The mountains surrounding Crown Hill were covered with a dusting of snow. The valley was frosted. In the time it had taken him to saddle the horse, the clouds had crowded out the sun and brought a shaded effect to the countryside. This backdrop gave Frederick a perfect stage to think out his cold and dreary thoughts. He sat, mounted, on a steep embankment overlooking the Severn River. It was running low by the marks on the bank. The water churning over the rocks was the steely grey a river becomes in winter. In spring, it would run high from the melting snow. In summer, it would drift at a more leisurely pace.

Frederick mused that he knew where he was in winter. Where might he be in spring? Betrothed? In the midst of planning his life with Louisa? By summer he and the lady might be settling into a home, becoming accustomed to one another's habits and likes . . . He wheeled his horse about and began to ride again. The thought of that life was inconceivable to him at this moment. Louisa was nothing to him. He did not love her. The knowledge of his indiscreet conduct being the author of these concerns grated. If only his horse could outrun the inevitable.

His horse was in fine form this morning and as he looked around, he saw a fence that looked a likely go. He slowed, turning to take a more deliberate run. Frederick had not had a genteel upbringing which would have included proper riding and jumping form. In various locales and by trial and error he had brought himself to a certain proficiency astride a horse. More than riding itself, he loved to jump. There was a thrill that came with the gaining of speed, the closeness of man to animal and the unknown of the outcome. It measured up well against a moderately choppy sea.

Frederick gauged the distance and the height of the fence. He had taken a quick look to the other side and had seen no holes or other impediments to the jump. The horse stamped in anticipation. In Lyme, she had proven herself to be as desirous of a good jump as Frederick. He reined her tight to steady them both. Giving her her head, he thrust his heels to the horse's flanks and she jumped to an immediate dash. First, he lowered himself as close to her back as possible until she gained enough speed. Then, as the jump came closer, raising a bit to absorb the shock. With a final thrust, she left the ground. The pounding of her hooves ceased as she sailed over the fence, the quiet was short but intense. The feel seems to last much longer than the actual act and that was the draw for Frederick. He straightened as the descent began. She landed well and solid. The jump itself had not presented a difficulty, neither had the landing. While there had been no impediments as holes or large rocks, Frederick had not considered the frost itself which thickly covered the grass.

His horse wanted her head and when Frederick reined her to slow, she halted completely, adding a sharp lunge to the left, which changed quickly to a slide. This had not been expected by her rider. She righted herself by jerking to the right. Frederick continued a forward course, colliding with the horse's neck as it swung around. All he remembered was leaving the saddle and the frosted grass coming at him quickly.

As he opened his eyes, he saw his horse standing nearby, grazing. "Damn you . . . I should christen you just so I could revile you by name." The horse merely raised her head, looked at him and walked away. Frederick lay for a time slowly moving arms and legs to ascertain any injuries. There were none. He was insensate for a bit, though he did not think it long, as he was not chilled though lying on the frozen ground. Though there had been close calls, he had never fallen from a mount. He raised his head and glanced at his horse, deciding that it was obviously that blasted horse. He began to laugh. "You cannot even allow bad horsemanship to be the blame you fool. At least there was no damage. But perhaps if I injured myself beyond repair, I would not be so appealing to Louisa Musgrove." He laid his head back down, "And a crippled body would certainly be an enticing package to offer Anne."

Frederick sat up and pounded the ground to get the horse's attention. She looked at him in her uninterested way while he began to crumple a bag in his pocket. He generally carried candies for her. He had none at the moment, but she did not know this and it would bring her close enough to retrieve the reins. The last thing he felt in the mood for was a long walk back to Edward's. He stood, rattling the paper as loudly as possible. He bent to retrieve his hat. She walked over to him, now seeming as friendly as a pet dog. He grasped the bridle and took the reins in his other hand. He checked her for any injuries and mounted.

He decided that he had done enough riding--and falling for the day. He headed toward home. Home. He thought of Edward's as home and had considered the Laconia home. Any place he was asked to stay became his home. He was coming to an age where he wanted that to change. He wanted to belong somewhere. He wanted a place for the books he had collected over the years. A desk for his business affairs instead of a satchel, prone to loss. A bed that he slept in enough to cause his own lumps and hollows. A home, a settled life . . . a wife. This was becoming ridiculous! Everything he did brought him back to the beginning again. Thoughts of a home would naturally bring Anne to him, but he could not even fall from a horse without the same happening. So this was how it was to be . . .

As he neared the back of the rectory property, he saw a man jump into the grove from the surrounding wall. "Ho! You there! What are you about!" He urged his horse to a dash and came 'round the broken down end. He had to slow for the trees were thick. He reined her to a halt as he realised that the man was not moving. He dismounted, dropping the reins and moved toward the man. He wore what appeared to be a cast off coat and a battered hat. There was something odd though. Then Frederick discerned that this was not a man, but a woman. The dress she wore was nearly the colour of the coat and it was of rough material, something that would be worn for working. As he came closer, he realised that the woman was Catherine.

In the seconds as he approached her, he became angry. What business did she have endangering herself in that manner? The wall was very near six feet and had she fallen, there was no way to know how long she may have lay out here. Catherine had heard him call, but was brushing the skirt and could not see Frederick's countenance as he approached. She raised her eyes to see him approach. She was smiling, thinking he would have many humorous comments about the coat and hat. As he came closer, she perceived the scowl and hard set to his mouth.

"What in the name of G_d do you mean, acting in such a foolish and dangerous fashion?" he barked, nearly spitting the words at her.

The words struck her hard. She had been expecting a jest and received harsh rebuke instead. She had never seen a display as this from Edward, and certainly never expected such from his brother. As he approached, she took a step back, not knowing what else he may do.

He stopped and looked at her intently. He had taken on his command demeanor and with it came an expectation of an answer. He realised that she was gaping at him. Her face bespoke shock and not a little fear. He turned abruptly away from her in sudden recognition of his violent behavior. The past seconds had been a culmination of sights, thoughts and emotions working on him the entire night. Her jumping from the wall had too closely resembled Louisa's from the Cobb. The idea of her lying unconscious for hours, perhaps out here alone, had panicked him. Edward would be devastated if anything should happen to her--or their child. He must endeavor to explain himself.

He turned to face Catherine. The look of shock was still strong, she had not moved. He worked to soften his face and began in as soothing a voice as he was able, "Catherine, I am sorry. I had no right to speak to you as that. Please forgive me." There was not much to be said. He had acted harshly and now must pay the price of another rash act.

Catherine stood absolutely still. Her first desire had been to lash out in the same manner he had, but not being sure what he might do had stayed her tongue. She was no longer afraid, she was merely ordering herself. Her thoughts were a jumble. What had he been speaking to her about? Possibly the coat? . . . No, he had spoken of acting in a foolish and dangerous fashion. What had she done that was dangerous? He could not have meant the wall! Coming off it may be inelegant, awkward certainly, but not dangerous.

All she did was watch him. Frederick knew that there were many thoughts passing through his sister's mind at that moment. Most likely, none would be flattering to his gallantry. He took another step toward her. She did not move, but she raised her chin and her countenance was moving from fright and puzzlement to confrontation. "I cannot find the words to say how sorry I am, Catherine. I fear that no matter what I tell you in way of explanation will correct this," he said earnestly.

"Try."

"Let us go to the house, it is cold out here and we both have been out too long." He saw her draw her hands up into the sleeves of the coat, even with gloves, one grew cold quickly. Her cheeks and lips showed the cold. He started toward her so that he might offer her his arm.

"We must settle this now. Edward will be up and about and I do not think either one of us wish him to be involved in this. What did I do that you perceived to be dangerous and foolish?" she asked. Her voice was controlled and precise, but flat.

Frederick was still attempting to bring her out of the cold. "Let us go into the stable and talk. You can, at least, have a seat and I shall endeavor an explanation."

"All right." To Frederick's surprise, she did accept the offer of his arm. They walked back to the horse and he gathered the reins around one hand. To the stable they went.

"I do not, generally, go about rebuking other men's wives. I was just . . . Edward would be devastated if something were to happen to you. As I have found today--accidents are waiting in nearly every quarter to snare us," Frederick said quietly. He did not wish to use his fall as a point of sympathy. They came to the stable, he released the latch and showed her in. A few days before, he had noticed a low stool lying in a corner. He fetched it and running his hand over it, made it fit for her to sit upon.

"You have had an accident? What happened?" she asked. She began to examine him for traces. His great coat was black so there was no obvious evidence of the fall. As he moved away from her, the coat front opened and revealed a large grass stain on his left leg. It began below his knee and moved up further than the coat would open. "You were not injured much I see." She was concerned for him, but was more interested in explanations just now.

"No, she decided to go left and right in the span of seconds and I had no choice--but down." He began to strip the offending animal of her gear. As long as they were in the stable, there was no sense merely discussing his daftness. Being occupied in the task would, at times give him escape from having to face her. He hung the bridle and began uncinching the girth. As it loosened, the indelicate beast heaved a loud sigh of relief, punctuated by a deep and rather long belch. While neither Catherine nor Frederick had been speaking, both stilled and looked at the animal. Both were still caught up in the emotion of the moment, but the absurdity of the scene was too rich not to appreciate.

Catherine was the first to speak, "Perhaps that was her idea of an apology." She smiled, looking out the window. It had occurred to her that Frederick was not so much wrong in his concern, only that his delivery was badly done. As she thought more about the entire matter, she became convinced that Edward would see things more from Frederick's point than hers, considering her physical state. "I must tell you, I have been jumping that wall since coming here after Edward and I were married. I am rather tall, and I do lower myself, somewhat before going down. I do not feel that it is so dangerous as you make it to be."

