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BY JACK CALDWELL
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THE WEDDING BREAKFAST was held at Camden Place, Sir Walter Elliot’s lodgings in Bath. The cost was more dear than really necessary, but Sir Walter had to keep up appearances. A sit-down meal was more fashionable, no matter what Anne preferred. In a nod to economy, the event was smaller than Mary’s several years ago and was certainly more modest than what would be done for Elizabeth.
It mattered little, for if truth be told, there was little affection in Sir Walter’s heart for Anne. Oh, she was a good sort of girl, if a bit headstrong. Her constant demands for economy vexed him exceedingly. Some people called Anne sharp, but he thought her cheap. The girl simply did not understand that a baronet had to maintain a façade of refinement, and that cost money. Anne also owned strange opinions about who were worthy acquaintances. Mrs. Smith indeed! he grumped.
Yet, all that was as nothing. He could still love Anne, if only she was not so plain!
Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot’s character, vanity of person and of situation. Infected by this condition to an incredible degree, he projected his self-love onto the world. He divided the people of the world into two groups: attractive and unattractive. They were also broken down further: above him in station and below. In his mind, one spent the majority of one’s time with those who were wealthy and beautiful. One also cultivated the ugly and rich, but at a distance. The balance of humanity was ignored, unless the good-looking poor paid him proper deference, which explained his tolerance of the unfaithful Mrs. Clay.
Anne simply failed to measure up to his high standards of beauty. He would do his duty by her, of course, but he was disappointed all the same.
That someone worthy would take Anne off his hands was a great relief. He might not love her, but that did not mean he would let just anyone marry the plain daughter of a baronet! When Captain Wentworth had aspired to Anne in the Year Six—an event he barely remembered—the officer had been nobody. Now a renowned hero with twenty-five thousand pounds in the funds, the weather-beaten Wentworth was commendable enough to marry his daughter.
Sir Walter hoped that the newlyweds were too old to breed; or if they did, that the children might take after their grandfather.
Seated next to Sir Walter was Lady Russell. Her earlier prejudice against Wentworth had prevented her from giving him the justice he deserved when he had returned from the wars rich, famous, and as high in his profession as merit could take him. He was no Thomas Cochrane, to be sure, but few frigate captains were more dashing or more successful.
It had only been after Mr. Elliot had exposed himself as a cad—again—that Lady Russell had taken an honest appraisal of Frederick Wentworth. She was forced to acknowledge that he was a decent, honest, hard-working, and devoted gentleman. Lady Russell could not regret her advice to Anne so many years ago, for the simple reason that she still believed she had been right at the time.
Things were different now. Wentworth was here, he was rich, and Anne had never stopped loving him, so everything ended happily.
But deep in Lady Russell’s mind, the phrase “eight and a half years” remained. Almost nine years of happiness Anne may have enjoyed with Captain Wentworth had she not been persuaded otherwise by her loving godmother. Nine fewer years Lady Russell would have with Anne’s eventual children. It was an unsettling thought.
Down the table were Mrs. Mary Elliot Musgrove and her husband, Charles. Mary bore some affection for Anne and she dearly liked a wedding, so she was in high spirits. She enjoyed the idea that Anne would marry better than Louisa and Henrietta. As long as Captain Wentworth was never knighted, she, the future Mistress of Uppercross, would feel no jealousy.
Charles Musgrove was pleased for the pair. Wentworth had become a good friend, and he loved Anne as much as any of his sisters. That two such excellent people were married was a capital thing! Now, if this infernal breakfast would end soon, they might return to Uppercross tonight. He was anxious to hunt with his new double-barrel shotgun in the morning.
No one at the breakfast could be happier for the newlyweds than Wentworth’s family: Admiral and Sophia Croft, and Rev. Edward Wentworth and his wife. All four had fretted that Frederick would never settle down. They had been willing to accept Louisa Musgrove, silly as she was. But for Frederick to have turned to Anne Elliot was a miracle. The Crofts loved Anne as a sister already, and Edward Wentworth knew of his brother’s long-suffering attachment to the lady. It was to him that Frederick would always confess everything.
