"Of course not! Will is our … " Frederick was not Will's father. His natural grace with Will had already lulled my perceptions. Even William's unexpected appearance did little to shake them. His meaning was clear, and the implications dreadful. "Tell me more."

"Not many months after the wedding, you, very casually, at breakfast, informed me that your appetite was not good and that it was all my doing." He smiled. "Taking advantage of my ignorance of such things, you said you would be feeling rather ill for quite some time."

"So, she could be clever when she cared to be."

"Yes, certainly. In the beginning."

"And how did you feel about being a father?"

"I was stunned at first. We had not spoken about children. I was just thankful and overjoyed we were together again. To hope for more seemed presumptuous. But, I quickly got over my surprise. At one point, you—she said my pride was completely out of proportion to the contribution I had made to the effort." He seemed to take a great deal of pleasure at what must have been my shocked expression.

"I am stunned, and a bit ashamed that she would say such a thing!"

"But, you were right, of course. I was impossible—no matter how hard I tried, I could not stop grinning. And, I would kiss you whenever you happened by."

For a moment, Frederick was the image of his younger self from that sweet summer of the past.

It had taken a little time for us to be acquainted, but once done, we fell quickly and decidedly in love. His somewhat unpolished manner was alarming to a few, but I found it charming, and completely overpowering. As our relationship progressed, I also found I had to beg him to exercise restraint. His efforts were tremendous, but even then he would manoeuvre himself close enough to me that I could feel his sword brush against the skirt of my dress, or the cuff of his dress uniform against my bare arm. I now realise others, my godmother for one, took notice. All of this made it perfectly understandable that Frederick would be nearly insufferable at finding he was to be a father.

"…I especially enjoyed laying with you at night. To hold you and know I was holding both you and the child was like a miracle to me."

"And how did she feel about a child?"

"Quite happy, but even more … she seemed content. She told me once while she knew it wrong to put any faith in signs, she felt that our union being blessed with a child was proof she was not marked for some sort of life-long punishment because of the divorce."

Poor Anne. She would always take for herself a large portion of blame for the wickedness of others. William's infidelity would have buried her had Frederick not come back into her life. As quickly as that thought came, I realised I had set her up for her fall. I had tried to repair the financial damage done by my father, which eventually brought the Elliot family to its knees. And it was I who allowed William to go from warm suitor to inattentive husband, being followed rapidly by abusive brute. For all my pity and disdain of her, for all my feelings of superiority, it had been my hand that had baited and set the traps into which she had fallen.

My love for Frederick grew that moment, for he had saved us both. With this revelation, I was even more unwilling to hear what he had to say. "Go on," was all I could manage.

"Things seemed well enough for a while. But soon you said that something was amiss. You were more ill than when you first discovered your condition, and you were becoming weaker. We called in the apothecary, and he had nothing for you but did recommend some doctors: one from Taunton, two from Exeter and another from Crewkherne. We had them all in. A quartet of more useless idiots I have never seen. In their turns, they recommended high diets and low diets. Though you were exhausted, one was firm that lots of walking and fresh air was the answer. One bled you nearly every day. Another had you abed in a sealed room. The most infuriating was a little fellow who smugly said that it was all due to your deficiency of mothering humours, and to save what little you had we must ship Will off to parts far away." He shook his head. "Fortunate for him, you still had the presence of mind to stop me from running him through. Eventually all the palaver and contrary opinions wrung you out. You had little strength for anything left. I wanted to take you to London, but you would have none of it. 'No more being treated like an animal in a cage,' you said. So, we would stay home and together wait it out."

My heart ached for him. The more he told me, the more disheartened he became. Frederick was a man used to achieving whatever he set his mind to doing. This tragedy had been out of his hands and in telling me, he suffered again his impotence.

"My greatest regret was leaving you about a month before delivering. I was summoned to Bath on urgent business and you insisted that I go. When I returned, you were lower than ever. You could barely speak to me, and you asked that I no longer come to your room. I thought you were hurt because I had left you, but you said that was not the reason. Try as I might, there was no finding out what had turned you against me. We each waited the last month essentially apart."

The story was horrid enough as it was, but to add Anne's rejection was more than he could bear. His whole body shrunk as he spoke. I could not ask for more information, though I wanted badly to know everything. Almost like he was reading my mind, he continued.

