Captain Wentworth's Persuasion (34 page)

“You must be put out by all this,” Frederick noted as they stepped through the doorway of a cramped furniture shop.

“What brings you to say that?” Harville stopped to look carefully at the intricate carving on a grandfather clock.

Frederick chuckled lightly. “You did not object when I used your injury as an excuse to avoid Musgrove right now.You would never accept any such offer otherwise.”

Harville stopped short, leaning heavily on his cane. “Do you have any idea what Benwick requested of me?” Anger hung on every word.

“Tell me,” Frederick’s lips barely parted—his jaw clenched in anticipated contempt.

“That pretentious ass wants me to commission a portrait of him—for Louisa Musgrove! He gave me this to use as the model.” Harville thrust a small miniature painting into Frederick’s hand. “Damn him! He had it made for Fanny—remember, at the Cape—he met with a clever young German artist at the Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my poor sister, sat to him, and was bringing it home for her. And I have now the charge of getting it properly set for another!” And with a quivering lip he wound up the whole by adding, “Poor Fanny! She would not have forgotten him so soon!”

Frederick stared at his best friend. “You should not be in this position; I brought my folly upon your home.”

“I do not hold you responsible any more than I do James.Who else is there for him to employ? Yet I cannot easily accept this. Fanny was my dearest sister—the playmate of my childhood.” Harville walked away, needing to distance himself from his own words.

After a long moment, Frederick followed. “Leave it to me,” he
told Harville.“I will take care of the commission.That is the least I can do for you. You must cherish Fanny’s memory.—I will not have it tarnished.”

Harville muttered,“Thank you, my Friend.”

Frederick did not acknowledge the thanks—no need existed between them. A person cannot stand beside another in times of war and not develop a deep, unspoken connection—a brotherhood in arms. Instead, he pointed to the elaborate design of a nearby table.“Do you suppose you can duplicate such artistry?”

“I expect I can; I made some preliminary drawings. Seeing all these pieces gives me some ideas of how I can make my mark.” With his fingertips,Thomas reached out and traced the edges of a small table.“I love the feel of the wood,” he confided.“The smell of the oil as it stains the grain.” For a brief moment, he existed in another realm.“I know all that probably sounds fanciful.”

“It sounds sincere.” Frederick clapped him on the back.“It is time to meet Musgrove—let us hear more about shooting and sport.”

Harville laughed—a deep belly laugh.“He does go on, does he not?”They started for the shop’s door.

Frederick spent the evening with the Musgrove party. He would not abandon Thomas to the group’s continual talk of James Benwick and Louisa Musgrove and wedded bliss. Secretly, he hoped that Anne might rejoin them, but she did not come, although Mrs. Musgrove relayed how she had earnestly begged Anne to return and dine—to give them all the rest of the day, but Anne promised to come again for breakfast on the morrow. Frederick vowed he would be there; he and Anne would finish this.

—Edwin Muir,“The Confirmation”

 

Anne did
not
keep her appointment to break her fast with the Musgroves. Of course, the weather had taken an unfavorable turn, and Frederick knew she would walk to the hotel, but it did nothing for his state of mind.The rest of the party feasted on hearty fare; Frederick ate little of what he placed on his plate. He hungered for something totally unrelated to food; only Anne’s acceptance could fill him.

In the late morning, she made her way to the proper apartment, and Frederick breathed at last.The aura of the room glowed from the moment Anne walked through the door, and her arrival signaled a clearing from the earlier downpour.

Their eyes met immediately. Being close to the door, having positioned himself to greet her upon her arrival, Frederick stepped forward and took her proffered hand and raised it to his lips in greeting; then he forced his legs to move, placing himself at the desk and beginning to separate the papers and prepare the pen.

“Ah, Miss Anne,” Mrs. Musgrove ushered her forward toward a chair at the table, “we are so glad you came. Henrietta and Mary feared that you would not—what with the weather and all. The ladies could not wait once the sky began to clear, but they will be back again soon.They gave strict injunctions before they left; I am to keep you here until they turn back.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Frederick noted how outwardly composed Anne appeared, and he wondered how he must look to the others.The moment
she
walked into the room, he felt himself plunged at once into all the agitations which he had merely anticipated tasting a little before the morning closed. There was no delay—no waste of time. He was deep in the happiness of such misery or the misery of such happiness, instantly.

Clearing his throat and trying to sound disinterested, Frederick spoke to his friend,“We will write the letter, Harville, of which we spoke, if you will give me the materials.”

“They are on the side table.”Thomas gestured to a small table to Frederick’s left.With materials all in hand, he went to it, and nearly turning his back on the gathered party, Frederick tried to appear engrossed by writing.

His sister, Sophia, spoke to Mrs. Musgrove, and he listened carefully to their conversation, trying to hear any words spoken by Anne. Mrs. Musgrove informed Sophia about the changes taking place at Uppercross, and his sister heartily agreed that young people should not dwell in long engagements. Frederick found himself agreeing in principle with Sophia’s sentiments. He knew that she spoke from experience; she and the Admiral had married a little more than a month after their meeting. As he pretended to draft the letter, which he had composed in his head the night before, Frederick thought about how quickly he could marry Anne after she accepted him. He would not be willing to wait any longer than necessary.

