As always, Edward hadn't slept much that night. Giving in early to sleeplessness, he had dressed and prowled the grounds for a time. After an encounter with one of the grooms brandishing a musket; one which would most likely never fire and cause more damage when it exploded than it ever would in an actual discharge, he had gone back in the house and confined himself to pacing a hallway in the guest wing.

He had been gone from his wife for over a week now and he missed her terribly. Had anything happened with the baby? Or perhaps Pollard Levant had not waited for his return and now Catherine was acquainted with their predicament. It was several hours before Edward realised that he had not thought much about why he had come to Kellynch.

Taking another turn up the hallway, he began thinking over the evening at Uppercross. He had been heartened by Sophia's welcome of Miss Musgrove. Though she never had told him fully what she and Frederick had said to one another, it must have placated her as she had behaved admirably. He had noticed that even George had been surprised by her genuine welcome.

Then there had been his introduction to Louisa Musgrove. She had proven to be a sweet girl, but a girl none the less. If he is kind to her, she will grow to suit him, he thought. Since learning of his brother's attachment to Miss Elliot, Edward had held a picture of the two of them together in his mind, but that night he had put that completely aside as he now had another picture, another woman to put in the place of Anne Elliot.

His thoughts naturally went back to seeing Miss Anne at the door of the anteroom. She has not always looked so fragile, I think. The years have not been kind to her. But thinking about the occasion of the party and the fact that there had been tears in her eyes, it was obvious that she still had feelings for his brother. It was also obvious that both she and Frederick were in agony. Looking out over the moonlit back garden, he thought how the wedding would be over in but a few hours and then both Anne and Frederick could begin to put all this behind them . . . if they only would.

A movement to his side caught his attention. Catching a glimpse of Harkness carrying Frederick's uniform and shoes, he hurried to the other end of the hall. "Harkness!" he cried, in a whisper. "Harkness!" The man stopped, startled to find anyone about the house at such an early hour.

"Sir?" he said, halting just before the door to the Captain's rooms. "Is there something that you require?"

"Well . . . actually, yes." Edward said with an indefinite tone. "I think I would like to help my brother to dress. I won't see much of him once the ceremony is done and . . . well, you understand." The Reverend knew that was no need to explain himself to the help, but he had never been very talented when it came to seeing servants as furniture and treating them accordingly.

Handing over the Captain's garments, Harkness said, "Certainly, sir. There is no need to say more. I shall bring his sword directly. The silver was in rather bad shape, something was spilled, I think." Giving Edward a bow, he turned to fetch the weapon.

Opening the door quietly, thinking that Frederick would still be abed, he found the room ablaze and his brother just pulling on his small clothes. "Good Lord, Edward! This propensity to creep into rooms has got to stop!" he said, turning and finishing his task.

The Reverend came the rest of the way in and closed the door. Laying the uniform on the bed, and placing the freshly polished shoes to the foot, he turned and said, "Sorry, I thought that you'd still be sleeping. Besides, that's what that lovely dressing room is for--keeps embarrassing things such as this from happening."

Frederick threw him a glare, and growled, "Yes, well . . . after not sleeping for hours and then drifting off only to have a nightmare, I determined that it was best to get up and dress. And . . . the least you could do is knock. So, why are you here? Determined to have one last go at me before the vows?" His jaw was tight and he had no wish to discuss anything.

"No. Actually, I have taken a vow of silence on the matter. Last night as I roamed the house, I decided that my state of affairs is such that I need to look to them more closely and leave yours to you." He said this with a tilt of his head and a slight bow to his brother.

For a moment, Frederick wondered that Edward was roaming the house, and what must the state of his brother's affairs might be that he would need to look to them more closely. But he quickly dismissed that as none of his concern. He must ready himself for the day and all the parts of it. He had never thought that his wedding day would dawn seeing him with such a lack of feeling. Having finished with his undershirt, he walked to the bed and took up his lawn shirt with the ruffle. Noticing the care that had been taken with the ruff, for it stood beautifully, he thought to remember a gift to the staff before they left.

Before they left. He still had no notions of where he would take his wife. By necessity, the place must be close . . .perhaps Lyme? Pulling the shirt over his head, he chuckled to himself, Heavens, man! And after a little stroll upon the Cobb, you could whisk her to the mad hospital in Plymouth to gaze upon the lunatics and then end this wondrous honeymoon with a visit to a charnel house, study the bodies and play, "Guess How He Died." As he had been thinking of all this, he had muttered under his breath and Edward took notice.

