Shadows in a Brilliant Life

Most of the choices were based on Pride and Prejudice of course. This was the only one based on Persuasion. Aside from that, it had two things going for it: the author, Grace Regan, is one of my favorite fan fiction authors, and it cast Frederick Wentworth as a bad guy.

What’s not to like about that?

Here’s Grace’s fantastic drabble: Studiously dissolute, Frederick eyes his object.  Blonde. Buxom. Young.  Foolishly infatuated by the uniform, if not the man.  Consciously unlike she he desires to forget, she who proved too easily persuaded.  Just not by him. 

He watches; aptly reads her.  Slightly foxed, this morsel will yield to his persuasion.  Unfeelingly invitation subtly issues, is readily accepted.  His earthly desires and not the hapless matron hovering so ineffectually shall prevail.  If his heart calls out for softer skin, dark eyes, sweetly remembered lips, his body shall not answer. It at least can be lost in base pleasures of readily available flesh.

My expansion of the story:

Shadows in a Brilliant Life

The admiral was not in the least concerned about Frederick taking out the gig. “The weather is fine enough. Your sister and I would normally be out and about us, but there are many things to see to here at the Hall before the winter comes. Take it and enjoy yourself.”

Sophia commented that she thought it odd he would not be using his own horse. “You have shown no interest in the gig before this. Frederick was in no frame of mind to hear any objections to his taking Louisa Musgrove out unescorted. He would keep this information to himself. And why his sister care if, he was fairly certain, her own parents would raise little or no objections. As he wheedled a picnic lunch from the cook, he thought, Parents are far too careless when it comes to overseeing their daughters. This is a world full of hazards awaiting innocent young ladies.

The captain would present no danger, today. Today would be nothing more than a quiet picnic between newly met friends. To reveal his hand so early in the game would be a tactical error. Today he would be the gallant, trustworthy captain of the navy. All honour and propriety. The finale of any challenging game of chess was a surprise. It must be for the game itself constructs its own ending. The key was to keep the objective in mind.

He had told Louisa that he would meet her just outside the gates of Uppercross Mansion. This was out of the view of the house so they could leave without being seen. “We can take a ride around the area and then choose a place to partake of our feast.”

“I have a place in mind.”

“Is it a pretty place? And does it have shelter from the rain. I believe it is going to rain tomorrow,” he said.

“It is not pretty, but there is plenty of shelter.” Her expression was coy and playful. A lovely amalgam of scheming innocence. This would be her downfall. She is just adventuresome enough to think herself safe from all harm and sheltered enough to be free of suspicion. Ah to be so young. And foolish.

He came around the corner to see Louisa speaking with Henrietta, both gesturing broadly. He slowed, but not before they heard his approach and turned. The gestures ceased and Louisa ended the interchange with a slight push and a wave to her sister. Henrietta took a few steps, and then stared at him again. Instantly she turned and ran to the Mansion.

“Finally.” Louisa followed the gig to a stop, smiling up at him. When he dismounted she moved immediately to his side. “I have discovered the perfect situation for our picnic.”

“Perfect situation” seemed to be an interesting choice of words. “And what might this situation be, Miss Louisa?”

Until now, he’d not thought her smile could be any brighter. She fished in the folds of her pelisse and drew out an old, battered key. She held it out to him. He took it, turned it over to study it, and then offered it back to her. “It looks to be an ordinary key. Nothing perfect about it.” She kept his gaze and closed his hand slowly around it. “It is an ordinary key, to an ordinary cottage.”

Well, Miss Louisa, you have surprised me, he thought. Then he realised she thinks it a lark, nothing more.

“It belongs to my Uncle Hayter. It was the cottage his father build before they had the money for Winthrop Farm. It is not used for much now. Except a lock was installed when my cousin Charles began to use it for studying. He leaves his books. Not that anyone would steal some old books, mind you.” She again smiled.

“One does need to be careful. There are a lot of untrustworthy people about these days. Some steal, some might get up to all sorts of trouble in a place like that.”

