God save me from delicate females.
Dinner had been excruciating. Frederick had arrived ready to disarm the Miss Musgroves with his charm and happily entertained them with stories from his naval conquests throughout the beginning of their meal. He had done well, averting his eyes from where he knew she sat end of the table, or glancing fleetingly over her head when addressing Mrs Musgrove near her. He had even begun to enjoy himself as the girls pestered him with question after question of life aboard a warship. Their general ignorance of naval matters delighted him and reminded him greatly of the last time he had caught the attention of a pretty girl.
This had been his undoing; so strongly did this feeling strike him, he thought that she must surely be sharing the same reminiscence as himself. He glanced down the table, certain that he would lock eyes with her. Her eyes were trained fixedly on her plate but there was something knowing in her look that suggested to him that he had been right. And as though the devil had taken hold of him, he decided that now that he was looking he would take his fill! Remnants of his highly inappropriate dream flashed through his consciousness as he observed her hair, her face. The faint blush of her cheeks, likely warmed by the fire reminded him too closely of his imaginings and the fashionable evening wear so preferred by women exposed more of her creamy skin than he needed nor wanted to see. She had certainly aged but he could admit that her youthful bloom had settled into a mature elegance. The evening lighting was probably more flattering than the daylight and she was likely better rested than the last time he had seen her. After all, was there any woman in the world who could appear unaffected after a sleepless evening of tending to an injured child? No, he could do her this justice at least. She turned to address the footman behind her and his heart began to beat apace as he pictured that neck, receiving his attentions as it had done in his dreams the night before.
His attention was drawn away by a knock against his shoe and a throat clearing. Looking across the table, Charles raised one eyebrow at Frederick and then turning to Louisa said, "I'm sure Captain Wentworth would enjoy pouring over a navy list Louisa, have at it."
"Yes, by all means!" Frederick rejoined and turned his attention back to the conversation. How long had he been musing? He wondered at Charles' reaction, he did not realise had he been so obvious in his inattention.
He had been entering dangerous territory, like a sailor being tempted by a siren, and he was grateful to Charles for the interference. Offering him a sheepish look, Frederick devoted himself to his dinner companion though silently reprimanded himself.
He had taken leave of his senses over a dream. Foolish man! He was embarrassed to have slipped so. Had he forgotten all that she had done to him? Anne Elliot was not worth his time or attention. Talking about the Asp brought back those first feelings of desperation. He had been wild for anything to occupy his attention, so desperate had he been in the grief of his rejection. He jumped at the chance to profess so now, aloud for all the table to hear; knowing where the barb would fall.
He felt rather than saw Miss Elliot pause when he admitted to having a great need to be at sea at that time. Knowing he had her attention, he spoke of all the Asp had done for him and told the tales of the near misses he'd had while he had the charge of her. Miss Elliot's quiet gasps told him his point had fallen home. He picked up steam, and continued with his embellishments. Not that the stories he told were not true, but for some reason he felt the need to inflame his tales. He knew he was reacting stupidly to an imaginary experience, compensating for his momentary lack of judgement or whatever he preferred to call it. To himself he sounded like an idiot but somehow he could not stop. Sophie's face certainly told him what she thought of his manner. With a dramatic flourish he ended his speech with a comment that had he been lost nobody would have been left to think of him. And though the Admiral called him out for his foolishness (which should have made him realise what a fool he was being), the clatter of Miss Elliot's dropped cutlery and the pinched look of her features were the response he had been unknowingly seeking.
How human it is to reflect on our most mortifying moments, to relive in excruciating detail our stupidest comments and to wish to heaven above that we could go back in time and amend our behaviour. Even Frederick Wentworth, as dashing as he was, was not immune to this affliction. His ride back to Kellynch at the close of the evening was full of personal remonstrance. He had not done himself credit that evening at all. He was certain he would come to pay for his conversation with Sophia over not wanting women aboard his ships. But he was most ashamed at what was to come later.
