After changing into a fresh shirt and neckcloth, the Captain had taken a final swipe at his hair and had again become engrossed in the previous night's exchange with his wife. He stood, looking deeply into the mirror. He gazed past his own reflection to the conjured picture he held of the pair in the hallway. As he stared, he tapped the comb through his fingers, idly repeating the motion again and again. He was grateful that no one could read his thoughts, for the whole of the morning, including Church, had been filled with Louisa.

Even while Edward had taken great pleasure in reintroducing him to several parishioners, with whom he had acquainted himself earlier in the year, the Captain had been distracted. In turn, Frederick had introduced his new wife to several of them, but for the life of him, he now could not remember a single face or name. It was fortunate that none of these people were coming to dinner at the Rectory that afternoon. Thankfully, there would be no need for him to grope about for names -- again.

To his shame, he had listened only half-heartedly to his brother's sermon. Only by observation of the rest of the congregation and Louisa's gentle touches on his hand or arm had he kept looking even close to attentive. As he thought about her small, gloved hand, he gave himself a crooked smile and said, "So, Frederick, were you truly so distracted, or was it merely a good excuse? Yea, yea, an excuse. I know . . . " He tapped his reflection in glass and shook his head.

He returned to his thoughts of the previous evening. So, she thinks of me . . . he mused with a smile. The thought was as appealing now as it had been when she had whispered it to him in the hallway. And since his wife was now allowed out to attend Church and into the polite society of the rectory, he was determined to resume his place in their bed that very evening.

Frederick tossed the comb down as he heard voices downstairs, signalling the arrival of guests. Giving his neckcloth one last pluck, he headed out the door and down the hall to collect Louisa. On the walk back from Church, she had mentioned she was nervous about being introduced to those invited to dinner . . . most especially, Mr Junkins. While there were to be several guests, she pointed out that Mr Junkins was hardly a typical guest and this being her first social occasion as Mrs Wentworth, she had no wish to embarrass the Captain, or herself.

"No, Joshua Junkins is not typical, but he is quite easy to be with . . . once you are accustomed to his appearance. He will make it easy for you. Stay close, and I shall 'interpret' for you," he had told her. She had expressed more uncertainty, but made it clear that she would do nothing foolish.

I'd think that poor Junkins would be more frightened than any of us at the prospect of this dinner, Frederick thought as he pulled his shirt cuffs to just the right length.

Coming to Louisa's door, he gave a knock as he opened it. Not seeing her immediately, he called out, "Are you ready? I hear someone downstairs. We don't wish . . . to . . . be late . . .." His voice trailed away.

Louisa quickly turned from the mirror and stepped from behind the screen. Smoothing her hair, and then her dress, she folded her hands neatly and stood before him, awaiting his opinion. "Well, Captain, will I do?"

She had changed from the simple dress she had worn to Church, into one of bright blue with gold lace. With her hair in a simple knot and a wool shawl of deep blue, she made a lovely picture. The sparkling blue of her eyes completed the outfit.

"It is beautiful . . . you are beautiful," he said enthusiastically. Taking her hands in his, he held them out to take a better look. "Yes . . . quite beautiful." He marvelled how she seemed to grow prettier each time he saw her.

"I was afraid that the blue was a bit overmuch, and the lace might be thought gaudy . . . you don't think me silly?" she asked anxiously.

"Why would I think you silly?" he asked, barely able to take his eyes from her.

"Well . . . it is rather like . . . like . . . " She was suddenly embarrassed that she had been so excessive. Mrs Musgrove had thought that endeavouring to copy the Captain's uniform was a silly notion, and even Etta had been less than enthusiastic about the scheme. And now, with her husband standing before her, not even recognising the colours to be those of the Royal Navy, she was mortified -- again.

"Well? It is rather like what?" Frederick saw that the expression on her face had changed from one of excitement to something else, but he was not certain what. Knowing how nervous she was about the coming dinner, it could have been nearly anything. He still held her hands in his and so he gave them a tiny shake and asked again, "It is rather like what, Louisa?"

Blinking back the tears that had come to her eyes, she nervously fingered the lace around the neckline. "I tried to remember as best I could the colour. This was the closest match that the woman had . . . I thought it very close. But now . . . now I am not so certain. And the lace! Such wheedling I had to do with Mama! She is used to buying trims in several lengths at a time, but this . . . it was measured to the inch, I guarantee you. I feared bending it the entire time I sewed. But now I think it is too much . . . rather silly of me to try and copy your uniform. I see that now."

He had not worn his uniform for several days and it had not occurred to him that the colour was nearly the same. Now that he realised it, he could see the colour and the gold trim were, in her way homage to the Navy . . . or perhaps to him. Yesterday it had been "Heart of Oak," today, her dress. She was young and her expressions clumsy at times, but he felt them deeply. "Was this for me? Oh, girl. You honour me again." He pulled her gently to himself, careful not to bend the lace . . . for he knew just how expensive gold lace could be by the inch.

Mindful of her hair, he kissed her temple and whispered, "This is the most beautiful dress in the world and you are the most thoughtful of wives. I'm just sorry I didn't notice right off . . . can you forgive me?" He could see that she was not paying him any heed, but staring quite pointedly at his neck. "What is it? Why do you stare?" He wondered if he had missed a spot when he shaved that morning.

"You are wearing it," she said. Her voice was so small that he struggled to hear.

"Wearing what?"

Looking up into his face, she hoarsely whispered, "The neckcloth I gave you. I thought you had forgotten it."

His hand went to his throat and he felt the tie. "Yes, I thought it was time that I showed off my wife's talent with a needle and thread." He congratulated himself on his fortuitous choice. Just as she had chosen to change for the company, so had he. Having had several choices, in the way of ties, he was glad that he had chosen her gift to wear. And now, seeing her dress, he was doubly glad, as the dress and stock complimented one another quite well.

Blinking to clear her eyes, she stepped away a bit and began to fuss with the knot. There was no real point, he had tied it perfectly. But to see it on him was a pleasure. "I am not as talented as some, but I did this," indicating the tie, "And the trim on this dress. I am not proficient at sewing, but I can do some things."

"Yes, you can." He smiled and looked at her. It was humbling to see her open regard. He offered his arm, "Shall we go on down?"

She slid her hand into place and said, "Yes, I think I am ready, Captain."

Covering her hand with his, he said, "Now, remember, this is a quiet family party, Catherine's brother and family and Mr and Mrs Junkins have come to greet the new Mrs Wentworth, and are prepared to like you a great deal. Nothing to be nervous over."

"I know . . . and I am prepared to please and be pleased. Shall we?" Taking one last touch to her hair, they went down, Louisa reciting names to herself as she descended the stairs.

Looking over the dead, late winter garden, Pollard took another hearty gulp of brandy. His drinking habits of the past weeks, while in exile at Bramford, had been positively maidenlike, he thought. But that was over now. The Rector had promised that he would have the money to him Thursday, after the departure of his brother. Not having any reason to distrust the Rector, of all people, Pollard refilled his glass and with a grin, downed it in one gulp.

"I should rather like one of those, if you don't mind pouring, Levant." Daniel Randwick entered the room and dropped his lanky frame onto one of the worn sofas that graced the salon. While gloating over his promised payment, Levant had given no thought to refurbishing the Hall in any way, so it was likely that Randwick would have to continue laying himself across worn cushions until Pollard could find a way to get a hold of some of the boy's substantial capital.

