Now that I am down to one WIP, and my life has at least for the moment settled down, I would like to get back to a nearly daily posting schedule as soon as I finish another project (see below), but I need your encouragement to stay motivated.

Thursday I did a lot of research to try to determine where Frederick's ship could be sent, how and where they could marry, and what type of adventures they could have while at sea. This is going to take a bit of time to work out and I even ordered a new book to read on my kindle and a couple of scholarly used books that I think will help me make it more realistic.

Friday I read the whole e-book (Royal Navy versus the Slave Traders). It was a good read and gave me some good ideas and naval vernacular.

On Saturday and Sunday I got a little sidetracked with what I thought would be a light edit of the novella-length, A Bride for Bennet, my Pride and Prejudice prequel (I thought it would be good practice before I tackle Vindicating a Man of Consequence, which I am almost certain should be broken into a three-part story, with the challenges of their married life as a yet to be written third part), which quickly turned into another project.

So even if I'm not posting, know I am using my free time to work on my writing. Please try to be a little bit patient in waiting to see how Frederick and Anne will be reunited as I think the research will ultimately pay off in a better and more realistic story.

Frederick was having trouble sleeping. He was wondering if Captain Croft's ship had yet returned to England and, if so, whether Sophia was even now trying to make the acquaintance of his beloved Anne. He told himself the lie that it was likely too early for his brother's ship to even have reached England, and, thus, quiet the part of him which was certain that his Sophia had reached Anne and his fate was already decided.

Since writing the letter to Anne, Frederick was in a different kind of agony than he was previously. During the day there was much to occupy his time, though less than usual as they were stuck in the doldrums, making few miles per day as the winds were negligible and the Laconia was pulled along only slightly by the the currents. Their supplies were ample, but if the ship remained in the doldrums overly long, their better provisions would be quite reduced and his crew would eventually need to subsist on the hard tack and cured meat that kept one fed but did not satisfy.

Frederick felt stuck, too; he knew he was inexorably moving farther away from her.

Frederick was not made for inaction. He tried to tell himself that it would be an improvement to finally reach the trade winds. While those would blow him further away from Anne, at least he would be making progress toward fulfilling his mission. Then, perhaps, he could begin to anticipate eventually making that turn to the north to reach the westerlies which could guide him home.

Of course Frederick still did not know when and if his orders would give him permission to do what his heart wished.

He was half in agony and half in hope. He doubted, even now having received the reassurance of Mr. Robinson's letter, that Anne would be able to make that leap of faith to come to him and chided himself for ever asking it of her. Surely the fastest way to lose her forever was in asking what she could not give.

Anne was a sensible woman, this he well knew. He appreciated that about her. While she might more fully know her mind now than she did at nineteen, would not time have also made her more prudent? Frederick thought there was nothing prudent about running off to be with him. Anne, as far as he knew, had never been far from home except when at school (which he well knew she had hated), and on a trip or two with her godmother.

How was it then that he had asked her to leave everyone and everything dear to her behind on a foolhardy mission? And why had his sister encouraged it?

He questioned his own judgment and Sophia's. He told himself that from Sophia's lengthy time at sea that she must not remember the confined lives that other women had grown to expect. He told himself that he must have been half-crazed to agree to her attempt to escort Anne to him. He told himself that Captain Croft would never forgive him if somehow as a result both she and Anne were lost.

It did not help that when he did sleep he experienced the most vivid of dreams. There were happy dreams in which an English ship approached where his ship was docked and he could see Anne on the deck, and when taking out his long glass could make out every vivid detail of her face, and could see the exact moment that she saw him, her uncontainable delight. He then took a small boat over to that ship, climbed aboard and took her in his arm, laying kiss upon kiss on her, with no concern for what others would see. Then, somehow, they would be at a small church, pledging themselves to one another, and then he would be carrying her aboard his own ship as his crew cheered.

Then there were the uncertain dreams, when all at first seemed well, they were together, but then something was keeping them apart. It might be a crowd that separated them, a flock of birds, a field that grew ever larger, a gap between the ships they were on widening. Whatever was separating them would ebb and flow like the tide and she would stay near enough that he could see her, but too far for him to ever grab her hand and draw her to his side.

But the worst dreams were the nightmares when he would be struggling mightily to save her from some calamity, but could not move or could only move very slowly, like he was mired in a deep mud, or whatever he needed to save her could not be located or grasped. It might be that her dress caught on fire while she was upon his ship, but the buckets were all empty and the casks of water dry, and he could not locate a single piece of cloth to suffocate the flames, not even so much as a handkerchief. It might be that she was drowning and he was held back from swimming for her, or she was sinking under the water and he was somehow too buoyant to dive below the waves. It might be that he saw a cannon ball, grapeshot or musket fire launched in her direction and when he tried to yell and warn her to duck, his voice would not work and his attempts to physically reach her were for naught, as if he was moving incredibly slowly and he watched the moment she was hit and hurt while he remained in perfect health. Always, a moment or two after the worst happened, he would wake up, gasping for breath, his heart thundering in his chest, sweat slicking his skin.

Frederick was not a man of faith, or rather he had faith in his own abilities, faith in his luck, faith in his instincts, rather than faith in a God who could not be seen. Frederick believed in the physical world, what his own senses could show him, what he could accomplish himself. It was not normally in him to petition for assistance. He tended to look down on those who did that, rather than seeking to improve their condition or lot in life themselves through hard work.

However, when waking from such nightmares, Frederick found himself offering a short prayer like, "Keep her safe, even if it means she is never with me." It did not help much, but there was nothing else he could do.