Louisa Musgrove had thought herself destined for Frederick Wentworth, but after her accident in Lyme she preferred the quiet devotion of James Benwick to the intimidating Wentworth. She felt no jealousy, and she, Henrietta, and all of their family wished their good friend Anne all the happiness in the world.
The girls hoped their double ceremony in a few weeks, when they would become Mrs. Louisa Benwick and Mrs. Henrietta Hayter, would be at least as lovely as Anne’s wedding. Truthfully, they both preferred her to their sister-in-law, Mary, and had always wished that Anne had taken pity on their poor brother and accepted him.
And as for the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple and her daughter, the Honorable Miss Carteret, they were only thinking of the next course to their meal.
Captain Harville rose to his feet and rapped the side of his glass. “Here, here. Please, everyone, refill your glasses.”
The Navy had ways of doing things, and Harville would see that all customs were observed.
“First, of course, to our bride and groom—Captain and Mrs. Wentworth.”
“Captain and Mrs. Wentworth,” repeated the crowd.
“Next, a toast to our honored hosts, Sir Walter Elliot and Miss Elliot.” Sir Walter condescended to bow slightly at the expected compliment.
“To the Royal Navy.” Again the glasses were sipped.
“Finally—please refill your glasses. Ladies and gentlemen, the King.”
As one, all the officers leapt to their feet and cried, “THE KING.” As the other gentlemen rose belatedly out of their chairs, the officers drained their glasses.
“Is breakfast over?” asked Lady Dalrymple.
“Are you looking forward to your first sea voyage, my dear?” the elder Mrs. Musgrove asked Anne as she freshened up when the breakfast was done.
“Yes. I have not traveled much, but I have always had an inclination to do so.”
It was partially the truth. There was much of England Anne longed to see, but she never thought about sailing to faraway places. In her life she had lived only in Somerset and Bath. Except for an occasional visit to London or Lyme she had resided nowhere else. Anne preferred the country over city living, and any place was preferable over despised Bath. Her dreams of marriage usually involved a comfortable house with a bit of land and some wilderness nearby. Anne had never thought of spending the rest of her life as Mistress of Kellynch Hall, though she would have been content to reside there as a spinster.
However, Anne had married a sailor, loved him exceedingly, and the country had need of him. Given the choice of going with Frederick or staying behind, there was no choice if Anne was to be true to her desires and character.
Mrs. Musgrove frowned, her hand to her heart. “But on a ship, my dear? Will it not be uncomfortable?”
Sophy Croft laughed. “Oh, my dear Mrs. Musgrove, nothing is further from the truth. As you know, I have sailed with my husband, the Admiral, many times, on frigate and ship-of-the-line too, and have found nothing so agreeable.”
“My new sister has been so kind as to fill my head with all sorts of advice, so I am quite prepared to be the greatest of voyagers,” said Anne with a smile.
“And to make sure that my lessons have been minded,” Sophy added, “the Admiral and I shall journey to Portsmouth in a sennight to see my brother and sister off.”
“La—I am very sure you will never get me on a ship, unless it is to cross the Channel for a tour of Europe!” cried Mary.
Conversation died out as a serious Lady Russell approached the group. “Anne, may I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course. Ladies, please excuse us.” The two moved to a quiet corner of the small parlor as the other ladies returned to the main room. “Yes, madam?”
Lady Russell was troubled. “Anne, I do not like seeing you leave us so soon. We are just getting used to the idea that you are so happily married,” at this Anne nodded, “and now you are to go to Bermuda, half way around the world from all your friends—”
“Lady Russell,” Anne interrupted, “surely you are not advising me not to go with my husband?”
