"Crayshaw, see Mrs Wentworth into the house and then come to fetch the trunk. Louisa, go on and I shall be in directly," he said as he helped her from the carriage.

"Certainly, Fredri. . . Captain. Please, don't be long, it is looking to be colder tonight," Louisa said softly. While she was concerned about him being out of doors in the damps, she was also nervous about what was to come. It was a relief that she would have time alone to bring some order to her thoughts. It would seem that the Captain also needed some time alone.

After Crayshaw had accomplished his tasks, Frederick motioned for the groom to take the carriage to the barn and put the horses away. Once he had learned Anne's need of the Musgrove's carriage, that she might immediately be returned to Bath, it was not long before a few pound notes in the proper hands had fetched for him a rented carriage from Crewekern. It had been a few hours before it had been put to use bringing the couple the short three miles from Uppercross to Kellynch Hall, but the Captain took comfort in knowing Charles would have seen Anne well cared for and taken back to Bath for a much needed rest.

Buttoning his greatcoat, Frederick took care finding the walkway in the dark. The winter night was quiet, no sound but the heels of his pumps crunching on the graveled walk. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he studied the sky. The stars had made their appearance and as he watched, he absently named them to himself. He thought about longitudes and latitudes. He thought about maps and in his mind, plotted his literal place in the world, thinking how in but a few weeks, that place would be hundreds of miles from Somerset

But as he stood in the garden of Kellynch Hall, he wondered just where was his figurative place. He was now married and endeavoring to work himself to go in and commence with his honeymoon. Most men would have no such struggle, laying with a lovely young woman such as Louisa would bring anticipation, not hesitation or reluctance. But as time went on, Frederick saw more and more that he was not most men.

Finding a stone bench facing a wide, treeless expanse, he sat. The moon, what there was of it, had risen and was now making its way across the sky. Frederick knew that he could not keep to the bench in the garden much longer, he had an obligation to his wife. But the honour which had obliged him to offer for Louisa's hand was at odds with the sensibilities which, over the years, had made him compare every woman to Anne Elliot. His honour cried out for him to do the right thing, while his passionate self desired more than an empty subjugation to duty. The past months had rekindled the thoughts of another woman, a woman small and dark and of an elegant mind. This was the woman he thought would always hold his heart and drive his passion. Now that was impossible, he had married another.

Standing and beginning to walk by the thin moonlight through the neatly planned walkways, Frederick thought about a face. It was the face behind the veil at the wedding. The ceremony itself had been a haze. Only Edward's nudges in the proper places had kept him looking reasonably attentive. As he had raised the lace for the kiss, he thought he had glanced away from Louisa's face, but now as he stood growing cold in the garden, he was able to remember what he had truly seen.

Louisa's eyes had been bright. The blue was light, but appealing. There had been some tears to add a sparkle and her lashes were dark from those same tears. There had been no need for paint to heighten the bloom of youth, as it had been heightened by the flush of her excitement. She had, no doubt, been biting her lips throughout the vows as they were a lovely high rose. As he had reluctantly moved to give the bride's kiss, he had seen the closing of her eyes and the tilt of her head; she had anticipated his kiss and was obviously desirous of his touch. The kiss had been as short as he could make it without seeming indifferent. The rest of the day had been spent in the well-wishing and festivities of the occasion. He now remembered that lovely face, it had been so completely trusting of him.

It was well after seven in the evening before the couple was able to leave Uppercross. Earlier in the day he had bid goodbye to his few supports; the Admiral and Sophy had left in late morning, hoping to make Bath by nightfall. Edward had begun his long journey back to Shropshire by staying with Dr. Shirley for the Sabbath rest. Harville and Benwick had left in the afternoon only having a three-hour ride home to Lyme. Kellynch would now be deserted except for the servants. Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the front door.

As he came into the front hall, the clock sounded nine. Giving over his coat and hat to Crayshaw, he asked where Mrs Wentworth had gone. Motioning to the sitting room, the man disappeared. Frederick walked to the doorway and looked in. Louisa sat on a sofa that faced the fire. Looking closer, he could see that she was resting her head on her arm, which she had rested on the sofa's arm. Coming closer, he found her asleep. In the midst of reaching out to awaken her so that they might go upstairs, he stopped himself.

He could not help noticing the pretty picture she made. She had changed her gown from that she had worn at the ceremony, but she had kept the flowers and ribbons that her hair had been dressed with and these had loosened as the day had progressed. As she lay there sleeping, he, for just a moment thought how she had the look of a sweet, tousled little girl. He noticed that her other hand rested on a book of engravings.

The book was Croft's and the pictures were of the ships which had triumphed at Trafalgar. It lay open to the print of the Naiad, the frigate on which George had served as the First to Captain Thomas Dundas. She had apparently been studying this one picture. A fine Naval fervour that girl, he thought.

