Captain Benwick checked his timepiece as he left Uppercross Cottage and headed for the Mansion. Good. There are thirty minutes remaining before Harville and I are scheduled to leave for Lyme. It will be enough, if I can only find Musgrove. He had an important piece of 'business' to see to and he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

The Wedding Breakfast had ended; the guests were now departing Uppercross Hall for their homes. Many different types of conveyances were piling up in the drive and yard, from carriages to gigs to farm carts. This was an obviously affectionate family, he could hear the laughter and farewells even before he reached his destination.

He scanned the stableyard as he entered it. Sure enough, there's that windbag now. Charles Musgrove was standing by an outbuilding in the far corner, tankard in hand, talking and laughing with several other young fellows. Benwick stood watching for a few minutes, carefully assessing the situation and waiting for the opportune time to move into position. Within a short time the others went off toward one of the stabling areas leaving Musgrove alone; no one else was within earshot. Perfect.

James Benwick's temper had been at a slow burn for at least the last half hour. As he had spoken with Anne Elliot about the past two weeks and her plans for the fortnight to follow, he had come up with a fairly ugly picture of what her 'visit' to Uppercross had been like. He had not been mistaken, she had looked more tired here than he had remembered her at Lyme, and now he had stumbled upon a major cause of her exhaustion: Mary Musgrove ... Charles' wife. Well, I have a few things to 'discuss' with this man about that, and I am going to do it right now. He made his way over to Charles.

"Ah, Mister Musgrove! Good afternoon. Might I, ah, have a word with you?" Benwick's tone was light, but his voice had an unmistakable edge to it. Quite unconsciously he adopted his 'dressing-down' stance -- chin extended, feet braced shoulder width apart; greatcoat thrown open, left hand resting suggestively on his sword hilt.

"Well! Hello there, Benwick! What've you been up to? I've hardly seen you at all this afternoo ... er ..." Charles turned to greet him, and suffered a mild shock. He was staring into the face of Captain James Benwick, not as he would appear in the stableyard, or in the drawing room, but on the quarter-deck of the Grappler. Charles swallowed convulsively, vaguely aware of the sensation that he was being been called up to account for some gross neglect of duty. This was not a good feeling.

Captain Benwick wasted no time on pleasantries. "There are a few things I've observed during my visit here which puzzle me greatly. I wonder if you might put me in possession of the facts ... without any flummery, if you please."

Charles stared at him. Where was the bookish, soft-spoken, mournful fellow he had met in Lyme? "Uh, right, Benwick." He forced a grin. "What's on your mind?" Surely this man must be jesting, or perhaps he was a bit soused; it would be best to humor him.

"I have a few questions regarding your sister-in-law, Miss Anne Elliot."

"Oho!" Charles' eyes lit up wicked glee. "You old dog, you! I just knew that you would take that trip to the alt..." He encountered a freezing look. "Ah, hah, well! Just a little joke!" Charles dissembled, very uneasy now. "Ahem! You were ... saying?"

"I have heard some pretty fine speeches regarding the exalted position of the Elliot family in this district, most especially from your wife, Musgrove," Captain Benwick began. "I am most perplexed to observe that the honors supposedly due to an Elliot do not seem to extend to Miss Anne. Why is that?"

"What honors?" Charles was not smiling now. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"Let me restate the question, then. I wish you will tell me plainly what your purpose was in inviting your sister-in-law here! Was it to be a guest at the wedding festivities? Or to dance attendance on your wife?"

"Anne is our guest, Captain." His careless drawl had vanished.

Benwick raised an eyebrow at that. "Indeed. May I ask when? For I never saw her as such! Was she a guest at your mother's party Thursday evening? No, she was unable to attend that. She stayed behind, alone, with your children, in your home, working on a last-minute sewing project for your wife -- something which should have been hired out!"

"Yes, she offered to that, as a help to Mary. But she was a guest at the dinner Friday night, Benwick, as well you know." Charles' face was becoming red.

