A/N: More of our tale.

Tides of Bath

Chapter Four: Rite of Refusal

We dream — it is good we are dreaming —
It would hurt us — were we awake —

—Emily Dickinson

After Sir Walter and his companion left, Wentworth attempted to gather himself by walking aimlessly in Bath, not paying attention to where he was or where he was going — and almost being trampled by a carriage thundering down Cheap Street. He had not heard it coming. The name, 'Anne', rang in his ears, a tolling bell. He had not heard enough to know whether she was in town or to know the nature of Sir Walter's companion's interest in her, but just hearing her name on the heels of encountering Sir Walter had disordered and disoriented Wentworth entirely.

He finally stopped on an unknown corner — he was no longer in the crowds he had been in before — and he forced himself to breathe regularly and to see his surroundings. It made little sense: onboard The Laconia, amidst firing cannon, shattering wood, and screaming men, he had always found that the world around him slowed, came into ever-sharper focus. Even when he had been injured (he bore a still-angry scar on his left forearm, a large splinter of wood driven deep into it during a violent action), he kept his head. But merely overhearing Anne's name spoken had overwhelmed him.

He seated himself on a bench beneath a tree and took off his hat. For a moment, elbows on knees, he let his head hang and closed his eyes. The broken grey clouds above him sported with the sunshine, and the shifts from overcast to glaring seemed to add to his discomfort.

When he looked up, it was to see a carriage halted nearby, stopped for a large family crossing the street. A young woman was looking at him from the carriage window. She smiled at him slightly, and she was close enough for him to see that she was very beautiful, her hair reddish-gold, her eyes grey, not of the grey of Bath clouds but the North Sea. She sat back into the shadow of the carriage and Wentworth saw her no more; the carriage went on its way.

Wentworth kicked idly at the ground as he watched the carriage go. That was just such a young woman as he had come to Bath hoping to meet. He had come to Bath to buoy his heart, not to sink it again; he had come not to conjure the past but to dispel it. He could not let Anne Elliot, the mere mention of her name, captivate him again, return him to thralldom. He was, or he was determined to become, a free man.

He stood with determination and dusted his hat, although the attention was unnecessary, and put it back on his head. With a sailor's keen sense of direction and distance, he found his bearings and headed back to Gay Street, back to his sister and the Admiral.

Anne escaped into her room. It did not feel familiar, like hers at Kellynch, but at least she could shut the door and endeavor to become normal again without witnesses.

He was in Bath. Frederick Wentworth. Captain Wentworth. That he was a captain was not news to her as it was to her father. She had followed his career, by newspaper and Navy-List, hurtful though it had been to know his success at a distance, and to know that, even in success, he had neither returned to nor written to her.

She knew his ships, his ports, his triumphs. There were no defeats. In black and white, she had followed his colorful, celebrated career: exactly the career he had told her he would have when they had sat together, obscured by her father's shrubberies, and made plans for a life together. What then had been prospect and promise, now was fact and deed. His spirit and brilliancy had carried everything before him, given him all — except her. She had only herself to blame for it. He had taken prizes; she had lost him and all that had made him love her.

She rose and walked to the window of her room, looking at the partly grey, partly sunny sky. She sighed. Perhaps she did not blame herself. Perhaps she did not blame Lady Russell. Captain Wentworth had not known that what he foresaw would become truth. Or, if he knew, he knew in the way that someone who promises know that they promise. He had been confident in himself, and confident in his luck. But Anne had too. She had not made that clear to him as they parted. She had been so deep in sorrow that she had not been able to make him understand that she could not have let him go if she had not believed it was for his best.

For failing to make that clear, she did blame herself and the blame, while no longer as much dwelt upon, was as severe as in the moments after his departure. For him to take to sea with her left behind, engaged, waiting: she feared it would have encumbered him, made him cautious counter to his nature. She feared that an engagement, and one that looked as if it might be quite long, would leave him hamstrung, make him narrowly, self-preservingly prudent, anxious, more her captive than the Navy's captain. She had dared to hope that he would succeed, and that, consequent upon that success, he would petition her again, when he could be sure of having overcome her father's icy incivility and Lady Russell's knowing, determined opposition.