Oh yes,” she agreed. He is even able to stay overnight if he is too late at his books. The cottage has a wonderful fireplace with plenty of wood put by. And I have brought us lots of delicious things to eat.” She lifted the hamper at her side. “I even sneaked some of Papa’s best wine. We have everything one needs. The cottage even boasts a cot.” Her eyes and smile were still bright, but they had taken on a conspiratorial cast.

Oh, my dear. This was better than he planned. What she planned was nothing more than a naughty lark. He would build a fire, they would sneak daddy’s wine, she would give him a few coy kisses and then allow him to steal a few more. They would come home with her glowing in the pretense of adventure, having spent the afternoon playing temptress with a man she barely knew. What Louisa did not understand was that his powers of persuasion were more formidable than any of her silly, girlish notions.

His only disappointment lay in her practically delivering herself to him and removing the thrill of the chase. However, in this case the one was as good, perhaps better than the other.

He took the hamper and pushed it next to the one he had teased from the kitchens of the Hall. As he was about to hand her in, she paused. “You will like this place, I am sure. It is very quiet, and very private, Frederick.”

She had never dared use his Christian name. He looked forward to hearing it used more and in more interesting tones as the day went on.

He was about to follow Louisa into the gig when a woman called her name. It was Anne.

There Miss Elliot stood, pale, grim, eyes studying the scene, hands primly folded beneath her cloak. The perfect, proper ‘lady.’ The one thing a little wild about Anne was that she hated anything against her neck and so often left her bonnet strings untied. Even now he enjoyed the way the ribbons scattered off her shoulders like her hair was undone and blowing loose in a breeze. No person in the world had the power to ruin his plans more effectively than her. He climbed down, intending to be polite and pleasant, sending the woman away as quickly as possible.

“Miss Elliot, we were just setting off for a picnic.” He bowed and then took the horse’s bridle. It nodded with vigour. It too was beginning to feel the excitement of the afternoon’s adventure. “I am sure whatever you have to tell us—”

She walked by him without a word and went straight to Louisa.

“Your mother needs you right away, Louisa,” she said. “She has asked that I quickly find you and send you home.” Anne reached up and touched the girl’s hand resting on the arm of the seat. Louisa pulled away her hand. She scowled and said something he did not hear. She then looked from Anne to him. Anne stepped back from the gig, turned, and fixed her eyes on him as well.

They did not examine one another for long before she tried to speak again to Louisa.

There was something in Anne’s expression that angered him. Since his return to Somerset, she had been scrupulous to give him the most proper courtesy and conversation, in the most proper doses as required by the specific occasion. He made no secret of watching her as she moved about the fringes of the Musgrove household. Anne will play the piano for us. Anne will watch Mary’s children for her. Anne must be included at dinner this time. She was a useful, much beloved pet that everyone thought well of but left on the shelf until needed. To his delight he noticed she watched him as well. It was these times he wondered what she thought of him now. Returned to the place of his greatest embarrassment having accomplished everything he predicted he would do. More than eligible now if he were so inclined to ask her to marry him again.

 None of that mattered, if she were able to convince Louisa to leave him he was sure he would later learn that Anne had manipulated Mrs. Musgrove’s needs in some way. It was clear that Anne’s opinion of him was nothing like it had once been. That was a mystery solved.

“Oh, very well. I will go back and see what Mama wants,” Louisa said, as she dismounted the gig. She came close to him. “Please, stay right here, I shall not be long.” She nodded ever so slightly towards Anne, and quickly touched his chin. Laughing, she skipped through the gate.

They said nothing as they watched her red pelisse swing and dip and then disappear into the house, leaving them alone together for the first time since that summer. Wentworth felt no need to speak to Anne, so went to the horse and began an unnecessary examination of the leather straps and buckles of the tack. As he walked about the gig, he sensed her moving with him. He bent awkwardly, glancing under the brim of his hat to see she indeed was following in his wake. He stopped suddenly and could feel her come close then back away. “If you have something to say, please feel free to do so.”

“Louisa has been secreting things away from the house. Bedding mostly.”

He stayed to his task. “And why should this concern me? I am told that young women do odd things all time.”

“I know where you are taking her.”