"Certainly. Have you recovered from our foray into the Religious?" Levant smiled as he poured. He had taken Randwick with him to Church. Keeping the young fellow by his side while speaking cryptically with the Rector had kept the old fellow from stirring up too much fuss. "You were not materially damaged by it, now were you?" he asked as he handed the full glass to Randwick. "While they are not exactly enthusiasts, I have the suspicion that Rector Wentworth is a 'True Believer,'" he mocked, "and therefore, more dangerous!"

Randwick laughed. He knew nothing of "True Believers" or "enthusiasts." "No! I actually like going to Church. If the vicar is good, he is easily ignored and one is quite free to think one's own thoughts." He chose not to mention that the Rector Wentworth had been annoyingly loud at times, and had disturbed his thoughts more than once. "And . . . one sees some of the prettiest young women in Church . . ." He left off saying any more. There had been several who had caught his eye. Perhaps if I stay long enough, I can meet one or two of them.

It was unfortunate that Randwick's musing were very much in vain, as no moral or thinking mother in all of Crown Hill Parish would allow their daughter to be seen in the company of Pollard Levant's protégé. Young Randwick was garnering a reputation without so much as setting foot into town. The avid gossips of the Parish had marked Bramford Hall as the seat of all that was evil in the district. It was well-known that a woman was being kept there, and the speculation on her purpose was of keen interest. No, despite his pedigree, Daniel Randwick would not be meeting with any of the respectable and upright young women of Crown Hill, not as long as the gossips were against him.

Trying to remember, Levant thought, but only one or two pretty faces came to mind. "Not as many as one would like, but . . . say! What did you think of the young Mrs Wentworth? I think she was quite taken with you!" Levant had no notion of Mrs Wentworth being anything but embarrassed by his own pointed staring. But, teazing Randwick was an amusing pastime.

The young man sat up straight on the sofa, "Do you think so? I hadn't noticed."

"Yes, she blushed furiously, and turned away quickly . . . that, my boy, is a sign of female interest!"

"Daniel, I would not be so quick to listen to Pollard on this . . . he has been known to be quite wrong about women." Rosamond had stood, unnoticed outside the door of the salon, checking her dress, and had heard much of the conversation between the two. As she walked by the sofa, she dropped her reticule onto it and lazily ran her hand over Randwick's shoulders as she made her way over to Levant.

Randwick, as usual, took on the befuddled schoolboy look whenever he and Rosamond were together. He watched her with admiring eyes, and all thoughts of pretty young ladies in Church quite flew from his head.

Seeing the response, both Rosamond and Levant continued the conversation without him. Taking the proffered glass, Rosamond took a chair close to the French doors and asked Pollard to elaborate upon his observations about Mrs Wentworth's feelings about Randwick.

"Oh, I was just having a bit of sport with him," Levant said in a hushed tone. Even Randwick was capable of being insulted. "She's young and newly married to the brother of my rector. They were in Church this morning and an introduction was forced upon me."

"And what of her husband? Is he also a rector?" For the first time since her arrival, she gave a passing thought to the clergyman in the carriage.

"No, no!" Levant began pouring another drink. Taking on a mocking tone and demeanor, he straightened and pulled in his chin. "He is a man of the Navy, don't you know!" Relaxing, he went on, "While I'm sure the fellow fills out his uniform in an acceptable manner, there was a stupid and brutish look about him that I have found to be common among our new warring class."

"Well," she took a sip, "from what you have just said, he might have had reason to look so. Men are generally quite put out when other men leer at their wives." She took another sip, but kept her eyes trained on Levant.

He looked at her with a crestfallen expression. "Rosie, you wound me . . . we were in Church! Leering, really. You think me so low?" Taking a drink, he looked to her over the rim of the glass.

Rosamond laughed outright. "I think Church had nothing to do with the girl going unmolested . . . it had all to do with what sounds to be an imposing husband by her side! The threat of violence is about the only thing that might stay your hand . . . certainly not the fear of God!" No matter what Pollard had done or not done and why was not of interest to her now. She knew the name Wentworth, and was curious to see if the world was really as small as many claimed. "So, other than the surname of Wentworth, does this fellow have a Christian name, and what of his rank?" She might just have some fun, if this were the fellow she suspected.

Levant scowled, he had paid little attention to the introduction. The fellow had been tall, well-looking and from the behaviour of the Rector, rich enough to give over to his brother any amount needed to buy the living. Other than being glad to get a promise of money, Pollard was not interested in any man who had the appearance of superiority over him.

"I'm not certain . . . Randwick! . . . out of the fog! What was that Navy fellow, Wentworth's first name? I know he is a captain, but his name escapes me just now."

"Frederick, his name was Frederick."

"Ah, yes, Frederick. See? Stupid and brutish . . . we don't name kings 'Frederick' any longer for that very reason. Perhaps we should outlaw the name!" Levant chuckled at his own joke. Randwick joined in hesitantly. Rosamond remained unimpressed.

"Well, Captain Frederick Wentworth in Crown Hill." She said nothing else. What she had said would be enough to pique Levant's curiosity, which it did.

"You have heard of him?"

"Yes, I have, in fact, met Captain Wentworth."

Levant's eyes widened. He took on a shrewd look and said slyly, "So . . . our Rosie knows this Captain Wentworth. What say you to that, Randwick?"

Randwick looked away in embarrassment, and Rosamond sharply, cried, "Pollard!"

He knew that he had said too much, but it was not like Pollard Levant to retreat or admit a mistake. He simply turned his back and stared out the window.

Rosamond stood and went to the cordial table. Setting the glass down sharply, she poured herself from the first decanter that she picked up. Fitting back the stopper, she picked up the glass and came to stand before Pollard. "You are disgusting at times."

She quickly determined not to tell him that many of the more uncharitable rumours about Captain Wentworth labeled him a eunuch, while those of a more kindly nature, claimed him a circumspect gentleman. Rosamond determined there was no reason to give Pollard more to maunder about. "A proper touch of the hand and a bow at a crowded Admiralty party do not constitute knowledge in the Biblical sense, Pollard." She was not so much offended by this notion, for at this time in her life, she had few sensibilities left when it came to such matters. But, it was offensive to her that Levant was amused by the notion that she flung herself at other men in the same fashion he did other women.

She decided to strike him at his weakest point. Taking a drink, she took a step closer and purred, "But . . . you may do well to remember, Pollard, that a man worth nearly thirty-thousand can be excused almost any stupid or brutish behaviour!"

Rosamond's eyes were bright with anger and Pollard's were bright with insult. He knew her meaning and was not happy with it. Throwing back the last of his drink, he stepped around Rosamond and placed the glass on the table. Taking a seat alongside Randwick, he tried to feign ease.

Randwick looked from one to the other. In an attempt to bring a little peace, he blurted out, "So, you think his wife was taken . . . with me?" He sat looking hopefully at Levant.

Rosamond actually felt sorry for the tyke, and so smoothed her feathers and said, "No, Daniel. I would imagine that a young woman like that, with a husband of Captain Wentworth's consequence, is not much interested in anyone else at present." Leaning close to his ear, she said sweetly, "She most likely had something in her eye and was attempting to remove it. There are others, Daniel, you shall find them." The two exchanged a look. The young man flushed and turned away, wondering exactly what she had meant.

Picking up her reticule from between the two men, Rosamond straightened and said brightly, "Well, Pollard, I think we are going to have a very interesting, perhaps not restful, but interesting Day of Rest." Leaning back down to nuzzle his cheek, she continued. "But that is just the kind of 'Lord of the Manor' you are, my dear." Rising, she smiled and pursed her lips in a kiss to him. "Randwick, I feel the need of a walk. Would you please escort me?" Without waiting for the answer, she turned and left the salon.