“O-of course not, my dear,” the older lady stuttered. That was indeed her intention, but Anne’s kind yet firm look informed her godmother that she would not be moved. As much as Lady Russell loved her, she could not be happy with the younger woman’s new-found determination. “You will be missed, and Captain Wentworth too.”
“Thank you,” Anne returned as she hugged her. “I do wish you would have more time with Frederick to get to know him better.”
“Anne, I shall come to love the Captain, as long as he honors you as you deserve. I can do nothing less for my darling girl.”
Wentworth and his fellow officers occupied a corner near the door of the hall. Frederick was anxious for Anne and leaving.
Harville was of a mind to tease. “So, you take Anne with you to the North American Station? The man famous for having no woman on his ship?”
“You misunderstand me, Harville,” returned Frederick good-naturedly. “I would have no woman aboard ship, if she be not Anne!” The men had a good laugh about that.
“When will Laconia be ready?” asked Harville.
“We sail in three weeks from Portsmouth. That is, if I don’t get a change in orders.” With the news of Napoleon’s escape from Elba, Wentworth’s posting was moved up from six months hence to the end of March.
“You never know, my boy,” offered Admiral Croft. “The Admiralty can be dammed contrary. Too many civilians in the place, I tell you.” The First Lord and most of the Admiralty were not sea officers.
“Have you received an assignment, sir?” asked Benwick of the admiral.
“Me? No, I hoisted down my flag during the peace. My only quarterdeck now will be the library at Kellynch Hall. How about you, Benwick?”
“I received the kindest letter from Lord Keith before he left for Gibraltar, but . . .” Benwick didn’t need to finish. There were far more captains and commanders on shore looking for employment than ships available.
Harville grasped Benwick’s arm. “Look, old man, I’m to London about a civilian job. Why not come with me?”
“Leave the Navy?”
“Benwick,” injected Wentworth, “if you still wish to sail, a merchantman might be your only choice.”
“And not just any tub—an Indiaman!” cried Harville. “Fastest ships afloat! And the pay’s better than in the service.”
Benwick was clearly conflicted. “Well, perhaps. I am occupied at the moment. My wedding’s coming up, you know.”
Harville said very quietly, “Do you want me to mention you?”
Benwick looked at the Admiral, who nodded. “That would be kind.”
Wentworth was very uncomfortable with the conversation. Of the men present, only he and Admiral Croft did not need to sail. They had already won their fortunes. Yet, he was the one with a ship, and the Admiral had voluntarily retired.
Benwick was in the prime of his life, as good a sailor as any he had met, but he was on the beach. He was a Master and Commander, fit only for a brig or sloop, and there were full Post-Captains without employment. A French sharpshooter had cut short what had promised to be a brilliant career for Harville.
Was Wentworth a better sailor than his friends? Or was it simply luck? If so, what would happen when his luck ran out?
“Frederick.” He turned at Sophy’s call. “I believe Anne is ready.”
Wentworth eagerly took his leave of his friends.
Frederick helped Anne into their rented coach before climbing in himself. They waved out the windows to their family and friends as they pulled away.
Frederick sat back and sighed in relief. “Well, that is over! It is my decided conviction that wedding breakfasts are too long!”
Anne’s musical laughter filled the coach. “Oh, Frederick, do not carry on so! It was a lovely time, it is a beautiful day, and everyone enjoyed themselves.”
“Almost everyone.”
“True. Poor Elizabeth.”
“That shrew does not deserve your pity.” He was scowling.
“Frederick, please! She is my sister, and yours too, now.”
“Then, she ought to act like one.” At Anne’s beseeching look, he relented. “I will try to be merciful, but I cannot abide anyone acting cruelly towards you, and I never shall. But I will be civil, for your sake.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Anne placed her hand on Frederick’s arm, which he immediately took and raised to his lips.
“We have several hours before we reach the inn, my love,” he reminded his wife.
“I know. “ She gazed at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
“I will think of something,” Frederick promised as he took her in his arms.
“I shall depend upon it,” she said before his lips claimed hers.
