The day of the wedding dawned dark and rainy. It had no influence on the participants. The lady and gentleman desired a quiet affair and were not willing that Edward and Catherine should mark the event in any way. No breakfast, no tea, not anything. They wished merely to be joined and to go home. Go to their home. Seeing as how social custom had not been paramount in the whole of the courtship, Edward reasoned that it would be out of place now. He had performed the vows, Catherine and Frederick had witnessed, and it was finished.

After Mr. and Mrs. Junkins had left the church for home, Edward went to his study and closed the door. Sitting in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk, he closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. It was over. The deed was done and both parties seemed very pleased. Perhaps there would be some peace now.

He heard the door open, without opening his eyes, he knew it to be Catherine. She came up behind him and kissed the top of his head. "The post has come." He heard it being placed on the desk. Opening his eyes a very little, he could see that his wife was in a fair way to be surprised. Catherine was leaning over his legs to place the post and in one movement, Edward put his legs down and pulled her into his lap.

"Well, look what has fallen into my lap," he said with mock surprise. He looked at her and smiled contentedly. Pulling her near, he closed his eyes, sitting quietly, he just held her and listened to her heart. If only moments such as this lasted.

"Fell, indeed. If the parish only knew how . . . romantic you are, they would be shocked. Speaking of shocked, did you think that the Junkins' kiss was a bit long?" she said with a small frown.

Edward laughed. "I think they are married now and may kiss as long as they chuse. I was glad to see it. Not being sure at their first meeting if the entire thing would come off at all, a long bride's kiss is a small price to pay." He held her closer.

They sat thus for a long while. The events of the past few days draining away and being replaced with the quiet of themselves. No one and nothing needing their attention. No demands on time or mind.

"You know, as lovely as this is, dinner must still be planned and I must do my accounts and there are things which require attention about the house," she said, not making a move to go.

"That is true. Life goes on. Perhaps we could retire early this evening. How would that be?"

She smiled, "I think that will do nicely." He helped her from his lap. "Now to find Mrs. Graham and plan dinner. Do not forget to sort the post," she said as she left the room.

"Sort the post," he murmured to himself. He began looking through the packets. He found nothing which required his attention directly. All could wait to another time. There was one for Frederick. It looked as though it had ridden outside the entire way. He saw several cancellation marks and thought it must be from a naval friend without a good address. It had finally caught up to him. Edward began to lean back in his chair, when, hearing someone in the hallway, he rose to see if it might be his brother. Seeing that it was, he called, "Frederick! You have a letter."

"From whom?" he asked anxiously.

"You are quite able to read for yourself! Actually, I cannot tell--catch!" Edward tossed the letter to his brother. It made a slow arc and landed, face down at his feet.

Frederick's heart began to race and he felt his hand shake from apprehension. He bent and picking up the letter, he turned it, face up. The only portion of the return address that was readable was the marking---Uppercross.

By the cancellations, it had gone far afield of Crown Hill. That explained why it had taken a good deal of time to receive a reply. Breaking the seal, he prayed a small prayer, "God, please. Do not allow my undoing." The mark being Uppercross disturbed him. He did not recognise the hand and there was no foretoken of the author on the outside as it was sealed with a wafer. Standing with the letter open, but for one fold, he hesitated. No doubt, this letter held his future. Uppercross was the place this entanglement had begun, it seemed that it might be the place it was to unravel.

Captain Wentworth,
I write to inform you of my daughter's safe return to us here at Uppercross. She is in good health and spirits of which we are exceedingly glad. Her mother and I feel that it would be fitting to discuss matters concerning your future together. I think the matter more urgent than should be conducted by post and would appreciate your immediate return to the district. We look forward to your arrival with anticipation.

Charles Musgrove, Senior, Esq.

Still holding the letter, Frederick's hands dropped to his sides. His worst fears had come to pass and he would be required to face Mr. Musgrove, in person, at Uppercross. All the talk of dividing himself from Louisa had bolstered a confidence which now left him in an instant. As he looked forward to this visitation, he saw nothing but brown.

From his vantage in the study doorway, Edward could see that the letter held no good news for his brother.

"Read this," Frederick said, thrusting the letter towards Edward.

He took the letter and began to read. It was short and to the point. The point being that his brother should appear at Uppercross to make his intentions known to the family.

Frederick watched his brother's face as he read. Other than a raised brow at points, there was no other hint of feeling.