"The day came and the birth was easy." He finally looked at me. "You gave me a son. Frederick James."

It now suddenly made sense that a girl was preferable to him. He had lost his first son and now to hope for another was too much. All the while I looked at him, I begged my body to unlock some memory of my second child. But the only memories were of carrying Will and the feelings associated with the child I carried at present. I was a mother who knew nothing of her baby. I could not even feel proper grief. All my agony was for Frederick and his loss.

"He lived a few weeks. I held him twice. The first time was a few days after he was born. He could neatly fit in the crook of my arm." He stared off, and by his expression I could tell he was again holding little Frederick James. I wished like anything I could see what he saw, that I could reach out and touch our son. "The second time was when I put him in his tiny coffin. He'd grown very little. It was one of the few times you spoke to me. He was buried in his christening gown. You begged me to wrap him in another blanket. You said the thought of his being cold drove you nearly mad." He looked up. "I did that for you gladly."

He did not see me, he saw her. For an instant I knew it was petty to make a distinction, but it was true. Were she here, were it even possible, he would still try and make things right between them. I knew he was pleased that I had taken her place, but the old Anne was still in his thoughts. Perhaps still in his heart.

"I can take you to see the grave if you wish."

The offer was made in a strong, unwavering voice. I suspected he hoped for a refusal on my part. I nodded and took his hand laying beside me. As much as I wanted to ease his pain, I knew I must go and see where my son was buried. Perhaps if I stood before the stone, saw the name "Frederick James" and read the numbers that counted out his short life, I would remember something of the boy. His father and I would stand together, holding hands, and for a short time, for different reasons, share the torture of the circumstance.

"Will you do something for me?"

"Certainly," he said.

"Would you slip your boots off and come into the bed and hold us?"

He smiled through the pain filled shadow. "Whatever you wish," he said.

As I lay in his arms, recounting this strange and dreadful day, I took comfort in his hand resting on the baby, and his other arm around me. I prayed that this was the worst of our secrets.

The summer days drifted by us nearly unnoticed. There were no visits from annoying outsiders. My love for Frederick grew. Over time he seemed to forget that I was not the Anne he had wed, he fully accepted me as his marriage partner. We both took pleasure in watching Will grow anxious for his new sibling.

Autumn came and our child was born.

I woke when it was dark and the pains reminded me that the birth had been easy, as births go. A faint gurgle and the shifting of someone near the bed alerted me that I was not alone. In the candlelight, I could see Frederick sitting by the bed, holding a small white bundle.

"You have our baby."

His smile rivalled the sun. "Yes I do." He looked back at the bundle and murmured something quietly.

"So, are you disappointed?"

He looked for a moment to be quite put out, but then smiled again. "Hardly. Though I think you enjoy the notion that I have to eat some crow."

"How did you get him away from Old Sarah?"

"Well, I feel rather badly about that, taking advantage of an old woman. I talked a lot, and very fast. Though, I think I may have talked myself into trebling her wages for the coming year." He never took his eyes from our boy.

"Have you reconsidered my suggestion about his name?"

He was quiet for a moment as he looked at his son. "No. Frederick James has a right to keep his name. Edward is a fine name and will do quite well for our second son."

The baby squawked and Frederick looked at me for guidance. I reached out and took him. He settled for a moment, and then began the distinct bleating of a hungry newborn. Putting him to my breast, I gasped. Providence smiles on women, and we soon forget the intensity of the birth pains, as we also forget the intense pain of the first few days of nursing.

"Perhaps you should reconsider the wet nurse," Frederick said. He stayed at a distance, frowning as he studied the procedure.

"No. This is normal. In a few days the pain will ease and this will be the most natural and comforting act imaginable."

"My imagination is not so expansive," he said, grimacing.

"Then, our son is fortunate you are not his mother."

He said nothing, but laughed and chaffed my arm. I soon drifted back to sleep.

Again the days slid away and I was quickly up and enjoying my laying in.

Edward was robust and healthy, and grew at an astonishing pace. His father and I were abnormally proud of him, and ourselves. Even Mary had to admit that her sons never progressed so quickly. Charles declared him amazing, and Captain Benwick asked if he could take measurements of his head, in hopes of estimating his intelligence in later life. Frederick was amused, and I considered Edward the proof of God's blessing on my new life.

