Turning to the noise, he straightened upon seeing me. He looked surprised, then puzzled. "Is there something you require of me?" His face and neck coloured.

It was my turn to be surprised. I had enjoyed the restrained passion of the evening before; I was disappointed with the distance he seemed to put between us. I determined that as this was my dream, I would do as I liked. Smiling, I stepped farther into the room, and as I crossed to him, his expression intensified for a moment, then softened.

"I do need something, but I wish first to bid you a good morning."

We stood only inches apart, and I was suddenly nineteen again. I might just as well have been standing before the brilliant, witty, worldly young man who had just declared he loved me. Frederick had barely aged in the fifteen-year separation, though there was something changed about him. In any case, I could only dread what changes he must see on my face.

When I reached up to fasten the button he stiffened and began to put up his hands as if he would stop me; but they fell away quickly. Even so, I could tell he was willing himself to stay put and not move away.

"Good morning to you. Did you sleep well?" Poor man, for reasons unknown, my close proximity distressed him. The apprehension and formality were out of character; what of his character I did remember. 

"I did. Thank you. And you?" Given that he was being gracious and enduring my ministrations, I reached for the stock on his dressing table and fastened the buckle for him. "Too tight?" I asked.

He shook his head and seemed surprised by my handiwork. "No, not at all. And to answer your question, I slept as well as usual." He touched the stock and settled the collar in places. I remained before him, unspeaking. "And what is it you require of me?" Looking in the mirror, he seemed pleased.

I was disappointed that there were no endearments, nothing that would indicate whether he spoke to a beloved wife or a common servant. "I wish some fresh air, and the window is jammed. I thought you might lend me a hand, but perhaps I should call down and have someone come up. You are dressing after all."

"I can manage a window, Madam." He brushed by me.

He was curiously exasperated. It was the same tone he used talking about drawing cards to sleep in the bed. I had taken it to be a playful exaggeration, but it was clear not all was well between Captain and Mrs Frederick Wentworth. My silly, girlish dream was not at all as it first seemed.

I entered my room and he passed me going back to his. The window remained closed. I hesitated to inquire what he have done, or was about to do. Just as I turned to go through to him, he swept silently by in his stocking feet.

He approached the window while fiddling with something small. "It rained early this morning. Water has leaked into the casement and created a seal. This will do it." He took the clasp knife and wedged it into the seam between the window and frame. A tiny "pop" brought a smile to his face. He turned the latch, and the window opened perfectly.

I joined him. "You are a genius." My hand touched his arm and he pulled back.

The smile faded as he closed the knife. "It was merely a window." His jaw tightened. He raised his hand. "There, all the fresh air you could want." Moving by me, he headed to the bathing room door.

His retreat hurt me deeply. "Thank you, Frederick. I'm sorry I inconvenienced you."

He stopped and turned to me. "No, I am sorry." His expression was the mirror of his words, and then he took in my form. I suppose the open window let in the heat for the room warmed suddenly. "I have never seen you in the dress." He paused, still looking. "I remember being struck at how lovely the fabric, draped as it was in the shop in Dublin. I was right, it suits your colouring perfectly."

So, he had made her a gift of the fabric. In turn, she had it made up into a gown that she never wore. A gown she obviously never showed him. This other Anne Wentworth was proving to be a peculiar woman indeed.

"It is lovely, and that is why I chose to wear it today. The beautiful day and this beautiful dress were made for one another." Suddenly, I knew what was changed about Frederick. "You have a moustache."

Absently, he touched it. "Don't tell me you are just now noticing it. I know better." His brow furrowed in a pleasing way.

"And what do you think you know?"

He crossed his arms. "For the better part of a year, you've made it clear that kissing me is a chore you'd rather forego." I could see my wearing the dress pleased him, and though the answer to my question was painful, he was considering me in a new way.

"Well, I think I like it now." How ridiculous an answer! I would have to take care when commenting on the household, his person, even my own person. When finally I met my son, I would have to take particular care about my reactions.