He looked her way, smiling. “This party is of her doing. I am only the driver. So, if you know this place, you know more than I.” He found a loose buckle and set about tightening it. Her strained voice pleased him. Her anxiety wasn’t his fault. Why should he care if she was bothered?

“She intends to take you to a secluded hunting cottage in the deep woods surrounding Winthrop.” Rarely was Anne cheerful, but she was positively depressing now. It seemed that there were no calamities worse than a friendly picnic on a slightly cloudy day.  Miss Anne harboured suspicions about the intentions of the participants. If he were a different woman, he might suspect some jealousy was at play. If that were the case, perhaps justice was being meted out on his behalf.

Feigning another adjustment, he stepped closer to her. He made no pretence and looked her directly in the eye. “I know, she made it perfectly clear..” She inhaled sharply, her face froze and her eyes widened. Anne never was an overly animated person. This showed surprise, lack of control on her part. But this would be nothing compared with the inward t turmoil he imagined erupting in her mind.

Time had made some changes and he was a little surprised when she stepped even closer, put her hand on him and said, “You cannot do this thing!” Her brown eyes were wide, her mouth gaping in shock. This emotional disarray was feeding the previous maggot of glee at her discomfort.  He nearly told her to keep her opinion to herself, but then thought better. “What thing are you talking about, Miss Elliot.” The cold politeness was cheap and harsh. He took pleasure as she thought about it and blushed furiously. Her eyes wandered trying put the embarrassing circumstances into words fit for her mouth to speak. She let go of his arm and turned to lean against the gig. He worried she might faint, but she remained steady on her feet. “I cannot believe that you have so changed over this period of time.”

“Time brings many changes, you know that.” Before he could goad her further, or she could express further astonishment, Louisa called to him from the house. She turned back to speak to someone out of sight. She finished, pulled off her bonnet and skipped down the steps. The girl’s bright countenance and eager expression were made more glowing against the background of the weak light and dull autumn landscape. It was made all the more enticing, as he knew she came for him.

“Do you suppose she teases me on purpose?” he asked. “Or is she always so careless to let her hair fall around her shoulders like that?” He glanced down to see he had Anne’s attention. He did indeed and now she too watched Louisa walking quickly their way. No, Louisa is a sweet, chaste beauty who would never tease a man. Her purity even extends to her looks. She certainly has no need for powder or paint. Her cheeks are naturally the colour of early spring roses. And her lips are as inviting as any candies I’ve ever tasted.”

“Stop it. You are being deliberately filthy. You should be ashamed.”

He did not look at her, but he imagined embarrassment and anger were flushing her cheeks, colouring them in their own appealing shade. Having lured her down the path now there was no reason to turn back. “Filthy am I? Why should I be ashamed of noticing the fine attributes of a lovely woman? You never minded when I noticed such things about your candy lips.”

She breathed in sharply. “Don’t speak of us.”

“Oh, look, the dear girl has changed her dress for me. I think this one is cut quite a lot lower in the front than the other. Do you not agree? What do you think? Is it really appropriate for a picnic?”

“I think what you are planning is wicked. And I am ashamed to know you or anything about the sordid business.”

He cared nothing about her opinion of his sordid business, but she had slapped him smartly with her other remark. “But it seems that you do know. And in a while, I shall know whether her legs are as long and shapely as I suspect—”

“Stop it, Frederick. Please don’t do this to her. She is only a silly, imprudent girl. Don’t take advantage like this—” Her hand again grasped his sleeve. He imagined her features more pleading than earlier.

“What if I said I would leave her alone? That I would drop any and all plans I have concerning Miss Louisa Musgrove?”

“I would say that you should do it.” Her fingers tightened on his arm.

“Do you wish to know my conditions?” She said nothing. “Well?”

“What do you want of me?

My clever, clever Anne, he thought. She knows me well and she understands that freedom for Louisa depends on what she is willing to give. “You must come with me to the cottage instead.”

The regular sounds of an autumn day could be heard. Birds in the trees, breezes blowing around the bushes, and the sound of the horse stamping and rattling its tack. But above that he could hear Anne’s short, shallow breathing. It was reckless thing to do on his part, but so was taking the squire’s daughter to a secluded spot for seduction. As he had thought earlier, the measure of a good chess game was the surprises your opponent sprung along the way. Louisa’s steps ground on the gravel of the drive, growing closer with each step.

