With hammering heart, Elizabeth Elliot pulled open the door to Bailey’s tearoom and stepped inside. Surely he would be here! There—was he seated at the table in the corner? Or perhaps behind those ladies? That burst of laughter—certainly it was his voice she heard!

Or perhaps not.

The Abbey clock struck the hour—one, two—and Elizabeth became aware of the proprietor’s stare and the knowing look he exchanged with the serving girl. Mortified, she turned away. This was not the first time she had come looking for him—and these people obviously remembered. Where else was she to find him?

There was a tightening in her throat, and her chin began to quiver. Elizabeth pulled open the door. She would not cry! He was not worth that! Patrick Gill was nothing to her—nothing! She left the tearoom, banging the door behind her.

It was, she reasoned, her wretched situation that made her so vulnerable to Mr Gill’s charms. For what was he, really? A clerk in a counting house. To think that she, of all women, would condescend to meet him twice a week for tea. Why, it was laughable!

And she had danced with him at that assembly as well. Well, and what did it matter? He had not returned to Bath. Or, more probably, he had decided to end their friendship. In either case, Elizabeth was left to play the fool.

Oh, he had made promises. He said something about a pond and a bench and a note beneath the seat. At the time Elizabeth thought he meant the small lake at Belsom Park. But that couldn’t be right—there was no bench at Belsom Park. And so, like a fool, she had visited every other park in Bath. And didn’t she look the idiot, sitting down on each bench and then feeling underneath for a note!

Elizabeth made her way to the hacking stand. That she must now spend precious pennies for a chair was added to the list of Patrick Gill’s offenses. What had possessed her to come today? She should have remained at home!

And here was another source of trouble. She ought to be living with her father in the fine house he had hired on Camden Place. But he had given it up to seek refuge in The Citadel, placing himself under that horrible physician’s care. Elizabeth was now a guest of her newly married sister, Anne. It was grossly unjust that she, the eldest sister, must become a dependent!

The journey to Anne’s house on St Peter Square was easily arranged, although the chairmen took their time ascending the hill. Presently the chair was lowered, and Elizabeth counted out the fare. It was then she noticed a carriage waiting in front of Anne’s house. She sighed. Mr Rushworth was calling again.

James Rushworth had come every day since the assembly, though she did not always grant him an interview. Those conversations, conducted under Estella’s watchful eyes, were an exercise in perseverance. Yesterday, for example, he labored on about a French meal he had taken at The Clarenden. Elizabeth did not consider Filet de Boeuf au Jus to be worthy of so much enthusiasm, but there it was.

One of the chairmen came to assist her. “I have another call to make,” she told him. “Take me to The Citadel—Mr Savoy’s establishment. Do you know it?”

Elizabeth found her father in his rooms, handsome as ever in a silk brocade dressing gown. Today he was occupied with the pages of a booklet. He rose when she entered and quickly waved her to a chair.

“My dear,” he said, “listen to this. It’s the most extraordinary thing! Fortuitous, I call it.”

Elizabeth had to smile. Only one event would fit this bill! “Have we come into a fortune, then?” she said.

Over the top of his spectacles he gave her a look. “Mr Savoy has recommended that I study this.” He held it up for her to see.

Elizabeth leaned in to better read the title. “An almanac?” she said. “What do you want with an almanac?”

 “It is a source of…information.”

“For farmers,” she said. “Or for gentlemen like Mr Musgrove, who must oversee crops. But surely not for you.”

“Ah, but there is more here than tables of the moon and tides. There is, you see, the rotation of the stars to consider. The positions of the planets.”

What nonsense was this? “You cannot be serious, Father.”

“Ah, but Mr Savoy believes there are messages from the stars themselves.”

“He would. I suppose he’ll have you consulting a fortune teller next?”

“This is an ancient science and one worth attending to. Listen to this. It is the forecast for April.” Sir Walter found the place on the page and read:

The mutual Aspects this Month are but few and amicable.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “That is a prediction?”

“If,” he said severely, “you will kindly refrain from commenting until I have finished?” He cleared his throat and read:

 Fear not poor Soldier, I expect thy Condition to be good about these Times. Much civil Action, confident Hopes that we shall recover our Freedom, and enlarge our preceding Privileges.

 Elizabeth nearly laughed aloud. “In what way is this helpful?”

