"Of course. Matthew will be no trouble." I smiled all round to assure everyone that my offer was genuine. Charles accepted my assurances while my husband studied me. It was clear her was not pacified by my earlier lame explanation

With everything settled, and orders given to the servants, all the boys ran out for some play before we left. Charles and Frederick exchanged little more than shallow pleasantries. I could not help but wonder if they got on well. Mary was absorbed with some sheet music and I joined her at the harp.

Upon closer inspection, I could see I was mistaken, that this was not the instrument bought for the eldest Musgrove daughter. Henrietta must have taken that particular one with her when she married. Unlike so much of the new interior of Uppercross Mansion, this new addition was beautiful in every way. I am no judge of musical instruments, but the craftsmanship of this piece looked exquisite and I could not stop myself plucking at the strings.

Holding out the sheet of music, Mary said, "This arrived yesterday. I was practicing when you were announced."

I heard no music upon our arrival, but took her at her word. Taking the sheet, I could see it was a fairly simple tune, but not knowing the fingering of the harp, it might very well be more complicated than it seemed. I had to applaud my sister for her initiative. Perhaps I would one day put myself to such a task.

"I do well enough, until I reached this measure." Her hand swept over the entire second page.

Handing it back, I said, "I am sorry I cannot help you. I'm sure with practice you will learn to play it beautifully."

The redness of Mary's complexion increased noticeably, and her eyes narrowed. "Cannot! Will not is more like." She stalked away and flopped down on the sofa next to Charles. His expression was pure shock as he looked from his wife to me, and then back again. "You never fail to take an opportunity to show me up and play when you come. Now, when I could use you, you refuse. This is so typical of you, Anne." Crossing her arms, Mary bit her lip and looked out the window.

So, Anne Wentworth had used her time well and learnt to play the harp. Wonderful. I was afraid to see how my blunder was working on Frederick. There was nothing to be done but push on with more unabashed obfuscation.  Joining my sister and Charles, I touched her arm. She pulled away, but I persisted. "Please Mary, I did not mean that I would not help you. But, as you say, I do play when I visit, and I think I have been selfish in pushing my ability at your expense."

Her angry demeanour was softening markedly. My confession was bringing her around. She took my hand with what I think was genuine affection. I could not help feeling close to my sister. So much was changed for me in seeing her again. However, how things stood between her and the present Anne was impossible to say. Though, considering things again, I was Anne of the present. Oh, would this ever make sense?

In any case, by her expression, I would guess things were not well, and the fault might not be all Mary's. Patting her hand, I said, "I think it is time that you show what you are capable of doing."

A groan came from Charles's direction, and Mary was all aflutter with newfound confidence as she headed to the harp. Before she could begin, a short, youngish man, with a pleasing air entered the room.

It was clear his entrance was just the excuse Charles needed. He said as he left the sofa, "Hold up, Mary. Benwick has come. He will have more books for the library and need my assistance."

Stealing a look at Frederick, I could see he too welcomed the addition of this Benwick fellow. I could not help my own curiosity. Whether he was a medical doctor or not, my husband's comments indicated he was a man of some learning, and perhaps his learning could help me.

"Mrs Wentworth, it is a pleasure to find you here. I have those volumes I promised to lend you. I intended to leave them with your sister, but will be pleased to put them directly into your care." He took my hand like an old friend, dispensing with the customary bow. It was clear Benwick was a singular sort of man, but I could not help liking him right off.

I was surprised when Louisa Musgrove joined us. No mention of her had been made and I assumed she was by now married, and living away from the house. She was precise and reserved in her acknowledgement of me. The young, silly girl from my past was gone. Turning her attention to Benwick, she asked him for her glasses. They were obviously close.

He patted several pockets in search of them and when found, cleaned them with his kerchief. Handing them to her, he said, "It is gratifying to know she needs me so desperately." 

Putting them on, she said, "And it is your fault I need them, sir." To me, she said, "I have read more books in the last three years than in the whole of my previous life, and I think my weakening sight is owing to it." There was jest in her tone and a light in her eyes as she said this.