Frederick busied himself checking the saddle, keeping his face to himself. "Perhaps you are right. You are tall and are not a foolish little girl, heedlessly flinging yourself about." He looked over to her. "In my acquaintance is a young woman who took a bad fall and sustained an injury to her brain. It occurred recently so I am afraid that my sensibilities were aroused when I saw you." There was no more to do to the tack. He fed his ungracious steed and turned fully to Catherine. Leaning against the hay crib, he crossed his arms and continued, "I was present when the incident took place, in many ways, I feel totally responsible for it. So you see, combined with my own fall earlier and my recent irresponsibility, I am afraid you were the victim of my rash tongue. Please forgive me."

"Why do you feel responsible for this young woman's injury? If she chose to jump from a wall that was too high, that is her own fault. You cannot stop someone else's rash behavior, only your own," she said pointedly.

"Both points are well taken, sister. But it is very difficult in the face of such events, to not take a share in the guilt. Especially when I was the one that was to catch her--and did not," he said looking past Catherine to the Cobb at Lyme that wretched day. "Were it not for the cool and collected mind of another lady present, I hate to wonder what might have happened." He turned to look in the horses grain bin and pat her neck.

"You were fortunate to have such a capable friend present in a time of crisis. Is the girl better?" This drama was becoming interesting to her. Not only the events, but the unchecked responses of Frederick were becoming conspicuous. There was a far away look to him, a softness to his voice when speaking of . . . she was not certain which of the two women this was for. It must be for the lady of a cool head, for he had not defended the other in her actions. There was colour rising to his face. The cold was making him ruddy to begin with, but this was a flush rising from the top of his collar to the brim of his hat. There were deep feelings here. Very deep.

"I have had no intelligence of her condition since leaving the area. That was over two weeks ago." He turned back. "I must write soon and inquire." He stood thinking about what he might say in such a letter to Harville.

Catherine was still watching for traces of the Captain's true feelings in the matter. He was obviously not frantic for this young woman if he could bear weeks away with no word as to her condition. She decided that the whole matter of the wall was rather fortuitous. Other than a few moments of high anxiety, and some actual fear, she may gain some knowledge of her brother-in-law that would reveal much about the condition of his heart.

"You mentioned a woman with the presence of mind to guide you in aiding the woman who fell. Is she a nurse?" Catherine asked, innocently.

"No, just a woman who had the faculties to direct all the rest of us present. She was the first to think of a surgeon and who would be the best to fetch him. Where we should take her to be cared for. She was even willing to nurse her for whatever duration, but other opinions took precedence in that matter." The last was said with some pique.

"Was this in Somerset? That is where the Admiral and Sophy have settled is it not?" she asked. Catherine knew very well where Edward's sister had taken up residence, but now she was exploring.

"No, we were not at Kellynch where they reside. A small party of family and friends had gone to Lyme. Are you familiar with Lyme?" Catherine shook her head in the negative. "Lyme is a lovely, small town on the south coast. There is a man made jetty called the Cobb that dominates the shore. When the tide is out, the lower Cobb is exposed. We were taking a last stroll before quitting for home and I was helping the ladies down the narrow stairs from the upper to the lower. Miss Musgrove, the lady who fell, insisted on jumping down from a modest height. In a misguided notion of amusement, I caught her." At this, Frederick uncrossed his arms and began examining his gloves. Catherine could see his discomfort with the narrative growing by the moment. He proceeded to remove the gloves, placing them in his coat pocket. Again crossing his arms, he went on, "As I turned to retrieve my hat, Louisa--Miss Musgrove, ran back up the stairs and called to me. She had gone further up this second time, and jumped before I could reach her. She fell to the lower walk. I thought she was most certainly dead." All the flush was gone from him now as he spoke of the incident.

"Had it not been for Miss Elliot and her keen mind, I fear that Miss Musgrove would not have received such quick and expert care." As he spoke, the entire scene played out before him. In all the muddle of the episode, only Anne's actions and her physical being were clear to him. She alone stood out as distinct in the haze. A clear, collected mind at work.

Catherine was very satisfied with this revelation. The soft voice had returned and the flush was slowly being restored. This Miss Elliot was someone who had a hold of some sort on Frederick. His voice, when speaking of Miss Musgrove, had been rather taut. There also was something here. Not fondness, but an interest of sorts. She suspected his anxiety when speaking of the incident had not to do with the girl, but with the part he related was his. Perhaps he could be coaxed to speak of Miss Elliot. "Is Miss Elliot related to Miss Musgrove somehow? You said the party was family and friends. Be she friend or family?" Catherine said with an exaggerated tone, as though she were a sentry inquiring of an intruder. Smiling, she endeavored to give a lightness, hoping this would induce conversation.

Frederick smiled a half smile at Catherine's jest. He began to suspect she was in a quest of information. This woman's mind was as quick as another woman he knew. She had watched him carefully and undoubtedly seen the flush he had felt come. She most likely had seen other clues he did not notice. It mattered not. She would most likely never meet Anne so what harm could a little talk do? "No, Anne . . . Miss Elliot is no relation to Miss Musgrove, well, only distantly, by marriage. Her sister is married to a shooting partner of mine and Miss Musgrove is his sister. Miss Elliot's family are leasing Kellynch Hall to the Admiral and my sister." This was all he chose to impart to her. She was clever, she would ascertain more, somehow.

He was not giving much. But, he had smiled and the tone of voice was still a little soft. This bodes well. She decided that she had found enough to be interesting. Perhaps Miss Elliot could be brought up in conversation with Edward. Her husband would not hesitate to tell all he knew. As long as he felt no confidences were in danger, he would share all he could. Besides, her feet were numb and she was hungry. It was time to cease exploring and begin the day in ernest. She stood. "Well Captain, perhaps we can continue later when we are not numb from cold and breakfast calling. I shall say nothing to Edward if you will not. I feel we were both hasty in this. I should stay to the ground and not act as though I am a young girl again." She lowered her voice, "My doing such things mortified my mother, even then," she whispered conspiratorially. "I believe you only had my best interest at heart, though you should be careful, you look rather fierce when you are angry."

"I am sorry that I frightened you. Edward told me last night about . . . this coming summer. I would hope that I was motivated more by tender concern and not simply the recollection of a painful memory." He looked at her, hoping this could bring them back where they had been--on the road to a solid friendship.

"Ah . . . then we shall count this to your concern for your niece or nephew. I forgive your rebuke and you keep my careless activity to yourself?" she asked.

"We have a compact. Neither of us shall speak of this nor engage in the acts again. Agreed?" he said, reaching his hand to shake hers.

"Agreed." They shook hands. He offered his arm to her, which she accepted and they made their way to the house.

"What have to two of you been up to?" asked Edward as Frederick and Catherine entered the dining room. Both had gone to their respective rooms after returning to the house. Catherine had change into a gown more appropriate for breakfast and Frederick had changed from his grass stained trousers. They had met outside the door coincidentally. Nodding to one another, he gestured and she entered first, he followed. Frederick looked at her quizzically. Catherine gave a small shrug to her shoulders. It was certain that Edward had not seen the exchange in the grove. This must be a general question of interest. She went to him and kissed his cheek. Frederick went to the credenza and began to serve himself.

"As for myself, I have been for a ride. After my horse began to play games which resulted in a rather hard fall . . ." He could see Edward beginning to be concerned. "I am fine, so I decided to make my way home." He brought his plate and a cup of tea to the table. He sat, placed his napkin in his lap and watched Catherine. He decided to take his lead from her, she would know better how to move about Edward.

"And I spent time in the grove. The frost does wonderful things to the trees," she said lightly. She went to pour herself a cup of tea and took some toast and butter. She brought these back to the table and seated herself next to Edward. She began buttering the toast when her husband asked, "What were the two of you talking of in the grove? Mrs. Graham told me she saw the two of you earlier. She was rather amused that Frederick's horse seemed to be included in the conversation."

Edward looked to Catherine first and then to Frederick. They, in turn, looked to one another. He had made no mention of the stable, Catherine decided something must be said, "If you must know, we were discussing garden architecture. We were discussing walls to be precise." She raised an eyebrow to Frederick.

Frederick hid a smile in his napkin. Garden architecture indeed! He mused that it was fortunate Catherine was married to a rector for with her quick mind, another influence could allow her to cause much devilry. He just hoped that quick mind would not turn itself in his direction.

"So have you convinced my brother to give us his summer and help me rebuild that sorry wreck we call a fence behind the grove? What do you say Frederick, room and board for some genuine work? You can get those well-kept hands of yours 'scuffed up' a bit," said Edward with a smile.

"I will compare my hands to yours any day Rector Wentworth. I dare say mine are 'scuffed up' enough to keep me from being taken for a dandy. Uh . . . As I recall, Catherine and I also discussed fashion, did we not, sister? It seems all the rage, here in Shropshire, to be seen ambling in your husband's castoffs," he said smiling in Catherine's direction. He was anxious to hear the explanation for the coat that had started all this.

"You have been at my coat again, have you?" Edward said turning to Catherine. "And I suppose you snatched the hat also?" His tone was not angry so Frederick knew this was not going to be a point of contention. "Would you be so good as to enlighten my brother on 'Catherine Wentworth's Theory of Fashion'?" he said taking a drink.

"Of course, I would be honoured to explain the theory," she said turning from one brother to the other. "The theory . . . Frederick . . . goes like this; While mens' coats are actually constructed with the warmth of the wearer in mind, womens' are merely crafted to make them look well when found frozen. Ergo, any women wanting warmth on a frigid day as this, must by necessity, wear a man's coat." She took a sip of tea and looked back to Edward, "My theorem in a condensed form, my dear." Edward laughed. "Tell why you wear the hat," he said raising his hand, as to turn the floor to her again.

