Chapter One (September 1809)

Anne Elliot watched the retreating form of Charles Musgrove as it grew smaller.

He had been surprised by her answer, a surprise in its self, as she had never shown any interest in anything other than friendship with him. She certainly never incited matrimony. How could she accept Charles as her husband; to be his wife? She had decided long ago she could never marry, not when she had already given her heart away. Since his leaving had rendered it broken, she could not give it away again. She was firmly against marrying for anything other than love, and so she would remain single living out her life as a spinster.

That look of disappointment on Charles face had been so familiar, it was so similar to another time when another man had given her the same pained look. She hoped Charles would settle on another soon, she had hinted he look toward Mary, she knew her sister held an admiration for him. It was not quite as fierce as her own feelings had been for him back then, but there was an affection to be sure.

Anne worried she may have been a little shorter with Charles than she had intended, he had thrown her off guard when he appeared in her personal secret place. Her sacred spot; the place where they would meet and be together. After the last time, it did not hold the same pleasantness as it had once, indeed it had taken her months before she would set foot there again. Yet she still felt closer to him there than anywhere else, like he was somehow around her still, and to have someone invade that fantasy had irked her somewhat. She had had barely enough time to compose herself from the shock of seeing Charles there, when he had blurted out his proposal.

When he had asked, he had been just as clumsy and nervous, but she had found it adorable and endearing. With Charles, she felt only discomfort on his behalf and embarrassment for them both.

She sighed and collected her book, there would be no more reading today. She stole herself ready for the onslaught she would receive at her decision to reject Charles, it was then something caught her eye. She looked up towards the meadow in the distance, the one he would always cross to get to her. She remembered back then, it seemed time stood still, it took so long for him to reach her. No matter how quickly he walked toward her it was never quick enough.

She looked again and gasped as her legs almost gave way beneath her. A sight so reminiscent of the past stole the breath from her lungs. It could not be … surely it was a trick of the light, but it looked like...

The gentleman riding the horse disappeared from her view, and Anne concluded herself with the fact she must have imagined the whole thing. She had been thinking of him, so her imagination had brought him to life. That was all. He could not have been here. He was hundreds of miles away, or so she had been led to believe from the snippets of information she managed to glean from the newspapers her father read. No, he would never come back here, to her.

She had the sudden urge to call on an old friend. Someone who she had not seen in a while, but who Anne knew would understand why she stayed away, and why now she was ready to be in his company again.

Anne moved quickly and quietly through the gardens, reluctant to be seen by others in the house who would be rising from bed to break their fast, Anne slipped through the servant's entrance next to the kitchen. She has used this way before when she was trying to avoid being seen by well-meaning relations and their guests, long ago when she needed to come and go unnoticed. The cook and other servants who were milling around the kitchen, helping to prepare the breakfast and complete their daily tasks only nodded and smiled as she swept past. They understood. Regrettably Anne knew they must sympathise while her. Her father meant well and Mary, and of course she had Lady Russel; her ever doting God Mother, but none of them would ever take the place of her mother. None of them could even begin to close the gaping hole left in her heart after she passed away, only one had ever come close to making her whole again; to making her feel as loved as her mother had, and now he was gone too.

She had known love and affection of the purest deepest kind; first in her relationship with her dear ma'ma and then with the man she thought she would call her husband. She shook her head attempting to clear it of the thoughts of him and the life she could've had. It would not so to dwell on the past. What would Elizabeth say if she caught her being melancholy again?

She thought of her eldest sister and her distant nature, how Anne wished she could be more like her. Elizabeth had been meant to marry a cousin; their father's heir, a William Elliot. However despite numerous invitations, he had failed to appear at Kellynch and Anne knew her father and sister were restless and somewhat affronted at his ignoring them. Who would not want to spend the summer at Kellynch? Who wouldn't want to marry the ever elegant exquisite Elizabeth Elliot? There were plenty of hopeful young eligible men in Somersetshire and beyond who would. Yet her family's arrogance and belief that none were good enough for such a beauty as Elizabeth meant that at four and twenty, she was still single.

Anne made it all the way to her chamber without being seen. She disposed of her book and picked up her shawl, despite being near the end of September, it was still pleasant enough to forgo her pelisse. After changing her shoes to something more appropriate for walking, she was back down the back stairs and out of the kitchen door.

Once outside she let go of the breath she had been holding and breathed in the fresh air before starting at a swift pace over the meadow in the direction of her friends cottage. Half way there she noticed her God Mothers carriage as it went past on its way to the Hall. Anne had guiltily hidden behind a tree in the hopes that she had not been seen. She knew she would have to face her -them all- at some point that day, and explain her actions, but not just yet. As soon as the coast was clear, she went on her way.

The humble cottage with its old apple tree dominating its garden came into view and Anne felt herself relax and tense simultaneously. She was relieved she had held her nerve and arrived, and yet at the same time felt the sudden urge to run far away. She braced herself, straightening her shoulders and knocked on the old oak door. There was no answer. She knocked again, a little louder this time – still nothing. She was just about to give up when she heard a voice from the garden behind the house.

"Hello?"

"Hello?" she called back.

The man walked around to meet her. He was wearing an old smock covered in grass stains and patches of mud, a pair of gardening shoes, a wide brimmed hat shielding his face and held a paring knife in one hand. His eyes took in his visitor and widened in surprise before he smiled warmly at her. "Miss Anne."

"Hello Mr Wentworth." She paused, "I wonder if we may speak a while."