Anne looked out the French doors to the gardens. The warm spring weather was coaxing new life from earth that had lay sleeping for months. Plants which had been brown just weeks before were giving over to new leaves that grew thicker and darker by the day. With the exception of the cowslip and some early violets, green was the predominate colour, but with such varied shades they all cried for the gaze of eyes wearied by the grey of winter.

The grounds of Kellynch were beautiful and Frederick and Anne did not fail to give that attention daily in several turns about the grounds. She enjoyed the beauty of her family home, but sharing them with her husband was the treasure she would gratefully hold forever.

It was March. The month of their anniversary and the month of her father's death. Frederick and Anne had been married just one day short of a year. The new Baronet, William Walter Elliot, was to take possession on March 25, Lady Day. As that was the following day, and the Wentworth's first year anniversary, Anne could not help thinking of the events to come. At one year of marriage to Frederick she would be cutting all close family ties to this house.

This house which had been witness to her emotional exile of nearly nine years. This house which she had left eighteen month ago in resignation to the reversal of family fortunes. This house which saw her return, a woman well loved and cared for at last. The house would now be moving in the natural progression of all English manors; on to the next generation to be cared for, or ravaged, as their inclination suited and fortunes dictated.

She and Frederick, after a night's stay at Uppersross Cottage, would be away to Lyme. A home for them was already leased and furnished. This one year had brought them many changes.

They had come to live at Kellynch Hall eight months previous when Admiral Croft, and Frederick's sister Sophy, had elected to take the post he had been offered at Whitehall. It was not the sea, but it was a post with not a little influence and would keep them more active than simple country life. The Crofts had offered the remainder of the lease, with a sizeable reduction, as a gift to the newly married couple. Anne had been grateful for the opportunity to be the mistress of Kellynch and see certain aspects of her put to right.

It had only been three weeks previous that the express had come. It had informed her of the death of her father, Sir Walter Elliot.

Death had come suddenly and quickly. A seizure, profound unconsciousness, then death. All this had transpired in a matter of hours. Miss Elizabeth Elliot had shown a surprising amount of strength. She had sent for Anne and Frederick, but by their arrival, most arrangements had been seen to.

Owing to them being neighbors, Charles and Mary had been informed by Anne. Mary, with her usual sense of propriety, had felt an express to Uppercross Cottage was in order. Anne had taken great pains to point out that Elizabeth, as the eldest, informing her, as the next in age and marriage status, was completely proper. This strict adherence to propriety had quieted Mary. When Anne chose, she was not above using ceremony very much to her advantage.

There had been many arrangements for bringing Sir Walter home to rest. In these matters Lady Russell had been invaluable. She had not yet quit Bath for the season and was able to aid Elizabeth in matters not generally considered at such an emotional time. In some of the quieter moments of reflection, they both shared the opinion that it was a blessing Sir Walter had not languished long, for it would have quite ravaged his fine appearance.

Sir Walter had been laid to rest two weeks previous. The Elliot family crypt had accepted another occupant and Sir Walter was reunited with Lady Elliot. She had been the one woman who brought sense and respectability to a man whose natural inclination was nonsense and self-laudation. In the end, they rested side by side. Time would eventually bring them equality in any future estimation of their characters.

Anne watched as the breezes moved the ivy leaves in waves over the wall adjacent to the doors. Just one colour. Only green, but so much beauty to be had in the myriad of hues.

"I have shanghai'd the tea," said Frederick, as he entered bearing a tray. Setting it down on the credenza, he left it unpoured to come and take Anne in his arms. They faced the doors, observing the quiet spring afternoon.

"You know, Mrs. Hartley gets quite put out when you bring the tea tray. She is very clear on the fact she feels you overstep yourself," Anne said looking amused.

"Since we leave Kellynch tomorrow, and Mrs. Hartley will be a mere memory in a few weeks, I am not overly concerned with her pique. Besides, as the master of this place I shall determine what is fitting duty for myself, and any others under our roof."

"There are times that I think the noble and gallant Captain Frederick Wentworth is terribly peculiar in his desire to plague the household staff. Was this a habit begun at sea or is this a new predilection?" she teased.

"No my dear," he confessed. "At sea, one must take care as mutiny is easily fomented. I must confess this to be a new eccentricity. Mrs. Hartley turns a lovely shade of crimson that seems to be especially reserved for me. It has become a devilish pleasure these past weeks, ascertaining just how quickly my presence will bring it about," he whispered. "Now take tea, you are only just getting some colour back and I wish you to stay the course."