"I have no theory on the hat, I suppose there are many who would say I wear it from contrariness," Catherine said the last grudgingly.

Frederick was impressed with the way Catherine acquitted herself on these points. Poor, guileless Edward did not suspect that an entire conversation he knew nothing of, was swirling about his head. Frederick wished an end to the one-upsmanship. He had exhausted his useable points, Mrs. Wentworth still had many . . . many of his own revealing.

"Did the two of you discuss anything else worthy of note?" Edward asked as he laid his napkin on his plate. "Guileless' Edward was very interested in the conversation that Frederick and his wife seemed to be conducting around him. He was in a mood to play too.

"There was not much else as I recall. Unless you count Frederick telling me of his travels to Lyme," Catherine said brightly. She was not sure why she had spoken at all. She knew the subject to be uncomfortable at the very least. At the very most, out and out painful. She looked to Frederick for a reaction. His countenance was going from one of amusement to dark and gloom before her very eyes. "Oh what mischief have I done now?" she cried in her mind.

"You have been to Lyme, Frederick? When was this? I was under the impression you had come to us from Plymouth, you did not mention Lyme," Edward said. He noticed the immediate change in Frederick, he looked to Catherine and saw a change there also. They had spent much more time together in conversation than Edward had thought. There were many things passing between them and he meant to find out all he could.

"He had just been telling me of a small party of friends and family going for an overnight holiday, did you not Frederick?" Catherine said quickly, hoping to divert Edward in another direction.

"Yes, certainly not much else to tell." He glanced at Catherine, she turned from his gaze. Her agile mind had taken her past the point of propriety and she knew it. He was not angry. Just very weary. Lack of sleep and his fall were catching up to him. He would finish his meal and go lay down.

"You mentioned family, did Sophy and the Admiral attend?" Edward asked. He wanted to know what there was about Lyme that would bring such an abrupt halt to the conviviality.

"No, I was the only friend. The rest were Charles Musgrove and his family, his wife and sisters." Frederick placed his silver and napkin on the plate in preparation of leaving the room when Edward asked, "Did Charles Musgrove finally wed Mary Elliot? I had word from Arthur Peidmont that there was an engagement. I never heard anything else and that was . . . nearly four years ago by my recollection." Edward did not want to hurt his brother by the mention of the Elliots, but it was all he could think to ask.

"Yes, she married Musgrove about that time, I think. By the ages of their children, I would say so," Frederick said in a distracted tone.

"When you were in Lyme, you undoubtedly walked the Cobb. Is it not a wonder?" Surely there could be no harm in talking about a walkway. As Edward watched their faces, he could see that even this topic seemed to generate more discomfit. What in the name of Heaven had passed between them?

"Yes, the Cobb is quite a memorial to man's ability," said Frederick.

"Yes, man's ability . . . Catherine, my dear, could you do a favor for me? I intend to wear my black stock this evening and I cannot find it. Would you have a look for me?" Edward asked as he watched his brother.

"Certainly, when I find it, I shall press it for you. That way we shall not forget," she said, thankful for an excuse to leave the room.

"Thank you, I do not wish to be dashing for the carriage at the last minute, tying myself in knots," he said finishing his tea.

Edward rose and refilled his cup. Sitting back in his chair, he said to Frederick, "I know that you and Catherine were 'conversing' around me earlier. I am not certain why, but I am not as witless as you may imagine." This was not said with any rancor, but with some amusement. Frederick looked at Edward with a hint of a smile. No, Edward was not a stupid man.

"So we are found out. Yes, she and I had a long conversation before returning to the house earlier," he answered.

"I also noticed that the mention of Lyme and the Cobb in particular. More went on in Lyme than you are letting on. Do you wish to speak of it?" he asked.

Frederick did not wish to speak of it, but decided that telling Edward something would, perhaps take the wind from some of this pent-up emotion. He took a last drink of his tea and began, "Lyme was not a peaceful little holiday as we had all hoped. One of Musgrove's sisters fell from the Cobb and was insensate for some time. She is recovering now, but I had a role to play in the incident and feel it acutely. I suppose I should tell you that Anne was in the party." He looked at Edward, waiting for a response.

"So, you have been in Anne's company. Your comment of the first evening left me to wonder. But, I thought Sophy said that the Baronet was to repair to Bath. Why was Anne still in the district," he asked curiously.

"My understanding is that Mrs. Charles Musgrove is, at times, indisposed and Anne is her only source of solace and requires her company. So she went from Kellynch to Uppercross Cottage. That put her into the society of the Musgrove family. When I arrived at Kellynch, I too was drawn in and so, by fate she and I spent much time together," he said, remembering how much time and how he had wasted nearly all of it.

"But I assess by your manner that it has not been productive time. You have not been able to come back to her good graces?" he questioned.

"Edward, you are looking at the biggest fool in Britain. I did not even try! I held her off with ruthless civility and anger written all over me." Frederick had risen and gone to the window. The day was still grey and the frost still thick. A perfect day to recount his cold behavior.

Edward sat thinking how, in many ways, not much had changed in Frederick since Monkford. Still a slave to that confidence and pride, but perhaps this would be the tool to break those chains. Perhaps too, it was not impossible for a good ending. His confidence in the miraculous had been bolstered by yesterday's events.

"I am sorry. I knew that Kellynch would be difficult enough, just staying there. To stay in the house where you and she had taken company together. But then to have her still in the area and to be in her presence. A very hard thing I am sure," he said sympathetically.

Frederick leaned against the casement of the window. "You know Edward, I did not have to spend my time at Uppercross. Somerset is a very large county. I could have found other society. Was I more determined to leave the ghosts of Kellynch or be in Anne's company, no matter how distant I kept her?"

Edward rose and went to Frederick. He took him by the shoulders, gave him a gentle shake and said, "Go to bed Frederick. Rest yourself. Do not hesitate to make excuses for tonight. You will be here a while and the Keyes can have another go at you some other time." He released his shoulders and started for the door.

"Edward, what time should I be ready ? I do not wish to spend the evening alone," he asked, looking toward the door.

"We shall leave at five."

"Then five it is," he said looking back out the window.

Catherine lay on the bed, on her back, looking up at the ceiling. If only it would fall on her this very second and spare her the embarrassment her foolishness had brought. Not to mention the pain she had stirred in Frederick. That was the worst of it. The embarrassment was deserved, the pain was inexcusable.

She also thought about the compact she and Frederick had made. It was not a good idea to keep secrets from one's husband, no matter how innocuous. While she had no desire for the scolding she would receive, at least she would be able to speak without wondering which story to tell. As these thoughts played out in her mind, Edward entered the room. He saw her on the bed and lay down beside her. "What are we gazing upon?" he asked innocently.

"I am awaiting an answer to the question 'why'. I do not know what you are doing," she said dully.

Edward raised himself on his elbow and looked at his wife. "Why?"

"Yes. I would like to know why I allow myself to do and say foolish things sometimes," she said with consternation.

"It most likely has to do with being human I think. Most of us are prone to it." He could tell that her conscience was working on her and he would not have much to do.

"Let us come directly to the point. I know that you and Frederick had a long conversation this morning. I do not know how it came about. I could tell that the subject of Lyme was sensitive. I spoke to my brother a little and have found out some things you most likely do not know." He did not wish to scold, she was not a child but he also knew her to be a bit too curious for her own good at times, this being one of them.

"The entire subject of Kellynch and Somerset and all the goings on in Lyme are bound to be painful for Frederick. I think it would be best to fish another pond my dear. This one is played out." He said this with as much emphasis as possible without giving offense.

"Does this have to do with a Miss Anne Elliot?" she asked. By the change to Edward's look, she had her answer.

"Frederick told you of Anne?"

"Not everything I imagine. It was more his manner as he spoke of her. Edward, he is very much taken with her, I think," said Catherine.

He decided that Catherine was not likely to say any more to Frederick and her curiosity might turn rampant again. Best to tell her and be done with it. "Frederick and Anne were engaged nearly nine years ago. He had come to Monkford to stay for the summer. She was beautiful and sweet, he was bored. They met and fell in love." Edward stroked Catherine's arm as he said, " I must say, I envied him. Not about Anne, just the idea of love. Anyhow, they kept company for a few months and he proposed, she accepted him. Her family did not. At the time, he was a new commander, not anything in the way of money."

Catherine was feeling worse by the moment. She had been playing a game, Frederick had been reliving what had to be one of his worst griefs.

"Frederick has always fancied himself very able to make his expectations come to pass. He and I are very different in that way. I am very cautious and there is not much daring-do in my constitution. Frederick on the other hand is quite sure the world will eventually see his point and give in to him. This is all he had to bring to Anne's family. What he calls confidence, they called pretension. Especially Anne's godmother."

Edward sat up and leaving the bed, sat in the chair. He rubbed his elbow as he continued, "Lady Russell is a close friend of the Elliot's. She advised Anne not to marry him. Partly out of prudence and partly out of dislike. His manner alarmed her. I gained some intelligence of this after he had left the area. She felt him too witty. This indicated imprudence to her. I cannot blame her. His youth did compel overstatement of himself."

"He must have taken her refusal very hard. But he must still care for her to keep the fire this long," cried Catherine. The idea of such constancy in the face of so much disappointment touched her greatly.

"He did take it badly. He felt she had used him somehow. He was angry and took it out on her. If he was half as volatile with her as he was me, it is a wonder she has allowed him in her presence over the past few weeks. Frederick left the area shortly after that. Anne has not been a topic of conversation for these past eight years and a half. I knew there was something brewing on the first night he was here. Her name came up and the look on his face was enough to tell me all was not well. When Sophy wrote saying she and the Admiral were making a move to Somerset, I was apprehensive, but not overly worried. then when she wrote and told me they were letting, of all places, Kellynch Hall--Anne's family home, I was shocked! I was certain that no good would come of it."