One day, I wondered if I had saved anything from Will's babyhood. A puzzled nursery maid assured me that I had not got rid of anything from that time. When I told Frederick that I was going into the attics to find them, he said he thought it silly to save the old, and added that he preferred, for his son, I should have new items made. I countered that his fortune would soon dwindle to nothing if I adopted that attitude concerning everyone's clothing. He then hailed me as a paragon of domestic economy.

One particularly cold day, I braved the chill and went upstairs to look to see what Anne had kept. The attics of Kellynch were always a fascination to me. Even when I was young, they seemed to be like caves filled with treasures from long ago. I had not been in the attics for some time and I had to get my bearings.

Nothing looked remotely as it had last I was there. Then, something foreign caught my eye. Tucked away in a corner was an arrangement resembling a tidy apartment. Crates and barrels were neatly stacked to form partial walls around a worn chair that was occupied by an old doll of mine. A side table accompanied the chair. A lady's writing desk, outfitted with an inkstand and blotter, stood nearby. All of this was placed on an old rug I recognised from one of the family bedrooms. It seemed that Anne had created for herself a cosy retreat. Along with the furniture, there was small bookcase with filled shelves and a few little porcelain figurines. I looked to the other side of the nest and saw a large portrait of my mother, Elizabeth Stevenson, drawn before she married my father.

I went to the desk first. Though everything was tidy around the blotter, all things had the air of use. There was no correspondence on the desk, though some shavings from a quill were gathered into a pile out of the way. Two sheets of paper stood at the ready. Were this in a small parlour on the first floor, nothing would be amiss. But, it was created to be out of the way and unable to be seen by prying eyes that Anne maybe mistrusted. I looked through two of the drawers and found nothing remarkable. The books on the shelves were the same. On the table next to the chair, the only interesting thing was a notebook. I opened it to find several rough, unskilled drawings of a sleeping infant. Written under one of the portraits was, "F. J." in my own hand. She could not bear to write out his name entirely.

I did not recognise my son, and that made me feel again that a truly loving mother could not forget her own child. I took a seat in the chair for a moment and studied the various pictures of my boy. Tears stung my eyes, as I thought of him away from me in this season of chill weather. Anne would have tortured herself with his absence as well. In normal circumstances, I would think it a little mad to make the effort to assemble furnishings in the attic. But, I was getting to know Anne and was not surprised to find this little nest here, and find that she may have used it recently. My arrival had disrupted her way of life just as mine was disrupted.

Work would be my only salvation and I put the book down.

As I was pondering the odd ways of my counterpart, a gust of wind rattled a small window and reminded me that the day was only growing colder, as was the attic. It only took a few minutes to find the truck in which Anne had used to save Will's thing.

Sorting through the small bits of wool, cotton and linen was like paging through memories one by one. Most of the associations were good. A few were painful reminders of Will's father and his careless attitude towards his son. For just a moment, I thought how hurtful William Elliot was towards me. It was then I discovered that my past concerning him had very little hold over me, and that I only looked forward now. When I finally rose to leave the attic, despite the pelisse and shawl I wore, I was shaking from the cold. I took one last look towards Anne's hideaway and resisted the desire to take to picture book downstairs to show to Frederick. I considered these drawings of Frederick James to be a private pain between Anne and I, not to be inflicted on any others.

I could feel the warm air of the second floor touch my face as I pushed closed the attic door. A wave of nausea swept over me and I was light-headed. The feelings passed and for a moment I stared at the dove grey attic door. I looked at the bundle of clothing in my arms and wondered if I was going up or coming down.

"Ma'am." A quiet voice from behind startled me. The touch on my shoulder made me turn quickly and look into the concerned face of one of the young upstairs maids.

"Might I take those for you, Ma'am?" She indicated the clothing. I wasn't sure what to say. "Ma'am. Are you feelin' all right?" Her look of concern was deepening.

I gave over the clothes. "I am well, thank you. Take these to the nursery and tell the maid to wash them all and mend anything that needs it." The last few items fell to the floor as I passed her.

I had to find Frederick. And strong cup of tea. As I made my way down to the ground floor, I tried to remember what I'd eaten that morning. My steps seemed to echo loudly on the marble entryway. Little glimpses of the Anne's attic haven flashed through my mind as I made my way to my husband.