But he did not petition again. No letter came, though Anne waited, especially eager anytime she knew The Asp, his first ship, or The Laconia, his present ship, to be returned to an English port Eventually, though, she stopped waiting, taught herself to accept that he had said his last to her on their final day in Kellynch.

Anne knew that she would have to dress for dinner, despite her dread of it. She had her obligations to her family. And those obligations had at least the salutary effect of calling her out of herself, of making her attend to matters other than her heartsickness.

Mr. Ustus arrived for dinner trailing apologies and a sister.

"Sir Walter," Mr. Ustus said as he walked into the lit and mirrored drawing-room, "I ask that you please forgive me for being late and for bringing a visitor unannounced. I had sent home for some books and papers and I expected them to arrive today. They did, but along with them came my sister, Miss Darby Ustus. Most unexpected but also most delightful. Knowing the nature of your understanding, Sir Walter, your unfailing taste for beauty, and your liberal manners, I thought you would forgive me for presuming upon your hospitality, and for bringing Darby to meet you.."

Anne was standing, as was Elizabeth and Sir Walter. A few steps behind Mr. Ustus stood a tall, stately, and beautiful young woman. Her features resembled those of her brother, except where his hair was brownish-red, hers was golden-red. She smiled, displaying very white, very even teeth beneath watchful grey eyes. Anne saw her father's pleased response to Miss Ustus. He bowed elegantly.

"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Ustus. Your brother has told me before of you, but I find he was understating, not overstating his compliments to you." Miss Eustace smiled in noticeable shyness and acknowledged Sir Walter. Elizabeth and Anne spoke to welcome her too. After a few awkward moments of talk about Bath and the recent weather, they went in to dinner.

"Well, Frederick," the Admiral growled good-humoredly, stretching out his legs after dinner and putting out the remainder of his small cigar, "did you see or hear anything in Bath to attach your interest?"

Across from the Admiral, Wentworth sat for a moment in silence. Neither the Admiral nor his sister knew anything of Anne Elliot or of what had happened between him and her, and Wentworth was in no mood for sharing any of it.

"No, I did not. I purchased a fine umbrella, but, as seems always to happen, the rain ceased when I finished the purchase. And so it served me as only an unwieldy walking stick for the rest of my tour of the city."

The Admiral chuckled. "Umbrellas, yes, yes. Yes, Bath is a fine place, so long as one wishes to chew marzipan while gazing out at rain showers."

Sophia, seated beside the Admiral, leaned forward in her chair and spoke, shaking her head. "Do not listen to him, Frederick; I will have you know he has eaten his body weight in marzipan before your arrival, and against the doctor's orders."

The Admiral held out one of his legs and moved it about. "Perhaps the marzipan is a cure?" He chuckled again. "Fine stuff, marzipan. Fine stuff. But come, Frederick, you saw or heard nothing of interest? You, with your sharp eyes and eager ears? Did you not go to the Pump Room, take some water?"

"No, I did not. I am sure I shall, but I went out today with no plan but to wander, and...wander I did. According to plan." Wentworth saw his sister stiffen in her chair as he finished this report, a puzzled, concerned look on her face.

The Admiral continued. "Well, I warn you, the water is in nowise the equal of the marzipan, although perhaps it is the more medicinal. Surely, anyone who drinks water so warm, so odorous, and which tastes so much as if eggs had been boiled in it, should be allowed to expect it to be beneficial. I have had thirsty crews at the equator I would not have been able to convince to drink such water!"

Wentworth, glad for the Admiral's continuation and Sophia's relaxing in her chair, laughed. "Well, I shall take the water presently. For now, I am content to get to know Bath by stages. Just a toe in the water at first..."

