Captain Wentworth's Diary

Monday 3 October

I had a letter from Sophia this morning, telling me that she and Benjamin had settled into their new home, and inviting me to stay. I wrote back to accept her invitation, telling her I would be with her next week.

Saturday 8 October

I had a good journey into Somersetshire, but as I drew near the neighbourhood of Uppercross I could not prevent memories from intruding. The last time I was in this town I was buying a new pair of gloves for a ball, I thought ... the last time I passed that tree, I was going on a picnic ... the last time I saw that road, I was full of bitterness and grief ... and then I saw Kellynch Hall, and I remembered when Edward and I had been invited to dinner, and I had spent the whole evening talking to Anne.

And then the carriage was pulling up in front of the door, and I was being shown in, and there was no more time for memories. Sophia rose to greet me. She was brown from all her travels, and was looking very well. She was pleased with her new home, for the house, the grounds and the gardens were all to her liking.

Benjamin and I greeted each other warmly, and tea was brought in.

‘You should find somewhere soon yourself, Frederick,’ said Benjamin. ‘And when you do, make sure you get a good man of business to handle everything for you. We were lucky in Mr Shepherd, for he was competent, and the details were concluded with all expediency. Did you meet him when you were last here?’

‘I believe I may have done,’ I said, unwilling to talk of that time.

‘He seems to take care of Sir Walter,’ Benjamin went on, with a smile and a shake of his head. ‘Just as well, for the man seems to need someone to take care of him.’

‘Hush, Benjamin!’ said my sister, as the tea was brought in. ‘You will give Frederick the wrong impression. Sir Walter is an elegant man of great refinement.’

‘But very little common sense. Wanted to live the life of the first man in the neighbourhood, but did not have the wherewithal to do it, and so he mortgaged his lands, with the result that he incurred debts, and eventually had to rent out his home.’

‘Better than carrying on in the same manner and ruining himself, or refusing to pay his debts and ruining those to whom he was indebted,’ said Sophia. ‘I dare say he will soon come about. He can live much more cheaply in Bath than here, and the income he gains from letting the house will help him to clear his encumbrances.’

I felt a perverse satisfaction in knowing that our fortunes had been reversed, and that the man who had looked down on me as a suitor was now a poor man, whilst I was rich.

‘Miss Elliot is a very handsome woman,’ said Sophia. ‘I was surprised she was not married.’

I felt a jolt. Was she speaking of Miss Elizabeth Elliot, or had Elizabeth married, in which case Anne would be Miss Elliot ... but no, Anne would have married, of course. Perhaps the youngest daughter, Mary, was now Miss Elliot. However, I wanted to be sure.

‘Which Miss Elliot do you mean?’ I asked casually.

‘The eldest daughter, Elizabeth.’

So. She had not married. Mr Elliot had not come up to scratch.

‘Perhaps she found no one to suit. She has inherited all her father’s pride, and I dare say will not be easy to please,’ said Benjamin. ‘Her sister has married, though, and married quite well.’

And there it was, the news that I had expected, and yet which confounded me nonetheless, for although I knew Anne must have married in all that time, it was still a shock to hear of it.

‘She has married Mr Charles Musgrove, one of our new neighbours,’ Sophia went on. ‘They live at Uppercross Cottage and have two little boys. Mr Charles Musgrove is the son of Mr and Mrs Musgrove, who live at the Great House.’

Then she had married Charles Musgrove after all.

‘I am sure I hope she is very happy,’ I said coldly.

‘The Musgroves have been very attentive,’ said Benjamin. ‘Mr Musgrove senior paid us a call almost as soon as we arrived and welcomed us to the neighbourhood. It was very good of him to visit us with such alacrity, and his son, Mr Charles Musgrove, was hardly any less attentive, for he and his wife called soon afterwards. We returned the call, and although we did not find Mr Charles Musgrove at home, his wife was there with her sister.’

Her sister. Miss Mary Elliot, who had been at school when I last visited the neighbourhood.

‘Did you meet Mrs Charles Musgrove when you stayed in the area before?’ asked Sophia.

‘I believe so,’ I replied shortly, unwilling to talk of the past.

The brevity of my answer went unnoticed in the midst of the general conversation.

‘She does not have the pride of her sister, but then she does not have her sister’s beauty, either,’ said Sophia.

‘I always thought her ...’ far more beautiful, I had been going to say, but stopped myself in time, adding, ‘... a pretty girl.’

‘Pretty? I cannot agree with you there, but perhaps she has lost some of her bloom. The two little boys wear her out, I think, and she is inclined to be sickly,’ said Sophia.

‘Or fancy herself so,’ said Benjamin.

She had changed very much indeed, then, I thought, if she was worn out and fancied herself sickly. But it was eight years since I had seen her, and eight years can change a lot of things.

‘The Musgrove girls, though, Mr Charles Musgrove’s sisters, now there are two pretty young ladies, if you please,’ Benjamin went on. ‘Lively manners, and full of fun. You could do worse than pick one of them.’

‘Benjamin,’ said Sophia reprovingly.

‘What?’ he enquired. ‘It is time Frederick was married, and one girl is as good as another, in the end.’

‘Frederick has only just arrived. Do not plague him.’ She turned to me. ‘If you have finished your tea, perhaps you would like to see the park?’ she asked.

