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Chapter 1
Gold and amber hued leaves swirled across the path that lead to Barton Cottage. Barton's trees, secure in their autumn nakedness, stood tall and bold in the mid-afternoon sun. Crisp November air hissed into Marianne Dashwood's lungs, her burgundy cloak a toy in the wind's hands.
"Miss Marianne." A languid, gentle voice called from behind her. "I cannot say that I approve of your being out this afternoon."
"Oh! Colonel. I suppose your flannel waistcoat renders you safe from the possible ill-effects of Devonshire's fall weather?"
Brandon's lips stretched into a wry grin. "Touche, Miss Marianne. Shall I offer you my flannel as proof of my chivalry and vigor?"
The lady blushed; she was unaccustomed to the Colonel speaking to her with such candor. "No, sir, for I believe you carried me several miles in the rain on one day. That is all the evidence I require." Marianne cast her eyes down, but soon felt the heavy warmth of the Colonel's coat around her shoulders.
"Having worked so hard to preserve your health, I will not allow you to treat it with so little regard." The Colonel's tone was softly harsh, but when Marianne meekly glanced into his eyes, she saw only the deepest care. She silently accepted his gift of concern. Marianne took the Colonel's arm and they began to walk toward the cottage.
"I have come to see Mrs. Dashwood about having your chimney repaired. The harvest is over, and some of the men near Delaford are capable and could use the occupation. Three gentle ladies should not spend the winter with improper heating."
Curls tumbled down Marianne's neck with a sharp jerk of her head. "I beg your pardon, Colonel, but I am not an invalid. I am in fine health."
"And I seek only to preserve your fine health. I do not mind telling you - I have known many trials in my day, Miss Marianne, but none so difficult as praying for God to spare your life at Cleveland."
A frigid gust of wind whipped across the lawn. Marianne leaned in and gripped the Colonel's arm tightly. "I am sorry. You are right. I feel like - like such a - a- child when I am with you," she stammered.
Brandon released Marianne and turned to face her. He reached out and gently slid the back of his fingers down her cheekbone. "You are not a child." Marianne held his gaze, and the Colonel unconsciously wrapped his index finger in one of her loose curls. Marianne shivered. Is it the Colonel or the weather?. Another blast of wind broke the spell, and Marianne stepped away, disturbed by her thought. It can't be.
"You must be cold, Colonel. I have your coat. We should hasten to the house."
The Colonel paused. Damn. I've certainly done it this time. How is it that her eyes make me loose all sense of self-control? He timidly offered his arm to Marianne once more. She accepted, but they approached Barton Cottage in silence.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lady Middleton would no more miss her weekly tea with Mrs. Dashwood than she would refuse to match eligible young people. The ladies, though anything but alike in personality, had discovered multiple common interests and were the dearest of friends. Tea, embroidery, and catching up on the village gossip were always the order of their afternoon together.
"My dear Mrs. Dashwood," exclaimed Mrs. Jennings as she bustled through the door. Mrs. Dashwood rose to greet her friend. The ladies embraced and crossed to Barton Cottage's sitting room.
"You will never believe it, Mrs. Jennings, but Colonel Brandon visited yesterday, and has offered to repair our faulty chimney."
"There is little wonder in that, my dear," proclaimed the portly lady as she made her way to the couch. "He has always fancied Miss Marianne, and I daresay he looks upon you as quite his own family already."
Mrs. Dashwood sighed at her friend's inference. "You know that nothing would please me more. I do not know, however, how it would please our Marianne."
"It should please her greatly! I declare, I have never known females so picky in love as your daughters." Mrs. Jennings punctuated her remark by reaching for a cucumber sandwich. "He is besotted, and he is among the finest men in England. You should talk to Marianne, my dear, for she must give him a sign. Brandon would never press his suit if he felt she were unwilling; he knows she could not afford to refuse him."
"I do not know - she walked with him yesterday, and seemed anxious when they came in together," confided Mrs. Dashwood between sips of steaming tea. "She did not linger to speak with the Colonel any further. It seems rather hopeless."
Mrs. Jennings raised her eyebrows and tilted her chin towards Mrs. Dashwood. "Hopeless is a more apt term if used to describe Marianne's chances of meeting a man half so eligible in this country."
Becky entered the room quietly. "Ma'am, a letter has come from Delaford."
Mrs. Dashwood rose and accepted the cream-colored papers from Becky. She recognized Colonel Brandon's powder blue sealing wax immediately. She broke the seal, only to discover another sealed letter inside, with a note attached to the top.
Delaford, 12 November 18__.
Mrs. Dashwood,
I would be most grateful if you would see that Miss Marianne receives the enclosed letter. I am afraid we have had a misunderstanding, the two of us, and wish to make it right as soon as possible, but business dictates that I remain at Delaford for the present.
Please accept my invitation, to you, Miss Marianne, and Miss Margaret, to dine with me at Delaford tomorrow evening. At this time, I plan to request a private moment with Miss Marianne. I shall send a carriage around for the family at four o'clock in the afternoon tomorrow.
Your Servant,
C. Brandon
Mrs. Dashwood's delicate jaw gaped open. She did not realize her discomposure in time to escape Mrs. Jennings' curiosity.
"What is it? It is clearly a matter of some surprise.You must share with me! What does the Colonel want?"
"He asks us to dine at Delaford. And for me to deliver this note to Marianne."
"Ahhhh, now! That's a fine development. I hope Marianne takes heed of her good fortune. Now, go, give her the letter." Mrs. Jennings winked, "I shall wait here. The scones are simply divine."
Mrs. Dashwood left her friend and tentatively climbed the narrow staircase. Her heart palpitated as she raised her fist to knock on Marianne's door. Marianne, hearing the knock, was irritated by the disturbance of her reading of Cowper. She proceeded to open the door in spite of the rapturous beauty of the interrupted passage. Marianne's sullen countenance gave Mrs. Dashwood doubts about delivering the Colonel's sensitive message.
Mrs. Dashwood bit her lip and gave Marianne a questioning look. "My Marianne," she said, "a note has come for you from Delaford."
Marianne gasped. "Please give it to me now -"
She snatched the note from her mother's hand, and rushed into her room, slamming the door in her hurry.
Chapter 2
Marianne touched her left hand to her chest in order to steady her racing pulse. Her right hand tenuously clutched Colonel Brandon's letter. She was at once afraid and delighted. The intimate nature of the gesture caused unbidden feelings to stir in her heart, which in turn peppered her mind with questions. "Stop," she whispered, in a vain attempt to quell her bewildered thoughts.
She cautiously opened the letter.
Delaford, 12 November 18__.
Miss Marianne,
Any offense caused by my recent behavior was unintended. I momentarily forgot myself. It is much too easy to do in your presence. Kind lady, forgive me; I have no wish to cause you any distress. Forgive, as well, the intimate intrusion of this letter. I would prefer to speak with you personally, but my business keeps me in Dorsetshire, and I wish to seek your mercy without delay. You are too dear a friend - your distress is my own.
Will honor me with a private moment at Delaford tomorrow evening?
Your devoted,
C. Brandon
Marianne's heart pounded in her breast. Much too easy to do in your presence. Her voice, with a tremor, carried her thoughts into the air. "I cannot possibly love him, not so soon, not so . . ." At once possessed with a need to unburden herself, Marianne stumbled over to her writing desk and began to compose a letter to her sister, Elinor Ferrars.
Barton Cottage, 12 November 18__.
Dearest Elinor,
The Colonel has sent me a letter
Bitterly warm tears spilled down Marianne's cheeks. Fresh ink blurred with tears on her stationary, until the paper contained only a gray puddle. The tears gradually became sobs. Try as she might, Marianne could not contain herself. The turbulent storm screaming through her mind and soul would not release her to peace. Mrs. Dashwood, in a state of shock, slowly crept away from Marianne's door.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mrs. Dashwood returned to her gregarious friend. Mrs. Jennings, she noted, had consumed all but one of the scones. Mrs. Dashwood took the remaining cranberry scone and munched while Mrs. Jennings looked on, the older lady's expression one of impatient curiosity.
"Such a fine scones, Mrs. Dashwood. Do you not agree? I declare, each time I sample the pastries here, I become determined to steal your cook from you."
"Yes. Indeed, one of our few luxuries." Mrs. Dashed gazed wistfully out the window. She adjusted her lacy black cap and cried, "Marianne is distressed, Mrs. Jennings! Colonel Brandon wrote that they had quarreled, but this letter has disturbed instead of pacified her. 'I cannot possibly love him,' were the words that poured from Marianne's own lips! Only the most steadfast insistence on my part will get her to Delaford tomorrow night, I am sure. I hate to see the Colonel disappointed. Is there any way to keep him from perhaps, saying something premature tomorrow? Marianne is not yet prepared to be won."
Crimson raspberry jam from a delectable thumbprint cookie dribbled down Mrs. Jennings' chin as she contemplated the difficulty of the situation. "A delicate matter, to be sure. Of course she can love him, and we must make her realize this. There were never two beings more perfectly suited, and I will not rest until I see them happily situated, together."
The ribbon on Mrs. Dashwood's cap bobbed up and down, "Of course, of course, but who can guide, much less control Marianne's heart? She certainly is incapable -
"Yes, so Brandon must do it for her. The man is up to the task, he is so passionate yet so contained. We must gently place her under his power." A spark of genius passed through Mrs. Jennings' eyes. "Can you, perhaps, retrieve the Colonel's missive to Miss Marianne? It would be a useful piece of intelligence."
Horror would have been Mrs. Dashwood's usual response to Mrs. Jennings suggestion. Overwhelmed with the desire to see Marianne settled with the kind master of Delaford, however, Mrs. Dashwood was on this occasion susceptible to Mrs. Jennings' influence. "I think, perhaps, it is possible." Mrs. Dashwood lowered her voice, "She was crying, and Marianne cries so passionately, she nearly always sleeps afterwards. That has been her habit from infancy. In a few minutes, I will go to her again."
Mrs. Jennings nodded. "You can do no less. All our happiness depends upon it."
A red glare caught Mrs. Dashwood's eye. She pointed to her chin.
"What?" Mrs. Jennings did the same, and in no time at all jam was smeared across her face. Mrs. Dashwood, resigned, reached for a napkin and cleaned her dear friend's face. The two women drowned the room in blessed laughter.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Barton Cottage, 13 November 18__.