“Say you will join me, and I will relinquish her. But hurry, Anne, she’s almost here.”

The girl drew closer to her fate, and Anne’s breathing became more pronounced.

“I know you normally need time and solitude to make your decisions, but I am giving you neither. Decide now, Anne.” He raised his hand to wave to the girl. “If she reaches us, I shall withdraw the offer.” Louisa waved back and began walking faster.

“Decide now or I take her to the cottage,” he said.

Louisa was within steps of them—

“Lou—”

“”I accept!” Her hand fell away.

“Very good,” he whispered.

“I am relieved you waited,” Louisa said, finishing the last few steps at a trot. Her hair was nearly all down. She breathed heavily from the exertion. Her eyes shone and her cheeks were now brilliant roses. “Mama found a thousand trifling things to be done around the house. But I did few and told her I would do the rest later, after returning from our picnic.” She looked smugly towards Anne. “Mama asked about you, Anne.” With that, she offered her hand that he might help her into the gig.

Frederick took her hand and drew it to his lips. He wished for warm bare flesh but thought soft leather better than kissing scratchy wool. He smiled and then took her other hand. “I am sorry that you were called away for such inconsequential matters. It seems we have missed our opportunity.” She was puzzled and before she could speak, he continued. “It is our rotten luck that in the time you were called away my plans for the day have changed.”

She pouted and wheedled to try to make him explain why the picnic must be cancelled. When she realised that stratagem was hopeless, she began to try to flatter. “You with great authority. Surely you can ignore whatever has come up. I am so looking forward to our time together.”

“If we were aboard my ship, yes, I could do that, but my time is not my own here. I must give you this.” He reached into the gig and pulled out the hamper.  “I see I have hurt your feelings, Louisa. Let me assure you, I regret this all very much.”

Her eyes were on fire and her nostrils flared in a most appealing manner. For an instant he wondered if she would strike him. And then he considered giving in and going on the picnic. There was nothing Anne could say or do to stop him, and the girl looked very lovely in her agitated condition.

“This is the most rude and inconsiderate thing anyone has ever done to me, captain.” She snatched the hamper from his hand, her hair flying and pelisse brushing his legs as she swept off to the house.

With Louisa safely out of his grasp, he turned to Anne. Her hands again under the cloak. The steady movement indicated she wrung them with energy. Perhaps Anne was becoming more animated with his help.

Clearly it cost her to look into his eyes and say, “You did the right thing. Thank you.”

But, it was too soon for her to thank him. “Are you ready to go on our picnic? There were a few choice things in the Kellynch kitchens that Cook saw fit to give me.”

She stared for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “You cannot mean to hold me to this wicked, coerced bargain.”

He stepped closer. “I think I must. I take very seriously when I make a promise. And so should you.” Another step brought him close enough to feel the warmth of her body. “I gave up a very entertaining afternoon. I did what you requested, now I expect you to do the same for me.”

She frowned and she sighed in exasperation.  “I refuse to be a party to this nonsense.” She turned to leave him.

Allowing her to leave was not to be tolerated. He reached out and took her by the arm. She turned, looked down at his hand and began to pull away. The struggle was unexpected, and soon it escalated to the point he stepped closer and closer, pressing against the side of the gig. She still struggled as he held himself against her. When she stopped, he said quietly into her ear, “You obviously know what I want of you.” He was he stood so close he could not see her face clearly.

“Yes, I understand completely. You demand I substitute myself for Louisa.”

“Yes, dear Anne, I want you at the cottage. I am glad to see you have not lost a jot of intelligence and that you still understand me so well.” The words shocked him but the affect they had pleased as well.

She breathed in deeply and breathed out a ragged, low moan. “You can’t…you … ” she sobbed.

“I do,” he said almost too softly to be heard. Her bonnet had fallen away in the skirmish and her beautiful neck was exposed to him. His breath played on her skin and the warmth returned to him as he too breathed violently. “I want you, Anne. I always have.”