Taking her hand, he kissed it. "And I have never laughed so hard or so often in my life. Again I must thank you and the captain for bringing me and my Louisa together." Just then, Charles bustled by with a crate, bumping into Benwick.

As I was pondering our part to play in bringing Benwick and Louisa together, I felt Frederick came up behind me. "Shall we take a stroll through Bedlam?" he asked.  Taking my arm, he moved in the direction of what had, in my time, been the library.

"I shall never understand that marriage," he said, unbidden. There was no rancour in his voice, merely perplexity.

It was clear they cared for one another and so Frederick's comment struck me as being odd. He was usually more astute than this. "The human heart is quite mysterious. Why should their attraction be any more puzzling than say, ours?"

When I spoke, I was looking at him, and saw his puzzlement now included my statement.

"James and Louisa Musgrove are two of the most dissimilar people in all of England. She is a nice enough young woman, but I would worry that a serious thought might die of boredom in her head."

None of the Musgroves, Louisa included, possessed a great intellect or were given to much depth of thought. Nevertheless, I could not help think his words harsh. I knew him to be brilliant, but I never knew him to lord it over others.  "I have always found Louisa to be a sweet young woman. He is obviously attracted by things aside from her intellect. Or lack of it."

He smiled, briefly looking away. His expression moderated, and he said, "You are suddenly generous about the matter." Entering what was still the library, I could see James Benwick was creating a room, which would live up to its name. The Musgroves perpetual lack of curiosity was most noticeable when it came to learning, and the fact they could have a library that for generations was bereft of anything more challenging than almanacs, assize reports, and the long-forgotten textbooks of the children. In this present library, the shelves were clean and dusted, and held a small, but respectable collection of bound volumes.

"I suppose, considering James's history, he was a sitting duck. When he met her at the wedding, and she took so much interest in him, it was unavoidable he'd fancy himself in love. The whole scheme was bound to appeal to his romantic nature." He leant against a large desk, paging through an old newspaper.

Even when relaxed, he carried his authority with him. The strength, the command, the confidence were integral parts of him. He was completely unconscious of himself and what he was. He no more considered these qualities than oak trees consider their strength in the wind, or lions consider their hunting prowess. Unaware I studied him, he remained fully absorbed in the news of years gone by. Without the slightest provocation from him, I fell more deeply, and hopelessly in love.

Noises from the hallway called me to the matter at hand. My deepening dilemma of place and time, and Captain Benwick's history would have to remain a mystery for now.

Charles, Benwick, and a groom entered bearing more boxes. Louisa carried a few books and brought them to me. "James said these are for you. He is helping me through this one," she indicated a small blue volume, "and I would be grateful of you would take care to leave my marker."

"I will," I assured her. She thanked me, and as she left the room I thought how she seemed different from the girl I remembered. Attaching herself to a man with scholarly leanings seemed to mature her. I too was becoming curious as to what she brought to him in this union.

A deep roll of manly laughter filled the room, and reminded me what Benwick had said earlier concerning himself. Looking over the books, from their titles I was surprised to see most dealt with enduring suffering and other such melancholy subjects. Apparently, the gentleman was acquainted with the bleaker side of life. No wonder he appreciated her lightness. And considering he was lending such heavy fare to Anne, it would seem she was as well.

"Excuse me, Mrs Wentworth. I must set these books where you stand." Benwick stood holding a crate, a man right behind him carrying another. He studied the shelves. It was easy to see he was mentally fixing places for each volume.

Stepping aside, I considered that he had so many volumes he would surely not notice was I to mix these depressing tomes back amongst them.

In short order, the crates containing the total of Benwick's library were scattered about the room. As with an avid book collector, he was animated when speaking about his favourites. At the moment, he was regaling Frederick with the wonders of several memoirs of great naval men. As they talked, and placed books on the shelves, I looked at those already in place. To my joy, several were books promising to unlock the mysteries of the physical body. One even touted itself as complete compendium of the brain. I began to carefully hope for straightforward answers.

"Mr Benwick—"

"Anne, this is Captain Benwick," Frederick quietly corrected. I noticed his raised brow before he turned back to speak with Charles.