A faint smile touched his lips, and he shook his head. "If there is nothing else, I shall leave you."

"Yes, you should finish dressing. I do not wish the window to make us late for breakfast."

He stopped, and looked at me hard. "You are going down to the dining room."

"Of course I am. How else will I eat?"

He scowled. "A tray … as usual. Why the change?" By the sound of his voice, there were far more questions occupying his mind.

"True, that is my customary way, but I wish to dine with you this morning. You will not mind, will you?" I could feel colour coming to my face, and so hurried to the bureau where I had always kept my purses. Her habit of breakfasting in her room put me in a dubious position and I could only pray that Mrs Wentworth retained my sense of order so as not to make me look completely addled. He made no move to leave as I opened the drawer and began my search.

He remained quiet and when I sneaked a look, he was studying me closely. Finally, he said, "So, you will come down."

I snagged a dark coloured bag, hoping it would match. "Yes, and if you hurry and finish dressing, I can take your arm and we shall enter in a grand style befitting the old hall."

A smile flitted across his lips, but was swallowed up in confusion. He went to the door muttering something about warning Lowell I would be coming down. What sort of woman was I become that the servants must be warned of my coming?

For a moment, I felt badly. I was obviously not acting like the Anne he was married to, but I deemed there was nothing to do but brazen it out, until I found the proper time to share with Frederick my odd predicament.

To give the captain time, I looked through Mrs Wentworth's drawers. She possessed a great many lovely things, most of them hardly worn. She seemed to favour four particularly unexciting dresses, and a few plain shifts, along with some neatly mended pairs of stockings. Her style was certainly easy on the washerwoman, but I suspected her wardrobe reflected a melancholy bent that might not be to her husband's liking, and that, perhaps this was the cause of his distance. However, there was still his behaviour of the previous night to consider. His actions spoke to the care he had for her, though, I knew from my own marriage bed that men are quite capable of shamming tenderness when it comes to fulfilling their physical desires.

A quiet knock at the door roused me back to the present, and when I bid him enter, he rewarded me with an outfit far more elegant than any morning meal ever required, and the offer of his arm. I had forgotten how breathtakingly handsome Frederick could be. Of course, it was his blue and gold uniform all those years ago which left me speechless, but this black coat, with a silvery brocade waistcoat and neck cloth shot through with silver threads, was just as appealing.

His appearance was overwhelming. I took his arm and was overjoyed when he covered my hand with his. This was the first affectionate gesture of the day, and it gave me hope for more. I was ridiculously happy just to walk by his side.

Entering the dining room was a bit shocking. Breaking of the fast is, generally, a very sedate occasion at Kellynch. Occasionally Mary and Charles would join me, but even then things were quiet and orderly. This morning the best silver and china was out; every bit of it magically reflecting the morning sunlight. Poor harried Lowell and the fluttering housekeeper were personally supervising three footmen and two serving girls as they set out numerous dishes. Each of them worried various pieces of plate, crystal, and the snowy linens that adorned the table set for two. In the main, they made the breakfast out to be grander than any fancy dress affair that ever graced Kellynch. It was clear that this was not the customary Wentworth breakfast.

Lowell noticed us at the door and shoo'd away the younger staff. Frederick seated me as the housekeeper went through what seemed to be a rather extensive menu. I was delighted that each lifted cover revealed another of my favourite dishes, including a bit of a local sausage that usually appears only in the winter months. The housekeeper saw that there was plenty to drink easily within reach and eventually left us alone.

Frederick saw that my plate was laden with food. He filled his own plate and began to push around his sausages and eggs. We were quiet as we ate. I think Frederick was trying to sort out his feelings about my entering his room, and requesting his help with my window. By his reactions, Mrs. Wentworth did not seem to be the sort of woman who would do those things. In fact I was not. My belief that this was a dream was wearing thin, but it was also a source of freedom. A freedom I may have lost along the way.

