Chapter Text
Chapter 1
“I have travelled so little, that every fresh place would be interesting to me, but there is real beauty in Lyme; and in short” (with a faint blush at some recollections), “altogether my impression of the place are very agreeable.”
She had done and felt a little breathless at such confessions. Did he understand her? Could he know that if she could voice one wish in the world she would see Lyme with him, she would meet his friends again and call them her own? There was a softness to his eye now, and a colour to his cheeks that made her think he did. He, however, did not speak. The door opened and closed, people passed by, and yet he was silent. She was beginning to feel that she had said to much, when his lips finally parted, and, with what appeared to be great effort he said: “Anne…”
Her heart in her throat, she looked up at him. Her Christian name from his mouth was a sound which she rather thought she could never grow tired of. There was no dilution, no distance in the form of a Miss. She had only once heard him use her name such since their reunion, and it had been in a moment of great distress. Now too, he seemed in turmoil, though surely there was nothing to fear in the midst of a crowd in the Octagon room on a concert night? His jaw was working as he sought the words he wished to speak and she waited for whatever was to come.
“I have never…” again he broke off, drew a deep breath. “I have never been quite able to forget the past.”
She thought her heart might stop cold. He flushed more than even before.
“I know my behaviour at Uppercross and Lyme has been unpardonable and yet, I have come to Bath with a view of speaking to you, of begging your forgiveness. And in the hope…”
He looked past her, in the direction of her family. She wished she could tear him away from all thoughts on the matter. Hang her father, and Elizabeth, Lady Russell, and the Elliot pride.
“Yes?” she asked, heart aflutter in her chest. His eyes returned, searching hers. Whatever he found appeared to his satisfaction, as he was prevailed upon to go on.
“I came in the hope of perhaps renewing an acquaintance that ended too soon and too ungraciously.”
The emotions rushing over here were overwhelming. Hope, surprise, gratification, joy all fought for the upper hand. She blinked, rapidly, her eyes burning with the effort of not bursting into tears in midst of a crowd.
“Will not you say something?” he asked, after a long moment of silence. Anne sought words, which would not reveal themselves easily.
“I should like that,” she finally managed. His eyes were still searching hers, looking for all the confirmation her lips could not give him right this moment, in such a situation as was not conductive to grand expressions of feeling, her family so near, and Lady Dalrymple expected at any moment. At last he seemed satisfied. His look softened, fine lines revealing themselves around his eyes as he smiled.
“It shall be done then.”
She returned his smile.
That very moment the call echoed across the room. Lady Dalrymple had arrived and with her Colonel Wallis and Mr Elliot entered. Never since the year six had Anne felt such reluctance in the prospect of doing her duty by her family. Captain Wentworth, who had followed her eye, indicated with a slight bow the expectation of losing her.
“I shall see you inside,” he promised, so quietly she thought she might have imagined it. The raptures of her spirits could not be described at such words. And yet she felt his loss as he left for the concert room and she had to necessarily take her place in the family party.
She did not see him as the procession went inside, but knowing him near was enough to make the smile on her face a fixture that not even Mr Elliot settling down beside her could remove. Her cousin was talking, of what she could not have said. Her thoughts were occupied but by one subject alone: A renewal of an acquaintance, a softening of hearts, and perhaps a return of tenderness from the past, which she could not have predicted an hour ago.
The concert began. The music was the most beautiful thing that ever she had heard, and as she sat listening in raptures to the confessions of love from the Italian singer, she could feel Wentworth’s eyes prickling on her skin like champagne. Before long she turned to seek out his face in the crowd. She found him immediately. The Captain was seated several rows behind her party, between two young ladies, but appearing completely oblivious to their attentions. When he caught her eye he quickly retreated his, but only for a moment before they returned, drawn to her as if through magic, another smile dawning before he could stop himself. There was a new openness to his features that she had not beheld before tonight.
Politeness demanded they return their attention to the musicians, but even those few stolen moments confirmed in her heart that her wishes were more likely to be answered than she could have ever before dared to imagine. He still cared for her. She let the music wash over herself, the tones of passion and yearning mixing into the melody her own heart was beating.
“You seem distracted tonight, dear cousin,” said Mr Elliot and she started, realising with a flush that he had been trying to gain her attention, but her thoughts had been too full to attend to him.
“Oh, no. I am merely enthralled by the music. It is very good, is it not?”
“It is. I do wonder though, what it all means,” he said with a charming smile. “My Italian has never been outstanding and I cannot help but feel that I am missing a great deal.”
“Surely an Italian love song demands no explanation?”
Anne smiled.
