‘I am delighted to see you, Musgrove,’ I greeted him warmly. ‘We have not seen each other since Lyme. Who would have thought that the incidents there would have had such a welcome outcome? I was so pleased to hear of your sister’s engagement. Such a beautiful and courageous young woman deserves every happiness in life, and I believe Benwick is just the man to give it to her. He is an excellent fellow, with a steady character, and I am heartily glad for them both.’

‘It is good of you to say so, Wentworth,’ he said, shaking me warmly by the hand, as a look of relief spread across his face. ‘I thought ... but there now, that is all in the past, and I know my sister will be pleased to learn that you wish her well.’

‘I do, with all my heart,’ I assured him.

Having established matters satisfactorily between us in this respect, we fell into step, and I asked him what he was doing in Bath.

‘I am here with my family. My mother is here, and Mary of course, and the Harvilles are with us. I do not know if you are aware of the fact, but my mother invited the Harvilles to Uppercross when Louisa was well enough to come home. My mother wanted to thank them for all they had done for Louisa. I believe I may say they have enjoyed their visit, and their children have enjoyed playing with my younger brothers and sisters. It was Harville who gave us the idea of visiting Bath, for he needed to come on business, and I decided to come with him, for the country is very dull at this time of year. Then Mary decided she could not bear to be left behind, and my mother declared that she would like to visit some friends here, and Henrietta thought it an excellent opportunity to buy her wedding clothes. So here we are, all six of us, ready to enjoy ourselves in our various ways.’

‘A splendid idea. I am glad that Henrietta and Hayter have decided not to wait before getting married. Long delays are an evil, in my opinion. If two people love each other, they should formalize their affections straight away.’

As I spoke, I thought of myself and Anne. If only we had had a chance to formalize our affections in the year six!

‘I suppose so, though I do not believe they would have gone ahead if not for a great piece of luck,’ said Musgrove. ‘What do you think, Wentworth? Hayter has acquired a living.’

‘Indeed? I am very happy for him. Where is it?’

‘Only five-and-twenty miles from Uppercross, in Dorsetshire. It is not his forever; he holds it for a youth who is at present too young to take it up; but it will be his for many years, and by the time the boy is old enough, Hayter is sure to have found something else.’

‘It seems eminently suitable.’

‘Yes, I am happy for them.’ Then, turning to matters nearer to hand, he said, ‘I have just secured a box at the theatre for tomorrow night. I hope you will join us?’

I expressed myself delighted.

Harville joined us at this point, having undertaken a commission for one of the ladies, and we went on, all three of us together.

‘You will come and pay your respects to my mother?’ asked Musgrove, as we approached the White Hart.

‘With the greatest of pleasure.’

We went into the inn. As we did so, Musgrove went on ahead, and I was left to walk behind with Harville. It seemed a long time since we had been in the Navy together. Life at sea had its problems, but I found myself thinking that it was a great deal more straightforward than life on land.

‘Tell me about Louisa Musgrove,’ I said. ‘Has she completely recovered?’

‘She is well, but not as lively as formerly, or so I understand,’ he said. ‘Of course, I did not know her before the accident, but her family has often mentioned that she was always singing or dancing or running about.’

‘Yes, she was,’ I said.

‘Whether her languor will pass, I do not know. Perhaps, as she continues to improve, her vigour will return.’

‘It was good of you and Harriet to look after her.’

‘We were only too happy to do it. Any friend of yours, Wentworth ... I did think, at one time, that you intended to marry her. It appears I was wrong.’

‘I was a friend of the family, but nothing more,’ I said. ‘I am pleased that she and Benwick are happy.’

He was silent.

‘You do not like the engagement?’ I asked.

He hesitated.

‘I do, of course. James is a good man, and she seems a delightful girl. Only ... it is selfish of me, I know, but I do not like the idea of him forgetting Fanny. They were engaged for years, Wentworth, and she has only been dead for seven months.’

‘She was a wonderful girl, superior in every way,’ I said gently.

‘Yes, she was. I am partial, of course, because she was my sister, but I truly think she was special. And James thought so, too. But now ... I miss Fanny,’ he said with a sigh.

I spoke of her beauty and her good nature, recalling the times we had all three spent together, and Harville was cheered.

