Conclusion Back to Previous Chapter Anne's face was buried in his coat, and her body shook with sobs. "Why, what's this, love?" he asked her softly. "I am home, Anne; I am home." "Forgive me, Frederick," she sniffled, and then raised her head and looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. "It is just that when you did not arrive by the solstice, I did not think you would be home in time for Christmas." Wentworth smiled down at her. "You should know better than to give up on me so easily, Anne." She returned the smile through her tears. "I do know it. I am just so happy that you are here, safe!" "I should beg your pardon for arriving so late. The convoy was delayed, and I was called to the Admiralty." Anne dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Delayed? Did something happen?" "Some trouble with a pirate, but we sorted him out," he said lightly. It was a sufficient explanation for the present. There was no point in sparing her sensibilities with an untruth, as she would read the account of the capture when it appeared in the Naval Chronicle. "I see you had the Yule log lit," he said, looking at the blazing fire. "Yes, Charles came over with some men from Uppercross to bring in the log and light it." Wentworth made a mental note to thank his brother-in-law for looking after Anne. He was glad that she had her family nearby. "And you must forgive me, Celina," cried Anne, turning to her friend, who sat by the fire watching them with a wistful smile. "Here is your hostess, acting like a lovesick girl!" She turned to her husband and added, "I invited Celina to Newbury Oaks to keep me company while you were away." "An excellent notion," he said, smiling at Mrs. Smith. "I am glad of it. I thank you, ma'am, for your kindness to my wife." "Who could be anything but kind to Anne?" her friend asked. Wentworth felt an uncomfortable nudge to his conscience as he remembered a time when he was not very kind at all to Anne. "I am glad you are here," he said. "Glad for my own sake, because I am pleased to see you; glad for my wife's sake, as she takes pleasure in your company; and glad because it is Christmas, and I have brought you a gift." Mrs. Smith and Anne both exclaimed in surprise. "A gift!" cried the older woman. "I certainly did not expect such kindness, sir!" Wentworth pulled out his wallet. "While I was in Tortola, I took the opportunity of paying a call on Mr. Mallory." Mrs. Smith's face paled as she recognized the name, and she clutched her shawl more tightly around her. Wentworth took the chair next to her and said, "It was an infamous piece of impertinence, madam, and I hope you will forgive me, but I felt a personal visit would do more than a score of letters, and there was no time to consult you before I departed." He handed her the bank draught. "I was correct in my assumption; I was able to persuade Mr. Mallory to your scheme. He purchased the land for four thousand pounds, and kept back what he was owed from the note. This is for the difference." The widow took the draught with trembling hands. "Captain Wentworth, how can I ever--oh! So much! Such riches!" Tears poured down her face, and she turned to him and seized his hand. "How shall I ever repay your kindness?" "You have already, with your friendship to Anne, in the past and the present. I am delighted to have been of service to you, ma'am." He stood and made an elegant bow over her hand. "Now I am in need of my handkerchief!" she cried, fumbling in a pocket. "Anne, we shall drive the good Captain back to sea with our tears and megrims! Oh, dear, I have left it upstairs." She rose from her chair with some difficulty. Anne said, "Do not trouble yourself, Celina; I shall send Milly to your room to fetch you a handkerchief." "No, no; I will be grateful for Milly's arm, but I cannot sit still for so long, as you know, even by this good fire." Anne rang the bell, and the maidservant helped Mrs. Smith make her slow progress out of the drawing room. She gave Wentworth a saucy smile as she passed, and he suspected that she was leaving them alone on purpose. Anne's eyes shone with pride and happiness. "What a fine thing you have done, Frederick," she said. "Have you breakfasted?" "The only sustenance I require is you, my darling," he declared, pulling her into his lap. "Such nonsense," she laughed, but came willingly enough, and even put her arms around his neck. "Mmm, you did miss me," he murmured, touching his lips to her jaw. "I did," she said. "Very much." Wentworth's hands, denied the simple pleasure of touching her for so long, moved hungrily along her waist and hips. "You're blooming, Anne," he said. "You have gained some weight; it