Edward sighed, this was precisely what he had feared, but now that it was here; the reality of his brother's situation loomed large. He kept to the notion that Mr. Musgrove was a loving father who wanted only the best for his daughter. He could certainly be made to see reason. The only uncertainty in all this commotion was his brother. Edward was not sure that Frederick would hold to what they had discussed. He feared that his brother's strong sense of honour may leave him vulnerable to his own guilt and cause him to make declarations which would tightly ensnare him. Part of the Reverend had a notion that perhaps he should go and deal with Mr. Musgrove. But, he knew that to be impossible. This was Frederick's life and he must be the one to bring a conclusion to this state of affairs.

Edward looked to Frederick, handing the letter back. The expression upon his face was one of resolution, but very grim round the mouth. "I shall leave at sun up." These were his only words as he mounted the stairs to his room. Edward looked towards him as he climbed the stairs, two at a time. "God be with you, my boy," he breathed.

Dinner was a quiet affair that evening. Frederick was obviously preoccupied. Edward was the same. Catherine was silent. She was not certain that a marriage to Miss Musgrove was necessarily a calamity. The outcome of such a thing would depend upon Frederick much more than anyone else. If he would accept her and relinquish his feelings for Miss Elliot, there was hope. But these thoughts she kept strictly to herself.

The evening had been silent; no conversation as most nights. Frederick stayed to himself and Edward allowed it. There was not anything to say which had not been discussed before. It was a disappointing end to a satisfying visit.

The parting the next morning was solemn. At the first gray light, Frederick tried to leave, but Edward had not gone to bed and was in the study when he heard Frederick come down the stairs. "Leaving before sun up, eh?" he said, as his brother went towards the kitchen and the stable.

The voice had startled Frederick, who was pulling on his gloves and not expecting to be found out. "Edward! Have you been lying in wait for me?" He did not slow his pace and continued on. "I thought it best to get as much of the ride out of the way today since I will have to lay out tomorrow."

Edward began to follow him. "I couldn't sleep and so was merely studying. I am glad now that I was awake. Would you have truly slipped away?"

"I think it best to be done with this and I do not think there are any words left to say on the matter." They had arrived at the stable and Frederick had begun to saddle his horse. "I thank you and Catherine for all the hospitality you have shown. Particularly Catherine, I know it has not been easy having me about for so long." Tightening the cinch on the saddle, he continued, "I have left a few guineas freight-money upstairs and would appreciate your sending my trunk on to Kellynch Hall, I reckon to be there for some time." He studiously bridled the horse and began to lead her out.

Before he could mount, Edward took Frederick by the arm and firmly turned him eye to eye, "Remember, you are not responsible for all of this and marrying her is not necessarily the best solution, for either one of you."

"I know what you believe. But I also know that I have responsibility here. I will try and avoid marriage, but I cannot tell you that it may not come. I am hers in honour if she wishes it. Good bye, brother." They embraced. Frederick mounted and trotted round the house to the carriageway without looking back.

The ride from Shropshire had been uneventful. Cold, but uneventful. The road was becoming familiar from all his rides and walks the previous autumn. Uppercross would be just around a long bend in the road. He reined the horse to a stop and sat for a moment. He looked as far as possible down the lane to the place where the curve disappeared. Remembering the lane in fall, it had been alive with bright colours and now that life was gone and the foliage was bare, much like his heart. To follow that path would lead him to his future. He did not look forward to it; he knew down deep that his largest mistake was about to overtake him and that it could very well be with him for the rest of his life. He had stopped much the same way at all the turnoffs to Bath. Several times he had seriously contemplated forgoing Somerset and heading for Bath to find Anne. Each time, his sense of duty had precluded doing such a thing. He had created a situation in Uppercross which must be dealt with, dealt with honourably. He urged his horse on.

From a distance, he could see a bright red pelisse, as he came through the park leading to the Great House, he saw it to be one of the older girls sitting on a stone bench near the house. In a few paces he could see that it was Louisa. The wind was stirring and she sat, trying to keep the pages of a book from blowing closed. She herself finally closed the book and looked up, allowing the wind to blow her hair from her face as she wore no bonnet. Again he stopped his horse and just sat. She looked to be the same as when he had left her, perhaps a trifle thinner and paler, but it was still winter and the sun had not been very favorable this year. As he watched, he noticed that the old house dog, Caper, he thought they had told him, was running up behind her carrying a stick.

