Chapter Text
He swore he would never enter Kellynch again until he proved himself. Well, he proved himself a failure and he had never sworn quite so much as the night the ship’s surgeon removed his right leg. The days that followed were equally full of oaths. Some he kept, others, like his disavowal of Kellynch, he was forced to break.
In a roar of thunder, a flash of light, Captain Frederick Wentworth’s entire future had shifted. En route to the West Indies from Gibraltar, they came across the USS Liberty. The HMS Laconia had been outgunned, outmanned, and overshadowed by the 44-gun frigate. The USS Liberty’s second broadside succeeded in toppling the mizzen mast and followed this with a long-range barrage of shot that pummeled holes in Laconia’s hull and shattered the remaining masts. Splintered wood and splintered seaman exploded across the damaged deck.
The Laconia’s cannons could not reach the American ship and inflicted only minor damage. Captain Wentworth’s voice roared over the sound of cannon thunder until one shot struck straight through the wheel, shattering the wood into the captain. A barrage of wood splinters pierced his body and the impact sent him tumbling to the deck. He knew no more.
He woke in a fiery hell of pain with the ship's surgeon leaning over him, bone saw in hand, grim expression on his face.
"Be still, Captain,” he said. The surgeon’s mates held down his shoulders while Frederick fought back a scream.
Oooo
He knew little during the days and weeks that followed. The surgeon and loblollies worked tirelessly to keep him alive, though sometimes Frederick woke shouting and cursing and wishing that shot had taken the rest of him out. The fever and the haze of pain spiced with rum kept him under. He was entirely useless and helpless.
He did not recognize the wardroom he woke in nor the strange officers who came in and out. He knew enough to recognize his own officers were clapped in irons. There were too many men in too small a space and it stank of gangrene and blood and stale men.
“We lost a third of our men, Captain,” Lieutenant Benwick told him, during one of his brief periods of wakefulness. “Once you were wounded, I could do nothing but surrender. The Laconia was nothing but a wreck. She was set fire and sunk.”
Frederick grit his teeth. He did not know how else they might have saved her, but he felt the loss of both his beloved ship and so many of his crew keenly. It was nearly as painful a loss as those on his person.
Between rounds of Frederick’s fevered dreams and nightmares, the USS Liberty sailed home victorious. The prisoners-of-war were transferred to a prison hulk in Boston Harbor while Wentworth found himself in the hospital on Rainsford Island. There, his wounds were tended by the American doctors while he awaited the prisoner exchange with Halifax.
His right leg was lost just above the knee. Three fingers on his right arm were also missing and a long bandage up the rest of his arm showed how close he had come to losing the rest of it. Another bandage on his cheek covered the wounds inflicted by the wooden splinters on his face.
“I would thank the Almighty you are still alive, Captain,” an American physician told him. “Only one in three who lose a leg live. You are lucky to be alive.”
Captain Wentworth had always been lucky. Even if at the moment, he was a bit skeptical of his current streak of luck.
He did experience the good fortune of a quick exchange of prisoners. Rather than toiling till the end of the war, he soon found himself on the HMS Poseidon to face a court martial and the journey back to England. While the court martial ultimately did not find Captain Wentworth at fault for the loss of the HMS Laconia, the admiralty was not entirely satisfied with how he had handled the situation. They never were, when such a valuable prize was irrevocably lost, even if there was no feasible way to prevent it.
Wentworth was deposited back to England on disability with half-pay while he awaited both the return of his strength and a new command. He found his brother waiting for him when he disembarked.
Ooooo
He remained in Shropshire over the next year and half that followed. After the rush of battle and desperate war for survival, Frederick's next challenge was to recover the strength of both body and spirit. Those were long, torturous months not only in recovering from his injuries but resigning himself to his dramatic shift in fortunes. Slowly and with long-suffering patience, Edward Wentworth oversaw his brother’s care and healing.
The loss of a ship could be a dramatic set back in his career. He would need all of his heretofore lauded luck to be granted another ship. Months bound to land on half-pay meant not only a loss of monthly pay but a loss of potential prize money. While he had accrued close to five thousand pounds, it was not anywhere near as grand a fortune as he hoped to acquire.