"What is it you said?" he asked as he brushed the already perfect coat once more.

As he began buttoning his breeches, Frederick replied, "I was just thinking about what I might do about taking Louisa away. I told her that where we were going was a surprise, but the surprise is mine, as I have thought nothing about it. 'Tis going to be poor fisted and quite fadged together. I have no idea what one does for a honeymoon." Going into the dressing room, he stood before the full mirror, he tucked in the shirt and began to button his neck and cuffs. Edward trailed behind with his neckcloth. As he handed it to him, Frederick looked at it and remembered Louisa's gift. For an instant, he thought that this being a small country wedding and the only other officers of the Navy being dear friends and family, no one would know if he were to wear a neckcloth of blues and greys and golden thread rather than the plain white ordained by the Admiralty. Quickly deciding against it, he began to wind the long, lawn noose.

"I am of no help. Catherine and I have yet to go away together. After discovering how we felt about one another, we repented of not going doing so. It seemed that the entire time we wished to be alone, every odd and ridiculous thing that can happen in a parish did. It was quite frustrating." Bending to pick up clothing shed the evening before, he watched Frederick begin on the knot.

I don't think I would be frustrated if I were not able to be alone with Louisa. It would, in fact be quite a relief, Frederick thought resignedly.

Handing his brother the silk stockings, Edward decided to propose something that had been forming in his mind since the previous evening. Watching as his brother put them on and button his knees, he said, "I may not have the most perfect of solutions, but I think it might do me some good." Taking a step back, he looked at Frederick with satisfaction.

"Oh? and what might it be to do with my honeymoon that would benefit you?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, Catherine is anxious to meet Louisa and you need some place to take her. Bring her to us. Tell her that you intended to take her to Shropshire all along. You yourself have said that there are many fine prospects, we have missed you and the journey up and back will occupy her until you leave . . ." Edward had not meant to bring his going to sea into the conversation, it had been part of his vow to himself. Having been very harsh on the matter, he deeply regretted it.

"Yes, until I leave." He stood thinking on the matter. It would solve several difficulties for him. By necessity, the journey would be short, it would keep her occupied until he brought her back to Uppercross, by which time he would have told her about his orders and he could then go on to Plymouth. It startled him to think how cold and calculated all this was, he felt as if he were on the quarterdeck of the Laconia, and that all his expertise in battle strategy was coming into play; he was treating his marriage as an enemy engagement! Edward had been right about his feelings toward Louisa, he had just not known how soon it would happen. "I think that would be an excellent idea. Then I shall tell her today, after the ceremony." Turning to his brother, he asked, "What will Catherine say? The two of us popping in without proper warning?"

"Ah . . . well, I'm certain that she will take it with her usual grace. Besides, it is only the two of you and I rather imagine that getting to know Louisa will take up most of her time, she'll not mind . . . I think." His last sentence had been less than sure in its tone. Looking at Frederick as he was just putting on his coat, he noticed something amiss. "Brother, do you realise that you have not been shaved?"

"Wha . . . ?" he cried, looking in the mirror. "I do look to be a frowsy scrub, don't I?" Standing stock still, he gazed at himself for quite a time, "Here is your perfect opportunity, Edward."

Edward had gone to the other room to retrieve the pumps, returning and only hearing his name, he asked, "What did you say? I missed the last of what you said."

"I was simply stating that without a shave, I looked to be a frowsy scrub, and that you have the perfect opportunity to agree and even berate me, for I am a frowsy scrub . . . a case of an inward condition being physically apparent ... rather like a white sepulcher." He continued to study himself.

Edward frowned, he was not certain that he should engage himself in this, but after thinking on it, he decided to press on. "Bad analogy, Brother. That would make you rotten on the inside and respectable on the outside."

Pulling his gaze from the mirror, Frederick looked at his brother, "Rotten ... or frowsy scrub ... what might the difference be, Reverend? Either one, the inside is despicable. As for the outward, I shall be shaving, won't I?" He expected no answe, there really was none. Frederick Wentworth, captain of the Royal Navy, a man used to success, had brought about a situation where there could be no success, none for any party concerned.

Edward met Frederick's fixed stare. He knew that his brother was resigned to his fate, but Edward also knew that this cast of mind, if it were to take a firm hold, would bring more misery, and guarantee a life of unhappiness for his brother and new sister-in-law, more so than any decision made thus far. Edward also knew that any appeal to the spiritual would be met with scorn and derision, but the miraculous did happen, he himself was proof. No, best to be his brother, a supportive brother.

