Tuesday
For a moment, I very much regretted submitting myself to this plan. A note in the early afternoon had told of a business engagement which would keep Patrick from the concert until at least the second hour, if not later. That meant I would have to begin this thing on my own. As I reached for the door of the Octagon Room, I had a great desire to turn and leave. I then decided that Patrick's plaguing would be far worse than this possible fiasco.

Upon entering the Octagon Room, Anne's was the first face I saw. To be in her presence so quickly startled me. I had intended to take stock of my surroundings and to gain some bearings. This was not to be. She stood with her family near one of the fires. As I made my way to the Concert Room, I was prepared to bow and then go on. Quite unexpectedly, she stepped out and said, "How do you do?" The words carried a savor all their own. She truly possessed the gift of Cordelia; a voice ever soft, gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman. The mere sound of it would have been enough to keep me by her side the entire evening, had that been a possibility.

As we began to converse, I saw a whispering between her father and sister. While balancing our talk of the weather and Bath and expectations of the concert, I was acknowledged by the Baronet and Miss Elliot. From sheer convention, I bowed in response. It looked as if I had risen in the eyes of the two loftier Elliots. Turning back to Anne, I could detect a small bit of pleasure taken in this. Though to me, it had meant nothing. After we had exhausted the weighty topics with which we had begun, the conversation waned. Propriety said I should move on, but desire to be near her held me to the spot.

The only thing I could think to say was of Lyme and that wretched day. I blathered something about her not being overpowered by the events and that would, in and of itself, be a shock. It made no sense, but she graciously assured me that she was well. I suffered a pang of regret over the entire business, but forged ahead with talk of Benwick and Miss Musgrove's engagement. Her hope for their happiness was favorable and sincere. Had I merely agreed and gone elsewhere in conversation, I would have saved us both grief. Alas, no, I felt it necessary to elaborate upon the circumstances being so favorable to their marriage, that the family was so supporting. I knew I had wounded with that. Our past was still very much in the front of both our minds. She flushed and I stuttered.

To pull myself from the pit I had stepped into, I spoke of James and Louisa again. As I had put my mind to the whole affair, it had struck me that they were too dissimilar, too divergent in their understanding. She was not unintelligent, but she was not of his acuity. He was a man who had been devastated by the death of the woman he loved and I feared that he was not of a right mind to choose another just yet.

" . . . A man like him, in his situation! With a heart pierced, wounded, almost broken! Fanny Harville was a very superior creature; and his attachment to her was indeed attachment. A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman! --He ought not--he does not." I was surprised by the force with which I uttered these words. I realised that, while I said them of James Benwick, they were equally of me. She and I had indeed been attached and for my part, I had never recovered.

With this revelation of myself came complete loss of thought. I had no notion of anything I could say. I was lost until she asked of my time in Lyme. I was loathed to admit my part in the mischief, but it had to be said. It was my weakness of resolve which had allowed Louisa to risk herself in such a manner. She allowed me to prattle on about walking and riding, about how there was much to admire of the place. To my surprise, she said she would like to see the area again. That, though there had been pain, that there had also been "agreeable impressions" of the place. I was speculating what those impressions might have been, when the doors opened and hum of the room rose, only to immediately die down. The Viscountess Dalyrmple was announced and I saw that Sir Walter was quick to greet her. They were obviously of the same party. As all this was passing, the flow of the room moved towards the Concert Room; Anne and I were separated. She went to her family and I was moved along with the tide.

I positioned myself upon the wall opposite of the doors from the Octagon Room. Several other gentlemen had taken up this wall as their post as well. There would be no hindrance from them. I was determined to keep her and the entire party in sight throughout the evening. More people had been collected in the course of entering. The Elliots had been joined by the Viscountess and a young woman who was most likely her daughter. There had been a young woman standing with them at the fire that now proved to be part of the group. Lady Russell was present. Mr. Elliot and a major of the Army rounded out the party. They moved, en masse, to seats which were obviously held in waiting. After the usual shuffling and shifting, all were seated. I was rather proud, Patrick had predicted Mr. Elliot to the closest degree; he had placed himself directly to the right of Anne.

From my place, I endeavored to keep watch, but not stare. This proved to be difficult. The brightness of Anne's eyes and the glow of her cheeks was quite lovely, but more noticeable than when she and I had conversed. At the first, I owed this to the brilliant light of the Room, perhaps the low light of the Octagon Room had hidden the flush. Then, I thought perhaps that the warmth from so many people had brought these changes. As I stole glance after glance in her direction, I was forced to admit that, perhaps, it was the company of Mr. Elliot which had wrought the improvements.