Of more immediate importance, he could not hope to captain a ship again while he remained dependent on his brother for all his daily tasks. At first, the pain had been debilitating. Laudanum and alcohol could mask the pain, but not remove it, and those masks came with a far greater long-term cost than he was willing to pay. He had watched more than one brother-at-arms fall victim to their seductive promises that could never be made good.
He did not know what future was before him but he knew he must face it with courage and with his wits and faculties about him. Even if it meant learning to accept pain as a constant companion. He determined to gain what strength and independence was possible, despite how the exercises burned and throbbed. Every day, he must flex his fingers more, he must move his leg farther, he must balance longer.
The glaring wound on his face slowly faded into a jagged, pink scar along his temple to his chin. He doubted his right arm would ever regain full motion but he gradually learned to make a fist and carry a tea cup again. The much more daunting prospect was learning how to walk without the aid of a crutch. It had taken months but he could finally navigate the confines of the parsonage without his brother’s aid. He was entirely dependent on a crutch until his sore, aching stub could manage a wooden leg.
It was the tedium and inactivity that also plagued him. This was the longest he had remained on shore without an occupation since his boyhood. He was a man of action. Idleness was worse than exertion and inaction a crueler torment than exhaustion. He must work. He must keep his hands busy. He must have a purpose, a direction, and make some small mark on the world.
He started in small ways— mending his brother's clothes, sewing new shirts, and making curtains for the parsonage. Then, as his strength grew, he began to whittle wood and carve bits of furniture. He made nets and embroidered pillows. Before long, Edward took to bringing home any small projects Frederick could see to for his parishioners. Anything to keep mind and hands busy he eagerly took upon himself.
Since Frederick’s twelfth year, he had not been bound to land for more than six months together. Now, he watched a full cycle of seasons, moved upon the unshifting, unmoving earth, and he waited.
It was Frederick’s turn to play the role of supportive brother as Edward began to court Amelia Cook. The kind, gentle clergyman’s daughter was all he could wish for Edward. The pair wed on a Thursday morning in early March and Frederick managed to walk between the parsonage and the church (slowly and methodically) to stand as witness.
Then there were three sharing that parsonage. It was a comfortable home and far larger than the accommodations he had grown used to at sea. It was strange to share a home with a woman. At sea, sailors rarely interacted with females other than brief liaisons at port or the occasional presence of a woman or two onboard ship. A woman onboard was said to be unlucky and, technically, the admiralty forbid it. In practice, though, the presence of women was entirely dependent on the whims and convictions of the ships’ captains. Frederick had been onboard ships where wives and mistresses of various officers were permitted to dwell and even bear children while at sea. Overnight, these same women might be put to shore at the nearest port if the captain or his mood changed. They would then have to make their way back to England again. For the most part, there was ever only a handful of women in contrast to the hundreds of men. It was said this dearth of female companionship accounted for the propensity of sailors to be very unparticular in their taste in wives.
His role as an outside observer to the delicate dance of courtship and the springtime of marriage of Edward and his wife forced Frederick to reconsider his notions of matrimony all over again. He must learn from them. Once, he had thought he knew what it meant to take a wife and he knew himself prepared for the responsibility. It was not the first time he was proved overconfident and rather arrogant.
Inevitably, his thoughts must turn to Anne.
The last Edward knew, Anne Elliot remained at Kellynch.
“Her younger sister married the son of a neighboring squire,” Edward informed him, when pressed. “I have not heard of any other changes in the family.”
Frederick both rejoiced and despaired in his reflections on his past decisions. Four years ago, he might have written Anne. He had gained a few thousand pounds. He had considered it… briefly. However, he had clung to his bitterness and anger more firmly than a barnacle on the hull of a hulked ship and he refused to ask her again.
The depth of his resentment was nothing that a cannon blast and near burial at sea could not fix. When so close to death, many a wrong and old grievance could be reevaluated and then forgiven. Now he found all his old resentments had not only dwindled but evaporated entirely.
As an injured sea captain on half-pay, entirely dependent on others for his care, he was hardly the picture of heroism and success he had hoped to so quickly become. While his five thousand pounds of prize money must add to his comfort, it was not anywhere near what would impress a baronet.
In light of recent experiences, a new taste of regret crept into the edges of his self-assuredness. During that last, terrible conversation with Anne, when she had broken their engagement, he must now admit he had not granted her the full weight her objections deserved. It was just possible he ought not have spoken to her quite as harshly as he had. Gradually, he allowed his anger to turn from Anne and towards himself and he must grant more merit to her hesitations.