The dog ran faster towards the girl and as he rounded the bench, tossed the stick down and began to bark. Louisa was obviously frightened by the dog and started noticeably. The dog continued to bark, wanting her to play, but Louisa drew back, terrified. She stood to leave, but Caper jumped up on her; obviously thinking her now ready to play, he barked more excitedly than before. Louisa hurriedly picked up the stick and tossed it, but not far enough to suit the dog, he stayed at her. She turned and began to run to the house. The dog followed, barking loudly until she was able to enter the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

Good God. She cannot even manage a dog. She must have been dreadfully hurt and I was just not told. But then I did not make myself much available for telling either, he thought as he walked the horse towards the door. A groom quickly came and took her away. They were obviously on the watch for him.

Meanwhile, Louisa was endeavoring to calm herself when Henrietta came to find her crying in the great room.

"Louisa, what is wrong, why do you cry?" she asked, hurrying to her sister.

"Oh! Etta, when shall I stop being so startled by such simple things? I was quietly reading and that beast, Caper, barked at me and now look," she held out her shaking hands for her sister to see, "I am as a leaf in the winds. All he wanted was a stick thrown, but he crept up on me and barked and now I am undone! When will this stop?" she cried. She buried her face in her sister's shoulder. Louisa was relieved it was Henrietta who had found her, all the rest in the household, especially Mama, treated her as if she would never be well again, Etta held no such pity for her and always encouraged and reminded how much better she was.

Louisa had regained her physical strength quickly, but the health of her head was slower in coming. While she had not lost a great deal of her abilities, her nerves were always tight and could be rattled by the smallest things. There were times when she had difficulty keeping to a particular thought and sometimes, even simple words were a chore to recall. The surgeon had been gladdened to find no traces of fits or fainting and had told the Musgroves that they had much to be thankful for in her recovery.

Pulling her sister away from her and looking her in the eye, she said, "You will be all well, very soon. All this is just from coming home and being in this harum-scarum household again. You have improved and will continue to do so. Just lie back and rest a bit, let me have your pelisse to hang for you." Taking Louisa's cloak, she began to turn for the hallway. The both heard the knocker at the same time. Louisa sat as Henrietta stood, both waiting to see who it might be. The one had no expectations and the other hoped for her fiance. Both were shocked to see the servant guide Captain Wentworth past the doors of the great room.

Henrietta turned quickly to Louisa and moved to her sister's side. "What do you suppose he is doing here?"

"I have not an idea, I am sure," Louisa said, puzzled. She had not seen Captain Wentworth since December, when he had left Lyme for Plymouth. Even before his departure, she had not seen much of him. She had been told he had gone on to his brother's in Shropshire, that urgent business had called him away; he had never made any attempt to communicate with her, so all she knew was from the telling of others. His leaving had laid her low for only a short time, the kind attentions from the Harvilles and Captain Benwick had raised her spirits greatly. At one time, she had even fancied that Captain Benwick might like her, but he had seemed to withdraw soon after she thought that. But now, here was Captain Wentworth, in her home, being shown to her father's study by all indications. What might he want?

"Sister! what if he is here to ask for your hand? That would be so exciting!" Henrietta was nearly beside herself with anticipation. "I thought you had heard nothing from him?"

Louisa was more puzzled than excited. She had put him aside weeks ago and now to have him here was perplexing. She did not wish to raise her own hopes, but what else could be the explanation? "No, I have not heard anything from him since Lyme. I had no notion of his coming."

"Surely you are the reason he has come! There can be no other reasonable excuse. He has had much time to think on things and has no doubt heard from his friends in Lyme about how well you are. Now he is come! How wonderful a thing," Henrietta said, excitedly.

"I think it would be best to wait and know for certain before you have me being swept away as a bride," said Louisa with a great deal of doubt.

Her sister took her hands, "Think about it! What else would bring him here? He has certainly not come to ask leave to hunt the grounds! No. I think the Captain is back for much more important things than birds." She smiled slyly as she looked at Louisa.

Louisa kept her own counsel on this point. Of course not, it is not the season for birds.

"Captain Wentworth, sir."

Mr Musgrove looked up from his papers. He was surprised to see the Captain this early in the morning. Wentworth looked as though he had been travelling all day and night and had had no rest. Musgrove had been expecting him for several days and was not encouraged by his taking so long to arrive. Though, he had been hoping and had the servants prepared for a visitor. It did not seem to be a good sign; a man anxious to marry does not take so long when he is extended an invitation to make the match final. But Wentworth's dishevelled look, perhaps, told another tale.

