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They would meet in the gardens. She would teach him Italian, and he would teach her calculus of infinitesimals. Upon discovering that Miss Anne had not been taught in school the Method of Fluxions, that branch of knowledge thought unsuitable for ladies, Captain Wentworth had proposed the arrangement himself; her intellect and industry were too considerable to be confined to elementary mathematics, and surely both she and he would gain from mutual exertion. Neither could have guessed at the precise consequences: he would gain a skill that would be of valuable service to him in the Mediterranean fleet, giving him an advantage over other officers applying for a frigate, and she, knowledge that would aid in the evaluation of her father’s accounts with Mr. Shepherd and, years later, with far greater success, in handling with her husband (Frederick) their household. In the present, it was enough that the pursuit was agreeable and that the instruction, in the hands of one so competent, promised to be profitable for them both.
That sunny afternoon, Mr. Wentworth was detained on some parish business - a vestry meeting prolonged by a disagreement over the repair of the poorhouse roof, perhaps, or possibly a call upon an ailing tenant - so they held an impromptu class. Anne was not insensible to the advantage of regularity in their lessons, nor to the pleasure of observing Captain Wentworth’s earnest application; and if her attention sometimes wandered from Italian grammar to his animated face, she trusted such lapses to be momentary and corrected them.
Nearly three hours had produced very good results. His pronunciation, though not perfect, was decidedly improved; his comprehension was quick; and his errors - the natural errors of a beginner - had hitherto been few and of a sort that admitted only of gentle correction. Anne had smiled more than once, but she had not blushed.
Frederick, for his part, was not one to be detained by challenges. Accustomed to being adept in whatever he addressed himself to, he entered upon his studies with a cheerful readiness that owed as much to his own active disposition as to the pleasure of being guided by one whose society rendered instruction particularly agreeable. Yes, he quite enjoyed the lessons for the study itself as much as for the elegant Miss Anne’s company, and - though he had not investigated the deeper reason for it just yet - he enjoyed being managed by her a little; for in witnessing the steadiness of her understanding, and the ease and intelligence with which she presided over him, he delighted in witnessing her capability.
They read on, their garden an animated schoolroom: summer breezes rustled blooming flowers and doves cooed in elm branches, over the rich green grass and white footpaths. Beside them, the fountain pool shone with light as though clad with a hundred little mirrors. The sky deepened to pink, the stars above them grew thicker and brighter, and these natural attractions, coupled with the sense of each companion’s grace and diligence, let the hours vanish in sweet enchantment.
Just then, they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps upon the gravel. One of the gardeners passing from the house paused to make his bow and happily entered into conversation with Captain Wentworth for some minutes; this was handsome, and gave Anne great satisfaction. It pleased her that he was a favourite among the servants and labourers, as he was ever disposed to stop and kindly lend a hand to their various employments, or carry things that needed carrying, and perform similar such small services.
Before walking off, the gardener tipped his hat again when Frederick asked after his elder brother.
“Begging your pardon, sir; but Mr. Wentworth left for home some time ago.”
Anne exclaimed and apologized for not having enquired earlier, and Frederick hastened to reassure her; yet he was seized by a sudden, irrational suspicion that his brother, always teasing him regarding his daily walks with Miss Anne, had intentionally made a silent departure. Perhaps Edward, he had to wonder, ears burning, had contrived to leave him (nearly) alone with the lady.
These musings went unnoticed by her. Mindful of the hour, she closed her book.
“I believe we have done very well for today,” said she, then hesitated, half-fearful of appearing too eager (but why should her heart beat fast?) or, by some means, deterring her new, dear friend from their little rendezvous entirely (and why should that prospect make her ill?), before continuing. “It is growing late, and perhaps we may resume our lessons another time - if you should wish to continue, Captain.”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
His eyes glowed at her proposal, and, eager and desirous of answering her in the language of their tuition, he paused only long enough to collect his words. Of course I shall come, thought he, for I feel warm and excited at the mere idea of seeing you again.
Thus he spoke with an innocent alacrity that Anne, had she known what errors were to follow, would have immediately checked.
“Vengo, perché sono caldo ed eccitato!”*
***
He walked with her back home, and gave her his arm on their way to her father’s door, and did all that was proper; but it was not the usual easy pleasure. It was, instead, almost a kind of pain. Neither could meet the other’s eye; both were flushed so red that any doctor might have taken one look at them and immediately begun examination for fever and chills. Where they would have found it impossible to cease speaking to one another, there was now only an agitated, embarrassed silence.
At last they reached the house, and both stuttered some polite farewells and common civilities (they knew not what), but before she turned around to enter (and escape into her bedroom for at least half an hour’s trembling, blushing reflection), Captain Wentworth stopped her (at last their eyes met), and he bore such a speaking gaze that she could not but hurry to reassure him once more.
“Please, sir - you have apologized a hundred times already,” she said, stumbling over the words. “It was totally unintentional on your part, I understand completely. Be at ease, Captain.”
“Miss Anne - I am very sorry,” was his reply nonetheless. “I was - I never meant - thank you very much for your corrections. My carelessness was my own undoing, truly, I am exceedingly -” he stopped short, and his cheeks reddened even further, if possible.