I had no desire to see it, and to be reminded of former times, but I could not refuse and so I expressed my readiness to see it at her convenience. Before long, I found myself once again walking through the fields and by the river so familiar to me, and it was a good thing my sister had plenty to say, for I fear my recollections would have made me an indifferent conversationalist if she had fallen silent.

We dined alone, just the three of us, and after a quiet evening playing cards, I retired for the night.

I found my room to be large and spacious, at the front of the house, overlooking the drive, and I wondered whose room it had been when the Elliots were in residence?

Had it been Miss Elliot’s? Or Anne’s?

Monday 10 October

As we were walking through the park this morning, Benjamin, Sophia and I swapped stories of the Navy. After a while, Benjamin asked me about Harville, and I told him the sad news about Fanny, adding that Harville had taken Benwick to live with him. Benjamin asked where they lived, and I told him that Harville had not yet settled, as he needed a bigger house, but said that Harville had promised to write to me as soon as he was established, and that I, in return, had promised to visit him.

‘I hope you will also be going to see Edward. He is longing to show you his wife,’ Sophia said.

‘As soon as I can find time to go into Shropshire, I will be pleased to meet her. Is she as amiable as Edward says?’

‘Yes, and very pretty.’

‘A beauty,’ said Benjamin.

I am looking forward to meeting her, and to renewing my friendship with my brother.

Tuesday 11 October

On my way through the village this morning I found myself being hailed by a number of people who remembered me from my previous visit, and from them I learned all the neighbourhood news. Mr Shepherd’s daughter, Miss Shepherd, married Mr Clay, had two children by him, lost him, and returned to live with her father, only to then be taken up by Miss Elliot, who invited her to Bath.

‘A very lucky thing for her,’ said Mrs Layne. ‘Only think, she is staying with the Elliots and goes with them everywhere. What a chance for her to have some entertainment, for I do not believe her marriage was a happy one, and who knows? Perhaps she might meet an eligible gentleman and contract a more prosperous marriage.’

‘Kitty,’ said her husband reprovingly. ‘Captain Wentworth does not want to hear all the tattle.’

‘Why is it that men call information about their neighbours—people they know, and are therefore interested in— tattle, but call information about people they do not know, have never met, and never will meet news, and put it in the papers for everyone to read?’

‘There is someone I would like to hear news of,’ I said to her. ‘Miss Scott. Is she happy now that peace has been declared?’

‘Yes, indeed. She went to live with her sister, you know. As soon as peace was declared she decided to move. I have no idea why. When she lived here, she was in constant fear of invasion, being so close to the sea, but as soon as all threat had passed, she moved into the heart of the country!’

‘I am sorry not to see her.’

‘I will send her your regrets the next time I write.’

By the time I returned for luncheon, I had learnt the fate of most of my brother’s parishioners, and I had also met his replacement, a studious young man who seemed to be much liked in the parish, and who invited me to dine with him.

Wednesday 12 October

Mr Musgrove senior called this morning to pay his respects, and to invite Sophia, Benjamin and me to dine with him and his family at the end of next week. He tried to press for an earlier date, but Benjamin had urgent business to attend to, so that we could accept nothing sooner.

Thursday 13 October

I returned Mr Musgrove’s civility by returning his call today, and found Mr Musgrove at home with his wife and his two daughters.

Miss Musgrove, a young lady of some twenty summers, positively sprang out of her chair when I was announced and dropped me a deep curtsey whilst looking me up and down with admiring eyes. Her sister, Miss Louisa, was no less pretty and no less admiring. They reminded me of playful puppies, full of life and eager to please. My spirits soared, and I thought, Here is just the sort of lighthearted company I need to rid myself of the lingering griefs of the summer.

I was invited to sit down, and treated with so much cordiality that I was soon feeling at home.

‘And how do you find Uppercross, sir?’ asked Mr Musgrove, when we had all taken a seat.

‘I find it a very pleasant place to be. The air is pure, the countryside varied, and the people’—with a bow to him—‘most agreeable.’

He was pleased with my answer, and laughed and rubbed his hands together, and said he was pleased to find such good neighbours in Sir Walter’s tenants. He did not appear to remember me from eight years ago, and, as I had no desire to awaken old memories, I did not remind him.

‘Ah, yes, Uppercross is a fine place,’ said Mrs Musgrove. ‘My family has always lived in the neighbourhood,’ she went on, speaking to me. ‘My sister is married to a gentleman, Mr Hayter, who lives not far away, at Winthrop. You might have seen it? It lies on the other side of the hill.’

I said I had not yet had that pleasure.

‘Uppercross is all very well, though I wish we could go to London, or Bath,’ said Miss Musgrove.

‘What! Go to London or Bath, and miss all the fun at home?’ said her mother. ‘I will remind you of that, the next time we get up a dance.’ She turned to me. ‘We are very fond of dancing in the Great House, Captain.’

‘You must come to our next ball, Captain Wentworth,’ said Miss Musgrove.

I was delighted with the idea, for I was tempted by her wide smile and her bright eyes.

‘Promise!’ said Miss Musgrove. ‘We must have you dance with us, must we not, Mama?’ she said, turning to her mother.

‘Indeed we must. You will be very welcome, Captain Wentworth, whenever you can spare us the time.’

‘Do say you will come,’ pleaded Miss Louisa. ‘We would so like to have you here.’

‘Please?’ said her sister.

‘How can I refuse?’ I answered with a laugh, for it was a long time since I had been so pleased!