I found him in the library doing accounts. The scent and sound of the cheerful fire burning in the hearth called out, but I hung back for a moment.

The moulding around the door was cool on my cheek as I rested against it and watched Frederick swiftly calculate a column of figures. The quill bobbed its way methodically down the page. He wrote a figure at the bottom and tossed down the goose's feather, and then leant back in the chair for a stretch. He caught sight of me as he turned his head from side-to-side.

He reached out a hand, beckoning me to join him. "You are a lovely distraction, I must say." When I did not immediately come to him, he nodded a bit and his fingers summoned me come closer. I left my doorway station. "I was just thinking, the only thing better than seeing a large number in the profits column is seeing you." He pulled me close and quickly his arm was around my waist. His head rested against me and I reciprocated.

I looked out the doors to the yard. The light was fading and we were coming into the gloaming time. The servants would soon be around to light the candles. The earlier discovery upstairs, and the following dizziness were still in my mind, but all I could say was, "This is my favourite time of day." I'm not sure why I said it.

He released me as little as possible and turned to the windows. "I know. The first year we were married, we would often sit quietly this time of day watch the world outside the house disappear." He turned back and renewed his hold on me. Perhaps he now thought about those earlier, peaceful evenings.

I rested a hand on his shoulder. "If, one day, you find she is returned, you must make her remember such times. You must do all you can to make her love you." Again, what I said made no sense to me. I had no desire to relinquish my place to her.

He stood and took me by the waist. "Are you so glad to give me up to her?" The comment was spoken with playfulness. His face was drawing closer to mine when the sound of someone clearing their throat halted his approach.

"Good God, Wentworth! What have you done to our dear Anne? And who is this mysterious 'she'?"

The voice startled us and we turned together towards it. There stood William Elliot.

A nervous footman hovered in the shadows behind him. Frederick waved the servant off. William stepped farther into the room, stuffing his gloves into his hat. He was impeccably dressed in various shades of grey. It seemed fitting that he would be thus. He had a remarkable way of drifting into our lives, like smoke, and then drifting out again.

"I have to say, had I been able to convince her that my fondness for other women was no threat to her, we would have saved a great deal of emotion." He looked particularly to me. "And money."

It was insulting to be referred to rather than spoken to, but Frederick spoke first. "What do you want?" He stepped a little in front of me.

I was surprised how loud the sound of William's hat being tossed on Frederick's desk. "I came for an answer to my letter. It has been since summer. Anne is usually so prompt when attending to me."

In any light, everything he said was tinged with vile insinuations. I was exhausted and exasperated enough from my discoveries in the attic. To have William using the excuse of a wayward letter to inveigle himself into our lives was beyond what my nerves could withstand.  "We have received no letter from you." I hoped exposing his plot would make him go away.

He looked to Frederick and then to me. "I didn't post it. I gave it to you when I was here last. It has been some time, I know, but you do remember the day you so rudely fainted and had to be carried off." He looked back to Frederick. "I intended on returning within a few days, but have been occupied with some more important matters." He looked over the desk and then took a seat on its edge.

Frederick moved immediately away from the desk. William's move was calculated to put my husband off his guard and make him too angry to think. Considering their one exchange I'd witnessed, I could see it was a successful strategy. I moved off as well.

I established myself next to Frederick again. William fixed on us. "I can't imagine you would forget so easily the contents of the letter, Anne. So, I will assume that the Captain—again—has taken matters into his own hands. Have you not, sir?"  His look did not change, but the tone of his voice turned mocking.

I had no idea what William meant about, "yet again." When neither of us answered, William took the opportunity to speak further. "What surprises me is that you didn't even telling her the contents of it, Wentworth. I would have thought anything having to do with the boy would be of interest to the both of you. But, perhaps you are not as interested in him as I have been lead to believe. Maybe you find having the son of another man under foot troublesome, and that his presence reminds you of activities you had rather forget transpired between your wife and me?" He slid off the desk. Some of the receipts fluttered to the floor. He retrieved them.

I turned to Frederick. His face and neck were flushed and he was barely breathing. His jaw was taut. A tiny twitch near his chin was the only movement I could detect. "What did this letter say?" I had to risk Frederick's anger for my desire to know what William's intentions to do with our son only added to the confusion and melancholy formed throughout the afternoon. My stomach roiled with questions, anger, and fear.