During the first act, there was not much exchange between the two. Toward the end, there was a song in Italian. I surmised that they were discussing the lyrics. The concert bill, on which the words were printed, was between them and she would occasionally point to a place upon it. As she would point, he seemed to take great pains to touch her hand or brush her sleeve. He began to speak to her without referring to the bill. He leaned his head closer to her and she listened intently. A puzzled look came upon her countenance and she held her head in a manner which bespoke perplexity. A slight scowl of thought passed over her lovely features. He was telling of something she was not able to fully comprehend. Suddenly, her attention was pulled elsewhere. She did not move her head, but her visage changed completely. At the same time, I began to notice Sir Walter and the Viscountess had become somewhat animated. She looked towards my direction and the gaze of the Baronet followed. I feared that I had become the object of their attentions. It was disquieting and I wished I had buried myself further in the company. While the opinion of the Viscountess Dalrymple did not matter in the least to me, the opinion of Sir Walter held some interest. I determined that he would not risk disparaging my character as it would reflect badly upon him if he were to acknowledge a reprehensible connection. If this were not enough, my attention was caught by a sudden movement. It was the flip of a fan.

The Lady Russell was most likely not too warm. She had used whatever means available to her in securing my attention. The Lady and I, while not mortal enemies, would most assuredly be considered opponents in a contest of wills. She relied upon feelings of long ago and these past years spent forging a stronger relationship with Anne. All I had upon which to rely was a hope that former sentiment, on Anne's part, was still alive and could be worked on. The imperious stare had not changed over the years. I was somewhat surprised to find that it carried little weight, not the tonnage of former times. For my part, I had nearly nine years to make up for and was determined that I would. When Lady Russell had judged I was not deterred by her look, she turned her head and carefully ignored me.

As I attended the Viscountess and Sir Walter, I noticed Anne searching the crowd. As her eyes drew nearer to my position, I became daunted and despite what I knew to be a glaring mistake, I looked away. I did not wish her to know how I watched and hung on each move. My foolish pride turned my head; had I allowed her to know of my interest there could have been a quick and favorable resolution that evening. I stared at the candelabrum near the orchestra. After a time, I cast a glance to her and saw her attention back to the performance. I began to move through the crush in anticipation of the first act's end. I wished to place myself where I would be able to draw near her and possibly take up where we had left our conversation in the Octagon Room.

The first act ended and this worked to my favor. I was determined to come closer to the seating while most were anxious to find refreshment either by way of tea or a turn around the outer court. I stayed to a group of chairs at the outer edge of the seating. From this vantage, I was out of the crush of people moving and could also observe the party. Most of Anne's companions had decided to leave for whatever reason. This left her and Lady Russell. As people returned and reclaimed seats, there were also those who moved to new places. As I watched, I saw the company of Mr. Elliot supposed by Miss Elizabeth and the daughter of the Viscountess. He looked briefly at the empty seat he had held next to Anne, but then seated himself between the two. Looking back to Anne, I saw that she had placed herself nearer the end of the bench. This placed her closer to reach of the aisle, then with one next to her leaving, she was there. While this helped me in my quest to come nearer, it also put her directly ahead of Mr. Elliot. I was betwixt. Had she stayed in her place, I could not have come closer to her; her moving placed her within my reach, but also in the reach of her cousin.

I watched a bit more, until I roused myself with the knowledge that she looked directly at me. I returned her look, but could not make up my mind as how to go to her. As people were returning to their seats, I determined to take the seat that was vacant at her side. I was held from moving by a group also relocating themselves.

The crowd had moved on and I began to make my way. As I drew closer to her, the knowledge of the company she was in pressed upon my mind. No one in the crowd was likely to covet my good fortune with Anne. I began to feel the presence of the man who was more appropriate to her than I. I could not help knowing that influence against me was quite strong. Even if Anne herself was undecided, those about her would press Mr. Elliot's merit. The foolishness of my desires became more clear with each step. By the time I reached Anne's side, I was not fit to converse.

"Miss Anne, have you found the concert up to your expectations? Unfortunately, I find I am rather disappointed with the performance thus far. To endure bad singing and have to stand through it as well, make me look forward to the conclusion." I was stiff and formal, but could not shake myself from such a mien. Glances from the second row gave no relief.

"I am sorry that you are disappointed, I find I am enjoying both the music and singing. Though, I think that perhaps circumstances surrounding the concert have nearly as much to do with my enjoyment as the performance itself." She smiled as she said these things. Oh! the words and the meanings possible! But I dared not lay too much by them. My eyes were drawn to the bench and the empty spot next to Anne. I wished to occupy it, but I was divided as to what I might do; await her invitation? Ask her leave and be seated? Be bold and just place myself next to her? I had a thought . . .

"Perhaps my lack of appreciation for the concert has to do with not being conversant in the Italian. It seems to be rather prevalent tonight." I was nearly ashamed that I would so brashly insinuate, hoping she would offer the same talent from which Mr. Elliot had so obviously profited. She opened her mouth as if to speak, when a well tended hand from the second row was laid upon her shoulder.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Anne, but could Miss Carteret and I impose upon you to explain the general meaning of the next song? Miss Carteret is quite anxious to understand its message." Mr. Elliot's voice was well-modulated, his smile was precise and his eyes were properly imploring. The picture of a gentleman.