‘Now let the good captain alone,’ said Mr Musgrove, ‘before you worry him half to death. I declare, Captain, it is a troublesome thing to be the father of two such noisy girls,’ but he said it with great affection, and it was obvious he loved them dearly. ‘You will stay to dinner?’ he asked me, as I accepted his invitation to sit down.

It was with real regret that I could not accept his kind invitation, for the atmosphere in the house was a happy one, and everywhere I looked there was good cheer, but I had promised Sophia I would bear her company.

‘Then you will come tomorrow?’ he said.

‘Oh, yes, Captain, do say you will,’ Mrs Musgrove entreated me.

I could hold out against their entreaties no longer and declared myself very happy to accept.

The rest of the visit passed very agreeably, with the two girls asking me about my battles and telling me of the neighbourhood dances, and, in short, flattering me with such attention that I was sorry to leave.

The time for parting came, however, and I returned to Kellynch Hall in excellent spirits.

Sophia and I dined alone, for Benjamin’s business had taken him away from home, and we had so much to say to each other after the years spent apart that it was very late when we went to bed.

Friday 14 October

It was a fine day, the sort of crisp autumn weather that makes exercise an invigorating delight. I set out for an early morning ride, with the mist clearing to reveal a beautiful day. When I returned home for breakfast, I had a hearty appetite.

The day was spent in writing letters and seeing to business in town, then this evening I set out for the Great House. I was conscious of some curiosity and not a little apprehension as I walked up the drive, for I knew that Mr and Mrs Charles Musgrove were to dine with us. How would Anne look? Would she remember me? Or would she have forgotten me? Yes, most probably, I thought, my pride suffusing me. Well, let her. I had forgotten her, carried on with my life, earned my promotion and won my fortune. I was not going to pine for a girl with no resolution, one who married another man just a few years after agreeing to marry me.

I went in, and as I found that Mr and Mrs Charles Musgrove were not there, I felt my spirits lift. I was made much of by the two Miss Musgroves and I was hardly given any less warm a greeting by their parents. It was the sort of welcome to make me feel, once again, immediately at home.

Hardly had I sat down, however, when the mood changed and Mr Musgrove, looking more serious, said, ‘It is lucky you could not dine with us yesterday, after all, Captain, for we would not have been good company. We had a calamity in the family.’

‘Oh, it was awful! We were all in a terrible state,’ said Mrs Musgrove, wafting her fan vigorously in front of her, for the heat from the fire was intense. ‘My heart was in my mouth when I heard the news, for, of course, one always thinks the worst. All sorts of ideas flashed through my mind, each one worse than the last. I do not know how we got through the day.’

‘Let us not keep the captain in suspense,’ said Mr Musgrove. ‘We were very much dismayed because our grandson had a nasty fall.’

‘Ay, very nasty, very nasty indeed,’ said his wife.

‘I am very sorry to hear it. It was not serious, I hope?’ I asked, concerned for the little fellow.

‘We feared so at the time, and called Mr Robinson, the apothecary, straight away.’

‘It was Anne who sent for him,’ said Mrs Musgrove. ‘Anne has always been very sensible and she took charge at once, so that little Charles was given the best attention right away. She sent for him even before she sent word to us.’

‘Very sensible of her,’ said Mr Musgrove.

‘Well, Robinson examined him and said he had a dislocated collar-bone. Robinson replaced it—’

‘Oh, that was nasty, and very painful for him, poor little man,’ said Mrs Musgrove.

‘You may imagine that we were all vastly relieved when he had done, and said that he believed, with plenty of rest, all would be well,’ said Mr Musgrove. ‘It gave us hope, and we were able to come home again.’

‘Though I do not believe I ate a mouthful of dinner for worrying about him,’ Mrs Musgrove said.

‘However, he had a good night and seems to be going on well,’ said Miss Musgrove briskly, as though anxious to be done with little Charles and the talk of his fall.

‘Ay, Mr Robinson does not believe there will be any lasting damage, for which we are all very grateful,’ said Mrs Musgrove. ‘We thought my son and his wife would have to cry off tonight, but they are so pleased with little Charles’s progress that they feel they can leave him for a few hours. Had things been different, they would have had to stay at home, which would have been a grave disappointment to them, for they are very desirous of seeing you,’ she said politely, with a bow in my direction.

At that moment, Mr and Mrs Charles Musgrove were announced. As I heard the names I felt myself tense, despite my belief that I had put the past behind me. I did not immediately look round. Mr Charles Musgrove came into the room with a quick step and I recognized in him the same man I had seen in the year six, the man Anne had described as a family friend. As my eyes ran over him, I was surprised she had married him, for he was nothing out of the ordinary, and was even less well favoured than I remembered him. He was certainly not the catch Lady Russell had wanted for Anne, and it gave some solace to my pride to know that her schemes had come to nothing, after all.

‘Here you are, just in time to meet Captain Wentworth,’ said Mr Musgrove. ‘Captain Wentworth, might I introduce my son, Mr Charles Musgrove—’

I greeted him, and was then forced to turn my head to include his wife in my vision, and to my astonishment I saw that it was not Anne, in fact it was a woman I had never seen before in my life.

‘—and my daughter-in-law, Mrs Charles Musgrove, who was Miss Mary Elliot before she married,’ Mr Musgrove finished.

So it was Anne’s sister who had married Charles Musgrove! I was elated, though I did not know why, and then amused, and then I felt foolish and not a little angry with myself as I realized how much time I had wasted thinking about the meeting.

