I made her a bow, and assured her again of my determination to make Anne happy, and we parted, if not friends, then, at least, as two people who had reached a point of understanding and respect.
I told Anne of our meeting when we dined together at the house of some of our Bath acquaintance.
‘Lady Russell told me about your visit. I am glad you went,’ said Anne. ‘In time, she will come to love you as much as I do, and then my happiness will be complete.’
News of our engagement had spread, and we found ourselves being congratulated on all sides. Benwick looked at me with a sense of relief and satisfaction, and when we were sitting over the port, he said to me, ‘This takes a weight off my mind, Wentworth. I was not sure, when you came to Lyme in November, if you were in love with Louisa. I held back at first, for I did not wish to cause you harm, but when you went away and did not come back, I began to understand that there had not been a serious attachment, and so I allowed myself to fall in love with her. She is such an intelligent girl, with such expressive eyes and such a gentle character. Moreover, she does not remind me of’—his voice became low and wistful—‘Fanny.’
I gave him an understanding look, for I began to see how it had been for him. Another girl like Fanny would have reminded him too much of his first love. A girl who was the opposite would not.
‘I still remember her, Wentworth, but now it is not with pain, it is with warmth,’ he said. ‘I am grateful that I was fortunate enough to know her. God knows, I suffered when she died ... well, you know, you were there,’ he said, gripping the stem of his glass, as his feelings overcame him. ‘But all things must pass, or at least lessen, even grief. It is still there, but not as strong, and although I will miss her always, I have other joys now to attach me to life. I am persuaded that Fanny would have wanted it that way.’
‘She would,’ I said fervently. ‘She was an intelligent young woman who enjoyed life. She would not have wanted you to waste yours in painful memories.’
He smiled gratefully.
‘That is what I think. Harville is finding it difficult to accept this new love—no, do not protest, you know it as well as I. And so he should. He was Fanny’s brother. I do not say he was glad to see me in pain, but it is only natural that someone who loved her as much as he did, should want to know that she is missed by others who loved her as well. But he is a good fellow, and glad to see me emerge from despair. He likes Louisa, and the circumstances of our romance are such as to touch the coldest heart.’ He shook his head, recalling the circumstances. ‘When I think that Louisa, too, might have been dead. She looked so lifeless when she was taken up after the fall.’
I remembered that moment well. It had affected us all.
‘But a strange thing happened,’ he said, his voice becoming stronger. ‘As I saw her recovering from her deathlike state, so, too, I felt myself recovering from mine. I found myself, at last, able to love again. I am a lucky man to have been give a second chance, Wentworth,’ he said.
‘A second chance!’ I said, much struck, knowing that I, too, had been given a second chance with Anne.
‘What is it?’ he asked, sensing a change in my manner.
I simply smiled, for he had never known of our first engagement.
‘Nothing, save that I agree with you. To second chances,’ I said, raising my glass.
The general conversation having died down at just that moment, the words were taken up as a toast. Glasses were raised, and all about me I heard the cry, ‘To second chances!’
Sunday 5 March
Anne and I found ourselves much looked at in church this morning, for our engagement is the talk of Bath. We were congratulated by those who had not yet had an opportunity to give us their best wishes, and even Mr Elliot managed to bow from the other side of the church, though he could not bring himself to wish us happy.
Mrs Clay was very pleased, for Mr Elliot’s fall from favour meant she was free to catch Sir Walter if she pleased. I asked Anne if she thought it prudent to warn her father of Mrs Clay’s intent.
‘It would do no good,’ she said. ‘I tried to warn Elizabeth last year, but she dismissed the notion. My father would only do the same. Worse, it might put the idea into his mind.’
‘Then you are right to say nothing.’ I did not like the idea of Mrs Clay living at Kellynch Hall, if she managed to marry Sir Walter, and so I voiced an idea that had been in my mind for some time. ‘I have been thinking about Kellynch, Anne. Do you think your father would sell it to me? If it is not an inalienable part of the estate, then he can sell it if he wishes. It would clear his debts at once, and Kellynch would still remain in the family. Moreover, you would be able to take your mother’s place as the mistress of Kellynch Hall.’
‘I doubt if my father would sell it. Besides, I would not like to live at Kellynch Hall. Lady Russell would like to see me there, I know, but I have not been happy there. I have my heart set on an estate by the sea.’
‘The one we talked about when we were first engaged all those years ago?’
‘Yes. I have thought it a model of perfection ever since, with its stretch of coastline and its sandy coves, its countrified aspect to the rear and its view of the sea to the front.’
‘Then we must set about finding it. I will start making enquiries with the land agents tomorrow, and see if there is anything we can view.’
We fell into a happy discussion about the number of rooms and size of grounds we wanted in our new home, and did not let up until recalled to our company.
Tuesday 7 March
I had a letter from Edward this morning, thanking me for mine, and telling me he was delighted to learn that Anne had accepted me. He invited us to visit him on Thursday. Anne agreed to the idea and I wrote back to accept Edward’s invitation.
Wednesday 8 March
Sophia and Benjamin returned from spending a week with friends, and I told them of my engagement.
‘At last!’ said Benjamin. ‘Sophia and I were beginning to think you would never marry. You took your time, but you have chosen well in the end. She is a pretty little thing. Not as lively as the Musgrove girls, perhaps, but there is an air of quiet refinement about her that I like.’
‘I am very pleased for you,’ said Sophia, ‘and I am pleased for myself. There is an air about her that is most pleasing, and I like her better than either of the Musgrove girls. I wonder you did not notice her when you were here before, visiting Edward. You must have seen her?’
‘Never mind what Frederick did or did not do eight years ago, Sophia, he has brought the girl home now.’ He turned to me. ‘You must bring her to see us this afternoon.’
I did as they suggested, and I was warmed to see how well they all got on together. Anne Elliot as the daughter of their landlord they could like: Anne as my future wife they could love.
‘And have you told Edward?’ asked Sophia.
‘Yes, I wrote to him and gave him the news. We are to pay him a visit tomorrow.’
Thursday 9 March
Our visit to Edward was one of great enjoyment. He welcomed Anne with warmth, and Eleanor did likewise. Edward and Anne remembered each other from the years he had lived at Monkford, and spoke of those days affectionately.
‘You were at the ball where Frederick and I first met,’ she said.
‘It was a very propitious meeting,’ he remarked with a significant look.
‘Ah. I wondered if Frederick had told you,’ said Anne, colouring slightly.