Anne of course began an explanation. I stood awkwardly as she patiently explained and clarified passages of the song. I endeavored to avoid some of the party I felt would be watching our exchange. In doing so, I noticed that Mr. Elliot had removed his hand from Anne's shoulder, but not the back of the bench. In fact, he rather boldly fingered a ribbon which adorned the sleeve of her gown. The touch would have been too light to draw her notice, but then perhaps this was not an unusual practice for them. If there was an accord between them, as the rumours would insist, this might be viewed as . . . understandable. As these thoughts began to take hold, for the first time in our few meetings, Mr. Elliot looked me in the eye. While his look had been distracted, nearly bored, a smile came to his mouth when knew my attention was his. He arched one brow and fairly dared me to look back to his hand. I did. There, with one hand, he had tied knots in the ribbon. There were four and he finished a fifth. Just then Anne concluded her conversation with Miss Carteret and turned back to me. He continued the look. It spoke of connection and alliance; it said that any action I might take would be foolhardy indeed. I suddenly felt there was nothing more for me to do.

"I am sorry, Miss Anne. I must wish you a good night. I find I must be leaving and be home as soon as possible." My manner was again stiff and formal. I had not meant it to be so, but it could not be helped. I had reached the end of all my resources. I could no longer ward off the looks and the attitudes which were so strongly against me.

"But Captain, is not this song worth staying for? The music is so beautiful, it carries nearly as much of the meaning as the words; it will be quite understandable." Her voice was urgent and imploring. I nearly relented, but one last look to the second bench made me know this was a fruitless venture.

"No! There is nothing worth my staying for." I gave a bow and turned. As I walked from her, I felt a despair envelope me and all hope leave.

I made my way to the doors as quickly as I was able. I was nearly to the doors when a familiar voice pulled me from the cloud of desolation which had surrounded me.

"Ho! Hold up, Captain. I got caught in conversation in the outer rooms and then I come to find you beating a hasty retreat. The battle does not go well, I take it?" he said, catching me by the arm.

"No. In fact, I would say that the battle is quite over. The objective has already been captured and secured." I spoke in military terms as speaking aloud of Anne being engaged to that man was more than I was able to do without choking. At this realisation, I continued out of the building. Patrick followed.

"Frederick. Wait. At least get your coat before you go." He caught me by the shoulder. "Lord, man. You look abominable. Let us go somewhere quiet and have something to eat. Nothing looks so desperate over a hot meal. Perhaps a drink might not hurt?" He gave me a cajoling glance.

His sage advice sound as though it had come from my sister, not an old ship mate. I had not eaten the entire day. The walming in my stomach had worsened the closer the time for the concert had come. While food held no appeal for me, the idea of a drink was quite attractive. We gathered our coats and hats, and as we exited the building, Patrick called for his curricle.

We dismounted the curricle and left it in the care of a valet. Patrick and I ascended the stairway to the door. The house was a fine old structure, well appointed and kept. The neighborhood at once had been as fine as this house, but time and neglect had taken their toll. We stood before the door, but he did not knock, there was no bell. Suddenly, a small panel opened, remained so for a few seconds, and then closed. Patrick took no notice. The large door swung open and we were ushered into an entry hall. A man in formal attire greeted Patrick by name and acknowledged me by a bow. He took out outer garments and said to the Admiral that the room was ready.

"Come." Patrick began up the large, curved stairway. The lights were not high, but bright enough to see the fine woodwork and gleam of the brass fittings. Following him down a wide corridor, I could hear the murmur of voices emanating from behind the closed doors which lined our way. We came to the end of the hall and Patrick opened the door to the last room on the left.

As he entered, he left the door open to allow in light from the hall. The room may have been ready, but that did not include the candles being lit. He went to the mantelshelf and struck a match and the small light made the room visible. Placing the candle upon a table near a curtained window, he lit a lamp hanging on the wall. I came to feel I had been in this room before. On closer study, I recognised the table with its three odd chairs, a mirror over the fireplace and two battered wingbacks to be from the wardroom of the Borthwick.

"Have a seat. You might want to take the blue one, the seat is quite sprung in the other," Patrick said as he adjusted the wick on the last lamp. Turning to face me, he said, "Well, feel at home?" He crossed over and took the sprung chair, making a face as he arranged himself around the springs.

Having taken his advise and seating myself in the blue chair, I asked, "Where did you get all this?"

"The Borthwick was refitted a few years ago, stem to stern and I managed to get to Plymouth before all these treasures were cast off. I parted with the princely sum of five pounds and then proceeded to spend nearly ten times that having it dragged from there to Bath. When Father died and his room came to me, I put it all here."

Just then, a man entered bearing a tray with drinks. Patrick nodded for him to proceed. He laid the tray on a small side table and began to pour precisely equal drinks. Scotch for Patrick and I took brandy for myself. I glanced at the bottle and saw it to be Coeur d'Lyon, I was reminded of a windy night in Shropshire. He passed the drinks and turned to Patrick, "Mr. Grant, we will have the usual . . .oh, with extra boinneog, please." Mr. Grant bowed and left us to ourselves.