suits you." Anne smiled. "There is a very good reason for that." She kissed his temple lightly, then put her lips to his ear and whispered, "I am pregnant." "Dear God! Anne!" Wentworth stared up at her in astonishment. "How--when?" "I suppose you mean to ask when I expect to be confined," she replied, blushing prettily. "The end of April next." He could only say, "Anne!" once again, stupidly. She laughed and kissed him. "You surprised me today, and now I have surprised you. You never answered my question; have you breakfasted?" "No," he admitted. "We drove straight through from London, and only stopped to change horses. I had a promise to keep." "You have kept it well," she said as she rose from his lap. "Let me fetch you some tea and toast. We are invited to dine at Uppercross today." "Must we?" he asked, refusing to release her hand. "I've just got home, and you expect me to run off to Uppercross and gorge myself on roast goose?" "The Musgroves would never forgive me if I did not bring you, Frederick. They have been exceedingly kind to me while you have been away." "Of course," he said, chastened. Anne kissed him again. "If I indulged only my own wishes," she murmured in his ear, "we would stay home; but Celina looks forward to these dinners as well. She has enjoyed little society since her husband died, and an evening out is a great treat." "Then by all means, we shall go," he declared. "And as I know that Christmas at Uppercross means a great deal of music and noise, you must save me a dance, Anne. You will not play for everyone else to dance; not tonight." "I would be honoured to dance with you, Captain Wentworth," she said with a graceful curtsy. "Now let me get your breakfast." Jenkins had drawn a hot bath, and laid out clean clothes; really dry clothes, without the faint dampness that all clothing acquired at sea. Civilian clothes felt strange to Wentworth after even a short time in uniform. The fine linen of the shirt was cool and relaxing next to his skin. He did up the studs, and glanced at himself in a mirror. He would do well enough for Uppercross, and more importantly, for Anne. When he caught a glimpse of himself upon first arriving, he was appalled; dusty, creased clothing, several days' growth of beard--and yet Anne had flung herself into his arms and kissed him, more than once. He passed through the door that connected his dressing room to Anne's. She was seated at her dressing table, where Milly was putting the final touches on her hair. Anne smiled at her husband and said softly, "That will be all, Milly." The maidservant curtsied and disappeared silently. "I see I have arrived at the propitious moment to give you your Christmas gift." He produced a flat box and handed it to her. "Your coming home is all the gift I--oh, Frederick!" she cried as she opened the box and saw what it contained. She stared down at it in astonishment, her hand fluttering over her breast like a white bird. Wentworth sat on the bench beside her and said, "I hope you will forgive me for being an hour later arriving home, because I stopped to choose this for you. I knew it was for you, as soon as I saw it." He lifted the gold and ruby necklace from the box. "Because it is fine and beautiful; delicate, yet strong; thoroughly elegant, yet with a fire deep within, a fire that warmed me even on the other side of the Atlantic." He laid it around her neck, the fiery stones nestling in the hollow of her throat and catching the candlelight. He fastened the clasp, and then touched his lips to her neck, then, more urgently, behind her ear. Anne turned to him, her eyes alight with the passion that only he knew lay behind her elegant, demure exterior. "Aye, there it is," he whispered, "there's that fire," and took her in his arms and kissed her. Some time later, Anne said, "Now I could wish we were not going to Uppercross." Wentworth laughed. "We cannot disappoint Mrs. Smith and the Musgroves." "No, we cannot." She looked him over. "You look very fine, but are you not wearing your uniform tonight?" "As of four days ago, I am not a serving officer," he reminded her. "You are not allowed to wear it?" "No one will object, if that is what you mean, but it is not really done." "That is a pity. You look so handsome in your uniform." "Now that is a temptation, to have my Anne think me handsome; if my number one uniform weren't a crumpled, dusty wreck after three days in a post-chaise, I might consider it, but even Jenkins would be hard put to make it presentable tonight." Anne's eyes sparkled. "You have not yet seen your Christmas gift." She fetched a large box and set it on the bench next to him. "I hope it is right." He opened the box and