He had always wanted her in this intimate this way. He wanted to feel her naked, pressed against him. Her hands exploring him. Their breath heavy and rhythmic with passion. All his long-buried desires would be fulfilled today. He would become one with her, but even before that he would see her and touch the flesh that had been denied him for so long. In his most outlandish dreams, she would give herself without restraint, she would moan his name, begging him to love her forever. In the deepest recesses of his soul, he knew he was willing to do the begging.

She raised her head and bumped it against the gig, and he stepped back a bit. She turned what little she could to face him and said, “When I offered myself to you that summer, you were a gentleman and refused to degrade me.” Her voice quavered and she began to go limp under him. He slid an arm around her, but would not let her get away.

The muscles of her neck were standing taut, just out of the reach of his lips. Her scent was Their struggle raised a scent from her that threatened to overwhelm him. Only the promise of better, richer passions later stopped him from kissing her soft, white skin. “Of course not, I intended to marry you. What was a few weeks wait?” 

It was an extraordinary lie.

It had begun with a kiss and both of them had lost control. He was shocked when her passions proved equal to his. A bench in a folly on a rainy day, his coat for a cushion would have allowed them to unite permanently. But he had proposed, and she accepted. He knew she wanted to be good, and he never wanted to disgrace her. He stopped himself, looked away as she straightened herself and then they retuned to the garden party.  Turning down her offer had been the most wrenching, and most decent thing he had ever done. It had also caused him no end of sleepless nights Especially the weeks after she had blown their engagement to bits. He had never regretted his actions, until that moment. He wanted her and the draw of the cottage was growing stronger by the second.

“Be that gentleman again, Frederick. Allow me to go home.” She gulped for air. Her hands hung limp at her side.

“I can’t.” He stood up and took her in his arms. “We have an agreement, and it must be fulfilled.” He let her go and indicated the gig. Though she was unsteady from the struggle and dread, she was still possessed of an elegant grace as she took her place on the far side of the seat. Wentworth enjoyed watching her move and chose not to think how deeply he was hurting her with his lewd proposal. She looked straight over the horse’s head to the road. He put his foot on the step, preparing to join her when she suddenly did turn to face him. “You are no longer the man I love.”

Looking into her eyes he saw everything he wanted. He hung in the air what seemed forever, then dropped back to the ground.

She had not spoken of loving him in the past tense. Anne had used the present, the active present tense. She was in love with him now. It would seem that in the past days and weeks he had been doing everything in his power to sink himself. And with this one short phrase, it was clear he had finally managed to do so.

He stared at her, and she turned away from him. All he could see now was her hair, fallen and messy about her shoulders. Though she looked away he could see her face, its colour high from the scuffle, the sweet pinkness of her cheeks outdoing any beauty nature might dare to conjure. If only she would look at him again so that he might admire her exquisite brown eyes.

He pulled the hamper towards him, guiding it from under the seat, being careful to brush her skirts as he did. Opening it, he pulled out a bottle of wine and the two pewter cups. He poured, gulped the contents of the one and handed the other to her.

She turned a bit towards him, looked at his offering and said, “You may need fortification to accomplish this wickedness, but I shall not allow you to make me drunk. If you will do this, you will face me knowing I am in my right mind.”

“Take it, Anne. We both need this.” He leant further to her and gently shook the cup. She glanced at him, then took it, but did not drink. He poured himself another full bumper and gulped it down. He wiped his mouth as he tossed the cup to the floor of the gig. He walked to the head of the horse. It shied when he tried to take the bridle. He swore a particularly filthy oath, took its head with both hands, and snatched the leather strap. “Walk on.”

They’d gone only a few steps when Anne said, “Why do you not drive?”

He ignored her. The overcast sky was darkening and he watched a cloud in the distance begin to drop its rain over the nearby countryside. “Faster, you beast,” he said, tugging the horse forward.

“Did you hear me?” Her tone was gentle, not exasperated or even fearful.

“I did.” He continued on, doing nothing to avoid puddles and mud as he set a respectable pace for them.