Mounting the stairs, she could hear Randwick scrambling off the sofa and endeavouring to graciously take his leave of Pollard. This game she played would be tiresome very soon, but if Demarest had told her the most honest truth, all of it would be over in less that a fortnight. That gave her little time to bring Randwick to heel and be prepared for the changes coming.

While Louisa and Frederick had made ready, Mrs Graham had gone to empty a small bucket of scraps in the chicken yard and on returning, found a note which had been wedged in a crack in the rear door. Seeing it to be the hand of Mr David, she felt it to be a bad omen, and took it right to the mistress. As she left it in Mrs Wentworth's hands, the bell at the door rang. Answering it, she saw to the Junkins and their things, bringing them into the sitting room with Mrs Wentworth.

After reading the note, it was with great control over her anxiety that Catherine greeted her guests, and talked with the couple for a moment, keeping one eye on the door, awaiting the Captain and his wife. Her greatest need was to find her husband to play the genial host while she and Mrs Graham hastily destroyed the carefully arranged dining room and then build it back again. Hearing the couple on the stairs, she excused herself and hurried to them before they could enter.

Though she had much on her mind, Catherine knew that Louisa was nervous about meeting so many new people and endeavoured to take time to give her some reassurance.

"You look lovely, Louisa. That dress is more beautiful than you told! The blue matches your eyes perfectly." Looking at Louisa and holding the girl's hand for a moment, Catherine felt a twinge of jealousy. Suddenly she felt very tired. Not only had she never been so pretty as her sister-in-law, but now her simple party was turning wrong and everything would have to be rearranged. Letting go of Louisa's hand, she said in a weary tone, "But, I am afraid that there will not be so many as planned to appreciate it."

"And why is that?" asked the Captain.

""It would seem that my wicked brother has forgotten an important meeting in Ludlow, set for tomorrow. And he insists, in a note he sent, that he must go there today to make ready for it. I am quite put out and I am not certain, at this moment, whether or not I shall ever forgive him!" Bringing Louisa closer to her, she went on, "I was looking forward to showing off my beloved brother . . . but now I am not sure just how beloved he is!" She smiled, hoping that they would not hear her exasperation and that both would know she was only teazing.

Louisa noticed nothing out of the ordinary in Catherine's voice. She thanked her sister-in-law for the compliment and said she was so nervous and that she welcomed waiting for the Rector. It had been determined by the two women the evening before, that it would be Edward who took her in and introduce her to the company.

Noticing nothing amiss in his sister-in-law's manner, Frederick looked from his wife back to her. Glancing into the sitting room, he could see the Junkins talking quietly by the fire. "Surely we are not going to stand on ceremony today! This is merely a friendly party, not court. I don't see why we should not go in together . . . Mrs Wentworth."

Catherine caught his meaning instantly. It was she who heartily disliked Mrs Wentworth, calling her excruciatingly proper, and not always meaning it as a compliment. Locking eyes, she arched her brow at Frederick and said, "It would not be right, Captain. And these are Mrs Wentworth's first introductions here in Shropshire . . . though we are not a large, formal party, we are also not savages! Decorum requires that someone else take her in."

"Yes, Captain! Mrs Wentworth is right . . . I would not like these people to have the wrong impression of us . . . we should consider them. It would be impolite to thrust our relationship upon them." Having taken Catherine's hand and now reaching for that of her husband, she implored him to give over.

"Good lord! They are newly married themselves!" he cried under his breath. Frederick looked at the two women. Catherine's eyes were steady with purpose; Louisa's were pleading. He thought it ridiculous to follow so closely a tradition that certainly had its place in a larger society, but, surely not in the sitting room of a country rectory! Looking again at the two pairs of eyes, he decided his best course was to relent. There was no need to upset his sister-in-law and no need to embarrass his wife. "All right . . . we shall wait for Edward."

As the Captain had thought over his position, Catherine had given hers thought also. Edward had gone missing directly after Church. She had seen him only briefly when he had freshened himself upstairs. Since then, she had not seen a trace of him about the house. She would, of course, try the study first but if that proved fruitless, finding him might take a little time. Realising this, she could easily see the ridiculousness of leaving the Junkins on their own in the sitting room, while Frederick and Louisa were left standing only feet away, awaiting an introduction. Catherine determined that her best course was to relent, but only on a minor point.

"Perhaps we do not need the Rector after all . . . I could take Louisa in." It would be acceptable for her, an older relation to do the polite and so she looked to Louisa for her desires.

Looking to her husband and receiving his nod, she said eagerly, "If you think it all right . . . I would be glad to go in with you."

"Then that is what we shall do . . . as I said, Captain, we are not savages." Taking Louisa by the arm, the ladies entered the sitting room. Frederick followed.

As she introduced Louisa to the Junkins and they began to converse, Catherine spoke with Frederick. "I'm sorry . . . I should have allowed you and her to enter together. I am just a bit nervous . . . things seem to be collapsing around me at an alarming rate." She looked up with apologetic eyes. She did not say that the greatest upset was that his brother had gone missing. "Could you play host and I shall find the Rector?" she asked pleadingly.

Ordinarily, she would have asked the Captain to search him out, but her nerves were stretched thin, and a walk through the house might actually do her some good. Besides, she needed to tell Mrs Graham about the change in the seating. I am, most likely, not the only one who shall have choice thoughts about David! she mused.

"Certainly, I am at your disposal, Ma'am. And . . . I'm sorry for my outburst. You only want a comfortable party, I should have kept my comments to myself, Catherine," he said with a bow of the head.

She smiled. "Thank you, Captain, I am glad that we are on an even keel again." she said to him. "Excuse me, please," she said to the room, and left, heading to the study.

She knew that he had most likely been asked some question after Church and had thought to write a brief answer before dinner. But now he has forgotten dinner and the guests -- again! she thought angrily.

Not only had she been cast off by her 'beloved' brother, but now her husband was playing the hermit. Catherine idly wondered what it would be like to be married to a foppish man who relished entertaining and society. Surely they can not be as much trouble as all of this! she thought. Coming to the study, she put her ear to the door and heard voices.

"Oh, no! Not that!" she moaned quietly. If her suspicions proved out, her party was taking another sordid twist.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the study, "Edward . . . Oh, Dr Abernathy . . . what a lovely surprise!"

The two men looked up at Mrs. Wentworth, a little startled at her sudden entrance. Edward was standing with a large piece of paper held out before him; Dr Abernathy was standing slightly behind him, pointing to something on it.

"I am sorry . . . I didn't mean to intrude, but dear . . . things are underway and I need a word . . . alone." She said the word with as much delicacy as she could. Dr Abernathy had not been invited and she did not wish to make him feel unwanted, but she also knew one of his habits as a man without a wife.

Ignoring the admonition to her husband, Abernathy smiled and called, "Oh, Mrs. Wentworth! I am more than pleased to find you up and about . . . come and see this!" The doctor spoke exuberantly as he took her arm and steered her towards the sheet. "It is the latest map of New Holland . . . quite brand new and much more sophisticated than the old," he said, pointing to various places. "As you can see by these numbers, all new soundings were taken for depth . . . ever so much more accurate than any others available. I wanted to show it to the Captain . . . I wondered if perhaps he had any direct knowledge of its accomplishment."

Taking Mrs. Wentworth's amazed silence for interest, her husband joined in with his own observations of New Holland. "See here, dear . . ." Edward pointed toward the map and a particular area to the north of one of the larger islands. "They are finding reefs that, the doctor says, are the size of this county . . . imagine that," he said with wonder.