“You have not been attending,” cried Sir Walter. “Consider our situation!”

“I am! Father, we are not soldiers!”

 “Prisoners, more like,” he said. “Prisoners to debt and deprivation. But this tells me that, due to civil action, I shall recover my freedom. Freedom, Elizabeth! With privileges!”

“Enlarged privileges, according to your gypsy.” She rose to her feet. “I meant to bring the post, but I came away too quickly and forgot to stop at Lady Russell’s.”

He waved her apology aside. “She will be by with it later, I am sure.”

“Lady Russell now comes every day?”

“And why shouldn’t she? Now that I may have visitors, you ought to do the same.”

“I haven’t a carriage at my disposal as Lady Russell has. Now that I am here, is there anything I may do for you?”

But Sir Walter had returned to his almanac.

“Father?”

He waved her on. “Farewell, then. Give my regards to your new companion, Cousin Whatever-her-name-is.”

“Cousin Estella. Estella Stevenson-Bragg. Surely you remember.”

Sir Walter did not look up. “Ah yes,” he said. “One of the Stevensons. Pity, that.”

“Do not blame me! It was Captain Wentworth who engaged her!”

He looked up and twinkled. “I trust she is better at backgammon than poor Mrs Clay?”

This comment stung. Penelope Clay, Elizabeth’s former companion, had been her particular friend. “I wouldn’t know,” Elizabeth said, and went out.

 Fortunately, the sedan chair was waiting, and so within a short time Elizabeth arrived at St Peter Square. Of Mr Rushworth’s carriage there was no sign.

Captain Wentworth had taken what Elizabeth suspected was a second-rate house for his new wife. It was both cluttered and undignified, being the residence of an admiral who was currently out of the country. Elizabeth had lately learned that Anne, scandalized by his artistic taste, had hidden several of his statues and paintings in the cellar. This came as no surprise. Everyone knew that admirals were lascivious brutes.

Anne’s butler opened the door with his usual silent precision. Elizabeth eyed him as she surrendered her gloves and hat. With Mr Yee one never knew. He had, however, become an unlikely ally in her war against Estella.

Yee presented a salver on which calling cards were arranged. He spoke softly. “Mr Rushworth has called, Miss Elliot. A matter of some urgency. He plans to return. And,” Yee’s eyebrow lifted, “a gentleman by the name of William Elliot left his card.”

“Botheration,” muttered Elizabeth. Mr Elliot’s presence in Bath was a nuisance. He, too, claimed to have urgent business to discuss, a thing she wished to avoid.

Yee made no move to withdraw the salver. “There is a notation on the reverse.”

Elizabeth winced a little. William Elliot was her father’s heir and, save for a brief period last winter, had been at odds with the family for years. That Mr Elliot should be so attentive now, while her father’s health was in question, did nothing to improve her opinion. Elizabeth turned the card to read:

 Off to Brighton for a spell. I’ll call when I return.

Elizabeth tossed the card onto Yee’s salver. As if she cared for Mr Elliot or his plans! And then she realized that there were voices—Estella was speaking to someone. But wasn’t the house empty? Elizabeth rounded on Mr Yee. “She has a caller? In the dining room?”

The dining room was adjacent to the entrance hall, so Estella’s voice carried perfectly. “I must say, this coffee is not at all fresh!”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. Trust Estella to serve coffee in the middle of the day—and in the dining room of all places! “To whom is my cousin speaking?” she whispered.

But before Yee could answer, Estella spoke again. “Your Mrs Yee is so inconsistent with her cooking! On some days the coffee is perfectly made, but on others—! Would you like me to ring for a fresh pot, dear Anne?”

Dear Anne? What was this? “Anne is supposed to be in Shropshire!” Elizabeth whispered.

“Mrs Wentworth arrived just after you left,” Yee murmured.

Anne’s reply to Estella was indistinct, but Elizabeth heard the sound of a bell. Was Estella usurping Anne’s role as hostess? What nerve! Elizabeth caught hold of Yee’s sleeve. “Don’t answer that,” she ordered.

“I think the coffee is perfectly delightful,” said another voice. “So refreshing after our journey.”

But this was her sister Mary! What was Mary doing in Bath?

“Mrs Musgrove is also here,” Yee remarked.

“Who else?” Elizabeth demanded.