"I thought that a stiff drink before dinner was in order this evening. So how do you like the place? A bit more intime than Belsom, eh?" He took a drink and rested his head against the back of the chair, "I can tell by your look, you have questions."

I had questions, but was not certain I could ask them without being rather impertinent. "Well, I am not sure what kind of place this is. I have seen no one except the fellow downstairs and Mr. Grant, though I heard voices in the corridor. I assume this to be a club, but of what type, I am not certain." I hoped I was clear enough to convey my puzzlement, but not cast a cloud on his character.

As soon as he fully understood my meaning, he nearly spewed his drink accross the room. I was certain that his laughter could be heard to the street. "Ye gods, Frederick! You must think me a reprobate of the highest order! I cajole you into an engagement that may bring you a bit of luck with a certain lady and when that meets with some choppy water, you think my first response would be to take you to a home for wanton women?" He continued to laugh. He rose as he took another drink. Going to the window, he opened the curtains. "I can see how you might think that. Actually this place was started by some mates of my grandfather. There were seven of them together. They bought this house to have a place to get away from everything, even each other. One of the rules is, no association in the house with other members. That way there is no business conducted inside." He turned and looked pointedly at me, "The other rule is, No-Women-For-Any-Purpose! You are quite safe."

"I am sorry, Patrick, but you have never been opposed to . . ." This was one of the few points Patrick and I had never had agreement on. While I had the spectre of Reverend Edward Wentworth in the back of my mind when it came to women, McGillvary had never had any qualms about indulging himself when the mood struck. Though married, he had not stayed constant to her.

"Hmm . . . yes. I was never opposed to that, was I? What did you always mange to do when I would give you the heave for some pretty little thing?" He turned back to the window and took another drink. "Never mind. I always thought you were foolish to pass it by. Especially since you were single. I certainly had no business doing such things. I always fancied that I could come back home and never drag any of the stench with me. I was wrong." He drained his glass at this and put it on the table. "She knew and now there is no way to amend anything." He sighed and said, "I wonder where Mr. Grant is with dinner."

Nearly on signal, there was a knock and Mr. Grant made his appearance. He pushed a cart with covered dishes and table service on it. He quickly transformed the wardroom furniture into a lovely dining table. The china and silver would have to do as I surmised that Patrick was not able to obtain the rough crockery and crude tableware we had been forced to use. Mr. Grant laid the covered dishes on the table and one by one revealed our meal. The smells were exactly as I remembered. I wondered if Patrick had saved the cook from being cast off also.

"Come, sit." Patrick pulled out a chair and indicated it for me and then seated himself. Oxtail soup steamed from a tureen as Patrick ladled it out. The smell was incredible. After my time on the Borthwick, as I had then been the captain of my own ship and therefore provisioned myself, I had never allowed oxtail soup to be served to me. It had been a plague in those years, but now it seemed like an old favorite, nearly as good as roasted rabbit. The other plate was heaping with the boinneog.

As Patrick and I had become better friends, he had endeavored to teach me a bit of Gaelic. My Liverpool tongue refused to wrap itself about most of the words he gave me, but boinneog I had remembered. When he had first taught it to me, I had no idea what it was, but it sounded rather exotic. Then I found it was simple sop bread and was not so enthusiastic. He had bribed the cook to learn how to make it properly and then it became a steady part of the menu. I had eaten enough boinneog in my time to fill that room, but none had ever tasted as good as it did that night. For dessert there was a treacle dowdy and the same watery ale as we had aboard ship. It was not a meal that would have commanded a high price in any public house, but to me, in my rattled condition, it was priceless.

As we ate, the topic of this unusual club came back to us. "Every member is free to do with his room what he will, a single guest at a time is allowed and the only way in is to have a father in the club. I got Father's room when he passed." Patrick ladled more soup into his bowl and seemed determined to match me bite for bite of boinneog.

"So what if you have more than one son or have no sons at all? And how did Roanan feel about you getting this prize?" Roanan was Patrick's younger brother and a man not used to being second in anything. Being at sea so long had placed Patrick out of practically all family matters while Roanan had free rein. There had been many times Patrick and I had lamented our bad fortune in brothers. I decided I would tell him of Edward and I some other time. Washing things down with the weak ale, I cut a piece of the dowdy and took a bite. Again, just as I had remembered.

"If you have no sons, the membership dies with you, as will mine unless things take a turn at some point. In the case of more than one son, the father must make a choice, only one may have it, there's to be no sharing. To be expected, Little Brother ranted. But for some reason, Father left it to me. In the end, I suppose the oldest son is always the oldest son. I did not make the rules for this place and so when Roanan found that things were not going to be changed to suit him, he tailed it to Drogheda to stay with Gran. I fancy that as long as the quarterly deposits keep making their way into his accounts, I'll not see much of him," he said as he finished the last of the soup. He took a piece of the dowdy and settled into finishing his meal.

