Anne was busy working on a letter to her father, always a bit of a chore, as there were several particulars she had to be sure to observe. Her writing must be legible and rather large. Sir Walter would only rarely condescend to use his spectacles, and then for only the most important of documents, and only when shut up in his room. Also, she had to write out all of the names of the people she mentioned. He tended to mix up references to initials (M and Mr. M, for instance ... Mary and Mr. Musgrove ... would easily confuse him); many unusual stories had been generated this way; it was far easier to do the extra work in the first place. And then, the paper had to be of the proper sort. Anne had brought along her package of cheap stationery from Bath, and had rather maliciously begun writing her letter on it, seeking to demonstrate her commitment to strict economy. Then she realized it would only reflect badly on Charles, who gave his wife as a generous household allowance for these sorts of things. She began again on some of Mary's lovely stationery:

Uppercross Cottage, Friday, Feb __, 1815

Dear Father,

I hope this letter finds you well. By now you should have received the note appraising you of my safe arrival in Uppercross on Tuesday night. I apologize for the delay in writing a more detailed account; I have not had a spare moment until now.

As you might imagine, my journey to Uppercross was difficult, due mostly to the dreadful condition of the roads from so much rain. The fact that we traveled much of that distance at night only made it worse. Mr. Musgrove's men were a godsend; they were very resourceful and capable in handling the horses and the carriage, and in extricating us when we became mired in the mud. We were very nearly overturned at several points; we passed several deserted vehicles which broken shafts or missing wheels. I arrived just before midnight, by the grace of God, exhausted but extremely thankful to be safely here."

Anne laid down her pen, remembering being ushered into the darkened house; she was weary, sore, and terribly hungry. Mary's housekeeper had kindly given her some bread and soup; the rest of the household had retired for the night. She recalled the exquisite feel of the clean, crisp sheets as she slid into bed. I don't think I have ever been so grateful to arrive anywhere in my entire life! The trip had taken twelve agonizing hours.

Anne picked up the pen, and put it down again, thinking over the events of the days which had followed, trying to determine which were the ones that would interest her sister and father. She had awakened late on Wednesday, having practically slept the day away, disoriented, then surprised to find herself at Uppercross. She had then dressed and made her way downstairs, only to find the house empty except for Jemima, the nurserymaid, who was in the kitchen preparing a bite to eat for her two charges.

The most pressing worry of Anne's that morning had been the question of a funeral, but she could see no evidences of mourning in the deserted house. When she asked Jemima about the crepe on Rodgers' hat, the woman had sniffed, and said she didn't rightly know, but she thought that the horrid man had lost his mother a month ago. Rodgers was obviously beneath her touch; she was a little offended at Miss Elliot for asking such a question, but didn't dare say so. Anne resumed writing.

When I received Mary's letter, I was as mystified as you as to the reason for such an urgent summons. I had assumed the worst, perhaps a death in the family, or serious illness. But my fears were short-lived, and I am now a little ashamed of myself for automatically assuming a great tragedy. The Musgroves are preparing for a joyous celebration: a wedding! But I shall tell more about this later in the letter.

Anne wanted to see Henrietta herself to learn the details of the wedding before she wrote any more. How very wonderful it was that Dr. Shirley had been able to give over the position to Charles Hatyr so soon! Anne had been invited to the Great House for tea that afternoon; she wanted to hear the whole story and she knew Henrietta would relish telling it, as would any happy bride. She smiled as she took up the pen.

Mary's letter was right, everything is in an uproar! I have been so occupied here at Uppercross Cottage that I have not been able to pay my respects at the Great House, but these days we are too busy to stand upon ceremony. Indeed, I suspect that had I called, no one would have had the time to receive me! Mary tells me she has never seen Uppercross Hall in such a state of frenzied activity! She says that due to some pressing business of the groom's, it was necessary to hold the ceremony within eleven days or put it off for quite some time. Mr. Musgrove wisely decided to proceed with a simple family ceremony, much to Mrs. Musgrove's joy and consternation. She is driven to distraction with all of the preparations, but she is very, very happy.

As it stands today (Friday), there are eight days remaining and the Musgrove women have made a much anticipated trip to _______ to order the wedding clothes. We were kept indoors Wednesday and Thursday as we waited for the condition of the roads to improve, but we were never idle. Mary says that Mrs. Musgrove has pressed every available servant, from the lowest scullery worker to the housekeeper herself into service and I believe she will be hiring many more. I can only tell you what I have heard in passing, for I have hardly spoken with anyone since my arrival, not even Mary, who, as you know, always enjoys telling all the latest news! For the past two days I have taken over the care of Little Charles and Walter, while the nurserymaid is set to some other household tasks up at the Great House. This is a little wearing, for they are very active and I am unused to the antics of boys at the ages of four-and-a-half and two. But it is a very pleasant change for me, so you need not picture me as unhappy or ill-used.

