A Reunion in Bath: Sweet Second Chances Persuasion Variation, #3

By Meg Osborne

** Previously published under the title A Quiet Reunion**

 

A second chance in Bath

Anne Elliot reunites with her family eager to put her past behind her, where it belongs. Her future may not be happy but at least it is predictable, and her present is vastly improved by a growing friendship with her father's cousin, the amiable Mr Elliot.

Free of obligations, Captain Frederick Wentworth arrives in Bath unsure what his future holds. Seeing Anne again convinces him there is none for him but her, but is he too late?
 

A Reunion in Bath is a sweet regency retelling of Jane Austen's Persuasion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meg Osborne
• Release date: Oct 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223579595

Meg Osborne

Meg Osborne is an avid reader, tea drinker and unrepentant history nerd.  She writes sweet historical romance stories and Jane Austen fanfiction, and can usually be found knitting, dreaming up new stories, or adding more books to her tbr list than she'll get through in a lifetime.

Book preview

Chapter One

I do think Bath in February is bleak! Anne Elliot remarked, as she looked up from her book long enough to peer dismally out of the window of the house in Camden Place her father had taken, and at which she had lately arrived.

You think Bath is bleak full stop, regardless of what month it should be!

Her sister, Elizabeth, shared neither Anne’s opinion nor even the slightest inclination towards sympathy. And if you are going to complain, you can take yourself away from here to do so. Elizabeth sniffed. Penelope and I are perfectly content to stay by the fire on days such as today and amuse ourselves.

Penelope - that is, Mrs Clay, Elizabeth’s friend and a preferable companion to Anne - sneezed and her response, when it came, was muffled behind a daintily-embroidered handkerchief.

Yes, I certainly should not like to be out of doors in weather such as this!

It is doing precisely that which has caused you to catch your cold, dear, Elizabeth said, leaning a little away from her friend, for her concern did not extend to risking any chance of illness, herself. Why not take that chair over there instead of sitting so close beside me on the settee? You will be nearer the fire.

This was an instruction not an invitation and Mrs Clay obediently shifted from one seat to another, sniffing miserably into her handkerchief as she did so.

Stifling a sigh, Anne returned to her book. The clock on the mantel ticked interminably and she wondered how her sister could bear such silence.

Perhaps I have grown unused to it, she reflected, thinking of the many happy hours she had spent bundled inside parlours at Uppercross House, the cottage, even her own beloved Kellynch Hall, as a guest to its current tenants. None of these hearths had been quite as grand as this - for in the absence of the Elliots, Kellynch had grown more homely and far less impressive, much to Anne’s preference - but they had been far more cheerful rooms in which to spend a rainy afternoon.

When I was at Uppercross, she began.

Oh, yes. Do let’s have another Uppercross story!

Anne did not need to see her sister’s face to know the disdainful look that would be upon it. She closed her book with a thump and slid off the window-seat.

I merely recalled a game that we enjoyed playing and thought I might teach it to you.

"Who is we?" Mrs Clay asked, oblivious to the mutinous look Elizabeth shot her. She did not remain oblivious to the very pointed sigh and turned, instead, to look most fervently into the fire as if by doing so she might be able to pretend she had not spoken at all.

Nobody of consequence, Anne said, softly. She cast one last regretful glance at the hearth and made her way to the hallway, thinking that, despite the raging fire, the room had taken on a decided chill it would do her well to escape.

Slowly, languidly, she climbed the stairs, wondering if she might not have been permitted to remain in Somerset, if only she had pleaded a little harder. Papa did not seem particularly thrilled to have her with them in Bath, at last, and even less so once he had exhausted her as a source of potential gossip. There was little to be gleaned, for Anne could not share anything of import about the Musgroves - they bored him - and would not share anything uncomplimentary about their tenants. Anne’s breath caught. She had somehow succeeded in keeping one certain gentleman’s name from reaching Sir Walter’s ears, and likewise her sister’s. How Elizabeth would crow to hear that Captain Wentworth had returned, that Anne had been pressed once more into society with him and that she had been so changed in the years they had been apart that he claimed he did not recognise her!

She flopped face-first onto her bed but the motion did not serve to jolt her out of her misery, merely made her unhappy thoughts grow ever more suffocating.

They had at least parted as friends, she and Captain Wentworth. That must count for something, surely?

It is more than I deserve, she supposed, sniffing back the tears that seemed to lurk moments away from consuming her whenever he came to mind. Rolling onto her back she stared up at the ceiling. It seemed as if some other Anne Elliot had once won his heart, and once been persuaded to give it up. Surely it must have been, some other Anne living some entirely different life...