Catherine shot him a piercing look. "Yes . . . just imagine! Such a thing!" She had no idea what a reef might be, and one as large as Shropshire would certainly be something to ponder; but the reefs surrounding New Holland would be given the proper attention at a later time. Not now, when she had company in her sitting room, patiently awaiting the appearance of their host.

But, the more she looked at the map and the wonders that the gentlemen pointed out to her, the more difficult it was to maintain her anger. The two seemed so childlike in their enthusiasm. She knew that when Edward had been to sea so long ago, he had sailed about that part of the world for nearly two years. And while he had not relished his self-imposed travels, the Rector would have a natural curiosity about this new map, owing to this familiarity. Catherine could hear a tinge of something a bit wistful in his voice . . . but still . . . they had guests and she had an uninvited man in the study.

Lowering the map and looking at Abernathy, the Rector said, "I have been there you know . . . it is quite a place . . .
beautiful in a stark sort of way, but forbidding. Gives a man pause when contemplating Hell, that's for certain. And it does make for a good penal colony . . . though they are endeavouring to be more civilised these days . . ."

"Yes! I remember you saying that you were there! That is why I thought you might like to see this . . . has your brother also been?"

Looking over the map, he said absently, "No . . . no, Frederick has been always to the west: Western Islands and to the West Indies mostly, though he was a commission or two in the Mediterranean . . . sailed out of Mahon on Minorca . . . blockaded Toulon for a bit . . . hated that as I recall. No, Frederick has never been this far east . . . though I would imagine he would jump at the chance . . . taking the Horn and all."

"I hear it can be quite hair-raising."

He laughed. "Yea, taking the Horn is rugged . . . the cold will freeze your . . . well. Now my brother-in-law, George, who is married to my sister, has been all over the area. Now that I think on it, taking the Horn is about the only thing I have done Frederick has yet to conquer."

Catherine shifting from one foot to the other caught his attention. Seeing her expression, he remembered that she wished to speak with him. "A-hem . . . excuse us, Abernathy . . . I need to speak to my wife." Handing the Doctor the map, Edward took her arm and they made their way outside the study into the hallway.

"I'm sorry, dear. I take it that the Junkins, and David and Margaret have arrived and here I am . . . prating on with Abernathy about ancient history. We shall get this map put away and join you directly."

"We!" she hissed crossly. Glancing towards the door, she motioned that it should be closed. "I take it that you intend to invite him to dinner."

As he closed the door, Edward gave his wife a surprised look. "Well . . . "

"Well nothing, my dear. It is terribly rude of him to present himself at meal times. It is becoming the talk of the Parish! Not that people really mind . . . he is quite a charming guest . . . but still. I realise he is alone, but he has the Daltons, and I know for a fact that Mrs. Dalton takes perfect care of him." Catherine stopped to take a breath and Edward thought this the perfect time to speak. But before he could say anything, she continued. "And I am already stretched to the limit . . . David and Margaret shall not be coming . . . and I am mightily put out with him . . . are you certain that he said nothing about going to Ludlow today? . . . and travelling on a Sunday at that! You should speak with him about this sudden intemperate behaviour!"

"Catherine," the Rector began, "Please . . .."

But his wife had been prepared to say more on the Doctor's presumption, and that someone -- meaning Edward -- might wish to speak with his friend and make him realise the bad habit into which he had fallen. "Edward, I cannot be expected to invite him spontaneously! The table will not be even and Mrs. Graham will have to rearrange everything! And while tearing the table to pieces will be necessary as it stands, I think it overbold to presume upon the good graces of people . . . even good friends." Edward stood quietly a moment, waiting for her be finished. She was not.

"And while you are a clergyman, and by calling must extend Christian hospitality, the Doctor is certainly not needy and in danger of going without if we do not extend him an invitation . . . and do not try and pluck at my heartstrings by saying that he might go home and drown his sorrows!"

As the Rector waited patiently for his wife to finish, he was pleased to note, even though she was arguing against inviting the doctor, all her justifications were taking her squarely down the path to an invitation. He idly wondered if he should remind her that an invitation had been extended to the doctor. And that she had told him all about it when he had arrived home. He would wait and see how things took shape before he decided.

"As I said, inviting the doctor would mean that the table is uneven, and while I would not normally be bothered, it is a special dinner for the Captain and his bride, and I have already had a bit of a tussle with him over how things in a civilised household are to be accomplished . . . I would not wish them thinking that we are constantly at sixes and sevens around here!"

The Rector felt he had given Catherine a fair hearing about Abernathy. But now the homily was broadening to include Frederick. He felt it was time for things to be brought to a halt. Knowing her nerves were overworked, he hoped that this might be her last foray into expansive projects until well after the baby was born. But for now, it was up to him to gently bring things to a close.

Catherine's mouth had been open to speak more, but the Rector took his chance and said, "Dear . . . I realise that things are all out of order, but you told me that you had invited him specifically to even out the table . . . Margaret's niece had caused a problem, but inviting Abernathy solved it. You seemed rather proud of yourself when you told me about it." He hoped that in saying the truth in such a way, he could shift the blame of it all to the missing David Keye and his intemperate dash to Ludlow.

Staring at him, she closed her mouth and thought hard. Had she truly invited the Doctor? No . . . surely not! There would be no reason to . . . with the party being the inmates of the Rectory, the Junkins and her brother and sister-in-law, that would have been quite a nice even number. Now she remembered inviting him!

Mrs. Callow had put her to bed after Church on Sunday and it had been during that boring confinement that she had planned the dinner. Sending an invitation to her brother and his wife on Monday, their acceptance had come Tuesday, and since they were family, they had felt free to beg the inclusion of Margaret's niece. Edward was right . . . in arranging the table, she knew it would be uneven, but not wishing to be rude, she had reluctantly given her approval for the addition of the niece.

While it was not the worst of problems, she had thought it quite a happy accident when, Tuesday afternoon, Doctor Abernathy had stopped by the Rectory. He had been hoping to find the Rector returned. But, being told otherwise, he had asked to visit with Mrs. Wentworth and see how she was feeling after her dizzy spell. It was then Catherine had issued the invitation . . . face to face. She had felt no need to stand on ceremony with the doctor. He had accepted graciously and gone his merry way. The Rector had arrived home the following afternoon with the Captain and Louisa on his heels the afternoon after that, and with Louisa's illness . . . the invitation had flown from Catherine's mind.

She now felt guilty over the whole business. Here she stood, feeling exploited and accusing the Doctor of trying to dangle for an invitation; when the truth be told, he was an invited guest! An invited guest, for whom she had not even set a place! She scolded herself that if there were anyone guilty of ill-use, it was she. Heat rose to her cheeks at the thought.

"Well, did you or did you not invite the Doctor? You told me you did and he is under the impression you did . . . are you now saying you did not?" There was no irritation in her husband's voice, but Catherine could tell that he was becoming more and more confused. She had to admit that she also was becoming confused by the ins and outs of this whole affair.

"Yes . . . I invited the doctor. But I had forgotten that . . . and so when I saw him, I just assumed that he was up to his tricks . . . he has insinuated his feet under more than one table in the district lately, and I thought . . . well, never mind. Michael Abernathy is the least of my griefs!"

"You have griefs? So, Mrs. Graham has burnt the hares and allowed the pudding to boil dry?" he said with a bit of teaze. Edward could not imagine any circumstance to do with a quiet family party which would incite more than mild annoyance, much less grief!

The tone of her husband's voice angered Catherine. She stood for a moment. She studied his open, smiling face. In a particle of a second, she knew that she had a choice: she could laughingly tell him of all the trials that had beset her party, all of which had occurred in just the last twenty or so minutes, or she could deluge him with all her anger and frustration about the rudeness of her brother, the offhand manner of his brother and inform him of his own neglect in the care of their guests! Unfortunately for the Rector, she chose the latter.