For some reason, in the silence of the dining room, I thought of William. Try as I might, my conscience could not be pricked with the least bit of guilt for disposing of him. Moreover, there was not a jot at replacing him with Frederick; the man who lived and breathed in my memory, and whose "presence" had seen me through what were becoming increasingly dark times in my marriage.

It seemed only normal that I would fashion a dream around Frederick Wentworth. Our history of love, the engagement, and break-up occupied countless hours of my thought life. Owing to this, I suppose, is the reason I had never allowed another to take his place. Aside from a passing interest from the man who had become my brother-in-law, no other man had ever come into my life and declared love for me. Until William Walter Elliot.

My cousin was a desirable catch in Bath in the new year of 1815. His social calendar was full of concerts, balls, card parties and small elegant dinners, and yet he found time to visit his nearest relations, my father, sister and me, nearly every day, at our new accommodations in Camden Place. He was, and still is, charming when it suits. My godmother was so enamoured of him, that with the same gentle persuasion she employed in ending my engagement to Frederick, she was able to persuade to marry my cousin.

I married William Walter without loving him, but with nothing that might resemble reluctance either. For once the title and estate were settled on him by my father's death, I would come permanently home to Kellynch-hall as Lady Elliot. From the moment I agreed to his proposal, for my part, I knew it to be a completely mercenary arrangement.

It was with these divided motives I walked into the church on my wedding day, and intended to take the vows. I had spent much time convincing myself of the rightness of my reasoning, and that God would forgive me if I was anything but scrupulously honest when promising to love, honour, and obey. I was comfortable with my own intentions, and was comfortable with my actions once the minister did his work. It was only when I was leaving the church, and saw Frederick sitting with his sister on my family's side, that I faltered. By the time I reached the door to leave, all my flawless logic was crushed and the pieces lay heaped on my heart.

To be fair to William Walter, no marriage could prosper with one party so shattered in spirit. But, even so, we should have been mature enough to live together reasonably, perhaps even finding a sort of affection. It did not take long for me to know that his expectations in a wife and my expectations in a husband were wholly at odds.

William's first wife had provided him a fortune, but had proven to be no match for his crushing superiority. The poor woman she had bent to his will at every turn. When I proved not to be so compliant, he grew more and more angry, and was driven to make me surrender to every demand. I would not. 

Everything became a contest of wills. There seemed not to be a dress, dish, carpet, or social engagement that did not fuel our contention. It was a particular social engagements which eventually brought our marriage to its violent turn.

William is a clever man, and I think instinctively he noticed that when I was in company with Captain Wentworth, there was something indefinable on each side. I thought myself clever enough to hide my emotions. Now I see the error in that. William, though he knew nothing of my history with Frederick, sensed our mutual attraction. It disturbed him awfully. Heaven only can know how many others might have suspected anything.

Not that there was anything dubious on the captain's side. He was always careful, never overstepping himself or presuming intimacy based upon our past connection. Happily, he seemed to truly enjoy our occasional, chance meetings. There would be a few minutes of private, comfortable chat before William would appear. At first, Frederick would ignore the clever jibes and bear the interruption with good humour. After a few tense meetings, William would launch his angry barbs and Frederick would excuse himself.

My husband usually remarked how these retreats were the captain's acknowledgement of a superior intellect. I suspect Frederick could have verbally crushed him with few words. My husband was such a supercilious boor that he never considered the move was to spare me the embarrassment of such a confrontation.

It was this way for months, until the final time I saw Frederick.

In September of 1815, William and I received a coveted invitation to dine at Belsom Park, the home of the McGillvarys, one of the first families of Bath society. Admiral Patrick McGillvary was a distant business associate of my husband. William was hoping with this social achievement he could become closer to the Admiral, and his far-reaching connections.

Somehow, in all his social manoeuvring, it had escaped William's notice that Frederick Wentworth was not merely a business acquaintance of McGillvary, but a close, particular friend.

