Persuasion (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (20 page)

For, though shy, he did not seem reserved; it had rather the appearance of feelings glad to burst their usual restraints; and having talked of poetry, the richness of the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of opinion as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether
Marmion
or
The Lady of the Lake
were to be preferred, and how ranked the
Giaour
and
The Bride of Abydos
; and moreover, how the
Giaour
was to be pronounced, he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the other; he repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness, and looked so entirely as if he meant to be understood, that she ventured to hope he did not always read only poetry, and to say, that she thought it was the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.

His looks shewing him not pained, but pleased with this allusion to his situation, she was emboldened to go on; and feeling in herself the right of seniority of mind, she ventured to recommend a larger allowance of prose in his daily study; and on being requested to particularize, mentioned such works of our best moralists, such collections of the finest letters, such memoirs of characters of worth and suffering, as occurred to her at the moment as calculated to rouse and fortify the mind by the highest precepts, and the strongest examples of moral and religious endurances.

Captain Benwick listened attentively, and seemed grateful for the interest implied; and though with a shake of the head, and sighs which declared his little faith in the efficacy of any books on grief like his, noted down the names of those she recommended, and promised to procure and read them.

Their conversation had just concluded when Anne raised her head, her lips tingling with the small smile she knew was curving their corners — she was so out of practice at smiling — when her gaze caught that of Captain Wentworth. He was glowering at her as he had not since being distracted by the presence of his dear friends in Lyme. His brows were lowered over his eyes so much that they cast those light orbs in complete darkness. His mouth was set in a grim line. However, as soon as Anne caught him staring, he seemed to shake himself. His mouth relaxed; his brows rose. He looked slightly chagrined and even ventured so far as to offer her a pained half-smile. He broke their eye contact and visibly forced his face into a relaxed expression, whereupon he turned to his right and engaged Louisa in animated conversation, and Anne knew she had been mentally dismissed. The sting of his actions lasted through the remainder of dinner.

When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused at the idea of her coming to Lyme to preach patience and resignation to a young man whom she had never seen before; nor could she help fearing, on more serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct would ill bear examination.

She gave her excuses to the girls and took a quick turn around the lodging house to help clear her mind. It was ineffective at best. As she turned back to walk to her room, her thoughts were embroiled in the foolhardiness of allowing his cut at the dinner table to harm her. She was staring at her feet in the dim light, trying to ensure that she would not trip, and so she did not see the person who was leaning against the door to her room until it was too late. With a startled cry, Anne walked right into warm, towering man. She was walking so quickly that the sudden halt to her progress resulted in backward motion. Anne’s arms were whirling, trying to find something to grab hold of to soften her inevitable fall when strong, capable hands gripped her arms and pulled her in until her face was crushed against a wide expanse of chest.

She gasped in shock, and the scent she knew better than any filled her lungs. In the panic of self-preservation, Anne jerked back and flung her arms to the side in hopes that she would dislodge his hands from her person.

He immediately removed them, and, contrarily, a small part of her heart protested. She roughly shoved that part aside and stared blankly upward where she knew his head must be, though she could not see it through the dark. “C-Captain Wentworth?”

The frightened quality of her voice irked her, and he obviously heard it, for he moved to the left slightly until a glimmer of light from her room’s window illuminated the side of his face, casting familiar and yet unfamiliar features in light and shadow. He must have assumed the fear in her voice was caused by meeting a stranger in the dark. She felt relief that he had not guessed what she was truly afraid of was what she would do to the man whose identity she had known certainly upon her first breath. Even now, she feared she was swaying too close to him, seeking the comfort of his warmth when she was so very cold inside.

“Yes, it is me.” His voice rumbled more deeply than ever, and Anne cursed the effect it had on her traitorous body. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

She made some noise or other that she hoped portrayed it was nothing. It took all of her focus to maintain decorum.

He shifted impatiently, and she was reminded once again that this man before her hated her passionately. In an obvious bid to get whatever he was doing here over with, he began to speak in a rush. “I came to thank you for befriending Benwick.”

Disappointment nearly crushed her. Was she to be thanked now for consorting with other men? “He is a good man,” she offered lamely, hoping he would go away so she could retreat into her room to lick her wounds.

His ragged intake of air confused her. “Yes. He is.” Several heartbeats of silence later, he continued, “I — that is to say — please be gentle with him. He is not ready for another broken heart.”

Suddenly, his glower at the dinner table reappeared on the back of Anne’s eyes. His anger now gained context, and with it, more hurt heaped upon her soul. “I would never hurt him,” she nearly hissed. “And I do not seek more from him than friendship. Nor does he from me.”

The resounding thud of one of his boots upon the plank walk was the only warning she had that he had moved. The next instant, his hands were upon her arms again, and he was pushing her backward. Her back met with the pillar across from her room, but he kept coming, crowding into her body with his own. She felt every inch of his body against hers, and she could not breathe through the panic and exhilaration that froze her lungs.

“Oh, thank God,” she thought she heard him breathe, the words slipping by her ear with a ruffle of her hair. He pressed closer for an instant, and she felt his arousal growing slowly against her belly, but then his entire body stiffened.

“C-Captain Wentworth?” Anne ventured to ask.

With a muffled curse, Captain Wentworth wrenched himself away from her. Anne nearly stumbled forward with his sudden absence, and she watched in absolute confusion as the man who had just accosted her stomped away, his silhouette passing in front of her room’s window and then disappearing into the night without another sound.

