A/N: Here we are — at the end.

Part One: Shores of the Past, Chaps 1-7
Part Two: Sink, Sank, Sunk, Chaps 8-14
Part Three: To the Lighthouse, Chaps 15-22

Tides of Bath

Chapter Twenty-Two: Conquest

"To strive with difficulties and to conquer them is the highest human felicity; the next is to strive and deserve to conquer them."

— Samuel Johnson, The Adventurer, 111

Anne led Frederick into the drawing-room of Camden Place. Her father was not there, but Elizabeth was. She was seated in the chair Anne usually used, the one least exposed to the array of mirrors. Elizabeth was looking out the window, into the darkening dusk. She turned, languidly and distractedly, toward Anne, and then she sat up straighter when she saw Frederick.

"Oh! Captain Wentworth, hello, sir. I hope you forgive me for not greeting you properly…"

Frederick bowed to Anne. "Of course, Miss Elliot. I am very glad to hear that you are feeling better."

Elizabeth gave him a wavy smile. "Yes, I suppose I am." Elizabeth then seemed to see Anne and Frederick as a pair, two, not just a one and one. She gave Anne a look of quick apprehension, and then she sighed, "Anne!"

Anne was lost for a moment. Elizabeth's obliviousness to or wilful ignorance of all that mattered to Anne was Anne's expectation. Quicksilver understanding like this, right to the heart of the matter, to Anne's heart, was a shock. "Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth's response was indirect. "I have had a serious talk with Nurse Rook."

It took Anne a few seconds to work out the indirection. "Oh! You heard us talking…"

Elizabeth smiled sadly, "Yes, and got a talking to. — Anne, I am happy for you."

Frederick, who had been turning from sister to sister as this quick conversation took place, gave Anne a questioning look.

She smiled at him and took his hand. "My sister has discovered our news."

Wentworth blushed in surprise, then looked at Elizabeth. She nodded at him. There was a moment of silence and Elizabeth laughed softly, though there was a sadness in the laugh. "Who is to say the future cannot correct the past?"

Anne was stunned a second time, to hear philosophy from Elizabeth's lips. But this time Anne could move and she hurried the short distance to her sister's chair and took Elizabeth's hands, cold, into her own very warm ones. "Thank you, sister."

Elizabeth nodded, tears in the corners of her eyes. "Father should be here in a moment. He went to change for dinner. I am hoping to eat a little too."

Anne dreaded the conversation with her father, but more for Elizabeth's sake than Sir Walter's.

At that moment, Sir Walter entered the room in colorful finery, a wine-dark jacket, and carefully prepared hair. Anne turned to see him pull up short when he saw Frederick. He bowed through a frown. "Captain Wentworth."

Frederick returned the bow, "Sir!" He then turned to Anne for guidance. What was to be said first, his glance asked, and to whom?

Anne nodded toward her father with a smile. Frederick immediately grasped her meaning.

"Sir Walter, I apologize for stopping by unexpectedly — again — but I wanted to speak to you about a most important matter. I have asked your daughter, Anne, to marry me, and she has accepted. I have come to ask for your blessing."

Sir Walter stiffened. He glanced at Anne, his mouth agape. "Anne? Anne? But the beautiful Miss Ustus…"

Frederick stiffened. "...stands no comparison to your daughter, sir. Not in person, not in temper, not in understanding, not in mind...and certainly not in heart. I will, — Anne and I will — explain that to you in a moment, but I ask, please, for your blessing." He bowed again, patiently.

Sir Walter looked at Elizabeth, who was smiling and nodding. He then stared at Frederick, for a long, uncouth moment, and Anne could see her father calculating, considering Frederick's fortune, his upright, impressive person, his pleasing countenance: money and handsomeness altogether. After a moment, Sir Walter composed himself. "You, sir, have my blessing. Anne, is this the man you choose?"

Anne could not help her answer, its emphatic tone. "Yes, father, Captain Wentworth has always been my choice."

Sir Walter felt the emphasis. He looked at Anne for a moment, surprised, and perhaps even repentantly, and then he was all formal manners again, all smoothness. "Very good. This was a night upon which I was not expecting good news."

Anne stepped forward, taking Frederick's hand in view of her father, her spirits a chorus in her, despite what she now had to say to her father and Elizabeth.