"Mr Musgrove, how are you today?" Frederick said as he extended his hand. He knew that the letter being misdirected put him there late, he was not certain as to how long. His only hope was to explain the situation to Mr Musgrove and presume upon his goodwill. He had risked the wrath of his brother by not laying over Sunday, as he had said he would, again hoping that this would show Mr Musgrove that he was desirous of a good resolution to this circumstance.

"I am very well, Captain Wentworth. You on the other hand look as though you have been riding to beat the devil. Why such a hurry? I did not mean for you to stretch yourself so far to have this matter done with," Mr Musgrove said kindly. No need to have the man ruin himself before the wedding.

The men shook hands and then sat. "Can I get you anything, Captain? You are rather early, have you had breakfast? I can have Cook prepare something." Mr Musgrove wished no more than this all to be taken care of amiably and nothing, to his way of thinking, brought that about better than a stomach full from a good breakfast. Frederick, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to be freed from the situation and, to his way of thinking, being slowed by a heavy meal was the last thing he needed.

"No, thank you, Mr Musgrove. I shall repair to Kellynch when we have concluded here and then will have something, but again, thank you. I wished to explain the reason I am so late in responding to your letter and look in such disarray; your letter was grossly misdirected and just arrived in Shropshire on Friday. Knowing that I could outstrip the post, I left the next morning and have even travelled through Sunday to arrive here in a timely manner." Perhaps if I show him deference in a quick arrival, he will not think me such a rake when I try and convince him that I should not marry his daughter.

Risked Sunday travel to arrive here promptly, that bodes well. "So that is why it has taken so long. I feared something worse. The mails are a fright these days. That is the very reason I wished that we should conduct this civilly, face-to-face. Who knows what evil might have come leaving this to the whims of the post? So, the ride from Shropshire was good? No snow?"

"The ride was cold, but there was no real weather to speak of. Nothing harsh."

There was a silence as each man gathered his thoughts. While both were anxious to have a conclusion of this interview, neither was wanting to begin. A mantel clock chimed the half hour and ticked away. Tea was called for and brought, poured and passed. Mr Musgrove determined that it was he who must begin the conversation.

"I know that these talks are difficult and that no man wishes to be placed in this position." I still remember that nasty badger, Papa Hayter, glarin' down on me when I asked for Sadie's hand. He took such glee in havin' the right to refuse me. The look upon Mr Musgrove's face reflected his memory of his father-in-law. It was not a cordial mien to be sure.

That scowl does not portend of good things I am certain. He no doubt means by, "This position," having to call me back here to make good on raising his daughter's expectations. "No, and an honourable man does not shy away when brought to such a place."

No, by Jove; an honourable man stays to his purpose and stares down the old codger and comes away with the wife he wants! "Yes, quite right. There are times when an honourable man is forced to the most difficult of things to bring about the best for all concerned."

"Yes. It is imperative that the best be done for all concerned," he echoed back to Mr Musgrove. He decided to move to another course; they had quite established what an honourable man was expected to do and what he would do, if he were indeed honourable. "I have just seen your daughter. She looks well." Perhaps I can pry from him her complete condition, he thought.

She looks well, but my Louisa has ever been changed by her tragedy. No more going everywhere as though on the wind, he thought, recalling his daughter and her lively and high-spirited ways. These all seemed to be gone and the new girl was taken over by fretting and nerves. None of the family had ever been given over to such ways and the behaviour was not understood. Musgrove suddenly realised that Wentworth would be expecting him to say something and roused himself to it. "Yes. She does look well. I am afraid though that she is somewhat changed from the young woman you knew here some months ago." He stood and went to the fireplace. Lifting the tails on his coat, he warmed himself. "She is pleasant enough, as before; she is just not as lively and gay." He hoped he had not said too much, it would not do to have the Captain believe her too terribly altered. For the Musgroves there did not seem to be any hope of Louisa returning to what was considered by them to be normal. To them , she would ever be damaged and not quite right ever again.

Just as Musgrove was about to continue, there was a very small knock at the door; it came from the lower half and was followed by a little girl's voice, "Papa, Papa, may I come in?"

The look on Mr Musgrove's face softened markedly. The voice was that of the youngest Musgrove, Arabella. She was nearly five and the pet of the house. Her appearance at Uppercross had livened up the household and had given the elder Musgroves an inordinate amount of joy. With the three oldest married or very near, and the younger boys and girls at school, Mrs Musgrove had been dispirited with no real womanly occupation. (To her mind, the only genuine, womanly occupation being the raising of children.) When they had brought her from Winthrop where she had been staying with their brother Hayter, a light had returned to Mrs Musgrove's eye which had left with the long-petted Master Harry as he had left for school. She had taken refuge in Arabella and when Master Harry had been rusticated back home for 'ungentlemanly conduct,' she had done the only thing expected of a mother, she gathered them both in her ample arms and rejoiced that she now had two children at home to care for. Though this meeting with Captain Wentworth was important, he could not refuse to allow her a moment of his time. He went to the door and opened it to admit his little girl.