Anne tossed and turned all night, Captain Wentworth’s baffling actions playing and replaying through her mind, before finally rising earlier than normal. She was pleasantly surprised to find she was not alone when she returned from her morning ablutions; Henrietta was awake as well. Anne and Henrietta, finding themselves the earliest of the party, agreed to stroll down to the sea before breakfast. They went to the sands, to watch the flowing of the tide, which a fine south-easterly breeze was bringing in with all the grandeur which so flat a shore admitted. They praised the morning; gloried in the sea, which Anne could not help but inwardly compare in colour to a certain set of eyes; sympathized in the delight of the fresh-feeling breeze — and were silent; till Henrietta suddenly began again with —

“Oh! yes, — I am quite convinced that, with very few exceptions, the sea-air always does good. There can be no doubt of its having been of the greatest service to Dr. Shirley, after his illness, last spring twelve-month. He declares himself, that coming to Lyme for a month, did him more good than all the medicine he took; and, that being by the sea, always makes him feel young again. Now, I cannot help thinking it a pity that he does not live entirely by the sea. I do think he had better leave Uppercross entirely, and fix at Lyme. Do not you, Anne? Do not you agree with me, that it is the best thing he could do, both for himself and Mrs. Shirley? She has cousins here, you know, and many acquaintance, which would make it cheerful for her, and I am sure she would be glad to get to a place where she could have medical attendance at hand, in case of his having another seizure. Indeed I think it quite melancholy to have such excellent people as Dr. and Mrs. Shirley, who have been doing good all their lives, wearing out their last days in a place like Uppercross, where, excepting our family, they seem shut out from all the world. I wish his friends would propose it to him. I really think they ought. And, as to procuring a dispensation, there could be no difficulty at his time of life, and with his character. My only doubt is, whether anything could persuade him to leave his parish. He is so very strict and scrupulous in his notions; over-scrupulous I must say. Do not you think, Anne, it is being over-scrupulous? Do not you think it is quite a mistaken point of conscience, when a clergyman sacrifices his health for the sake of duties, which may be just as well performed by another person? And at Lyme too, only seventeen miles off, he would be near enough to hear, if people thought there was anything to complain of.”

Anne smiled more than once to herself during this speech, and entered into the subject, as ready to do good by entering into the feelings of a young lady as of a young man, though here it was good of a lower standard, for what could be offered but general acquiescence? She said all that was reasonable and proper on the business; felt the claims of Dr. Shirley to repose as she ought; saw how very desirable it was that he should have some active, respectable young man, as a resident curate, and was even courteous enough to hint at the advantage of such resident curate’s being married.

“I wish,” said Henrietta, very well pleased with her companion, “I wish Lady Russell lived at Uppercross, and were intimate with Dr. Shirley. I have always heard of Lady Russell as a woman of the greatest influence with everybody! I always look upon her as able to persuade a person to anything! I am afraid of her, as I have told you before, quite afraid of her, because she is so very clever; but I respect her amazingly, and wish we had such a neighbour at Uppercross.”

Anne was amused by Henrietta’s manner of being grateful, and amused also that the course of events and the new interests of Henrietta’s views should have placed her friend at all in favour with any of the Musgrove family; she had only time, however, for a general answer, and a wish that such another woman were at Uppercross, before all subjects suddenly ceased, on seeing Louisa and Captain Wentworth coming towards them. Captain Wentworth would not meet Anne’s eyes this morning, and it was rather different from the other times he refused to meet her eyes, which was status quo as of late. This time, he seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes from her, and Anne could not help but wonder if he was wanting to apologize for or explain his behaviour. She certainly hoped so, as any illumination he could give to his actions last night would be welcome. However, it soon became apparent that they came also for a stroll till breakfast was likely to be ready; but Louisa recollecting, immediately afterwards that she had something to procure at a shop, invited them all to go back with her into the town. They were all at her disposal.

When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the beach, a gentleman, at the same moment preparing to come down, politely drew back, and stopped to give them way. They ascended and passed him; and as they passed, Anne’s face caught his eye, and he looked at her with a degree of earnest admiration, which she could not be insensible of. She was looking remarkably well; her very regular, very pretty features, having the bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind which had been blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye which it had also produced. It was evident that the gentleman, (completely a gentleman in manner) admired her exceedingly. Breaking from his efforts to avoid looking at her, Captain Wentworth looked round at her instantly in a way which shewed his noticing of it. He gave her a momentary glance, a glance of brightness, which seemed to say, “That man is struck with you, and even I, at this moment, see something like Anne Elliot again.” And then the same thundercloud of an expression he’d worn while watching her and Captain Benwick converse last night made a reappearance. Anne wondered with a start if the emotion behind his expression could possibly be
jealousy
. But then she immediately dismissed the thought as rubbish. He jealous of her? When he had forced her to watch every flirtation between him and Louisa?

After attending Louisa through her business, and loitering about a little longer, they returned to the inn; and Anne, in passing afterwards quickly from her own chamber to their dining-room, had nearly run against the very same gentleman, as he came out of an adjoining apartment. She had before conjectured him to be a stranger like themselves, and determined that a well-looking groom, who was strolling about near the two inns as they came back, should be his servant. Both master and man being in mourning assisted the idea. It was now proved that he belonged to the same inn as themselves; and this second meeting, short as it was, also proved again by the gentleman’s looks as his eyes swept over every bit of her front, that he thought hers very lovely, and by the readiness and propriety of his apologies as he leaned in close to bow, nearly brushing against her body, that he was a man of exceedingly good manners despite their close proximity, which could be blamed on the close quarters. He seemed about thirty, and though not as handsome as Captain Wentworth, had an agreeable person. Anne felt that she should like to know who he was.