"Oh, I am sorry. Captain."

"Think nothing of it, Madam. I suspect I shall never serve again, and will be forced to be a man of land locked pursuits from now on."

"As you are obviously well-read, I wonder if you might help me."

This peaked his interest. "I am at your service. If me and my collection of knowledge may assist you in any way, let it be done."

"Just now, I am reading a novel-you have nothing against novels, do you, Captain?" I do not normally read them, and thought it best to portray myself as having an interest only on an intellectual basis. He said he did not, but enjoyed poetry more.

"It is an odd, fantastical story in which the hero wakes to a world unfamiliar. His surroundings are familiar, though changed somewhat, and though most of the people are quite well known to him, he is married to a different wife. She is someone from his past. Soon, he realises he has lost several years of his memories, and that nothing is as it was when he went to sleep."

"Utter rubbish," Frederick said. He'd returned to his post at the desk.

"Well, sorry friend, I think I must disagree. This is an amazingly interesting premise. I should like to read this work. The author has an acute imagination."

I thought perhaps, once I understood my dilemma more fully, I should write down my fantastic journey. "Yes, it is very entertaining. But I would like to know whether such a thing is possible."

Benwick replaced the book he was holding. "I suppose nearly anything is possible. Certainly we saw men knocked on the head in the war, and they would have no recollection of things for several hours, eh Captain?"

"True. However, most of them regained most of their memories in short order. I never heard of anyone losing years of time. Drink has certainly been known to wipe out a man's mind. Or perhaps it is madness." Again, he leant against the desk, his arms crossed. He was evidently now interested in the subject as he looked at me with great intensity.

His words had a chilling effect. If he only knew what his proposal meant for me. What it might mean for all of us should I remain in this time. Turning back to Benwick, I said, "No, no, I do not think it madness. Though, in all honesty, the story is not yet finished."  This was my life, and how it would finish was something I was coming to dread.

Putting aside the troubling thoughts, I listened to more of Benwick's musings. "The brain is a most complex organ, and from what I am reading it may be five or ten years before we completely understand its sophistication. I suppose it is like many things, when we finally come to an understanding, we will be amazed how simple it all really is. We shall wonder what took us so long to get to the bottom of it."

I silently mused that there are many things which are mightily complex, and which we might never come to understand. Before I could inquire further, Frederick came alongside to me, took my arm and said to us both, "I still think it rubbish. Thank you Benwick, for your thoughts on the matter. But, in any case, we must be off home. Shall we find the boys?"

There was something about the way he moved, and spoke that made me wonder if he was already beginning to piece together the riddle. Though he would never come to know it fully without my help, his intellect and instinct might be on the alert. I was a little glad that my charade might be coming to an end.

Saying our goodbyes, we found the boys already playing around the carriage.

"It will be a close ride home, so mind your manners you to rascals." He handed up Matthew first, then William. It was decided that Matthew's crutch would be stowed under the seat, and he would sit while William stood by me.

The three gentlemen chatted like old school friends. For a man of the world, Frederick fell easily into being as young and fanciful as one of the boys. It was difficult to know which of them fascinated me more.

William leant against me, and I held him close as we made our way back to Kellynch. The sun was warm on my shoulders and his strong little body beneath my arm gave me great peace. He told us how, when Aunt Mary had sent them out to play, they had terrorized frogs and salamanders at the stream. The two of them giggled endlessly while taking turns telling us how they picked a monstrous load of grass, and filled the nursery maid’s apron as she lay dosing beneath a large tree. I made a note to speak to Mary about her maid Jemima’s inattentiveness. William went on to tell when Matthew's leg hurt, and when it was time to go home, the maid hoisted him onto her shoulder and walked off. When it was time for him to go to bed, Aunt Mary had not required that he should say his prayers, but that he had done so nonetheless.

“I prayed for you, Mummy. Are you much better today?” He had been leaning with his back to me, but swiftly turned, studying my face for an answer.