"Ah yes, Friday night! When she ran errands for your mother, fetching items from the pantry, and such. Really, did you not have enough workers to do that sort of thing? And she was prevailed upon, at the very last minute, to play while everyone else danced. Some of that music that she had never seen before, some of it she had to transpose, on sight, to a different key. Did anyone offer to relieve her? Did you notice, Musgrove? She sat at that piano for nearly three hours!"

Charles bristled at that, beginning to lose his temper. "Anne is a very accomplished musician. She likes to play for us."

"Does she also like to dance?"

"No, she has quite given that up! ... that is ..." Charles felt himself to have been maneuvered onto unstable ground. He glared at Benwick.

"So I have been given to understand. Has anyone ever bothered to see if perhaps she might like to change her mind?"

At the same moment, Captains Wentworth and Harville were crossing the stableyard. Having finalized the arrangements for the vehicle Edward would be using to begin his journey home, Frederick had begun to discuss the readying of the Laconia with Timothy.

"I will be in Shropshire for a few days, but will bring ... my wi ... Louisa back here and see that she is comfortable with her family and then will post on to Plymouth. If it is possible, you being onboard in a week or so will bring things to the ready more quickly." Stopping for a farm cart to pass, the men proceeded on at a leisurely pace.

"A week will be a bit soon, but Elsa will understand. She is not looking forward to my leaving them, but she sees the advantages of my being on full pay again. So ... do you know what condition I shall find the old dear when I arrive or will I be in for a surprise?" Captain Harville was not particularly looking forward to rebuilding a ship that had been sitting idle for several months. If the port had not kept a nominal crew aboard, every purser and seaman afloat endeavoring to refit themselves would have had enough time to strip her to the scuppers, leaving her a naked hulk that he would have to begin to outfit.

"I have not recieved a Statement of Condition as of yet. You are the one who informed me that she might go to the knacker's yard. Though I think it more likely that she'd be sold out of service ... she's in wonderful shape for a thirty-eight. Not so practical in these times with the 90's and 100's being the fashion, but still quite serviceable. I have no notion of her condition or crew strength ... if you can, hire as many of the warrants and junior officers as you are able. And please, be kind to my purse. I don't mind offering bounties to good men, but I would rather not break myself before the sail even begins."

Leaning against a wagon, he turned to his friend and said, "Speaking of your wife, I have not yet told mine this ... felicitous bit of news ... that I am to return to duty so soon. I am pondering at which part of the honeymoon one would tell this sort of thing. So, Harville ... as an old married man, is there a proper time designated by ... tradition perhaps, or phase of the moon maybe?" The Captain smiled to his friend with an airy smile, but it belied a genuine desire to know how he might approach Louisa with such significant news.

Harville's eyes widened and after a long low shistle, he began to laugh. "Lord Man! you are breeched before you've begun! As an old married man, I can assure you ... there will be no good time to tell this! Certainly not at such a ... delicate time of becoming ... acquainted." Clearing his throat and bringing himself under control, he looked at Frederick and said, "Seriously, Old Friend. In this there is no time like the present. Telling your new bride that you will be leaving her so soon ... it will be quite a blow to her."

Frederick looked off in the distance. This was precisely what he had feared. The more he did, the more it all turned to hurt the girl. Once he was gone from her ... perhaps all would fall into place and she could begin to live the settled life he had envisioned for her. "I feared that. I shall just have to plow on ahead and do the deed. I hope there are few tears, I am always undone by women's tears."

"As are most of us," Timothy said quietly. He chose not to tell his friend that there would be tears, and if the new Mrs Wentworth was as tender-hearted as he suspected, there would likely be buckets of them. There always were with Elsa.

Suddenly Frederick hissed, "Ho! ... Timothy ... look ... over ... there ...!"

Turning toward the barns, the sight of Charles Musgrove in a rather heated conversation with his former First Officer had caught his attention. What he saw drew a wry smile to his lips; all too well he recognized that stance! It had always amused him to watch the even-tempered Lieutenant Benwick when he finally cut loose and issued a well-deserved, lengthy, and irritatingly precise reprimand to a junior officer.

"Ah, James, engaging in the Sport of Kings again ... the Royal Dressing Down," Timothy said with a chuckle.