But before Anne could speak, there was a knock on the door. Everyone turned at once. A moment later, the servant announced Mr. Ustus. Anne glanced up at Frederick — and she saw her Royal Navy captain, captain of the Laconia, as if on deck, braced for action. A power and keenness suffused him, controlled but palpable, and Anne trembled, a mixture of love and desire and awe.

Mr. Ustus saw Frederick — and saw Anne's hand in Frederick's — and Mr. Ustus's pasted-on, pleasing smile, fell from his face. He bowed stiffly to all in the room — and, in Anne's agitation of spirits, for a ludicrous moment, Mr. Ustus looked to Anne as if he were searching the floor for his fallen smile. He finally stood.

"Sir Walter," Frederick said, deliberately addressing Anne's father and not Mr. Ustus, his tone grave and commanding. Sir Walter's turned from Mr. Ustus to Frederick in obedience. "Sir Walter, this man is a schemer, a fraud, and a cheat, and I say these things to his face. He has been attempting to entangle you in a speculation scheme that is wholly imaginary, and he has hoped to steal from you." Mr. Ustus's face turned to ash. Frederick marched on. These matters are known to me," he squeezed Anne's hand gently, in complete contrast to his outward manner, "known to us, by a confession from the lips of Miss Ustus, who was her brother's accomplice."

Elizabeth's gasped softly from behind Anne and Frederick. Mr. Ustus started to draw himself up, to deny, and then he caught Frederick's word: was. Mr. Ustus gentlemanly bearing vanished: his eyes narrowed, his posture slumped and his mouth was pressed in a hard line, angry, shocked. "My sister confessed these things?"

Frederick took a huge step and was immediately in front of Mr. Ustus, towering over the smaller man. Mr. Ustus gave Frederick a nervous upward glance and looked to Sir Walter.

Sir Walter was standing, expressionless, and stunned, unmoving. He seemed to be gazing into the mirrors but not to see himself. Seeing no help in that quarter, Mr. Ustus's eyes shifted to Elizabeth, and he attempted to regain his composure as he looked at her, tried to smile, but managed only a bizarre baring of his teeth. Elizabeth stared at him for a moment then, shaking her head, she turned her eyes from him and toward the window, her face crimson. Anne watched a moment longer as Elizabeth wiped at her eyes.

"Mr. Ustus," Frederick continued, bearing down on the man now, seeming himself to grow each moment, his controlled strength crumbling Mr. Ustus, "I suggest, indeed, I strongly suggest, no, indeed, I very strongly suggest that you leave this house and that you leave this city. I will be sure to carry word of who and what you are to the other navel people in Bath, and, like India ink in a puddle of water, sir, it will spread, darkening your prospects. If I see you again..." Wentworth paused, ironizing his next word, "...sir, I will consider your designs against me and against..." Wentworth glanced at Anne, his steel momentarily softening, "...my family, I will regard you as in breach of honor, and I will demand immediate satisfaction."

The threat was plain and it registered on Mr. Ustus' face, distorting his pleasant features. Fear looked from his eyes. And then his eyes dulled and narrowed. "I will go, sir, — my sister…"

Anne took a step toward Mr. Ustus and Frederick. "Your sister is beyond...your reach, Mr. Ustus. Now, please do as Captain Wentworth commands, and leave us, and leave this place. Amend your ways, Mr. Ustus, for you have been given a glimpse of your sure fate if you continue."

Frederick nodded his agreement, never ceasing though to keep his fierce eyes locked on Mr. Ustus. Mr. Ustus stood in the echoing silence, as if rummaging in his breast for the courage to meet the situation but finding none. He bowed once more, an empty satire on the gesture, and left the room. The slam of the door marked his exit from Camden Place.

Frederick faced Anne, all the threat gone from him. He smiled at her. "It seems the sister outbraves the brother…" His face twisted into a shy, self-mocking grin. "And it seems our story better features heroines than heroes."

Anne smiled into his grin, wishing that they were alone, and that she could press his lips hard to his, communicate to him how much he affected her, the very deeps of her. But they were not alone. Anne squeezed his hand and went to Elizabeth.

She kneeled at the foot of Elizabeth's chair. As she did, she heard Frederick address Sir Walter softly. "I know this is a shock, sir, but please let me explain it to you. Anne has, with the assistance of Lady Russell, discovered and unraveled a plot against you — and another against me. Please, sir, sit, and let me explain…"

Anne looked up into her sister's eyes. Elizabeth suffered. But, this Elizabeth, after passing through many steps of dubious twilight in during her illness, and after what must have been a stern talking to by Miss Rook, seemed to be trying to bear her suffering, struggling toward a collected mind.

