As Frederick left Mr. Dash and proceeded with his other duties for the day he felt a strong sense of dissatisfaction. He heard himself being short tempered, which was unusual for him as he was not typically a peevish person.

Mr. Dash's reaction had not been what Frederick anticipated. Rather than gaining a confidante, he had gained additional worries. He supposed it was well that if Anne could someday be onboard that he had learned what he had about Mr. Dash's reaction, however there was very little he could do to make things easier for her in gaining Mr. Dash's approbation.

Mr. Dash had also raised additional worries to the forefront of Frederick's mind. In the moments that he was not beset with interactions with his crew and could think and observe instead, he began to examine all the day-to-day activities of his ship with new eyes. He wondered how Anne, a woman of gentle birth, would respond to the realities of life aboard a ship.

At least in being a woman and also having his ear, he doubted his men would be disrespectful of her. To, he did a good job of enforcing discipline on board, but he imagined that as they got used to her presence they would forget themselves and talk about things unfit for a maiden's ear. But in thinking of that, Frederick corrected himself; she would be a maiden no longer, she would be his wife and know the ways of the flesh. She would be different then, than she was now.

It was a strange thought in a way, that before and after she became his rib, he would still be Captain Wentworth. He would not be expected to be different but she would have a whole other identity as his wife.

Yet even after they became one flesh, he could not but imagine Anne blushing from things his crew might say and do. He doubted she would ever fully lose her innocence in the way Sophia had. Frederick doubted Anne had ever been around the types of humanity that sailors were with their bawdy talk, ribald humor, and coarse ways.

He wondered if his crew would accept her or would they always think of her as simply live lumber. Even knowing they were spliced, would his men see her through lustful eyes as a prime article, hope to "accidentally" bump into her diddeys, imagine occupying her?

Frederick, having grown up the child of a captain, could never remember not knowing something about the naval life, though his mother and siblings were ashore. His sister, too, knew much of sailing life before she ever ventured aboard a ship. He wondered whether he had assumed Anne would take to such a life as easily as he and Sophia had, without truly understanding how little she could know of such a life.

Too, he was frustrated that he still had no one to confide in about both his hopes and worries regarding Anne. He kept the letter from Mr. Robinson, though the letter was not addressed to him.

That night when he was in his cabin, he gave himself leave to reflect on the letter once again. There were certain phrases that Mr. Robinson wrote that Frederick had committed to his memory because they evoked such a clear picture of Anne to him. Capable: he had always known that Anne was most capable at anything she decided was worth doing. He remembered many small kindnesses she had shown the people around her, many small acts of charity, she could do so much without ever seeking the barest bit of praise. Then add to capable, capable student: Frederick had no doubt that Anne would be willing to learn anything that Mr. Dash would choose to teach her, if only he decided she was worthy of such knowledge, but if Mr. Robinson thought she was worthy of the title of apothecary but for her sex, how could anyone else not find her worthy?

However, the next paragraph was so much better, with all the adjectives Mr. Robinson recounted as relating to Anne, starting with remarkable woman. Frederick knew Anne was a remarkable woman, so much more remarkable than her eldest sister who while lovely was as cold as the ice from northern climes. It was one reason that as soon as he knew he wanted to marry Anne he had not wished to delay in claiming her hand. Surely many other men would want Anne as a wife; he needed to secure her before one of them might take her from him.

And then there were all the other descriptors Mr. Robinson applied to her: steadfast, devoted, humble, capable, sweet, kind, loyal, intelligent and discerning. There had been a time when Frederick thought she was not steadfast, devoted or loyal as she had given him up. But apparently he had been horribly wrong in not realizing that it was not that she was not steadfast, devoted, and loyal, but that she had divided loyalties, and rightly so, to the woman who was as a mother to her.

How could he, knowing what Anne was like, so sweet and kind, not have sought her out after gaining a real ship and captaincy, and thrown himself on his knees and begged her to renew the promises they had exchanged so long ago? His present agony, of having to wait while uncertain of his fate, was all his own doing.