He looked away from William to me. His expression softened. "I don't know. I saw you to bed, and then I came down here and locked it away. I figured there was nothing in the world he could say that would do you any good."

William laughed as he leant his walking stick against the desk. "That is where you are wrong, sir." He laid the pieces of paper side-by-side and continued to laugh to himself.

Everything, which had passed between him and Anne, was private to them, and did not include me. "I want to see it." For whatever reason, I felt that Frederick's keeping the letter was a betrayal of everything we had built thus far. I was beginning to understand Anne's anger and depression.

Frederick looked away from me. He moved to the desk. There was a wall building between us and the separation was most painful.

William turned. "I'll save you the steps, Captain, and tell you both what it said."

Frederick hesitated. He looked again at me. He moved away from the desk and brought a chair from nearby, bidding me to take a seat. He stood next to me and placed his hand on the back of the chair. Regardless of my anger, it was comforting to feel him close by.

I could see by William's expression he was about to comment, spitefully no doubt, but changed his mind. "I am reconsidering our present arrangement pertaining to William. As he grows older, I wonder that his living here is the best thing for all concerned."

A chill enveloped me and my heart began to race. When Frederick had told me this summer that William left Will only as a convenience to himself, I assumed that to mean we would never have to worry about his being removed from our care. Hearing these words from William's mouth frightened me more deeply than anything I had ever heard before.

Frederick shifted and then asked, "Why? You have shown no concern before."

The reason did not matter to me and I was a little angry that he would bother to ask it. But, nearly as quickly I knew it was a most significant question.

"Times change, Captain." William shifted and crossed his arms. "I had my fears that the divorce might taint me, but it seems not. I have been offered, and have accepted, a small but potentially important role as an advisor to a well-known politician." He looked me squarely in the eyes. "There is nothing stopping me from rising quite high. The only cloud on the horizon is that file I brought you."

I knew nothing of any file and I feared he was toying with us for the sport of it. Unfortunately, the keen look in his eye as spoke of this new avenue belied any sort of jesting on his part. This position of prominence had nothing to do with Will's well being but everything to do with something that might damage William. Our only hope was that Frederick would know of what William spoke.

That hope was put to rest when Frederick said, "We have nothing of the sort here." As he spoke, he moved and his fingers brushed the back of my left shoulder.

William looked from me to Frederick. He was measuring each of our responses. He looked longest and hardest at me. Obviously, Anne knew something concerning this file. Something I should know as well. He looked back to Frederick. "That is utter rubbish. It is here and I demand to have it."

"It has been destroyed." Frederick moved again and his fingers pressed more deeply into my shoulder.

William was suspicious of the statement, and then looked to me. "Well? Is he telling the truth?"

Any response on my part would be one of ignorance, and potentially dangerous. I would have to speak with Frederick, who seemed to be the one who had some idea of things. "No." Even as I said it, I could hear Frederick breath deeply.  I stood and turned to my husband. "Please come with me and we'll fetch it." I offered my hand and he took it.

As soon as we were out of earshot, Frederick began to question me about what he thought I knew. It was then I realised, or hoped, that Anne's retreat was about more than just a little privacy. I told him where I suspected the file would be. Between bursts of explanation, I prayed that I understood Anne well enough, and that I was accurate in my assumptions about her. "She feels safe up there. If she has hid this file, she will have it up there."

Before we took to the stairs, Frederick said, "This is not a thing that would make her feel safe."

To my great disappointment, it was clear he all about William's demand.

As we entered the attic, Frederick said, "I was just up here six, eight months ago. I saw nothing of any sort of wall made up of—" He was silent when we rounded the corner and came upon the hideaway. "How did she do all of this?" He walked to the demi-wall and looked inside, and then took a few steps through the opening.

I hesitated to associate myself with the project, and with Anne's obvious desire to separate herself from the rest of the household. But, his look was puzzled and I could not help myself. "If I were doing such a thing, I would bring one or two of the boys from the gardens or the barn to help me. And then would give him lots to eat and sweets to ensure his silence." In my mind I could see them, Anne showing the lad where things were to be placed. The usual quietness of the attic would be broken with the scraping and thumping of the boys and their work. The customary smell would be intensified as the dust was flying up as crates and trunks were moved around.