"Oh, Anne, is it so? He is such a bad man?"

"I am sorry, Elizabeth, but it is so. He is a villain."

"And his sister, surely a woman so beautiful…?"

"She was, as Frederick has said, her brother's accomplice. But she had a change-of-heart; she told me what she had been doing, her attempt to entrap Captain Wentworth, and what her brother had been doing, attempting to steal from father."

"Miss Ustus had a change-of-heart? Do you believe a person can change so, become someone different?"

Anne gazed at her sister kindly, encouragingly. "I do not think it happens much in the general way of things, sister, no, but I do believe it possible. Did not you say that the future might correct the past? There must be scope in life for human striving, human achievement, otherwise there is no scope for human felicity."

Elizabeth studied Anne, thoughtful, her face softening into a sad smile. "I did say that, but I was thinking then of...other matters."

"I know, but so often we speak our destiny unawares, Elizabeth. Only later do we understand we were our own congregation, that we were preaching to ourselves. The homily may not always begin at home, but it often discovers itself there."

Elizabeth nodded. "I have been imposed upon by that man, Anne, injured. Perhaps not afflictingly so, but it will...it has...saddened me."

Anne watched her sister's face as the old Elizabeth fought against the new one. After a moment of suspense, the alloy of resentment in her eyes lost its intensity, disappeared, leaving only unalloyed sadness.

"I believe you have struggled much with sadness, Anne. I am sorry I was never a help to you, that I instead added to your sadness."

Anne glanced at Frederick, still talking in muted tones to Sir Walter, who seemed somewhat recovered, and was listening with care. "Sadness is not evil in itself, Elizabeth. There are times when we should feel it, times when not feeling it would reveal a lack of proper sensibility. And do not blame yourself for Mr. Ustus. We all often confuse agreeableness with true amiableness, and, like his sister, Mr. Ustus was a hardened actor — although I think him more brittle than she."

Elizabeth sighed. "I do not think I am hungry any longer, Anne. I will go to my room. — But know that I am happy for you and your Captain." She smiled weakly as she stood up on her own, walking from the room without aid.

Anne watched her go then crossed to Frederick. He was finishing his talk with her father. "So, sir, you must write your agent, Shepherd, tomorrow, and tell him to be vigilant about your accounts, warn him of Mr. Ustus. The money due to be given to Mr. Ustus tomorrow will not be given. With diligence, you should lose no money."

Her father smiled weakly at her and Frederick. "I owe you both my thanks. And, Captain, please tell the Admiral that I have already instructed Shepherd to draw up papers for the letting of Kellynch. The Admiral may take possession when he wishes, although I will write out some instructions for the care of my shrubberies."

When her father stood, he was himself again. He adjusted his purple coat in the mirror. "I will go and see that dinner is served directly. Captain, you must stay. — Where is Elizabeth?"

Anne answered. "I think the evening has overtaxed her. She has gone to her room, saying she is not hungry. But I will take something to her later. I suspect she will have a little appetite by then."

Sir Walter looked lost. "Um, yes, fine. Fine. We will be sure to save her some soup." He left the room, fluffing his hair with his hand.

Anne was alone with Frederick. Bath was dark outside. The drawing room's candles burned brightly, their light reflected in all directions by the mirrors. Anne turned to face the mirrors and bravely looked into the nearest one.

She saw herself there in the full bloom of unutterable happiness.

Anne slept little that night, her joy refused to be still, be covered.

She sat gazing at her candle, replaying the events since Sir Walter had told her that Captain Wentworth was in Bath. How much had happened! — some of it she had known and much of it she had not, some of it she had understood and much of it she had misunderstood.

What struck her was the amount that she and Frederick had managed to say to each other while talking to others. Anne did not blame Frederick for Miss Ustus, and he did not blame her any longer for their parting, for her lack of explanation.

Anne puzzled over those terrible days again, five years ago, but no longer reviewing them in as much pain. She understood now — as those familiar scenes played before her mind — that her difficulty in explaining to Frederick had been caused by an unclarity in herself, her inability to explain to herself. She felt then, as Frederick did, that Lady Russell's advice was wrong. But she had not felt wrong in taking it, despite how hard it was to take it, how much it hurt her — and hurt Frederick. She had been torn between those feelings, unclear about how it was possible to have both at once.

