Persuasion (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (32 page)

It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to observe that Elizabeth would not know him. She saw that he saw Elizabeth, that Elizabeth saw him, that there was complete internal recognition on each side; she was convinced that he was ready to be acknowledged as an acquaintance, expecting it, and she had the pain of seeing her sister turn away with unalterable coldness. Frederick’s only indication that he had seen the snub was a ticking of the muscle along his jaw and an almost imperceptible clenching of his fists. But from that moment, the conversation became even more strained until he and Anne simply stared at one another for several moments without talking.

Lady Dalrymple’s carriage, for which Miss Elliot was growing very impatient, now drew up; the servant came in to announce it. Anne sighed in relief, knowing that the awkward encounter with Frederick — curses,
Captain Wentworth
— was coming to a close, and she heard him echo the sigh heartily. Anne nodded toward him briefly, and he stepped aside to allow her to pass him and rejoin her party. As she skirted past him, his scent, enhanced by the rain he had walked through, wafted over her, and her relief that their conversation had ended was replaced by something very akin to disappointment.

It was beginning to rain again, and altogether there was a delay, and a bustle, and a talking, which must make all the little crowd in the shop understand that Lady Dalrymple was calling to convey Miss Elliot. At last Miss Elliot and her friend, unattended but by the servant, (for there was no cousin returned), were walking off; and Captain Wentworth, watching them pair off and leave the shop for the carriage with a dark expression marring his handsome features, suddenly launched forward. His boots fell upon the boarded floor with ominous thuds, and in moments, he was by Anne’s side. He paused a moment to gift them all with censorious looks before he turned again to Anne, and by manner, rather than words, was offering his services to her. He extended her his arm and raised both of his brows.

Heat suffused Anne’s cheeks, and she did not think she imagined the gasp of outrage that had come from the vicinity of her sister. Yes, she had been snubbed by the rest of her party and had no escort, but she was used to such things. After all, she was only Anne, practically a spinster and nothing to worry about. Anne stared at Frederick’s arm for what seemed like an eternity, longing more than anything to slip her hand through the crook of his elbow and allow him to draw her close. The eyes of her party began to heat the back of Anne’s neck, and she knew without looking that they were watching the two of them with curious shock and anticipation. “I am much obliged to you,” was her answer, “but I am not going with them. The carriage would not accommodate so many. I walk: I prefer walking.”

His arm did not waver, but it did flex. “But it rains.” His voice was almost a growl.

“Oh! very little. Nothing that I regard.”

After a moment’s pause, Frederick’s arm dropped to his side. Anne could no longer look at him, and he took a deep breath before he said: “Though I came only yesterday, I have equipped myself properly for Bath already, you see,” (pointing to a new umbrella that was perched beside the door); “I wish you would make use of it, if you are determined to walk; though I think it would be more prudent to let me get you a chair.”

The pressure of the others’ eyes was still upon her. She worried that if she accepted
anything
from Frederick —
Captain Wentworth
— her heart would betray her, and their secret history would be revealed. She took a fortifying breath and refused him as kindly as she could. She was very much obliged to him, but declined it all, repeating her conviction, that the rain would come to nothing at present, and adding, “I am only waiting for Mr. Elliot. He will be here in a moment, I am sure.”

She had hardly spoken the words when Mr. Elliot walked in. Captain Wentworth recollected him perfectly. There was no difference between him and the man who had stood on the steps at Lyme, admiring Anne as she passed, except in the air and look and manner of the privileged relation and friend, and if Captain Wentworth was not mistaken, a bit more. He came in with eagerness, appeared to see and think only of her, apologised for his stay, was grieved to have kept her waiting, and anxious to get her away without further loss of time and before the rain increased; and in another moment they walked off together, her arm under his, a gentle and embarrassed glance, and a “Good morning to you!” being all that she had time for, as she passed away.

Captain Wentworth clenched and unclenched his hand, the hand belonging to the arm that had
almost
had the privilege of escorting Anne, and did not bother trying not to watch them leave until they were no longer visible. As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain Wentworth’s party began talking of them.