blinked, startled, at a post-captain's dress uniform. She watched him anxiously. "Is it right? I wrote to Turner's; Jenkins told me that you procure your uniforms from him. Mr. Turner said that he had your measurements and would make it as you require." "Anne, it is perfect." He ran a finger along the gold braid decorating the front of the coat. "Oh, there is one more thing." She pulled a small box from a drawer and handed it to him. It contained a pair of gold epaulets. Wentworth was much moved, even more so than he had been by the uniform. Seeing the insignia of his rank as they were meant to appear, golden and shining, tangible representations of the success he had earned, was a powerful emotion. He was unable to speak for a moment. Anne misunderstood his silence; she said, disappointment in her voice, "It must be wrong. You do not like it." "No, no, Anne, I like it. I love you for going to so much trouble on my account, but--" "What is it, Frederick?" "It is unlikely that I shall have an opportunity to ever wear these, other than to dinner at Uppercross." Anne relaxed and smiled. "Oh, is that all! I dare say you will have another command soon." "I would not like to leave you, again, so soon; and certainly not at this time." He reached out and tentatively touched her belly; even through the layers of silk and muslin, he could feel the slight swelling that was their unborn child. "Oh, Frederick." Anne's voice was tender. She rested her hands on his shoulder and said, "I always knew that I would share you with the sea. I knew it when you courted me in the year six, and I knew it when I married you. I would not keep you always at my side, chafing to be away." He reached up and took her hands in his. "Anne, there is a chance that the Laconia will be recommissioned, and sent to the Bermuda station. I have been promised the command, should I want it. Would you like to see Bermuda, love?" "Oh, now you will take me along," she teased him. "I suppose Bermuda is not such a sickly place, then? But of course we do not call Bermuda or Bahama, you know, the West Indies." "Very well, if you would prefer to stay behind--" "You will not leave me behind, Frederick." The determined light was back in her eye. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly for a moment. "I would not try. Very well, Anne. If I am given this command, I will take a house in St. George's, and come home to you between cruises." He gently passed his hand once more over her interesting new roundness. "You and the child." "Now that," she whispered, "means more than all the jewels you could bring me." She rested her cheek against the top of his head for a moment. "Should you not change into your uniform? We shall be late." Uppercross was as noisy and happy as Wentworth had predicted, and after dinner the young people got up a dance in the big old hall. Mrs. Charles Hayter--the former Henrietta Musgrove--agreed to play for them, as she was large in the family way and quite unable to dance herself. Wentworth claimed his dance and swept Anne around the hall. The younger people watched him admiringly, such a tall, handsome man in his uniform shining with gold braid and bullion; the older Musgroves watched him with a wistful air, thinking that poor Richard, their son who died as a midshipman, might be such a one had he lived; but Wentworth had eyes for none but his Anne. The music stopped for a moment, and he pulled her out of the crowd and to an out-of-the-way doorway to catch their breath. The irrepressible youngest Musgrove, Harry, down from Rugby for the holidays, shouted out, "Captain Wentworth, you stand beneath the kissing bough! Claim your reward, sir!" Wentworth looked up, and found that Master Harry spoke truly; the boughs of evergreen wound with mistletoe hung from the molding that formed the opening of the doorway. He glanced down at Anne, who shook her head in alarm. Stolen kisses in the privacy of their own drawing room was one thing; kissing him in front of all the company was another, and her sense of propriety would not permit it. "No, Frederick," she pleaded. His arm clasped her around the waist and drew her inexorably closer as the assembled crowd, flushed from dancing and the contents of the wassail bowl, shouted encouragement. Anne could not help but laugh in the face of the absurdity of it all. Wentworth saw surrender in her eyes, and leaned in for his prize; the best he'd ever taken. "Merry Christmas, Anne," he said, and kissed her soundly as the Musgroves cheered. finis ~ Table of Contents By A Lady Comment on this story Home ~ Site Map ~ Contact Original Images and Content Copyright © 2002 by Margaret C. Sullivan. All Rights Reserved.