Some wounds heal; others never do.
Oooo
The peace crashed onto England with all the fervor of a cannon shot at dawn and soon a hundred and fifty thousand seamen were dashed upon the rocks of an England without a war. With Napoleon’s exile came the reluctant end of Frederick’s hopes for a return to sea anytime soon.
His friends sought him out as soon as they returned to England. After his heroic actions during the battle with the Liberty, Benwick was promoted and given command of an old French frigate now called the HMS Nautilus. He captured enough merchant vessels during his time on the Nautilus to see his fortune secure. He immediately married Fanny Harville and settled her in Plymouth. She gave birth to their first child while he sailed from Halifax. Harville fought his way across the Atlantic. When they both returned to England, it was with coffers full. Their wives and children would be well-settled, even if the peace were to last.
Upon their return to England, the Benwicks and Harvilles insisted on taking fine residences in Lyme and spending the season alongside the sea.
"You must come, Frederick. It will do you a world of good to be near the sea again,” Harville wrote.
In truth, Frederick could not turn away from the allure of the sea and the prospect of some months spent alongside his naval brothers was enough to gird himself to the trials of travel by road. Thus, he left the parsonage in Shropshire to the care of the newlyweds, and he remained in Lyme for the months that followed.
ooo
Sophia insisted he attend her and the Admiral in Somersetshire. There was very little one could do to hold out against the determination of Sophia Croft. Thus, when the Admiral and Sophia turned up on Captain Benwick’s doorstep that October day, Frederick knew it was a lost cause.
“We have come to escort you to Kellynch,” Sophia informed him. Her embrace lasted far longer than he expected and there were tears in her eyes as she spoke. “You must come and stay with us. Edward has had you long enough.”
Of all the fine and ostentatious country estates in England, Sophia would rent Kellynch. He had nearly shouted in shock when he received the letter which informed him of her new residence. He read her letter thrice over to ensure he was not misreading the directions. Then, he could only shake his head with wry laughter at the irony.
He must wonder what had become of Sir Walter? With the pride the baronet took in his ancestral home, Frederick would not have ever believed the man would be willing to see the house in the hands of others. What had caused the change in circumstances?
In truth, he had postponed attending to Sophia’s summons as long as he possibly could. Facing Kellynch again and the memories therein would be a mouthful of humiliation he did not relish. Even if the Elliots were far removed.
Well, most of the Elliots were removed.
One remained, or so Sophia informed him, after he was securely established within one of the many, many bedrooms of the old house.
He had gaped like a fish and it took all his self-command not to explode in a volley of curses and raise Sophia’s notice. While Sophia continued chatting over the many dinner parties they had attended and all the various families they had met since coming to Somersetshire, Frederick roiled.
He could not face Anne Elliot again. Not now. Not yet. Perhaps, not ever. To dwell in the same neighborhood and find himself frequently in her company was beyond what he could manage without losing his composure.
Eight years had passed since their failed engagement. Once, he thought he had healed and grown indifferent. While forgiveness of the past had undoubtedly healed parts of him, it had also forced a greater honesty with himself. He might not ever truly be indifferent to the sight or mention of Anne Elliot.
It had been nearly overpowering to walk into the main entryway of Kellynch again. At the familiar sights and scents clinging to the estate, he had nearly been overwhelmed by the swell of long-suppressed emotions that barraged him. The memories of indescribable joy warred with those of unsurpassed agony.
It would be torment enough to dwell in this home— so saturated in memories of her, as if part of her permeated the very walls and grounds and air of the house. Every where he looked, he could see hints and traces of her. He could find resemblances of her in the family portraits in the grand hallway. Her sheet music still lay on the music stand. He recognized her favourite books in the library. Everywhere he looked, he saw apparitions of Anne Elliot, as if her spirit reverberated all around him and through him when he walked through her home, in the same way he used to feel the vibrations of her music through the air when she played.
Well, if he must learn how to maneuver a wooden leg across slippery marble floors without falling, he must be able to face Anne Elliot again without tripping over himself.