Sophia declared, “To begin without knowing that at such a time there will be the means of marrying, I hold to be very unsafe and unwise. Couples should not delay their coming together.”

His pen ceased to move, his head raised, pausing, listening, and he turned around the next instant to give a look—one quick, conscious look at Anne. She flushed with the recognition, but neither of them looked away. The two ladies continued to talk—to urge again the same admitted truths and enforce them with such examples of the ill effect of long engagements as had fallen within their
observation, but Frederick heard nothing distinctly; it was only a buzz of words in his ear, and his mind felt the confusion. Finally, Anne looked away at Thomas Harville, who motioned her to join him by the window.

Frederick pushed the longing back down and returned to the task at hand. He began writing the letter in earnest.

Scratching out the order for the artist he would commission, Frederick heard Thomas talk to Anne about the miniature. His friend explained to her why Frederick took up the charge of the letter. He thought it ironic that Thomas spoke so openly to Anne when he refused to share his frustration with anyone else in the party besides Frederick. When their words turned to a light-hearted debate on which sex loved better, Frederick heard only
their
musings; his sister’s conversation no longer existed. Every nerve in his body remained attuned to Anne—only
she
existed in
his
world, and he
must
know how she felt.

“It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved,” she protested against Harville’s assertion that, unlike a woman, a man never forsook a woman he loved. Frederick would never forsake Anne—of that he was sure. Her soft voice brought him back.“Yes, we certainly do not forget you so soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit.We cannot help ourselves.We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey on us.You are forced on exertion.You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions.”

Frederick stopped breathing for a moment.
Was that how it seemed to Anne? Does she believe that I did not suffer from our separation? She must think that because I threw myself into my work, I forgot her—that I did not leave my heart behind in Somerset. I must tell her; only her love has ever given me comfort.

Needing to respond immediately, he took another sheet of foolscap from the desk drawer and addressed her passionately:

Anne’s voice now spoke with a fervor, and Frederick jerked his head up and clumsily knocked over the blotting jar, sending it scattering dust across the carpet. His pen followed. He quickly retrieved the items, embarrassed at being so obvious in his intent.

“Have you finished your letter?” called Captain Harville.

Frederick stammered, “Not-Not quite, a few lines more. I shall have done in five minutes.”

Harville smiled at Anne. Frederick should have known Anne would win Thomas’s loyalty; he and Harville both understood the qualities of a fine woman. “There is no hurry on my side,” his friend shared. “I am only ready whenever you are.—I am in very good anchorage here—well supplied and wanting for nothing.—No hurry for a signal at all.”

As Frederick rearranged the items on the desk, he heard Harville lower his voice to speak to Anne further. They talked of inconstancy, and Frederick’s heart went out to his friend as Thomas spoke with compassion and with insight into how a sailor feels about the woman he loves.“I speak, you know, only of such men as have hearts!”

“Oh!” cried Anne eagerly; “I hope I do justice to all that is felt by you and by those who resemble you.” She offered his friend empathy, and Frederick smiled, knowing it to be her true nature.“I believe you capable of everything equal and good in your married lives. I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long as—if I may be allowed the expression, so long as you have an object.” Frederick leaned forward, hanging on Anne’s every word.“I mean, while the woman you love lives and lives for you.All the privilege I claim for my own sex is of
loving longest when existence or when hope is gone.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Frederick watched as Thomas put his hand on her arm quite affectionately.

Hearing his sister speaking to someone behind him, Frederick returned to his letter:

“Here, Frederick you and I part company, I believe,” Sophia spoke loudly enough to recall him from his task. “I am going home, and you have an engagement with your friend.—Tonight we may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party.” She directed her last thought to Anne.“We had your sister’s card yesterday, and I understand Frederick had a card, too, though I did not see it—and you are disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?”

As she spoke, Frederick scratched out his postscript:

He managed to answer his sister, although a bit incoherently. “Yes, very true; here we separate, but Harville and I shall soon be after you, that is, Harville, if you are ready, I am in half a minute. I know you will not be sorry to be off. I shall be at your service in half a minute.”

Sophia nodded her farewell to each of them, and he and Thomas began to make their leave also. Frederick sealed his letter
with great rapidity. Having made the decision to write it, he wanted the words in Anne’s hands; Frederick needed to be finished with this part and to start his life with Anne—if she would have him.

He slid Anne’s letter under the blotter pad, having sealed it and marked it with her initials.“Let us be off, Harville,” he encouraged. Frederick picked up his gloves—laying them purposely to the side of the desk—and then his hat before walking to the door. He could not speak to Anne—nor even look at her. His impatience to be gone created a hurried air as he exited the room.

Frederick heard Thomas offer a kind “Good morning. God bless you,” to Anne.

He regretted not being able to speak his good-byes—the agitation too great, but if Anne was to refuse him, he wanted no pity from those who saw their departure.

He and Thomas made it to the outside door before Frederick spoke again.“Harville, wait for me a moment; I seemed to have left my gloves in the Musgroves’ quarters.”