Anne glanced up at the clock; it was almost time to leave. She put her letter aside. Jemima was home now, taking care of the boys with a very good grace. She had been complaining vociferously about having been made to polish every single piece of silver in the Great House, working for that slave-driver, Alice. Jemima was only too happy to return so that Anne could keep her appointment.

But the Great House was strangely quiet when Alice ushered Anne into the parlor. The tea service was set out, as if all the family were expected, but only one person sat on the sofa waiting for Anne.

"Why, Louisa! Good afternoon!" Anne was surprised and pleased to see Louisa Musgrove, especially as she was looking to be in such good health. "You look wonderfully well! I am so glad to see you again." Anne found a seat very near Louisa's and smiled at her in her friendly way. "I do not think we have been together since that dreadful day in Lyme!"

"Hello, Anne. Mother and Henrietta may be some time in coming down; I have been charged with welcoming you. Mother says we are to go ahead with our tea." Louisa spoke gently and quietly, returning Anne's smile. "I am a little tired; would you mind pouring out for us?"

Anne was only too happy to do so, and began talking cheerfully, grateful to be in the company of another adult. "I imagine Henrietta must be in a flutter, with the date for the wedding set so soon, and with so many decisions to make." She handed Louisa her cup. "I have not had the opportunity to speak with her yet; I only hear what Mary says. I think she and your mother have differing ideas from what Mary would like! I ... well, this is a little delicate," she confided, "but please know that I have been attempting to remind her that the bride makes the choices for her own wedding day." She smiled. "And as Mary did have a very lovely, very elegant wedding, everyone else's must pale in comparison. I hope your family does not mind. She does not mean to be critical"

"Oh, no! That is, thank you, Anne." Louisa colored and took a sip of her tea. She had not often sought to converse with Anne in private, she had always thought her a little too quiet. Louisa had preferred lively, spirited conversation, but now she began to wonder if she had been too hasty in forming her opinion. She knew Anne to be a good listener, and as no one (besides Henrietta) had truly listened to her for a very long time, this quality was becoming more precious. "You are very kind. No, Mary was very helpful today when we went to the dressmaker's. She does have very discriminating taste."

Louisa put down her cup. "Mama ordered oh, so many things! We have never had a daughter married from our house and I had no idea so much would be included in a trousseau." She smiled shyly. "I have some of the fabric samples here. Everything was decided so quickly; I cannot remember what was ordered! Most of it will be finished and sent on after the wedding, of course. I am to have the most lovely dress ..."

Anne leaned over to look at the sample Louisa had been fingering. It was a beautiful fawn-colored silk, woven in a very fine end-on-end pattern; it would shimmer and slightly change in hue as it moved. "Is this the fabric? It is very pretty."

"Oh! For my dress? No, I do not think anything is being made up in this one, although I love it dearly. No, Henrietta chose something for her own trousseau in a lilac silk, ah, is it here somewhere? I cannot tell." Louisa frowned over the sample cards spread beside her on the sofa. "And because we would receive a discount in price if we ordered a large volume of that particular silk, it was decided that my wedding dress would be of the same fabric. The dresses themselves are in a different style. And I do like lilac, too." But she continued to stroke the fawn silk in her hand.

"Your ..." Wedding Dress? Anne's words stuck in her throat.

Louisa's shining eyes met hers and she smiled at Anne's reaction. "It does seem incredible, doesn't it? Even I have had trouble believing it! Until today, when we placed that enormous order ..."

Anne swallowed. "Incredible ... yes."

Louisa looked down at the fabric she was holding. "Mama and Henrietta have made most of the choices; I am such a goose! I cannot think of anything!" She smiled confidingly at Anne. "Before the accid ..., well, before Lyme, I would have been very annoyed. After all, I didn't even choose my own wedding gown ... but now ... I don't mind!" She almost hugged herself for joy. "Oh Anne!" Louisa's eyes filled with tears, her cheeks were delicately flushed. She was ready to burst with happiness, but no one had taken the time to let her speak of it. Now here was a listener, one who was so sympathetic and kind, and who did not interrupt, or speak to her as if she were a child. Politeness and propriety were forgotten; Louisa's words poured out from her overflowing heart. "Anne, he came back for me!"

