Edward awakened to the jostling of the coach. It was not well-sprung and had proven to be in worse condition than his gig at home. Blinking his eyes to adjust to the light, he leaned forward and watched the countryside bounce and lurch by. Checking his watch, he saw it to be nearly ten in the morning. It was Wednesday. He had been travelling and entire day and was feeling it. His sleep had been fitful, not restful in the least. As now, awakening always brought thoughts of why he had left his wife alone, why he had paid the outrageous sum to travel south and why he felt so strongly about his brother's marriage. Leaning against the hard back of the seat, laying back his head, he let his mind wander, allowing his thoughts to move freely.

Here I am, rattling along . . . alone. And I'm going to save my brother from what? A loveless marriage? All marriages are loveless at times. I am not all together certain that Catherine loves me just now. And how do I help her to decide? I go chasing away after Frederick . . . leaving her. Oh God, watch out for her and the little one. I know she has not told me all that the midwife has said. She knows me too well, I'll consume myself with worry, so she will do it for me. I suppose that is what I want for my brother, a marriage in which the two willingly sacrifice for one another . . . but what sacrifice have I made? I am here and Catherine is alone. And there is nothing to say that Miss Musgrove is not just like Catherine. All I know from Frederick is that she is not Miss Anne. Miss Anne . . . what is to say she even cares for him? He said nothing about any partiality on her part. No matter, this whole affair must be stopped, he cannot go on with this. I will do my best to convince him to go to Mr Musgrove and call this off. I will stand with him through it. There will be hurt feelings to be sure . . . and raised voices to be sure. No Wentworth will be allowed to breathe in Somerset after this . . . and Sophia and the Admiral will no doubt have to give up their house. Though knowing them . . . I wonder, did he send one of those addled letters to Sophia? If so, there is the chance she has done the work for me, though he would be in a sorry state after she had finished. But then, perhaps she and the girl are good friends. Then if he were to end this in such a disgraceful manner he would have not only the Musgroves, but his own sister to deal with. Good God, there is no end to this! I must stop ruminating, and just try and be still . . .

"Mary, please hold still! I do not wish to stick this pin into you!"

"Oh, very well. But could you please get on with it, Anne? I have never had a fitting take so long!"

And I have never fitted a dress to anyone before, Sister, and I shall thank you to remember that! Anne took a deep breath. Arguing with Mary got one nowhere. "I appreciate your patience. My fingers are a little sore and I am unused to this task."

"I do not see why. Sewing is sewing, is it not?"

"Mary, hemstitching handkerchiefs and embroidering table linens is far different from this! Could you please turn this way? Thank you."

The clock chimed the hour. "Oh, come along, Anne! I need time to dress and run up to the Mansion before it is time to leave. Louisa is having her final fitting today and I do not want to miss out! Please!"

"I am almost finished here. Just five minutes more, I promise." Anne's quiet, gentle tone of voice belied her exasperated thoughts. And I do mean finished! Never again, Sister-dear!

Mary fell silent, studying her reflection in the tall mirror. "Hmmmm. What do you think about this colour, Anne? I liked it well enough when I chose it, but I am not so sure now."

"You do not like the colour, Mary?" Anne mumbled wearily, her mouth full of straight pins. This is a fine time to decide that!

"Oh, it is well enough, I suppose, although I am not at all certain it compliments my hair. I wonder if Louisa's gown will be nicer."

"I hope so, Mary. The bride should always have the prettiest dress."

"Oh yes, of course." Mary remarked absently. "But do you think lilac will look well with her hair? I am not so sure." She made a little face. "Anne, what colour hair would you say Louisa has?"

"Beautiful," Anne said simply. "Turn this way, please."

"No, no! What colour? What does one call that brownish-reddish tone?"

Anne kept working. "I do not know if there is a name, Mary. Her hair is blonde in the summer, for she is often outdoors and forgets to wear a hat. And in the winter it fades to the colour it is now, which I would say is a honey-brown with red highlights. Her blue eyes will look very well with the lilac colour of the gown."

"Oh," Mary grumbled. "I was hoping mine would be as nice."

"It will be, Mary. But the bride is always the loveliest on her wedding day, for she is the happiest! There!" Anne sat back on her heels. "I believe I am finished fitting it. What do you think?"

"Oh, it will be fine, Anne. Help me get it off, now, so that I may get up to the Great House on time." Mary stripped off the dress as quickly as she could, grimacing a little as she encountered some of the pins. "I am still unsure of this blue colour."

"You will look very well in it." And if you had worked with it half as much as I have, Sister, you would hate the sight of cerulean blue as much as I! As it stands, you have done absolutely nothing ... but complain about the fittings! Aloud she said, "Do you not have a necklace with a blue topaz in it? I believe Father gave it to you for your birthday before you were married."

Mary brightened. "Why yes! I had forgotten! Well then, I shall look very grand indeed ... although not so well as Elizabeth in that sapphire gown you were telling me of."