‘You are right, of course. James has a right to happiness, and I am pleased he has found it. It just seemed too soon ... but better too soon than too late. I am glad for him. Yes, I am.’

We went up to Mrs Musgrove’s rooms, and as soon as I walked in, I saw Anne!

I was taken aback, and yet I should have expected it, for this arrival of the Musgroves would inevitably bring us together at some point. She was connected with them, being their friend, and so was I. Nevertheless, I could not trust myself to do more than greet her politely. She looked as though she would like me to draw close and I wondered, fleetingly, if I could be mistaken in thinking there was something between her and Mr Elliot, after all.

My hopes were dashed before they had time to take root, however, for Mary, standing at the window, called our attention to a gentleman standing below.

‘Anne, there is Mrs Clay, I am sure, standing under the colonnade, and a gentleman with her. I saw them turn the corner from Bath Street just now. They seem deep in talk. Who is it? Come, and tell me. Good heavens! I recollect. It is Mr Elliot himself.’

‘No, it cannot be Mr Elliot, I assure you. He was to leave Bath at nine this morning, and does not come back till tomorrow,’ said Anne.

So she was aware of all his comings and goings! I thought, turning my eyes towards her.

‘I am certain it is him,’ said Mary, adding, affronted, ‘I am sure I may be expected to know my own cousin. He has the family features; he is the same man we saw in Lyme. Only come to the window, Anne, and take a look!’

Anne appeared embarrassed, and I was not surprised, for all eyes had turned to her, but as she said nothing, the room fell silent.

It was an uncomfortable pause.

‘Do come, Anne,’ urged Mary, ‘come and look yourself. You will be too late if you do not make haste. They are parting; they are shaking hands. He is turning away. Not know Mr. Elliot, indeed! You seem to have forgot all about Lyme.’

At last, Anne moved to the window. What did her hesitation mean? That she did not want to see him? Or that she did not want to appear to be eager to see him? I wished I could read her thoughts.

‘Yes, it is Mr. Elliot, certainly,’ said Anne calmly. ‘He has changed his hour of going, I suppose, that is all, or I may have been mistaken.’

This spelled hope. If she was mistaken, then she could not have been attending to him when he told her of his plans.

What torture it was to examine every sentence, to see if it proved a love affair between them, or the reverse!

‘Well, Mother,’ said Musgrove, when Mrs Clay and Mr Elliot had disappeared from view, ‘I have done something for you that you will like. I have been to the theatre, and secured a box for tomorrow night. I know you love a play, and there is room for us all. It holds nine. I have engaged Captain Wentworth. Anne will not be sorry to join us, I am sure. We all like a play.’

‘A play! The very thing,’ said Mrs Musgrove. ‘As long as Henrietta likes the idea—’

‘Good heavens! Charles, how can you think of such a thing?’ broke in Mary. ‘Have you forgot that we are engaged to go to Camden Place tomorrow night? And that we were most particularly asked on purpose to meet Lady Dalrymple, her daughter, and Mr. Elliot, all the principal family connections, on purpose to be introduced to them? How can you be so forgetful?’

Whilst she and Charles argued the point back and forth, he declaring no promise had been given, and she declaring it had, I watched Anne, to see if I could tell by her face whether she looked forward to meeting Elliot again.

Charles’s final words, ‘What is Mr. Elliot to me?’ brought my eyes to Anne again, as I wondered, with all my soul: What was Elliot to Anne? I could read nothing from her expression, nor did it seem to change when Mrs Musgrove said that Charles had better go back and change the box for Tuesday.

‘It would be a pity to be divided, and we should be losing Anne, too, if there is a party at her father’s,’ she said. ‘I am sure neither Henrietta nor I should care at all for the play if Anne could not be with us.’

I awaited Anne’s reply with bated breath.

‘If it depended only on my inclination, ma’am, the party at home (excepting on Mary’s account) would not be the smallest impediment. I have no pleasure in the sort of meeting, and should be too happy to change it for a play, and with you,’ she said.

But Mary was adamant that the party could not be missed, and it was soon generally agreed that Tuesday should be the day.

I left my seat, overcome by what I had heard. She had no pleasure in that sort of meeting! No pleasure in Mr Elliot’s company! She would rather go to the play!