Obviously, whatever had transpired in Anne and Frederick's marriage was troublesome even to a five-year-old child. It was only natural he would think her ill as he was too young to understand a sickness in her mind or soul.  It shook me to think her unhappiness was so palpable.

“Will, look at me,” Frederick said. “You are able to see for yourself, your mother is very well today. We need not speak of it again.” He added a smile, and a brief look at me, and then turned his attentions back to the road.

“I am very glad she is better, Papa.” A bump in the road caused him to falter, and I caught him in my arms. Pulling him into my lap, I felt an unexpected longing for my little baby boy. My comfort came in the knowing I carried another baby and I prayed that I would nurture it for more than a few days time.

“William.” The captain's tone was cautionary, but not angry in any way.

My son looked down, earnestly buttoning and unbuttoning his jacket. “Sorry, sir. I like to see her smiling.” He stole a glance my way.

Frederick looked at the two of us. “We all like that, Will. When you say your prayers tonight, be mindful that your Mama is better.” I think he winked, and then looked back to the road.

Thinking about the exchange, I could not help wonder why the captain would not accept such sweetly offered affection from my son. Also, he had been careful to say that I was well today. He seemed happy about it. My dark hair mingled with William's light as we finished the ride. My dear son quietly entertained his cousin as I pondered my enlightening morning.

Later, after dinner, Frederick changed into what looked to be an old, oddly assemble uniform. Taking the boys outside, he led them to the wide expanse of grass that faced the Hall. With William and Matthew following as best they could, he ran, and jumped, and played on the lawn. I had to wonder if every man is so appealing when in the intimate company of children. When Sarah came for them, both William and Matthew were lavish with hugs and giggles. After they bid us goodnight, Frederick excused himself to change. “My attire is far too relaxed for the likes of the Hall, even for an informal evening.” It was a gracious gesture, but I assured him his attire was quite fetching, and that I would rather have his company than proper garb anytime.

"Thank you," he said, a hint of a smile touching his mouth. "I may live in your family’s fine ancestral home, but I fear I shall always be a man who is more comfortable doing something.”  He offered his arm. “To your father’s everlasting consternation. Shall we take some sherry in the sitting room?" I agreed, though I would have preferred staying outside in the cool, fresh air.

Seeing his endearing ways with the boys, and studying him as he poured, the opinions of Sir Walter Elliot were not in the least important. Handing me my glass, he said, "I wonder what The Man would think were he to see me skylarking with Will and Matt."

His casual treatment of William’s name reminded me of their exchange on the way home.

Choosing my words carefully, innocently, hoping to keep the hurt from my voice, I asked, “When will you allow William to call you ‘Papa’? I think you both wish it.”

The mild, relaxed expression disappeared and was replaced with a tense thoughtfulness. “You know very well how much I wish it, Anne. Nothing would make me happier than to hear that endearment addressed to me, but I will not take away that honour from his true father.” 

“He does not deserve it.” Moving to the doors, I took a deep breath. I was treading on unknown ground in this, but something inside me knew that me and the Anne of this time were of the same mind. And, I knew if anyone deserved my son’s affections, it was Frederick.

He took a seat. “No, few men really deserve the warmth or attention lavished upon them. My father did not. He beat Edward until Edward left us. I have asked, but Sophie has never admitted that he ever struck her. My mother, well, the coarse words were more than enough there.” I watched as he took a deep drink. “I have always told you I was left untouched by him.” Looking into my eyes, I knew I was sharing an old, but intense grief of which my present self knew nothing. Kneeling, I laid my hands upon his. Covering them with his other, he said, “Your father is your father, Anne. It matters not that he is silly and proud. He can be a pest, but you still love him. Even I am fond of him in a way. And it matters not that William Walter is what he is. The whole truth of his character will be on display for Will one day and then he can make a choice. Again, it matters not because the deepest desire of a child is that your father would love you. I will in nowise make Will ever regret giving me the respect due his father.”

His eyes shone, and his voice was husky with feeling for my son. And himself.

“He loves you,” I said, grasping his hands as firmly as my voice.

