As the breeze blew about her, Anne Elliot felt the chill run down her spine as she took a final walk through the woods by her house. The mansion, having been in the family for generations, came with some land – though the size had dwindled over the years.

In her youth, the woods had been a place of escape, where she could go could and cry without the prying eyes of her family peering over her shoulder to ask as to why.

Moving away had been the hardest decision of her life, yet whenever she came back to her childhood home; she felt a deep connection to the land and wished she had never left.

How many ghosts linger here, she wondered, touching the bark of an oak tree.

In the distance, she could hear a car pulling up the drive. Peeking out from her spot, Anne felt a grim look take over her features.

Lady Russel.

Who else drives a silver Mercedes around here? Anne mused, watching silently for a moment. She had not seen the woman in eight years, not since that summer.

The woman that emerged from the car looked the same as the woman who danced through Anne's memory. Her long dark hair was curled perfectly, the head scarf and large black sunglasses she wore made her look like an brunette version of Grace Kelly. As the woman walked toward the door, Anne knew she could not hide for long. Lady Russel had a way of finding her when she never wanted to be found.

Emerging from the woods, Anne brushed any hairs or fibres from her blue jeans and pink plaid shirt.

Lady Russel, being part hound dog, turned abruptly and gestured. "Is that you Anne Elliot?"

"Lady Russel," Anne stated, offering a wave. "It's nice to see you again."

"Oh," the woman snorted. "What kind of greeting is that for your godmother?"

"I wasn't sure you hadn't disowned me," Anne stated with half a smile. "it's been a few years after all."

"Since you ran away, you mean," Lady Russel removed her sunglasses, showcasing her dazzling blue eyes. "My dear girl, I've been so worried. I even hired a private dick to find you."

"His name was Stanley." Anne offered. "Nice fellow."

The woman made a face. "Be that as it may, come on, show me inside. How's your father coping?"

Anne shrugged, almost flinching when the woman linked arms with her – as not a day had passed. Anne was suddenly transported back to when she was 18 and Lady Russel would walk, linked as if Anne was some precious commodity. "His world is collapsing around him and he cares more about the color of his side burns."

"Well," Lady Russel snorted. "He isn't the first aristocrat to lose his marbles in a bad stock market deal. He'll get over it."

"Try telling him that," Anne sighed, pushing open the front door. "I've been paying the servants with my savings, but I haven't enough to help with the taxes."

"You shouldn't be paying at all." Lady Russel stated, her voice furious. "You've worked far too hard to leaned on like this. What is Elizabeth doing?"

"Preening, I'd imagine. I think she said something about going on a date a few days ago." Anne offered, though she really had no idea. Her eldest sister was a small time celebrity with a terrible personality but stunning good looks. She was forever in between boyfriends while sleeping with a number of people on the side. "I barely see her."

"I see enough of her on those horrid commercials," Lady Russel laughed, and it made Anne smile. Hemorrhoid cream commercials. "Thank the good Lord she got a spot on that sordid Tv show, maybe now she can earn a living."

As if on cue, Elizabeth appeared. The tall, slender, brunette was wearing an expensive sweater and tailor made pants, with heels. "Ah, I thought I heard your voice Lady Russel," Elizabeth cooed, sauntering over, her short hair bouncing as she walked. With her make up and hair style, she looked much like Elizabeth Taylor playing Cleopatra. "How nice to see you again. Father is in the sitting room."

Anne took this as her cue to leave, and she made an excuse to bow out and return to the cataloguing of the things in the attic.

Lady Russel was an accountant, by profession, and was terribly good with numbers- which was good for her father and sister; but the woman was forever a gossip, and she had no doubt that the careful life she had built would suddenly be known to all.

Absently Anne bumped into a box, jumping back as it clattered to the floor; sending boat shaped papers across the hardwood floor.

Feeling her breath catch and her heart murmur, in an unhealthy fashion, Anne had to make herself pick them up. She didn't know she had kept the letters, she knew what each of them said.

Her heart ached to run her fingers over the fading ink, to relive the excitement that came when reading them.

Placing the lid back on the box, Anne shut her eyes and took a deep breath as his image come to her mind like a beacon of light.

Wild curly black hair swept over an angular face, revealing deep brown eyes and freckles on tanned skin, a smile dancing in his eyes as the smell of salt water lingered on his blue jacket.

Forcing her eyes open, she retreated from the attic and the face of the man whose heart she had broken 8 years ago.

Each passing moment since that day had been more torture than anything she had endured running away from home. No amount of distance had healed the wound she had inflicted on herself. Her family barely noticed her absence, let alone her broken heart. Instead she had packed her car with some clothes and her admissions letter to Oxford and never looked back.

But, in all this time, she loved him silently. Through her tears, through the gaping hole it left in her; she loved her memory of him. Two crazy kids in love.

"Anne, are you up here?" Elizabeth called. "Dinner's ready."

Anne sighed and glanced up at the attic around her, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was done up in a bun, though hair seemed to find its way out, but she never wore it down any more. Her dirty blond hair was confined to one style, bringing out the hollow look to her cheekbones. Her hazel eyes seemed almost sunken, with lines around her eyes. Whatever bloom she might have had once had disappeared eight years ago.

Turning away from the hag in the mirror, she made her way downstairs and towards the familiar dining room. In a few days, her family would be relocating to some other place, and a new family would be moving into this house.

She could not wait to return to her life in Sussex, and the long hours at the hospital where she worked; forever to be remembering Frederick Wentworth.