Dear Colonel,
Marianne's health prevents us from joining you at Delaford this evening. Would you, however, be willing to sup with us at Barton Cottage? Mrs. Jennings has generously offered you accommodations at Barton Park, and we should so love to see you.
Come a little early, and Marianne will have the opportunity to walk with you alone. Your letter of yesterday has left her much altered. She would benefit, I think, from seeing you.
Fondest regards,
Mrs. Henry Dashwood
The Colonel despaired. "Altered, William, much altered! Do you suppose my attentions make the lady sick?"
William, the Colonel's faithful manservant and occasional confidant, replied, "I do not see how your affection would make any lady sick, sir. Many wish for you to look in their direction."
"Marianne is not 'any lady.' She is a sensitive creature. If I but knew what was in her heart, I could go on, with or without her, in peace. But I know not what she feels or thinks of me. There are moments - I touched her William, and she returned my gaze so openly, so trusting - I was sure she felt something outside of gratitude or mere friendship. Then, she broke from me in disgust. She refused to speak to me. She could not wait to leave my presence." The Colonel's face collapsed into his palms. An expression of pain ruled his countenance. "I assumed I had offended her," he muttered, "but my apology has impaired her health."
William observed his master with compassion. "Go to Barton Cottage this afternoon. See her; perhaps you are wrong. The lady's mother indicates that your presence would be helpful."
Colonel Brandon did not reply. "Might I suggest your dark green coat, sir? With the navy neckcloth? The color suits you well."
Brandon grunted his reply. "Very well. I will go. Let me order the carriage before I dress."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Margaret Dashwood spent the morning perched in her treehouse. Her orders were to alert Mrs. Dashwood as soon as Colonel Brandon came into view of her spyglass. "I am too old for this," moped Margaret as time crawled by. The visit of Edward's handsome young cousin, Francis, was the cause of Margaret's recent interest in 'grown-up' dresses and pastimes.
"Greetings Captain!"
Colonel Brandon's voice made Margaret start. Her poor attitude had caused her to neglect her task. She maneuvered down from the treehouse loft, a delicate business when one is encumbered by skirts. "Colonel! Mama will be so happy to see you."
The Colonel nervously crushed his hat between his palms as Margaret lept to the ground. "How is your sister? I hear she is not well."
"Yes, she would not leave her room for breakfast. She hasn't been down since yesterday afternoon. It is quite dull. She was supposed to read to me. And we were to go to Delaford, but she was not well, so now I shall not see Francis until Sunday."
"I see," chuckled the Colonel. "Four days! An eternity. Now, take me to your mother."
The Colonel and Margaret jabbered cheerfully as they walked to the cottage. Francis had not quenched Marianne's entire appetite for the Colonel's tales of India. Margaret's pleasure in the adventures of his youth helped Brandon forget the uncomfortable reason for his visit.
"Mama! Marianne! The Colonel is come at last," called Margaret as they entered the cottage. Her voice rang through a silent house.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Marianne, dear, compose yourself. The Colonel will be here soon, and I promised he could walk with you." Mrs. Dashwood shook her weeping daughter in a vain attempt to bring Marianne out of her sorrow.
"No, mama, I cannot see him now. Not now, surely not now. I am all puffy, and I cannot, it's too confusing."
The matron allowed Marianne to fall back on a soft blue down pillow and rest. Mrs. Dashwood gently brushed damp curls from her daughter's tear streaked face. She determined to take the conversation in a more promising direction.
"Did you quarrel?"
"No, mamma!"
"Why did he send you a letter of apology?"
"Please, mamma!" Marianne rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, great sobs coursing through her tiny body. Mrs. Dashwood, helpless to console Marianne, got up when she heard Margaret's voice. She quietly left Marianne's room, careful to close the door, lest the Colonel hear Marianne's cries and think the worst.
Mrs. Dashwood made her way down the stairs, her mind churning all the while. How am I to handle Brandon's disappointment when he learns that Marianne is indisposed today? Can Marianne be herself again without seeing him?. All to soon, she was facing Colonel Brandon and Margaret in the parlor.
"Colonel Brandon. How good of you to come to us."
The Colonel graciously took Mrs. Dashwood's hand and planted a kiss on the top of her fingers. "I can think of no better place than here, Mrs. Dashwood." The Colonel's eyes searched the room. "Where is Miss Marianne?"
"I am afraid, sir, I am - Margaret, may I have a private word with the Colonel?"
Margaret sulked out of the room, and the Colonel swallowed hard. Mrs. Dashwood bit her lip in hesitation. "Please, sit, Colonel Brandon. I am afraid I must ask you something rather indelicate."
The Colonel exhaled long and slow, but tension still wracked his body. He sat as commanded. Mrs. Dashwood gave him a hard, contemplative look, and she began to speak.
"Please do not be embarrassed Colonel. Marianne will not leave her room. She has refused all manner of nourishment and comfort since your letter came to us yesterday. Even now, I have just left her in a state of distress."
The Colonel shifted in his chair and gulped. His impropriety in pursuit of Marianne had caught up with him at last. Am I any better than Willoughby? Who knows what that cad tried with her? "What is it you wish to ask me, Mrs. Dashwood?" The Colonel called upon all his battle experience to steel himself against what he believed was about to assault him.
"Please do not be shocked. I believe that Marianne must see you, or she will remain as she is." Mrs. Dashwood fixed her eyes on the hem of her gray silk gown. "She refuses to come, down, however, and will not budge from her room. I am afraid I must ask, that is, would you go up to her? It is an indiscreet request, but it is the only way. I trust you with my daughter, sir, and I ask you to go to her and resolve the matter between you if at all possible."
A musket ball through the chest could not have been more of a surprise to the Colonel. He heaved a great sigh of relief, but was instantly frozen in terror. To visit Marianne in her chamber would nearly break his heart. The thought of Marianne needing him so badly bolstered the Colonel through his hesitation, however, and he replied, "If you think it would help, I will go to her, of course."
"Oh, thank you, sir! I hope you do not think me ill-mannered, but there is no other way at present, and you are an honorable gentleman." Mrs. Dashwood opened her palm in the direction of the staircase. "It is the first room on the left."
The Colonel's boots felt like lead as he climbed the stairs and approached Marianne's chamber. He opened the door and sucked in a nervous breath as he observed the room of his heart's beloved. The curtains were a fine lace, a painstaking work of art. Sunlight streamed through her window, which opened over a beautiful expanse of countryside and trees. Indigo colored wool rugs covered the wood planks of her floor. Several books of poetry were lined up across the top of her writing desk, and a pile of crumpled papers was on the floor beside it. Brandon turned his gaze to the other end of Marianne's room, where his eyes found her silently weeping into her bedclothes. Treading carefully, he walked over to her and gently placed a hand on her back. Warmth from her body seeped into his palm.
"Mama, please, I want to be -" Marianne's eyes popped wide open as she rolled over to discover not Mrs. Dashwood, but the object of her torment. "Colonel Brandon!"
Marianne's red, tear-stained face made the Colonel forget his nerves. His heart welled with compassion and love, and lost himself in the sad, lovely pools of Marianne's eyes. "Marianne, how strange it feels for you to say, 'Colonel.' Would you call me Christopher?"
Marianne bolted upright and threw herself into the Colonel's arms. Her tears flowed anew, and he embraced her with his whole being, frightened to hold her, but more afraid to let her go. Brandon would later recall this as the most conflicted moment of his life. For the first time, Marianne put herself into his arms willingly and without need, something his heart had yearned for from the day he first heard her sing at Barton Park. Her soft form pressed to his chest was also a horrible torture, for he knew himself to be the cause of her tears. The Colonel could not bear to believe that he would ever occasion to hold her close again.
"Marianne," he murmured into her ear, "we cannot remain like this forever. What must I do to make things right with you?"
Marianne responded with a loud, painful sob, and the Colonel could feel her tears through his waistcoat. "Please, if you cannot tell me what troubles you, at least look at me!" Brandon placed a hand under her chin, and lifted it up until her rich, dark eyes met his. Mesmerized, the Colonel's low voice addressed her in strained, velvet tones.
"I am a silent man, my Marianne, and I do not express myself well, especially not at moments like these. Please, I beg you, tell me what I must do, for I cannot tear myself away from you while you are so distressed." Or, indeed, ever. God knows how I shall ever permit her to leave my arms.
"My Marianne?" Her question was uttered in the softest of voices.
"There is no other I would call my own," admitted the Colonel as he brushed her temple with his thumb. "Surely my regard is not a unknown to you." The Colonel's eyes ran up and down a painted blue wall. He returned his plaintive gaze to Marianne. "I am afraid I made it all too obvious the other day, and I am sorry that I have caused you such distress with my," the Colonel breathed hard, "affection." His exhalation was nervous, and Marianne sensed that he would not speak until she spoke to him.
"Christopher." His name on her lips was music, and the Colonel felt he would die if he did not look away from Marianne. "Oh, I am a sight, but can you not stand to look at me, Christopher? "I do not know what to say to your confession, for my heart torments my head. My feelings are not the violent passions of love or youth, that which I would know as love, but they are not simply the feelings of friendship. My head does not know itself, or if it is possible for me to care for another so soon, and again, but my heart tells me - Christopher?"
The nearness of Marianne's presence, her hand on his breast, coupled with her use of his Christian name, was a heady brew for Colonel Brandon. "I am sorry, Marianne. You are, " the Colonel hesitated and colored, "intoxicating, and while you may not know yourself, the warmth of your breath causes me to forget myself."
A knowing came to Marianne's spirit. Peace rushed through her veins, and she resolved to do the only thing she could think to do. She straightened her back and reached for the Colonel's hands, firmly clasping them in her own. "You would not think me forward, sir, if I asked you something of a particular nature?"
"No. The situation we find ourselves in already shatters the bounds of propriety."
Marianne flushed and continued, "Yes. But this smashes propriety to slivers that cannot be repaired. Christopher, I am a lady by birth, but today I am going to abandon all my good breeding." Marianne leaned closer to the Colonel. Her lips were inches from his, and their foreheads nearly touched. "Colonel Christopher Brandon, you are my dearest friend, my knight, and my savior. I know that I could never be happy apart from you. Will you do me the honor of your hand in marriage?"
The Colonel immediately stood up and crossed to the other side of the room. Brandon's mouth was a grim line of stone, his brow wrinkled in concentration. "Marianne. You do not know what you are saying."