“I know he does. But I shall be his stepfather, a sort of uncle, and content myself with that. I think even he is torn, and that is why he wishes me to call him ‘Will.’ It is not precisely his father’s name and therefore something special to just us. I think this has to be our way for now, until he is grown and able to see things more clearly.”

So there it was. This was no carelessness on Frederick’s part, but a show of quiet warmth between him and my son. I kissed his hand and he leant close to enfold me. In that moment, I knew I would gladly muddle my way through this life, and forgo the ease of knowing all the secrets of my other.

Were it not for the heat, I think I could have stayed in his arms forever. But there was the heat, and a cramp in my leg. If this was a dream – and I was coming more and more to have my doubts – it would seem that trivial, bodily realities take precedence over the sublime poetry of emotions. "I must stand," I whispered.

Helping me to my feet, he watched me closely. The question earlier posed, about the differences of this morning than those in the past, had been forgotten.  I was thankful he had not pursued matters concerning my behaviour, but his present look, though softer and affectionate, warned me he was contemplating the changes before him.

"Might I have some water?" I asked.

"Certainly." He brought the glass and continued to study me. His silence was disconcerting. Normally, I am well able to keep silent when nothing needs saying, but this scrutiny was nerve-racking. "The heat is so draining," I said, taking a drink. "The ride did me a world of good. I am feeling much better." I was beginning to babble, which could only bring trouble. Sorry to say, my mouth would not be tamed.  "And visiting Uppercross was a pleasure. Speaking with Captain Benwick was very enlightening." Oh my, his expression immediately said I chose the wrong path concerning his friend.

"Really? You generally find him to be quite trying. I believe you said after our last visit, something to the effect his tales of past grief set your teeth on edge." I was the rabbit and he was now the hound. I would try to find a safe burrow in which to hide, but a sinking feeling said that this was the evening I might have to risk taking my husband into my confidence.

"It is a pitiable person who cannot extend compassion on a fellow human being. We all have grief, and we all wear it differently. Some on their sleeve, others more close to the vest."

"And some wear it like a shroud," he said.

"True, but perhaps those people feel it is the only recourse left them."

A breeze rattled a potted palm sitting near the door. The cool air on my face was soothing physically, but did nothing to calm my rapidly fraying nerves. The refreshing breeze seemed to do nothing for Frederick; his expression and posture remain unchanged. The longer he said nothing, the more I felt my body wilting under the pressure of the heat and this escalating game of verbal chase.

"And perhaps they need to relent, and learn to be content in the circumstances." This was not forcefully said, but with a sort of hesitant pleading. "Sometimes people make mistakes that they cannot undo. Sometimes there is no choice, and they feel they must act." It was clear he felt guilt for some hurtful deed in the past, and was trying to reach out to Anne, who, for her own reasons, showed him nothing but hurt and held him at a distant.

The saddest aspect of his offering was that he reached for a woman who no longer existed in this world. I saw two choices: I could, in Anne's place, accept this heart-felt gesture, allowing him to think the woman he knew, and still cared for, was softening and allowing him to come closer. Or, I could risk offering him a woman unpolluted by the their past, and hope he accept me in her place.

As we studied one another I saw that even dressed in the shabby remnants of a uniform, he was straight and proud. The casual strength I found so intriguing was as much in evidence now as it had been earlier in the day. The memories of him as a younger man were pale sketches of what he had become. His stance told me of his firm disposition, while his eyes let me see that he held out hope for reconciliation. I might as well have been nineteen again for all the power I had against his brilliance and charm; I could feel myself falling more deeply in love with him the longer I looked. With this understanding, my sympathy for the Anne of this time diminished, almost evaporating totally. If the silly woman had chosen to poison her own well with anger, and by withdrawing her affections from Frederick, then so be it. Why should I rescue her? I wanted his love; I wanted to be his wife.

I also desperately wanted a breath of fresh air but could not move from my spot. The whirling confusion in my head seemed to sap every bit of my strength. For some odd reason, Frederick began to lean grotesquely to one side and I noticed too the room was ferociously hot. He reached out to me, but I pushed him away, afraid he would pull me down with him if he leaned over too far.