The Captain had been aware of a very young child in the Musgrove home, but had never seen her, he had only heard of her. As Musgrove opened the door, he saw a very small girl with curling, reddish blond hair, sweet pink cheeks and a chubby fist holding a book. Mr Musgrove bent and scooped her into his arms; she squealed with delight as he took her to the desk with him. Placing her firmly in his lap as he seated himself, he looked at Captain Wentworth and introduced them, "Captain Wentworth, this is the youngest in our family-circle, our youngest daughter, Arabella. Arabella, I would like you to say hello to Captain Wentworth."

Being in a household with mostly adults had kept Arabella from the shyness that many children exhibit when faced with an introduction of this nature and her imperfect speech was the only circumstance which kept her from being the most well-spoken child in the county. Sliding from Mr Musgrove's lap, she looked straight into the Captain's eyes and said, "I am pleathed to meet you, thir." Then gave him a proper curtsey. There was no way to escape the charm of the youngest Miss Musgrove and putting aside the anxiety of the present circumstances, he rose and bowed properly to her and said how delighted he was to meet her.

Even as she trundled back into Mr Musgrove's lap, it was clear that he had no intentions of allowing her to stay as he quickly put himself to asking why she had come to him. "I want a thtory and there ith no one to read to me," she said, showing him a book of faerie stories.

"I am certain that Henrietta or Louisa could read to you, darling."

"Henrietta ith bithy with her trutheau and Nurth thaid that Louitha can't read to me any more!" The words of the child were emphatic and punctuated by a nodding of the head.

Looking sympathetically into Arabella's disconcerted face, he said, "That is true, but you know why and should not make so much of it. And I am quite busy with the Captain here, so you must be good and go on out." He made no move to put Arabella down, he in fact, held her closer and laid his cheek upon her head. Closing his eyes for a moment, he remembered Louisa when she was four, their resemblance was striking and the recollection could not be helped. "She is the image of Louisa at this age," he said to Wentworth.

Frederick had watched all this unfold, but had been particularly taken when the girl had said that Louisa could no longer read to her. Good God, has she been so damaged that she has lost even that? The guilt he felt grew.

"Arabella! Where have you got off to? Mama needs you!" The one calling was Mrs Musgrove. She came calling for the girl and poking her head in the door saw Arabella with her uncle. "There you are, my poppet! Nurse has your tea and cakes upstairs . . . Captain Wentworth! I had no idea that you had come! How are you?" Mrs Musgrove had turned to see the Captain and entered to greet him properly. After the civilities were done, Mrs Musgrove made clear by her actions that she was to stay and become a part of the discussion.

"I am well, Mrs Musgrove. I was just introduced to youngest member of the family. She is very lovely," he said not knowing else what to say.

"All the girls of this house are lovely, Captain." Turning to her husband, she said, "Are you discussing Louisa?" Her tone was one of anxious interest.

Rising, Mr Musgrove placed Arabella on the floor, with her giving a small hop. "Mrs M., The Captain and I are endeavoring to conclude some business and have been interrupted too often. Now will you take Arabella and read her a story? She is wild for a faerie story." As he spoke, he moved both wife and the girl towards the door. Mrs. Musgrove was not to be put off, now that she knew Captain Wentworth was in her home, she was determined to know his business.

After she shooed Arabella upstairs to the nursery and her tea, Mrs Musgrove said, "Sir, I hope when you have concluded, you will take time to see Louisa and how well she is. It is nearly impossible to see her now and realise that she is the same one that you so inadvertently dropped on the Cobb." Mrs Musgrove's look was one of complete innocence. She had not an idea in her mind as to the evil of her words. But they worked upon Frederick Wentworth with all the force of a hill of rock falling on, and burying him.

He was suddenly pitched back to that day on the Cobb in Lyme. In the weeks following the accident, as he had ridden and walked about the fine countryside of Lyme, he had gone over the events in his mind nearly day and night. All the conversation leading up to the decision to go from the Upper to the Lower Cobb. Which of the ladies had been first down; he and Benwick had passed down first, Benwick being careful to see that Anne was safely down. All those times he had been certain of the exact events. Had he merely remembered himself innocent when the truth was so much different? He could remember jumping Louisa down the first time. He could remember the feel of her hands upon his shoulders and how his hands encircled her waist. It had been easy and from not a great height, but upon landing her to the hard pavement she instantly ran further up the steps to have the thrill repeated. He had tried to reason in the tiny bit of time he was given by her, but to no avail. He had put out his arms to her and she had jumped; his next true memory was of himself looking into Louisa's pallid and lifeless face.