Chapter 3
"I would no more sentence you to the hell of a loveless marriage then I would take your precious life with my own hands. It is a horrible fate, Marianne, and can only end in misery for both of us."
Marianne was crestfallen. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "I know my behavior is often childish, and it has been, at times, inexcusable." Marianne cringed as she thought of her conduct with Willoughby. "Can you not love me any longer, Christopher?"
A wave of tender feelings overcame the Colonel. He gave a faint smile and returned to sit by Marianne's side. His eyes glowed with love as his hand reached for her cheek. "Marianne, I feel that I shall never cease loving you." He caressed her face and said, "It is not my heart, but yours, that causes me to question the wisdom of forming such a permanent attachment. You yourself just remarked that you are unsure whether or not you could care for this old man of six and thirty."
"It is not my heart, Christopher, that is in question. My head is reeling - this is not what I believed love to be. What I feel is not violent, it is no fall or consuming infatuation. I feel so well when I am with you - not desperate at all. But if my feelings for you are not love, what is it that bursts in my heart when you are near? I cannot bear the thought of being without you. I have been futilely trying to reconcile my heart with my youthful ideals of love these past two days."
Upon hearing this confession, the Colonel wrapped his arms around Marianne and began to weep into her soft flaxen curls. She held him close. He gained his strength from the gentle pressure of her arms. How long they held each other, neither knew. Time halted in Marianne's bedroom until Brandon released his beloved. The Colonel rose and motioned for Marianne to remain seated. She looked at him, her attention fixed upon his handsome face.
"Darling Marianne, much as I adore your impulsive sweetness, and much as I am mindful of the compliment you give me, I prefer to wait until I am prepared to properly offer you my own proposal. It is my intention to court you until you come to better understand what love is to you - whether it be a 'fancy, or a feeling,' or something more, maybe even an old army Colonel from Dorsetshire. I will not abandon you, and I wish you to take whatever time you need to be sure of yourself. Please understand, my sweet, that your happiness is my only aim. I do not wish to fulfill my own unless I know that our marriage will secure your happy future as well."
Marianne's smile sprung from the depths of her soul. "I find that acceptable Colonel. Only, do not doubt that in this moment, I feel sure that I wish only to see your happiness. I look forward to being courted as a lady, and shall endeavor to behave as one deserving of the attentions of so fine a gentleman."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Edward's sermons were rarely of interest to Marianne. She loved her brother, but she still found his expression lacking. Only Edward's compassion and logic made Sunday morning remotely bearable for Marianne. She looked around the church and caught Colonel Brandon's eye as Edward took the pulpit. Brandon's heart bolted heavenward with her fond expression.
"What is love?" Edward's subject diverted Marianne's attention from the Colonel. "Paul wrote that love is patient and kind, not over bearing or self-serving." Marianne smoothed her skirt. That hardly describes Willoughby, but it is undoubtedly Christopher. "Love is not the manifestation of carnal lust," continued Edward, "It is a sacrifice that puts those you love ahead of your own selfishness. True love, Christian love, makes the desires and needs of those you love more important than your own self. It seeks only the best, the true, and the just, for the objects of love."
The Colonel stroked his chin and thought of Beth. Had he loved his ward well enough? Though he knew she thought of him only as a benevolent uncle, he wrestled with his decision to see her raised away from Delaford. If - if only - he had kept Eliza's child close to him, Willoughby would not have had his way. Beth's life would be hopeful, instead of a morass of shame and loneliness.
"The scripture tells us, 'Greater love hath no man than to lay down his life for his friends.' Such is the love Christ modeled for us, and gave us, in his death on the cross. Do we daily die for our friends and neighbors? Do we give them the love they deserve?" Edward spoke in earnest. Mrs. Franklin could be seen squirming in the back row. Her feud with Mr. Franklin was one of Devonshire's great sources of entertainment. The couple has not spoken a word to each other in four years, yet somehow the lady had managed to produce three children in that time. Margaret giggled, until Edward stated, "Let us not judge one another. Are we not all human? Christ spilt his blood equally for all of us. Let us forgive, and die for each other, as Christ did. Let us show true love to our neighbors."
A half an hour later, the Dashwoods exited the church. The sun was unusually warm for November. Yellow sunshine bathed the departing parishioners in radiant light. Marianne cheerfully skipped toward Colonel Brandon. He observed her critically while she caught her breath. "Greetings, Colonel! Is it not a fine Sunday?"
"Your beauty causes all else to fade in obscurity, but yes, the weather is fine."
"When might I see you, Colonel? I should much like to hear you read, or comment on Edward's fine sermon."
Marianne's intent was immediately clear to the Colonel. Though it gave him hope, Brandon knew it would be dangerous to indulge the maiden's inclination. "Miss Marianne. I think you should be your own guide in the matter of love. I cannot force your heart and mind in my direction. You would resent it all our days, and that would break my heart."
"Surely, Colonel, you would not deprive me of your counsel?"
Brandon's mop of dishwater blonde hair tilted closer to Marianne. "My counsel is this: Do not wed a man who wishes to create you instead of share his life with you. Good day, Miss Marianne."
Brandon retreated to the fortress of Sir John and Mrs. Jennings. The trio immediately began to discuss crop rotation and the recent fine harvest. Marianne watched, dumbstruck and surprised by the Colonel's behavior. Blood drained from her face. Brandon's cold replies seemed to contradict, in every possible way, the passionate lover she had encountered in her chamber only a few days previously.
"Marianne? Are you well? You are quite pale."
"Elinor, I am perplexed," she stammered. "Do you suppose I might spend the afternoon with you? I have news of some import." Marianne's eyes never left the Colonel's animated form. He was, rather uncharacteristically, competing with Mrs. Jennings for the excessive gesticulation award.
Elinor's keen eye noted Marianne's distraction. She slid an arm around her sister's waist. "Or course, dearest. Edward will give us the time. There is little he prefers to a Sunday afternoon nap."
Marianne turned her melancholy gaze from the Colonel to Elinor. "Thank you."
Mrs. Jennings did not miss the clear object of Marianne's attention, either. As the sisters talked, Mrs. Jennings nudged the Colonel. "Ah, Brandon, a fair maiden is glancing in your direction. I dare say she is entranced."
"Mrs. Jennings, I assure you, Miss Marianne is probably taking in the hillside. There is nothing about me that would so captivate a young lady."
"Hmmmmmm, mmmm, Brandon, now that she has let you know her well enough to read her movements and discern her attentions, perhaps you will consider settling down?" Mrs. Jennings' information from Mrs. Dashwood indicated that perhaps it was now Brandon who needed encouragement in the direction of matrimony.
Sir John noticed his friend's discomfort. "Mother Jennings, perhaps the Colonel and Marianne should be left to their own designs."
"Nonsense! We shall accept no design short of a marriage ceremony. Colonel, you must see how well Miss Marianne thinks of you now. See, she is looking at you, and her eyes have not strayed these five minutes. Go speak to her."
The Colonel donned his hat. "Mrs. Jennings, I shall take my leave now, but I have spoken with Miss Marianne once already, and I do not wish to subject her to further gossip."
Mrs. Jennings threw her hands in the air as Brandon walked away. "That man - he shall never win the lady if he does not take a chance."
"Brandon took too many chances with Eliza, and he is always a man to learn from his folly. I doubt he will risk Marianne in any way." Sir John's voice was resolute.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The parsonage inhabited by Elinor and Edward was slightly larger than Barton Cottage. The exterior was gray stone. The floors were wooden and laden with plush wool carpets. There were rooms enough for a clergyman and a small family. To Edward's delight, they had chickens, pigs, two horses, a collie, and a vegetable garden. It was an idyllic country life. Modest and comfortable, it was not the luxury the Mr. or Mrs. Ferrars had grown up with. Their love and happiness, however, made up for the lack of great rooms and acres of hillside.
The sitting room was pleasantly outfitted in lavender tones and crisp floral prints. Elinor's favorite decoration was a small basket woven for her by one of Edward's grateful parishioners. Marianne lifted the basket from a small table and inhaled the scent of the dried rose blossoms it contained. The pungent sweetness lingered in her nostrils as she considered what to tell her sister. Marianne's tense grace told Elinor that the younger woman was struggling to pen a torrent of feeling.
"Elinor, the Colonel does not wish to wed me." So much for a behaving like a lady. I sound like a petulant child.
Elinor blinked. "Excuse me?"
Marianne, froth with emotion and confusion, commenced to babbling in an effort to explain herself. "I've muddled things, and frightfully so. I told him that I don't know what love is, but that I think I love him, and he said he loved me but would not, 'Sentence me to the hell of a loveless marriage.' Then today, he was so distant. He said he wouldn't abandon me, but he can hardly stand my presence. I don't understand him, Elinor. I don't understand me."
"I see." Elinor bit her lip. "No, in truth, I do not see. Do you have an understanding with the Colonel, Marianne?"
"Yes. And no. He intends to court me until I know my heart."
"Intends to court you? What on earth has he been doing all this time?"
"Elinor, I am so distressed by my feelings toward him. I think they are love, but they are not the love I always imagined. When I said as much to him, the Colonel protested that he would not marry me until I was sure I knew that I loved him."
"I do not wish to slight the Colonel. But it was forward of him to speak to you of marriage in such a fashion. He should not have done it, although you should consider yourself fortunate that he wishes you to marry for love in spite of your circumstances."
Marianne cringed. "It is I who forced his hand. We confessed our mutual regard. When I saw that he was overcome, I proposed, for fear that he did not fully understand that I cannot live without him."
"You - you - Marianne, tell me you did not. He can easily count you as a fortune hunter or desperate old maid. And you know the Colonel is a man of dignity, proper in all his behavior."
"I did propose. I do not regret it, either. He doubted my regard until that moment. His face, his eyes, every bit of him glowed once he knew that I cared. Oh, Elinor, he was so gentle and loving. Yet he hesitates to take definitive action! We could be man and wife in a matter of weeks, but now he will not consent."
"Marianne, the Colonel understands your impulsive ways, but he will never be ruled by them. You must know that he has cared for you since the day he met you. It is obvious to everyone but yourself."
Marianne twisted her hands. "Elinor, can I go to him? I must see him. It is not far. I could walk."