Motioning to his friend, Frederick said, "Come, let's move a bit closer and see what the skirmish is over."

Frederick and Timothy carefully picked their way across the yard and stood behind an empty carriage to listen; neither Benwick nor Musgrove noticed their presence.

Unlike most of his naval colleagues, James Benwick deplored cursing; instead, he preferred to fire off long, rather obscure words culled from his extensive reading. He had once explained that by using vituperative, sesquipedalian words (his terminology, Frederick had had to look that one up, later explaining it to Harville), he was able to both upbraid the offender and at the same time call into question his intelligence and education, thus compounding his embarrassment. This was not the case today, but he obviously was very irritated with Charles, and the latter was certainly most ill at ease. While Timothy enjoyed the show, he did not notice the smile fade from Frederick's eyes as he began to catch the drift of the conversation.

"Hang it, Musgrove, the treatment Miss Anne has been receiving here reminds me of a child's faerie story! The Little Cinder-Girl, who slaved away for her selfish stepsisters! Humph! 'Cinder-Elliot,' I should say, who has been slighted, and imposed upon, and over-worked ..."

"Anne is not a slave! If she chooses ..."

"Did she choose, Musgrove? Or did your simply send your carriage to Bath, order her into it, and have her brought here ... in the middle of the night ... because your wife would give you no peace?

Charles was now acutely uncomfortable, for some of Benwick's words had struck home. "Anne is a great help to Mary whenever she comes!"

"Yes, she certainly is! That is a very attractive gown your wife is wearing today! Anne is extremely proud of it; she says she has never done that sort of work before! An interesting way to occupy your guest, Musgrove!"

Charles set his tankard down forcefully; he was balzingly angry now. "But the fact is, Benwick, she is our guest, and you have no right to ..."

"Perhaps my definition of the term guest is at fault, then!" Benwick interrupted. "I had always understood it to mean one who is the recipient of cordial and generous hospitality, freely and kindly given ... " He stopped speaking abruptly and glared at Charles. At last he heaved a large, irritated sigh. "Oh blast!" Taking his hand off his sword hilt, he passed it over his eyes. "And I am your guest." He gave Charles an annoyed look. "And it is rather bad form for a guest to ride roughshod over his host, as I am now doing! I do apologize."

Charles stared at Captain Benwick as if he were a madman.

"The thing is, Musgrove, did you see Miss Anne today, after the breakfast had begun to be served?"

"No," he answered, suspiciously. " I don't recall ..."

"Well, I did." James looked directly into his eyes. You loved her once, you must have a little kindness left in your heart, I hope. He spoke earnestly. "Musgrove, I found her alone ... sitting on a bench in the hedgerow ... sobbing her heart out!" He watched the color drain out of Charles' face. It did likewise from Frederick's. "She is exhausted, worn out! Her nerves are shot, and no wonder, poor girl! And she tells me that your wife intends to keep her here at least fortnight more, to help her work on something or other ..."

"Work? The devil she will!" Charles broke in. "Anne will do nothing but rest!" His anger was now forgotten in his concern for his sister-in-law. "I'm sorry, Benwick, I had no idea that she was done in! I will see to it that she is properly taken care of."

"She needs to go home, Musgrove. As soon as possible."

"Yes, yes, I quite agree with what you're saying but ..." Charles frowned; " 'home' is not much bett ... have you ever met her father and elder sister, Benwick?"

"No, I don't believe I have."

"Ah! Then you do have a treat coming! His Pompous Majesty and Her Royal-Snubbing Highness, I used to call them, before they became my in-laws! And now we have 'Cinder-Elliot,' drudging away while they go to the ball! Hah! That's rich!" But the scornful sparkle in his eyes disappeared as he thought of her situation. He shook his head and sighed. "What a family! Poor Anne. You say she was ... crying ... all alone out there?"

"I'm afraid so. It nearly broke my heart to see it." For a fraction of a second their eyes met, then James looked away. As he did, he noticed a chaise being led out from one of the barns. He quickly checked his watch: Two o'clock. Those stablehands are right on schedule. "Musgrove, I am due to leave for Lyme very shortly and I cannot arrange this. Might I depend upon you to see the thing through for me? Will you send her home as soon as you possibly can?"