We finished off nearly everything. It surprised me that my appetite had returned. I supposed the surroundings being what they were, from a time before Anne, I was not so done under by thoughts of the concert. Patrick wadded his napkin and put it beside his plate; rising he went to a box on the mantelshelf and took out a pipe. I mused that he perhaps had one tucked away in his curricle as well. He came back to the table and lit it. Again he began the exercise of bringing it to draw. He pulled and puffed a bit until things took to his satisfaction. Leaning forward on his elbows, he said, "So, tell Uncle Paddy about this dashed concert. You say that Miss Elliot is quite secured. How do you know?" Patrick was in a mood to talk and I had little choice in topics.

I rose and poured myself more ale from the pitcher. Taking a drink, I said, "Mr. Elliot made things quite clear, his look was one of connection and a bond which is very secure. Her manner with her cousin is rather . . .yielding, and her ease in manner towards me is that which an engagement to another man would give. It all says she is quite comfortable in a match to her liking." I took another pull on the ale. It was weak, but enough of it might dull things well. I had made my way to the window and watched the spare evening traffic.

A frown came over Patrick's face, he blew out a cloud of smoke with a rather loud and exasperated blow. "I have no idea what you mean, Frederick. By yielding, do you mean that she allowed him to ravage her right there in the Concert Room or, do you mean that she was cordial to him?"

I took great offense at his trifling about Anne's conduct. "That was not amusing, Patrick." I said with affront, not turning.

"Of course, I am sorry, Frederick. But, do you see my meaning? And as for her being at ease in your presence, you yourself said she is an old acquaintance. I dare say you are not that difficult to be about; of course she is at ease with you. At the first sign of defeat, do you strike the colours or fight on?"

I could see he was preparing a rousing speech about continuing on until a decisive defeat. I was in no mood. "This is not Bonaparte, this is a woman who has made a choice about whom she will spend the rest of her life." My voice was terse and to the point. I wished to blunt further conversation on the matter. My friend was of another mind. While he collected his thoughts, I continued to look out the window and watched as a carriage dropped a couple to what must have been their home. They walked to the door and were obviously laughing. She had his arm and leaned into him, resting her head upon his shoulder for an instant. They stood together as he unlocked the door and went in. I wondered if it had been so difficult for them to come together. Patrick interrupted my thoughts.

"Have you ever bought property, Frederick?" He looked at me squarely.

"No, why?" I wondered what my buying land could have to do with this.

"Well, I have. I have speculated upon pieces of property and in my mind I have got the fence around it and the house nearly built when I find that a deal cannot be forged. For whatever reason, I am not able to have it. Perhaps, you need to view this Mr. Elliot as a speculator; he wants it, but the deal is not yet struck. When he looked at you, he was merely trying to scare you from the table. He has no more claim to her than anyone else, but if you flee the negotiations, his bid may be the only one tendered."

While it aggravated me to speak about Anne as though she were a tract of land, the point of Patrick's argument was well taken. I would have to think more on all this. I was much too tired and my thoughts too jumbled to make much sense of things now.

"Uncle Paddy has another suggestion." By this time, he had laid the pipe aside.

"And just what would Uncle Paddy suggest now?" I asked as I watched a light go from room to room in the house across the street.

"The two of us need a day out of the city. What say, we go to Aldengate tomorrow and mess about, perhaps stay the night and return in the afternoon sometime?" he said as he knocked the remaining tobacco from the pipe.

"February is a bit sparse when it comes to messing about in the country, is it not?" I asked.

"So, we will do as all men in the country, we will go shooting." Placing the pipe back in the box, he returned to the table and poured himself some ale.

"But there is nothing in season, Patrick." I knew he would have an answer, he wished to leave the city and he wished me to accompany him.

"Even when the shooting is poor in season, it does not stop a man from going out. Frederick, the smell of gun powder is essential to good conversation," Patrick said with a smile. He knew that I meant to come and that he and I would continue this conversation at some other time.

Chapter 10, Wednesday
As I had packed my bag to accompany Patrick to Aldengate, I revisited the concert and all that had taken place. The despair of the previous evening had passed quickly. I was surprised it had passed at all. I had been given a respite during our dinner at the club, but soon after, the cloud had returned. Patrick had taken great pains to try and lift me with his 'charming Irish wit' as he called it. It had done no good. He had received barely a nod from his threat to conduct me to bed and tuck me in. My only thought had been what his reaction to the Room of Roses might have been.

There had been many things about the previous evening to be morose, but I still wanted to see Anne. Whether she was absolutely unattached, merely thinking the matter over or expressly engaged, I wanted to see her. There was no rational explanation for how I felt. The night before had been a agonising experience. The stares, the subtle messages of various parties, all the intrigues for which I had no patience. All this had nearly destroyed my resolve, but as the morning had dawned, my spirits rallied and I felt that I had a motive for staying. It was not a feeling I had worked on, it was not a feeling which had any explanation except that love at times is its own reason.

At breakfast, I had told Sophy and the Admiral that I was to go to the country for the night. They had teazed about beginning to move in the first circle and other nonsense. But they had both agreed that I looked as though I needed a bit of recreation and this would be an excellent opportunity for just that.

