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It snowed quite unexpectedly one April morning, the first year they were married. Anne had just dressed, and went to the window to pull back the curtains and let in a little more light. It was the fine, unpleasant kind of snow, better suited to the driving winds of January than early April. Already it was starting to stick to the ground, like pale white sand.
"Perhaps you had better not go to town today, Frederick," Anne said, when he came to stand beside her at the window.
He brought his hands to rest on her shoulders, his thumbs slipping from the fabric of her dress onto the skin of her neck. She leaned slightly back against him and crossed her arms in front of her, and he, taking the invitation, wrapped his arms around her, so his large hands were resting over her small ones.
"I think I must," he told her, pressing his words against her cheek. "I am expecting a letter from London, in answer to some inquiries about Mrs. Smith's property in the West Indies. If the news is what I expect, it will require as prompt a response as I can give it. Besides," he said, and Anne could feel his slight smile, "what kind of captain would I be, if I could not bear a little snow?"
Anne looked out at the grey cold and shivered, glad of the warm press of her husband's body behind her. "It snowed often then, at Gibraltar?" she asked, and he laughed.
"I will wear my wool coat," he promised, and kissed her on the top of the head.
When Frederick left, Anne sat down to her correspondence. There was little enough of it; a letter from Mary to reply to, and one from Lady Russell. She also owed the Crofts a note – the Admiral and Mrs. Croft had invited them to stay for a while at Kellynch, after their wedding, but Anne could not bear to. To be reminded of the indifference of her own family, while enjoying the warm welcome of his, was more than she wished to endure in her first months of marriage. Instead they had taken a house a little outside of Lyme, near enough to his friends that they would not lack for company, and near enough for Lady Russell to visit when she could.
Anne finished her replies, enjoying the quiet warmth of her home. She sat down to the pianoforte, tempted by the new music Frederick had bought for her. She played for some time, taking pleasure from the music, and the knowledge that her practice was no longer only for her own benefit.
It was not until the servant came in to light the lamps that she began to be worried. Outside, the snow still feel steadily, wetter and denser than it had been in the morning. The windows were cold to the touch, and when Anne stood at them and peered out, she could see her breath.
So she began to wait, picking up a novel and putting it aside again, walking up the stairs for a better prospect of the road from the windows in their bedroom.
Finally, she heard muffled hoofbeats, and saw him and his horse ride into the yard. She pulled on a coat, ran down the stairs and outside to him. Her slippers offered little protection against the snow, but she was hardly aware.
Frederick had given the horse to the stable boy, and met her in the middle of the yard. He followed her inside, shrugging off his coat and handing it to the servant.
"The news is as I hoped," he told her, as she turned to face him. His clothes were soaked at the shoulders, his hair wet, his face pale. He reached into his pocket to pull out the letter, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs before he could reach it, not giving him the opportunity to protest.
"Dry clothes," she told him.
He nodded his assent and she stepped out into the hallway. "Bring some brandy," she called down to the servant, "and a hot meal, on a tray." When she returned to the bedroom, Frederick's wet clothes were hanging by the fire, and he was buttoning up a fresh shirt.
She reached out and pressed her hand to his cheek.
"Sit down by the fire, Frederick," she told him, moving to fetch a blanket to warm him with.
He did so, but reluctantly. "Anne, it is only a slight chill." He turned to the fire gratefully, nonetheless.
She bent to hand him the blanket, hiding her smile. "I would trust you more if you were shivering less."
He shrugged under the blanket. "I've been much colder."
"I know," she replied quietly, lowering herself to the floor beside his chair. Her pride in his bravery had not changed since their marriage, but his memories of war made her fear that he should be sent to another one, away from her again.
He rested his hand on her head, stroking gently. "But that was before I had you to take care of me," he told her. "I confess I wish I had you then."
"To keep you from catching cold during those dark Spanish nights?" she teased gently, comforted by his touch, trying to deflect her own fears.
"To make me smile during them," he said.
The servant knocked then, and Anne rose to fetch their suppers. She sat down next to him again, and they ate in silence beside each other, watching the fire.
At length, he asked, "Do you find me to be sufficiently warm?"
She knelt and pressed her lips to his hand, smiling against his skin. "I do."
He threw off the blanket and drew her onto his lap, and she settled against him, content.
"You think Mrs. Smith's business will be resolved favourably, then?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied, after a moment.
"She is fortunate to have you to look after her interests." She rested a hand on his cheek.
"And I am fortunate to have you," he said.