"Why would they let that particular house when they knew it would bring such painful memories to Frederick?" she said warmly.

"Sophy knows nothing of this. She and Croft were in the East Indies. I dare say, that besides me and her immediate family, there are not any others who do know. Their attachment was known in the area, but the engagement was of such a short duration and unannounced. He left quickly afterwards. Time dulls memories of such things."

"Oh, Edward! He has had to stay in that very house! How dreadful for him. Now I feel worse. I was playing a child's game with all this. I must apologised immediately," she rose from the bed, moving to the door.

Edward rose to catch her by the arm, "My dear, he is resting. He did not sleep last night. His fall is most likely owing to that. If you must apologise, do not go into all of this. Just excuse yourself of the things the two of you discussed. He does not need your trying to give comfort bringing on more pain. All right?" Edward's eyes told of his concern for Frederick and Catherine could not fault him for this. She decided to take his advise, best to limit herself to their conversation only.

"All right. I shall behave. I think I have learned my lesson," she said putting her arms around Edward.

He wrapped his about her and kissed the top of her head. "I just hope Frederick will learn his, my dear."

"Catherine, I heard and understood what you had to say the first three times you said it. I made the decision to leave Frederick asleep and that is all there is to it," Edward said as the coach that had been sent, pulled away from the rectory. "When I went in to awaken him, he did not even stir. He has exhausted himself. I did not think he need be bathed, powdered and primped for a gay evening of society." He did not mention that he was delighted to have his wife all to himself for the three-mile ride to her parents.

"But I hate to think of him all alone on Christmas Eve. All alone in an empty house. Not even Mrs Graham about. I think his spirits would have been lifted being in the company of others," Catherine said with a compassionate tone.

Edward turned to her and drew her close, then he kissed her lightly. "You do me proud wife, caring so deeply for my poor, bewildered brother. But this is a situation he has been living with for nearly nine years and neither you nor I can alter it in a few days. As for his being alone, I dare say, that no matter whose company he is in, he is very much alone. Until he has Anne to be his wife, this is the way it shall be I am afraid."

"It is so pitiable. Now that I know all this, I think back to looks of his I saw and know he must have been thinking about her. Why has he not tried to win her back? Surely any objections her people had to him years ago are gone. Or at least offset by his accomplishments," she said, feeling rather piqued by the notion of Frederick's not being good enough.

"So, you are beginning to take up his cause, eh? Catherine, I was angry for him years ago and it did not change the outcome then. I do not think your indignation will do much now. It is nice to see though. You are becoming a true Wentworth. One for all and all for one!" he smiled. Catherine was a woman who did nothing partly. Her care for Frederick was proof of that.

"I ask you again, why has he not attempted to win her back to himself? Perhaps she feels the same toward him and is only waiting his lead. A woman cannot initiate such a thing," she said.

"He admitted that much of it has been pride on his part. And not a little fear I would guess. My brother is courageous in battle, cannons blazing and all that. Laying his heart out for possible crushing is not something that he, or any man for that matter, looks to with anticipation," Edward said with a knowledgeable tone.

"Why do all men assume that they shall be crushed by women?" she asked with frustration. The answer to this had to wait as the coach stopped to allow Mrs. Graham down. Her sister's cottage was just up the lane. They bid one another a good holiday and began again.

Edward had used the time to compose an answer. "Men are very vulnerable creatures. We are stronger in body, but in the heart we are not so much weak as we are . . . exposed. Everything we do is for one thing, the love of a woman." He was glad for the darkness. " We will fight and die to protect a wife and family, spend ourselves in hard toil for the same. If there is a woman who loves us we can rise to our greatest. If that love is taken somehow, as with Frederick, we do not necessarily fall low, we are still able to achieve, as my brother is proof. I think after that, we only have life--we are not truly alive." It hurt him to think that this was Frederick's life over the years--mere existence.

Catherine was silent. She thought about how Edward was saying this as much about himself as about Frederick. She realised she had much power over him. Best she use it wisely. "Shall we find another topic? As much as I care for your brother, this is too melancholy for us to delve before a party." She laid her head on his shoulder. "How do you think Mother and Father will feel about another grandchild?"

"I think, they shall be quite excited. I think they will be very shocked. No one expects much of us I am afraid," he said with a laugh.

"It might surprise them to know just how much energy is left in that old and frail body of yours," she said wickedly. She kissed his cheek and then his jaw and then . . .

"Catherine! Your forwardness can be rather . . . alarming at times. But there are moments . . . as now, when I cannot help succumbing to it." As the carriage bumped along its way, he drew her closer and began to kiss her in a way that would indeed shock those who might not expect much of him.

It had taken Frederick quite a while to come fully awake. It was dark and that did not aid in awakening. It was dark! That meant he had missed preparing for dinner at the Keyes. Why had no one tried to awaken him? He came out of the bed and lit a candle. He opened the door and looked up and down the hall. Other than the hall candles, all was dark. He turned and closed the door. "I have been left! So much for brotherly love," he said aloud. He was actually relieved. After telling Edward he did not wish to spend the evening alone, he had thought better of it. As he had fallen asleep, the idea of waking up to attend a dinner was less and less appealing.

He went to the dresser for fresh garments when he noticed a note pushed into the frame of the mirror. He opened it and moved the candle. It read;

Frederick,
I hope you look better now than at breakfast.

Looking over the note and glancing in the mirror, "Not much," he mused.

Since I am a rector and your older brother, and this outranks your captaincy, I decided to leave you asleep. The house is empty excepting you. Catherine left something in the warming oven for your dinner. Please, get some rest. If you are in the mood to call me out for excluding you, I have an old squirrel gun--somewhere. There is only one so if we must duel, it will, by necessity, be by turns.

EW

Frederick laughed heartily. "And people call me the witty Wentworth brother."

Suddenly, a cool draft reminded Frederick that he was still in his nightshirt. Dropping the note on the dresser, he chose what to wear and proceeded to dress.

After dressing and eating, he decided to make good on his comment to Catherine and write to Harville, inquiring as to Louisa's recuperation. After the fourth sheet of paper, Frederick felt he had composed a letter which expressed enough concern as to the lady's condition, but also made his personal disinterest clear. There were general inquiries of health and the weather. There were no events on his part to relate. Except for telling of Edward's new wife and the parish, the letter was rather sparse of anything personal. He did not wish to place Harville in the position of having to determine what to convey to whom. The less he revealed of himself, the less complication.

He sealed the letter and laid it aside. The quiet of the house was pleasant. Before starting the letter, he had stirred the banked fire to a cheery blaze. He leaned back in the chair, surveying the room. There he sat, satisfied with the task he had accomplished. The room warm and comfortable, all he desired was Anne. He had come to the conclusion that afternoon that running from his love for her did no good. He might as well acknowledge it and on a night as this, indulge it.

He and Anne had never spent Christmas together. They had never had the chance. He wondered what she would be doing this night. At this moment. He looked to the clock, it was near striking eight. Perhaps dining with a family of her and Lady Russell's acquaintance. Possibly they were home, quietly observing the season. If he were fortunate, she had thought of him just as he was thinking of her.

His mind began to drift from the speculative present to the known, recent past. Five or six days after the accident in Lyme, Frederick had ridden to Kellynch carrying a daily note from the Musgroves to various interested parties in the area. The note was generally the province of Charles Hayter, who had been daily riding the circuit from Kellynch to Lyme and back again. This day, while he had felt the need of a long ride, Charles Hayter had taken advantage of this to keep company with Miss Henrietta.

The seventeen miles had gone by quickly and it was still early when he had arrived at the Hall. Sophy and the Admiral were just finishing breakfast and asked him to join them. He had declined food but took coffee. They had not seen him since his going to Lyme. They were glad that he looked as well as he did, considering the events of the past few days. He told them of Anne's exertions and inquired after her particularly. He was told that she had not, as yet, been to visit in the Hall itself, which they understood completely. Though they did meet her at various times about the village. Sophy had offered to relay the note to Miss Anne, to save him the time. He agreed. He had stayed a few hours. Long enough to pack more clothing and clear some business he found had come up in his absence. He bid his sister and the Admiral farewell. He did not expect to leave Lyme again for some time.

There were two things which had occurred that day Frederick chose to remember. The first had been in the Hall itself. It was not an event as much as a realisation. When he had come to the Hall just after Sophy and the Admiral had taken up residence, the most difficult thing had been entering. His last visit to this home had ended badly when Sir Walter summarily dismissed him at his asking for Anne's hand. The Baronet had made it clear that an alliance between his daughter and a mere sailor would be a degradation and not supportable. Not one of his finer memories.

Once the hurdle of merely entering was crossed, living in the Hall had been not without some hardships. In his anger, he had been very aware that all those who had sought the demise of his relationship with Anne, either lived or frequented Kellynch and it had stung him to think that he now was residing with their ghosts. On this day however, his view began to change. He realised as he moved about his room to pack more clothes, Anne had lived in this house all her life. She had played in these halls as a child. She had practised the piano in the library. Much of her time must have been spent with those books. There was not much other company in this house for her. He began to understand that she permeated Kellynch Hall. She had walked on the carpets he now walked upon. At one time or another, she had without doubt, sat in every chair. In the years, she would have taken food from each plate, drunk from each cup and had each spoon to her lips. He was surrounded by her, more than by the ghosts. If he were ever to live at Kellynch again, it would not be the rebuke it had once been. It would be a constant, tender reminder of the gentle lady who grew to womanhood in these rooms. The woman who had, for a time loved him, and made him more than he actually was.

