Half Agony, Half Hope (Part 2)
Author: Ana Sedai
Author's Note: Okay, I know I said I was leaving it there, but my muse absolutely refused to shut up. I need to put a gag on her, seriously. This is a continuation of the first part, and as before is based on the 2007 film version of Persuasion. But since we never actually saw Captain Wentworth during Anne's marathon dash through Bath, I'm taking a bit of artistic license with events.
And I beg of you, no matter what you think of the story (good, bad, crap, whatever), please feel free to comment. It's very difficult for an author to improve her writing when she doesn't know what she needs to work on. Thank you.
Disclaimer: See previous. Don't own, never will. Please don't sue.
Frederick had never been particularly good with words. Oh, he could frame compliments to ladies easily enough, was able to keep the ship's log concise yet accurate, and had even been known on occasion to tell fairly entertaining stories. But pouring his heart out onto a piece of paper was proving to be more of a challenge than he had hoped, and he couldn't help but think that maybe taking a page from Benwick's book, so to speak, and communing with a few poetry collections every once in awhile, would not have been a bad idea.
How on Earth do women do this?
In frustration he crumpled the third letter he had attempted to write in as many minutes. This was hopeless. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to slow his racing thoughts so that he could put them into some semblance of order.
Remember what happens when you overthink things, my boy. Instinct can save a man who trusts himself, while those who do not often lose their chance.
Again, Admiral Croft's voice echoed in his head. They had been discussing battle tactics at the time, but it certainly seemed appropriate to his current situation. He needed to follow his instincts, then. How hard could that be? Certainly not nearly as hard as he was making it out to be.
He finally gave up on trying to be elegant and simply let his heart guide the pen. The words came faster, though certainly more unguardedly, and he knew he would be embarrassed to write as he had were he in a more temperate frame of mind. But he wrote as he felt, and now was not the time for half-measures.
"You pierce my soul…"
Captain Harville had seen the desperation on Wentworth's face when he had made his request to deliver his letter to Miss Elliot, and had readily agreed to act as messenger. Never had he seen his friend so out of sorts, and he earnestly hoped that there would be a good end to all this heartache. Wentworth was one of the best men he had ever known, and though he did not know Anne Elliot as well as he might have wished, she had seemed, during their brief acquaintance, to be a most intelligent and discerning young woman, with a gentle, caring nature. It was easy to see how these two worthy souls had formed a bond strong enough to withstand time, disappointment, and even foolish pride.
That did not, however, appear to be giving his friend much comfort right now. Harville had never seen him so uncertain of himself.
"Wentworth, really, I think you're over-anxious to no good purpose. You have obviously done your best, and now all that you can do is await the lady's answer. Go spend the afternoon with your sister and the Admiral. I'll deliver the letter, and you can call on her later to discern her feelings."
Wentworth sighed and rose from his chair. "You're right, of course, Harville. But the thought of her possibly saying no, refusing me again…I don't know what I should do with myself."
"And that is precisely why you should provide yourself with a distraction until such time as her answer can be known to you. It does no good to borrow trouble before you need to, as you'll just pay extra interest later."
Wentworth shot a glare his way. "I pray you don't take it into your head to become a pamphleteer. That was pure rubbish."
Harville grinned. "I was not the one who said that first. It was my aunt Letitia. She always was a good one for a turn of phrase."
Wentworth rolled his eyes and made for the door. "I'll give Sophie and the Admiral your regards. Thank you again, Harville. Whatever happens, I am in your debt."
"Not at all, my dear chap. I have always been somewhat of a romantic. Just don't tell anyone at the Admiralty, will you?" Harville gave an encouraging smile. Wentworth nodded once, then strode off out the door and down the street with his head high and shoulders back, as if he were marching toward his own execution.
Harville shook his head in consternation.
Anne Elliot will no more turn down a proposal from that man than a fish will sprout wings and fly.
Now, to deliver the letter. He had to do so quickly, as he was scheduled to meet with an old shipmate very soon.
How far is it to Camden Place, then?
He had just finished putting on his hat and gloves and was just about to open the front door and step out, when he heard the knock. Slightly surprised, as neither Wentworth nor his sister had mentioned any expected callers, he opened the door.
And saw Anne Elliot standing on the stoop, looking slightly winded and out of sorts. Not to mention very surprised to see him.
"Captain Harville?"
Well, this was a bit of a turn-up.
Harville thought very fast. He didn't think Wentworth would appreciate his giving Miss Elliot any indication that he was aware of what had transpired between them, and he certainly wouldn't appreciate Harville's giving any hints about the content of his letter. His best recourse would be to be as nondescript about it as possible. And in all fairness, he was grateful she had come. He was already late for his meeting.
"Miss Elliot, if you have come to call on the Admiral and Mrs. Croft, I must disappoint you. They went to take the waters with Captain Wentworth."
Which was true, mostly. He exited the apartment and started down the front stairs, Miss Elliot at his side. He nonchalantly handed her Wentworth's letter.
"But since you are here, you may save me some time. Captain Wentworth bade me bring this note to you in Camden Place. Perhaps you will take it now?"