My case was by the door and I watched for Patrick's rig by the front windows of the library. I was anxious to be away. To be away from the town and back in the country was an agreeable prospect. To spend time with Patrick again was also part of the draw. Over the years I had forgotten how much I enjoyed his company. It seemed that time and circumstances had amended him and that we had more in common now than in the past. I was glad for my change of mood, I felt there had been times in the past days when Patrick had wished to talk, but my situation had taken precedence. Perhaps, I would be able to offer my ear to him.

I saw Patrick round the corner. I bid Sophy and the Admiral farewell and descended the stairs. I took my bag from the man and went to greet my friend. I tossed the case to the floor of the curricle and in one motion, mounted and seated myself. "Onto the country, Uncle Paddy! I wish to harass the trash birds." As the curricle bounced a bit from my rather vigorous installation, Patrick looked to me and resting the whip upon his shoulder, crossed his arms and stared.

"Sir, I will thank you to dismount immediately! I am awaiting a friend who is disconsolate and in great need of a time away! I must insist that you make way for him!" His face was the perfect picture of indignation.

"All right, let us get on with this drive. The birds are waiting," I said, my tone acknowledged his jest.

He smiled and touched the whip to the horses. "So, have you decided that self harm is not the answer or have you been at the Admiral's brandy already?"

Putting my feet up on the facing, I leaned back and began, "Neither. I dare say that self harm was never an alternative. My brother would most likely follow, no matter where I was to go and the chewing would be worse than anything on earth." Patrick smiled at the thought of this. "No. I awoke this morning and knew that I have no reason to hope for anything, but I wish to see her again and so must steel myself to circumstances like last night. If that is the worst her people have..."

"Ho! Ho! Wait a moment, Frederick. You mean you are not looked upon favorably by her family either? Is there no one connected with this woman who prefers you?" He was beginning to laugh. "You are in a sorry state."

I looked at him with mock patience."May I continue?"

"Certainly! Tell me about all the others who dislike you."

I ignored the last statement. "What I was saying, if last night is the worst that is thrown at me, I can survive. I will not enjoy it, but I can survive it. All I wish is to see her again."

"Fair enough. I am gladder than you can know that you are of better spirits, my friend."

I was rather touched that Patrick would have such care for a friend in a bad way.

"Yes, very glad indeed. You were so low, I was certain that our time away would be quite dull because of it."

I should have known, but before I could get off a cutting reply, "Here, take these," he said, as he pushed the reins toward me.

I took them and watched as he reached under the seat and pulled out a small box. He opened it to reveal a pipe. I began to laugh as we drove through the streets of Bath, headed to Aldengate.

"What is so funny, Frederick? Tell me." Patrick was puzzled and the more he questioned, the harder I laughed.

"Frederick, I mean it, tell me what is so funny."

"Stop that!"

"You sound like a lunatic."

" Frederick!"

Chapter 11, Thursday
"So we shall try for an afternoon next week then?" Patrick asked as I jumped from the curricle.

I pulled my bag from under the seat, and said, "Certainly, and if that hound runs off with another bird, I shall use her as target practice." This had been the steady joke throughout the days.

"No, my friend. She is a fine animal and I'll not allow you to do such a thing. All she needs is the tender care of the right man; if she were a woman, I would marry her in an instant. 'Til next week, Frederick." He lightly flicked the whip to the horses and he was off.

I turned and entered the house. The man told me Sophy was home and in the library. I had very much enjoyed being out of Bath. While at Aldengate, I resolved that I would do whatever was necessary to live away from a city. I determined that the sea and the country, those were the only places I cared to reside.

"Sophy! I have returned from the country! The shooting was excellent!" I called as I removed my gloves and coat. Coming up the stairs, I looked about and waited for her to appear.

"Well, the dashing Captain Wentworth is returned to us, at last. Society may put away the crepe and resume in full strength." She came and put her arms around me. Kissing me on the cheek, she looked me full in the face and said, "You look much better. The country suits you." She went to her usual chair and sat. "You have only been with us less than a fortnight and the Admiral and I found we missed you very much last night." She took up a piece of needlepoint. She had made noises about seat cushions for the dining room and they had begun to materialise.

"Surely the two of you were not even aware of my absence. You seem to have quite a few diversions; my being away cannot have made such a breach in things." I picked up a newspaper and sat, I intended to read all the news I had put off for the last two months.

She looked up from her work, "Do not underestimate yourself, my dear. You make quite an impression. Catherine said in her letter that Edward, for a few days, was rather lost without you." She laughed lightly, "She told that he came downstairs the day after you had gone and waited and waited. When she came down to breakfast, he remarked that you were sleeping awfully late. At first, she thought he was joking with her and then she realised that you had been with them so long, he had actually forgotten your departure. So you see, you easily make yourself a part of any household." She went back to her needlework.