Sophia leaned forward again. "There is to be a ball on Tuesday. As you know, we have a large acquaintance in Bath. Come with us, and we will introduce you to the people we know. You still enjoy dancing, I assume."

Wentworth nodded. "Yes, sister, I have since those days long ago at home, when a kindly older sister took pity on her gangly, ungraceful younger brother."

Sophia smiled warmly. "You were a quick learner, but then again, you have always been a quick learner."

"It may be so, although I confess I seem to myself slow enough to learn many lessons. I am hoping, nonetheless, that...there are some young women among your acquaintance?"

The Admiral gave a sharp laugh as Sophia nodded and answered. "Ah, yes, your mission in Bath. Several, and a number of them both pretty and lively, fine girls."

"Then I once again offer myself to you to be taught, Sophia. I know...little about making a woman love me."

Sophia waved her hand dismissively. "A lesson, then, brother, forget this nonsense of 'making a woman love you.' Despite the proverb, love is not blind, and it is not unreasoning — at least in women. The heart has its reasons, although perhaps those reasons are beyond simple expression in words, beyond easy capture by the understanding.

"But we women are rational creatures, and far stronger than we are given credit for being, — it is women who bear children, remember, and that is Herculean labor I am unsure any man could withstand, even Hercules himself — we do not want to love insipidly. We want to love a man we may esteem as well as love, for whom esteem is admixed with love itself."

Sophia's voice had become nearly a whisper as she finished, and Wentworth saw the Admiral take her hand, honoring her and her words.

Wentworth knew that their childlessness was the only blot on the happiness of their marriage and that her mention of bearing children caused the glance of mutual support they shared as he held her hand. Wentworth looked away as they looked back toward him, covering his awareness of their silent communion.

"So," Sophia said, looking at Wentworth again, "do not try to woo, Frederick. I fear that you would do it ill, anyway. Just be Frederick, be attentive, genuinely interested, and trust to Providence for the rest."

Wentworth nodded but the Admiral chuckled again, a sly look on his face. "Although, plying the young woman with marzipan on a showery day might be a worthwhile tactic. Always an advantage to have the weather gage."

Sophia freed her hand from the Admiral's and gently smacked his arm, shaking her head.

Dinner had been a lively but ultimately unsatisfactory affair. Sir Walter had spent most of his time looking and hoping to be looked upon, gratified by what he took to be the beauty surrounding his table in his person, Elizabeth's and the Ustus siblings'. Anne was there in person too, of course, but she was only Anne, a beholder of but no real contributor to the beauty of the table. That had seemed her father's unspoken thought during the evening as he turned from smiling at his guests and Elizabeth to frowning at Anne.

Miss Ustus proved to be clever as well as lovely. She and her brother were conversible all evening. Miss Ustus was well-informed and had good sense. But before the evening came to an end, Anne found her eagerness to please, similar to her brother's, wearisome. Anne had not been sorry to see them go, although she had been forced to endure praise of them by her father and Elizabeth for a long after the siblings left.

Anne was able to go to bed finally, her mind rendered jittery and restless by the day, the news that Captain Wentworth was in Bath. She had not been able to ban her thoughts from that intelligence all evening, despite her best efforts at polite talk. The siblings had worn on Anne in part because she longed to be alone with that fact, to have time to prepare herself for a possible meeting. Five years! She had managed to keep her composure, just barely, when her father told her. She must do better should she face Captain Wentworth himself. She would do better. It would do neither of them any good for her to be made upset or melancholy — in public — by private events Captain Wentworth had no doubt long ago forgotten.

Much later, very early Sunday morning, Anne, at last, slept, after much tossing and turning. She dreamt of the past.

Anne was on a bench, in the shade of the shrubbery, when she heard the sound of his long strides in the gravel. She knew Lady Russell was upstairs, by a window, watching, and could come to her aid if necessary. Nothing Anne had done before in a short life marked by mortifications and self-denial, was as awful. He came into view, his strong, handsome features marked by an immediate smile of affection.