"Yes, of course; you can count on it. We should be able to contrive something within the next two or three days without any difficulty."

"We'll do it sooner, Charles." Frederick Wentworth stepped foreword; his voice rather hoarse. "We will rent something from Crewkherne, if need be, but it will be done."

Timothy Harville watched with interest as his captain joined the conversation. While he knew Frederick to be a gentleman, it puzzled him as to why Frederick would put himself out in seeing Miss Elliot home to Bath.

James wheeled to face his friend, an odd expression on his face. Frederick! Where did you come from? "Uh, thank you." He could find no other words to say. Great Heaven! To be having this conversation about Miss Anne with these two men, of all people!

He turned back to Charles; he was running out of time. "You'll find Miss Anne in the room we were in Thursday nigh... ahem! ... in that small, back parlor at your house. She's asleep in the old wingchair; I, ah, pulled it over in front of the fire; she should be keeping warm enough. I also took the liberty of giving her a small amount of your brandy to encourage her to sleep. I don't think she has had anything to eat; when she wakes up someone should see to that."

Seeing Timothy hovering behind the carriage, James gave a hurried glance over his shoulder. "I believe that chaise is ours; your wife will be anxious for our return before dark. I think we should take our leave now." He put out his hand to Charles Musgrove, smiling a little shamefacedly. "Thank you for your hospitality ... and for your help in this matter. I am sorry ... Charles. I didn't mean to rip into you like that!"

Charles shook his hand heartily. "No harm done ... James. I'm sorry, too. I didn't realise things had come to such a pass. We'll, ah, have to have you back this autumn, do a little shooting together, eh?"

"Yes, well ... only after you've bagged all the game you want for the year; my skills as a marksman leave much to be desired!" He smiled sheepishly. "The only hunting I've ever been good at was as a midshipman; we used to, ah, hunt rats below deck."

Charles' eyes lit up. "You don't say! Well then," he grinned; "rat hunting it is! Have a pleasant journey."

Now James turned to face Frederick Wentworth, a little reluctantly. How can I offer you my hand? You have caused so much pain today! But anger melted into pity as he saw the bleak, hopeless expression in his Captain's eyes.

"Well, good-bye, my good friend, and thank you. I offer you my very best wishes for your future life," James said as he shook Frederick's hand. "Indeed, you shall be happy, for Louisa is a lovely, likable young woman. We missed her very much after she left ... and little did we know then that she would be going to you!"

Frederick gave him a stiff, rather wooden smile. James knew that look: the Captain was doing the polite, going through the required motions. May you find love again ... someday ... if only you will only open your heart to it ... love Louisa! He struggled to give voice to his thoughts, desperately wanting to say something encouraging ... and realised that he could not. Frederick had said the same sort of things to him when he had been lost in his grief over Fanny, and James had hated hearing every word. "Let us know when you have ... settled, all right?" There was nothing more to say.

Glancing at Timothy, Frederick said, "Can a sailor ever be truly settled, James? Thank you for coming. Again, I offer my apologies about not spending more time with the two of you. Take care on the journey home -- had I known of your driving skills, I would have taken a bit of time to do some training."

"We shall manage, between the two of us, As the adage goes, 'There's not a moment to lose.' Come, Timothy, we must be off." Touching his hat to the Captain and Charles, James took his leave.

Captain Harville shook hands with Frederick and Charles, wished them well and received the same and was soon mounting the rig, headed home.

Neither of the two left said anything. But Charles was leaning back against the building, watching Benwick's retreating form with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Yes, he'll do," he mused aloud. "He'll do very well, I think. Already looking out for her, protecting her. I like that in a man." He turned to grin at Frederick. "How about it, Frederick? Think Anne'll make a good sailor's wife?"

Shocked, the Captain choked out, "A sailor's wha ...?"

Charles reached over and retrieved his tankard. " I like weddings, don't you? Ah, the pleasure of making an excellent family alliance!" He clapped Frederick on the back. "Well, shall we go in, Brother? We need to make those arrangements for Anne ... yes, and," he grimaced a little, "I need to have a few words with Mary!"