But Anne could now see that she had acted out of obedience to her conscience and that she would have been wrong to do otherwise. The question of whether a person is properly persuaded is not simply a matter of the persuasion — the advice given — but also of the relationship the persuaded has to the persuader.

Lady Russell had been, in effect, Anne's mother for many years, her teacher and friend. That position gave her a claim on Anne's obedience, on Anne's conscience, that Anne would have been wrong to violate. Lady Russell's advice had proven bad, but that did not mean Anne should have violated the dictates of conscience.

The wrongness of Lady Russell's advice, her lack of circumspection in giving it, — those were matters between Lady Russell and her conscience; they did not, as such, involve Anne. Anne did not doubt that Lady Russell gave her advice in all sincerity, but it was also, and perhaps Lady Russell's recent aid showed her awareness of it, advice prejudiced against Frederick. Lady Russell had not done him justice: she had not exerted herself to do so. She had allowed the fact that he was not the sort of man she imagined proper for Anne to keep her from discovering the sort of man Frederick was.

Anne mulled these matters over until deep in the night. Not all her thoughts were of such a high-wrought, moralizing nature. Many of her thoughts drifted to Frederick, to the wedding, and to being his wife. When she finally blew out her candle, she found her room still too warm for comfort.

Frederick shut Wife, the Overbury book Benwick had lent him. He had to say, he found Overbury's poem, while occasionally insightful, overbearing in manner and meter. But he was thinking of a couple of lines, still in his mind, describing the wife's love of her husband.

And of that love, let reason father be,
And passion mother; let it from the one
His being take, the other his degree...

Wentworth recalled Anne's impassioned face as he left her at Camden Place, a temporary parting, but still hard to bear. He had walked with energy to Gay Street, trying to expend the passion he felt. He was unsuccessful.

He took off his clothes and blew out his candle. On his bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, he thought about being Anne's husband.

To have had the love of such a woman, to have believed it lost, and to have found it again! Thank God she forgave his foolishness!

He began his walk that afternoon expecting to enter an engagement that would end his hopes. He had returned home entered into an engagement that was the fulfillment of his hopes and that provoked still new hopes. He had left Gay Street cursed and returned blessed.

Anne was fluttering over tea the next morning, expecting Frederick. They were to take a long walk together, and to talk and to make wedding plans. She sipped her tea as a knock sounded. Anne got up and hurried to the door, almost beating the servant to it. But when it was opened, Nurse Rook was standing in it, and behind her, a large carpet bag in her hand, was Matilda, Miss Ustus's girl. Her eyes were downcast. Nurse Rook grabbed Matilda's empty hand and led her into Camden Place.

"Good morning, Miss Anne, good morning. I can see from your face that it is a good morning indeed. Such delicate beauty is yours, Miss Anne." Nurse Rook grabbed Anne's small hand in her fleshy one and squeezed it. Then her face sobered somewhat. "I have brought you a visitor, Miss Anne, and I believe she is known to you."

Anne curtsied, much to the surprise of Matilda. "Good morning, Matilda."

Matilda curtsied in return, whispering: "Miss Elliot."

Nurse Rook looked around to see if anyone else was near, then she winked at Anne. "May we talk to you, pr'haps, Miss Elliot?"

"Certainly, come into the drawing-room."

Nurse Rook entered the room. She shook her head at the mirrors but did not comment. Matilda did not look up.

"What did you want to talk about?" Anne asked, after all three were comfortably seated in the room.

"Well, Miss Anne, Matilda here came knocking on my door in the dead of night last night. You see, she got to know Mrs. Collins's girl, and through her, got to know me a little. She came to me last night all in tears," Nurse Rook gave the girl a kind smile, "with no place to pillow her head. You see...Well, pr'haps it'd be best if Matilda did the telling."

Matilda looked up, reluctant, but Nurse Rook just nodded her head.

"Well, y' see, Miss. After Miss Ustus left yesterday, I stayed at Marlborough Buildings. She did not have the money for us to travel together. She left a note for her brother, and he came home, black-faced and awful, at dark. He stormed around, looking for Miss Ustus and breaking furniture. I had to take the note to him and was afraid of him. I've long been afraid of him. I ran and hid in the pantry while he read it. He cursed and fumed and broke more furniture.