Anne was captivated by the sight. Mortifyingly, the corners of her lips twitched up - she tempered herself at once, but he gave her a glance of brightness which shewed his noticing of it - and the dam broke. Suddenly they were in gales of laughter. In raptures! For some time, they couldn’t speak at all - whenever the storm seemed spent, a single look was enough to set it off again - until Anne hugged herself tightly to regain some control, and the young commander gripped the railing to steady himself.
Frederick, recovering something of his spirits, attempted a lighter tone.
“You must surely regret our scheme now, madam,” said he, smilingly, “and ever having agreed to teach me Italian. I cannot imagine you ever foresaw that your lessons would induce such confusion, nor that I would expose you to blunders which no instructor ought to endure.”
“I regret nothing, sir,” she cried, and stopped, lowering her luminous eyes consciously, until she met his gaze again and continued in a voice kept low, from feeling, which he heard, regardless, in spite of all the noises around them, the swishing of the bushes in the wind, the ceaseless sounds of servants tending to the gardens and busying themselves inside the house, as though it were thunder. “I do not see how such undesigning errors could gather any censure from anyone. I feel that I could so much more depend upon the sincerity of those who sometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty thing, than of those whose presence of mind never varied, whose tongue never slipped,” and then she smiled at him, and that smile - took his breath away. And then his lungs seemed to pivot, and he was beginning to breathe very quick, thinking and feeling a thousand things at once, and suddenly he felt he was on board the Speedy again, being quizzed for the Lieutenant’s Exam - but there could not have been so much blushing delight, then.
He agreed gladly, and confessed that he did not, he ought not regret it either, and - he stopped himself just in time.
But Miss Anne seemed to read something in his eyes, and - God - she stepped closer.
“And?” She looked up at him through that thick curtain of lashes, with those beautiful, dark, slow-blinking eyes - and he was a lost man.
“And… this mischief must all be worth its price, to see so lovely a girl blush as you have."
The effect of his sincerity was immediate, as it must be. That sweet flush on her cheeks spread across her glowing face, even to her delicate nose and pretty neck, and she smiled and blushed at him in such obvious pleasure that he could not doubt her reception of his words.
“Now this is something, Captain. Using our lessons - nay, your mistakes in our lessons - to so openly make love to me.”
“I beg your pardon. Please, do forgive a sailor, rendered uncivil by the sea, and in want of correction.” He said this, she knew, without real contrition. His manners were excellent, his conduct was perfectly right; he was all that was handsome and amiable, and bewitching in his intelligence and wit, he must know; yet she understood that he would welcome any and all correction regardless. His pleasant ridicule was without a hint of sarcasm directed at anybody, no matter their follies, and without an ounce of being pleased with his own cleverness or desiring to show off, or, despite all that she had learned from him in so short a time (about navigation and shipboard life, and mathematics and Homer, and the pink sand of the Bermuda, and Vienna and what Herr Beethoven sounded like in person, and the sight of the Mediterranean at rose-fingered dawn, and, and-!), any desire for tutelage over her person - indeed, he always seemed most pleased to learn from her, and that was all the more gratifying given his brilliance, his capability. Could anyone withstand these charms? Anne Elliot, at least, could not.
“Not a bit of it, sir,” and she delivered unto him some playful chiding that would please them both, though she had no business being so open - but around him, all reserve faded and in its place grew a new sort of boldness, a strength and fearlessness - and in came what could be only called a deep, shameless joy, when his dear face lit up at being called to order by her. His rejoinder was a playfully gallant bow to her, as they said their goodbyes; and she felt free and light as though gliding on a cloud.
Like that, she floated into her rooms, and went to bed feeling as though - he - had waltzed into her life straight out of a storybook, or, perhaps, she herself had danced right into a fairy tale. One might almost expect roses and spring flowers to sprout up of their own volition (despite it being summer), or little floating hearts and cupids to manifest, or perhaps a dozen innocent-looking woodland creatures (deer, rabbits, small birds, &c.) to spontaneously appear and dance in circles around her. They both meditated on the other and their innumerable perfections while preparing for bed; she, in brushing and plaiting her hair, he, in washing his face and teeth, and, now confident of his own heart and conscious of what must be hers, he began to plan for her. Yes, it could not be only friendship and regard and admiration, now. What if - she - felt as he did? She, in her infinite loveliness? What if, what if indeed! Sir Walter would not be back at Kellynch for at least a fortnight. Well, he could wait. But then, to see her again in the meanwhile (and undoubtedly he would, they both would wish it), without declaring himself properly and offering himself whilst knowing her sentiments for him, and his for her, as though to teaze her heart and dangle himself before her-! That would be against all honour, all good principle; it was violation of duty, it was insult to tender feeling. And he should have liked to consult Edward, but he had responsibilities of his own. Edward must leave town to briefly stand in for a Mr. —, the neighbouring parish priest who’d fallen ill, he’d said, and thus Frederick could not turn to anyone for advice.
So he lay awake and thought only of her, and she slept and dreamt fully of him. They lay below the same starlit sky, on that warm summer night; two hearts and minds as one, two people with tastes and feelings in perfect synchrony, and, together, they bloomed in their love for one another.