There had been a suggestion of dancing and he had participated most willingly. It didn't seem to matter what he did, the females of the room fawned over his attention. It felt gratifying to know that he was so admired. He had wondered what the Baronet and Lady Russel would think of him now, which led him again look over at Miss Elliot. There had been a time when it would have been difficult for them both to dance with any other person in the room, so great was their enjoyment of each other's company. And while they did always bow to propriety and separate at the appropriate time, he never truly minded as it was a singular pleasure of his to watch her dance. It seemed that while she danced she could not hide the joy on her face and she moved like an angel.
As he watched her play now, he noticed a tear fall upon her face and she surreptitiously wiped it away whilst continuing the reel. He stumbled, prompting Miss Musgrove to enquire if he was well.
"Why yes," he had replied. "I only thought I spied Miss Elliot looking longingly at our fun. Tell me, does she not dance? Will someone else step up to the pianoforte to show us their skills?"
"Oh no, never, she has quite given up dancing. In fact I do not think I have seen her dance since I was but a girl. I remember Charles trying to coerce her on a number of occasions but she has always refused. She does love to play though, she tells us she never tires of playing. And she's clearly the most skilled of us all, so here we are."
Frederick made to correct Miss Musgrove but held his tongue as he processed this new information. The Anne Elliot he knew loved to dance! He looked over at her again as though expecting to spot some physical explanation as to why. Could it be for him, he wondered?
The dancing came to a close when refreshments were brought out and Frederick watched as first Miss Elliot, then Charles, left the room. He followed, telling himself that fresh air was what was needed to cool himself after the energetic bout of dancing he'd engaged in. He followed the footsteps of the pair to another room and then paused once he heard voices.
"Are you well, Anne?" He heard Charles ask and Frederick peered around the alcove in which he found himself to see his friend place a reassuring hand on Miss Elliot's shoulder. She turned to face him and the firelight shone in such a way to show her face was wet with tears.
With a deep sigh, Miss Elliot gratefully accepted the proffered kerchief to dry her cheeks. "I'm fine, thank you Charles. A little tired. Excuse me, I was momentarily overcome. Nothing to worry about, I assure you." She gave him a watery smile.
"Hmm, you say that but I don't mind telling you that you are out of sorts this visit. And to be frank, there's really only one factor that is different to any other time you've been here. I haven't seen you this discombobulated since I came back from Cambridge. I begin to have a suspicion, you know." Frederick couldn't see Charles' face from this angle but from the expression on Miss Elliot's he could tell that Charles was searching.
She looked down to avoid his gaze and replied, "please don't, Charles."
"I recall at that time that that young curate's brother had just left the area. It had slipped my mind of course, given how long it has been. But hearing Captain Wentworth's tales this evening of his coming into his first command and seeing you so upset made me think of the connection."
Anne let out a soft sob and buried her face in her brother's kerchief.
"Come now, Anne," Charles voice gentled. "I'm right aren't I? Can't stop this Hunter from sniffing out the goods."
She cried quietly for a short time while Charles attempted to soothe her in his awkward, brotherly way.
Pulling herself together, she offered Charles his kerchief. "I'm not sure what I can say to reassure you Charles. Yes, we knew each other. Though I have changed so much to Captain Wentworth, he has shown himself to be the same as I knew him to be. Brave, honourable and forthright. It is no wonder your sisters delight so much in his company. I perhaps need a little extra time to become accustomed to the addition of his company to our small circle but I will be well again. I will be calm, happy Anne Elliot once more."
Anne gave her brother a hard won smile and earnt herself a hearty grasp around her shoulders in return as they both turned to leave the room. Frederick quickly made his way back to the parlour, his mind reeling. For her to speak so highly of him, after his highly justified though very unforgiving opinion of herself left him feeling chagrined. Why should she have been discombobulated? It is not as though he had broken ties with her, though he may have been the one to leave. He could not be near her. His ideas of her had been completely upset. And while he attempted to entertain the ladies he returned to, he was so highly attuned to her movements that he could not do himself credit and was relieved beyond measure when his brother and sister began to make their adieus shortly after.