"He called out for me but I kept still and quiet. I guess I got sleepy, 'cause I woke up on the pantry floor. It was full dark. I got a candle and lit it and searched through the house. Furniture and glass were everywhere, but not Mr. Ustus. He was as gone as she. I don't know if he went after her, but I...I read her letter...and she did not say nary a word about where she planned to go."

Matilda stopped, her eyes large. "So, as I was looking around the house, I found this on the floor. Mr. Ustus must've dropped it."

She held out a calling card to Anne. It was Frederick's. On the back of it was his note to Miss Ustus. Anne read it and put the card on the table beside her. "Thank you, Matilda, but that was unnecessary. I believed Miss Ustus; I believed Captain Wentworth."

Matilda nodded. "I just thought you should have it…After I took it, I started to fear that Mr. Ustus might return, and I thought of Nurse Rook..."

"I see. — So, what are you going to do now, with Miss Ustus gone?"

"I suppose I don't know. Look for a new situation. Nurse Rook says she will help me."

Nurse Rook looked at Anne carefully. "Mr. Murray has a new patient that I am to be staying with, Miss Anne. I wondered if, at least temporarily, you might take Matilda on. She could be of assistance to Miss Elliot as she continues to strengthen. Pr'haps by then a permanent situation for Matilda will pop up."

Anne smiled. "Let me speak to my father."

Nurse Rook glanced at Matilda and then at Anne. She whispered even though Matilda could hear. "She's a good girl. She just found herself in a bad situation. Now," said Nurse Rook, speaking at normal volume. "I believe you must have good news to share with me."

Wentworth left Gay Street early, so that he could pay a call on Rivers Street, a call on Lady Russell. He knocked and the servant took his card. A few moments later, he was conducted inside.

Lady Russell was seated when he entered. She nodded her head and he bowed. She bestowed an unsurprised and undissapointed smile on him. "I had expected my precious Anne to be the bearer of your good news, Captain."

"She and I will call together later today, and I am sure she will have much to tell you. I will not take the telling upon myself, I leave that to my precious Anne."

Lady Russell raised an eyebrow, nodded her understanding.

Wentworth cleared his throat. "I have been thinking, Lady Russell, — and although I still do not share your persuasion about our engagement five years ago, I better understand your reasons for it and Anne's for accepting them. I was sure of myself...in a way that no one but myself could be sure of me. And that must have seemed, to others, at least to others other than Anne, like heedlessness, recklessness. And my behavior after Anne...rejected me did, I admit, go some distance to proving that you were right about me, that I did not deserve her. — I know none of that is well-said," he blushed a little, his struggle with himself showing, "but I wanted...I hoped…"

"Captain, I am done persuading Anne. I too have a confession to make. The pupil has overtopped her teacher. Anne is all that I ever hoped she would be — and more, Captain. And if she remains resolved upon you — as she surely does — then this time I will be the one persuaded, and by a woman wiser and better than I am."

Captain Wentworth had no words. He bowed again, deeply, blinking away tears from his eyes. He saw Lady Russell blinking too but she smiled again. "Let us try to be friends, even good friends, Captain, and work together to see that Anne Elliot is as happy as she deserves to be."

Anne sat by Frederick on a bench. They were in the shade of a large tree, the river before them. A family of ducks passed and Anne laughed softly, "Look, Frederick, a raft of ducks."

He nodded, wondering at her laughter, but she did not explain it. She watched the ducks for a few minutes longer, feeling his eyes lingering on her. She did not turn but she spoke to him.

"What is it, Frederick?"

"I admit that I have long cherished the idea that I had no good thing in my life I did not deserve. I admit, moreover, that I have long cherished the conviction that there was something...inappropriate, displeasing...in the spectacle of undeserved happiness."

"Yes?" Anne turned to face him.

"Yes, but now I realize just how much in my life has been luck. There's an old naval saying: Luck loves skill — and it is true, but I believe I misunderstood it. I thought it meant that only the skilled were lucky, but if that were true, it is not clear it is really luck. I now think it means that it is the skilled who most often can make use of luck, capitalize on it."

Anne raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And, I have been a skilled captain. I have made use of my luck. But I have been lucky at sea, where I am skilled. Now, I find I am lucky on land where I have proved myself unskilled. So, although luck may love skill, it seems that she sometimes turns a kind eye on the bumbler, as well."

Anne laughed shyly. "I believe there was a compliment to me somewhere in all of that."

Frederick laughed too. "Indeed. I suppose my point is that I am faced with the humbling prospect of having to know myself happier than I deserve."

