were a little way down the path, Louisa sighed. "My sister is such an undecided soul. Though she is my elder, it is always I who makes the decisions for her. It truly seems as if I were her elder. She is so persuadable! It is unthinkable to me that she would not go to visit Henry Hayter simply because Mary disapproves of him. And so, I made her go. I could not bear that she should be frightened from the visit by such nonsense. What! Would I be turned back from doing such a thing that I knew to be right, by the airs and interference of such a person, or of any person? No, I have no idea of being so persuaded. When I have made up my mind, I have made it."
Frederick considered Louisa's speech. Once again, he marveled that this was a girl who would not be persuaded out of her own choice by the ridiculous prejudice of her relations. He could not help but compare Louisa's firmness of character to Anne's fickleness. He smiled at Louisa, asking, "She would have turned back then, but for you?"
Louisa, seeing that the advantage she had been hoping to gain was materializing, smiled and nodded. "She would indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it."
Frederick found himself unable to avoid commenting on Louisa's assessment of her sister's character. "Happy for her, to have such a mind as yours at hand!" he declared. Though he hardly knew the young Henry Hayter, Frederick found himself pitying the curate. He knew firsthand the perils of committing his heart to a young woman of persuadable character. He said, "I see that more than a mere dutiful morning visit to your aunt was in question; and woe betide him, and her too, when it comes to things of consequence, when they are placed in circumstances requiring fortitude and strength of mind, if she have not resolution enough to resist idle interference in such a trifle as this." Frederick knew Louisa would not understand his basis for this speech, but he nonetheless could not resist commenting on the situation in which the poor Henry Hayter had found himself.
Lost in his own thoughts, Frederick continued speaking, perhaps more freely than he usually would or ought to. "Your sister is an amiable creature; but yours is the character of decision and firmness, I see," he asserted. Glancing at Louisa, Frederick saw that she was closely following what he said. Seeing to impart some wisdom from his own past, Frederick told her, "If you value your sister's conduct or happiness, infuse as much of your own spirit into her as you can. But this, no doubt, you have always been doing. It is the worst evil of too yielding and indecisive a character, that no influence over it can be depended on. Let those who would be happy be firm."
Louisa, pleased with the way this conversation had gone, sought to continue it. "Mary is good-natured enough in many respects," she said, "but she does sometimes provoke me excessively, by her nonsense and pride - the Elliot pride. She has a great deal too much of the Elliot pride. We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead. I suppose you know he wanted to marry Anne?"
Frederick nearly stopped dead in his tracks. He managed to recover quickly enough that he thought Louisa did not notice his momentary stop. He coughed briefly to cover the pause before asking, "Do you… Do you mean that she refused him?"
Frederick could hear the strain in his own voice, but it seemed Louisa did not. She simply replied, "Oh yes, certainly."
Frederick turned this over in his mind. Charles had asked Anne to marry him? Surely this had happened after Anne had turned down his own proposal. But why should she have turned Charles down? If he was good enough for her sister, surely Anne's family, who seemed to value her far less than they valued her sisters, should have had no objection to the match.
Could it have been, he wondered, that Anne herself had refused Charles… because her heart was still dedicated to another?
As soon as this thought arose in his mind, Frederick attempted to banish it. It was foolish to think that Anne still cared for him, let alone that she would have refused marriage to Charles because of it. He would not let himself think of that possibility, let alone hope for it.
Nonetheless, Frederick was desperate for more information on the matter. Against his better judgment, he asked Louisa, "When did that happen?"
Louisa shrugged. "I believe about a year before he married Mary. I wish Anne had accepted him. We should all have liked her a great deal better. Papa and mamma always think it was her great friend Lady Russell's doing. They think Charles might not be learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell, and that therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him."
No more was said. Frederick found he had nothing more to say.
Soon enough, Henrietta and Henry Hayter made their way up the hill from Winthrop, and the party set off back to Uppercross.
As they walked, Frederick found himself lost in thought over Louisa's revelations. He was not in the least surprised that it had been Lady Russel who prevented Anne from accepting Charles' proposal; in fact he chided himself for the ridiculous hope that there could have been any other reason for her refusal.
Of course it had been Lady Russel's doing. That lady would be Anne's downfall, Frederick was sure of it. She claimed to care for Anne, but did she not see the effect that her persuasion was having on her young companion? It seemed perfectly obvious to Frederick that the happy, bright young woman he knew eight years ago had faded discernably since that time; and though it may have been vain to think it, Frederick thought it obvious that Anne's change was due to the effects of having followed Lady Russel's advice.
It saddened Frederick to see that Anne was still following Lady Russel's advice to her own detriment. He wished he could provide a better companion for Anne, for he truly did wish to see her happy, and it frustrated him that Lady Russel could not see the ill effects of her own advice. But who could truly be Anne's equal? Not a soul in Kellynch could make her an adequate companion.
As they walked, Frederick watched Anne. He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, hoping that neither Anne nor any of their companions noticed his attention to her. He noticed that Anne seemed more dispirited than she had when they set out. He thought perhaps she was tired from the walk, for he did not know what could have occurred that day to bring her down. He wished he could take her arm and bolster her, but he dared not. Besides, Louisa seemed to have claimed him as her companion for the walk, and he did not want to insult her.
Eventually, as the party neared the road, a carriage appeared on the horizon. As it approached, Frederick grinned as he recognized his sister and brother-in-law's gig. When they were within earshot, Frederick called out, "Ah, Sophy! What a pleasant surprise!"
His sister returned his smile. "Frederick! A pleasant surprise indeed!" Sophia looked over the party, remarked on how tired they all looked, and inquired as to how long they had been walking.
"We have walked from Uppercross to Winthrop and are on our way back," Louisa answered.
"My goodness, you ladies must be tired!" Sophia remarked. "Surely, one of you would like to ride back to Uppercross with the Admiral and I? There is plenty of room here in the gig, and we are already headed through Uppercross. It would save you fully a mile," she suggested, looking to each of the ladies in turn.
Frederick watched Anne, for he had previously discerned her fatigue and low spirits. However, she, as with the rest of the ladies, demurred, politely refusing Sophia's offer. Seeing that the gig was about to take off again, Frederick quickly jumped the hedge that separated the walking path from the road, and pulled himself up to his sister so he might speak to her without the others hearing.
"Please, take Miss Elliot," he whispered to his sister. "She is much fatigued, but she is much too proper to admit it." Whispering into his sister's ear might not have been the most proper thing to do, but Frederick had not considered appearances or propriety before he had acted.
Sophia, not surprised by her brother's gentlemanly concern for the women in his party, smiled. Turning to the party, she remarked, "Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired! Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home. There is room for three, I assure you. Indeed, if we were all like you, I believe we might sit four!"
As he jumped back over the hedge, Frederick saw Anne's face redden. He could tell that she was about to refuse, so he offered her his arm and assisted her to clear the hedge to the carriage before she could demur. Frederick could feel Anne watching him as he helped her into the carriage, but he steadfastly avoided meeting her eyes, lest his own reveal too much.
When the carriage drove off, the party went on their way back toward Uppercross. Frederick thought back over all that he had heard Louisa say earlier. If only… he found himself thinking. If only Anne had been that firm in her purposes all those years ago… How differently our lives might have gone.
Frederick hated that he found himself ruminating so on the past. Such wishful thinking would do him not good. It would not change anything. More than anything, Frederick just wanted to move on. To live his life. To be happy. But yet, he was powerless to stop himself from wishing that the past had been different; from wishing that the present were different. He knew such thoughts did him ill, but the thoughts came anyway.
It vexed him to no end.
Why couldn't he just let her go?