"Annie, stop fighting me."

He held me with one arm, and I could feel his strong fingers on my cheeks. "Annie, do you know me?" It took a moment, but I was eventually able to focus on his panicked brown eyes and furrowed brow.

"Some air … " Before I could finish the thought, I was surrounded by fresh air. When he carefully placed me on the bench-blissfully in the shade of a large stand of trees near the hedges-I then realised he had carried me from the house. It was impossible not to feel foolish. I could not help wondering if the bizarre circumstances were moulding me into one of those hysterical females I normally find so insufferable.

"Sit here, dear, and I'll bring you more water." He hesitated and then ran inside. The tail of his coat jerked back and forth with each hurried stride, and his boots made a dull, rhythmic sound on the steps. Returning, he carefully placed the glass in my hand. By his manner, he was still awfully concerned, and this led me to wonder how appalling I must look. It is a remarkable woman indeed who is able to recover from collapse with her looks intact. I am certain I am not one of those creatures. Vanity, vanity, all is vanity said the prophet.

Frederick joined me on the bench, but did not urge me to speak, leaving me to finish the water. I was acutely aware of him as he sat close, pressing against me. I suppose he felt a need to give me support if I felt faint again. While I did not feel light-headed, I did make use of him, as I was shaky and tired.  Sagging against him slightly, I could not help but hear him breath, and feel his body shift now and then. For all my tender concern for his marriage, I was allowing him to fret over me physically as I enjoyed our closeness.  I began to make excuses for the faint, and the other inconsistencies he observed throughout the day. My absent-mindedness could be blamed on the beautiful weather, and certainly a woman with child could be excused if she went a little weak. I could tell story after story and make everything comfortable for us as the Anne he knew. However, I wanted none of this from Frederick Wentworth. I wanted him to love me, not another woman. And he must know the truth in order for that to be had. He must know what my circumstance was, and only then could true love, and real trust, begin for us.

The truth would be told, but I had to find the words. There seemed to be none worth noting. He was silent, in no hurry for talk, so I rested and hoped the surroundings would inspire me.

It was an hour or so till day's end, and though seated in a shady spot, we were surrounded by the golden pink light of sunset. Turning to him, the play of light upon his handsome face astonished me. Over the past years, my heart and mind were the repositories for my love for him. They thrived on memories of our few months together in the year '06. Now there was no need for memories; he was beside me, warm and alive. Every hope I could muster was that he would, after hearing me out, be willing to love me again.

"It is going to be a lovely night," he said. His voice put on a show of being languid and mellow, but he could not do away with the tinge of worry. The posture of his body, and expression on his face were relaxed, and quite ordinary, though his eyes continued to search mine for traces of weakness. Even with the concern, his manner was warm and comforting. I could only hope his words proved prophetic.

"You asked why today has been so good. Obviously you have noticed things are a bit different with me."

"Obviously."

"I have something to tell you. Something odd. Fantastical really. Perhaps unbelievable." As I spoke, I took his hand. As I spoke, he did not look at my face, but at our hands. A smile played on his lips as his strong hands engulfed mine.

"I am intrigued. Please, tell me this odd, fantastical, unbelievable thing, and satisfy my curiosity."

I took a deep breath. "This morning I awakened and found things to be a bit different than I remembered from last night."

"Nothing strange about that. I find that I forget things more now than in the years past. I lay the blame at the feet of age." 

"Well, this forgetting was not like putting a book down and not being able to find it; or forgetting an engagement with a friend. This was rather a lot of time and circumstances."

His brow furrowed, but the smile remained. "What, you mean something like that book you were discussing with Benwick?"

"Yes. Exactly like that."

The smile remained for a moment, but when he realised I was in earnest, it faded. "You can't be serious. You have forgotten whole weeks of time?"

"No, not weeks. Actually, by what I have gathered, it is more like four years and a half."

He released my hand and sat back. "I have never known you to joke Anne. Clever word plays, yes. But never a yarn like this." He got up and went into the house. I could hear glass meeting glass as he poured himself a drink. Returning, he remained on the steps, watching me as he took the first swallow.