"I do not think it wise. Haven't you made enough advances for one week? And do you not remember what happened last time you walked to a lover's house? I daresay the Colonel would be a nervous wreck were he to know you wanted to attempt such a thing again."
"You are right. I did promise to that I would strive to be a lady worthy of his affections. I suppose he would not approve of me arriving at Delaford unannounced."
"See, you are growing up some. Though you no longer understand your emotions, you can control them." Elinor reached for Marianne's hand, and the sisters touched to affirm the emotional bond they felt so strongly.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sisters embraced as Marianne prepared to return to Barton Cottage. "Thank you, Elinor. I would not be half so well were it not for you."
"I am always your devoted sister, love. Trust me when I say that it will all work out in the end. Edward and I are proof enough of that."
Marianne nodded and climbed into the carriage Sir John had so generously sent over to take her home. "I shall see you again soon, Elinor," waved Marianne as the carriage departed.
Once Elinor was out of earshot, Marianne called up to the driver. "Excuse me, we're not going to Barton Cottage now. First, take me straight away to Delaford."
The carriage halted in front of the Colonel's house after only a few minutes of travel. If only I lived with Elinor, I should see him every day. Marianne's heart clattered against her ribcage. Her breaths grew short as she left the carriage and approached the door.
Brandon's housekeeper met her with alarm. "Is something wrong, Miss Marianne? You were not expected."
Marianne straightened her back. "No, everything is fine. I only wish to see the Colonel."
"He is busy, ma'am, and has instructed that we not disturb him."
"Surely he would see me. Please tell him that Miss Marianne Dashwood has called to see him."
Seeing that Marianne would not be dissuaded, the housekeeper exited to inform William that Marianne had called to see the Colonel. Better to let William interrupt the master than myself. She entered the Colonel's study cautiously. William was stoking the fire, as Colonel Brandon often liked to work during sleepless nights.
"William, Miss Marianne Dashwood has called to see the Colonel. Shall I send her to him?"
"I think he would be displeased if he knew she had been turned away. It is an inopportune time, but I will take her to him anyway."
William was silent as he led Marianne to the Colonel's favorite sitting room. He knew the Colonel adored the lady's boldness, but William was unsure how Brandon would react to her presence on this night. Marianne was equally tacit, wondering why Brandon's staff seemed so bothered by her visit. I am having trouble imagining myself as their mistress. Perhaps Christopher is afraid I am too young to run a household this demanding. What if he is right?
"Colonel Brandon, Miss Marianne Dashwo -" William halted his announcement abruptly. A sharp, high gasp escaped Marianne's lips. The Colonel was tenderly embracing a nubile young woman with glossy raven hair.
Chapter 4
Marianne froze. The Colonel released the black haired beauty and strode across the room to Marianne. Brandon took her hand. Marianne's rosebud lips quivered. "Colonel, forgive me. This lady - I have seen her before." Marianne's eyes were wide as she whispered, "Willoughby had her miniature. He said it was his mother in her youth. Obviously he was lying."
The Colonel replied with a tight, hushed voice. "He did not play you false in that matter, Marianne. This is Mr. Willoughby's older sister, Vivian Young. I am told she bears great resemblance to her mother. Mrs. Young recently became the widow of my comrade Colonel James Young of ______shire. I did not wish you to meet in this uncomfortable manner, but it will have to be. These are difficult days for Mrs. Young, and I would ask you to be mindful." The colonel motioned for Vivian to join them. She moved with unusual elegance. "Mrs. Young, this is Marianne Dashwood, easily the Venus of Devonshire."
"It is lovely to meet you Miss Dashwood. The Colonel speaks very well of you." Vivian was elegantly appointed in sage gown with a filmy cream overlay. Her hands were perfectly manicured, and her wide-set green eyes were framed with a luscious, thick fringe of black lashes. Willoughby beauty was not limited to the male members of the family
"Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Young. I am an old friend of your brother, John Willoughby."
Vivian arched an eyebrow. "I am afraid I do not speak to my brother often, Miss Dashwood. Sadly, there is not much to be said for him, although he is a fine rider."
Marianne gulped. The gravity of the compromising position she had found Mrs. Young and the Colonel in dawned on her. She lifted a pair of questioning eyes to Brandon's face. "Christopher, I must speak to you."
Vivian squinted, briefly, when she heard Marianne call the Colonel by his Christian name. The Colonel faced Vivian and requested, "Might you give us moment, Mrs. Young?"
"I believe I understand, Brandon." She reached into a small bag and removed a card. "I will take my leave now. It has been good to see you, and I hope you will join me and Lady Allen for dinner at Allenham next week. It was good to meet you, Miss Dashwood. I hope to see you again." Vivian pressed the card into Marianne's hand, and with that the exotic creature exited the room with William as her guide. Marianne and the Colonel were alone.
Marianne squeezed her eyelids together in silent agony. Christopher moved to gather her in his arms, but Marianne jumped at his touch and exploded, "Do not hold me as you held her!" She crept backwards away from him, out of the room and into the hallway, her eyes never leaving Brandon's face.
Brandon rushed after her. "No, Marianne, wait, stop!"
It was too late. Marianne, unfamiliar with Delaford's layout, took a fatal step backward. A frightened scream emerged from her lungs as she slipped on the top of Delaford's great staircase. Her skirts fluttered as she tumbled down the stairs, and Brandon chased her so swiftly that he nearly fell himself. At the bottom of the stairs, Brandon knelt beside Marianne's motionless form. He placed his fingers on her throat to ascertain a pulse.
"William!" The Colonel called for his manservant loudly, but desperately. William came bounding out into the hall, and he stopped cold when he saw Marianne at the foot of the stairs.
"Dear God!"
"There has been and accident. Go to Doctor Martin at once; do not delay. If he is unavailable, find the nearest doctor and bring him instead. I would go myself, but I will not leave Marianne."
William nodded and raced toward the door. The Colonel was relieved to see Marianne's chest heave up and down, but her breathing was disturbingly slight. Bruises were forming on her arms. Blood trickled down Marianne's forehead and was seeping out the side of her cornflower blue gown. The Colonel untucked his shirt and ripped a long, wide strip from the hem. First he mopped the drops of blood from her face, then, he gingerly pressed the cloth against her head wound. Brandon knew the worst thing to do would be to move Marianne, and he wondered how he would stench the bleeding from her side without doing so. She must not bleed to death, propriety be damned!
Brandon withdrew a small knife from his waistcoat pocket and murmured a prayer for strength. The sharp tip of the blade was poised over her waist, and Brandon carefully dragged the knife down the side of the dress, cutting out the section of damaged cloth around the wound. He cringed as the ugly gash fully revealed itself. I knew we should not have nailed the carpet to the stairs. Marianne's tender skin was sliced open in a jagged line across her abdomen. The wound was deep, perhaps a slight puncture, but not fatal. The blood was already clotting. An army officer, Brandon knew too well the look of mortal wounds. Tears of relief streamed down his face. With proper care, she might one day be restored to proper health. Please God, let these be her only injuries.
Brandon rose to search for the housekeeper, Mrs. Smythe. She would know where medical supplies were located, and, help him clean the wound if necessary. Hurry to my Marianne, Dr. Martin. Hurry. I will die if she does not make it through this ordeal unscathed. The Colonel did not have to go far; Mrs. Smythe burst in, accompanied by William and Dr. Martin. Dr. Martin made haste to Marianne's side.
"Good Lord, Brandon! What has happened here tonight?"
"Marianne came upon me comforting the widow of a friend. She misunderstood, and we quarreled. She does not know Delaford well, and before I could stop her, she was falling down the staircase."
"Hmmm. Can we possibly revive her? Have you tried?"
"No. I was afraid to move her. I thought it best to stop the bleeding and wait for you."
"It was the best thing. If it is a head injury, it will be hard to bring her around anyway. I'm going to check for any breaks; I am afraid this may not be a modest procedure."
Brandon and William took his meaning. The Colonel calmly replied, "I shall retire to the library. I am afraid I'm in dire need of a drink. Mrs. Smythe, stay and assist Dr. Martin. Sir, call me as soon as I may return to Marianne. William, ride to the parsonage and bring Mrs. Ferrars to her sister." As though in a morbid trance of exhaustion, the Colonel left Dr. Martin to his dreadful business and climbed up the stairs to his study.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marianne was fortunate. A preliminary diagnosis indicated that bones in her limbs were neither broken nor cracked. Her neck and spine, causes for utmost concern, were unharmed. Though her unconscious state prevented the doctor from diagnosing smaller aches and pains, it did not seem that she had suffered internal injuries or major sprains. Dr. Martin dressed her head wound and stitched together the gash in her side.
"Scissors, Mrs. Smythe." The housekeeper had remained to assist the physician. Reaching into his medical bag, she withdrew an ominously sharp pair of shears. A quick snip and Dr. Martin was through with stitches. "I could be better with a needle," assessed the doctor, "but that's as fine a job as I've ever done." He cut his gaze to Mrs. Smythe. "Your single most important task is to keep this wound clean, Mrs. Smythe. Cleanse it with hot water. Change the dressing, two or three times a day, if the lady can stand it. Do not allow her to leave her bed in less and two weeks. Any activity might open this wound, and it is not so pleasant to stitch up conscious patients. Understood?"
A solemn nod was Mrs. Smythe's quiet reply.
"Move her to a good, warm room, perhaps with a nice view to keep her from going stir crazy. I say, perhaps Brandon and I could do the job, and the sooner the better - she'll be harder to move when she wakes up."
"Aye, sir. I'll go fetch the Colonel. He'll be relieved to hear that Miss Marianne has suffered no permanent injuries."
"Mrs. Smythe, do not be so bold in your hopes. There is a large lump on her head. Surely her skull clanged against those stairs several times. If her brain is severely damaged - she may not yet wake up. And if she does, it may be in a different state. Miss Marianne may not know her name or how to walk or feed herself. While I am hopeful that she will recover easily, she was knocked out. Time alone will reveal the complete scope of her injuries."
"Yes, sir. I'll mind my assurances and watch the lady carefully."
"Go get Brandon. He said he wanted to be with her as soon as possible."
Mrs. Smythe marched up the stairs, eager to bring her master down to hear what good news Dr. Martin would provide. She turned left at the top of the stairs. The Colonel's study was only a few meters down the hall. She opened the door and found the Colonel slouched in a cushioned burgundy leather chair, morosely watching flames dance in the fireplace.