He lead her to the chairs facing the fireplace. Bringing the tray to her, he stirred the fire as she poured.

"Madam, there is a gentleman requesting to see you in particular. His card," said Harkness, handing her a calling card. It was the finest weight and feel. Anne raised a brow as she read. She handed it directly to Frederick.

"What in heaven's name could he want?" he said, more as a general statement rather than a question. "Taking possession tomorrow must not be soon enough to suit. If you do not wish to see him, we can send him away."

"No, he is the new baronet. Perhaps he has a question about the inventories or our vacating. Something easily answered and done with. Show in Sir William," she said to Harkness.

Mr. Elliot, now Sir William, had not occupied much conversation in the Wentworth home over the past year. Through bits of unavoidable family gossip, his whereabouts and activities had been heard and largely ignored. There had been no plans for the parties to meet as the transfer was being handled by Mr. Shepherd. The very same Mr. Shepherd who had conducted Sir Walter's business affairs in the past. He was also the father of Mrs. Clay, one-time friend and companion to her sister, Elizabeth, and aspirant to the title Lady Elliot. Unavoidable town gossip had the young woman in many places, in many situations. Anne doubted them all and kept quiet on the matter. Though the present situation of Mr. Shepherd representing Sir William would seem odd to most, she understood that lawyers too must eat and attaching himself to the new Baronet would be advantageous. This too was a matter Anne kept quiet about.

Frederick and Anne rose and walked to the door to greet Sir William. "Your hands are shaking," he whispered.

"So are yours," she replied.

Sir William entered, and with the greetings dispensed, began. "Captain Wentworth, I have come on a matter which concerns the Elliot estate and I believe your wife to be the properest person with which to speak -- privately. May I?"

"If my wife wishes, I see no harm in a family conversation. Anne?" he said. He looked closely for any reaction to the idea.

"I have no objections. Will you please come, be seated?" she said, indicating the chairs they had just occupied. Frederick moved to leave, then came to Anne and whispered, "Should he become unruly and you feel threatened, I shall be in the library cleaning my pistol." As he looked at her, her face brightening. She bit her lip to keep control. She hissed back, "You are a wicked man!" With a flash of her eyes she turned to face their guest.

As Anne took her seat, Sir William observed, "It is refreshing to see a couple still able to make one another laugh, even after . . . nearly a year, is it not?" He noticed the tray. "I am sorry, I have interrupted your tea."

"Yes, tomorrow will be exactly one year. Would you please take a cup with me?"

He shook his head.

"I do not wish to hurry you, Sir William, but may I enquire as to the nature of this estate business? We have attempted to be very careful in all the matters relating to the transfer and have done all that Mr. Shepherd had required. Has something been left undone?"

"No, Miss An . . . Mrs. Wentworth," he corrected himself. "Everything is in perfect order. The particular business that brings me here today has to do with the jewelry that belongs to the estate. I wanted to thank you for being so prompt in having it brought to me after the Sir Walter's passing."

"The thanks should go to my sister, Elizabeth. Lady Russell and her were responsible for all my father's personal effects. I am owed no gratitude," Anne said. She did not wish to give him any opportunity for flattery.

"Well, as soon as I reach home, I shall have my wife pen a thanks to each of them. Have their addresses remained the same?" he asked.

"Yes, neither has quit Bath." Anne purposely did not ask about his wife. All she had been told was the woman was wealthy and bright enough to know the kind of man to which she had attached herself. This was obviously a marriage of mutual use and not a topic she cared to explore.

Anne wished he would come to his point. Everything thus far expressed could have been formally and impersonally said in a letter. She gave place to a fiendish thought of calling on her husband. Thinking a duel would be interesting, but highly improper, she said, "About the jewelry. I hope all was right and in order?"

"Yes, it was. But I did notice one piece. It stood out from the others quite markedly. All the pieces are old and heavy, leaning to large, warmly coloured stones," he said as he drew a blue velvet case from his coat. Handing Anne the case, he continued. "As you can see, this particular piece is small diamonds and aquamarine. Very different from the rest."

Anne opened the case and was delighted by the simplicity and beauty of the piece. It was a necklace of medium length. The chain was gold with serpentine links and tiny diamonds mounted on each one. A perfect teardrop of aquamarine hung at the throat.

"I took the liberty of tracing the goldsmith's mark. I found the house to which he was attached. I paid them a call but was told that the man died several years ago. They had kept his patterns and amongst them was this piece. It was commissioned by Sir Walter. The file details the design, which was his -- your father's I mean. There is also a notation of the date it was to be finished. The notation reads it was to be an anniversary gift for his wife. Their first anniversary," he said quietly.