I do not know if the admiral was aware of Frederick's past association with me, and whether our being seated together that evening was by design or was a freak occurrence.  In any case, William was livid. When the ladies retired, he must have forgone the opportunity to strengthen his business ties and chose instead to drink the entire time. When the gentlemen rejoined us, I saw William return. He did not seek me out, but stood apart and waited. When Frederick approached me and we had been together a very few minutes, William took the opportunity to join us, and quietly accuse us of appalling things. The situation was tense, but still within bounds until my husband took me roughly by the arm, cruelly twisting it as he pulled me to him. I could not help myself and cried out. It was then the captain's manner instantly transformed from one of quiet control to hard anger.

The confrontation was horrific. It was like watching two vicious dogs circling one another; looking for any weakness that they might rush and take to their advantage.

I had only recently begun to see this physically cruel side of my husband in the privacy of our home. I had never seen such cold brutality in the Frederick. While it frightened me in my husband, I knew it was under good regulation in the other. Were it not for Admiral McGillvary's well-timed interruption, the clash between the Captain and William might have escalated to an inescapable conclusion. I am certain that seeing my husband thrashed would have required sympathy on my part. I am just as certain I could not have mustered such regard.

With William's temper, it was fortunate that the following day I was being sent away to Kellynch to begin an early lying in. From the beginning, I am sure the news of my being with child had been the topic of conversation in many of the finer salons of Bath. These discourses would always be behind our backs of course. No one of any breeding would acknowledge such a vulgar thing as childbearing. I'm sure William was very glad to accept the compliments of the gentlemen regarding his male prowess that was proved by my condition. I had to bear the keen looks of speculation in the eyes of their wives. Some wondered if I was strong enough to bear a child, or would I succumb to the childbed? Once the child was arrived, would I become one of those broody women who only want to stay at home and oversee it? And there was always the question of what he might do when I inevitably lost my figure.

William was a handsome man, and we made a handsome couple. I do not declare this out of any unwarranted vanity, but as a fact acknowledged by many in our society. However, when the pregnancy was not merely a theory on which to speculate, but a physical fact that interfered with our appearance, it was clear to my husband that something must be done.

“I don’t mind people knowing I’m to have an heir, but they needn’t gape at you in the process. It’s all so revolting and deforming.” When he spoke like this, it was as if I was hearing my father.

William hit up on the idea of sending me to my ancestral home of Kellynch Hall. This was meant to show the world how he cared for my health and happiness during such a delicate time in a woman's life. In truth, he thought it only reasonable to get me out of sight.

In the intervening years, the Crofts had fulfilled their lease, and my father thought it a wonderful wedding gift to give over Kellynch, and the entire property, to the man who would have it all in the end. I am sure it never occurred to him that in doing so he was freeing himself from the extraordinary burden of maintaining the property, and its tenants. The deed was surely a gesture of familial love. Surely.

I went away the next day, and that was the last time I saw Frederick Wentworth. Though I was called back to Bath for a short time around Christmas, I was not very social and stayed close to home. Eventually, William thought it best that I should return to Kellynch and that he would visit us when his schedule allowed. Business was taking him more and more to London, and I am certain he feared that were I left to my own devices, I might re-establish ties to old acquaintances.

Not that the past mattered now. I was here, and Frederick was my husband. Each time I thought about it, I was more thrilled than shocked. Being with him was a wish fulfilled, and I did not care to examine it too closely. 

But where was here?

I could not remember a dream being so vivid in that food had flavour, I had memories of the real world, others responded in surprise or frustration. There was nothing fantastical about this place. It had all the feeling of being summertime at my well-worn Kellynch-hall, and that life was being lived in her.

"I was planning to ride over to Uppercross and fetch Will." Frederick stood, and tossed down his napkin. A flurry of servants cleared his place immediately away. It was obvious by the look on his face that this was not a regular occurrence. "You seemed particularly worried about him last night."