She did not ask anything more. The springs in the seat creaked as she shifted. After a time, she breathed deeply and returned a soft, resigned sigh. When the first raindrops fell, she let out a little yelp.  “We will both be soaked through if you continue to walk, you should ride,” Anne said, finally.

Both of them soaking wet was a wonderful cover for use of the cottage. The proposition of a warm, sheltering refuge on a rainy afternoon perfectly acceptable. He envisioned their wet clothes hanging crazily about to dry. It was a delightful prospect. It was an amusing thought, but merely a distraction from the real purpose of the outing.

The seat creaked again. “You are taking us the wrong way. You have passed the lane that leads to the woods.” He was sure he was imagining the urgency in her voice. And it was ironic that she took it upon herself to correct his navigation. A correction that could only assure their quick arrival at the cottage and what she presumed was her fate. He wished he could chalk it up to her anticipation. Too bad it is her fastidiousness that spurs it and no real desire for me. He urged the horse and they walked more quickly.

The seat creaked again, and he felt the gig shift to the side a little. “Please, Frederick. The rain is coming down harder. Please get in and drive us.”

He looked back to see her sitting on the driver’s side, leaning forward and grasping the board. She reached up to brush away water from her cheeks. It did no good and she blinked as the drops hit her face more quickly. Even in the rain, with her bonnet beginning to succumb to the soaking, she was beautiful and as desirable as she as she had ever been.

This beauty only served to make the circumstance more excruciating.

He stopped and the horse continued on. Again he swore, yanking it to a halt.  Releasing the bridle, he turned, began to strip off his gloves, and walked back to her. Roughly, he took her gloved hand. Pushing back the fabric of her sleeve, he put his lips to her bare wrist and breathed in the scent of her.

This time she did nothing to escape his grasp. “Shall I tell you why I walk?” He did not move her arm from his face, he spoke into her skin. “Because I am finally in my right mind, and because it is not very far to the cottage.”

“I do not—”

He raised his voice and continued over her. “And the reason I take this path is that I am taking you home to your sister’s cottage. I will not be taking anyone to the other cottage.”

He raised his head and saw her close her eyes and a faint smile touch her lovely pink lips. Her hand remained in his. He brought her wrist again to his lips and lingered there. Reluctantly, he broke away and looked at her again. He released he and reached to touch her cheek but pulled back.

“I cannot get in the seat and drive us because being so near to you, and feeling your body so close, catching more of your scent, I would take you to that cottage, and so help me this body of mine would take you with pleasure. But we would both regret it forever.  And we both know neither of us could forgive me.”

He drew away and she placed her hand on his shoulder, then his cheek. “I was wrong about you.” Tears flooded her lashes, and she wiped them with her glove.

He returned to the horse and started the walk home.

“Frederick. Stop, please.” The gig jarred to the side as he slowed. She came down awkwardly and stood before him. Her face was wet, tears mingled with the rain, but her eyes were bright with something else. “You have done precisely the right thing.” She pulled her glove off and reached up to cup his jaw. Her hand lingered and then her fingers rifted to his neck. “I was wrong earlier. Neither of us has really changed so much.”

He reached up and ended the magnificent agony of her touch. He kissed her palm “If I really were a different sort of man than the one you remember, I would take you to that cottage.” He released her hand, but she did not pull it away. Instead she drew close and beckoned him to kiss her.

The kiss was nine years of loss, anger, regret, and hope. It was the renewed longing of the past few weeks. Her response was equal with hunger. Neither of them wanted to end it, but it was a pointless gesture under the circumstances. She did not move away as they each made a show of ordering themselves. She finally said, “I must thank you. You have saved me from myself. Again.”

Both had a better understanding of themselves and of the other. She asked no permission to leave and he did nothing to release her. Slowly she drew away from him and made her way down a meandering path leading to her sister’s cottage in Uppercross village He bodily hurt when she disappeared.

The urge to follow her was unbearable. Staying with the gig took every bit of he could muster. He pulled on the bridle and started to walk in a direction he hoped would lead him to the Hall. He regretted not knowing the location of the Hayter cottage. He had wine and the cottage held the promise of warmth. The place had everything he needed as he now had plenty of food for thought.

This story was fun to write but this is not the Frederick that I bring to life.