Anne was surprised at the delicacy and again, the simplicity of the necklace. Her father, over the years had not been noted for his understatement. His flamboyance had been an outgrowth of being left untended after her mother's death. This piece showed elegance and grace without show. A perfectly wonderful and thoughtful gift for their first anniversary. He had loved her very much to go to the lengths of designing and commissioning it for her.

Anne replaced the necklace in the case and began to hand it back.

"No, Mrs. Wentworth," Sir William held up his hand, "I feel that it is only right that you should have this. Legally, it is part of the estate, but as I said, it is quite different from all the rest and I think it vastly out of place." He said this with the most feeling she had heard from him.

"I think Elizabeth to be the more proper recipient of this than I," said Anne, holding the case in her lap.

"That will be for you to decide. In my opinion, you should have it. You have the sensibilities to appreciate its beauty, and the heart to feel the care that went into its making." He hesitated. "To be honest, it is no coincidence I came here today. I am well aware of your anniversary tomorrow. Anne, there is something I wish you to know."

She bristled at the use of her Christian name, but remained in control of her countenance.

"I know I played the villain's part in our little melodrama last year in Bath. Not to make myself pathetic, but I did care for you. Aside from any influence I might have gained with your father, I did care. I have even toyed with the thought that you could have caused a reformation in a man like me." He shook his head and smiled. "To continue, when your engagement to the Captain was published, I was furious." In response to the softening of her expression he said, "While I did care for you, I was monstrously angry at being bested by someone not even playing the game."

In a darting gesture, he took a cup from the tray. He held as she poured. "Wentworth proved to be a man who truly loved you and pursued you with little assurance of the outcome. I was determined that I would win the final point. I cannot tell you how much money I spent trying to find any hint of scandal about him."

The teapot settled loudly on the tray, and Anne's face froze. She feared the sort of perverse amusement he had come to perpetrate.

"The two of you married quickly, but that did nothing to stanch the anger. Though you were no longer the beloved object to me-by this time there was another recipient for my affection-I was obsessed that I would best the Captain. You see, I did not need to witness the work of my hands, to know it has done its work is satisfaction enough. I was still hoping to find some morsel to drop in your lap. Anything to upset your domestic bliss."

Draining his cup, he gently placed it upon the tray. "Anne, I hope to quell that stricken look-I found nothing. No hints. No whispers. Nothing. Other than a few dirty, disgruntled men who found him to be strict when it came to discipline, no one had anything worth my time."

Anne's apprehension eased, but she did not allow her face any quarter. It would be best to listen warily.

" You see, I have not the passion of a true lover. I became bored and moved on to other amusements. I know the kind of man I am." As he spoke, his voice softened and for a few moments sounded genuine. "I was convinced that Captain Wentworth did not deserve a woman like you. But now, I believe that not only does he deserve you, you deserve him. I can see he has made you happy -- thus far." He rose to take his leave.

"Another bit about the necklace. There was to be a small, gold tag attached to the clasp. It was to be engraved with something Sir Walter thought special, but there was not time," he said as he again reached into his coat. "I wanted to see you and the Captain before I gave this to you. I needed to be sure you were not quarreling and snapping at one another like caged shrews." He handed her a small pouch of blue velvet, much like that of the case. "Do not look inside until I am away. Read it with your husband. From what I have seen, it is quite appropriate." He took gloves from his pocket, put them on and bowed to Anne. "The pleasure has been all mine Mrs. Wentworth." She heard him gathering his things from the entry and the entry door close behind him. It was over.

"I am rather disappointed. I was listening very closely for your call." Frederick said as he leaned against the door facing.

"He gave me something that Father had made for Mother. He thought I should have it," she said, opening the case.

"It is very beautiful. Not something I would have thought Sir Walter would choose. What is in the pouch?" he asked.

"It is an engraved tag to be placed on the clasp. He said he wanted to see us before giving it. Whatever he saw, he approved and said it is appropriate to us. Rather strange, I think," she said as she opened the draw strings.

She emptied it into Frederick's hand. He took the tag and turning it to the light, began to read:

"'Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, With one chain of thy neck.'" *

They stood quietly. Anne thinking how, at one time, there had been a deep and abiding love in her father's heart for his wife.

Frederick leant down and kissed her deeply. "I think this passage applies to me as well." He touched her cheek. "My heart had indeed been ravished by this woman. Why don't we go upstairs and see how this looks on you."

She took his hand and kissed it. "Let's," she said, happily.

*Song of Solomon, 4:9 KJV

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