"I am not aware of any such disasters in the kitchen . . . though after all that has recently passed, I should not be surprised! Actually, I have not dared to go in there, for when I do, I shall be telling Mrs. Graham that all her beautiful work of the last few hours is ruined, and the entire setting of the table will have to be redone, as my brother . . ." she stopped a moment. Continuing more calmly, "My brother has sent round a note telling me that they shall not be here today . . . whomever he sent came during Church and stuffed the note into a crack of the door! I would still be waiting for them if the chickens hadn't been fed! He surely realised this yesterday . . . no matter how late, he should have sent word and not left me . . .!"

"Catherine, my darling . . . please stop."

She quieted and looked at him. Very rarely did they interrupt one another and so when it happened, it being such an unaccustomed event, the one interrupted listened.

"I understand that you are in a dither about all this, especially owing to that wretched brother of yours . . . and only God knows what the chickens have to do with this note in the door . . . but you are much too upset by all this! Your face is flushed, and you hands have not been still a moment. This is not at all like you . . . I have never seen you reluctant to have another person at the table; whether they make it even, odd or indifferent!" Taking her hands, he pulled her close. "I'd as soon send everyone home and eat with Mrs. Graham in the kitchen, rather than have you sick with worry. Shall I do that?"

Catherine knew he was right. She had let this silly dinner cause her no end of agonies. And while his tone lent no credence to his sending everyone home, she understood him perfectly.

"No, the guests can stay, it is the hostess who will behave herself. I'm so sorry that I snapped at you."

"That's all right . . . I can bear it." He pushed aside a curl and kissed her.

"Now that is what I like to see!"

The Doctor's sudden appearance startled Catherine and she drew away from Edward. Edward pulled to the other side of the hallway, allowing Abernathy a path between them.

"Indeed, two people who genuinely love one another! Not to worry, Rector. I folded the map neatly and now am taking myself off to the sitting room to greet the guests. No, no . . . you and Mrs. Wentworth continue 'talking,' I know the way."

The Doctor patted Edward's shoulder as he made his way through them and went to the sitting room.

"He is not a very tame guest," Catherine said, as they watched him disappear into the entryway.

"No, tame he is not, but I think he can be counted on to add a little life to things, eh?"

The Captain and Mrs. Junkins stood near the fire making polite small talk. Their spouses, though close by, had proven to be shy upon introduction and so the social niceties fell to them.

" . . . we had a small English fishing boat drift into our little bay. They had been blown off course and lost their sails. The poor things, there were five of them as I recall. They were certain that we were going to shoot them where they stood, but Mr Lowell was not much of a Patriot. He held some rather 'peculiar' ideas. Mr Junkins can tell you that."

Frederick could see that she was endeavoring to draw Junkins out by giving him an open door, but her husband merely nodded vigourously. He gave no hint that he would join in.

"So what did you do with them?"

The Captain was glad to see Louisa pipe up. After the introductions, she had taken a post a little behind him, almost using him like a shield, but now she was more out front. Mrs. Junkins' story had caught her interest.

"Well, we fed them . . . lord, how they ate! I mended what I could of their oilskins. We gave them all the food we could spare, but it was getting on in the season and we were running a bit low ourselves. They stayed with us for two days and then they rowed off with the spring tide. I wonder whatever happened to them. One of them was just a little boy . . . he was frightened to death, so far from home and his mother."

The catch in Mrs. Junkins' voice touched the Captain. To that time, he had thought her a bit cold. But that is not very fair, considering.

At their introduction earlier in the year, she had been formal -- rigidly so. He had wondered that a warm-hearted man such as Joshua could take to her; but considering the circumstances, he had not seen her at her best. Now that she and his friend were man and wife, she was more at ease and he could see a crack in the plating.

"You needn't worry, if they were able to get out far enough, they were picked up by one of ours. If I had a crown for every desperate fisherman I've plucked out of the briny deep, I'd be very wealthy by now."

"That is good to know, I have oft times wondered about that boy . . . and how he does."

Everyone stood quietly, sipping their refreshments, and for a moment Frederick imagined that they all wondered about the boy.

The quiet of the room was unsettling to Louisa. The only silences during social occasions at Uppercross were uncomfortable ones. They were never allowed to last for long; Charles was a master at ending them and now, without him, Louisa was at a loss and tried to think of something to say. As she thought, she could not help but go back to all her other failed attempts at conversation. When introduced to Mrs. Junkins, she found herself so nervous that she had said little other than a croaking approximation of the woman's name. And when speaking with Mr Junkins, it had been all she could do to avoid staring. In a fluster, she had prated on and on. After a moment of embarrassing hand waving and uneasy laughter, when she had given him an opportunity to speak, he could only colour and look to his wife. She and the Captain had been speaking about the coast of America and so Mr Junkins and Mrs. Wentworth had retreated silently to themselves.

Looking at the faces of the Captain and the Junkins', she saw the grave expressions which reflections on the boy had brought. Suddenly, it struck her quite forcefully that they were all much older than herself. Of the couple, both were nearly the age of the Rector. And her own husband, by her reckoning would have been going to sea when she was still in leading-strings. She had never thought that her age would be a barrier, making her feel so out of place. At home, in company, she had always had Etta to depend upon, but now she was the wife of a man with some prominence. The cheerful banter and easy ways of Uppercross were gone and she must now assume the role of . . .

"Loua! Loua, is that you?!"

Surprised at hearing her nursery name, Louisa turned and cried, "Cousin Michael! I had forgotten . . . " As they walked towards one another, she extended her hands.

Taking them, he suddenly pulled her towards him as he spun her around and said, "None of that . . . come here you beautiful old thing you!"

The sudden calling of Louisa's name had brought everyone out of their reverie and looking at the Junkins, Frederick could tell that they were not seeing the doctor's greeting in the same way. Mrs. Junkins had a hint of a frown on her face. The plating had cracked a bit, but just a very little bit! As for Joshua, he sported a huge smile. The Captain imagined that Junkins would be the sort of man prone to such energetic outbursts, were his body up to the task.

Frederick looked upon the display and thought back to his first meeting with Michael Abernathy. It had been only a few weeks ago when he had met the doctor and been informed that the Abernathys of London and the Musgroves of Uppercross were related. The Captain couldn't help but recall that Abernathy had referred to his Cousin Louisa as 'mulish.' It was apparent from this high-spirited greeting that he had taken a sudden liking to mulish women.

"Frederick is playing host. I convinced him to stop grinding his teeth and be civil. Now, what will it take to get you out of here?" Edward deemed it best to allow his wife any liberty to do with the party. Her spirits had improved greatly as the dinner had progressed, and though her present behaviour of neglecting the company was irregular, he thought it harmless.

"I am sorry, I will leave all this for Mrs. Graham." As she spoke, she picked at wax which had dropped to the table cloth.

"I must say, Junkins did himself credit at the table today," the Rector said, as he bent and picked up a fork that had fallen from the table. Gathering other silver, he laid a handful on the tray Catherine had brought from the credenza.

"Yes, Beatrice said that they have been practicing at home. Mrs. Graham was an angel, cutting everything fine for him. I fear that he got little to eat though, he was so careful of every mouthful."

"The only way to learn is to push ahead . . . I admire his courage. Not that anyone in this group would find fault in his ways."

"Well, there is," she looked about, "Louisa." Her face showed she was embarrassed even to say such a thing about her sister-in-law. Taking napkins her husband had gathered, she busied herself with more clearing off.

"Louisa?"