“Oh, the feeling is certainly quite clear,” Mr Elliot agreed. “And yet, I should like to know why it all needs to be in Italian. It is perhaps designed to keep Lady Dalrymple from blushing too much at the feelings of young people violently in love. Yes, yes, I think that must be the secret behind the desire to hide it all in coded words.”
Anne couldn’t help but laugh at his nonsense, and was at the same time conscious of how familiar it must all look to someone a few rows further to the back, seated between two young ladies.
“But as neither of us has anything to blush for and Lady Russell spoke very highly of your own grasp on Italian, I should like you to give me a general sense of the words,” he added after a moment.
Anne nodded, grasped for the concert bill, just as the song ended and led into an interval. How unfortunate that she should not be able to escape her duty once again.
“She is wondering if what she feels is truly love,” she said after a moment. “She then goes on to describe all these new and unfamiliar feelings in rather graphic detail. The yearning, the pleasure and pain she experiences, the freezing and flushing…” She felt her own cheeks flush at a precious conscience. “She voices her desire for it to never cease despite the agony of it all and calls upon her audience to confirm that what she is feeling is indeed love. That is the sense, or rather the meaning of the words. Despite what Lady Russell might say, I am a poor Italian scholar.”
She threw a brief glance in the direction of where she knew Wentworth, to make out how he felt about this conversation, but found his chair empty. Her heart sank.
“Yes, yes, I see you are. I see you know nothing of the matter. You have only knowledge enough of the language to translate at sight these inverted, transposed, curtailed Italian lines, into clear, comprehensible, elegant English. You need not say anything more of your ignorance, here is complete proof.”
She wished Mr Elliot and his flattery far from her. What evil could such familiarity bring, dampening hope that had only just risen again. The air suddenly felt stifling, the heat from the fire and so many bodies unbearable.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” she begged and rose before he had a chance to argue. She left in the full understanding of her own impoliteness.
The Octagon room was quiet, aside from the servants there were only a couple scattered guests, who had also escaped the oppressive warmth of the concert room and now turned to regard the new arrival with curiosity.
However hard she looked, she could not make out Captain Wentworth. Perhaps he had left entirely? Defeated she moved to return to her family and met with soft resistance in form of a collision with another person just coming out of the concert room. A couple firm hands reached out to steady her.
“Miss Anne? Is something the matter? Are you unwell?”
Wentworth’s concerned voice seemed to be dripping like honey over her soul, his body still entirely too close for company. She retreated hastily.
“I am well, Captain,” she mumbled. “I just desired some air.”
“It is quite warm inside, is it not?”
She gave only a slight nod in answer. She was currently feeling very warm indeed. He was still regarding her with dark eyes.
“You do look a little flushed. Can I get you some refreshment? Water perhaps?”
Anne felt like she woke from a rather pleasant dream.
“No, no, nothing, I thank you. I ought to return to my family.”
“Allow me to escort you to your seat then, if you will not grant me to be of any other use.”
He offered his arm, and without a second thought she took it. They again entered the concert room with no particular hurry. Her gloved fingers curled into the wool, revelling in the warmth bleeding through the fabric. The interval was about to end and the guests that had risen returned to their seat. Few took notice of the pair’s entrance and they made their way largely ignored. On their approach Lady Russell looked up, her face clouding as she recognised Anne’s companion, but as she was too polite to make a scene, Anne could pretend to not have noted without too much difficulty. She was safely deposited at her seat. Mr Elliot measured the Captain with a long glance, but showed no emotion beyond being pleased for her return.
“I was beginning to worry. Are you well?”
“I was merely getting a little heated and needed some air. I feel better now,” Anne said, with some regret letting go of the Captain and sitting back down.
“I suppose I must thank you for returning my cousin safely, Sir,” said Mr Elliot, for the first time addressing Wentworth.
“It was my pleasure.”
Wentworth bowed.
“Unfortunately I cannot invite you to join us. As you can see there are no free seats,” Elliot added when the Captain lingered for a moment longer.
“Oh, do not worry yourself, Sir. I ought to return to my party. I am sure the Miss Millers have long since noted my absence as nobody was able to pick up their handkerchiefs. Miss Elliot.”
With a last smile and a twinkle in his eye, he left them. Anne looked after his tall figure retreating. So, she had mistaken him. He had noticed the ladies flirting with him. She remembered Mrs Smith telling her of Admiral Miller’s daughters as two very pretty, accomplished young girls. As the Captain approached they were twittering with each other, then made room for him again to sit down between them. He smiled as he picked up his concert bill, saying something to them.
“It begins again,” Mr Elliot said, touching Anne’s arm. With some difficulty she pulled herself away from Captain Wentworth settling himself and returned her attention to the music.