Walking to him and beginning to untie the tie, Edward said offhandedly, "Yes. We shall have you shaved in no time at all. As for being frowsy . . . or rotten. You are not." this was said calmly, but firmly.

Taking the cloth from Frederick's neck, he looked him in the eyes squarely, beginning to unbutton his shirt, he said, "You have made an honourable decision. No one may fault you for that, least of all I. It is difficult for everyone just now, but once this ... " He was at a loss for the proper word. He wished to say spectacle, for it had been more like a pageant than the joining of two people in matrimony. "Once this part is finished, if you are reasonable, I think you will have no more hardship than others new to marriage." Pulling the shirt over Frederick's head and tossing it aside, he took him by the shoulders and said intently, "But if you persist in thinking yourself despicable, you will soon truly become so. There will be nothing keeping you from travelling that road and you will allow yourself license that you never thought you would. Please ... don't do that." Giving him a gentle shake, he released him to fetch the shirt. Picking it up, he hung it so that the ruff was saved.

Nothing else was said as the hot water was called for. The neckcloth was sent to be ironed and Frederick seemed to be lost in a brown study. Other than his taking a sheet of writing paper from the table and folding it into his coat's breast pocket, Edward noticed nothing unusual.

"There," he said energetically after the shaving was completed. "You look like a proper bridegroom." As Frederick had no comment, Edward continued with his thoughts, "Do you recall when I helped you dress to go down to the docks to and report on the Davenport?"

The Davenport was a 90-gun ship of the line and the first on which Frederick had sailed after being rated as a midshipman. He was near seventeen and full of ambition and the romance of the sea. Had things be done his way, everything he needed would have been thrown into his sea chest and a mad dash to the ship been made, but Edward had insisted that they do things properly and had helped his younger brother see the importance of preparation. All the while that Frederick had shaved and then dressed, Edward had been talking again of all the things pertaining to shipboard life they had talked over the years.

Frederick had sailed on merchantmen before, but the sailing on a man-of-war was vastly different. They went back over how to address the captain, where he could and could not stand, to keep his hands out of his pockets--except to retrieve something, no leaning on the railings; things that can foul a fellow when he first begins a commission as a young gentleman. The result had been that when Frederick arrived onboard, he had been the only midshipman not sent to the mast or punished in some other way in the first few days for such minor offenses. He had seen that the overcaution of his brother had been, in truth, preparation for what lay ahead. It would seem that there was no difference now.

Having finished with his stock, Frederick again put on his blue coat. "Yes. I recall that I knew more than most of those silly brats and kept out of quite a lot of trouble. Though I found other ways to keep the First busy," he said, smiling in remembrance. Straightening all the lace, he found things to his satisfaction. Going to the bed, he picked up his sword that Harkness had brought with the hot water. Tapping the knot so that it swung lazily from the hilt, Frederick began to strap it 'round his hip.

"I dare say that you did. But, my point is, things were different from what you expected, weren't they? Life is like that, you expect things to be one way and then they are quite another. Be prepared ... the unexpected can always happen."

"That is true, my dear brother, the unexpected can certainly happen. But ... one still expects that night will follow day ... doesn't one?" With that, he laid his coat over the sword and tucked his cocked hat under his arm. He was as prepared as he could manage.

Anne woke just before dawn on Saturday morning, heavy-eyed and weary. Today he will marry her. She sighed, turned over in bed and pulled the coverlet over her head. Perhaps I can shut out this day just a little longer! She was still exhausted from the night before, but sleep would not return. Thoughts came instead: memories, regrets, puzzlement. I thought I was over this! Must I always ache with remorse over Frederick Wentworth?

With a groan she slipped out of bed and pulled on her wrapper. Nothing will be accomplished by more tears over what is never to be! She padded over to the window and moved the heavy curtain away in order to see the sky. It was a pale pearly blue, signifying a sunny day for the wedding. She heaved a sigh. In this season of miserable drizzle and fog, this day of all days will be bright and clear!

And cold! Anne climbed back into the warm bed, still clad in her wrapper, and watched as the pale light of dawn crept into her room. The day was beginning, whether she was ready to face it or not. There, hanging on the wardrobe door, was the dress she was to wear: her pink silk, now several years old and a little faded. It had been lovely once; she would now classify it as 'serviceable,' not really appropriate for such an important occasion. But it did not matter, not for this wedding. Anne turned her face to the wall.