"Yes, she was very nervous about him. I don't know how things progressed once I left to hunt for you, but when we returned to the sitting room, I noticed she was very careful not to look in his direction."

"Well, he does take a bit of getting used to. Give her a chance. Besides, she has Abernathy to contend with. That in itself is more than enough to keep one's full attention," he said, as he handed her several stacked plates.

"Truly! He is a fine young fellow, but I have a difficult time believing he hails from such a distinguished family. His manners are quite wanting!"

"Catherine, you know very well that the higher the birth, the lower the manners tend to be. And Abernathy . . . well, he doesn't stand on ceremony, does he?

"Stand on ceremony? He does not even come near a ceremony! I just wish you had not allowed him to change the seating! I was mortified for the Captain; the Doctor nearly stole the chair right out from under him!" Catherine was taking a last look at the remains of the dinner. She would tell Mrs. Graham to finish clearing. Then, she would be off to the sitting room for a bit of polite conversation, while awaiting Dr Abernathy's newest antic.

Edward checked a laugh. "Yes, Frederick was left looking a bit dull-witted over that, wasn't he? But, Abernathy was correct when he pointed out that the Captain should have been seated between the Junkins', not next to his wife." He took Catherine's hand and pulled her away from the table and out of the dining room.

"The seating was awkward, but still, what he did was horribly impolite! I don't know how Mrs. Wentworth's people do things at Uppercross, but if it is true that impulsive rearrangement of things is their way . . . well, all I have to say is taking a chair, clearly for someone else, is not my idea of good breeding!"

"Abernathy exaggerated! While the Musgroves are very informal, I expect it is only with intimate family that Mrs. Musgrove would allow seats to be shifted in such a way . . . I can't imagine outside of that she would allow a brawl over the furniture. I agree that the Doctor should have left things the way you had arranged them, that is only right. But still, he sat next to his cousin, that was no cause for Frederick to play the martyr for us."

"I don't think it is only the chair incident." They stopped and stood just at the entryway.

"I think you exaggerate, calling it an 'incident'. What else might the good Captain Wentworth have to be offended by?"

"It occurs to Mrs. Junkins that the Captain might be a bit . . . jealous."

"Jealous? Jealous of what? Or of whom I should say." The Rector crossed his arms. He knew the answer, but wished it confirmed.

"Abernathy."

"The doctor? Good lord! The ridiculous thoughts my brother allows into his head! The man is her cousin, there is nothing but family affection and rejoicing in their reunion! Certainly nothing romantic!"

"Well, Mrs. Junkins told that the four of them were engaged in a lovely conversation when the doctor entered the sitting room. Without a greeting to anyone, save Mrs. Wentworth, he took her and practically tossed her into the air. He made such a show of seeing her that everyone was quite startled. And, he was rather overgenerous with compliments to her and her person. He has evidently not seen her in a few years and was surprised she had bloomed so prettily."

"I was under the impression he had seen her only months ago. So, Frederick took that as a flirt? Surely he knows that Abernathy is not that way! The man is not devious -- heedless, yes, but not devious."

"I think your brother is not so much angry with the doctor, but with himself. He is surely of a divided mind now that he has married. But seeing his pretty young wife so adored by any other man might raise his blood, don't you think?"

"Perhaps so. Good thing it's Abernathy, there's no danger there. It might just serve to set his mind right about her."

"Gracious! Here we are, gossiping about the Doctor's atrocious manners and we are allowing our guests to languish!

He would not point out that is was she who had left the company to languish. "Oh, now really. Catherine, you are entirely too harsh on the hostess here. Everything will be kept in good order . . . remember, the Captain has the first watch! Come here." He gave her a peck on the cheek. "There. Everything has been splendid. And you are lovely today. You do me proud."

"It has been sixes and sevens all the way around and you know it! But thank you for trying to be kind. Now, I must get Mrs. Graham clearing the dining room that I might tend guests in the sitting room."

"All right, you go and take care of that, but I expect you to join me directly . . . agreed?"

"Agreed. You are too good to me."

"I know."

She went on to the kitchen and he went on to the guests.

With the barest of civility, Frederick had seen to his hosting duties; all the guests were settled with something to drink and were politely conversing amongst themselves. The doctor had, of course stationed himself next to Louisa and the whole company was laughing over what had to be some inanity of his. Yes, everyone was laughing, most especially his wife.

The Captain turned and studied a watercolour of nondescript countryside rather than watch the pair further. But, though he did not watch, that did not stop his remembering.

"Loua! Loua, is that you?!"

"Cousin Michael! I had forgotten . . . "

"None of that . . . come here you beautiful old thing you!"

"Cousin Michael, please. Put me down"

"All right, Loua. You are all of Spring in high bloom, my little cousin. Marriage has done much for you! It is good to see you looking so well . . . I had heard of your fall and was a bit concerned. It wouldn't do for you to be injured beyond repair!"

"Well, as you can see, I am fine. Not beyond repair at all!"

He had stood apart then, as he did now, watching with amazement the greeting between these cousins. From the moment Abernathy had given his wife what he deemed to be more than a 'familial' embrace, the Captain had felt a gnawing in his stomach. Knowing the feeling was not hunger, he had been reticent to name it. But now, there was no help for it. Barring disease, he knew that the only thing it could be was his own callow jealousy. He had felt it on the Cobb when another male cousin had made his appreciation of another young woman known. But I had no claims on Anne, and her cousin was not standing in the midst of company fawning and handling her as though they were . . .

"Thank you, Captain," Edward said, as he took a place by his brother.

Frederick looked at him, puzzled. "Thank you for what?"

"For doing everything in your power to be a good host. Staying to yourself and showing your back to the guests is probably the most merciful thing you could do, I think." The Rector had taken a quick appraisal of his brother before he came to stand by him and determined that Mrs. Junkins was most likely correct in her speculations. While the black look on Frederick's face provoked a certain sympathy, the irony of the situation was too rich for the Rector to ignore.

Acknowledging his rudeness, the Captain quickly turned from the picture he had been meditating upon. "And pray, why might that be?" His teacup clattered into its saucer rather hard.

"With all the stabbing and furious sawing you did at the dinner table, I'm surprised that you haven't had the grating rigged. I take it that not all the guests have been behaving themselves . . . in your estimation." The sharp look Frederick dealt him confirmed his suspicions.

"Only one guest has been out of line . . . in my estimation."

"He has been a bit unruly. I wonder that you've not taken the doctor out for a sound thrashing."

"While he would deserve every blow, I would not do such a thing to Catherine! But honestly, Edward, did you see him? Did you see how he slid his oh-so-friendly ar . . . a-hem, frame into my seat? I saw to my wife and bang! There he was!"

Edward had held back a laugh, but the look on his brother's face was inviting of some observation . "Frederick, really. I know it was wrong. But, you of all people should know how the Doctor ways. His enthusiasm overtakes his sense now and then, that's all."

"I know, but still one would think he'd have more discernment . . . were the man in his cups, I could overlook it, but . . . "

"But, the man has not been so since you left. I think that is progress."

"Not since I left?"

"No. Not once. Mrs. Dalton has kept a close watch on him."

"But still, it's impertinent."

"Oh, to be sure! But give over a bit. He's still feeling the loss of his wife -- and he's not got any family that's noormal -- well, excepting Louisa of course. He's been working himself to the bone lately. Perhaps it's just my friendship talking, but I am of the opinion that he's doing exceptionally well."

"You're too indulgent, Rector!"

"Too indulgent, what do you mean?"

"Aren't you supposed to be consigning the intemperate likes of him to the pits of Hell? You're too compassionate."