"You go on ahead, Charles. I shall join you in a moment." The words that Charles had so jauntily tossed off had dealt Frederick a blow. The notion of James Benwick and Anne Elliot was one which caused dread to arise in him. All his gallant words to her of finding a new love were suddenly ash on his tongue. A man like James Benwick would love her in a way that Frederick Wentworth only knew of from books. James had loved Fanny Harville with an intensity that had startled those who knew them and a second attachment would have no less care from such a romantic man. Frederick kicked a stone in his path and watched the dust settle. Having made a grand declaration that Anne should be free, perhaps it was time he did the same.

The arrangements for Anne were very easily made; Frederick had handled it himself. The Musgrove's traveling carriage was made available for her use anytime that afternoon or evening, at her convenience. She would be taken home to Bath, where she would be able to recuperate in peace and quiet.

The one remaining task, for which Frederick did not volunteer, was to let Mary Musgrove know about the plans for her sister. This was more easily said than done; Charles was now spending time pacing the length of the recently emptied carriage house, thinking over how best to accomplish it. This bit of news would certainly not sit well with her; he knew she would be sure to mince no words in informing him of her displeasure. Then I will grin, and tease her a little, and joke, to lighten things up, and that won't work. She will whine, and complain, and contradict me ... and I'll end up being tongue-tied and blisteringly angry, while she assumes that frosty Elliot attitude! And in the end, I'll walk out!! He swore under his breath as he took another turn around the interior of the building. The scowl on his face rendered him nearly unrecognisable as the cheerful, light-hearted man who had so well entertained his family's guests earlier that day.

It had not been easy for Charles to learn to live with his wife. She had a great deal more sensibility than any woman in his family and very little sense of humor. And the irony of it all was that Mary was quite a pleasant companion when things were going well, that is, when she had a generous allowance and was given plenty of social deference. But when not ... ! Charles had found it easier to give her a free hand and oppose her only rarely.

As the youngest child of a privileged family, Mary's upbringing had only served to reinforce her tendency toward self-absorption. She had been alternately spoiled as the little darling of the Elliots, and then ignored and treated as a bothersome pest. When thwarted or left out, she would pout and complain so much that the others would capitulate, just to have quiet in the home. Charles had learned to capitulate, too, but he was not very happy about having to do it.

Mary. Charles kicked at a some loose hay on the floor. As time goes by, you are becoming more and more openly disdainful of me, my financial provision, and my social rank! You refuse to believe that you are no longer an Elliot! Benwick was right, you go on and on about the honors you should be receiving." He heaved a sigh of disgust ... and resignation. I have had to work very hard these past days to try to undo the harm you've brought on with your very pointed snubbing of some of the lower members of my family! D-mnation!! And we'll have it all again for Etta's wedding in April!

He stooped to pick up a currycomb which was lying on the floor and chucked it forcefully into a corner, listening with satisfaction to the twang it made as it hit the wall. What am I going to do? He resumed his pacing. I suppose this is the 'worse' part of 'for better or for worse'! If only ... Charles' jaw tightened, if only you could be contented without always needing to have the upper hand! If only you would have more common respect for me! He came to a halt at the large open doorway at the south end of the building and stood staring blindly at the rolling pastureland in the distance as he wrestled with his feelings of frustration and disappointment. Much to his annoyance, he found his eyes to be watering. It must be the dust out here. He moved away of the doorway in order to prevent any more of it from getting into his eyes. He likewise moved away from thinking anymore melancholy thoughts about the state of his marriage.

Now speaking of respect ... He'd had a rather interesting example set before him this afternoon in the person of James Benwick, and he began to spend some time thinking about this encounter. Here, in my own stableyard, he made me feel like a blundering schoolboy, backed against the wall, gaping like a common saphead! How did he do that? Charles took another turn about the carriage house, considering the difference between Benwick's actual appearance (short and rather ordinary-looking) and the presence which he had communicated: a powerful, commanding man who had better be obeyed immediately, no questions asked ... or else! Could I do that? He smiled to himself, a little wickedly. Could I do that with Mary?