My son. My five-year-old son. I had no recollection of his growing up. When I fell asleep the previous night, little William had been a suckling babe but two weeks old. Now he would be a boy walking, talking, and running. I did not witness his first steps or words; neither did I sit up with a cranky baby willing his first tooth to appear. I had missed everything.

"I shall go with you." When I stood, the swarm cleared all evidence of my presence at the table as well. As I moved to the door, he reached out and stopped me.

"Are you sure you wish to? You know how your sister is."

"You said I have gone to see him the last two days. Why not today?"

He scowled a bit and tugged at one of his shirt cuffs. "Avoiding Mary by sitting in the carriage and me bringing Will to you has been no problem before. However, if we bring him home today, we will have to go into the house and get his things. Your sister will have dozens of little darts about his behaviour, and how difficult he is to handle along with her boys. There will be the endless woes of managing the property, and tales of their trying to remodel the mansion. There will be no rest from her complaints as Charles will be absent or silent as always. Even a simple social call has become a nightmare, and I think it best that I go alone."

A nightmare within a dream. I could not recollect such a thing but whether this was a dream or something else, there was no time to examine everything he told me. I simply said I was anxious to see my son, and would not be aggrieved by my sister's idle comments, and that I would be down directly. After all, how much worse could Mary's present complaints be, compared to those of the past?

As I gathered my things, the larger questions of dreams and such were put aside. I was troubled, as a mother that my son might be one of those children people dread when the child makes an appearance. I quickly dismissed this, as my sister had no talent with children, and looked on anything other than slavish behaviour as an affront. Her complaints were to be expected, and the captain's manner gave no hint that she might be correct. In fact, his lack of comment seemed to suggest the opposite might be true.

So, my sister was now the mother of at least three boys. I wondered that she might have a girl or two as well. Moreover, it would seem her fondest wish had come true: she and Charles were in possession of the Mansion. This meant that old Mr Musgrove was either dead or incapacitated. Regardless which, this was a sad blow as he had always been kind to me.

I was about to take a bonnet down from a closet shelf when I was surprised to find a hat I worked prior to my marriage to William. Putting it on, I wondered why she kept it, then realised I had vainly reworked it that fall when the entire neighbourhood was anticipating Frederick's visit to his sister in the autumn of 1814. It was impossible not to feel a little kinship with the woman who shared an understanding of this sad bit of the past.

The sun was gloriously bright, and warm as we stepped out the front door. The groom was adjusting a harness, giving Frederick a chance to study me. "I've not seen that bonnet before. It looks well on you," he said. After helping me into a carriage I did not recognise, he offered me the reins. I was quite surprised. Anne in this world might be cheerless in style, but she was clearly more of a horsewoman than me.

"Please, you drive. I would prefer to just enjoy the day." He looked a bit surprised, but made no comment.

His silence extended to the early part of the three-mile ride as well. The countryside was as beautiful as it had ever been, and I took full advantage of the opportunity to acquaint myself. For the most part, things had remained the same. There were some changes; a new house here, trees cleared for a small plot of corn there. It was like being in a familiar place, but knowing that you saw it with new eyes. 

After a short while, the countryside began to pale, and as my mind wandered, I determined this would be an excellent opportunity to ask about William Walter. I was curious to know what my imagination had done to dispose of him.

"I have noticed lately that little William misses his father." I hoped to heaven that my tone sounded more indifferent than the question sounded in my head.

"I suppose he does, but even so, the unctuous bastard shows up all too often for my taste."

The warm sun suddenly did not warm me. I was cold to the centre of my being. Surely, this was a dream for there was no way that I could be married to Frederick Wentworth while William still lived. I had read of married sailors taking wives in foreign ports, and raising whole families with them, but surely, I would not take part in a woman's counterpart of this shameful betrayal. Even if I could put aside morality in favour of love, I could never disgrace myself in the neighbourhood of my family home. Squeezing the fingers of my left hand together, I could feel my wedding ring. This was proof of our marriage, but where was the proof that the first was dissolved?