“Mr. Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?”

Something in the back of Captain Wentworth’s neck snapped painfully as he jerked his head around quickly to stare at the woman who had spoken.

“Oh! no, that is clear enough. One can guess what will happen there. He is always with them; half lives in the family, I believe. What a very good-looking man!”

Foreboding settling like a heavy weight in his stomach, Captain Wentworth stared out the door again, though Anne and Mr. Elliot had long disappeared.
Had
Mr. Elliot been good-looking? Captain Wentworth cursed internally. He had not been able to look away from Anne long enough to give the man even a cursory glance.

“Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallises, says he is the most agreeable man she ever was in company with.”

“She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty, when one comes to look at her. It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess I admire her more than her sister.”

Pretty
? Captain Wentworth had to hastily close his mouth to contain the noise of derision that had tried to escape him. Anne Elliot was
breathtaking
, and these women were simpletons. One did not need to look at her close at all to determine so, either. Her beauty struck him from across crowded rooms. He had wanted her instantly upon sight mere moments ago.

“Oh! so do I.”

“And so do I. No comparison. But the men are all wild after Miss Elliot. Anne is too delicate for them.”

This time, there was no stopping the noise that came from deep within Captain Wentworth’s chest — a sound between a chuckle and a growl. “Anne is no more delicate than I am,” he said before he could stop himself.

The eyes of each lady in his party popped wide open, and they all stared at him, aghast. Captain Wentworth groaned as he realized two things: he had just called Anne Elliot by her Christian name in mixed public, and none of them would realize that what he had just said was meant to be a compliment.

Knowing this was one of those situations that was irredeemable, Captain Wentworth bowed curtly to the party, and retreated without another word, hoping the cold drizzle would bring him to his senses.

Anne would have been particularly obliged to her cousin, if he would have walked by her side all the way to Camden Place, without saying a word. She had never found it so difficult to listen to him, though nothing could exceed his solicitude and care, and though his subjects were principally such as were wont to be always interesting: praise, warm, just, and discriminating, of Lady Russell, and insinuations highly rational against Mrs. Clay. But just now she could think only of Captain Wentworth. She could not understand his present feelings, whether he were really suffering much from disappointment or not; and till that point were settled, she could not be quite herself.

She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas! alas! she must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.

Another circumstance very essential for her to know, was how long he meant to be in Bath; he had not mentioned it, or she could not recollect it. He might be only passing through. But it was more probable that he should be come to stay. In that case, so liable as every body was to meet every body in Bath, Lady Russell would in all likelihood see him somewhere. Would she recollect him? How would it all be?

She had already been obliged to tell Lady Russell that Louisa Musgrove was to marry Captain Benwick. It had cost her something to encounter Lady Russell’s surprise; and now, if she were by any chance to be thrown into company with Captain Wentworth, her imperfect knowledge of the matter might add another shade of prejudice against him.

The following morning Anne was out with her friend, and for the first hour, in an incessant and fearful sort of watch for him in vain; but at last, in returning down Pulteney Street, she distinguished him on the right hand pavement at such a distance as to have him in view the greater part of the street. There were many other men about him, many groups walking the same way, but there was no mistaking the body she knew by heart. She looked instinctively at Lady Russell; but not from any mad idea of her recognising him so soon as she did herself. No, it was not to be supposed that Lady Russell would perceive him till they were nearly opposite. She looked at her however, from time to time, anxiously; and when the moment approached which must point him out, though not daring to look again (for her own countenance she knew was unfit to be seen), she was yet perfectly conscious of Lady Russell’s eyes being turned exactly in the direction for him — of her being, in short, intently observing him. She could thoroughly comprehend the sort of fascination he must possess over Lady Russell’s mind, the difficulty it must be for her to withdraw her eyes, the astonishment she must be feeling that eight or nine years should have passed over him, and in foreign climes and in active service too, without robbing him of one personal grace!

At last, Lady Russell drew back her head. “Now, how would she speak of him?”