Before that, he had no memory of catching her or for that matter, not catching her. Had he indeed dropped her? He had presumed himself innocent of such a thing, as no one had hinted at it, nor did his own memory accuse him. But what if he was not remembering rightly? In all his years writing reports for the Admiralty of actions and battles at sea, he had always depended upon his own memory. That was not to say there were not times the reports of others gave a differing account, but these could generally be reconciled by differences in locale, occupation and the degree of fear experienced by the teller. If he were indeed guilty of such a thing, there was no possible way to extricate himself from marriage . . .

"Oh God! her father and mother!" These were the words he had cried after Louisa had been raised up and supported by her brother and Captain Benwick. He could still feel the rough, cool stone beneath his hands; the pounding of his own heart in his ears. People were beginning to come round to see what the commotion was about. Benwick had been sent for a surgeon, but even the more sensible of those who remained were suffering from the shock of the events. As he had begun to carry Louisa to the inn, Harville appeared and had insisted that she be taken to their home to await the surgeon. He had done so and Louisa was consigned to the care of Mrs Harville and Anne. He recalled the surgeon telling them that he had seen more desperate cases and that he was not in any way hopeless. The relief and thankfulness had flooded Frederick and when a short calm had overtaken the party, he recalled being overwhelmed by many feelings which had driven him to prayer and reflection.

But now here were her father and mother. While he had prayed fervent and thankful prayers that Louisa had not died, he now knew her to be in such a state that might be considered worse than death. Her head was weak and she could no longer read, what other wrong might there be? The most abominable part of the matter was that he had been wholly responsible. Not only that, he had allowed her to be foolish in perpetuating her heedless behaviour, behaviour that he himself had enjoyed. What had he been thinking in jumping her over stiles, placing his hands around her waist and touching her in such an intimate way? He had not considered what others might think about his actions, much less think about how the girl herself would view them. He had gone against his own judgement in helping her to jump to the ground from those stairs the first time. Had he not tried to reason with her? There had been no real reasoning, it had only been the same teasing and flirting that they had engaged in all those weeks; had he resolutely told her no and made no moves which gave her a false hope of being caught . . . All this tragedy came down to one material point, he felt himself as responsible for that small group of people, as though they all had been on board the Laconia, and he had behaved badly and Louisa now suffered the consequences. He was responsible and there was no changing the facts of the matter. Coming back to the present, he became aware that the Musgroves were having a rather heated exchange.

"Mama! You know very well that Charles said no such thing! He was quite clear that Louisa jumped too quickly and that there was no way for the Captain to stop her. There was no dropping of her, Sadie! Be silent upon this." Mr Musgrove stood to his full height to underscore his point.

Mrs Musgrove looked severely at her husband, this was obviously a hard point between the two of them. It was not clear as to why she had begun the topic, but she was not going to leave it now. "But Mary says differently! If I was to chuse who is the more heedful of this sort of thing, I will take Mary. Charles is more mindful of the how many birds taken or what was for breakfast than things of true importance."

Frederick stood horrified. What if, for once in her wretched life, Mary Musgrove has seen the exact truth? What if I did indeed drop that poor girl? The guilt he had brought with him to Uppercross had grown enormously in the past few moments and was threatening to overtake all common sense. In his mind, he knew that all he could do was put aside any fears of the girl's condition, present or future, and offer for her. He had seen her flee from a simple exchange with the family pet and heard from her young sister's lips that she could no longer read and now, here was the implication of full blame in the matter. He had no choice, his honour required that he offer himself and await her acceptance.

"Louisa, Louisa! I wonder where she might have gone off to." Mr Musgrove had searched most of the house looking for his daughter. Wishing to present her with Captain Wentworth's proposal, he continued on with his hunt. Calling her again as he came around the corner to the side entrance to the great room, he heard Louisa call . . .

"Yes, Papa. I was in here reading." Louisa closed the book she had been struggling with. It had been one which James Benwick had read to her while she recovered in Lyme. It was very philosophical, but had made complete sense when he had read it and they had discussed all the finer points. But now, without his help, it seemed to make no sense. "What do you need, Papa?" she asked.