Yet, it had not been someone else. It was she that had loved him then, and she that loved him still now, although that, too, must remain a closely guarded secret. Yes, she loved him still. If anything, she loved him more now than before, for she knew him - and herself - better. He had gone to sea and done all that he had once declared he would, if only to spite the young woman who had broken his heart. He had won awards and accolades for the bravery and skill she had always known he possessed.

And at least now his heart is mended. Anne ran her fingertip over the debossed spine of the book she still clutched in one hand. Captain Wentworth barely thought of her now, or if he did it was but a fleeting reflection.

His heart and mind are all for Louisa, now, she thought, recalling the other reason her visit to Uppercross had been so curtailed, hastening her arrival in Bath. Louisa Musgrove’s accident at Lyme had facilitated a need for the family to pull together, and Anne, once it was determined her skills as a nurse were not needed, had hurried to Bath, leaving her friends free to devote all of their attention to getting Louisa well again.

She had never seen such despair as that she had witnessed on Frederick Wentworth’s face when Louisa was hurt, and she had known then, if she had never acknowledged it before, that whatever affection he might once have had for Anne was now finished. His heart belonged to another.

And perhaps it is better than I am not there to witness it, Anne thought, looking towards the window in the vain hope that the rain might have eased enough to allow her to escape for a walk. If only I had some pleasanter place to repair my lost hopes than this!

IT RAINS.

Aye, it does.

Frederick Wentworth paced beside the window in the Kellynch parlour like a caged animal. Rarely had he so longed to be out of doors, but this day marked the third in a row of almost constant precipitation and he was growing weary of being trapped inside hiding from it.

Why must it always rain?

Have you forgotten, Brother, that you are in England now? It does tend to rain from time to time.

Sophia Croft’s eyes sparkled at her bad-tempered brother over a particularly pretty piece of embroidery and he felt his lips quirk into a smile.

I had not forgotten it, he said, striding towards the hearth and throwing himself down in a chair beside hers. But that does not mean I can’t complain about it.

It wears on a man’s soul, weather such as this, remarked Admiral Croft sagely, from his chair a little distance from Frederick’s. T’was worse at sea. Water above and below and everywhere besides. He shuddered at the memory, quite ignorant of the merry little fire blazing happily in the nearby hearth.

Well, we shall have no water beneath us, and none inside the house, thank you very much, Sophia said, punctuating her words with a stitch. She said no more at first, but Frederick could still feel her eyes on him and squirmed, wishing idly that he had some task to occupy himself with. He sat still only a moment before leaping to his feet and beginning once more to pace.

I am surprised you are so eager for activity, Frederick, Sophia observed, her tone arch in a way that suggested more than was conveyed by her words.

Sophy...

Admiral Croft’s censure was soft, little more than a whisper, but enough to suggest that Frederick had long been a topic of conversation between the pair. The back of his neck tingled and he turned back towards the window, pretending he had not heard. He did not doubt his sister possessed plenty of opinions about his conduct of late. She had shared her thoughts with him on more than one occasion and ordinarily he was in a good enough humour to hear them and answer with equanimity. That particular day he was ill-fitted for a lecture, which state his brother-in-law seemed to recognise far more ably than Sophia. Perhaps she simply did not care to bite her tongue any longer.

I would have thought you grateful for the chance to rest, for you are so often travelling between here and Lyme of late.

Not so often, Frederick countered, tugging at a stray curl on his head and watching the rain hammer down against the glass. His last journey back from Lyme had been in weather like this and he had fought the suspicion that he would catch a cold for his pains. The illness had not materialised which ought to have been a mercy but instead it left him fidgety and ill-fitted for such an enforced quiet as this.

I am sure all will be well once Miss Musgrove is back at home, Admiral Croft put in, making a great show of turning the page of his book as if this gesture alone was enough to bring their conversation to a speedy conclusion.

I am surprised -

Sophy.

This time Admiral Croft’s voice was sharp enough to reach Frederick’s ear easily, and when he glanced back, his sister stitched furiously, her lips drawn into a line. He drew in a breath, debating his actions until at last coming down on the side of honesty.

I suppose you wonder that I am here at all when I might have stayed on at Lyme all this time. He crossed the parlour, sinking back into the chair he had lately vacated and smoothed out some imagined crease in his sleeve. It is no great mystery, Sophia, and I dare say I should have spoken of it immediately the thing happened. I did not for, well, I suppose it is a blow to a man’s confidence, on the one hand. He sighed. And on the other, I was not rightly sure what I felt about it.

About what? Sophia had looked up from her work, her eyes narrowing in concern. She darted a curious glance at her husband, but he was equally as confused as she was, peering in consternation over