Chapter Two
Edward Wentworth could hardly contain his astonishment, in the space of just a couple of hours, he had received a call from his brother – a rarity in itself- and having just bid Frederick farewell, Edward now found his once close acquaintance Miss Anne Elliot on his doorstep. He thought for a moment of his brother and Miss Anne; two young people once so close, so much to each other, pulled apart and alone for the past two years and a half. Could their bond be so strong still one had sensed when the other was near? He liked to think it was, if only because it gave him hope there was still a chance for them.
Anne was looking at him expectantly, he quickly put down his tools and removed his gloves. "Yes of course, shall we go inside?"
Anne nodded sweetly and followed him into his small house. She had been there before; a handful of times, during the beginning when they first met to examine his small yet impressive collection of books, and to borrow where she could. The library at Kellynch having become somewhat depleted over the years since her mother's death. Shelves crammed with books were not to Elizabeth's liking. She hated to have the library cluttered. The books had been moved and packed away – and lately Anne suspected- sold on to help finance her father and sister's expensive lifestyle. Then later, after his brother had arrived, she had been as intrigued as all the other ladies in the parish to meet the mysterious sailor. Yet, instead of being overwhelmed when she finally did, she had asked relevant questions and enquired about his life and profession with a rare genuine interest Frederick had found surprising and endearing.
Almost after their first meeting, Edward had sensed something between his brother and Sir Walter's middle daughter. He had known then it would likely end badly, that any affection on his younger sibling's side would be fruitless. The likes of the Elliots' would not be joined to the Wentworths' in any way, least of all matrimonially, but he had been too much of a romantic, too much of a believer in hope and faith and the divine intervention that came with his profession. He had clung on to the words – what if? What if love could conquer all and they were meant to be, that they could be the exception to the rule. It had been known in the past, not always ending badly. He was sure if there were two people who could make it work, it was these two.
The way he spoke of her almost constantly dropping her name into every conversation as if he wasn't he was aware he was doing it, and she, as her eyes surveyed him with far too much regard and followed him about the room, on the rare occasion he strayed from her side. So it had been of no surprise to Edward that, after only a short time, his brother asked for the lady's hand. He had thought that would be the end of it, either Sir Walter would flatly refuse him and they would all have to live with the consequences, or they would marry and forever be happy. The curate had never considered a third option. That, instead of refusing, Sir Walter had not even bothered himself with giving an answer one way or the other.
From what he had gotten out of Frederick later, The Baronet had seemed shocked anyone would even consider Anne, and when that shock had worn off, he had been outraged that Frederick could have the audacity to even approach him. He hadn't denied him consent, but it hadn't been freely offered either. He had said something about needing time to consider, to speak with Anne's trusted God Mother and best friend of his late wife, Lady Russel. Edward had seen this as a sign of bad news to come. Yet his brother; young and in love, had taken it as a 'yes' and already considered himself an engaged man busily planning his future. For a brief few days it seemed they truly were the exception, then the unthinkable happened. The blow that would sever their once strong bond, and part them came from the most unlikely source: Anne herself.
Edward had never learned the particulars or the content of that last conversation which took place between the affianced couple. Frederick had returned so angry, so vengeful, so broken hearted, his brother had only gleamed glimpses from his ranting, but whatever her reasons, the results were the same; Anne had broken their engagement and released him. Frederick wasted no time in ridding himself of her very existence. Refusing to speak her name or talk of the details at all, he stayed only the few hours it took him to ready himself for his journey. Once packed and a horse hired, he took off at full speed to Whitehall. And from them to the Asp.
What followed had been over two torturous years – for them both- contrary to Frederick's belief. For it was Edward's adamant belief, that Miss Anne herself had suffered most acutely. He watched while the once vibrant and witty young lady withered before his eyes. How her once endearing shyness became cripplingly over powering, she barely looked anyone in the eye anymore and her visits to the young curate's cottage ceased immediately. She showed no enjoyment in parties, and when he saw at her an assembly, he got the impression she was only there under duress and for appearances sake more than want. She refused to dance or laugh. As if the very idea of living was too much. And it saddened Edward greatly.
He had no doubt his brother suffered too, though he would not show it. He had stayed away, finding excuses not to visit his family even when ashore for a few days. Edward concluded it was because they knew him so well and they would see through his brave façade. This seclusion and almost pathological need to prove himself, had served him well in his career. For he had prospered, proving to doubters wrong and accomplishing all that he had set out to do. His time aboard the Asp, despite being thwarted with danger and the chance of sinking, had only propelled him to new heights within the Navy. He had caught the attention of certain senior officers that had it in their power to further his ambitions and furthered it was. For when after almost three years, that very day his brother had returned to Monkford to see his elder brother, it was as a Captain Wentworth of the Laconia.
Edward looked again at his unplanned companion – did she know? Is that why she was there? Had she seen him? Had he been to see her? He busiest himself a few minutes more with the tea things before settling back in his chair. He noticed for the first time she had taken the seat where his troubled brother had sat just a few hours before. Putting all thoughts of his younger sibling out of his mind, he concentrated solely on his guest. "Now Miss Anne, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
Anne was still conscious of the fact she had barely said more than hello to the curate in the past two and a half years and yet he was so welcoming. She knew time was a great healer – or so some said, but she was expecting him to be angry with her still – quite rightly – or at least indifferent, but he seemed just as warm as he had ever been, as if she had only seen him the day before. She looked around the cottage briefly looking for changes – finding none. It was as if she had only been there the day before. She thought of her beloved Kellynch, of how between her sister Elizabeth's penchant need for redecoration, and her father's obsession with the looking glass, the home their mother had created now seemed a distant memory.
The furniture in this humble room was mismatched and draped with doilies she was in no doubt had been gifts from Mr Wentworth's well-meaning parishioners attempting to care for the poor young man living alone. The three armchairs where once she had shared tea with the Curate and… The curtains at the small windows were the same fabric; just a little faded by the sun. Everything was the same. The only subtle difference, an item that stuck out like it did not belong, was a pair of leather riding gloves on the dresser. They were of good quality; a gentleman's gloves. Anne knew Edward did not care for riding, preferring -much like herself- to walk everywhere. She doubted he was in the habit of spending good money on such frivolities either. The fact they were thrown haphazardly on the side instead of put away in a drawer somewhere like everything else drew her to the conclusion they did not belong to Mr Wentworth. Her eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh I do beg your pardon, do you have company?"