She took it slowly and stared at it, seemingly dumbfounded. And not a little frightened, if he was any judge.
"Thank you."
She was grateful, but still very concerned. He decided it wasn't too much of an imposition to ask after her health.
"Are you quite well, Miss Elliot?"
She didn't answer directly, but thanked him again, obviously distracted. He was tempted to reassure her, but determined it was not his place. Hopefully all her fears would be allayed soon. And she would not thank him for delaying her opening the note any longer than necessary.
"Then if you'll excuse me, I'm already late for an appointment."
He tipped his hat and began to make his way toward his shipmate's apartments, hoping that he wasn't making a mistake by leaving her alone.
If Wentworth doesn't tell me tonight how this has turned out, I will not be responsible for my actions!
Frederick had tried. He really had. He had met Sophie and Admiral Croft at the bathhouse as he had promised, but after a few minutes he had realized he was no fit company. Sophie had asked him three times if he was feeling ill, and while he had reassured them he was quite well, the truth was that he felt wretched.
What was her reaction? What is she thinking? Is there anything else I could have said that would make my intentions more clear?
And why on Earth had he told Harville to deliver that blasted note? It was cowardice, plain and simple. And now he was paying for it. Had he given her the note himself, he could at least have been in receipt of an answer straightaway, rather than suffering through this waiting. The fact that he knew it was his own fault, and that he was sulking, did not help matters.
Realizing that the only way he could be passably easy in his thoughts was to go and inquire after Anne, he bade Sophie and the Admiral a good afternoon and promised he would return to the apartments for supper. As she still had not had an opportunity to question him about his behavior at the concert the night before, Sophie had given him a sharp look and replied that she certainly expected him there.
Rather than call a carriage, Frederick decided to walk. He needed the activity. Turning over every possible variation of Anne's reaction to the letter in his mind, Frederick made his way back to Camden Place. He was expecting a few arched eyebrows at returning so soon after his less than polite exit, but honestly he couldn't care less.
Finally he was there. He walked up the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles on the door. Mentally rehearsing how to most quickly get Anne alone again, he squared his shoulders when the door was opened by the footman.
"Is Miss Anne Elliot at home?"
He had several plausible excuses ready in case he was questioned, but the wind abruptly left his sails when the dour footman replied that Miss Anne had left the house quite abruptly not long ago, and would Sir like to leave his calling card for when she returned?
Feeling dejected and not a little irritated, Frederick was about to stomp back down the stairs and walk off some more frustration. However before he could do so, he heard Charles Musgrove's continually cheerful voice echo from the hall.
"Wentworth, old chap? That you again? Well, luck is with me today. I need your advice on a very delicate matter."
Charles hurried out the door, clearly in a rush, and hustled Frederick down the front steps onto the walkway next to the street. Frederick had no idea what was so all-fired important that Charles needed to ask him for advice this instant, but he was in no mood for pleasantries at the moment. Whatever it was could wait. He was getting ready to make his excuses to Charles, when all of a sudden both of them were jostled very abruptly.
Seeing no one at eye level, Frederick automatically looked down. And he saw Her.
Anne was out of breath, gasping for air, sweat running down her temples. She looked like she could not get a word out of her mouth if she tried. Her eyes were running over his face like she was dying of thirst and he was an oasis of fresh water.
And his note was open in her hand.
And all of a sudden Frederick wouldn't have noticed if an invading army was marching through the streets. He saw only her, heard only her breathing. He vaguely noticed that Charles was asking about her wellbeing, then he began going on about some gun that he must go see about at once. Charles finally departed and Frederick and Anne were alone, eyes still locked on each other.
For a moment neither said a word, Anne because she couldn't, and Frederick because he honestly had no idea what to say. That was a disturbingly common occurrence around this woman, come to think of it.
"Captain?"
She looked so hopeful, so beautiful, and Frederick prayed to every deity he could think of (he thought God would understand his desperation) that his hopes were not in vain.
"I am in receipt of your proposal, and am of a mind to accept it. Thank you."
For the second time that day, Frederick felt his heart start to burn brighter than it had in almost nine years. His face felt like a bright light was shining out of it.
She is accepting me?
He had to make sure, absolutely sure. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told Harville he didn't know what he would do if she left him again.
"Are you…quite certain?"
She smiled at him, and he hadn't seen anything of beauty to compare with her smile in the whole of his many travels.
"I am. I am determined. I will. And nothing, you may be sure, will ever persuade me otherwise."
For a moment, it was as though the world had gone silent.
So is this perfect happiness, then?
He saw it all, in one brilliant instant. Their marriage, their home, their children. He felt as though he could see the rest of their lives spread out before him, and everything was perfectly clear. Then in the next instant, the vision faded, and all he could see was Anne's beautiful face looking up at him, one solitary tear trailing down. And he knew she had seen the same thing.
Yes, my love, this is perfect happiness.
Slowly, so slowly, he lowered his head to meet her lips. And then there was nothing but his breath, and hers, and theirs.
Together.
THE END
(Seriously, this time I mean it.)