Benwick's uniform helped give him an air of authority ... and that hat ... Charles removed his own flat-topped, brown hat and grimaced at it in disgust. It was one of his favorite hunting hats, a little squashed and creased in places. It was serviceable and comfortable, but did not inspire respect, as Benwick's had. He had clapped it carelessly on his head before going outside. Whom do I need to impress here? Everybody knows who I am: Charles Musgrove, the young squire and heir to Uppercross Hall. But ... He decided to leave the hat off when he had his talk with Mary.

Next his overcoat came under scrutiny. It was almost as bad as the hat, stained and a little wrinkled; another piece of hunting attire, thrown on in haste for his trip to the stables. Very well, no overcoat, either! But Benwick had looked rather dashing with his greatcoat thrown open like that! Charles practiced assuming different positions, deciding that one fist on the hip was best. What I really need is that sword! And by the look in Benwick's eye, I could swear he would have positively enjoyed cutting me to pieces with it! But I do have a better overcoat than this. He had a new charcoal gray one, made up at Mary's insistence, for his trips into town. It would look rather well with the dressy clothing he was wearing.

But not as well as a uniform would! Charles left the carriage house and headed for home, walking briskly as he thought. It's a rotten shame that old gudgeon Dick was the one to go to sea. Now if I had gone in place of him, I would not have made a mull of it! Perhaps by now I would be Captain Musgrove of the Royal Navy, with a ship of my own to command, and an estate to inherit ... wearing a handsome uniform with all that gold on it, and a sword ... and that look in my eye that Benwick had!

He smiled to himself. And how all the ladies would sigh! The Musgrove women's frank admiration of the men of the Navy had not escaped his notice. Even my own wife was positively in awe of Wentworth that first time he came to dinner! The devil take it, she's in awe of him now! If he gave her an order, she'd jump! The more Charles thought of this, the angrier he became. Five years and a half ago, when I first came courting, she was in awe of me. He let himself in through the kitchen door and headed for the wardrobe where the coats were kept. Well, Mary, my dear, it appears you have gotten abominably out of hand! I'm going to give an order, and you'd best be prepared to jump!

And so it was, some twenty minutes later, that Charles was standing in the empty dining room in Uppercross Cottage, studying his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. He liked what he saw. The dark overcoat was the perfect compliment to the rest of his fine clothing and gave him a mysterious, rakish appearance. He ran his fingers through his dark blonde curly hair. Yes, I do look rather well, quite the gentleman, in fact. Charles Musgrove, the young squire and heir to Uppercross Hall.

Presently he heard the slam of a door; Mary was home. He had dispatched a servant to the Great House to summon her to meet with him; obviously she was not pleased. Charles smiled to himself; so far everything was working according to his scheme. He had carefully gone over his encounter with Benwick step by step, word by word to help in its making. It was a good plan, if he could only pull it off. He took up his position facing the fireplace and waited.

"Charles? Oh, there you are! Well? Dodson said you wanted to see me!"

Charles turned slowly to face her in the semi-darkness of the room. "Ah, Mary. Thank you for coming so soon. I wonder if I might I have a word with you." He spoke quietly, as Benwick had, carefully assuming his lecturing posture: chin out, feet braced, overcoat thrown back with one fist on the hip, his face expressionless.

"Well, it had better be important, for I am quite put out with you for making me walk all this way, and in my best shoes, too. Honestly Charles, how could you expect ..."

"Would you mind closing the door, please?" His tone was light, but his voice had an unmistakable edge to it. There was no hint of a smile on his face.

"Goodness, Charles, I cannot see any need for ..."

He raised an eyebrow, and gave her Benwick's freezing look.

Mary's eyes widened. She closed the door.

"Thank you," he murmured. "Would you care to sit?" He made a slight gesture toward a straight-backed dining chair facing him, but made no move to assist her into it, as he usually would have done. Mary sat.