Mr and Mrs Charles Musgrove greeted me warmly and were evidently very much interested in their new neighbour.

‘Are you sure it is all right for you to leave little Charles?’ asked Mrs Musgrove, when the greetings were over. ‘I am not easy about him. I know Mr Robinson is hopeful, but I am worried that he might have a setback.’

‘You may be perfectly easy, Mama,’ said Charles.

‘Oh, yes, perfectly easy, for we did not leave him alone. Anne is with him,’ said his wife. ‘Anne is my sister,’ she explained to me.

‘Well, if Anne is with him, I am sure he will be all right,’ said Mrs Musgrove.

‘Of course he will. Anne is the very person to look after him. She does not have a mother’s sensibilities, and besides, she can make him do anything. He always attends her more than he attends me. I do not have any fears for him, you know, for he is going on so well that I feel quite at ease. Anne can always send word if anything should happen, and we are only half a mile away.’

We all sat down, and I smiled to find that Miss Musgrove and Miss Louisa managed to seat themselves one on either side of me, both vying for my attention.

‘I believe you met Anne when you were here before,’ said Charles, as he settled himself on a sofa next to his mother.

‘Yes, we were acquainted,’ I said.

‘Really?’ asked Mary.

‘You were away at school at the time, but Anne was at home,’ said Charles. ‘It must have been in the year five, or thereabouts?’

‘The year six,’ I said.

‘Ah, yes, you are probably right. Your brother was the curate at Monkford, was he not?’

‘Yes, he was.’

‘I hope he is well?’

‘Yes, thank you, very well. He is married now.’

‘A good thing, marriage,’ said Mrs Musgrove comfortably. ‘Every man should marry.’

‘And every woman,’ said Mr Musgrove, looking at his two girls benignly.

I longed to ask whether Anne was married, but my pride would not let me.

‘You will see Anne before long, I dare say, for she is staying with us at present,’ said Charles. ‘Her family has gone to Bath, but my wife was not well and needed her sister so Anne stayed behind.’

‘Indeed, I could not have done without Anne,’ said Mary.

We went into dinner. Mr Musgrove escorted Mary, Charles escorted his mother, and I was left to take in the Miss Musgroves, one on each arm.

I was delighted with them. They were full of questions about my life at sea and they made playful remarks that set us all laughing, bringing good cheer to the table, and, after dinner, they entertained us by playing on the pianoforte and the harp.

‘Such musical girls,’ said Mrs Musgrove happily. ‘They are so clever, I do not know which of them plays better. What is your opinion, Captain Wentworth?’

‘They are both very accomplished,’ I said, admiring them as much as their mother could have wished, for their faces were full of life, and their posture enchanting—though I believe they did not play very well! It was hardly surprising. They were far too boisterous to endure many hours spent practising their instruments, and I was sure they abandoned the task in favour of walks or shopping or gossip as often as they could.

‘And so they are, very good girls, both of them. I like to hear them both, and I never know which I like more, the piano or the harp. Mr Musgrove and I are spoilt for choice. Let us have some singing,’ she said then to the girls.

They were eager to do as she asked and I went over to the pianoforte and joined in with their songs. They smiled up at me most agreeably, and it was difficult to know which of them I liked best, Miss Musgrove with her glossy curls, or Miss Louisa with her bold manner and her dimples.

At last the singing came to an end and we resumed our conversation. It was not long before Charles Musgrove invited me to go shooting with him on the morrow.

‘We will meet at the Cottage for breakfast and then take our guns out afterwards,’ he said.

‘I would not like to be in Mrs Musgrove’s way, with a sick child in the house,’ I replied, though really my objection was because I felt a strange reluctance to see Anne.

I was honoured for my concern, there was some discussion back and forth, and the upshot of it was that we should breakfast at the Great House, and then to go out with Charles Musgrove afterwards.

All too soon it was time for me to take my leave. Buoyed up by an evening spent in the uncomplicated company of such pretty, spirited girls and their convivial family, I returned to Kellynch Hall.

As I walked up the drive, I found my thoughts straying to Anne once again, and thinking how strange it was that my brother-in-law should have rented Kellynch Hall. Of all the houses in Somersetshire, why did he have to rent that one? A place that held so many memories? And a place that would bring me into company with Anne? It was only by chance that I had not already met her for, if not for the child’s fall, she would have been at the Great House and I would have passed the evening in her company.

As I remembered the past, I felt a spark of anger for her vacillating character, and an ache of bruised pride at the way she had treated me. And then I calmed myself. I knew I would have to accustom myself to seeing her, for we would often be together, and it would not do for me to let any trace of resentment show. I made up my mind not to mention the past and I decided that I would treat her with perfect good humour, simply as a woman I once knew.

But even so, I could not help my thoughts dwelling on her as I went inside. Anne Elliot, I thought, after so many years.

Anne Elliot.

Saturday 15 October

I joined the Musgroves early for breakfast. The Miss Musgroves were as pretty a pair of breakfast companions as any man had a right to expect, and were just as animated as they had been yesterday. They talked constantly during breakfast and kept trying to delay Charles and me, until Charles could bear the delays no longer and stood up, saying it was time for us to set out. The girls could not bear to part with us—let me confess it, with me! for what interest has a brother to his own sisters?—and declared their intention of coming with us as far as the Cottage. Their excuse was a desire to call on their nephew and see how he went on, though they had not mentioned him all morning.