“You will wonder,” said she, “what has been fixing my eye so long; but I was looking after some window-curtains, which Lady Alicia and Mrs. Frankland were telling me of last night. They described the drawing-room window-curtains of one of the houses on this side of the way, and this part of the street, as being the handsomest and best hung of any in Bath, but could not recollect the exact number, and I have been trying to find out which it could be; but I confess I can see no curtains hereabouts that answer their description.”

Anne sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity and disdain, either at her friend or herself. The part which provoked her most, was that in all this waste of foresight and caution, she should have lost the right moment for seeing whether he saw them.

A day or two passed without producing anything. The theatre or the rooms, where he was most likely to be, were not fashionable enough for the Elliots, whose evening amusements were solely in the elegant stupidity of private parties, in which they were getting more and more engaged; and Anne, wearied of such a state of stagnation, sick of knowing nothing, and fancying herself stronger because her strength was not tried, was quite impatient for the concert evening. It was a concert for the benefit of a person patronised by Lady Dalrymple. Of course they must attend. It was really expected to be a good one, and Captain Wentworth was very fond of music. If she could only have a few minutes conversation with him again, she fancied she should be satisfied; and as to the power of addressing him, she felt all over courage if the opportunity occurred. Elizabeth had turned from him, Lady Russell overlooked him; her nerves were strengthened by these circumstances; she felt that she owed him attention. He was a man, for heaven’s sake, and a good one. He deserved to be treated as such, and if Anne was the only one from her family to do so, she would simply have to make up for the others’ lack in her own actions.

She had once partly promised Mrs. Smith to spend the evening with her; but in a short hurried call she excused herself and put it off, with the more decided promise of a longer visit on the morrow. Mrs. Smith gave a most good-humoured acquiescence.

“By all means,” said she; “only tell me all about it, when you do come. Who is your party?”

Anne named them all. Mrs. Smith made no reply; but when she was leaving her said, and with an expression half serious, half arch, “Well, I heartily wish your concert may answer; and do not fail me to-morrow if you can come; for I begin to have a foreboding that I may not have many more visits from you.”

Anne was startled and confused; but after standing in a moment’s suspense, was obliged, and not sorry to be obliged, to hurry away.

Sir Walter, his two daughters, and Mrs. Clay, were the earliest of all their party at the rooms in the evening; and as Lady Dalrymple must be waited for, they took their station by one of the fires in the Octagon Room. But hardly were they so settled, when the door opened again, and Captain Wentworth walked in alone. He cut a fine figure in his evening clothes; the dark fabric of his coat only served to set off his light hair and eyes even more than usual. The cut of his breeches accentuated the strength of his body. Anne could not take her eyes off of him, and as she was the nearest to him, and making yet a little advance, she instantly spoke. He was preparing only to bow and pass on, but her gentle “How do you do?” brought him out of the straight line with a visible jolt to his body to stand near her, and make enquiries in return, in spite of the formidable father and sister in the back ground. Their being in the back ground was a support to Anne; she knew nothing of their looks, and felt equal to everything which she believed right to be done.

While they were speaking, a whispering between her father and Elizabeth caught her ear. She could not distinguish, but she must guess the subject; and on Captain Wentworth’s making a distant bow, she comprehended that her father had judged so well as to give him that simple acknowledgement of acquaintance, and she was just in time by a side glance to see a slight curtsey from Elizabeth herself. This, though late, and reluctant, and ungracious, was yet better than nothing, and her spirits improved.

After talking, however, of the weather, and Bath, and the concert, their conversation began to flag, and so little was said at last, that she was expecting him to go every moment, but he did not; he seemed in no hurry to leave her; and she was becoming distracted by his close presence. Though in evening clothes, he still carried the ever-present scent of the sea — salt air and sunshine — and he was standing so close, his body giving off great waves of heat, that Anne feared she was flushing bright red. If she were honest, she would confess to herself that it was not the heat of his body that made her red, but the heat that his body inspired in her own. They smiled at each other awkwardly for a few moments before, presently, with renewed spirit, with a little smile, a little glow, he said —