"Perhaps you're right about my compassion. Why else would I allow you to impose yourself on my happy home for weeks at a time?" Frederick looked over the rim of his cup with guilty eyes. "And then, when you finally do leave, you come straight back -- bringing me another mouth to feed! And what do I do? I welcome you without a word. Yes, I think you are right, I am far too indulgent." Edward awaited Frederick's reply to his sarcasm.

Seating the cup in its saucer, rather more gently this time, he said, "Well, by Sunday next, you'll have one less mouth to feed."

The facetious look on Edward's face softened. He did not wish to think about Frederick's leaving, but it was coming closer with each passing day. "Yea, but you will be back."

"How can you be so certain?"

"You are leaving us your security." Frederick's brow furrowed. He did not understand the Rector's meaning. Tapping him lightly on the chest, Edward said, "Louisa. I think you have grown very fond of her."

Frederick looked away for a moment. Of all people, Edward would see his growing attachment for her, his brother would know this about him. Did he also see his jealousy? "You're right. I have. And I wouldn't consign her to the care of anyone less than you."

"And I shall do my best for you both." As quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. Edward glanced towards his wife. "Good lord! Abernathy's with Catherine. She's nervous as a cat and might snatch him hairless if he says the wrong thing. I'd better cut in before he does something she doesn't like." He clapped Frederick's arm as he moved off.

"Perhaps I would do well to 'give over' as Edward said. If having my chair taken is the worst that Abernathy ever does . . ."

"Pondering life, Captain?"

"Oh, Junkins. In a manner of speaking. I was just thinking aloud . . . bad form at a social occasion. And you? I would imagine that you have much to ponder, now that you are a happily married man."

Joshua smiled shyly. Hearing his own name and the words 'happily married' were a kind of music that never failed to bring a smile. "Things are much different . . . better."

"Good. You look well. I think Mrs. Junkins is good for you."

"And she is good for you. She smiles your way often." Joshua pointed to Louisa.

Frederick turned to gaze at her a moment, she was speaking with Catherine and the Rector. He regretted that he had not taken any notice of her smiles and for an instant, he thought about promises made in the hallway. Turning back to Junkins, he said, "Yes, I think she will do me good. I just hope I may do her some good, too."

"She is very young . . . and light hair," he said, touching his own.

For a moment, the Captain was puzzled by his friend's remark about Louisa's age and the colour of her hair. He then remembered a day some months ago. He had confessed to Junkins all about Anne and their broken engagement. And, how he still loved her. Though he did not recall, in doing so, he must have said something about Anne's looks. It was easy to see that Louisa was far too young to have been engaged nine years previous and that she was not dark in colouring, but very fair. "No, she is not Anne, the woman I told you about. I think I mentioned that I was hiding out from something I had done . . . waiting for a resolution to it. This is how it resolved itself."

"She is very nice." Joshua's lopsided smile appeared. "We're a bit shy . . . neither of us knows what to say."

"Well, I apologise. She has been nervous and she may appear to be rude . . . "

"No! She's not been rude. Heavens, this face -- in public . . . it's enough to leave the most eloquent, speechless."

"Your person is no excuse."

"Frederick! She has not been rude . . . and I think there are reasons." With a slight nod of his head, he indicated Abernathy, who was speaking with Mrs. Junkins. Both gentlemen could see that his animation of earlier was still in full force.

"See? He is a force! My wife is well able to manage most things . . . but not Abernathy. Excuse me."

Frederick watched as Junkins made his way over to the doctor and Mrs. Junkins. Soon, he had drawn the doctor into their own conversation, freeing his wife. Perhaps Junkins was right, Abernathy was to blame, and that Louisa was not at fault in any of it.

"Honoured Guests," Edward intoned. He used his voice reserved for visiting bishops and those impressed with such outward shows, but having captured the attentions of his party, he proceeded normally, "Friends, it is truly a blessing to have a good home, a lovely wife and wonderful friends to share them with. It has come to my attention that we have a musician in our midst and so, we have prevailed upon Mrs. Junkins to give us a little recital this afternoon . . . so please be comfortable and we shall begin."

The Captain was across the room and moving to be with him would be awkward and obvious, yet Louisa was uncomfortable taking the seat on the sofa. It would place her directly next to Mr. Junkins. But, there was no other seat nearby. As she sat, she smiled in his direction, taking care not to look into his eyes.

Louisa had grown somewhat accustomed to his scars and so the man's person did not frighten her. What she feared was his trying to speak with her. When they had been introduced, his soft and wheezing voice had sickened her. She had tried to be polite, but he had not replied to her addresses. Which seemed fortunate, as hearing him and the Rector speaking together later, she had understood nothing of his part of the conversation. Were he to speak to her, she would not know what he had said, much less what to reply. But there was no escaping her present situation. She must sit next to him or make a spectacle of herself moving to another place.

"I have rediscovered an old friend in my move here to England. I had put my violin aside for some time, but took it out just a few days ago." As she spoke, Mrs. Junkins removed the instrument from its baize bag. "I found him tucked away in a barrel I had put off unpacking. My playing has never been outstanding. With much practice, I am adequate. But my husband is quite taken with the fact that I play at all and has asked that I play for you today. And so I shall." Taking her stance, Beatrice raised the bow and opened with a perfect note.

As she watched and listened, Louisa could not help being drawn back to Uppercross. While she herself had no real talent for music, she could only play the piano a little, as do most English schoolgirls. But she enjoyed all music greatly, and was beginning to very much appreciate its having been a daily presence in her home. Mrs. Musgrove played the piano, as did Etta. And now the harp had been added to her sister's accomplishments. There was always the fun of dancing together when Miss Anne visited. When the eldest of her Hayter uncles came, he played violin, and Cousin Charles was known to blow a passable German flute when cajoled. But all of that was far from her now.

As she listened, the music became the background for her watching the guests. She enjoyed her private study. Each person was moved differently by what they heard. What must it be like, she wondered, to affect people's hearts so? The eyes of everyone in the room were on Mrs. Junkins, except hers and those of Mr. Junkins. His were closed. It was finally safe to look at him, he would not see her.

Noticing that his fingers kept time and his head gently swayed to the music, Louisa thought it was lovely he listened so carefully to his wife. And then she saw it; slowly sliding down his cheek was a tear. Is it the music, or perhaps her? Louisa wondered as Mrs. Junkins finished.

"And I am grateful that no one has mentioned my last social visit to the Rectory." Abernathy took a drink of cider and glanced around the room. All those in attendance for the party, had also been present for his last embarrassing bout with a fine bottle of brandy. "Coeur de Lion is still the best of brandies, but I find I am allergic to 'cats'," he said with a contrite look.

Considering how ill the doctor had been that day, Frederick could give no answer, but a nod in acknowledgement. "Well, I think that many parts of that day are best left unmentioned . . . and I think we may safely assume that the Junkins are not even aware of the particulars."

"I have thought that I should go into the kitchen and apologize to Mrs. Graham. I do remember her being in quite a fit . . .over what, I can't remember, but a fit nonetheless."

While the Captain took a wicked pleasure in the thought of Abernathy meeting again with Mrs. Graham's wooden spoon, he warned against an apology. "I think it might be best if the sleeping dogs were left so. The further you stay from her kitchen . . . and sweets, the longer you will live, I think."

"It was that bad, eh?"

"Worse, but I'll not bore you."

For a moment, Abernathy looked thoughtful. Not a usual state for him, by any means. Soon, his face brightened back to its customary self. "By the bye, Wentworth, I was shocked! When we first met up in what, January? you mentioned nothing, no hints or clues that you were the sailor chap Auntie Sadie was reeling in for my Loua!"