Closing the doors to the hallway and guiding Louisa to the sofa, they sat and with a delighted look, he began," My dear, the time has come to put aside the things of the past few months. Your future is very bright and now is the time when we must make some plans for it. My dear, I do not know if you were aware, but Captain Wentworth came to see me this morning. Quite early in fact. I had sent him a letter, requesting that he come back to the district so that we might have some things settled." Extending his hand to her, her father said, "Louisa, Captain Wentworth has asked for permission to marry you. I have given my consent and now all that is left is for you to accept him. What do you say, girl?"

Louisa was stunned by the question. While the Captain had shown a marked preference for her in the autumn passed, his attentions of late had been nonexistent. To suddenly show himself, asking to marry her seemed out of place. But, over the past hour, thoughts of him had been stirring in her brain. He was still so well-looking and had that air of the sea. A man of good fortune and manners. She would be foolish to refuse. "I would be proud to accept his proposal, Papa." With these few words, the deed was done.

Mr Musgrove was pleased by the interview with Captain Wentworth and the result of it being the engagement of his daughter to a very eligible man. While there had been some unusual conditions; in some ways strictures really, placed upon it, Mr Musgrove felt them to be nothing that his ingenious wife could not easily meet with, so complete was his faith in her abilities. Captain Wentworth had agreed to appear at a breakfast for the family the next morning where they all would be told of the engagement. Directly after, he would be off to Plymouth where urgent business called him. His diligence speaks well of him, thought Musgrove. To the gentleman, it was a mark of superiority that personal enjoyment would be forfeited for duty.

As Mr Musgrove prepared to write an invitation to his brother Hayter at Winthrop, he came across the letter which had begun the entire series of actions being capped by the engagement. Mr Musgrove opened and reread the letter which had been sent to him some weeks ago. It read:

Mr Musgrove,
I hope this finds you and your family in health. It is with a great deal of joy that I say your daughter is doing well. The surgeon says he is no longer needed. Captain Benwick is spending much of his time reading and discussing with her. As he helps her to exercise her mind, she seems to improve daily. It is heartening to hear their laughter as they tussle over finer points of view. I have taken this letter upon myself as I feel a responsibility to not only you; you having left Louisa in the care of my wife and me, but also to Captain Benwick. Mr Musgrove, I see a growing closeness between the two of them which I am not certain is advisable. James is a good man, I would not have countenanced the engagement of my sister to him if that were not the case, but he is a man with a heart which is only slowly mending from the death of that good woman. His attachment to your daughter, while certainly genuine, must be tempered with the circumstances. Carefully consider this and if the connexion is to your satisfaction, then I shall keep my peace; however, if you are not comfortable with the match, then I shall have no scruple in using whatever influence I may have with my friend. I only desire the best for all parties concerned.

Capt. Timothy Harville, R.N.
January ___1815

Tossing the letter into the flames, Mr Musgrove remembered the serious look of Harville the moment they had arrived from Lyme when he and Mrs Harville had brought Louisa home. After seeing the girl settled, he had made a point of coming to her father directly and asking to speak with him. "Please, Mr Musgrove, sir. May I have a word with you? in private if you do not mind." They had stepped into the study and settled in to talk.

" . . . So you can see, sir. No blame can be laid at James Benwick's door. It was solely my doing and if you have any anger on this, it must come to me. I was heedless to write such a letter without consulting my friend of his feelings. It is the fault of my wife and I that he was even in such an awkward arrangement. In those first few days that your daughter needed to be watched over so closely, we took advantage of James' kind nature and by the time she did not need to be cared for in such a way, the household habit was quite established and that left Benwick , as I said before, in a very awkward arrangement. All I can do is to humble myself and apologise to you for possibly raising expectations in your daughter that are unfounded. I am truly sorry, sir." Captain Harville had been as truly sorry as any man that Mr Musgrove had ever seen. Forgiveness had come speedily and with a generous amount of assurance that no real harm was done, that Louisa knew nothing of the letter and would never know of it.

"I must tell you Captain, I admire a man who is able to admit his mistakes with an open face and take what may come. Would that we were all of such a nature," Musgrove had declared with a hearty pat on the back for the young man. Would that we were all of the nature, indeed, thought Musgrove as he watched the last of the letter disappear.

Later, when Louisa and her mother were told of the conditions between Mr Musgrove and the Captain, there was a great commotion.