"No, Mary." Anne smiled as she scanned the floor for any stray pins. "No one ever looks as well as Elizabeth. You know that."

"Humph! Do I not! Help me get back into my other dress, then. There are still fifteen minutes remaining and I do not mean to be late!"

Anne assisted her sister into the gown, buttoned her up, helped her to locate her gloves and hat, and waved her out the door of the dressing room. Now, at last, for some peace! She gathered up her supplies, and the cerulean dress, and headed downstairs to the parlor. All I want is a cup of tea, a few minutes' quiet, and perhaps two or three more hours. Then I will be finished. Hallelujah!

A few minutes later, Anne took her seat by the parlor window, ready to finish the hem on Mary's dress. She sipped her tea reflectively. It was Wednesday afternoon; she had very nearly done it. Her fingertips were swollen and sore, and her eyes were a little strained from sewing at night by candlelight, but she felt immensely satisfied with her work on the dress. She smiled as she thought about how much she had learned in the last five days; not all of it was about the art of garment construction.

In the world of romantic novels, which Anne enjoyed reading (when she could lay her hands on one, which was not often), the well-born and beautiful (but recently-impoverished) heroine would typically go to work as a seamstress or as a governess to eke out a living. Her future looked bleak, yet she waited, hoping against hope, that the man of her dreams (unspecified) would one day come, which, of course, he did, and this would comprise the romance of the story. Anne always enjoyed this theme, in all of its variations.

However, reality had come crashing in; she had done both of these jobs this week, at times simultaneously, and she concluded that authors who used this as a plot device had obviously never done this kind of work! It is exhausting and nerve-wracking ... and vastly unromantic! And then, when the broken-hearted, but very eligible (and handsome) young man shows up, the heroine is supposed to whip out her ball gown (fortunately still in style, and not destroyed by moths) and dance the night away, looking so beautiful that she causes him to instantly fall in love with her. Heavens!

Anne took another sip of tea and looked out of the window. What the poor girl would be longing to do ... what I am longing to do ... is sleep the night away instead! She set down her cup and reached for the needle and thread. But then, the man of my dreams is a specific man, and he did not come for me, but found someone else. And I played as they danced ... and fell in love. And now they will be married! What a sad story! Dear me!

Anne had grown much more hardened to the idea of Frederick Wentworth's marriage during these past days, although not so hardened that she sought to visit Louisa again, or to be involved with any of the preparations at Uppercross Hall. Mary's project had been a blessing in disguise, keeping Anne confined and occupied. In the private world of her thoughts she found refuge, and so very gradually accustomed herself to the reality of the coming wedding. Today she found occupation in rather sarcastically poking fun at herself.

Well, if I ever become impoverished (which is not altogether unlikely), I shall never become a seamstress ... I shall never again begrudge spending money to pay a seamstress, either ... I shall write a book, instead! Yes, a heart-rending love story based on my own life! Now how shall I end it? She smiled wryly as she hemmed Mary's dress, searching for the perfect conclusion. Should the heroine die a tragic death, such as a lingering illness or a fall from a cliff? Or flee the country, be captured by pirates and be heroically rescued at sea? (and not by Captain Frederick Wentworth!) Or be forced through financial distress to marry the butcher (who is handsome, naturally) and live out her days working in his shop, swatting flies and waiting on customers? One thing she shall never do, and that is return to Bath to live with her father and sister, condemned to a life of doing absolutely nothing!

She sat back and turned the hemmed portion to the right side, critically surveying her work. She was pleased with what she saw, and resumed stitching the underside. At least I have had plenty to occupy my mind and keep my hands busy. Ah well, my poor heroine and I share the same fate! It was hopelessly foolish to think that Frederick Wentworth would ever renew his addresses to me. It's just that while he remained unmarried, all those years ... She removed several straight pins and replaced them in the pin-cushion ... now I simply must find something new to hope for. She smiled to herself. Hmmmm. I wonder if the butcher in our neighborhood is unmarried ... and handsome?

Edward was beginning his third day travelling. Being thankful that he wore a beard and that clerics are generally thought to be a bit scruffy as a way to keep them humble, he was also thankful to have the coach to himself for once. Being that it was the dead of night and there was nothing to be seen that could capture his mind, he thought about his wife and the baby and Pollard Levant. He had overridden a frightful thought that Levant might present himself to his wife and tell her of their predicament. Knowing that Levant only wanted money and that a rector's wife could do nothing for him, Edward reasoned that the good gentleman would await his return to renew the dunning. A thought struck him, a thought so ironical he could not resist giving it voice in a low, but hearty chuckle. I have spent all this time rambling on about Frederick and his pride and how it has brought him to this wretched state he finds himself, but I am no better! My pride would rather I cut out my tongue than ask either of my brothers for the money I need. My own good opinion has become my god. Watching the stars as the coach bumped along, Edward realised that there were few choices for him, but to ask God's forgiveness of his presumption and go on to be with his brother.

| <-- Previous |

| Continue --> |

| Home | Table of Contents | E-mail |
Copyright © held by authors