"I told you it was rather fantastical."

"That is the word for it."

"I would never try and hoax you. I would never lie to you."

"No, I don't believe you would." There was a haziness to his words. He said them, and wanted to believe them, but he did not know how much faith he put in my declaration.  Straightening, he drained the glass. "I am certain you think you have lost all this time, but surely there is another, more logical explanation than it just disappearing."

Rising, I joined him. If he thought the loss of so much time was fantastical, he would think me completely mad when I told him my first, though ever more doubtful, impression. "I think this is all a dream."

His reaction was completely spontaneous. He did not agree.

"So, I am nothing more than an apparition." His gaze did not waiver, and he expected an answer.

I had given no consideration to what might constitute the body of others in my dream. In this moment, under his questioning, I realised it made no difference if this were a dream. I perceived his touch and everything about me was real, therefore, all that I saw and touched and tasted and experienced was reality. There were no ghosts here as far as I was concerned. Though I understood this in my mind, I was unsure how I might make him understand me.

Before I could assemble some sort of account, he continued. "This would mean that nothing here is real; not even your son." His colour was high and expression perplexed; his voice was a mixture of hurt and hesitation. "There are few other explanations. And none of them are any more palatable." 

I could not help but think of his suggestion to Benwick, that the character of the fictional book I described was mad. I wondered if he would much prefer being the conjuring of a lunatic mind than being part of a dream. Gradually, his expression changed from probing to solemn. I hoped, wishfully I believe, that our minds were working in parallel, and he was remembering the remark as well.

Looking off to the distance, he came slowly down the stairs and took a seat next to me. He said nothing, then moved closer and spoke in a low voice, "You remember nothing of the past four and a half years?"

His tone was markedly different, but I still could not look in his eyes. "No, I remember nothing. When I went to sleep last night, my baby was two weeks and a half old. And now—"

"I do remember the past years. Even farther back, I remember the first social event I attended upon landing in Bath."

At this, I could do nothing but continue avoiding his eyes. Unfortunately, this was one event I was unlikely ever to forget. Remembering the first sight of his dear face amongst the witnesses to my vows was one of the most horrible experiences of my life. There was nothing in my mind to counter that ugly recollection.

When Frederick did not come to Kellynch as was expected in the fall, I left the area relieved that fate had seemed to permanently end any hope I might have quietly cherished concerning him and me. Arriving in Bath, and so soon acknowledged by our cousin, William, I fell into old patterns and allowed Lady Russell to influence my opinions. In less than two months I was accepting William's proposal. All the time I had to plan my wedding was the weeks it took to read the banns in  ______ Parish. In the flurry of parties and well wishing, I took my precious free time to remind myself, repeatedly, of all the advantages of marrying my cousin. My emotions about him personally were vigilantly camouflaged by visions of stepping into my mother's place as Lady Elliot. On the day I recited my vows, the unexpected presence of Frederick forced everything I had taken such care to hide into full view. I wasn't back down the aisle before I mourned my choice.

"So, who is to say you are not the apparition?" His statement cleared the haze of the past and finally looking into his face, I knew that dream or reality, I was happier here than I had ever been before.

We studied one another intently. I had chosen unwisely once before, and that horrible choice made me now wish him to see me fully. Dream or madness, I did not care how we came here, but that we would both be fully present.

His hand gently took my chin, and he turned me a little this way and that. He fingered a bit of hair that lay damp on my brow. "You remember nothing of the divorce. Nothing of us marrying. Nothing since." There was no urgency in these statements. He was not even questioning my assertion. They were spoken as though he were memorising them so that he might remind himself of these facts later. Though he did not seem upset by my failure to remember our courtship, guilt poured over me. But what for? I was not responsible for this situation. Examining him closely, I could still see no anger. Slowly, he drew me to him.

The embrace was tentative at first, as though he did not wish to frighten me. It seemed as if he were deciding what to do. Gradually, his embrace was more fervent. "This is not a dream, dear," he whispered. "I refuse to only inhabit your dreams."