"He ... he ... did? I mean, yes, of course he did." Anne's heart had skipped a beat; she struggled to comprehend the meaning behind Louisa's references to the wedding dress and to he. Fear and despair fought desperately to overwhelm her heart.

Louisa looked down at her lap again. Anne noticed she was trembling. Anne trembled, too, but not from happiness as Louisa did. "Anne, he wants me ... he does! I ... well, I was not exactly sure before, but I am now! You remember when he first came, in November; he laughed and joked with me so much." Her blush became deeper. "He soundedi like he was in love with me, and we, well, we flirted shamefully! But I was never certain he was serious in his attachment to me. And after the ... foolish ... oh, that stupid accident of mine ... I thought I might never see him again and ..." She wiped away a tear with a shaking hand.

Anne could not tear her gaze away from Louisa's beautiful face, shining with love for the man who had returned for her.

"But when he came back, he was not laughing any more. When Papa brought him in to me, he was so serious in his manner! I knew then that he truly loved me ... and that he meant it when he said he was mine if I wanted him. If I wanted him!" Her face was glowing with happiness. "Of course I wanted him! I have been in a daze, unable to think or feel at all, but now I find I can hardly think of anything or anyone else but him!"

Anne could not trust herself to say a word.

Louisa put both hands up to her cheeks. "Oh my, listen to me run on! I haven't said so much at one time for months and months! I am so sorry, Anne! You have been very kind to listen to me." Her smile trembled a little. "May I ... show you something?"

"Yes, of course," Anne managed.

"This has been my task, these past few days while we have been waiting for the roads to dry. Papa and Charles will ride out to deliver them to the family tomorrow, although there is no real need. The news has spread like wildfire." She held out a gilt-edged invitation card. "I have always enjoyed writing; it has taken me a long time to complete each one. I am glad this will be a small wedding, for it was not an overwhelming chore! This one has a tiny mistake. I have kept it here in my pocket to remind me that all this is real. Do you see? His name, here, and mine."

Anne took the card, the invitation to the marriage of Captain Frederick Wentworth. She stared at it. All the names written on it, save his, were wrong; the date was at least eight years too late! She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Once, when she was little, she had crept out onto the landing at Kellynch during a lavish Assembly held by her parents. It was quite late, she had meant only to get a glass of water and to take a tiny peek at the elegantly attired ladies and gentlemen below, but she had been overwhelmed by the magnificence of what she saw from her perch above the entry hall. Lying down so as not to be noticed, she had slid closer and closer to the edge to see more, unaware of the precarious position of her glass. It tipped and rolled over the edge, much to her horror. Now, holding this card, she felt again the anguish of helplessly watching that glass slowly fall to the marble floor below and shatter into countless pieces. She could feel her heart dropping, cracking, breaking apart ...

Nevertheless, Anne fought to keep her countenance composed and her heartache hidden. She turned the card over to hide the names of the Musgrove family from her tear-filled eyes. But here, written over and over in varying styles, was another name: Louisa Isobel Wentworth. Louisa Wentworth. Louisa I. Wentworth. Mrs. Frederick Wentworth.

"Oh!" Louisa smiled foolishly and blushed a little. "I have been practicing writing out my married name. It looks so grand! I do not feel so! I am not worthy of such a beautiful name." Anne smiled as best she could and returned the invitation. Louisa was obviously besotted with her affianced husband, as well she should be. As was I.

She knew she should say something kind; she did not mean to be rude to Louisa. "I ... have always been fond of ... the shape of the letter 'W' myself. It would be nice to have that letter in one's name. You do have a lovely hand, Louisa." As Frederick's fiance, Anne had practiced, too, covering pages with variations of Anne Elizabeth Wentworth. How could she blame Louisa for loving him? For being pleased and proud to become his wife?

Louisa leaned back against the cushion of the sofa, closing her eyes and holding the card to her heart. "Louisa," Anne leaned foreword and spoke quietly. "Louisa, I do believe you are rather tired. Your shopping trip this morning may have taken more of your strength than you realise. I will go now."

Louisa opened her eyes. "Yes ... but I do not mean ..." She caught the compassionate look in Anne's eyes. "Thank you, Anne. You are right; I am tired."