Frederick studied the apartment. His face was grave and his body taut. He fingered the handle of small trunk where his hand rested. "You would do such a thing?" He studied me for a moment.

I had not given that any thought. Anne was very much like me in many ways, but not all. "No, I doubt it. But if I was to do it, putting my mind to how it could be accomplished, that is how I might." Instead of speculating on how Anne might have created her little apartment, I wanted desperately to ask about papers needed to ensure Will's staying with us.

It was an evil hand we were dealt; the papers were important enough that Anne would hide them from her husband, and Frederick was wretched at the prospect of finding them.

He began to push gently on one of the barrels at the edge of the opening. "This is empty." He looked around and tapped a few of the crates and a trunk. "So are these. I think you are right that she could have had just one or two boys help her. A few hours would do it." He held up his candle to look at more of the space. "Where do you believe she would keep a small bundle of papers?"

I pointed to the desk. "Over here. I only looked into one or two of the drawers." I pulled open one I'd previously left alone. It was empty. So was the next. When I opened a third, my instincts were rewarded. In it laid many papers of various sizes and shades, all nestled in a brown paper wrapper. I folded the cover paper and laid it on the blotter. "Tell me what this contains."

The cover slowly fell open and revealed the contents. We both stared as the enclosed pages and packets slid round into an untidy heap. He didn't touch them. "You may look through them." The light was dim, but I could see his eyes steadily as he looked into mine.

I was revulsed by the idea. "There is no time. He could very well be gone when we go down." To hear the details would be bad enough.

Frederick closed his eyes for an instant and then looked to the desk. "You know that's not true. He wants this very badly." I imagine that he said this for himself as well.

"And I want very badly to hear from you about this."

He placed the candle aside and began to sort through the papers. Many looked to be documents, but many others were folded with broken seals. The speed with which he handled them told me he knew exactly for what he searched. Finally, he came to a document and took some time looking it over. He opened a letter and added to that another piece of writing paper. He turned and handed me these few items.

I took the chair. Frederick placed the candle he'd brought on the side table, and I began to read.

When I was finished, I wanted to strike him, hurt him somehow. "Why did you do this to her?" I never would have imagined I could be angry enough with Frederick to ever sound so harsh. I suppose I made Anne the object of his betrayal to try and lessen my own disappointment.

He didn't answer my question, but did say, "I tried to find the papers for weeks after she confronted me."  He took the chair from the desk and sat fairly close, but looked away from me.

I sat forward, trying to provoke him to look my way. "You knew she would never have an affair with you, but your pride required that you have her—"

He took a sheet from the pack. He glanced at it and turned it right side up. "I had this unreasonable idea that if I could find the documents, and destroy them, I could make the entire situation go away. That was clearly wrong."

The sound of the papers slapping the arm of the chair made us both start a little. "—so you threatened to destroy her husband. You were happy to heap public shame on her knowing that you would come later and offer yourself as her only friend—"

He tossed down the paper. "I had my reasons for doing it. Clearly she never thought them very good."

I finally took a breath. "—you even manipulated Amanda into believing you were Anne's saviour! Courting the poor woman's good opinion. Were you surprised when she left you the Lodge, or did you expect it as part of this hatful plan?" My mind was grasping for anything to make him respond.

"Enough!" He did not shout, but his voice resonated with the natural authority of his rank. I think it jolted each of us from our destructive paths. It was suddenly hot and I looked away when my head began to swim.

Frederick was silent and I wished for him to leave me. Neither of us was ready to continue, but we had no choice. So, I began it. "Why did you help in contriving the divorce?"

He remained silent, only looking at the papers but not touching them. I suppose he was structuring his arguments, bringing all the facts together so that he might defend himself more completely. Leaning forward, he began.

"When I first arrived in Bath that January, it was a horrible advantage to me that no one knew of our previous association. As no one knew you and I were in any way connected, they were quite happy to let me know of Mr. Elliot's various activities in London. Once I did know, any time we met in public, it was difficult not to drag him off to a dark place and quietly flay him. My feelings about him were like stone by the time I saw him abuse you at McGillvary's party the night before he sent you away. I feared he would bring these vile and abnormal practices home. I was frantic to find a way to keep him from inflicting himself on her … you, but there was no way. Or so I thought."