The other came as he was taking leave of Kellynch proper. As he was riding out the main road, he had seen Anne. She was walking the grounds of what he knew to be Kellynch Lodge, the home of Lady Russell. Frederick had felt it safe to watch as he was behind a stone wall and at some distance. Anne was not merely walking, she was pruning some bushes. He watched in fascination as she would trim and step back to see her work. Then go back to prune more away. Such a simple task.

Enough time had passed since the accident that Frederick was quite aware of Anne's merits and was beginning to see his own folly more clearly each day. That was why this simple chore was drawing his attention. She took care and time with each cut, she studied as she went. There was no heedless slashing here and there, only careful attention to a task. A task that she may not even see the result of, as she would be in Bath when these bushes were in leaf.

He did not know how long he had watched. Not long enough to satisfy. At one time he thought she had seen him. She stood to straighten her back and as she rolled her head to stretch her neck, she looked directly where he had positioned himself. She went back to the trimming, he had not been seen. Soon afterwards, she gathered the cuttings that had fallen to the ground and went away.

Simple acts are the ones which tell the most. What we are when thought alone is our true self. Frederick reflected upon these memories, and thought about other memories he had of Anne. There were memories which were certainly more passionate, ones which brought tension not only to his mind but his flesh as well, but these were not the memories he chose this cold Christmas Eve night. He had chosen sweet and tender studies of her character instead. He had chosen to remember Anne and not her mere effect. Perhaps he was coming to truly love her, not a memory.

Frederick's contemplation of Anne on the eve of Christmas was lovely to his heart, but vexing to his temperament. The next day, he had been peevish. This was only interposed when Catherine and Edward presented him with a custom bound book. The volume was not as any other. The indigo blue, leather cover bore no title. The inner page said simply, Captain Frederick Wentworth, HMRN. As the pages were turned, a chronicle of Frederick's career unfolded. Beginning with the Borthwick, his first posting and the ship on which he was recognised and promoted to commander. His posting to the Asp and it's sinking in a storm off Plymouth. A rendering from a London paper of the Great Nation, the French frigate he captured. His posting to the Laconia and the attending accomplishment since the year '08. The pages from the lists he was indexed in also graced the book.

Over the years, Edward had kept clippings himself. He had also enlisted the aid of those he corresponded with and so had items from many locales. Catherine had found the clippings in a box and suggested the book. She saw no sense in have such mementos shut away where they were not seen. Edward had put them in order and she had taken them to town and had chosen the binding and printing. Frederick was moved by this collaboration. Over the years he had thought Edward indifferent to his achievements, but this proved him wrong. For a while he forgot Anne, Louisa and the difficulties accompanying each, he could see in print that not only did his brother care, but that his life had not been wasted. Empty perhaps, not wasted.

This pleasant surprise had carried him through the evening. The next morning, he proved to be back to churlish. Catherine observed, privately to Edward that Frederick was rather like the old, 8-day clock in the study. It only ran well for two days. The rest of the time it was either too fast or too slow. Frederick was beginning to be pleasant only some of the time. Things deteriorated markedly after a post from Captain Harville. Frederick read it repeatedly and after each reading, as Catherine found, it was best to be elsewhere.

The day was Wednesday. Several days from Christmas and a few to the new year. The letter had come the Saturday before. Frederick had kept it with him and would take it out at odd moments to scan a sentence or two now and again. On this day, at one of these times, Catherine had been in the study with him and made a comment about it being a very interesting letter since he read it so often. The comment had been innocent, she having learned her lesson earlier. His comment had been terse and to the point. It was none of her concern and he would thank her to keep from his private matters. He then quit the room and left her uncertain as to how she should feel. After this, she kept Edward between them and tried to be understanding--from a distance.

The eve of the new year dawned cold with snow in the offing. Edward looked out the window of his study. The year past had been one of many changes for him. The previous December, he was only contemplating a proposal to Catherine. He was just under consideration for the parish at Crown Hill. He had merely been a single curate in Glencoe hoping for a new year better than the last. It had come.

He went to the hallway and donned his coat and hat. He stepped out into cold and walked to the church. He entered and scrutinised the sanctuary. Looked to the pulpit, the pews. He was now responsible for this place and those who trusted him to guide them. He removed his hat and went to the front. He sat and began to pray. The past year played itself out in that prayer. His gratefulness for a woman who cared for him as Catherine. The occupation of a rector. His friendship with Joshua that had come so accidentally. He thanked God for his past being completely open now. He had no secrets. His only supplication came for Catherine's safe delivery of their child and a resolution to Frederick's quandary about Anne. He was glad to have so few wants. Other years had more than made up for this. He checked his watch and found he had been gone for well over two hours. Catherine would be wondering where he had gotten himself off to.

He stepped out and found the landscape white. It had been snowing very hard nearly the entire time he was inside. This made him glad Catherine had begged pardon from her parents' that evening. She was tired and he was pensive. Frederick was not fit to take into society with his moods lately. Perhaps the time to talk to Frederick was here. How appropriate, the eve of a new year. The one night of the year there seems only to be the past and the future, maybe they could talk of both.

While Edward prayed, Catherine did indeed wonder where he had gotten himself off to. As she made her way around the house looking for him, she thought about her past year. She paused in the sitting room. It was not used often. Seating herself on the couch, she thought about how things were changing for her and Edward. When she had gone to town a few weeks ago, they had been alone in the house. When she returned, she knew of a baby to come, Mrs. Graham was in tow and Frederick was here to stay an unspecified amount of time. She missed the quiet of the former way.

The room held no fire, she pulled her shawl closer to her. They had been alone nearly all the ten months of their marriage. It would never be that way again. It saddened her to know Edward would never again be solely hers. That time was over. The coming year would bring many new things to them and she must find the vigor to transform them into what she loved as much as just her and Edward alone. She pulled herself from this reverie and continued her search for Edward. The house was not that large, but she had lost him none-the-less.

As she put her hand to the door handle of the study, she drew back. What if Frederick were in there? She had not seen him that morning. He had not been down to breakfast. She stood looking intently at the door. "This is nonsense, Catherine," she said to herself. "You are a grown woman and mistress of this house. If he is in there alone, you will excuse yourself and leave. You need not fear him." But, the hurt little girl in her rebelled. The woman eventually won and she went in.

Frederick was indeed in the study--alone. "Excuse me, I was looking for Edward. Have you seen him by chance?" She asked lightly and rather impersonally.

"No, I have not seen him, but I wish to speak with you Catherine. Please?" Frederick said rising from his chair.

She came in and took a seat by the fire. Perhaps this was the opportunity to reestablish the ease there had once been between them. She could hope for this at least.

"I find myself in the position of offering you another apology for my rash tongue. It would seem that the lessons Edward taught me as a boy have all gone by the wayside," Frederick said.

"Perhaps it is just me that brings out something . . . imprudent in you. I may be more at fault than I know," Catherine said. She was still a bit hesitant to lay all blame at anyone's feet since her sojourn into prying.

Frederick came and sat in the chair next to her, "Imprudence is a quality I seem to have an overabundance of lately and it is not your fault if I choose to engage it. Please forgive me for speaking to you in such a brusque manner. If that letter brings such behavior to me, it should be left alone. I have no business hurting you as I did. You have been nothing but kind to me and all the . . . disruption that seems to accompany my presence."

"I accept your apology. I am sorry that things are not as you wish them to be. I know what it is like when things do not suit. It is difficult to accustom yourself to how things are at times." She smiled, but it was not a merry one. She spoke more for herself than Frederick. She rose and went toward the door, turning she looked at him and said, " I must continue the search for Edward." She pulled the door closed behind her.

"Perhaps I am not the only person in the world who must struggle with themselves," Frederick thought as he leaned back in the chair. He had allowed his own worries to blind him to the other lives around him. She had looked so sad. He only hoped he was not the cause.

The day had passed quickly and quietly. There had been a visitor or two. Edward had done his best to be the kindly rector and entertain as properly he could. He was grateful to have Mrs. Graham. She served and he amused. Catherine was not feeling well and had gone to lie down. He had checked her frequently. She was sleeping quite a lot, but assured Edward that this was the way for most of the Keye women. She joked he should be thankful they did not sicken as others did. He was thankful, but he missed her. She said she would most likely be down in the evening.

It was time for supper when he noticed that Frederick was not about. Edward knew that his brother had discovered the old greenhouse and since it was all ready dark, would most likely be there. He dismissed Mrs. Graham for the evening as there would be no one to dine. He was not hungry, he was anticipating a conversation with Frederick and that took all thought of food from him.

The greenhouse had been someone's flight of fancy at one time. It was now, practically buried in a patch of yew and a stand of small beeches. The daughters' of a previous rector had used it as a hideaway and had dragged two old chairs and other small household items out for play. These had been scattered and forgotten. There was a small coal stove that had been used for heat long ago. Edward had found the stove still warm one day as he walked. He knew Frederick had been there as there had been a small pile of wood shavings. Frederick was known to whittle when puzzling things out.

Edward looked in on Catherine one more time. She had changed into a nightgown and gotten into bed. She was no longer holding out hope she would come down to spend the evening with him. So much the better, he would not feel torn between being with his wife and the conversation he knew must come.

He put on his hat and coat, gathered some small pieces of wood from the kitchen fireplace, lit a lantern and went in search of Frederick. He had been right, Frederick was in the greenhouse, or else there was an unusual thaw occurring on the house's roof panes. "I know you are in there, brother and I have brought more wood," he called.

Edward entered the door and saw Frederick sitting in one of the chairs, balancing on two legs. His feet resting on a piece of the framing. "You found me. I thought I might outwit you. I am not good company tonight," he said in a tone that promised him to be true.