Charles turned back to the fireplace, drumming his fingers impatiently on the mantelpiece as he went over the next phase of his plan. He stole a look at Mary in the mirror. She was staring at his back, open-mouthed, with an odd expression on her face. Yes, I can tell what you are thinking: Where is my husband, that rattle-brained idiot, the farmer? He smiled a little to himself, a sardonic, twisted smile. God forgive me! I'm no longer imitating Benwick, I'm behaving exactly like Sir Walter! Hah! His eyes met Mary's in the mirror; she had seen the smile and was looking at him a little fearfully now. Good. Charles turned to face her.

"My dear, I have asked you here to inform you of a little change in our plans which will affect you somewhat." He paused to brush away a speck of dust on the sleeve of his coat, then looked at Mary, and spoke very deliberately. "Anne will be traveling back to Bath this evening." He waited for her response; she did not disappoint him.

"Anne? To Bath? Nonsense, Charles, it is quite impossible! No one consulted me! I intend to keep Anne with me through the remainder of the winter, at the very least, for Henrietta will be ..."

"I did not ask for your opinion, Mary. I am informing you of my decision." His tone brooked no opposition. Mary opened her mouth and closed it again. He continued.

"Anne is unwell and will be leaving for home today, as soon as she awakens and feels able to travel. I was hoping to have your assistance in helping her to prepare for the journey, but I see I was mistaken." He turned back to the mantelpiece, carefully keeping his face expressionless. When he spoke, his voice sounded bored rather than angry. "Very well, you may go."

"I may ... what?"

He turned back to face her, a little contemptuously. "You may go ... back to the party, or to wherever you were before I summoned you . I will arrange matters another way." He smiled slightly. "I am sorry that you will not have the opportunity to say good-bye to your sister. That is all."

"Charles!"

"You will please excuse me now, my dear. I need to speak to Dodson about the packing of Anne's trunk." He walked toward the door without another look or word to his wife.

"Charles ... wait! I ..."

Charles gave himself the luxury of waiting to turn around until his hand was on the latch. When he did, he met her gaze directly and simply raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Charles ... what was it you needed me to do?"

"Anne! Anne!" Mary hissed. "Wake up!" She shook her sister's shoulder urgently.

Anne opened her eyes at once, staring about her, completely disoriented. "Captain Benwick? Wha ...? Where is ...?" She blinked in surprise. "Mary?"

"Anne! The most dreadful thing has happened! It's Charles! He's gone mad, Anne! Absolutely mad!" Mary yanked off the blanket Captain Benwick had spread over Anne's lap and began twisting it nervously as she spoke. "Charles ... oh, Sister! I have never seen him this way!"

"Is he ill, Mary?" Anne wearily rubbed her eyes; they were stinging, for she had been sleeping very soundly.

"No! He is quite well, he looks very well." Indeed, he had looked well, Mary thought to herself; he had looked quite astonishingly handsome! And so severe ... and cold! Mary shivered a little in awe. What had come over Charles?

Anne started to speak but Mary dropped the blanket and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her out of the chair. "Anne, he says you are unwell and need to leave for Bath right away! He had decided it and there was nothing I could say to change his mind!"

"Leave for Bath ...? Now? But ..."

"Yes, immediately, dear! Your trunk is all packed and is being loaded on Father Musgrove's traveling carriage as we speak. Are you able to stand?"

"Yes, but Mary! This is so sudden! I ..." Anne looked around her a little wildly, she snatched up her Bible from the table by the armchair. "I may have left some of my things scattered through the house ... my gray bonnet ... my other pelisse ... "

"Oh no, dear! Remember? We had all that picked up for the wedding. It was as simple as could be to load up your trunk. Come along, now. Are you well enough to walk?" Mary began pushing her sister toward the door.

"But Mary! I have taken leave of no one! I should pay my respects to Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove, at the very least, for their kind hosp ..."

"No, indeed, Anne! Charles will do that for you! You are most unwell! I will explain it and everyone will understand." She hurried Anne along.

"But ..."

"Oh! And Charles said I was to serve you supper when you woke up; but I'm sure that it will do as well for you to eat while you are traveling. Here." She picked up the basket she had brought with her and shoved it into her sister's hands. Mary smiled brightly. "Charles will be pleased that I carried out his orders so promptly, don't you think?"

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