"Colonel Brandon, the doctor is finished and says you may return to Miss Marianne. She is doing well, with no apparent breaks or serious injuries. He also asks that you help him move her to an appropriate room. I thought - that is, sir, I thought Spring Room might do well for her." Mrs. Smythe looked at the Colonel timidly.
Eliza's room. The Colonel nodded his head up and down. "Yes, yes, Marianne would like it there. A fine view. How long did Dr. Martin say she should stay with us?"
"He said she should remain in bed for at least two weeks. Beyond that he has given no instruction."
Two weeks, at least, to have her here with me. The prospect tantalized the Colonel. It could only enable Marianne to know him better; perhaps he would win her whole heart yet. Brandon stood up, his mood much improved. "It's been a terrible day, Mrs. Smythe. Perhaps Miss Marianne will make this household brighter."
"Perhaps, Colonel."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marianne cringed at the aches she felt consume her body. Neck, arms, shoulders, knees, head, everything hurt. At least my bed is soft. Opening her eyes was painful. She squinted up at the lacy canopy above her. Glancing to her left, she saw a window which revealed a pink and orange sun rising over a fine lake and a grove of trees. The walls in the room were pale rose pink, the curtains an ivory fabric generously printed with peach rosebuds, green leaves, and small violets. A massive honey-stained oak wardrobe graced the opposite end of the room. Where am I? This is surely not Norland. Marianne turned her head to the right.
"Elinor?" Marianne's voice was a shallow creak. Elinor, asleep in a plush chair covered in periwinkle silk jacquard, did not budge. Marianne attempted to sit up, but a burning pain in her side caused her to wince. She gave up the effort, and centered her strength on raising her voice. "Elinor!"
Her sister's head jerked at the sound. A groggy Elinor jumped from her chair, "Oh, Marianne, you are awake. Thank goodness." Elinor leaned over the bed and grasped Marianne's palm. "We have been beside ourselves with fright. Thank God you are in your right mind."
"Elinor? What happened to me?"
"You took a tumble down Delaford's great staircase last night. I'm afraid you took a bad hit on your head, and have quite the scratch on your stomach. Do you feel any other bad pains? Dr. Martin said we ought to pay careful attention."
"Everything hurts and aches. I can't move without suffering a little."
"Good! Maybe you'll stay in your bed as the doctor has ordered."
"I could not entertain hopes of getting out of bed at this moment. Could you get me something to eat, please?"
Elinor laughed. "I am so glad you are well. Now, if you don't mind, I must go tell the Colonel. He will be so relieved. He has been up with most of the night - I finally sent him to sleep only a couple of hours ago, but he would never forgive me if I did not get him immediately."
"The Colonel?"
"Yes, Marianne! Colonel Brandon. Whose house do you think you are in?"
"Who is Colonel Brandon?"
"Marianne! This is a very sick joke on your part. Colonel Brandon, if you recall, is a man very much in love with you."
"In love? I - I - do not know this man, Colonel Brandon, nor do I know why I am in his house. You are the one who must be joking, Elinor."
Section 5
Elinor timidly rapped on the door of the Colonel's study.
"Come in."
The screeching door hinges left Elinor's head pounding as she entered the Colonel's masculine domain. He was seated much as Mrs. Smythe had found him on the previous night, and it was evident he had not slept in spite of Elinor's pleading.
Colonel Brandon tilted his head back and inquired, "Is she awake?"
"Yes, she is. At last!"
"Thank God." Brandon rose swiftly, intending to go to Marianne. Elinor grasped his arm before he could pass her. His muscles were tense under his shirtsleeve.
"No, Colonel, you must listen to me first. She does not know you. Nor does she know Barton or Willoughby, or, it seems, anything that has come to pass since the death of our father."
The Colonel reeled away from Elinor's grip in shock. Recomposing himself, he asked her the foremost question in his mind. "Mrs. Ferrars, what have you told Marianne of our relationship?"
"I told her that you are in love, nothing else. It was before I realized that she had lost her memory, as Dr. Martin warned us. She knows your name is Colonel Brandon, and that you are the master of Delaford. She does not know anything else about you - age, appearance, tastes. I would not presume to invade that territory, sir. You should be the one to reintroduce yourself to Marianne."
"I see."
"I would suggest . . . perhaps making a dashing entrance, Colonel. It might do to comb your hair and change your blood-stained shirt."
"Mrs. Ferrars, what would Marianne think of me, in the passions of her youth, if her lover did not appear haggard and tortured by a night of worry for her safety?"
"In the blindness of her youth, she did not believe she could love a man of your age. She loves you now; she told me so yesterday at the parsonage, before she came to Delaford. But this is a new Marianne, one who has not learned at the hands of a cruel lover. She still dreams of a young, gleaming knight."
"I cannot be anything more or less than I am, Mrs. Ferrars. The days of Brandon, the knight, are long dead. I am a man of six and thirty, a man who knows the world too well to play the hero. I am a man in love with Marianne Dashwood, and she has given me hope that she will one day be mine. But I do not wish to win her with a lie."
"Then you are a great man, Colonel Brandon. I hope my sister will be wise enough to see your worth, and love you as you are. I cannot say that I feel she deserves you, but I would not wish her wed to anyone else."
"On the other hand, Mrs. Ferrars, I would be remiss to neglect your counsel." The Colonel winked. "Straightening my hair and donning a shirt with a hem and without blood on it is the least I could do for my Marianne's sake. I may not be a knight, but I am not infirm, and I know she prefers pretty things."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
To toss and turn was Marianne's desire. Her injuries, however, made movement unbearable. Her body resisted activity with agonizing pangs and shoots of physical pain. "What am I to do in this state?"
A liquid voice came from the doorway. "May I suggest music, Miss Marianne?"
A man, older, but not old, with blond hair and grave hazel eyes, entered her room. His burgundy breeches were wrinkled, but his white shirt was immaculate. Stubble appeared on his face, but his hair was freshly combed. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but his pupils glowed vibrantly.
"Colonel Brandon," guessed Marianne. Only a lover would be so drawn after a night of worry, and only a lover would take care with his appearance before approaching his lady.
"Yes." The man's smile was wide and alive. "I am having the grand sent over from the music room. I will play for you, if you like. You are in no condition to play, but I also know you will recover sooner with a song in your heart."
"That is excessively thoughtful, sir. Come sit with me awhile, Colonel. I am eager to know what manner of man has captured my heart."
"Please, you know, you call me Christopher," said the Colonel as he slid into the lavender chair. "It would make me very happy if you would continue to call me by my Christian name."
"The color of that chair is perfect. Not too cheery, but happy just the same."
"Like your eyes." The Colonel reached across the bed and placed his gentle hand on top of Marianne's delicate, slender fingers. Miraculously, her hand was neither bruised nor scratched.
"When will the piano come, Christopher?"
"By this afternoon." He stroked her fingertips and did not meet her eyes.
"You are shy. Then again, you are very bold, sir." Marianne slid her fingers in between his.
"Years have taught me to hold my feelings close, Marianne. But I find it extremely difficult to do when you are with me."
"Confession costs you. Why?"
Brandon observed his battered love. Bandages covered the cut on her forehead. Her visible bruises had developed into an ugly purple. Chilled, Marianne had drawn her down comforter up to her neck. The Colonel remembered all the times his soul had felt as Marianne's body appeared. "Our courtship has been turbulent. Even when you admitted your love, I doubted you."
"Christopher, I am sorry to hear it. Please do not doubt me any longer. Though I cannot rightly say I love you now - for I hardly know you - I know I would never speak of my love if I did not feel it ardently."
"Maybe God has given us this chance to start afresh."
"Never leave me, Christopher." Marianne's tone was pensive and tinged with fear. Somehow, she knew she had been abandoned once before. "Did you ever leave me, I mean, before, when you doubted me?"
"My Marianne, this heart has been yours from the initial
moment of our acquaintance. I could neither dream of hurting you or of living without you."
"I believe you." A look of wonder crept into Marianne's eyes. "Christopher! Did you know I have not felt any pain since you came to me?"
Brandon blushed. "I would not guess that I could affect you so, but I am glad of it."
"Will I ever remember, Christopher? The years I lost with this accident?"
"I do not know. In cases like yours, sometimes memory returns, but it is not always the end result. Your memories may be lost to you forever."
"That I should be missing all our times together! Will I never remember the moment I knew I loved you, or your expression when you asked me to be your bride, or our first long ramble through the woods. . ."
"Marianne, I must be forthright. We are not engaged. As a matter of fact, you proposed and refused you."
Disbelieving, Marianne gaped, her eyes popping from her skull. She demanded indignantly, "Why then are you here sir, professing your love and devotion?"
"Because I love you dearer than my own happiness." The tempo and volume of his usually languid tone increased. "Truer words have not been spoken, do not doubt me, Marianne. It is not so simple as it seems." Brandon's voice strained as he grasped for words. "You have expressed doubts. I will not consent to wed you unless you return my love without reservation. As it was, I was courting you, allowing you to grow in your knowledge of self and love before I demanded a life of devotion from you. You are a woman, Marianne, and I am glad of it, but marriage is an irreversible decision for a woman of your class. It would ruin me to be the source of your unhappiness."
"You would give me up, if you thought it in my interests?"
"No one will ever love you as I do, Marianne." His hoarse voice dripped with feeling.
Tears welled in Marianne's eyes. "It is true, isn't it? Your affection is genuine. You love me that well." Her voice dimmed to a whisper. "As I loved you, for I would not have told you so if I felt anything less. I know I did not want you to refuse me. You ought to have said yes, for you have made me unhappy." A salty drip trailed down her cheek and across her mouth, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue
Transfixed by Marianne's emotional passion, Brandon let reason slip from his grasp. Sliding up against her mauve velvet coverlet, he drew close to Marianne's bruised face. Magical intensity filled the room as Brandon traced the curve of her swollen cheek. Their lips met in most innocent of kisses. In an instant, Brandon realized his action, but not before Marianne responded with a gentle pressure on his own lips. The Colonel abruptly drew away. "I'm sorry, Miss Marianne. That was not the behavior of a gentleman."
Marianne watched the Colonel's retreating form in silence. His boots tapped a mercilessly slow rhythm on the floor as he approached the door. "Must you go?" The feminine voice was weak.
"You know that I must." Mournful eyes dominated the Colonel's face.