"Perhaps we can change that," Edward said settling himself in the other chair. He moved it about trying ascertain whether or not it would hold. He felt it might, he would just not stir very much. "I decided this morning that I must speak with you about something."

"If it is about my loutish behavior toward Catherine the other day, I have apologised. She has accepted and we are done with the affair," Frederick said matter-of-factly.

"I did not realise your loutish behavior had extended to Catherine. I am glad you made amends. She cares a great deal about you and I think, if you keep to your present course, you will not have that to say about very many people," Edward said quietly. Catherine had not mentioned any falling out, but it would explain why she had seemed hesitant to move about the house. "I think it is time that we talked of Anne Elliot."

Frederick let out a sigh that was very nearly a groan. Anne was not a topic he cared to engage tonight, least of all with Edward. "Must we? I do not wish to speak of her."

"Yes we must. Especially now that I find you are treating my wife to your famous temper. She is too tired and does not deserve this from you. All of this has to do with Anne, somehow," he said.

"Not directly. It has to do with . . . someone else."

"And who might someone else be?" Edward asked.

"You do not know her. She is Charles Musgrove's younger sister--Louisa," Frederick said in a low tone.

"You have not, in so many words, told me you still love Anne Elliot, but I believe this to be the case. How in the name of Heaven is there another woman involved in all this?" Edward could already see that things were going to be complicated. Never let it be said that his brother ever took the easy way.

Frederick knew he was snared. Edward would not let this go until all was told so he may as well confess his sins of impropriety and gain what absolution he could. "I told you I was drawn into society with the Musgroves at Uppercross. I was drawn by attention paid me by the Miss Musgroves--Henrietta and Louisa. It became clear that Miss Henrietta had an understanding with a cousin or other and soon, Miss Louisa and I were spending much time together. I went to the house nearly every day and dined nearly every night. I showed a marked preference for her to all who could see, including Anne." His voice sunk at this. The feelings he held for her now and hope of reciprocation brought more than a little shame for the hurt this would have inflicted.

"I fear that I must soon return to Kellynch to ascertain whether or not the lady expects me to propose. This is what has kept me from Anne. This is what I was doing instead of trying to return to her ' good graces' as you called them. I was dandling a young woman when I should have been begging Anne to take me back!" At this last phrase, he brought his feet down and arose with such force, the chair overturned. He stalked away from Edward and the warmth of the stove. Frederick went to the door and looked out, it was beginning to snow again. He watched his breath a moment and returned. He set the chair upright and sat, his shoulders were stooped and he rested his head on his hands.

Edward had much to think about. He knew that Frederick was, in many ways, his mental superior. As a naval officer he had not only innate skill, but training in assessing situations and plotting a solution for them. This was desirable when hesitation could cost a battle, a ship or men's lives. Edward on the other hand was more labourious in thought. All avenues must be gone down and possibilities weighted in light of known facts. Just listening to Frederick recount all this, Edward saw flaws in his reasoning, this was old ground that had been trod in another place at another time. He admired his brother's desire to do right in the circumstances, and the fact that he did not wish to shirk his responsibilities. Even through all this, he saw Frederick's pride and self confidence. This is what had happened at Monkford, Frederick had determined what must be done, even at the sacrifice of the best possible solution. "This time Edward, you must make him see reason. The consequences of a misstep in this are too dire," he said to himself.

"Can you see that I have no choice in this? That I must return to Kellynch and do the right thing, no matter what I may desire?" Frederick said without looking up.

"I see that you have thought about the situation. Though I do not believe that you have thought through the situation," Edward said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"Pray, what is the difference?"

"You have looked at the situation and, to the best of your ability, thought how to solve the immediate difficulty. but I do not think you are looking at the whole of things. I think there are many things you have not given any thought to." Edward asked gently, "May I point up some I see?" This was unstable ground at best and he did not wish to disturb it further.

"Certainly," the Captain rapped.

Edward bit back a comment on Frederick's defiant tone. "Can you truly stand before an altar and a man of God and swear yourself to this woman when you do not love her?"

Frederick thought that this was rather hypocritical coming from Edward. "This from the man who told me he did not realise he loved the woman he was to marry until four days before the ceremony? Can't you do better than this?"

"It is true that neither Catherine nor I began our engagement in love--that we can determine." Edward turned and looked intently at Frederick.

"Catherine's heart was not tied to another man. My heart was mine to give away. Yours is not. It has belonged to Anne all these years. You have mentioned being angry with her, possibly because you wanted to forget and could not?" He leaned back in the chair.

This was a blow to Frederick. Edward was skilled at getting to the heart of a matter and this was nearly the center of this one.

"As long as we are on the subject of marriage, will you be able to forgive Louisa Musgrove for not being Anne? Or do you think you will grow to love her in the same way? And what of the children you and Louisa will have. Daily contact will bring intimacy whether you desire it now or not. Besides, it will be a part of the vow you will take," Edward said quickly. These things were not easy to say, but said they must be. He groaned inwardly because he could see Frederick stiffen to counter his points.

Frederick had been quite thrown by the mention of children. This part of marriage had never come to his mind. Frederick rose once more. He thought better on his feet and this was becoming as much a war as he had ever fought. "I have no choice, Edward!" His brother had been right, there were things he had not thought of, but his course was plotted and he must stay to it.

"Have you thought about Anne? She has an attachment to Uppercross quite apart from you and the two of you are bound to be in company together over the years. Can you watch her grow older, possibly alone? Or worse yet--what if she marries? Can you rejoice for her in the arms of another man? If you truly love her, you must. Love only wants the best for its object. Can you see her bear children to another man? Can you . . . ,"

"Stop it, Edward!" Frederick shouted. He stood behind Edward and placed his hands on his shoulders, "I see your point. I have not thought this through," he said quietly. His brother had won. Perhaps his course of action was not what was needed here. Perhaps he needed advice from his brother, the Rector.

Edward had not meant to go as far or as deep as he had. He had allowed his cleric sensibilities to be roused by this ill-conceived plan of his brother's. Frederick's concerns were those of social propriety damaged, his were of sacred vows misused. He sat quietly for a moment, trying to compose himself. Another outburst would do no good for either of them. Frederick's hands still rested on his shoulders, he removed his gloves and felt of them. They were like ice. He wondered why he had not worn gloves. It was time for both to be in the house. His feet were beginning to occupy much of his thoughts. "Time for you to be in. You have been out much too long, come."

He rose to go to the door. In turning he came face to face with Frederick. With the bit of light from the lantern, he could discern tiredness and abject defeat. Why was it necessary to break him so thoroughly to make him listen to reason?

"Come on, a fire in the study awaits. Are you hungry? You missed supper."

"No, I am not much for food," Frederick replied.

"No one was. Mrs. Graham made a perfectly good meal only to be told by me to put it away. I dismissed her quite early."

"Catherine was not down? When I spoke to her previously, she seemed a little sad. I hoped my . . . thoughtlessness had not played a part. Is she well?"

"I am not sure. I have not taken time with her since Christmas Eve. I have allowed other things to crowd her out." Edward moved past Frederick, going to the door. "She demands so little of me, I am afraid I pass her over for things and people I think need me more. I need to correct that," he said, mostly to himself. "Would you bring the lantern?"

Frederick took the lantern and headed to the door. He held it aloft to light their way to the house. The snow was coming fast and heavy. The silence was profound. The only noise was from their boots crushing the snow beneath. The flakes fell through the light and landed as they would. He stopped. In watching it, the most peace he had experienced in days came. Edward continued, he was too preoccupied with Catherine to notice Frederick's absence. Such beauty in the midst of all this agitation. If one raised their heads now and again, there was usually something to draw them out and give a truer perspective.

Edward had reached the house and gone in. Frederick continued. He gave a quick look in the stable. He had fed and watered the horses earlier. They both looked toward him in disinterest. "To be as a dumb beast. But, they do not know the pleasure of it all either," he thought.

He entered the house and removed his hat and coat. The warmth of the kitchen touched his face. His brother had been right, he had been out longer than was prudent. He was fortunate that Edward wanted to come in, or else he would have stayed longer. His judgement about most things seemed to be questionable lately.

Edward was nowhere in sight. Water on the floor showed his path out to the hall. He either had gone to the study or was seeing to Catherine. Most likely upstairs. His worry would continue until he was satisfied that she was all right. Frederick began to envy his brother--again. Even in a time of anxiety, the pull to his wife was so strong it eclipsed all other things. He knew this to be true for himself having to do with Anne. He also knew it would never be so for Louisa.

Edward entered their room to find Catherine reading. She still looked tired, more than he had ever seen. He sat next to her. "I am sorry that I have left you to yourself so much these past days. You look as if you need some cheering," he said tenderly.

"No, I just need to rest and become used to the idea of a new year and what it will bring. This past year has been more a faerie tale than real life and I do not wish it to end," she said, closing the book.

"I do not fully understand what you mean by a 'faerie tale.'"

"I mean we lived here most of the time in our own little world and now that must end. We had no one but ourselves to please and no one else to consider. That is ending . . . has ended. Like most selfish creatures, I wish it to remain as it has been," she said sadly, leaning her head against him.

He smiled, "I have never known you to be this fanciful. I learn something new every time I look closely. Move over a bit." He brought his legs up on the bed and placed a pillow on them. He gently pulled her down to lay her head on his lap. He began to stroke her hair. "I understand what you mean. When you went to town, you left me here--alone. On your return, we seemed to be a boarding house!" He rubbed her shoulder. "I do not feel it as acutely as you, my dear. There are times I think, the only reason I live here is because you do. Wherever you go, that would be home for me." He pulled the coverlet over her, tucking it around her shoulders. "Perhaps we should take a trip somewhere. Before summer. Just you and I--all alone. Where should it be? Catherine?"