Anne's entire body wanted to return that smile. She felt the same affection. Still, she marshaled her features and kept her face blank. She saw his eyes overcloud with sudden doubt, and for the first time, she saw fear in them.

"Anne? I got your note. What is it? Is something the matter?"

Anne's mouth was dry and her hands shook. She pressed her small hands into her lap and licked her lips without wetting them. "Frederick, I — "

In an instant, he was beside her on the bench, the suddenness and power of his movement stealing her breath. Her hands were in his large ones. "Anne, what is it? Pray, tell me. You look unwell. Is that it, are you ill?"

Anne could feel Lady Russell's disapproving eyes on them from above. She took her hands from Frederick's. Again, she saw doubt and fear in his eyes.

"I must talk to you. Before you go. I know it was all settled...the engagement, and...but, I have...I have had second thoughts…"

"Second…" His face fell.

Anne was only able to retain her upright posture by telling herself she was doing this for him, for his own good. In the fraught, prolonged silence, she involuntarily glanced back and up, over her shoulder. Frederick's eyes trailed hers; he saw what she saw: Lady Russell staring down upon them. Anne turned back to Frederick and saw his lip curl slightly, contemptuously, as he observed the window.

Anne wanted to weep but that would make what she had to do impossible. "I have to break our engagement…" She was going to go on, to state her reasons, when Frederick stood, drew himself up to his full height, and loomed over her.

"But it was all settled. I know your father did not give us express approval, but he did not give us express disapproval. I am sure...I will be made captain, will get a ship, very soon. And then a few months, a year...and I will have enough money, we will. We will marry. Your father will give his express approval. " He inflected the word 'will' like a war-drum beat. She saw him look up again. "As will others. — I know it! Do not do this, Anne. Please, do not undo us. I love you, most dearly."

And I, you, dearest Frederick!

But Anne did not speak aloud the words in her heart. She could feel Lady Russell above urging her on; she had internalized Lady Russell's demands.

The last few days had been miserable. Her father's refusal to speak with her about her hopes, Lady Russell's constant, reasoned discouragement, her own confusions and uncertainties — and her fears of becoming an eventual burden or hindrance to Frederick.

Too much! She could not explain; she was not sure she understood. It was too much for her slim frame. All the explanations were choking her, choking her heart. She stood, almost dizzy, and took Frederick's hands, squeezing them.

She managed too few words, meager words. "It is for the best. Forgive me."

And then she turned and ran into the house. Lady Russell met her on the back stairs and Anne collapsed midflight in tears and into Lady Russell's shawled embrace. Anne wept, long and bitterly, and Lady Russell offered no words — she let Anne weep then led Anne to Anne's room and helped her to find her bed.

The Sunday sun was bright, immediately hot; it did not rain. Bath was aglow in the sunshine.

Divine service done, Wentworth and Sophia and the Admiral were prepared to take a turn about Bath, to see and be seen, to enjoy the sun. Their final stop was to be the Pump Room, so that Wentworth could sign his name in the visitor's book, entitling him to attend the weekly balls and assemblies.

The music and the sermon had helped him regulate his thoughts and feelings, and he had needed help. He woke, resentful. He had dreamt of Anne Elliot through the late night and deep into the early morning. In his dreams, Anne ended their engagement again and again and again. Refused him.

Anne walked along behind her father and Elizabeth, who was on Sir Walter's arm. The bright sunlight made her head hurt. She was exhausted by dreams. They were all on their way to the Pump Room, where plans had been made to meet the Mr. and Miss Ustus. Anne feared a long day ahead, but she kept watch around her, hoping against hope that if Captain Wentworth were to meet them, she would see him before he saw her, and be prepared.

Look-ahoy! See you for the next chapter — Chapter 5: Hot Water.

Please drop me a line if you are enjoying this. I aimed to move the story quickly to a decisive point. Chapter posting will slow now, down to one or two chapters per week, but chapter length will increase.