"I ... wish you joy, Louisa." Anne's voice broke a little, but she spoke sincerely. "You are marrying a wonderful man. Please give my regards to your mother and sister. I will call again when it is more convenient. Good day." Somehow she managed to rise gracefully, walk across the parlor floor and out into the entry hall, collect her things, and open the main door to let herself out. She calmly made her way down the stone path in the direction of Uppercross Cottage. All at once she began to run.

Oh God, help me! It has happened! I knew it would! I knew it! Frederick is marrying Louisa! The tears she had held back now flowed unhindered. She left the road and headed out across the fields. I do not care about the mud! I do not care about the cold! If only I could become so cold and numb that I would never feel anything again! She stumbled across the uneven ground, not caring where she went. She never paused to look back, until at last she heard a voice calling her.

"Anne! Hey there, Anne!" She turned around. Charles Musgrove's cheerful voice shouted out. "Anne!" Oh no! Charles! He had been walking in the vicinity of the Great House; now he waved and came directly toward her. Anne hastily dried her eyes and waited for him to reach her.

"There you are, Anne! Mary sent me to fetch you back home." He slowed his pace as he neared, in order to catch his breath. "Whatever are you doing out here?"

Anne stood quietly, fighting to control her emotions. "It was a little ... stuffy ... in the parlor, Charles. I needed some air. I will be better in a moment."

"Anne?" Charles had come up to her now and was looking at her inquiringly. She had averted her face, but she knew she could not hide her red eyes or husky voice for long. "Anne, are you all right?"

"Yes, Charles. I'm fine." She gave him a pathetic little smile. "I had a nice visit with Louisa ... and ... it is just that I find ... that ... weddings make me cry, sometimes. It is very silly." She wiped her eyes again.

"Ah ... oh." Charles was a little taken aback. He had never realised that hearing about a wedding might be difficult for a still-unmarried woman. After all, Anne could hardly be considered an old maid or a spinster, could she? So what reason did she have to be sad? He offered her his arm and turned toward home, deciding that she needed cheering up.

"Well, you know, Anne, I've been thinking. We've got to beat the bushes around here and flush you out a husband, eh?"

Anne gave him no answer, but Charles never needed encouragement. "Humph! It's just that the selection in these parts has never been very ... abundant, has it? Let me see." He thought a while as he strode along; then he brightened. "Say! I know! Old Cousin Harry! He's, ah, some sort of third or fourth cousin several times removed; farms a parcel for us down by the old Hanford estate. He's on the lookout for another wife; lost his second last fall."

Charles grinned mischievously at Anne as he led her around a marshy patch of ground. She looked back at him blankly. "Yes! I believe you would do quite well together! He's very like that Jack Sprat fellow with the fat wife -- I'm rather a dab hand at nursery rhymes these days, you know -- ah, but in the reverse, for you are the one who would eat no fat; old Harry must be two or three of you put together!" They had come to a stile; he broke off speaking only long enough to help her over it. "Or ... is Jack Sprat the one who kept his wife in the pumpkin shell?" Charles frowned. "No, that was a blighter named Peter."

Anne choked as Charles continued gaily on. "Well, anyway, old Harry looks rather like a pumpkin, around the middle, you know. Plus, his face has those whaddayacallit, you know, those warty-looking bumps pumpkins sometimes have ..." He gave a sideways glance at his sister-in-law. She was chuckling in spite of herself.

"And then, there's the name: you would be 'Mrs. Harry Stickleweed'! Although I believe his given name is Henry, but he never goes by it!" Charles was laughing at his own joke, too. They were nearly at the back door of the cottage by this time, having cut across the fields. "Well ... maybe not, Anne, eh? I'll keep on the lookout for somebody else. I mean, can you just hear old Cousin Harry's name being announced when he comes to ask for your hand? Your father would pop all the buttons on his waistcoat!"

"Charles! You are an abominable tease! Poor ... Mr. ... Stickleweed!" Anne could barely say the name without laughing herself. Crying and now laughing; I am a hopeless wreck today!

Mary had a 'hopeless wreck' of another sort spread out in the dining room.

"Anne, dear, there you are! My, we have had such a time today! Oh, do you want any tea? Fix yourself a cup; everything is over there." She waved her hand in the direction of the sideboard. "Well!" Mary was cheerful this afternoon and all was right in the world. The shopping expedition had been successful in every way. The dressmaker had been a little in awe of so many fine ladies (and one of them an Elliot!), and of the size of the order they had placed, and she had had the good sense to show it. Mary went on to explain that she had been able to order a silk gown for herself, and very inexpensively, too. Anne listened with amusement as her sister talked on. She never said, but Anne knew that here was another use for that lilac silk!