It was, at first, amusing to think of Edward sitting in the dining room of the rectory, waiting for me to come down. Then I was touched. Then, guilty that I had felt so angry with him when his letter had arrived. Perhaps I had been waspish because I missed him. I would write that evening and send something more for the horse. That should keep our exchanges lively for a while.

There had been a knock at the door and the man brought a message to me. "You are becoming rather popular, my dear. Concerts, country outings, messages and such." Sophy gave me a keen smile. I gave her the same back and opened the note. It was from Harville. He had arrived in Bath just a few hours before and wanted me to dine with him that evening. Had I ticked off all those of my acquaintance which I did not expect to see in Bath, Harville would have been very near the top. Though, I should have learned my lesson on Saturday.

I told Sophy who the message was from and that I would be dining out. I expected more kindly jesting about being a social gadder. "Well, then I shall have Cook put off this evening's dinner for tomorrow," she said with a distracted tone.

"You do not plan on feeding the Admiral in my absence? Won't he become a bit churlish having to go without?" I asked with a smile.

"Well, the meal I had planned is much more to your liking than his and if you are not to be here, I shall not waste a good mangoe chutney." She looked to me with an arched brow.

"Ah . . . roasted rabbit. I am tempted to put Harville off a night. You promise to have it tomorrow?" I asked with as much imploring in my voice as possible.

"Certainly, my dear. I would have served it sooner, but a good rabbit was not to be had until this morning. It will not hold past tomorrow so do not make any plans other than home for dinner on Friday ." She rose and moved to the kitchen. "Now to tell Cook that she must endure another night of the Admiral's odd collection of favorites. She will be glad to have you home to cook for." She left me to answer my message. He was at the White Hart Inn. A nice establishment just off Bath Street. I sent an acceptance and began to prepare for the evening.

We were to meet at seven in front of the Inn. I turned the corner and there he was, punctual as ever. I caught sight of him a bit before he saw me. He looked tired and there was a melancholy air about him which had been clear in his letter telling me of the engagement of our friend. As he recognised me, a wide smile came to his face. Harville was a man who wore his thoughts in the open. There was never a doubt with him.

After we exchanged a good solid greeting, he said, "Frederick, it is good to see you. I feared that you would not receive my message and I would be left alone to this bedlam you call a town. It certainly makes one long for the quiet of Lyme," he smiled. I felt his comment to be more true than exaggeration. He was not comfortable and I determined to get him to a table and commence dinner. As Patrick had proven, nothing looks so deparate over a hot meal.

We were seated and had ordered. We chose porter for drink. Harville was not a man for fine liquor; give him the nectar of corn he called it. I was certain that Harville, had he chosen, could have given Benwick a real contest when it came to intellect. He was every bit as philosophical as James, he merely preferred to work it out in the practical rather than by theory. The Harville home reflected it. All the homely things he had crafted to make their lives easier proved that. While James would put his mind and time to a poem, Harville would work a fishing net. I was glad to call them both friend, but Harville and I were more alike and so my special feeling fell to him.

"So, what brings you to 'Bedlam' as you called it?" I asked.

A distracted look came to his face. The melancholy had returned. "Well, you recall the portrait James sat for at the Cape? The one for my sister, Fanny?"

"Yes, a German fellow did it, good likeness as I recall."

"Very good. Well, he wishes to give it to Louisa Musgrove before the wedding. As she is not strong enough to travel far and he does not wish to leave her, he asked that I accomplish the task. So I am here to do just that." He took a long pull on his ale. He studied the mug for a time and then continued, "I had only mentioned I was thinking about coming and the whole business was taken up by Mrs. Musgrove. Soon, it became the company that grew. She and Miss Musgrove, along with Charles and Mrs. Musgrove just arrived an hour or so ago. It works well for me, they quite took over the expenses, so I am here at no expense to myself. I came ahead a few hours to arrange rooms and all." He smiled and said, "Actually, I wanted some time to myself. I know that now they are arrived, privacy will be precious."

"Did they believe that you would need all this assistance in having a portrait framed?" I asked with a laugh.

He took another drink and said, "No, they are come to shop for wedding clothes for both the girls and Mrs. Musgrove has some friends she wishes to visit. Charles and his wife came for the ride, I think. Though, she said she was wild to see her father's new house. And to see her sisters. She did mention the house first though," he smiled as we chuckled about Mrs. Musgrove's notions of preference.

Our food had come and he began to eat. There was still a distracted air. He stared as he ate rather than pursue conversation. This was very unlike him. "Harville, what is wrong? You have spoken very little and your customary way is to exhaust everyone in hearing distance." I looked to him and allowed him to form his thoughts.

"I am just very confused by this engagement of James and Louisa Musgrove. They have nearly nothing in common and he seems to have quite gotten over his grief. Though, I cannot fault Miss Musgrove. He seems happy again. His sense of humor has returned." Harville's face broke out in a smile, "He is even writing those fanciful rhymes again."

"Not those rather bawdy things he concocted in Italy?" I was a bit surprised that he might pursue an avocation which, while very proficient at, was not terribly fitting in polite company.