"Not that I would want to avoid a rousing dispute centring on William Elliot, but why did you suddenly decide to come down for breakfast?" The abrupt question took me by surprise, and I looked his way. He did not look to me as he asked, but kept his eyes to the road. "And you came into my room. Why?"

Obviously, the subject of William was sensitive, but my behaviour was enough out of the ordinary to rouse his curiosity more. I was at a complete loss as to how I might answer. "Well, I had to come down, did I not? To eat I mean, and—"

"That is a ridiculous answer." This was harsh, and because he did not face me, I had to assume his expression perfectly matched his tone. "You've not been downstairs for breakfast for over two years." Now he turned. "And you've taken great care to stay out of my rooms, even after pouring hundreds of dollars into erasing every bit of evidence of him from the place." He pulled the horses to a stop. "But this morning you march in pretty as you please, and dress me as if you might care a bit. What are you about?"

His piercing stare made up for all the looking away earlier. It was clear that my impression of a devoted marriage was wrong. If not completely wrong, at least ill conceived. And, here I sat, happy to be away from William Walter, happy to be the wife of a man I cared for, but utterly ignorant of the truth of this relationship.

"Well, Mrs. Wentworth, what do you have to say?"

Heroines of novels bite their lips, finger their gloves, and look pensively away from the hero's piercing stare. I now know why. I had to either tell him the truth—though great portions of it were a mystery to me—or try to evade the question altogether. The former was too unformed in my mind, and the latter seemed my best strategy.

I tugged at my glove in heroine-like fashion. "I awoke feeling strange, not quite myself this morning. I may be catching a cold." I am not a skilled liar, but I looked at him and held his gaze, knowing the impression of unshakeable confidence has made many a man rich, and gotten many a lady out of an awkward situation.

I feared his close scrutiny would prove me a liar immediately. "Then why did you not stay in bed as usual? And why come to fetch Will?" The seat creaked as he leant back, his expression still quizzical.

Why not indeed? It seems to be her custom, and illness would certainly make her staying in bed the most rational action to take. "I have read that some doctors recommend doing the opposite of what you feel like doing when you have a cold coming on. It forces the body to go about its business, forgetting the illness." I cleared my throat elaborately in hopes of demonstrating some symptoms.

He shook his head and straightened. "Walk on. It sounds like rubbish to me. But, after talking with Benwick, I am persuaded that the state of medicine is steadily coming to such nonsense." He again looked solely at the road, though I could tell he was thinking over my wisdom.

I was curious as to the identity of this Benwick person. And, why would the captain be talking to him about medicine? Perhaps he is a doctor. If that is the case, if I meet with him, I will find a way to ask a few questions concerning my own circumstance.

The remainder of the trip was silent. Evidently, the captain had no wish to pursue the topic of his wife's change in behaviour. I had no wish to say anything that might land me farther in dangerous territory. Sitting back, and removing my bonnet, I relished the wonderful morning. The sky was a glorious, shocking blue. A temperate breeze blew just enough to cool skin growing a touch too warm. It had been months since I had been outside for more than just a few breaths of clean air. Whatever phenomenon had brought me here, I thanked it for the loveliness of the day.

We were just at the head of the lane leading to Uppercross Mansion when Frederick pulled the gig to the side of the road, jumped down, and walked the horse to a tree with plenty of grass at its base. Gently patting the horse’s flanks, he made his way back to me and began removing his gloves.

I was puzzled for a moment, then remembered his saying that the boy had been brought to me rather than going into the mansion. "It’s a fair walk from here.”

Looking up the lane to the house, he said, “Oh, not so much.”

“You were a gentleman once.”

“And I am not now?”

“Well, there was a time when you would have helped me down.” I held out my hands.

He raised a brow. “I most certainly would help you down, if you were going with me.”

“I told you, I will not allow her jibes to bother me.”

He leant against the box and stowed his gloves beneath the seat. I took his hand and felt a tiny, but distinct pulling away; he then relaxed and allowed me my way.