Anne took his hand. "Let us just both be happy to be happy, Frederick."

He studied the water for a moment then nodded.

He reached into his interior pocket and took out his calling card, the one Anne gave him back after Matilda brought it to her. He stood and walked to the river's edge. Anne joined him, answering his unspoken question with a look, and he tore the card into tiny pieces and dropped them into the water.

They walked on, planning the wedding. They had agreed that they wanted it to be modest, simple, and most importantly, soon. It would take place in Bath.

"Dearly beloved, we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony...

"The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity; and, when it is God's will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord. Therefore marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God...

"Into this holy union Frederick Wentworth and Anne Elliot now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now; or else forever hold your peace."

The officiant paused. Wentworth listening, glanced at Anne.

She was wearing the same blue dress she had worn the day he proposed. It still fit her as it had then. In her hair was a delicate silver barrette.

Behind him, Wentworth knew, were the Admiral and Sophia, Sir Walter and Elizabeth, Mary and Charles Musgrove, Lady Russell, and, surprisingly, Mr. Fowler. Mr. and Mrs. Collins were there, as were Nurse Rook and Mr. Murray. Although Sir Walter had protested at the last group, Anne had remained firm and carried the day.

It was from Mr. Collins that Wentworth discovered more of what had happened on that bloody Sunday. Mr. Collins had told Mr. Ustus that Mrs. Croft, upon hearing of Sir Walter's money troubles, was going to ask to let Kellynch. Knowing Sir Walter's extreme sensitivity, and fearing for his scheme upon him, Mr. Ustus rushed to Camden Place. Sir Walter, angry and vexed, had left, looking for Mr. Ustus. They missed each other and Mr. Ustus ended up at Camden Place after Sir Walter had left. Although it went beyond Mr. Collins' knowledge, Wentworth assumed that they did eventually find each other in the streets of Bath and that Mr. Ustus had managed to smooth the matter over.

Anne had gotten vague confirmation of this from her father, along with the unsettling news that he had intended to invest even more heavily in Mr. Ustus's speculation, given the extra money that the letting of Kellynch would give him.

Wentworth saw Anne look back at him. No one had spoken.

The officiant went on: "I require and charge you both, here in the presence of God, that if either of you know any reason why you may not be united in marriage lawfully, and in accordance with God's Word, you do now confess it."

Anne smiled at Wentworth and he smiled back. Neither spoke.

A few minutes later, the ceremony ended. They were wed. They entered the marriage lines into the parish registry book and the officiant and the witnesses signed, and it was done.

They all walked back to Camden Place for the wedding breakfast, followed by cake. Other than Anne in her blue dress, it all was a noisy blur to Wentworth. He roped himself to her and let her steer him through it. He kept his eyes on her and kept repeating to himself: "Mrs. Wentworth, Mrs. Wentworth." In one moment of relative clarity, he did notice, to his amusement, that Mr. Fowler seemed to have Elizabeth engrossed in a conversation about Montaigne's essay, "Of Vanity".

Wentworth was all eagerness to be at Gay Street, to have Anne to himself. He had taken lodgings for them near the Admiral and Sophia, and they were to stay there several days before they went to Lyme for their honeymoon week. After that, they would join the Admiral and Sophia at Kellynch.

The day before the wedding, a letter arrived from Benwick, full of congratulations and of the welcome news that the Laconia was still not refitted and that it would be another month or two before she was.

Anne was determined to go to sea with Frederick, and she had consulted carefully with Sophia about voyages with the Admiral. Anne had not taken up the topic with Frederick, but she felt sure that between herself and Sophia, the women would carry the day. Anne was not going to be parted from Frederick again, any more than was necessary.

Anne was trembling as they entered their lodgings on Gay Street. She looked around; everything gleamed. Matilda had cleaned and prepared it with great care.

Frederick closed the door and, as he turned, Anne ran into his arms, pressing herself as close to him as she could. Alone: they were truly alone. She held him and he held her, all reserve and self-consciousness gone. After a long moment of delirious, senseless joy, she tilted her head up to his.

"Husband," she whispered excitedly.

"Wife," he excitedly whispered back, and then he whisked her up high into his arms and Anne Wentworth began her married life.

She found it all that she deserved and more.

The End

Tides of Bath

Thanks for reading. I would surely appreciate a parting word or two from you.

I am currently writing a Pride and Prejudice story, Balter, if you are interested.

— Z