He felt a contempt in his breast for himself. He thought, Anne while I supposed you were not steadfast, devoted, and loyal, it was I who was not those things. I doubted, feared, and acted cowardly.

And Anne would never sing her own praises, she was truly humble. She was capable, sweet, kind, intelligent and discerning. He was not worthy of her. Yet she still had hope, hoped that he would renew his addresses. Hope which made her seek out training as a nurse, so she could serve him and his crew.

He was not worthy of such devotion, and yet when another man proposed, a man that her godmother apparently favored, who had everything to recommend him, she refused to be persuaded. Refused to obey . . . regretted breaking her engagement to me. All she wanted from Frederick was a delay in their marriage, a delay that long ago could have expired. She was still devoted and would have reassured him of that. She had constancy towards him.

Too good a woman. Yes, she is too good a woman for me, Frederick thought, and yet, I sent my sister after her, hoping against hope that my beloved will come, but what will she come to? Is it really right of me to ask this of her, that she give up everything for me and my tiny cabin, to live as the only women in a sea of coarse men?

She must not linger forever but perhaps, just perhaps Frederick thought, I should have given her up forever, told her that I would never return rather than trying to renew my addresses. Was trying to get her to come to me what is best for her? What kind of reward for her love, am I giving her? How can I be worthy of her? Should I not have attempted to relieve her suffering by asking her to find another?

As these thoughts lingered in his head he gradually passed into sleep. So gradual was the process that in his dream he believed he was still awake. This dream was different from any other. In the dream he saw Anne lying next to him on his bed. Her hair, which he had never seen down, tumbled far longer than he would have imagined. He had the sense that she was a bit older than when he had seen her last, perhaps a bit thinner as well but her features were all the same. She was wearing a dressing gown, which showed her curves a bit more than a dress would. He wanted to kiss her and hold her tight; he wanted to nudge the dressing gown off of her shoulders, to see what lay beneath, but he waited for her to come to him.

She stayed on her half of the bed, but turned onto her side toward him. She reached out and tousled his hair, gently stroked the side of his face that had the roughness of evening when he only shaved every morning.

She whispered softly, "My dear Freddy, how glad am I that you are now come to bed." He reflected upon how good it sounded to be called "Freddy" from her lips. It was an intimate address, for him alone. She said it differently somehow from how his family said it when he was a lad. It was sensual and hinted at other times when she had said his name in moments of passion, moments that somehow he could not remember, though he knew such moments were delightful, satisfied all his years of longing, gave him all he desired. He was feeling so good, with her there that he almost missed her next words.

Anne told him, "Freddy, living aboard your ship is quite different than I would have ever imagined it to be, and so much better, too. I need nothing more than to be with you and to be useful, and I have gained both of these things here. I was nothing to my father and older sister than someone who occupied space. To my younger sister I was nothing but the person who tended to her when everyone else had enough of her faked illnesses. To my godmother, I was simply a placeholder for my dead mother; she loved me, it is true, but she wished to keep me with her like a bird in a cage."

She gave a little sigh and then a half smile. "Here, no one cares that my father is a Baronet, no one cares that I came from a prominent family, no one cares who I was before and I like it that way. I have taken on a new identity here. I am the wife of the captain, I am Mrs. Wentworth, who helps Mr. Dash. Mrs. Wentworth who helps the young lads that never learned to read gain the skill they shall need for advancement. Mrs. Wentworth who soothes Captain Wentworth before he might be overly harsh with punishments, but will not restrain you from meting out appropriate punishments. I like that I can in some small way assist you and your crew, make your burdens easier, give you someone to confide in and aid them, too. The life of a sailor is not easy, but then I never thought it was. Yet, somehow, this is the life I was always meant to have."

In the dream she leaned over and gently kissed him and clasped him to her. Frederick was quite disappointed when he awoke and realized he was still alone. Yet the dream gave him a sense of wellbeing, that it was not wrong of him to hope and dream she would choose this life and someday soon be married to him.