He carefully leaned forward and looked at her face, she was sleeping again. He took the candle from the bedside table and blew it out. He continued for some time to stroke her hair and listen to her breath. He pondered how it was now his turn to hold and comfort through the low times. To consider how truly painful it was.

Frederick had stirred the fire and brought it to a high blaze. This should warm Edward's feet. He replaced the poker and sat. He began to think on the things Edward had said about his plan to marry Louisa. When he had thought about the situation, all that had been considered was the fact that his behavior toward the lady called for a commitment. He had not counted the cost of that commitment, having dealt with this in much the same way he dealt with most things, directly--no nonsense. Come to a conclusion and be firm. "Let those who would be happy be firm . . . ,"

These words rang in his mind. He had said them to Louisa the day of the walk to Winthrop. He had admired her singleness of mind in forcing Henrietta to settle things with Charles Hayter. This was also when he had been told of Anne's refusing Charles Musgrove as a husband. "Was this for me?" This thought had begun all the others. To watch her and give her the credit she was due. To see her as more than most could hope to be. To begin to love her for who she was and not merely how she made him feel.

If he married Louisa, his fate was sealed. Anne would be forced to give up any idea of his return to her. If she held any. That would open her to another man. His thoughts went to the man on the beach in Lyme. To see her give that smile someone else. To know that someone else could make her laugh as he had. To see the same sort of intimate moments he had witnessed between Edward and Catherine. Another man would hold her, caress her cheek, kiss her lips. Another man would be privy to her thoughts, to her desires . . .

He stood and moved away from the fire. The thought of the passion he knew to be in her, being brought alive by someone else. This was a privilege he wished to be his alone.

He suddenly realised what a brutish man he was. In one thought he could consider marrying Louisa Musgrove, and then, turn and think only of his desire for Anne. Perhaps he should . . .

The door open and Edward came in. He looked worn. More so than the hour would warrant. He came and sat before the fire. He bent and removed his boots. Stretching his legs before him, he folded his hands and stared past the fire.

"Edward, we can continue this some other time. You look played out."

"You read me wrongly. I am not played out. I am more determined than ever to talk you out of this misguided notion that marriage will solve whatever problem you have owing to Miss Musgrove," he said quietly, but intently.

Frederick wanted to move into the subject gradually and so asked, "How is Catherine?"

"Catherine is not well. She is very low. Sitting with her made me realise more strongly than ever that you cannot go ahead with a marriage to some woman because you showed her too much attention before certain people or that you dined one too many times with her family. A woman you can never hope to love as you do Anne." He moved not as he said these things. He continued to stare at the fireplace.

Frederick turned to face him, setting himself on Edward's desk. At this juncture, he was willing to listen to any plan which would keep him from a marriage to Louisa. It did seem strange though that his cleric brother was dissuading him from doing what he had thought would be the proper thing.

"Why are you so strident about this, Edward? I would think that my wanting to do the honourable thing would be applauded. Especially by a man of the cloth," he said, crossing his arms and waiting for the answer.

"I have two very good arguments against your scheme and only one of them has to do with being a man of the cloth," he said. "Honour is a good quality to employ, but honour misplaced is merely pride, Frederick. If an act is done in the name of honour, but is evil, does it become honourable?" He straightened and looked toward his brother.

"No, of course not. Are you saying that I am contemplating an evil act?" he asked somewhat confused by the question.

"I am not saying that the act of marrying Miss Musgrove, in itself, would be evil, but I do believe that the result would most certainly be so." Edward rose and stood near him. "Frederick, you are a passionate man. I have seen you love--passionately. What you felt and even now feel for Anne is a passion that nearly nine years has been unable to deaden. I am very certain that this same passion, over time, will turn to hate for Miss Musgrove." He said these last words quietly. He did not wish it to sound as an accusation. "You would not mean it to be, it would happen imperceptibly at first. Eventually though, it would be glaring and something that neither of you could ignore. Well?" He searched Frederick's face for some sort of response.

"So you believe that there is no hope of me living with Louisa, as my wife, without this dire result? You do not think I could grow to love her--after a fashion?" he asked.

Edward moved to the window. He blew on the pane and began to scribble aimlessly with his finger. "I think you have not been able to unlove one woman in all these years, why would you suddenly be able to love another? And, I think Anne will always be a spectre to you. She will be in each room of your home, she will come to most meals and be a part of most everything you do. And I do mean everything. Having one woman in your mind while you are married to another is dangerous to your soul, Frederick." He took his hand and wiped away the scribbles.

Looked toward Frederick, he could see by his posture that the meaning had been taken. His head was lowered as he sighed deeply. Edward disliked having to go to this base level. Adultery was always a repugnant act, even when it was not physical, but only in the mind.

"Now that the clergyman has spoken, what is your other argument? I hope it is not as . . . pointed." Frederick said as he departed the desk and seated himself before the fire.

"My next argument is one that comes purely from the love I have for you. I only want your happiness. If there were a possibility of you, eventually loving Miss Musgrove, I would have no objection to a marriage beginning so . . . sparsely. That is not the case and I cannot forget that."

"So what might this loving plea entail?" asked Frederick. He knew that Edward was only trying to help him, he was still not sure that he could escape.

"This loving plea is that I wish for you as much joy in your life as possible. You and I are quite different. I am made happy by rather . . . ordinary things, you on the other hand need more. As I said before, you are a passionate man. You need a love that matches that passion. Not a love that has been forced out of obligation." Edward joined Frederick by the fire. "I wish you to know the peace that comes when you are married to a woman you cherish and are . . . captivated by." He faced his brother and said, "I want you to wake up in the morning, more in love than when you went to sleep. I do not want much for you as can see."

"I think you are wrong, brother," Frederick said. "You are one of the most passionate men of my acquaintance. If I accept what you have said about not marrying Miss Musgrove, what is my recourse? How do I extricate myself--if she and her family expect me to propose?" he asked curiously.

"Humility."

"How does humility come into play?" he said, puzzled.

"Frederick, the Musgroves are not unreasonable people. If you go to Mr. Musgrove and tell him that you do not care for his daughter and that only bad will come of your marrying her, I am sure he would listen."

Frederick laughed out loud at this. "Edward, you are correct that the Musgroves are reasonable people, but they also have me dead to rights about their daughter! I do not wish to flatter myself, but I am rather a prize when it comes to the family alliance game! Not only do I come complete with my own recommendations of position and fortune, but my sister and her husband have taken the Baronet's place in that small society and are better thought of than he. I think you are being naive. If I do not do right by Miss Musgrove, my name and Croft's name will be sunk in Somerset."

"Your concern for the Admiral is touching." Edward smiled at this high-minded notion of his brother's. "Do you really think Croft, of all people, will care what local farmers and tradespeople think? And Sophy! Heavens! She would relish standing in the square, gossiping with the locals. I dare say she might play with them a bit by making up things to add, just to see their shocked faces! They both would let people think what they will and be untouched by it." He sat back in the chair. "I think that the idea of humbling yourself before any man is abhorrent to you and you are willing to pay whatever price necessary to keep from it."

"I suppose you will be telling me next that pride goeth before destruction and all of that."

"I see no need, you seem to know it already. I know you, my boy, and you have never cared to admit when you are wrong. No one does, but you in particular have avoided such at all costs. I would think that a time of embarrassment is preferable to the life you would be forced to live otherwise." He had known that Frederick would not accept this solution, but he had to put out--to at least try.

"I am afraid that you paint an all too true picture of what my life will be. But social propriety demands it's price. I was excessively intimate and unguarded with the lady and now, must pay the cost. Your . . . spiritual solution will not be accepted, my errors require a higher toll."

"Then, the only other counsel I am able to offer is that you pray. God has carried you out of black situations before, perhaps He will show you His mercy again." Edward rose and went to the door, he turned to his brother, "You will have to puzzle this out alone, I wish to be with my wife." He quietly left.

Frederick sat alone and thought about all the things that Edward had said. He knew that in nearly all of it, he was right. He was most probably right even in the advice about speaking to Musgrove. It was tempting to hope that he might be able to emancipate himself with just one, very humiliating conversation with an angry father. This advice required more consideration in light of the letter from Harville.

Harville related that Miss Musgrove was up in the day and going for short walks. Most of the time was spent with Benwick reading. It seemed to help steady her mind to exercise it often. Harville jested that, at least, the tone of the poetry had lightened considerably and they were not being treated to the morose fair of the past months. His friend had told that while Miss Musgrove rarely spoke of him; that he could not even remember when last Frederick's name came to a conversation, the lady did make remarks about going home for there were plans to be made. These were always couched in a sly smile with no further explanation. The letter had gone on to say that there was a hope of her being home by the new year. Though he thought it much too soon for her to travel. The rest of the letter had been family things. Another was promised soon.

Frederick looked to the clock on the mantle. It had stopped at half past seven. He looked to his watch, it was after midnight. "Here's to a wonderful 1815, Frederick," he said to himself bitterly. Banking the fire, he decided that the first thing he would do in this new year was sleep.

Edward was finally alone in his study. It seemed to him, for days now, he had been in the company of someone. Catherine's company he did not mind, Frederick's he was not sure of yet, but the host of others demanding his time was unnerving. Even in his sleep, others turned up.

Last night he had been reliving his Examination for Orders. For some inexplicable reason, he had not been able to answer a single question. Bishop Bates seemed pleased and was smiling as he informed Edward that he would never be more than a curate. "Back to the circuits!" the Bishop had intoned. Edward had awakened in much confusion and it was not until Catherine turned to him and asked what was wrong that he realised he was not a curate and that Bishop Bates was long from him. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. If only he could rest.