"No! He quite gave those up when he engaged my sister. No, he is writing those long nature poems again. Waxing eloquent about nature of nature and the nature of love. They are quite beyond me, but nothing untoward." A smile which had come to his lips, faded and his countenance went back to thoughtful.

I motioned for two more drinks and looked to Harville. After my conversation with Anne, I began to realise that while a man does not recover easily from a love such as that of James Benwick for Fanny Harville, I did know that a new love might possible bring one back to life in a way that no other thing could.

"What would you have him do, Harville? Mourn forever? Fanny loved him and would not wish such a thing. He must go on and love someone."

He sighed and began, "Perhaps it is, when James marries Miss Musgrove, Fanny will truly be gone from this life. Except for those of us in her family, no one will remember the wonderful woman she was." He blinked back the tears. He had loved his sister and to him, she was fading from this world too quickly.

I leaned closely to him, and said, "I do not think that is true. Fanny amended James in ways that he himself most likely does not know. Ways that he will carry for the rest of his life. When a man falls in love with a woman, it happens and it cannot be stopped. She touched a place that will never yield to the touch of another." I leaned back in my seat. I had spoken to comfort my friend, but the words had been to myself. I had been touched in such a way and knew that a part of me was forever shaped by Anne Elliot.

Harville looked at me for some time. "I think you speak from experience, Frederick." He said it in such a way as to challenge me to deny.

'I read a great deal." The porter had arrived and I laid a coin on the table.

He smiled, "You forget, sir. I have lived with Benwick for over a year, he reads a great deal. I quite know the difference between the theoretical and reality. You are speaking from the real."

I took a drink only as something to do. He had spoken the truth and I could not deny it. But I also could not admit to it. I was in a place between having and not having. She was not mine, but yet I felt that there was some hope. "Let us say that I have felt that tug of amendment. I am not completely void of understanding in these matters. But may we leave this subject and go to another? I am not of the mind to speak more."

"Certainly," he said. With hesitation, he added, "I have always known there was a woman in your life. Someone you cared for. So, have you met up with anyone I might know?" he asked as he went back to his dinner.

I decided to tell him of Stanton. He should know that a man who had made noises about one day harming him, was no longer a threat. I related the details which Patrick had given me. I kept to myself that he had died in Bristol. Harville had always been cool to my plan of lying about he and Benwick. I was never sure if it was a wide moral streak or his desire to keep me out of harms way. Though it would seem that I had also been someone Stanton was interested in keeping an account of.

Harville shook his head when I had finished. "I never liked the idea of you lying to that reprobate. I would never have had any charges brought against me once my part of the story was told. You risked your career for me and then lying to him you risked more. I never liked it." He took a drink and put down the mug rather hard. "Sorry, I suppose it is done and there is no changing it."

I feared that I had only added to the general bad feel of the evening. "Those were decisions I had to make, my friend. You could not stop me. If lying to Stanton kept him from you and your family, I was glad to do it." I finished my dinner and pushed the plate away. Leaning back in the chair, I looked toward Harville. He looked to me and we agreed to leave this subject also. He finished his dinner and with time consuming care, placed his knife and fork upon the plate. Laying his napkin aside, he looked to me again.

"I'm sorry, I seem to have dampened what I had hoped would be a good evening for us both. I think I am allowing my sensetivities about Benwick get the better of my judgement and you are the unfortunate recipient of much ill-feeling. Let us try one more time to have some good conversation."

I nodded to him and said, "Allow me to handle the framing of the portrait. I am not as . . . attached to it and will be able to do the task with relatively little trouble to myself. As a friend, please allow me." I could see the relief which came to him. He was freed of his burden.

"I have to thank you. I shall tell you what he wishes and you can handle the details as you see fit. To change the subject, I am hoping to see Miss Anne while I am here. Mrs. Musgrove assures me that she will endeavor to have her in our company as much as possible. Have you seen her at all while here?" he asked.

"Yes, I have. In fact, I saw her just the other evening at a concert. She looked very well. We talked a bit and then were separated to other parts of the room." I had nothing else to say and I had no wish to draw another friend, even one as good as Harville, into my discomposed affairs. I finished my drink a little too quickly, but needed an occupation to cover the heat I felt come at the mention of her name. Though what he had said was heartening, for I had no doubt that because of my connection to the Musgroves, though a bit uneasy, I too would be sought out for their company. I had told Patrick that all I wanted was to see her again, this new turn would afford me such an opportunity.

Harville did not seem to notice my countenance and continued to speak of her. "Well, I look forward to seeing her again. She did much for James in Lyme and what small conversations she and I partook were most stimulating. Perhaps she can make me understand this situation with our friend." He looked at me with an expression of hope.

All I could say was, "Perhaps. I think that Miss Elliot has a great talent for giving relief to the weary heart."

"As James is proof."

This conversation seemed to bring Harville back to his usual character. We began to talk on many things, old and new. The evening passed and it was rather late by the time we finished. I was glad to see my friend again, though it did strike me as odd that it was a visit to him in the first place which had brought about many of the current circumstances.

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