She closed her eyes and began to rehearse what her duties would be for this very trying occasion, such a happy one for everyone else. Mrs. Musgrove would be having a lavish Wedding Breakfast at the Great House immediately after the ceremony for all the relatives. Anne didn't give much thought to this; she would not need to be present for long. Mary would probably have all sorts of emergencies requiring her assistance, most likely with the boys. Today she would be heartily glad to be put to work by her sister, to bury her emotions in activity.

What troubled her was the wedding ceremony itself, to which only the immediate family had been invited. An invitation had been extended to Anne as an honour due to a member of the Elliot family, given most probably to placate Mary's sensibilities. Of course she must attend; in such a small party her absence would be noticed. Thankfully, there would be nothing more required of her than to stand with the others in the chapel, pray, and sing a hymn. And then I will listen as they pledge their lives to each other!

Anne massaged her aching hands as she thought about the private mortifications in store for her this day. They would be no worse, really, than her feelings during the walk to Winthrop last fall, when she had overheard Frederick's gallant speeches to Louisa. She is his chosen bride, regardless of his stiff manner last night. She will become Mrs. Wentworth; I am become as nothing to him.

As nothing! We who had once meant so much to one another! Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them back. I made that awful choice; one that I have regretted nearly every day since! And I meant it for his best! And no one knows ... no one. This thought was strangely comforting; none of the guests or family members were aware of her broken engagement. At least I will be given no pity, will overhear no 'poor Miss Elliot' whispered behind my back; I will face my pain alone ... as always.

The light in the room was now quite bright. Anne sat up and reached over to the bedside table to pull out her small Bible. It was her habit to read a chapter each morning. Today she knew she must deviate from her schedule to go through a passage she had mused over many times during these past eight years. Her throat tightened as she saw the familiar words:

Love suffereth long and is kind;


love envieth not;


love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up;


does not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not its own ....

The text on the page swam before her eyes, she wiped her tears with her sleeve. Her mother used to whisper these words into her ear, when she had faced the disappointments and heartaches of growing up: "Love suffers long and is kind, Anne. Be patient, dear one. Love envies not, nor seeks its own." Oh Mother, how I miss you! How I would like to cry into your lap as I used! You would understand! You would stand with me today so that I would not be ... Anne closed her eyes, feeling small and weak and lonely. She sat holding the Bible, desperately trying to gather resolve and courage. I'm not sure I can do this alone! Oh God!

A gentle knock sounded at her door. It was the housemaid, come to build up the fire and bring in a container of hot water. As she departed, Anne sighed wearily, replaced the book, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed; the inevitable could be delayed no longer. The household was waking, within several hours the guests would be assembled and the wedding would take place. 'Love suffers long and is kind'. I must remember this.

She sat at the dressing table a long while, studying her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was disheveled, her eyelids looked swollen, there were shadows under her eyes. She winced a little, remembering Mary's words from last autumn: "Captain Wentworth was not very gallant by you, Anne ... he said 'you were so altered he should not have known you again.'" So altered.

She began to brush her hair vigorously. I am so changed, but Louisa is lovely. She is just twenty, I think ... nearly my own age when I met him. She will be happy; he will make her so. And I ? I will finally put this behind me! She splashed cold water on her face in an effort to clear her melancholy thoughts. Indeed, I shall be very glad to put this behind me! As she was drying her face with the towel, she heard Mary enter the room, full of cheerful chatter and excitement. The day had indeed begun.

Several hours later, she was again sitting at the dressing table studying her reflection. The results of the morning's work were quite encouraging; Anne felt she looked almost pretty. The pink color in the dress complimented her fair complexion, making it seem less wan. Her pearl earrings (the only jewelry she had brought with her) looked very well. Her hair had been attractively styled, adorned with satin rosebuds and a narrow pink ribbon woven through her curls. Charles had kindly presented each sister with a gardenia, grown in his hothouse; this she had also placed in her hair, its fragrance surrounded her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mary coming to announce that it was time to leave for the chapel. Anne picked up her gloves and cloak and mechanically began to move toward the door. 'Love suffers long and is kind'. I must remember this. Perhaps ... She turned back to the bedside table and retrieved her Bible. Captain Benwick carried a book with him to help him remember not to give in to despair. I will carry this to remind me. She left the room and made her way down the stairway. Charles and Mary were waiting for her by the main door, eager to be on their way.

Today I must love more, not less. Not selfishly, but seeking the best for the one I have loved. Frederick has chosen another. I wish him happy. I shall be kind, I shall!

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