But Yee could not answer because Mary went on talking. “I happen to know that dear Captain Wentworth brought this coffee especially for Captain Benwick. He likes to sample different sorts; I heard him tell Charles so yesterday. This coffee,” she added, “is from Abbey-sinia.”

“Captain Wentworth and Captain Benwick are here?” whispered Elizabeth. “And Charles Musgrove as well?”

“He comes later in the week,” Yee murmured. “The captains went out. Captain Benwick departs tomorrow. Will you join the ladies for coffee?”

Elizabeth gave Yee a look. “No,” she said evenly. “I’ll learn more this way.”

Both of Mr Yee’s brows went up. “As you wish,” he said.

“Do not look at me like that. All servants listen at doors—even you. How else does one learn anything?”

“I,” said he, “have no need for such tactics.”

Elizabeth returned her attention to the conversation. If Mary was referring to Captain Wentworth as dear, she and Estella had come to dagger drawing! Wasn’t that delightful! “My best hope,” she confided to Yee, “is that Mrs Stevenson-Bragg will be sent packing. Won’t that make life easier for all of us?”

The bell sounded again. Apparently Estella was growing impatient.

Again Yee’s eyebrow lifted. “And yet, ‘Hope deferred maketh the heart sick,’ Miss Elliot,” he quoted. He made a slight bow and went into the dining room. Straightway, Estella began complaining. Yee came out with the coffee pot. He did not look at Elizabeth.

“I trust your time with Elizabeth has been pleasant, Cousin Estella.” This was Anne’s voice. Trust Anne to maintain peace.

“I must say, your sister is not at all the lady I expected.”

“Of course she is a lady!” cried Mary. “What else would she be?”

“I never expected her to be a hermit,” countered Estella. “Which is exactly what she is! And bookish, too!”

“Elizabeth, bookish?” Mary sounded incredulous.

“Indeed, yes,” said Estella. “For she loaned me her ‘favorite book,’ a flaming nautical romance, and insisted that I read it.”

“You must forgive our surprise,” said Anne. “We have not found Elizabeth to be fond of reading.”

“Except for the Baronetage,” said Mary, “which is certainly her favorite book. For my part, I think it would be a complete waste of your time. Why should you wish to read about a set of people with whom you are so thinly connected?”

Elizabeth had to smile. Yes, Mary and Estella were most definitely—what was the saying? Ah, yes—on the warpath!

“I understand from Yee,” said Anne, “that Elizabeth has taken you to see the sights. Did you enjoy yourself? Bath is particularly pleasant in the spring.”

Elizabeth’s smile grew. Poor Anne was desperate if she was calling Bath pleasant. Anne hated Bath.

“Oh, the shifts I was put to, to convince your sister to take me anywhere!” Estella cried. “She is so beautiful and so well-connected. I expected her to attend parties and dinners every night of the week, but she did nothing of the sort.”

“Even if she had,” said Mary hotly, “she could hardly have taken you along! If you haven’t noticed, Elizabeth is rather particular about those she is seen with!”

“Mary—” Anne’s voice held a warning tone.

“Oh, don’t come the innocent with me, Anne. You know very well how it is! Elizabeth remained at home because she could do nothing else. Not with Father ill, you gone, and a complete nobody as a guest! Honestly!”

“A nobody?” cried Estella. “I like that!”

Anne spoke more forcefully. “Did you enjoy the assembly, Cousin Estella? As Elizabeth is out, you must tell us all about it.”

“She’s either out, or she is sleeping the day away…again,” Estella put in.

“Which is exactly as a lady should do!” said Mary.

“The assembly?” prompted Anne.

There was a pause. “Well. It was very elegant and very crowded,” Estella said at last. “Which came as a surprise, for are not many ladies and gentlemen—the most genteel—in London during April?”

“And,” persisted Anne, “did you enjoy the dancing?”

“Oh, ever so! And you needn’t think I was left to languish with the matrons.” Estella spoke more easily now. “Your sister provided me with the most delightful partners.”

“She did?” squeaked Mary. “Imagine that, Elizabeth being considerate! Who were they?”

“Let me see. There was Mr Rushworth—he is such a funny one and so awkward, though I hear he’s fearfully rich. I think he would have liked to be your sister’s partner always. He has come to call nearly every day since. He stares and stares at her. And he consumes a great quantity of cake.”