Frederick observed her for a time and determined that perhaps her tiredness could be used to his advantage. He was disinclined to consummate their marriage, and she was obviously too exhausted . . . It would be unfeeling to try and carry this out, we both being so . . . overborne. Feeling guilty that his hesitation had nothing to do with Louisa's comfort, he decided nonetheless to take advantage of the situation as it was presented.

Leaning over, he whispered, "Louisa . . . Louisa. You must wake up now." Touching her arm brought no response and so he shook her just a little.

Her eyes slowly opened and she stared at him. He had seen people slow to awaken, but she was staring with no comprehension of anything. She did not look about, nor did she express any recognition of him. Slowly, a smile came to her lips and she said his name.

"Yes. It's Frederick. Are you all right? You seemed . . . lost." He worried that perhaps all the preparations for the wedding had brought on an exhaustion which had harmed her and that she was worsening.

Sitting up, she said sleepily, "Yes . . . I am fine. I have always taken a long time to wake, but since Lyme, . . . well it is more so. I am never quite sure where I am. But even before that . . . Charles has always said that if I was needed early in the morning, then I should be awakened the night before. I'm sorry that I fell asleep. The servants asked if we wanted anything, I said we did not, but if you would care for something I can ring . . ." She made a move to get up, but he stopped her.

"No, Louisa. I don't wish for anything. I think that I should take you upstairs and you can go to bed."

"Oh. Certainly. I . . . suppose we should retire now," she said slowly.

"Louisa . . . I think that . . . perhaps it would be wise that we not . . . you are excessively fatigued and I do not wish to . . . I think it would be best for us to wait . . . perhaps until tomorrow." He was not certain, but he thought he saw a hint of relief in her eyes.

Looking away, she said, "Yes . . . perhaps you are right . . . I am tired and . . . well . . ." Her voice trailed off. She was torn in her own heart. She wished to go on with their wedding night, but she was very nearly exhausted . . .

Seeing that she would acquiesce, he felt a stab of guilt that her weariness would serve his purposes so well. He stood back and offered her his hand. As she used the arm of the sofa to aid in her rising, a hardly discernible moan passed her. Looking at her face closely for the first time that evening, he was startled to see how pale she was and that there were dark circles under her eyes. The fatigue was palpable and he could not help feeling a twinge of compassion.

Why he offered what he did next, he did not know, but . . . "Let me carry you upstairs. It's that least that I can do . . . it was my doing that all this came about so quickly and that you are so tired."

Frowning, Louisa replied, "No! I do not wish to be carried like . . . like a child. I am a grown woman, I can walk up the stairs perfectly well."

"Some might think it rather romantic . . . you know . . .to be carried." He was surprised that his mind would betray him by even thinking such a thing.

"I suppose that some would, if they were not exhausted and going to go to bed . . . alone. I would prefer you offer me your arm and we shall go up that way." Her eyes betrayed her tiredness, but there was a slight smile in the curve of her lips.

Offering her his arm, he said, "Certainly, Madam. I would be pleased to give you my arm." As they walked through the hall and up the stairs, he realised how, other than the few weeks in November, he knew her very little, and how over the past few days he again had put forth no effort to know her. A silly girl would have taken great delight in being carried up the stairs, but it was clear that Louisa wished him to think of her as a woman, not a child. Taking sideways glances at her, he saw her stifle a yawn and smiled to himself. What a front she puts on. . . she is tired to the bone.

Coming to the door of the front apartment that Sophy had arranged they have, he turned to her. "This is where your trunk was taken, the maid should be waiting. I shall sleep in my old rooms . . . it is down the hall and to the left. I shall come in the morning and we can breakfast together, then to Church."

"All right. Thank you, Frederick. You are good not to press the matter. Things will be better tomorrow night. I promise." She gave him a weary smile that complimented the slight blush very nicely.

Hesitantly, she put her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest. Returning her embrace, they stood quietly for a time. He was torn, much of him enjoyed the feel of her against him, but another part was loath that he could so easily be drawn in. After all, he did love another.

Speaking softly, he said, "I think you should be to bed now. It gets later the longer we stand here."

Looking up to his face, she replied, "Yes . . . I know. Good night then." She remained in his arms, she made no move away.

Knowing she wished more, he leant closer and kissed her. During, she gently caressed his neck and he could feel her responding to him and his touch. To his great consternation, he too was responding to hers. Gently pulling himself away, he sent her off to bed.

After undressing and getting settled for the night, he lay staring into the darkness. He was relieved that Louisa's tiredness had given them both an excuse to put off the wedding night. Turning over on his side, he chided himself for being nearly as quixotical as dewy-eyed James Benwick. I am far worse, for rather than throw over my pride and take for myself the perfect woman, I carried on stupidly and have had to marry for 'honour' without giving proper thought to myself or Louisa's feelings. James would never allow himself to be so foolhardy.

Turning again, his mind wandered over the day and all that had gone on. As he felt sleep overtaking him, one of his last thoughts was Louisa. As she had gone into her room, she had given him one last look . . . and a smile as she had closed the door.

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