"I am giving you a last chance to change your mind. I can say you were not feeling well, bring the boy here, then we shall head back home." Of his own accord, he rested his hand on my knee.

"But that would be a lie," I said. Were I completely honest, the only thought in my head was to remove my own gloves and touch him.

Looking intently at me for a time, he finally said, "You are in an extraordinarily good mood this morning."

"Yes, I am. I awoke this morning and decided that today was a brand new day and that I would act as if I had no past. The past so often clouds the present, do you not think?"

He gave considerable thought to my words. He smiled. "That is exactly the truth." Patting my leg, he went to the horse and led us back on the lane. Mounting the carriage, he said, "With such an optimistic outlook, I am certain you can handle your sister."

He had spoken of changes, inside and outside the mansion. I could discern few, if any. This all changed when we were shown into the sitting room. Then I could not help but see how the old order of the Great House had been thrown into disarray.

The elder Mrs Musgrove's style had always been old fashioned. When the daughters of the house had returned from school, they had added their modern ideas and when I had last seen the house, it was a mix of old and new that was comfortable, but disjointed and unappealing to the eye.

It was obvious my sister had her own ideas of what constituted style.

The furniture was new and the upholstery fine. I was certain the rugs and curtains were of the highest quality materials, though the colours were harsh and clashed fiercely. Regardless of how much money one could invest in décor, clearly, good taste was not a commodity one could purchase by the pound, yard, or crate. This room was undoubtedly the most glaring example of that in all of Somersetshire.

I was glad to see Mrs Musgrove's spinet piano still occupied the room. I had played on it for hours while the family danced. After I had broken our engagement and Frederick left the area, I had stopped dancing. There was never another partner who could entice me onto the floor. Playing music for the others seemed to be the closest thing to dancing myself, and so I took to the keyboard whenever asked.

A large harp also occupied the room. I remembered years earlier when the eldest daughter, Henrietta, had taken up the instrument. Her playing was wholehearted, though technically unskilled. One shameful day, I fell into such jealousy I could barely see straight. After listening to her indifferent playing, the family praised and patted her, excessively to my way of thinking. All my anger centred on the fact that, though my talents were far superior, I had no one to acknowledge them. The Musgroves rightly encouraged their own daughter. It was galling as not even my own family cared how well I played.

"Captain. Anne. I am surprised, I thought Will was to stay with us until tomorrow." The voice was familiar as my own, and I turned with anticipation to greet my sister.

Time brings many changes, and the five years between my last view of Mary, and now, has followed this natural course.

Mary is just under four years my junior, and has always been taller and more sturdily built. Her complexion has always been, to our father's mortification, more ruddy than fair.  She is still all those things, only more so. Well, not taller certainly, but significantly heavier. What was once a plump figure, pleasing to many, is now unattractive heaviness. The high waists of the early period are dropping, and this is no favour to my sister. Her weight has changed her features as well. A life-long tendency to scowl has permanently chiselled lines between her brows and around her mouth. I am certain the red complexion will not fade as her heavy breathing subsides.

"It is solely my doing, Mrs Musgrove. The house is too quiet without the lad, and I wish him home." Frederick's words were self-deprecating and easy; his tone left no room for her to question further.

I am happy to see that Mary is a little in awe of the captain. Even time has not given her permission to treat him with the disdain of familiarity. "Well, if you need noise, then choose a room and begin to redecorate. I cannot tell you how much noise and fuss and bother workmen can be—"

Just then, two young boys ran into the room, screaming. The smaller boy was brown-haired, and moved awkwardly, the other slender, blond and tall. There was no mistaking which child was mine. The sight of him was captivating. Both cried the "big boys" were chasing them. Their voices were insistent, and Mary's voice added shrill, female tones to the din, but none of that mattered as I watched the miniature of his father fly about the room. Little William took refuge behind a chair and the other boy joined him. Just then, the ones on the chase came galloping into the midst of us.