I was content to have their company, for what man could resist the attentions of two such pretty girls? But again I felt a reluctance to see Anne. It could not be avoided, however, and so I thought it better to give her notice of it. Why I was anxious to spare her a sudden shock I did not know, but so it was.

We reached the Cottage and I could not help smiling at its name, for it was in fact an extended farmhouse, very spacious, with French windows looking over neatly trimmed gardens and a pretty veranda.

The girls giggled and chattered by my side as we went in. I saw Mrs Musgrove at once and looked around for Anne, but I saw no one except a dull, faded creature of hesitant manner who was that moment attending to a little boy. I thought she was a nursery governess until she turned towards me and, with a start, I realized it was Anne.

‘You might remember my sister, Miss Anne Elliot,’ said Mary.

So. She had not married, and it was hardly surprising, for her beauty had gone. The bloom of her cheek; the brightness of her eye; all had disappeared. Her figure was bowed; and she was, in fact, so careworn, that I would not have believed it possible she could have changed so much in only eight years.

‘Miss Elliot,’ I said.

‘Captain Wentworth.’

Our eyes half met. I bowed, she curtseyed. And all the time I kept thinking: Once, we would have had eyes for no one but each other.

I continued to move and speak, though without any idea of what I was saying. And then, mercifully, Charles appeared at the window, having collected the dogs, and we were away.

In a few brief minutes, all my memories of Anne’s beauty and grace had been demolished, and I was left with nothing but anger and bitterness, for if she had only had a little more resolution then it could all have been otherwise.

‘What do you think of Anne?’ asked Miss Musgrove, as we reached the end of the village.

‘She is so altered I would not have known her again,’ I said.

As I spoke, I remembered her as I had seen her on that first morning, walking by the river, with the sun shining on her hair. I remembered the light catching the ripples on the water; and I remembered her eyes being even brighter than the ripples as she laughed at me.

But that Anne had gone forever. She had let me down, deserted me, disappointed me, and shown a feebleness of temper that I could not understand or forgive. She had given me up to please others, and I could still feel the pain of it, but now it was a dull ache and nothing more. Fate had thrown us together again, but her power over me had gone.

The Miss Musgroves walked with us to the end of the village. Their bright spirits formed a marked contrast to the scene we had just left, but even their butterfly minds could not lift me out of my dark thoughts. It was only after a morning’s strenuous exercise that I was able to feel myself again.

I parted from Charles at last, thanking him for the morning’s activity, and then I returned home and sat with Sophia. She told me about her morning, and about her plans to buy a one-horse chaise so that she and Benjamin could drive around the country. Then, after listening to my account of my morning, she asked me, ‘And what do you think of the Musgrove girls?’

‘They are pretty, lively creatures,’ I said.

‘And do you think that you could marry either of them? You ought to be thinking of settling down, you know.’

‘I dare say I have a heart for either of them, if they could catch it,’ I returned lightly. ‘I would have any pleasing young woman who came in my way.’

Except Anne Elliot, I thought.

She smiled at my levity, then said, ‘I think either of them would make an agreeable wife. Have you no preference?’

‘None at all. I am quite ready to make a foolish match. A little beauty, and a few smiles, and a few compliments to the Navy, and I am a lost man. Should not this be enough for a sailor, who has had no society among women to make him nice?’

She laughed at me, knowing I spoke in jest, and said I was the most fastidious man she had ever known.

‘Do you not have any virtues in mind?’ she asked. ‘Any tastes or desires that would help you choose one of the Miss Musgroves over the other?’

‘A strong mind, with sweetness of manner,’ I said. ‘That is all I ask. Something a little inferior I shall of course put up with, but it must not be much. If I am a fool, I shall be a fool indeed, for I have thought on the subject more than most men.’

‘Then you have thought about it quite enough, and it is now time for action. I would like to see you settled, Frederick, and I am sure you will find your strong, but sweet, young lady soon. Who knows, but she may be residing at the Great House this very minute!’

We took luncheon together, then I set out for my afternoon ride.

A strong mind, I thought, that is my essential requirement. I will have no weak woman who will change her mind to please others. I will not marry until I find someone with strength of character and a mind of her own.

Thursday 20 October

Benjamin returned home today, and it was charming to see with what warmth my sister welcomed him. Theirs has been a happy marriage indeed.

Friday 21 October

Sophia, Benjamin and I dined with the Musgroves this evening, and we were quite a large party. Mr and Mrs Charles Musgrove were there. So, too, were some cousins of the Musgroves, the Hayters, who lived nearby. And, as little Charles was much recovered, Anne also dined with us.

As I walked into the room, I remembered that there was a time, long ago, when we had opened our hearts to each other, but, although we spoke once or twice this evening our remarks never went beyond the commonplace, indeed, she said very little altogether. I did not know what to make of her silence, whether it was a general thing with her to be silent; or whether she was embarrassed, remembering past times; or whether, indeed, she had grown as proud as her family, and thought me beneath her notice.

It was a relief, then, to find that the Miss Hayters were just as noisy as the Miss Musgroves, for their chatter hid any awkward pauses, and the girls entertained us all with their nonsense.

They were fascinated by my life at sea and, gradually their questions brought me out of my introspection and drew me into the present. Their ignorance of seafaring matters was profound, and Miss Musgrove was astonished to find that we had food on board ship.

‘But how did you suppose we lived, if we had no food?’ I asked her. ‘We would starve to death!’

‘I suppose I thought you ate when you reached land,’ she said.

