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She had had enough. Just like that, her mind was made up, and she would endure no more. She had given up everything that mattered, her love, her heart, her youth, her beauty and her hopes and dreams, all for naught. She had nothing to show for it, apart from the ever present sense of having done the wrong thing. But no more! She would right her wrongs if she could. "Or die trying," she muttered, gallows humour all that was left of her good spirits.
Her mind made up, she saddled her horse and rode away, never once looking back. She knew, in her heart, inside her very bones, that she would not be missed for some time. And time was all she needed. Her plans were made. She rode away on her own horse, noticed by nobody at all. When she reached the abandoned cottage on the very edge of her father’s lands, she changed into men’s clothes. She roughly cut off her hair, used strips of her petticoats to bind her breasts, pulled on the shirt and donned a cap. She judged she looked like any other chap on the road. She stuffed her dress into her pack, deeming it prudent to take it with her. She exchanged the side saddle for a regular one she had stored here a week earlier, and remounted her horse.
She could ride until she reached a sea faring port. She would sell her horse and somehow gain either passage or employment, anything to facilitate her escape. To fulfill her dreams. To right her wrongs. Or die trying.
It took her five days to reach port, and she expertly haggled for the price of her horse, which she ultimately sold to the wife of Admiral Croft. The lady had sharp eyes and seemed not to lack intelligence, so she tried to remain aloof. It would not do for her secret to become known. Yet when she acknowledged she was seeking employment, the lady suggested there might be work on a sloop, her brother’s ship in fact.
When she beheld the ‘Asp', a rickety old sloop, for the first time, her heart summersaulted. Viewing men loading goods into the hull, she packed up a sack of grain and haltingly, almost faltering under its weight, she carried it aboard. Once on board, she handed off her sack of grain and slipped away from view, quickly disappearing belowdecks, where she remained hidden behind the water barrels until the ship set sail on the evening tide. When nobody sought her out, she was confident she had not been seen, never becoming aware of a pair of stormy grey eyes following her from her first footstep on the gangplank, until she disappeared from sight behind the water barrels.
The wooden hull groaned about her, above her the white sails all billowed in the wind, and as the ship picked up speed, she breathed more easily. She had made it this far! She could not be returned home now. She was ready to mingle among the crew, to hopefully be assigned a task and be allowed to eat with the sailors.
As she eased out of her hiding place, she encountered an unexpected obstacle, in the form of the broad chest of the ship’s captain, blocking her way. She swallowed audibly, her eyes slowly rising to meet his. When they finally did, her heart performed another summersault. His countenance was clouded, his brow furrowed, his stormy gaze stern and unyielding. She stared at him, wide eyed at the reality of being in his power, unable to move or speak.
After what seemed to her to be hours, he raised one eyebrow, both in challenge and in - perhaps? - amusement.
“A stowaway, Anne?” he spoke at last, incredulously.
She shrugged helplessly. “It seemed like a good idea,” she muttered.
“A good idea!” he exclaimed. “By Jove, Anne! What were you thinking?”
“I just wanted to be with you,” she gasped, suddenly feeling as if the floor fell away beneath her feet, no longer supporting her, as the full ramifications of this mad dash after the man she loved, became clear to her.
“Did you now?” he glowered. “What if I don’t want to be with you?”
She dropped her gaze, ice clawing around her heart, and she swayed with the force of his resentment, which pummeled into her. Angrily, she swiped at her tears, falling unbidden.
“Then I am sorry,” she replied woodenly. “Just put me to work with your crew and I'll leave at the next port. I will stay out of your way, I promise.”
He gaped at her, hurt anew at being so easily dismissed. “Do you truly believe I will let you bunk with my crew?” he bellowed, incensed at the notion.
She shrunk back, not understanding why he was more angry now, instead of less. His hands grabbed her shoulders and he shook her violently before pulling her towards him and enfolding her in his embrace.
“You maddening, aggravating, pain in the backside,” he muttered, “Why did you come to torment me here? Do you think I can let those bastards near the only woman I ever loved? Do you think I can rest easy when you're here, aboard my ship, and not mine to protect? Do you not think I will bloody well keelhaul every one who so much as looks at you? You drive me insane, woman!”
He held her even tighter, and she felt him tremble with some unnamed emotion. He finally released her, only to grab her arm and pull her along with him, as his long strides took them towards the ladder.
“You’re lucky there’s a chaplain on board,” he muttered.
“Why?” she gasped, trying to keep up with him.
“Because he can marry us today,” Captain Wentworth growled, “before I lose my bloody mind around you.”
The ship’s chaplain, a Mr. Spendlove, was surprised by his captain’s request, and while he agreed in principle that no unmarried woman should live aboard ship, very likely doing so in sin, he was doubtful his captain should be the one to sacrifice his name and future to a wench who stowed away on board of a war vessel. His suggestion that another, lesser, man would do for such a young lady, was met with clenched fists and a ferocious glare by his captain, after which the chaplain decided discretion truly was the better part of valor.
An impromptu service was held at six bells, during the last dog watch, where Captain Frederick Wentworth was united in holy matrimony to Miss Anne Elliot. The sailors were served an extra toddy of rum, which resulted in cheers, as the Captain picked up his wife and carried her into his cabin.
Once in the privacy of their now shared cabin, he loved his new wife thoroughly, leaving her in no doubt of his enduring affections. While he still could hardly believe she was here, with him, his heart had been pierced as soon as he espied her coming on board, almost doubled over by the weight of the sack she was carrying. Even in disguise, he recognised her dear face immediately. It did not hurt, that his sister had recognised the horse she'd just purchased from a visit at Monkford only months ago, and warned him of the strange 'boy' looking for work.
Captain Wentworth, who'd held on to his resentment, cloaked himself in it, felt part of it fall away when he saw Anne's brave, foolhardy gambit to meet him, not in the middle, but firmly on his end of the chasm, at the expense of her own security and reputation. His last, desperate anger flared up, when she shrank away from him after he questioned her. If she thought that he would be able to let her go, after having her here, at his mercy, she did not know him at all. When she suggested leaving him at the next port, a desperate need to shake some sense into her, and to bind her to him forever, had overtaken him. Perhaps he had not been gentle just then, overcome by emotions at her sudden appearance, and shocked that she even thought he would let her leave again, or even out of his sight amidst his crewmen.
He spent his wedding night telling his new wife that he loved her, and always had, and showing his new wife that he loved her, and always would. Their first night together was glorious, even if he could barely restrain himself. When she looked at him, love and trust in her gaze, he knew he had come home at last.
The next morning, he woke first, as usual just before dawn. He watched his wife as the sun began her incline. The first rays of light danced over his wife in repose, and Captain Wentworth thought that, yes, boarding his ship had been a remarkably good idea of Anne's, after all.