"No, I do not," cried Marianne. "How am I to believe you, sir? You will not consent to marry me, you kiss me, then leave me as though repulsed -"
"I am repulsed only by my own behavior."
"I am not. Pray, stay, Christopher," pleaded Marianne. "There is so much I do not know. Only you can tell me. Come back. Read to me. Talk to me. Anything. Do not go away from me." She blushed. "I have not been kissed, before, sir."
"Marianne, I could never refuse you anything, though you hardly know it now."
"Except your hand, apparently."
Brandon's spine stiffened up his back until it resembled a ramrod. Marianne observed his agitation. "I am sorry sir, that was unkind. You have said it was only for my sake. Yet, your rejection is a keen agony. Stay with me. I must know."
"Marianne, I will leave you now, and against my own heart's desire. But I shall return to you, perhaps tomorrow. I do not think it wise to frequently trouble you with my presence. I have stirred you up, and you must rest. Please rest, Marianne," pleaded Brandon, "I would never forgive myself if you did not heal properly." The Colonel placed his hand upon his heart, "Until later, my own Marianne." With that, he left her in numb silence.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sun sat low in the west, casting an orange glow across the landscape outside Marianne's window. She sighed and pressed a finger to her lips, remembering the Colonel's kiss.
"Dearest? What is wrong?" Elinor looked up from her needlework expectantly. Marianne groaned.
"Elinor, the Colonel is the most vexing man of my acquaintance."
"Then I am sorry for him. You have lost the last two years, but he loves you fervently."
"Precisely. Yet he seems to do nothing, nothing at all, to secure me for his own."
"He does not wish to own you, Marianne. He wants you to be happy. A rare trait for a man of his position, who generally seeks only a woman to produce an heir."
"How did I meet him?"
"At Barton Park. The Middletons graciously allowed us to have Barton Cottage, and we dine with them regularly. He came in while you were playing one afternoon, the first week we came here. He hasn't taken his eyes off you since." Elinor's smile was fondly warm.
Incredulous, Marianne gasped, "Two years, Elinor? Goodness, it has taken him long enough."
"Marianne! He was impeded my your immature disregard for him as an older man, as well as your decision to, ever so briefly, place your affections in the hands of a younger scoundrel."
Marianne stroked her hands back and forth over her blankets. The nap transitioned from a matte rose to a shiny mauve accordingly. "I loved someone else, then." It was not a question on Marianne's part, but an acknowledgement of the truth in Elinor's eyes.
"You did." Elinor's gaze was fixed upon her needle.
"What was he like?"
"A dream suitor in every way. Poetic, passionate, attentive. But he had a dark streak. Marianne. How he deceived us all! Whilst he courted you with abandon, he had left a poor young women with child in another county. When his wealthy Aunt learned her heir had behaved dishonorably, she stripped his inheritance. You were left for an heiress. It quite changed you, darling. You became ill and we feared for your life."
"The Colonel?"
"He did not waver in his affection. Loved you in spite of your scorn and foolishness. Never once forced his advances, and brought our mother to your side as you fought death in bed. It is only in the last few months that you have turned your eyes to him. Even now, he cannot bring himself to hope." A rare sternness made its place in Elinor's features. "He is the finest man in the world, Marianne. You would be remiss not to love him as he desires."
A knock interrupted the conversation.
"Colonel, come in." Elinor was cordial in her greeting. Marianne silently gazed at him.
Meticulously groomed and sporting a fine gray wool waistcoat, the Colonel inquired, "Miss Marianne, should you like me to play for you?"
"Yes, of course."
The piano had been brought in the previous day, much to Marianne's delight. It was magnificent, custom built for the Colonel from a spicy dark wood he brought with him from India expressly for the purpose. The Colonel approached the imposing grand piano as an old friend. Marianne held her breath as he fluidly seated himself upon the bench. Hands between his knees, he turned to face her with a grin. "Is there anything in particular that would please your ears, Miss Marianne?"
"Sir! Beethoven, if you please."
"A fine choice. I shall attempt to fumble out his Sonata number 14."
Fumble, he did not. The Colonel was a miraculously gifted
pianist. The Moonlight Sonata poured from his exquisite fingers. Marianne had not previously been privy to such a clear gift; her own playing, she knew, could never rival the Colonel's vibrant talent. Nor could her fingers match his sheer skill. The Colonel played from both memory and the core of his being. His expressive musicality wove a web about Marianne's senses. This was not a dull man, she realized, nor an old one, merely one with a remarkable hold on his passions. The sun blazed under the hills outside the window as Brandon lovingly tapped the final notes into the ivory keys. A trance fell over Marianne's chamber. The Colonel stood, bowed, and cast a nervous look in Marianne's direction.
Elinor spoke first. "Your gift is superior, sir. I have not heard your equal in many concert halls. 'Tis a pity you do not play for us more."
Marianne, awestruck, piped, "Oh, you must play for us often!"
Needless to say, Marianne's praise impressed the Colonel the most. He smiled and declared, "I shall play for you whenever you like, Miss Marianne."
"I cannot imagine feeling ill, with such music in the house," proclaimed Marianne. "I believe that my wounds are sealing with each lovely note. Elinor, the cook is to send up our meal. Colonel Brandon, it would please me ever so much if you were to join us."
The Colonel shifted where he stood. Elinor could see that he wished to stay with Marianne, but she also sensed that something was holding him back. "Yes, Colonel, stay. I cannot be here much longer. Dear Edward has done without me long enough, and I must return to him shortly. Marianne shall require the company. She slept nearly all afternoon and does not appear tired."
"As you see fit, ladies."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Soup! I dislike soup, Elinor. Won't someone please tell the cook? I've had it twice already today, and I shant eat another revolting drop." Petulant in her recovery, Marianne lusted after the succulent roast mutton and potatoes Elinor and the Colonel were enjoying. Her mouth watered with each clink of their flatware. Metal scraped against china. Marianne contemplated the cruel injustice of the situation. Her sister and lover were there to comfort her, but their act of eating tortured the hungry, broth weary Marianne.
The Colonel tightened his lips in thought. "Miss Marianne, might I advise that your physician recommends a mild diet? Your body has suffered no small trauma. Do not tempt fate with your aversion to soup."
Marianne was peeved. She heard truth in the Colonel's words. "As I refuse to eat any more of this, Colonel," Marianne artfully lifted her spoon to demonstrate the unappetizing mixture of split peas, "Shall you at least instruct your cook to provide me with custard or perhaps some baked eggs? That is, if you feel my traumatized body is up to the task."
The Colonel, momentarily distracted by the flick of Marianne's fine boned wrist, dropped his fork. Recovering, he stammered, "Yes, Marianne, that seems reasonable, however, I do not feel that custard would be as nourishing as soup. Once you have consumed your prescribed supper, I shall send for some custard if you are still hungry."
The stern Colonel riled up Marianne's impertinent streak. "Well," huffed the invalid, "I suppose I will starve, for I will not partake of the revolting concoction before me."
Embarrassed, Elinor interjected, "Marianne, you are tired. I think it best that you sleep now." She rose to go collect Marianne's tray. "Your crankiness is not endearing you to our kind host."
"No, wait, Mrs. Ferrars. Allow me. If Miss Marianne wishes to behave like a child, I will treat her as one." The Colonel marched to Marianne's bedside and took the spoon from her bowl. Gripping the silverware, he gently dipped it into the mass of split pea soup. Quoting, he lifted the spoon to her mouth, "Invincible, implacable Love, O Love that makes havoc of all wealth; That peacefully keeps his night-watch on the tender cheek of a maiden. . ." A stunned Marianne accepted the proffered spoonful. The Colonel refilled his silver weapon, "The sea is no barrier nor mountainous waste to Love's flight; for no one can escape Love's domination, man, no, or immortal god. Love's prey is possessed by madness."
"Sophocles."
"You are intimately familiar with Antigone?" A pleased Brandon continued to feed Marianne. She did not protest. Elinor looked on with amusement, unnoticed by Marianne or the Colonel.
"My father was fond of Sophocles. He - we all learned parts one summer, to appease him. The play was performed in our sitting room. I kept my masks, but I do not know if they were brought from Norland."
The bowl was half empty. Brandon paused and Marianne drank in his sensitive expression. "You understand that I do not wish to play Haemon to your Antigone, sweet Marianne. Let not a tomb be our bridal chamber as well, for I do not think I would survive if you were so cruely taken from me. Take caution, Marianne. You have not escaped danger yet."
Exhausted, Marianne fell back on her pillows. The Colonel removed her tray, and Elinor walked up to take it from him. "You are fatigued Marianne. I think it best that we leave you to sleep. As the Colonel says, we cannot be too careful with your injuries."
Marianne acknowledged Elinor with a grimace, then stretched her arm out to reach for the Colonel's hand. His two hands circled her beloved palm with his tender grasp. Innocently trusting, Marianne's open nature belied the severity of her question. "Tell me, Christopher, how did this happen? I do not recall my plunge to near death."
Chapter 3
Cautiously, Elinor rapped on the door of the Colonel's study.
"Come in."
The screeching door hinges left Elinor's head pounding as she entered the Colonel's masculine domain. He was seated much as Mrs. Smythe had found him on the previous night, and it was evident he had not slept in spite of Elinor's pleading.
Colonel Brandon tilted his head back and inquired, "Is she awake?"
"Yes, she is. At last!"
"Thank God." Brandon rose swiftly, intending to go to Marianne. Elinor grasped his arm before he could pass her. His muscles were tense under his shirtsleeve.
"No, Colonel, you must listen to me first. She does not know you. Nor does she know Barton or Willoughby, or, it seems, anything that has come to pass since the death of our father."
The Colonel reeled away from Elinor's grip in shock. Recomposing himself, he asked her the foremost question in his mind. "Mrs. Ferrars, what have you told Marianne of our relationship?"
"I told her that you are in love, nothing else. It was before I realized that she had lost her memory, as Dr. Martin warned us. She knows your name is Colonel Brandon, and that you are the master of Delaford. She does not know anything else about you - age, appearance, tastes. I would not presume to invade that territory, sir. You should be the one to reintroduce yourself to Marianne."
"I see."
"I would suggest . . . perhaps making a dashing entrance, Colonel. It might do to comb your hair and change your blood-stained shirt."
"Mrs. Ferrars, what would Marianne think of me, in the passions of her youth, if her lover did not appear haggard and tortured by a night of worry for her safety?"