Our evening together was quiet. There had been no questions about my revelation. I saw Frederick staring, thinking several times. He left the house once, saying nothing about where he might be going. When he returned, he was in a better humour and spoke politely about the next day being a good day weather wise. Additionally, he inquired about the baby, and whether or not I might have a headache. These disjointed queries were short, but delivered with interest and good humour. They came with a touch of discomfort to be sure, but never a whiff of contempt.

He insisted that I should sleep alone this night. I thought it best to give him that, though I wished us to be together. I lay for a long time wondering if it was always to be this: wary conversations with Frederick, unknown events influencing everything to do with my life. I feared the two of us would forever struggle to dance a safe distance from this strangeness, and perhaps, one another.

I woke the next morning to find my company requested the three gentlemen of the house. The occasion was an exploratory picnic. There was a barely legible note alongside my plate at the breakfast table, promising a great deal of fun for those brave enough to venture forth. I could not resist such an intriguing invitation.

I met Frederick in the front drive as hampers were being stowed in a small hay wagon.

"It's not elegant transport, that's for certain, but the boys will be tired on the way back, and this will give them a place to sleep." His manner gave no clue what he might be thinking about my disclosure of the previous evening.

We were a good distance from the Hall, travelling on a small path, which seemed familiar. There had been little in the way of conversation between us. We depended up the chatter of the boys to fill the quiet, and they seemed happy to oblige.

As he drew the wagon into a little clearing, the familiarity was even more palpable. This was a place not from my childhood certainly; father never allowed me into the deeper woods surrounding the property; but I knew it was a place with good associations attached.

The boys got out if the vehicle on their own. It was comical to see Will helping his cousin, first dealing with Matthew's crutch, and then reaching up to steady him. They both tumbled in a giggling heap near the wheel. I was about to make for them when Frederick caught my arm. "Neither of them is hurt. The world is a harsh place and both must learn to do for themselves." The wisdom of his words was annoying to my motherly sensibilities.

The boys made for a small stream that ran through the clearing. Frederick watched them and assured me the water was quite shallow and they were in no danger as he and the groom's assistant unloaded the assorted hampers. He saw to the rigging of an awning for shade, and when the splashing became uncontrolled, he half-heartedly called to them to stop. The boys half-heartedly complied. When I made it clear he was to stop fussing over me, he gave a mock bow and joined the boys in the water. As by magic, the small stream exploded with white water and laughter and activity. I was informed, when I questioned such behaviour, that the day was quite hot and that the cool water was the only relief.

The day was hot and despite the shocked look of the young groom, I removed my shoes and stocking and joined the gentlemen. The boys crowed with delight while Frederick looked on in a stunned silence. His expression could not have been more astonished if I sprouted a pair of wings and flew to the tops of the trees. I took rather a lot of satisfaction in his surprise.

Soon, even my presence was not enough to keep them from splashing. Frederick put himself between me and the careless exuberance of the boys. Play went on for a few more moments, then the captain ordered all out of the water to dry out in a sunny spot.

"I never imagined you would … had I, I would have made provision for a change of clothes for you," Frederick said, as the boys were donning dry garments on the other side of the wagon.

Sitting in the shade, I said, "With this heat, I shall be dry soon enough. In the meantime, this table cloth will do very well as a shawl." He asked about my smile. "I am imagining what Father might say if he could see us now. You soaked to the skin, me wearing table linens, and the boys running half-naked around a hay wagon." I pointed out that Matthew was enjoying an inordinate amount of freedom.

A raised voice brought the boys to heel and they finished dressing.  Rejoining me under the awning, Frederick said, "The old man would be seized." Laying back on a pillow, he continued, "Though perhaps not. Surely such exertions cut up a man's complexion something terrible." He said it with such precision I might have mistaken him for Father, had he not been at my side.

"You are cruel." Oh so correct, I thought, but still a bit too concise for me to mistake the comment for a jest.

"I try very hard not to be so, but his natural inclinations work counter to my own. Being kind concerning him does not come easy." It was clear there were tensions with most of Frederick's connections to my family. That was to be expected. My father was quite attached to William.