Knock! Knock! "Reverend Wentworth?"

Blast! He had forgotten the Doctor. The voice was Dr Abernathy. Edward had asked him to come and take a look at Catherine. She was up and going about her days, but there was still the sadness about her. She was not eating well and that was his chief concern. Considering her past . . .

"Reverend Wentworth? I need to speak with you," the doctor said.

Edward rose from the chair and went to open the door. "Come in, I am sorry. I seem to be having trouble keeping my thoughts in order. Come. Have a seat, doctor," Edward said, motioning for Dr. Abernathy come in and be seated.

Dr Michael Abernathy was a man in his late thirties. Tall and handsome. There were those in Crown Hill who felt it inappropriate that he had so much responsibility for his age. Others said it was unseemly that such a well looking man would, by necessity, have access to many of the women of the parish. He heard the gossip and ignored it as best he could. He was a recent widower and was not interested in becoming entangled again. His marriage had not been happy.

"Reverend Wentworth, I want you to know that your wife is fine. When you told me of her recent symptoms, you neglected to say she was expecting a child in summer. I have to owe most of her complaints to gravidity," he said with a bemused smile on his face. "By the way, congratulations. I had not heard."

Edward rubbed his forehead. "Are you sure I did not tell you? You must think I am a raging lunatic," he began to laugh at himself. Dr Abernathy joined him. "No, not one word. I suppose you thought I would know through market gossip. I have been out of the county for a few days. I just got back yesterday."

Dr Abernathy was actually a surgeon. More highly trained than most out of the way, country towns could expect. He had trained under his uncle in London and had decided to return to the country his father had cared for years earlier. The Abernathy family was complicated and the country afforded him an escape from the complexities. He had hoped the change would help bring him and his wife closer. It had not. She had been contemplating going back to London and he had been hoping for reconciliation. Her death had left him numb. He had come to Edward and they had come to a respectful acquaintance.

"I would say your forgetfulness is due to overtaxing yourself--again. Wentworth, we have talked of this before. As much as you would like to believe you are a strapping young man . . . you are not," he said with mock gravity.

At this they both burst out laughing. Edward had never thought himself strapping, even when he was at least young. In the midst of this exchange, Frederick knocked and came into the study. "It is good to see you laugh, Edward. I thought you had possibly forgotten how," he said smiling.

Edward stood to introduce them. "Let me introduce you to my brother, doctor. Dr Michael Abernathy, my brother, Captain Frederick Wentworth." The gentlemen shook hands. "I had heard that you were visiting your brother, Captain. Do you find Shropshire to your liking?" the doctor inquired.

"Yes! I enjoy the riding especially." Though not the last one, he said to himself.

"Let us sit, even we strapping youths must rest occasionally," he said, looking at the doctor with a smile

After chairs were rearranged and all were settled, Edward told Frederick that he had asked the doctor to come and see Catherine. "He assures me that all is well. It seems that in the host of concerns I told him, I forgot to mention we are expecting a child. He informs me it is a major symptom and that most of the others stem from that," he said in his most self- deprecating tone.

"So, I was chiding your brother for his lapse and reminding him he is not as young as he once was." Turning from one brother to the other, he said, "Again, I warn you, get some rest. Your sermons are much better when you are rested," he said. "So, Captain, how long will you be with us?"

"I am not certain yet. I must wait for business elsewhere to be concluded before moving on," he said. That answer would be worthy of Catherine, he thought.

"I think I shall go and ask Mrs Graham to put something together. I will be back directly," Edward said, leaving the room.

The doctor rose and retrieved his bag from the desk. As he came back to his seat, he began moving things in it around, as if searching for something. He looked at Frederick and asked, "I think I heard you are of the Navy, is that correct? Country gossip can be unreliable at times. There, found it." He held up a stick of candy. "I have a prodigious family and this is the product of my favorite uncle, Clive. Candy-maker to the King. Navy is it?"

"Yes. Naval Captain to the King as it were," Frederick said in the same vein. "Is your family from Shropshire?"

"My family is from practically every county in Britain. I chose Shropshire as my father practiced here years ago. He in fact, was at Mrs Wentworth's birth. He was called when things proved . . . complicated. Where is your home when you are not visiting our good reverend?" he asked.

"My sister and her husband reside in Somerset and since being put ashore, I have been with them."

"I know Somerset well. I have an uncle at Uppercross. Would you know a Charles Musgrove Senior?" he asked. He broke off a bit of the candy and put it next to his tongue. "I have a dry mouth and this seems to help."

Frederick sat in stunned silence for a moment. Good God! I cannot escape this farce no matter where I go! Where is Edward? He will not believe this! To Dr Abernathy, he smiled and said, "Yes! I know the Musgroves. I have been shooting with his son just this past season."

The Doctor leaned forward and lowered his voice slightly, "Ah! Then you have, no doubt, been treated to his polite offer of the Hawthorne double-barreled. Am I right?" he asked anxiously and with a knowing look.

"You know your cousin very well. Yes. I know the Hawthorne," Frederick said, interested to compare experiences.

"What did you do to it? I took a shilling-size chunk out of the butt. So, confess, what injury did you do it?"

Frederick smiled remembering. "I merely graced it with a seven-inch scratch on the barrel. I nearly broke my leg in a rabbit hole and fell into a post hidden in the hedgerow. How did you take a chunk from the butt?" This should prove to be diverting.

"We were walking a small ridge and I lost my footing. Rolled down a twenty-foot bank, came to rest in pool about a foot and a half deep. Charles comes flying down the bank, screaming, 'Thank God you didn't land on the gun!'" At this point, the Doctor flailed his arms about to demonstrate Charles actions. "It was laying across my chest, covered with filth. He picks it up as a newborn babe and goes off, leaving the beaters to fish me out and half carry me back to the cottage." Both men were laughing hard by this time. The picture of Charles cradling his favorite shotgun, covered with pond filth was too rich to be ignored. "I dare say that if there is ever a choice between that gun and Mrs. Musgrove, she had best determine where she will next sleep!" said Abernathy through his roaring laughter.

Edward walked in and found the two of them nearly on the floor together and began to wonder what there was about the Doctor which brought out such behavior in perfectly rational men. "I hope I am not interrupting anything . . . important."

Frederick collected himself enough to say, "No, we were merely trading hunting tales. It seems the good doctor has a connexion to you and I. Edward, we are in the presence of the nephew of Charles Musgrove Senior." Frederick gave Edward a pointed look. Edward looked back in disbelief. He then looked to Abernathy. Abernathy nodded.

And all I wanted was to be alone. Now all of Uppercross is in my study. Edward sighed.

Mrs Graham entered with a tray and placed it on the desk and departed. Edward served and when everyone was settled once more, Frederick and the Doctor began discussing all their commonalities. Charles' penchant for hunting. Mrs. Musgrove's vast knowledge of diseases and how they manifest themselves. How their children are the scourge of any family gathering. Edward began to feel as though he were in the presence of two middle of the worst gossips he had ever heard. As the conversation progressed, he began to wonder when Miss Louisa Musgrove would come up for discussion. He took a drink of coffee and watched Frederick over the rim, wondering how he would react when this came about. He did not need wonder long . . .

"Then there is my cousin, Louisa. Surely you have met her?" he asked innocently. Frederick froze at her name. "A lovely girl, but headstrong as they come. I suppose some would say it is strength of character, I always thought she was plain mulish. Did you know of her accident? Took a fall in Lyme. I do not know the details . . . she is still there in fact. My aunt thinks she will be home in a very few weeks." Frederick and Edward exchanged glances.

"Yes. I have met Miss Louisa. Very amiable." Frederick said this with the feeling that any moment the Doctor would jump to his feet and accuse him of damaging his cousin. The Doctor, meanwhile, was more intent on his Uncle Clive's candy.

"My aunt is rather excited, it seems some sailor has taken a fancy to her and they are even now planning the nuptials. No offense Captain, but I think the poor fellow will find life at sea a good deal more pleasant than life with my cousin." Frederick hoped that Abernathy did not notice his countenance. He could feel a flush coming on. All he could hope was that the Doctor would not connect his presence in the district and Louisa marrying a sailor.

"Actually, that is not very fair on my part. I have not been in her company for many months, perhaps she has changed. It may well be that this accident has brought some changes to her. Trauma often does," he said. Abernathy stood, "I must take my leave Wentworth . . . Reverend Wentworth. It was good to meet you Captain. Perhaps we can gather again and see if you are acquainted with any others in my clan. We seem to be everywhere!" He shook Frederick's hand and drew Edward aside, "I meant what I said, sir. Get some sleep," he said in a low voice. "Thank you for the tea . . . good bye." He left the room with a wave to them both.

Edward and Frederick stood looking at the door he had just exited. They looked to one another. Frederick spoke first. "I assume you did not know he had people in Uppercross. And that they were, of all people, the Musgroves?"

Edward stared at his brother, "Do you think me such a fool as to introduce the two of you if I had known? Heavens Frederick, I am not privy to the family histories of all the parishioners. If I had known, I would have hurried him away as soon as he was finished." He sat in one of the chairs. " I hope he does not connect you and Miss Musgrove." A cheeky thought came to his mind and before he could kerb it, out it fell, "How many sailors would you suppose she has had access to at Uppercross?" The absurdity of the entire afternoon struck Edward. He began to laugh nearly as the Doctor and Frederick earlier.

Frederick stood at a loss. All he knew with certainty was that Catherine was healthy. Edward was losing his mind and there was another man who had fallen for Charles Musgrove's kind offer of his Hawthorne double-barreled shotgun.

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