Oooo
The Admiral and Sophia were all that was warm, generous, and welcoming and he fell into an easy rhythm with them. Kellynch was too large and fine for him to be entirely comfortable and he was quickly plagued with his old restlessness again. With the Harvilles and Benwicks, he had been able to keep himself occupied with their children and the various naval acquaintances that dwelt within an easy walk of the Cobb. He was not yet strong enough to walk to the Crofts’ neighbours and he had yet to learn to ride a horse again. The Admiral assured Frederick he was welcome to the use of the gig whenever he wished. However, Frederick’s right arm could not grasp the reign firm enough yet to keep them. Thus, he sought employment in the many corners and crevices of Kellynch while he continued to exercise his arm and leg.
He did not have to wait long before the neighborhood began to call upon him. Various acquaintances from the last time he dwelt in Somersetshire began to seek him out, along with new friends of the Crofts.
Mr. Charles Musgrove, of Uppercross, came to welcome him one afternoon. The older gentleman was amiable and openhearted. He immediately invited Frederick to dine with his family and he praised the captain for his many heroic and brave deeds.
“We read about you in the papers— our own naval hero! Is it true that parliament wishes to confer a special honour on you?” the man said.
Frederick shrugged. “It has been mentioned.”
“My wife and children are looking forward to meeting you for themselves,” Mr. Musgrove said.
Oooo
Sophia would not permit him to refuse the invitation to dine at Uppercross.
“These are good, kind people. You must try, Frederick. George and I will do our best to keep you upright,” she told him with a gentle tap on his good shoulder.
True to her word, the admiral subtly aided him in climbing in and out of the gig and up the front steps of the great House. Sophie kept up a cheerful stream of conversation to distract the many eyes from staring at him as he struggled to make his way across the slick wood floor. Then came the many introductions and burst of well-meaning, but rather ignorant, questions.
Also true to his sister’s word, they were a family worth becoming acquainted with. The young people were all that was charming and obliging while the old were incurably good-humoured and kind. If it had been any other family, he might have quickly grown comfortable and easy. However, always lingering in the back of his mind was the inescapable notion that these were relatives of Anne.
Anne Elliot, the woman who was not actually present, despite how he had fought to fortify himself in preparation for their reunion.
The younger Charles Musgrove had made her apologies. "My sister, Anne, wished for me to tell you how delighted she is in your return to Somersetshire and how eager she is to meet you again. Unfortunately, our son fell from a tree yesterday. He dislocated his collarbone and she remained behind to nurse him. She has promised she will join us after dinner when her charge is asleep.”
It was just the manner of message meant to discompose him further. Suddenly, he felt jealous for the attentions bestowed on a little boy at his expense. How many times during the last two years had he longed to wake to find Anne alongside him as his nurse? How he had longed for her gentle affection and how much more tolerant his ordeal would have been with her by his side!
He was also struck by Anne’s message. What could she mean by such a message? At least she acknowledged their prior acquaintance, and she wished for him to know she would be pleased to see him again. It was a far more fortuitous reunion than he might have hoped, though he still held no hope for anything other than the slight companionship of near-neighbours.
The meal passed pleasantly. The Musgroves asked him about various naval engagements and life onboard ship. They were very careful to avoid asking about the particulars of his injury or what hindrances it might cause for his future prospects. However, overall, he enjoyed himself far more than he had expected.
His heart began pounding in his chest the moment Charles Musgrove left the house to fetch his sister-in-law. He did his best to focus on the sound of the harp and the lyrics of Miss Musgrove’s song, but he could hardly attend. Music had always been a balm to him and he did his best to close his eyes to indulge his senses entirely in the performance.
When he opened them again, it was to see her walk into the room. She was pale. Her dress and hair were simple. She curtsied. She looked at him searchingly. He struggled to stand and then he bowed, careful not to lose his balance as he moved.
She asked something or other. He responded politely. The room felt too warm, his skin tingled, there were too many eyes, too many observers, and yet he was glad of all of them for he feared what he might have said if they had been alone.
He swallowed. He dared not look up into her face for fear of what he would find there. Would she look upon him with pity? With smug victory for her warranted refusal? Perhaps, she would simply look upon him with kind, unruffled indifference.
He knew he was changed. He was no longer the man he had once been. This was a man who had learned how small a thing he is upon the face of the sea and no longer conquered it with invincible strength and courage. This was a man who had learned to fight and win… and to fight and lose. Frederick Wentworth was a man who had learned what it is to surrender.
She might find him altered beyond recognition.