‘And how often would that be?’

‘I do not know, I am sure,’ she remarked. ‘Once a week, perhaps?’

I laughed, and she continued, saying, ‘Then, if you have regular meals, you must have shops on board? How wonderful! I would dearly love to see them.’

‘The very idea! Shops on board, indeed! Where would we put them?’ Benjamin asked her.

‘On deck,’ she supplied.

‘What! On deck? Do you think there is room amongst the cannons? Our ships are spacious, I grant you, but they are not as large as London!’

‘Well, then, below deck,’ she said, laughing. ‘I am sure you must have room, for I cannot think what else you would put there. Besides, you must have shops, else how would you buy your food? You cannot have it delivered?’

Sophia and Benjamin smiled and I took pity on her, saying, ‘We take it with us.’

‘And how do you eat it?’ asked Miss Musgrove. ‘You cannot have a table and chairs, so I suppose you sit on deck and balance a plate on your knees?’

‘And I suppose you think we eat with our fingers?’ Benjamin asked, laughing even more.

‘You cannot mean you have cutlery?’

‘That is exactly what I mean.’

‘I should not like to eat at sea, all the same,’ said Miss Louisa. ‘I would hate my meat raw.’

‘Raw?’ demanded Benjamin.

‘I would not thank you for raw meat either,’ said Sophia. ‘We have a cook to dress the food, and a servant to wait on us.’

I saw Anne smiling, and I was taken back to the time when she had been as ignorant of the habits on board ship as the Musgrove girls now were. I remembered the delight I had taken in educating her, for I had felt the glow of her intelligence, and I had been heartened by the pleasure she had taken in learning about everything connected with me.

I resolutely turned my attention back to the Miss Musgroves. They would not be satisfied until I had explained to them everything about living on a ship: the food, the work, the hours, the daily routine.

Miss Musgrove then brought out the Navy List and the two sisters pored over it in an attempt to find out the ships I had commanded.

‘Your first was the Asp, I remember; we will look for the Asp,’ she said.

I remembered the Asp fondly, as every man remembers his first command. I thought of the happy times I had had with her but I would not admit it, teasing them by saying she had been a worn-out and broken-up old vessel.

‘The Admiralty entertain themselves now and then with sending a few hundred men to sea in a ship not fit to be employed,’ I said. ‘But they have a great many to provide for; and among the thousands that may just as well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible for them to distinguish the very set who may be least missed.’

The two girls did not know what to make of this speech, but Benjamin laughed and said that never was there a better sloop than the Asp in her day.

‘You were a lucky fellow to get her!’ he said, turning to the ladies and saying, ‘He knows there must have been twenty better men than himself applying for her at the same time. Lucky fellow to get anything so soon, with no more interest than his.’

‘I felt my luck, Admiral, I assure you,’ I replied. ‘It was a great object with me at that time: to be at sea, a very great object; I wanted to be doing something.’

I felt my mood darken again as I recalled the reasons for it. I had been eager to escape because I had been rejected, and I had wanted something to take my mind off my troubles, for I had not wanted to spend the rest of my life brooding about Anne.

Benjamin luckily knew nothing of this.

‘To be sure you did,’ he replied. ‘What should a young fellow like you do ashore for half a year together? If a man has not a wife, he soon wants to be afloat again.’

‘I am sure you should have been given a better ship, whatever you say,’ Miss Louisa remarked, ‘for I am sure you deserved it.’

‘Did you have any great adventures on the Asp?’’ asked Miss Musgrove.

‘Many,’ I said.

I regaled them with tales of my time with the Asp, the privateers I had taken, and the French frigate I had secured.

‘I brought her into Plymouth,’ I said, as they hung on my every word. ‘We had not been six hours in the Sound, when a gale came on, which lasted four days and nights, and which would have done for poor old Asp in half the time, our touch with the Great Nation not having much improved our condition. Four-and-twenty hours later, and I should only have been a gallant Captain Wentworth, in a small paragraph at one corner of the newspapers; and being lost in only a sloop, nobody would have thought about me.’

I thought I saw Anne shuddering, and I felt as though the years had rolled away, leaving us close once more. But then I saw her pull her shawl higher and I realized she had done nothing more than shiver with the cold.

My attention was soon drawn back to the Miss Musgroves, who were full of exclamations of pity and horror. Then, having dispensed with the Asp, the girls began to look for the Laconia, and I took the List out of their hands to save them the trouble. I read aloud the statement of her name and rate, and present noncommissioned class.

‘She, too, was one of the best friends man ever had,’ I said. ‘Ah! those were pleasant days! How fast I made money in the Laconia! A friend of mine and I had such a lovely cruise together off the Western Islands. Poor Harville, sister! You know how much he wanted money: worse than myself. He had a wife,’ I said, thinking of Harriet, and the day on which I had stood up with him at his wedding. ‘Excellent fellow! I shall never forget his happiness. He felt it all so much for her sake. I wished for him again the next summer, when I had still the same luck in the Mediterranean.’

Mrs Musgrove spoke, in a low voice, and took me by surprise by saying something about it being a lucky day for them when I was made captain of that ship. I did not understand her and I did not know how to reply.

‘My brother,’ whispered Miss Musgrove. ‘Mama is thinking of poor Richard, who died.’

I was none the wiser and waited expectantly for more to follow, and follow it did. It seemed that Richard Musgrove had been, for a time, under my command. I searched my memory and remembered him eventually, a troublesome youth, with little aptitude for the sea.