Bus as Mary chatted on about ribbons and trim and shoes, a new problem occurred to Anne. She had brought nothing appropriate to wear. Except my black silk, which was supposed to be for the 'funeral'! I would never wear it to a wedding! Well, perhaps to this wedding, I should, but ... no. I am not mourning the death of a person, but that of a hope from long ago ... and they are not at all the same.

"Anne, why do you have that expression on your face? I do believe you have not heard a word I have been saying!"

"I am sorry, Mary. I have been quite distracted with my thoughts. Please continue."

"Well!" Mary gave her sister a reproachful look. "As I was saying, I had placed an order for this blue gown several weeks ago; it will be something to wear when we visit Father in Bath this spring. But the Musgroves have so overwhelmed the district with their needs for the wedding that I am unable to have it completed when it was promised, which was to be Friday next. As it turns out, it would have been in time for the wedding. I was quite distressed about it, after all, what is the use of having a lovely dress like that delivered after the occasion for which it would be absolutely perfect is past?"

Anne listened carefully; she had a sinking feeling that she would be involved in this business about the dress somehow. Mary took a sip of her tea and smiled at her sister. "And then I had an idea!" She motioned to the dining table and the pile of cerulean fabric. "This is my dress ... and we are going to finish it ourselves! Isn't that clever of me?"

Anne stared at the wad of fabric pieces. "But Mary! How can we? We have never made a dress!"

"Oh, I know that! But you do such fine needlework, dear. And look," Mary triumphantly held up the bodice; "this has already been finished; the sleeves have been set and basted into position. We do up a few seams here and there, attach the skirt, and hem it up. What could be easier?"

Anne could think of quite a few things, but she said nothing.

"See? Here is the thread, and the buttons ... and Mrs. Dunthorpe was kind enough to draw out a diagram showing how the pieces of the skirt fit together. They are all marked with chalk, so how could you go wrong? We should be finished by tomorrow or Monday."

"I am not so sure, Mary." Anne dubiously sorted through the pieces on the table. The intricate finish work on the bodice had been completed; that was a relief. She turned it to the underside, peeled back the lining, and groaned. French seams, which would double the work. That meant the fabric probably frayed easily. And why did Mary have to choose such a fine, lightweight silk? I have stitched edging on cotton lawn handkerchiefs or on table linen, not on fabric like this! And there are so many buttons; it will take hours just to do the buttonholes!

Anne sighed and put everything back on the table. She smiled pleasantly at Mary, and said, meaningfully, "Well, Sister, we shall certainly shall be busy." She wandered over to the sideboard and served herself a piece of cake. But why do I have the impression that I am the one who will do most of this work? Because that is what invariably happens when my sister begins to call me 'dear'!

Later that night, just before retiring, Anne sat looking over the letter she had started earlier. She had put off finishing it as long as she could, but it must be done now, or not at all. Anne shook her head as she read the last sentence she had written:

'But it is a very pleasant change for me, so you need not picture me as unhappy, or ill-used.'

At that moment, Anne felt she was both! The burden of a large, complicated sewing project. Caring for Little Charles and Walter. Keeping composed and pleasant while helping to prepare for Frederick Wentworth's wedding. But would I rather be in Bath? No indeed!

Her candle was fairly low, it was time to finish, and she did so with far fewer words than she had planned when she thought the wedding was Henrietta's. Why did no one tell me whose wedding it was? Of course I assumed ... however ... I was wrong. Now I know ... and my carefully cherished hope will finally die! I shall tell Father and Elizabeth ... and they will gloat over the news that a man who had once desired my hand is now making an alliance with ' the farmer's daughter' ... and then it will be forgotten by them.

Anne wrote quickly and decisively.

Later this afternoon (after I had already begun this letter), I was at last able to pay my respects at the Great House, where I had a nice visit with the bride, Louisa Musgrove. She will be marrying Captain Frederick Wentworth on Saturday next. You may remember that he is Admiral Croft's brother-in-law; he and Louisa became acquainted in November when he came for a visit. Louisa has recovered very well from her fall at Lyme and looks quite beautiful. She will make him a lovely wife. I do not know of their future plans. I am sure the Musgroves and the Crofts are hoping they will settle in this area.

Since there is so much to be done, you may expect me to remain here for at least another week, and very possibly two. I hope you are enjoying Sir Lucas' company, Father. The timing of his visit was excellent, was it not? We are all well here, and send our kind regards.

Your Loving Daughter,

Anne

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