"In the blindness of her youth, she did not believe she could love a man of your age. She loves you now; she told me so yesterday at the parsonage, before she came to Delaford. But this is a new Marianne, one who has not learned at the hands of a cruel lover. She still dreams of a young, gleaming knight."
"I cannot be anything more or less than I am, Mrs. Ferrars. The days of Brandon, the knight, are long dead. I am a man of six and thirty, a man who knows the world too well to play the hero. I am a man in love with Marianne Dashwood, and she has given me hope that she will one day be mine. But I do not wish to win her with a lie."
"Then you are a great man, Colonel Brandon. I hope my sister will be wise enough to see your worth, and love you as you are. I cannot say that I feel she deserves you, but I would not wish her wed to anyone else."
"On the other hand, Mrs. Ferrars, I would be remiss to neglect your counsel." The Colonel winked. "Straightening my hair and donning a shirt with a hem and without blood on it is the least I could do for my Marianne's sake. I may not be a knight, but I am not infirm, and I know she prefers pretty things."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
To toss and turn was Marianne's desire. Her injuries, however, made movement unbearable. Her body resisted activity with agonizing pangs and shoots of physical pain. "What am I to do in this state?"
A liquid voice came from the doorway. "May I suggest music, Miss Marianne?"
A man, older, but not old, with blond hair and grave hazel eyes, entered her room. His burgundy breeches were wrinkled, but his white shirt was immaculate. Stubble appeared on his face, but his hair was freshly combed. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but his pupils glowed vibrantly.
"Colonel Brandon," guessed Marianne. Only a lover would be so drawn after a night of worry, and only a lover would take care with his appearance before approaching his lady.
"Yes." The man's smile was wide and alive. "I am having the grand sent over from the music room. I will play for you, if you like. You are in no condition to play, but I also know you will recover sooner with a song in your heart."
"That is excessively thoughtful, sir. Come sit with me awhile, Colonel. I am eager to know what manner of man has captured my heart."
"Please, you know, you call me Christopher," said the Colonel as he slid into the lavender chair. "It would make me very happy if you would continue to call me by my Christian name."
"The color of that chair is perfect. Not too cheery, but happy just the same."
"Like your eyes." The Colonel reached across the bed and placed his gentle hand on top of Marianne's delicate, slender fingers. Miraculously, her hand was neither bruised nor scratched.
"When will the piano come, Christopher?"
"By this afternoon." He stroked her fingertips and did not meet her eyes.
"You are shy. Then again, you are very bold, sir." Marianne
slid her fingers in between his.
"Years have taught me to hold my feelings close, Marianne. But I find it extremely difficult to do when you are with me."
"Confession costs you. Why?"
Brandon observed his battered love. Bandages covered the cut on her forehead. Her visible bruises had developed into an ugly purple. Chilled, Marianne had drawn her down comforter up to her neck. The Colonel remembered all the times his soul had felt as Marianne's body appeared. "Our courtship has been turbulent. Even when you admitted your love, I doubted you."
"Christopher, I am sorry to hear it. Please do not doubt me any longer. Though I cannot rightly say I love you now - for I hardly know you - I know I would never speak of my love if I did not feel it ardently."
"Maybe God has given us this chance to start afresh."
"Never leave me, Christopher." Marianne's tone was pensive and tinged with fear. Somehow, she knew she had been abandoned once before. "Did you ever leave me, I mean, before, when you doubted me?"
"My Marianne, this heart has been yours from the initial moment of our acquaintance. I could neither dream of hurting you or of living without you."
"I believe you." A look of wonder crept into Marianne's eyes. "Christopher! Did you know I have not felt any pain since you came to me?"
Brandon blushed. "I would not guess that I could affect you so, but I am glad of it."
"Will I ever remember, Christopher? The years I lost with
this accident?"
"I do not know. In cases like yours, sometimes memory returns, but it is not always the end result. Your memories may be lost to you forever."
"That I should be missing all our times together! Will I never remember the moment I knew I loved you, or your expression when you asked me to be your bride, or our first long ramble through the woods. . ."
"Marianne, I must be forthright. We are not engaged. As a matter of fact, you proposed and refused you."
Disbelieving, Marianne gaped, her eyes popping from her skull. She demanded indignantly, "Why then are you here sir, professing your love and devotion?"
"Because I love you dearer than my own happiness." The tempo and volume of his usually languid tone increased. "Truer words have not been spoken, do not doubt me, Marianne. It is not so simple as it seems." Brandon's voice strained as he grasped for words. "You have expressed doubts. I will not consent to wed you unless you return my love without reservation. As it was, I was courting you, allowing you to grow in your knowledge of self and love before I demanded a life of devotion from you. You are a woman, Marianne, and I am glad of it, but marriage is an irreversible decision for a woman of your class. It would ruin me to be the source of your unhappiness."
"You would give me up, if you thought it in my interests?"
"No one will ever love you as I do, Marianne." His hoarse voice dripped with feeling.
Tears welled in Marianne's eyes. "It is true, isn't it? Your affection is genuine. You love me that well." Her voice dimmed to a whisper. "As I loved you, for I would not have told you so if I felt anything less. I know I did not want you to refuse me. You ought to have said yes, for you have made me unhappy." A salty drip trailed down her cheek and across her mouth, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.
Transfixed by Marianne's emotional passion, reason slipped from Brandon's grasp. Sliding up against her mauve velvet coverlet, he drew close to Marianne's bruised face. Magical intensity filled the room as Brandon traced the curve of her swollen cheek. Their lips met in most innocent of kisses. In an instant, Brandon realized his action, but not before Marianne responded with a gentle pressure on his own lips.
The Colonel abruptly drew away. "I'm sorry, Miss Marianne. That was not the behavior of a gentleman."
Marianne watched the Colonel's retreating form in silence. His boots tapped a mercilessly slow rhythm on the floor as he approached the door. "Must you go?" The feminine voice was weak.
"You know that I must." Mournful eyes dominated the Colonel's face.
"No, I do not," cried Marianne. "How am I to believe you, sir? You will not consent to marry me, you kiss me, then leave me as though repulsed -"
"I am repulsed only by my own behavior."
"I am not. Pray, stay, Christopher," pleaded Marianne. "There is so much I do not know. Only you can tell me. Come back. Read to me. Talk to me. Anything. Do not go away from me." She blushed. "I have not been kissed, before, sir."
"Marianne, I could never refuse you anything, though you hardly know it now."
"Except your hand, apparently."
Brandon's spine stiffened up his back until it resembled a ramrod. Marianne observed his agitation. "I am sorry sir, that was unkind. You have said it was only for my sake. Yet, your rejection is a keen agony. Stay with me. I must know."
"Marianne, I will leave you now, and against my own heart's desire. But I shall return to you, perhaps tomorrow. I do not think it wise to frequently trouble you with my presence. I have stirred you up, and you must rest. Please rest, Marianne," pleaded Brandon, "I would never forgive myself if you did not heal properly." The Colonel placed his hand upon his heart, "Until later, my own Marianne." With that, he left her in numb silence.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sun sat low in the west, casting an orange glow across the landscape outside Marianne's window. She sighed and pressed a finger to her lips, remembering the Colonel's kiss.
"Dearest? What is wrong?" Elinor looked up from her needlework expectantly. Marianne groaned.
"Elinor, the Colonel is the most vexing man of my acquaintance."
"Then I am sorry for him. You have lost the last two years, but he loves you fervently."
"Precisely. Yet he seems to do nothing, nothing at all, to secure me for his own."
"He does not wish to own you, Marianne. He wants you to be happy. A rare trait for a man of his position, who generally seeks only a woman to produce an heir."
"How did I meet him?"
"At Barton Park. The Middletons graciously allowed us to have Barton Cottage, and we dine with them regularly. He came in while you were playing one afternoon, the first week we came here. He hasn't taken his eyes off you since." Elinor's smile was fondly warm.
Incredulous, Marianne gasped, "Two years, Elinor? Goodness, it has taken him long enough."
"Marianne! He was impeded my your immature disregard for him as an older man, as well as your decision to, ever so briefly, place your affections in the hands of a younger scoundrel."
Marianne stroked her hands back and forth over her blankets. The nap transitioned from a matte rose to a shiny mauve accordingly. "I loved someone else, then." It was not a question on Marianne's part, but an acknowledgement of the truth in Elinor's eyes.
"You did." Elinor's gaze was fixed upon her needle.
"What was he like?"
"A dream suitor in every way. Poetic, passionate, attentive. But he had a dark streak. Marianne. How he deceived us all! Whilst he courted you with abandon, he had left a poor young women with child in another county. When his wealthy Aunt learned her heir had behaved dishonorably, she stripped his inheritance. You were left for an heiress. It quite changed you, darling. You became ill and we feared for your life."
"The Colonel?"
"He did not waver in his affection. Loved you in spite of your scorn and foolishness. Never once forced his advances, and brought our mother to your side as you fought death in bed. It is only in the last few months that you have turned your eyes to him. Even now, he cannot bring himself to hope."
A rare sternness made its place in Elinor's features. "He is the finest man in the world, Marianne. You would be remiss not to love him as he desires."
A gentle rapping on the door interrupted their conversation.
"Colonel, come in." Elinor was cordial in her greeting. Marianne silently gazed at him.
Meticulously groomed and sporting a fine gray wool waistcoat, the Colonel inquired, "Miss Marianne, should you like me to play for you?"
"Yes, of course."
The piano had been brought in the previous day, much to Marianne's delight. It was magnificent, custom built for the Colonel from a spicy dark wood he brought with him from India expressly for the purpose. The Colonel approached the imposing grand piano as an old friend. Marianne held her breath as he fluidly seated himself upon the bench. Hands between his knees, he turned to face her with a grin. "Is there anything in particular that would please your ears, Miss Marianne?"
"Sir! Beethoven, if you please."
"A fine choice. I shall attempt to fumble out his Sonata number 14."
Fumble, he did not. The Colonel was a miraculously gifted pianist. The Moonlight Sonata poured from his exquisite fingers. Marianne had not previously been privy to such a clear gift; her own playing, she knew, could never rival the Colonel's vibrant talent. Nor could her fingers match his sheer skill. The Colonel played from both memory and the core of his being. His expressive musicality wove a web about Marianne's senses. This was not a dull man, she realized, nor an old one, merely one with a remarkable hold on his passions. The sun blazed under the hills outside the window as Brandon lovingly tapped the final notes into the ivory keys. A trance fell over Marianne's chamber. The Colonel stood, bowed, and cast a nervous look in Marianne's direction.