Elizabeth felt a flush rise to her cheeks. What an appalling conquest she’d made!

“Mr James Rushworth?” Mary sounded puzzled. “Isn’t he the fellow whose wife ran off with another—”

Anne interrupted. “And your other dancing partners?”

“There were so many, I cannot recall. Ah, but how could I forget dear Colonel Wallis?”

“Colonel Wallis!” Anne’s voice was sharp.

“And let me tell you, he is my idea of a gentleman! So courtly and distinguished! But then, I do adore a red uniform, even on an older man! But I believe my favorite partner was your cousin. He is so witty and handsome. And he dances de-vinely!”

“My cousin?” Anne sounded dumbfounded. “Do you mean William Elliot?”

“But I thought Mr Elliot had disappeared!” said Mary. “You must mean someone else.”

“No, Mr William Elliot is the man I mean,” said Estella. “And what is more, I think he admires your sister very much. But she does not return the sentiment.”

“Elizabeth, not like Mr Elliot?” cried Mary. “Nonsense! When I was here last winter, she was very fond of him. He called every evening just to see her. It was the talk of the town.”

“No, I cannot agree,” said Estella. “She is much more fond of that other fellow, the one she danced three sets with.”

“Three?” There was wondering rebuke in Anne’s voice. Elizabeth set her teeth—she had done no such thing! If only Estella would stop talking! “That cannot be right,” said Anne. “Elizabeth’s public manners are flawless.”

Elizabeth could not miss the implication. Anne would do well to keep her opinions to herself!

“Only think of it, Anne,” cried Mary. “Mr Elliot has returned to Bath! Do you suppose he’ll call?” There was a pause. “I know! That officers’ dinner that Captain Wentworth is putting together. Why not invite Mr Elliot to come?”

Anne did not reply right away. “Our...cousin is not...an officer, Mary,” she said at last. “I really don’t think—”

“Oh, rubbish! Neither is Charles, and he is certainly coming.”

“So Estella,” said Anne, “you say that Elizabeth is fond of Mr Rushworth? And, you say she danced often with him?”

“Good gracious, no! Where did you get that idea? The man your sister admires is Mr Gill.”

Elizabeth’s heart began to hammer. This was dreadful! Had she been so obvious? Had Estella guessed her secret?

“He is rather dashing,” Estella went on, “for he rescued us when we were drifting in that boat.”

“Boat?” demanded Mary. “What boat?”

“The one at Sydney Gardens, of course. After poor Mr Elliot fell into the canal, Mr Gill came out of nowhere and rescued us.”

“What?” cried Mary.

“Not that Mr Gill isn’t a charming man,” continued Estella. “He is. And he’s rather nice looking too, in an athletic, animal way. Still, I find it delicious that your so-fine sister, who is obviously a stickler, has fallen for someone like him.” Estella gave her trilling laugh.

Elizabeth’s fingers curled into fists.

“What I think,” said Anne, “is that you have been reading too many novels, Cousin Estella. And that is not what you were invited here to do!”

“But—what else was there? I could hardly accompany your sister to her love-trysts!”

“Her what?” cried Anne.

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. How dare Estella say such a thing!

Mary’s ringing laughter was even worse. “Love trysts?” she crowed. “Elizabeth? I don’t believe it for a minute. Anne, she is jesting—she must be! What man in his right mind would have Elizabeth?”

“Think what you will, but it’s true,” said Estella primly. “Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon she disappears. And I am never invited to accompany her. It’s Tuesday today—and where is she?”

“A fine companion you’ve been!” cried Mary. “Even Mrs Clay did better than that!”

“I expect Elizabeth was calling on Father at those times.” Anne’s tone was sharp—which did not bode well for Estella. “Shall we go into the drawing room now?”

“But the coffee—?”

“Mr Yee will know where to find us, Cousin Estella,” said Anne. “He is quite resourceful in that way.” There came the sound of chairs being pushed back.

Elizabeth wheeled around and retraced her steps to the bottom of the staircase. She placed her hand on the banister rail, turned round, and waited. One by one, the ladies emerged. “Why, good afternoon,” she said, stepping down.

The stricken look on her sisters’ faces was delightful to behold.

~&~ End of Chapter 1 ~&~