Category Archives: Unspoken Scenes

Unspoken Scenes – Frederick Wentworth’s Letterbox – Anne’s Second Letter

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My Dearest Frederick,

 

What a strange correspondence ours is! Your letter took four months to reach me but I was very happy to receive it nevertheless.

I must congratulate you with your promotion although it is no surprise to me, dearest. I always knew you would rise to great heights in the Navy for you are diligent, brave and loyal. His Majesty’s Navy could not have a more devoted servant than you, my love. I am very proud of you as you are now Lieutenant Frederick Wentworth. How good that sounds!

 

It rejoices me to hear that you have made a new friend in Lieutenant Hargraves. It is of the uttermost importance that one has a good friend to stand by one if needed. I am sure you delight in the knowledge that he is as avid a reader as you are. Does he favours the same authors as you or does he have a different taste? I am curious to hear all about the lieutenant in your next letter.

 

It pains and, at the same time, consoles me when you say that you have little time to dwell on your memories. No doubt, you mean memories of me and our time together. I am not that fortunate, my love. Our shared memories are all that remains to me to brighten up the dullness of my existence.

 

Without you to fill my thoughts, I would die of boredom and misery, dearest.

My family is, as always, in pursuit of idle, useless pleasures, such as balls and hunting parties, or going to Bath to take the waters. I loathe Bath, I really do! It is such a dull, bleak town, filled with vain, boring people! Nothing really intelligent is ever discussed. Only the usual, well-trodden subjects keep arising, on and on, and nothing ever changes.

 

I have managed to stay at home these past months under the pretence that I had to give support to my sister Mary, who is expecting her first child. You will remember Mary, I am sure. She was always of poorer health than I and now, she is suffering great discomforts in her pregnancy. Her husband, Mr Charles Musgrove, is very pleased to have me at their house, so that I can assist my sister when she needs me.

 

Will that be my lot in life, then?

To be the spinster aunt who must fly to the rescue of her married sisters when they summon her? I sometimes find myself rebelling against such a fate but I do not know how I could escape it. Through the years, I have learned that one cannot fight against Fate, nor is it to one’s advantage to do so. It only brings one the displeasure and anger of one’s family which is bad for everyone.

 

I fervently hope your next letter will reach me sooner, my love. I do miss your writings so.

 

Always yours,

 

A.E.

 

Unspoken Scenes – Anne Eliot’s Letterbox – Letter #2 From F.W.

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One year later . . .

 

 

Dearest Anne,

It took six months for your letter to catch up with me and it has taken that long, again, for me to lose my willpower to not respond.

I shall write to you on occasion as I do my other acquaintances. Do not expect much as I find little time on board ship. Perhaps, you wish that I do not write. If I hear no more from you, than I shall cease my few words and understand.

I am, now, Lieutenant of “The Watch” along with a new friend Lieutenant Harville. We find we have much in common and are becoming good mates. We encourage and console each other in our more difficult situations in life and the Navy. He enjoys reading as I do.

I love my life upon the sea as it affords me little time to dwell upon things I cannot change. I have many cherished memories on which to reflect but I am kept quit busy with my rank.

I hope this letter finds you well and please give my regards to Sir Walter and your sisters.

F.W.

 

Unspoken Scene – Frederick Wentworth’s Letterbox

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My Dearest Frederick,

 

I had a footman deliver this letter at the Portsmouth Admiralty barracks posthaste and pray it may reach you before you sail. I cannot let you leave for distant shores without some shred of explanation, at least. You, who have been nothing but kindness and generosity of the heart, you deserve to know why I chose to reject you so cruelly.

 

My dearest love, you are not to be blamed for this disaster. The fault is mine, utterly mine. I am a coward when it comes to defending my own wishes. When people try to persuade me that I must be wrong in my actions, I am easily swayed and weak.

 

I thought I knew my own heart, dearest, when you asked me for my love. That day, I was the happiest of women in the world!

I could picture us both quietly growing old together, me at our home in a seaside town, like Portsmouth or Brighton, waiting for you to return from your missions, and you, doing your duty for England, supported by my letters of home and family.

I saw myself sitting at my escritoire, writing those letters, while gazing out into the garden where our children would be playing on the lawn. Every night, I would tell them stories about their brave, kind father, so that they would be proud of you and know why you fight for the home they know and love. Every morning, I would race down the stairs to see if the post had brought me tidings of you so that I could read and be happy for the rest of the day.

 

Alas, I was sadly wrong and foolish. My father and our dear friend, Lady Russell, made me recognize the errors of my thoughts. They pointed out – and very wisely so – that I am still too young to be affianced yet. I must spread my wings into Society first so that I can meet – and here I quote – ‘better and worthier candidates than a penniless naval man with little prospects in life’.