‘Poor dear fellow!’ continued Mrs Musgrove, ‘he was grown so steady, and such an excellent correspondent, while he was under your care! Ah! it would have been a happy thing if he had never left you. I assure you, Captain Wentworth, we are very sorry he ever left you.’

I remembered the difficulty I had had in making him write even one letter to his family; that is, one letter that was not begging for money, and I could not echo her sentiment, but I did not say so, for I saw that she was suffering. Instead, I joined her on the sofa, and entered into conversation with her about her son. I did everything in my power, by sympathy and a listening ear, to soothe her pain.

By and by, she calmed herself, until she was ready to join in the general conversation once more.

‘What a great traveller you must have been, ma’am!’ she said to my sister.

My sister told her of her travels, saying, ‘But I never went beyond the Straits, and never was in the West Indies. We do not call Bermuda or Bahama, you know, the West Indies.’

Mrs Musgrove did not disagree, indeed I would have been surprised if she could accuse herself of having ever called them anything in the whole course of her life!

As Sophia spoke of her life at sea, I was pleased to see that Mrs Musgrove’s tears had dried, and that she was absorbed in the conversation.

‘But were you not frightened at sea?’ asked Mrs Musgrove.

‘Not a bit of it. When I was separated from Benjamin, I lived in perpetual fright, not knowing when I should hear from him next; but as long as we could be together, nothing ever ailed me,’ she said.

Mrs Musgrove heartily agreed with this sentiment, saying, ‘Yes, indeed, oh yes! I am quite of your opinion, Mrs Croft, there is nothing so bad as a separation, for Mr Musgrove always attends the assizes, and I am so glad when they are over, and he is safe back again.’

I caught Anne smiling at this, and I was reminded of the way our minds had always run together. It seemed as though they still did, on occasion, for we were both amused at the idea of Mr Musgrove being in as much danger when attending the assizes as Admiral Croft when he was sailing the North Sea!

‘Mama, let us have some dancing,’ said Miss Musgrove, growing tired of a conversation in which she had no part, and, still in high spirits, being eager for some exercise.

‘Oh, yes, we must!’ said Miss Hayter.

‘I was just about to suggest it myself,’ said Miss Louisa.

‘What an excellent idea,’ said Mrs Musgrove. ‘And, see, we have Anne to play for us, and no one ever plays better, for I am sure her fingers fly over the keys!’

I was taken aback at this, for Anne had been relegated to the pianoforte without a by-your-leave.

‘Does Miss Elliot never dance?’ I asked Miss Louisa, troubled, as she claimed me for her partner.

‘Oh, no! never; she has quite given up dancing. She had rather play. She is never tired of playing,’ came the quick reply.

I did not believe it, for Anne had always loved to dance, and I was torn between a desire to defend her and to say she must have her share of the dancing, and exasperation that in all this time she had not learnt how to defend herself. Overlooked when her father and sister had gone to London without her; overlooked now, when her friends danced; but if she had had a little more spirit, a little more strength of character, she, too, could have had her share of the entertainments.

I danced twice with each of the Musgrove girls, and twice with each of the Hayter girls, and it was impossible not to be cheered by their enjoyment, though somehow it was not as cheering as it should have been, for I was ever conscious of Anne at the pianoforte.

At last the dancing came to an end. Anne left her seat and went over to the sofa to join Mrs Musgrove, and I went over to the instrument and tried to pick out an air for Miss Musgrove. I had got no further than the first line, however, when Anne returned, and saying, ‘I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat,’ I relinquished it.

I hoped to see some spark of the former Anne, some light in her eye, but there was nothing.

‘No, not at all,’ she said, drawing back.

And that was all I said to her. But although I continued to talk to the Miss Musgroves and the Miss Hayters, now and then sharing a word with Charles Musgrove or Charles Hayter, all the time I was conscious only of Anne: Anne talking low to Mr Musgrove, Anne moving over to the table, Anne taking a seat next to Miss Hayter.

Anne, always Anne.

Wednesday 26 October

I had been at home so little this week that Benjamin feigned astonishment to find me in the drawing-room just before dinner.

‘What, not going to Uppercross?’ he asked.

‘I am not there every day, you know!’ I replied.

‘As near as makes no difference! I cannot say I blame you. The Musgrove girls are very pretty, and the Miss Hayters are almost as well-looking. And none of them is averse to being wooed by a captain home from the sea. Or do you go there for the pleasure of Mr and Mrs Musgrove’s company?’ he asked.

‘But of course! They are most agreeable people.’

Sophia smiled, then said, ‘And when are you going into Shropshire? The Musgroves are not the only agreeable people in England, you know. Your brother is very agreeable, too. He is longing to introduce you to his new wife.’

‘A country parson cannot hope to compete with the joys of a house full of young women, even if he has a wife!’ said Benjamin jovially. ‘Frederick has been spoiled by the flattery of those girls.’

I cried out against it, but he is right, I am very fond of their society. They never tire of hearing about the naval battles I have passed through, or my life on board ship, or my promotion, or the ports I have visited. And in return, they never tire of telling me about their friends, their family, their neighbours, their gowns and bonnets. And when all has been said, there is dancing and music to occupy us in a most enjoyable way.

‘Come, Frederick, tell us, have you still not decided between them?’ asked Benjamin teasingly.

‘I am in no hurry,’ I said.