There it was again! -- Loua. My Loua in fact! As though he owned her. "Well, Doctor, at our introduction, you were a bit unflattering -- calling her mulish if I remember correctly. I was not certain as to the character of the relationship between you and your cousin. I didn't wish to make our meeting . . . awkward, if the two of you were not on good ground."

"Good G-d, I did call her that, didn't I? I do apologise! But, between you, me and the tea cups," he inclined his head, "she is mulish! Or can be, from what I remember. Last time I spent any time with her was when she was sixteen, seventeen maybe." The Doctor leaned in further, with a more conspiratorial air, "At one time, she had declared me her first love!" He straightened. "Anywise, she was so young, you know, all teeth and elbows, and I was married by then. She cried when I left." The doctor looked off in her direction for a moment. "Perhaps after Victoria-- had I known the course nature had taken, I might have ridden, post haste, to Uppercross and fended off the likes of you . . . until I am free again."

The two men looked at one another for a moment. A fortnight previous, Frederick would have bent a knee in thanks at such an interruption as the Doctor arriving, post haste, to fend him off. But that was a fortnight ago, not today. "Well, sir, I hope that you will bear me no ill-will in marrying her."

The Doctor took Frederick's hand and shook it with surprising strength. "Never in life! But do nothing to hurt her, please." The look was penetrating and the grip firm.

"And so what do the two of you shake on? You are not wagering on anything, I hope." Louisa had come quietly up to them. She had a teapot and filled the Captain's cup. "I do not think that the Rector would approve of gaming right under his nose." She smiled to them both. The gentlemen gave one another a final shake.

"No, Loua. I was merely congratulating the Captain on his great fortune of marrying you." Abernathy took Louisa's free hand and kissed it gently. "If the two of you will excuse me, I need to talk with Junkins one last time before I depart," he said, turning to leave. "Oh, and Wentworth," he paused, "I have left the latest map of New Holland in the Rector's study; before you leave us I would like you to explain a few things to me -- the Rector says you understand all things hydrographical."

"Certainly, Doctor. I shall look at it and try to make a time for a chat."

"Thank you, Captain. Cousin," he bowed to each and left them.

"Well, have you missed me?" Louisa stood before him. Her eyes shone and her smile was easy. He wondered if she was happy being in his company, or was this glow the consequences of being with Abernathy? He racked his brain -- had she ever looked so at Uppercross -- in consequence of him?

Before he could answer, she continued, "I have been having the best time! Though, I had forgotten how tiring Cousin Michael can be."

"Yes, the good Doctor can be tiresome."

"No! Not tire-some, tir-ing! Father always lamented that hitching him to a plow would be abuse. He swore all the fields could be done in a day if my cousin's energies were harnessed."

"Ah! Yes, the doctor is a perpetual motion machine."

"The Missus can tell ya, sir. But I know that I'm not to unhitch them. But I will give them a bit to eat and a little water."

"All right, John. I shall be back in a thrice." Abernathy jumped from the gig and hurriedly entered the house.

"Mrs. Dalton! I have returned! Where am I needed?"

Wiping her hands on her apron, the round Mrs. Dalton came into the entryway. "Oh, Doctor, I'm ever so glad you've arrived home. Not two quarters ago, the Marsby boy came and said that his ma was needin' ya. I knew ya should be home soon and so sent him back to her, rather than fetching ya at the Rectory. Now I have your medical bag, and somethin' to eat if ya get starved, and there is also a clean shirt if ya have to stay the night -- I know how ya like to be fresh in the mornin'." All of this was said in one gust while she waited for him to exchange his good dress coat for the oilskin she held out to him. And with just a short chance to take a breath, she continued, "And so how was the dinner -- all is well at the Rectory, I take it?"

Poor Mrs. Marsby . . . there is nothing left for a doctor to do . . . I should call for the Rector. Blast! Such a pleasant time with friends and the news of a great marriage . . . and now this.

The scene in the entryway was well rehearsed and both the players knew their parts. As the Doctor slid his arms into the sleeves of the coat, he said, "The dinner was wonderful. I sometimes forget how good it is to be in company. I have been too much alone of late." Buttoning the garment, he continued, "Is there laudanum in the bag? Good. Do not look for me soon, this will most likely be my last time to the Marsbys'. And, please, if you could Mrs. Dalton, write me a note and leave it on my desk. Remind me to write Dr Ambrose Abernathy concerning references on throat ailments. I may have to go to Dr Canton's library in Shrewsbury for them, but Uncle Ambrose would know what to read."

"Certainly sir."

Taking the bags she held for him, he tucked one under his arm and took her hand. "Mrs. Dalton, you are a peach! I don't know where I would be without you." Bussing her on the cheek, he hurried out the door.

The woman flushed and shook her head. "That young man will be the death of me!"

As the small cart jounced along the rutted lane, Mrs. Junkins was glad that home was within sight. The drive to the Rectory from the Junkins' home was short, but today, the rough ride had become tiresome. Glancing at her husband, he looked to be deep in thought. The events of the Wentworth's dinner were indeed something to ponder.

"Are you prepared for all of Mary's questions? She will be like a greedy chick, wanting every crumb you will give her."

"Huh? Oh, Mary. Yes."

"Good. And when you regale her with all the festivities, please try to write some of it. You sound awfully tired, dear."

"Yes, it was quite a full day. I shall write."

"Well, in a year or so, it will not be necessary to tell her anything. She will be old enough to be part of such things. It was a lovely dinner. Yes, it was. Mrs. Wentworth . . . Mrs. Edward Wentworth that is, told me that she was very pleased. It seems there were to be others -- some of her people I believe she said -- but they could not attend and instead she got many other 'surprises.' Not the least of which was Dr Abernathy."

Joshua laughed out loud. "He does make for a lively time!"

"Yes, he certainly does! But he would do better to watch himself. His behaviour is far too open, he makes everything unsettled."

"He is being friendly, he means nothing by it. Most likely doesn't realise the discomfort he brings."

"Perhaps not, but his ignorance does not change the facts. He leaves much too much room for misunderstanding when he is so . . . foolish."

"Foolish is too harsh . . . imprudent -- heedless in manner, not intellect."

"Of course not, I am not saying that he is stupid. I am saying he is thoughtless, especially with ladies! He does not think how his actions will be judged by those around him. I dare say that he had no idea how Captain Wentworth judged him. There was a time I thought the man would chew the buttons off his suit coat! It is fortunate for the Doctor that the Captain is a man well-able to keep his temper."

"Cannot disagree there . . . but the Captain was annoyed with her, not the Doctor. That's no good."

"Why is that always the way with men? It is always the woman's fault. Men think that with the bat of an eye, we take complete rule over them and are able to force them do anything! That, if a fellow is behaving wrongly, we must surely be able to put a stop to it! I must begin schoolling Mary on dealing with such things . . . one day, she will be in company with ill-behaving men like that . . . with the very man himself most likely!"

"Yes, she is growing up."

"Well, the young Mrs. Wentworth is proof enough that we women are trapped. Were Abernathy a rogue, she could quite easily put him down and not be thought any less for it, but he being merely intemperate, not wicked . . .. Our only hope is for him to marry a woman who is able to teach and train him. And as for the Captain Wentworths, I hope that he does not say something foolish to his wife and start his own misunderstanding."

"Yes, I hope not . . . Abernathy would be mortified if he were to know what he had caused."

"But perhaps that might teach him a thing or two. And I must thank you, dear Mr. Junkins, for saving me . . . I was nearly out of breath, Abernathy speaks so fast . . . and so much!"

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