"But, Charles! It is a wedding, it cannot be got off properly in only a fortnight! And by Common License into the bargain! There must be time to chuse and make the dress and there is the trousseau to gather; she cannot possibly be married in a fortnight! Why was such a thing agreed upon?" wailed Mrs Musgrove. Louisa sat silently, listening to her parents tussle over the matter.

"The Captain was very particular about the time. It was his pointed wish that things be done quickly. He will come for breakfast tomorrow morning and we will make the announcement, and then he shall ride to Plymouth for some days, he has business which calls him there. There is no use in lamenting the haste of it, I have agreed and nothing can be changed. Oh, I have already sent a note round to our brother Hayter, inviting them to the breakfast." He rose from his chair and helped his wife from hers, "Dear, you will have no trouble arranging all this, you are the mistress of the impromptu fete. It will be lovely." With that he kissed her cheek and left to his study to write letters to the more distant family.

Mrs Musgrove began making lists in her mind as to all the things to be done in the next week and a half. "List of guests, food for guests, get rooms ready for the travelling guests, wash all the china and glasses, my it is a lot to think on . . .Alice! We are putting on a wedding!"she called as she left the great room for the kitchen.

Louisa stayed in her seat. This was to be her wedding and her parents were already seeing it as just another fete. She gave a sigh. It was clear that her opinions were not to be consulted. She rose and went to the window.

As she watched tiny sparrows hop across the walkway, Louisa thought about the Captain. He had been so quiet and unsmiling when he had returned for her answer later in the day. Her father had brought them together in the sitting room and told him of her acceptance. There had been no burst of feeling, not even a hint of a smile. In the fall he had been all smiles. All smiles and laughter and jesting. Sometimes serious, but always a smattering of humour. She comforted herself that her brother, Charles was generally a funny man, always given to finding the humour in things; when he was particularly serious, he made no jokes and cut no capers. Perhaps that was the way of men, to be quiet and solemn when they were engaging in important matters. A smile came to her; he had kissed her. It had not been a warm and tender kiss, and he had only come close to her lips, but she owed all that to her father's presence. The Captain was well-born enough to be sensible in her father's presence. All the same, she hoped that their next kiss would be more satisfying. Thinking back to the wedding, she murmured aloud, "Perhaps Mama will talk of the dress later." As she stood, she found herself idly drawing in the fog on the window. "L . . . I . . . W." Louisa Isobel Wentworth It sounded grand. I wonder why I do not feel such?

Dismounting, Frederick began to unfasten his bags from the saddle. As he took the last one off, the horse made a noise which told of her relief. He had been quite merciless on her in the past three days. She had brought him from Shropshire speedily enough and then upon arriving in Somerset, he had given her no rest until now. After his interview with Mr Musgrove, he had left Uppercross and ridden to Winthrop and back, hoping that would be enough time for her father to lay the proposal before Louisa. All during his ride, he had teased himself with ideas of her refusing him, but these had only been games to pass the time. Upon his return to the Mansion, he had been taken to the girl and she had, of course, accepted him. Mr Musgrove had beamed, Louisa had smiled and blushed, he had stood rigid and somber. There had been a shallow attempt at a kiss, he had purposely gone wide of the target. The truth be known, when he had first come to Kellynch, he had liked Louisa, he had preferred her over her sister; it was only in the shadow of Anne that Louisa came short. It was in light of this earlier liking that he did not wish to hurt her. He had made his plans and if they took the shape he desired, things would be settled. They would not be to his exact liking, but they could be endured.

A groom happened recognise him as he rode up and was waiting to take her to the barn. There you old beast, rest yourself, you deserve it, he though as he hoisted the bags to his shoulder.

"Captain Wentworth! I had no idea you were back in the district! The Admiral and Mrs Croft are in Bath at present and there are no plans for them to return in the near future," Harkness said with a great deal of surprise as he opened the door to find the Captain standing, bags in hand, awaiting entry.

Brushing past the man, he barked in a clipped fashion, "I am well aware of the location of my sister and brother, Harkness. I shall take my old rooms." Using his quarterdeck tone of voice, he began the preparations for his next, long campaign. Taking the stairs two at a time, he continued to address the servant, "I will need you to come to my room in one hour to collect some letters I will have for the post. I will require a bath as soon as it can be drawn. I will have whatever the staff is having for dinner tonight. Lastly, I will be leaving early in the morning and will require no breakfast; I will be gone until Thursday next so you needn't deal with me past tonight. That will be all, Harkness." He continued down the long hall to the rooms which were his, he entered and closed the door rather sharply.

"Very good, sir," said Harkness to himself.

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