"Stop you two," Mary said. "What have I told you about rough play in the house? You'll knock something over and then you'll hear from your father." Obviously there was little concern for the safety of anyone chasing, or being chased. It was difficult not to marvel at how big Walter and Charles had grown over the years, and while I could not tell them apart, it was also not difficult to know that they had been left to go to seed.

Before either of the new arrivals could speak, William peeked out from behind the chair. The two boys began to go to the chair but thought better of it when Frederick stepped into their path. "I think the game is over. You heard your mother about horse play."

I glanced at Mary and could see she did not approve of my husband reprimanding her children, but she would not say anything. I suspected that would likely be a lecture saved for a time when the two of us were alone. The pair grumbled and left us. The smaller boys came from behind the chair and cheered their defender. This was when I noticed that they smaller boy was lame. His left foot dragged markedly. I think I had not noticed because William was pulling him when they entered the room. Even now, he held the boy's hand.

"Thank you, sir. They were going to murder us."

Frederick knelt. "I rather doubt that. But what have the two of you done to get their fury up?"

The small pair looked at one another and shrugged.

The little boy limped up. "Well, sir, they were floating things in the stream, pretending they were boats. We may have tossed rocks to sink them, sir." His demeanour was upright and firm.

"May have."

"We did, sir," said William. His voice was low and even and filled with resolution to be truthful.

"I see. Then it is a good thing we have come to take you home, Will. It seems you may be a bad influence on Cousin Matthew." Frederick stood and looked at me with a smile.

"I doubt it. He seems to find trouble no matter where he goes. Walter and Charles are forever complaining of things such as this," Mary said. "It is too bad your son must go, they keep one another out of trouble. Most of the time."

Matthew's frame sagged at his mother's words. He stepped closer to his cousin and seemed to fade a little.

"Let Matthew come home with us. We can keep him for a day or so. That will give his brothers a chance to cool down." I walked over to the boys and placed my hands on the shoulders of my son. Even through his clothes, I could feel strength in him. Touching his tousled hair, I could not help a little regret at how much he looked like his father. Soon it passed when he turned to look up at me, smiling.

"Can he stay until Sunday, Mama? We could bring him home after church." 

"I'm not sure his mother would want Matthew gone for five days, Will," Frederick said, looking at me with a lifted brow.

"Sunday would be fine," I said. "Perhaps you can all come for dinner and then bring Matthew home." No one said anything for a moment.

"Oh, it would be no trouble for me," Mary said, rushing to the bell. "I'll have Jemima get their things ready straight away." Her expression made it clear that more than five days would be quite fine with her. She moved close to me. "To be honest, having Captain Benwick in the house is more than enough to handle without that one pulling his pranks on the other boys."

Evidently, Frederick's friend Benwick was a man of rank, and he lived in the Mansion. I was wondering if my sister had also been widowed, and remarried a military man. Soon that notion was put to rest when my brother-in-law, Charles, walked into the parlour.

My brother-in-law had once asked me to marry him. There was never any hesitation, or regret, concerning my refusal. I did not turn him down because he of his prospects or his personality, but because even after two years, I was still deeply in love with Frederick. Charles was a fine, friendly, jovial man, and my sister was extraordinarily fortunate when he turned her way. They had their problems, but nothing unreasonable. In my perceived absence, time again had worked, and the man who entered the room was weary.

"Lo, everybody." He shook Frederick's hand then took a seat. "Come to visit Bedlam, have you?" It was with that comment I noticed Holland cloths in the corner, presumably covering building materials and tools.

"They came to take away Will, but now will be taking our little one as well."

Charles looked at Frederick, then particularly me. "You sure? I know the boy rubs you wrong sometimes."

I wondered for a moment if I was the only one who thought it strange that no one called Matthew by his name; no one but Frederick or me. I was also shocked by the idea such a sweet little boy might be troublesome. However, Charles's comment seemed to indicate that I was equally problematic.