 

I know they are mistaken about you, my love, and I tried to make them see how wrong they were. I honestly did make an effort but my weakness of character prevailed when they combined their efforts to persuade me. I gave in and accepted to reject you.

 

Now I am an empty shell without a heart. I walk and talk and laugh but inside, I am dead. Goodbye, my precious love. Forget me and banish me from your heart. I wish you will find a woman who can truly give you the happiness you deserve. I will not be that woman because I am a coward.

 

Please, forgive me.

 

A.E.

 

 

Unspoken Scene – Anne Elliot’s Letter Box

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Anne Elliot’s Letter Box

 

My Dearest Anne,

 

I can only think of my loss of you, since I was forced to walk away from Kellynch Hall, two days ago. I do not know when this letter will reach you, as we set sail this morning and I will post it at our first port.

As my proposal was being rejected, I could not help but feel that your decision was not entirely you own. Your family has wealth and privilege, where I had nothing to commend myself to a woman in the ranks of society. We both had known this from the beginning, yet I held our hopes of a life together, strong in my heart. I thought you felt the same. I still do.

Whether your decision was the right one or not, it is done.

I sincerely wish you all happiness in the future.

I will always love you.

F.W

Unspoken Scene – Colonel Brandon Meets Marianne

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“Your mother informs me that you are quite the skilled pianist, Miss Marianne. You must play for us! Please, say you will!”

Colonel Brandon overheard Mrs. Jennings’ conversation with the petite young lady standing at the other side of the room. It would have been a handy feat not to have heard her, Brandon mused. Through the whole of the evening, the dowager had been speaking as though she meant for her voice to carry her words all the way to town.

“Oh, Mrs. Jennings, I assure you, I am no great musician. Surely you do not mean for me to subject these poor people to such a paltry offering!”

“Nonsense!” said the older woman. “You are much too modest, my dear. Why, as soon as I met you, I knew you had the look of a proficient. You could no more play poorly than a nightingale could squawk like a crow. Come, Lord Middleton,” Mrs. Jennings called, “will you not unlock the pianoforte for our dear Miss Marianne? She must be convinced to play for us; our evening shan’t be complete if she will not!”

Brandon swept his gaze subtly over to Mrs. Jennings and the much-importuned Miss Marianne, and was not surprised to see a blush lighting the young lady’s cheeks. She was not yet accustomed to Mrs. Jennings’ boisterous, over-frank manner. He wished the elder lady would let the poor girl be; doubtless, Miss Marianne did not wish to be put on display in this manner. But Mrs. Jennings would have her way; it was not long before she and several others of the party had convinced the young lady to grace them with a few songs. Miss Marianne settled herself at the pianoforte, and Lady Middleton provided her with sufficient sheet music for the cause.

The first piece she chose was a simple, charming ballad. Brandon went to sit among the rest of the party, choosing a seat near the back. He had no desire to take part in the raptures that were sure to follow the completion of each selection; he simply wished to enjoy the music as it warranted, in his own quiet way.

Brandon was prepared to witness a tolerably pleasant performance, one which was unlikely to be anything out of the common way. But in no way was he prepared for what followed. As Miss Marianne’s song grew, Brandon felt as though he was being caught up into it, drawn further and further in until it seemed he could no longer hear the voices of the others in the room, could no longer see the people they belonged to. There was nobody but her.

It was strange, he thought to himself. There was nothing particularly arresting about this song; it was one he had heard many times before, played in much the same style. The young lady’s voice was quite pretty, it could not be denied, but he had borne witness to others that were equally so.  But there was something about this girl that he could not quite put a name to. As she played, she gained a presence that would not be ignored, and yet, Brandon had the strange feeling that if he were to look away from her for too long, she would disappear like a fading sunset. He wanted to catch her beauty and hold it to him like some fragile, precious thing, to keep with him ever after the luminous freshness that glowed from her, to remember it forever as he saw it in this moment.

His heart stirred then, as it had not done in more years than he cared to count, and he marveled at it in a distant way. What was happening to him? A moment before, he had been passing a normal evening, with the same, predictable people. Now, it seemed that he hardly knew himself. It was as though a tether had been tied round him; he was bound fast, and he had not even felt it occur. To his surprise, he found that he did not wish to free himself. He was hers, though she knew it not. He vowed that he would become for her whatever she most needed, and hoped that he could one day come to be that which she most desired. He cared nothing for the cost. And so he ran headlong down a path from which there was no return, wondering at this unaccustomed, unanticipated haste. He hardly dared think where it all might lead. Don’t be a fool, Brandon, he scolded himself. You have been here before, and it nearly ruined you.

But as the piece ended and the other inhabitants of the room burst into applause and ardent accolades, the voice in Brandon’s mind faded away like the spent notes of Miss Marianne’s song. For good or ill, he was captured forever.