‘Miss Musgrove is the prettiest,’ said Benjamin, ‘and I like the eldest Miss Hayter, but I think I like Miss Louisa more. She is as spirited a girl as I ever hope to meet.’

‘When you have finished finding Frederick a wife, perhaps you would turn your attention to encouraging him to visit his brother. You should not neglect Edward,’ said Sophia to me. ‘He wants you to meet his wife, you know, for she is a very fine young lady, and you promised him a visit.’

‘Never fear, I will go and see him before very long, but for now, I will have to take her virtues on credit.’

‘He wants to show you the house, too,’ said Benjamin. ‘You are not the only one who has been lucky in your advancement.’

‘No, indeed, he has been fortunate to achieve his own living, particularly such a good one,’ said Sophia.

‘Ay, it is not easy to find preferment in the church,’ I said, ‘far less easy than in the Navy, where a man’s battles will speak for him. Even with some interest it is difficult. I was speaking to Charles Hayter about it only yesterday. You know Charles Hayter? He is brother to the Miss Hayters, and cousin to the Miss Musgroves. He lives with his family at Winthrop, just over the hill from Uppercross.’

‘Yes, we have met him,’ said Sophia.

‘He has a curacy, but it is six miles distant. Fortunately, residency is not required, so he lives with his father at Winthrop. There was talk last night of his getting the curacy of Uppercross, a very good thing, for it would mean only a two mile journey to attend to his duties instead of his current six-mile trip.’

‘You must talk to Edward about it when you visit him,’ said Sophia. ‘I will be writing to him tomorrow. Shall I give him notice of your arrival?’

‘Tell him, if it is convenient for him, I will call in a fortnight,’ I said.

She was pleased, and we went into dinner.

Thursday 27 October

This morning when I went to visit the Miss Musgroves I found them from home. Mrs Musgrove assured me they had gone to the Cottage to see their nephew so I followed them, but when I was shown into the drawing-room I was taken aback to find Anne there instead. She was quite alone, apart from the little invalid Charles, who was lying on the sofa.

‘I thought the Miss Musgroves would be here,’ I said, walking over to the window to rid myself of my sudden agitation. ‘Mrs Musgrove told me I should find them here.’

‘They are upstairs with my sister. They will be down in a few moments, I dare say,’ she replied.

She did not seem comfortable; no more was I; but fortunately the child called to her and we were able to escape our embarrassment, she by kneeling down by the sofa to tend to Charles, and I by remaining at the window.

I did not know what to say. Were we destined to treat each other coldly, because of what had passed between us? Could we not put it behind us and be civil, at least? I almost suggested it, but such a tide of feeling rose within me at the thought of mentioning the past, or even alluding to it, that I remained silent.

A fourth person then arrived, but not one to make matters easier, for it was Charles Hayter. He did not seem pleased to see me, and I wondered whether he and Anne were friends, or more than friends, for if they were, then it would explain his attitude towards me. I glanced towards Anne, but there was no sudden smile on her lips, no joyous welcome, and I dismissed such notions. Anne invited him to sit down and wait for the others, and accordingly, he took a seat.

I wanted to make up to him for my coolness on his arrival and so I went over to him, preparing to make a remark about the weather, but he was apparently not disposed for conversation, because he took up the newspaper and buried his head behind it.

And so we sat, not talking, until there was a distraction in the way of a very small boy, who ran into the room.

‘Ah, Walter,’ said Hayter, glancing up once from his newspaper before burying his face once again.

Walter, a stout young man of some two years old, ran over to his brother. As he was of an age to tease his brother rather than to be of any help, however, Anne endeavoured to keep him away, but he was in the mood for attention, and as soon as her back was turned, he made a nuisance of himself by climbing onto it. As she was busy with Charles, she could not rid herself of him, but could only tell him to get down.

Her orders to him were in vain.

She contrived to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in climbing onto her back again.

Hayter looked up from his paper and said, ‘Walter! Leave your aunt in peace,’ but Walter paid him no heed.

Seeing a need for action, I lifted the boy from her back and carried him away to the other side of the room, where I entertained him so that he could not return to plague her.

I received no thanks from her; indeed I looked for none, but I felt a mixture of emotions at having rendered her a service. I should be angry with her for betraying me. I was angry with her. And yet I felt a bittersweet pleasure at being able to help her when she needed it.

The atmosphere was strained, and it remained so until Mary and the two Musgrove girls found us. Anne immediately quit the room. Then there was the exchange of civilities, after which Hayter and I escorted the young ladies back to the Great House.

The atmosphere on our walk was not a happy one. Miss Musgrove seemed out of spirits and Hayter seemed to be angry, so I declined their invitation to go in.

Once back at Kellynch Hall my steps turned towards the river and I strode along, lost in thought. Why had Anne ignored me? And why had she left the room as soon as she had been able to relinquish her care of little Charles to his mother? Did she really dislike me so much? If I had been the one who had wronged her, I could have understood her manner, but she had wronged me. Could it be that she had resented me for speaking so harshly to Lady Russell?

I pondered the subject until I caught sight of Sophia’s chaise bowling along the drive, and I returned to the Hall in a dissatisfied state of mind. I could not understand Anne’s behaviour. But perhaps it had nothing to do with me. Perhaps she had been late for a visit, delayed by the need to look after Charles, and had had to hurry out as soon as she could leave the boy.

That seemed more likely, for she had spoken barely two words to me since I returned, and she probably never thought of me at all.