Elinor spoke first. "Your gift is superior, sir. I have not heard your equal in many concert halls. 'Tis a pity you do not play for us more."
Marianne, awestruck, piped, "Oh, you must play for us often!"
Needless to say, Marianne's praise impressed the Colonel the most. He smiled and declared, "I shall play for you whenever you like, Miss Marianne."
"I cannot imagine feeling ill, with such music in the
house," proclaimed Marianne. "I believe that my wounds are sealing with each lovely note. Elinor, the cook is to send up our meal. Colonel Brandon, it would please me ever so much if you were to join us."
The Colonel shifted where he stood. Elinor could see that he wished to stay with Marianne, but she also sensed that something was holding him back. "Yes, Colonel, stay. I cannot be here much longer. Dear Edward has done without me long enough, and I must return to him shortly. Marianne shall require the company. She slept nearly all afternoon and does not appear tired."
"As you see fit, ladies."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Soup! I dislike soup, Elinor. Won't someone please tell the cook? I've had it twice already today, and I shant eat another revolting drop." Petulant in her recovery, Marianne lusted after the succulent roast mutton and potatoes Elinor and the Colonel were enjoying. Her mouth watered with each clink of their flatware. Metal scraped against china. Marianne contemplated the cruel injustice of the situation. Her sister and lover were there to comfort her, but their act of eating tortured the hungry, broth weary Marianne.
The Colonel tightened his lips in thought. "Miss Marianne, might I advise that your physician recommends a mild diet? Your body has suffered no small trauma. Do not tempt fate with your aversion to soup."
Marianne was peeved. She heard truth in the Colonel's words. "As I refuse to eat any more of this, Colonel," Marianne artfully lifted her spoon to demonstrate the unappetizing mixture of split peas, "Shall you at least instruct your cook to provide me with custard or perhaps some baked eggs? That is, if you feel my traumatized body is up to the task."
The Colonel, momentarily distracted by the flick of Marianne's fine boned wrist, dropped his fork. Recovering, he stammered, "Yes, Marianne, that seems reasonable, however, I do not feel that custard would be as nourishing as soup. Once you have consumed your prescribed supper, I shall send for some custard if you are still hungry."
The Colonel's sterness riled up Marianne's impertinent streak. "Well," huffed the invalid, "I suppose I will starve, for I will not partake of the revolting concoction before me."
Embarrassed, Elinor interjected, "Marianne, you are tired. I think it best that you sleep now." She rose to go collect Marianne's tray. "Your crankiness is not endearing you to our kind host."
"No, wait, Mrs. Ferrars. Allow me. If Miss Marianne wishes to behave like a child, I will treat her as one." The Colonel marched to Marianne's bedside and took the spoon from her bowl. Gripping the silverware, he gently dipped it into the mass of split pea soup. Quoting, he lifted the spoon to her mouth, "Invincible, implacable Love, O Love that makes havoc of all wealth; That peacefully keeps his night-watch on the tender cheek of a maiden. . ." A stunned Marianne accepted the proffered spoonful. The Colonel refilled his silver weapon, "The sea is no barrier nor mountainous waste to Love's flight; for no one can escape Love's domination, man, no, or immortal god. Love's prey is possessed by madness."
"Sophocles."
"You are intimately familiar with Antigone?" A pleased Brandon continued to feed Marianne. She did not protest. Elinor looked on with amusement, unnoticed by Marianne or the Colonel.
"My father was fond of Sophocles. He - we all learned parts one summer, to appease him. The play was performed in our sitting room. I kept my masks, but I do not know if they were brought from Norland."
The bowl was half empty. Brandon paused and Marianne drank in his sensitive expression. "You understand that I do not wish to play Haemon to your Antigone, sweet Marianne. Let not a tomb be our bridal chamber as well, for I do not think I would survive if you were so cruely taken from me. Take caution, Marianne. You have not escaped danger yet."
Exhausted, Marianne fell back on her pillows. The Colonel removed her tray, and Elinor walked up to take it from him. "You are fatigued Marianne. I think it best that we leave you to sleep. As the Colonel says, we cannot be too careful with your injuries."
Marianne acknowledged Elinor with a grimace, then stretched her arm out to reach for the Colonel's hand. His two hands circled her beloved palm with his tender grasp. Innocently trusting, Marianne's open nature belied the severity of her question. "Tell me, Christopher, how did this happen? I do not recall my plunge to near death."
Chapter 4
Blood drained from Brandon's face. "You tripped and tumbled down the great staircase," stammered the Colonel. "Napoleon's army is no less terrifying. I thought you were gone from me forever."
"I am a fortunate to be alive."
"Yes." Brandon's eyes were downcast. Elinor's arms were stiff and her face tight.
"I suppose I have learned my lesson about playing with staircases." Marianne's attempt at levity elicited a tender glance from the Colonel. "We can only hope."
Marianne's condition did not prevent the Colonel from stealing away to Allenham later in the week. Little would have impeded his meeting with Mrs. Young. Allenham's parlor was dark; it resembled the Willoughby coloring. Mahogany paneled walls, emerald jacquard couches, and teak furniture impressed the Colonel with the wealth of the estate. Even Miss Grey's fortune could not restore this to Willougby. Perhaps he feels at least material pain, if none for my sweet Eliza.
"Dear Colonel!" Brandon rose at the sound of Mrs. Young's melodic, low voice. Her slender fingers directed him to sit once again. "Mrs. Young. You are as lovely as ever."
"I must confess, I feel some guilt for Miss Dashwood's predicament. I had no idea anyone would react so violently to an embrace between old friends."
"The physician expects a full recovery." The Colonel kept silent on the condition of Marianne's memory. "She is in my care at Delaford, where she belongs. Marianne, I am afraid, is not accustomed to the traditions of my regiment. It is more my fault that anyone else's; I should not have let her escape my presence so quickly."
"She is a passionate sprite. I doubt you could hold her." Mrs. Young's statement danced through the air like an omen. Doubt, unbidden, crept into the Colonel's mind. Can I hold a vibrant woman, one so young as Marianne? Blonde tresses rippled with the shake of his head.
"Mrs. Young. The matter Lady Allen wished to speak with me about?" The Colonel carefully changed the subject.
"She is . . . appalled by my brother's chicanery. As am I! He - he - our father was a poor influence, I am afraid, dissipated, and unfeeling enough to bring his mistresses to the house while my mother lay dying."
Brandon spat his cold reply. "Anyone of breeding, or feeling, would be disgusted by your brother."
"Lady Allen wishes to fund the upbringing of little Eliza's natural child."
The Colonel pursed his lips. He was surprised, but not quite willing to accept Lady Allen's charity. Who would trust the relation of Willoughby? "Is there any particular reason she has taken interest in Eliza's child?"
Vivian cast her eyes to the back wall. "John is completely cut off. Even a third of his annuity would more than fund the child's education." Vivian's voice hushed. "We know that John will never do right by the child."
Brandon remained unmoved, unresponsive. "You are a proud man, Colonel, but think of the child. You could provide it with so much more with some of the financial burden eased. I know your brother left Delaford in shambles."
"Rebuilding has been slow, but relatively successful. Neither of our brothers could claim to be good men, or even decent ones. Your brother destroyed Eliza and humiliated Marianne. I seem to be the builder who restores what John Willoughby devours."
"Let our help ease your bitterness. The Allens and the Willoughbys are not all men of poor quality."
"The compassion of women is the world's redeemer."
Mrs. Young blushed. "You are too kind."
"Mrs. Young, I shall ponder this offer. Eliza's child must not suffer because of my pride. God only knows, Eliza has."
"This is not an affront to your ability to care for the child. Simply, it is Lady Allen's desire to perform John's duty. You should not be called upon to shoulder this burden; it is my brother's fault."
"Well, then, I suppose I cannot refuse."
"Lady Allen will be glad of it, as am I. We do not wish you to think ill of all our family."
"My fallen comrade's wife deserves no less than my best wishes for her future."
So it was settled between the Allens and the Brandons. Lady Allen would pay the expenses of Eliza's child. Yet the Colonel left Allenham with a heavy heart. The financial burden was miniscule. A few more pounds per annum could not lift the Colonel's sense of failure as a guardian.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blackest midnight engulfed Delaford by the time the Colonel returned. Daylight found Delaford to be a large and silent house. Nights were colder and more foreboding. Tonight, I am coming home to Marianne! The thought warmed Brandon's heart. Marianne's presence made Delaford cheery.
Though Brandon knew the lady to be asleep at this hour, he walked down the hall toward her chambers. Moonlight cast across his face as the Colonel gently opened Marianne's door. The luminescent blue moonlight made his pale skin glow.
"Colonel."
He smiled. "Christopher."
"Yes."
The angel was awake.
"Everything hurts. Stay with me awhile. You make me forget my aches and bumps."
Brandon crossed the room and sat down in the lavender chair by Marianne's bed. "I'm sorry to have left you tonight. I had business at Allenham." He paused. "Marianne I have a ward. She is the natural child of my sister-in-law. Both are named Eliza. Some - some suppose young Eliza to be my child, for the father was never found and I assumed her care."
"I does not matter to me. You are not a young man, sir. You have seen the world."
"Nevertheless, Eliza is not my child. Like her mother, she found herself in an unfortunate situation, just last year. The mistress of Allenham is the blackguard's nearest relation, beside his sister, Vivian. Lady Allen disinherited her nephew when his base deeds were discovered. Now she has offered to pay for little Eliza's upbringing."
Marianne's normally golden hair glinted silver in the iridescent moonlight. Brandon was momentarily transfixed. Marianne appeared to be wearing a fairy crown crafted of tiny silver strands.
"I see why you had to go. But Christopher," her cheeks flushed, "I know you would not leave me, ever, unless it was necessary."
"Do you love me, Marianne?"
"I know only that I did, very much, and that you have been kind and loving to me while I have been here in your care. But I have forgotten everything."
"Would you - would - do you think you might take the hand of this aged Colonel, only knowing that you loved me before your fall? Marianne, I could not live without you."
"Are you finally proposing, sir? It seems I have waited much too long for this moment."
"Forgive me." Brandon's heart thumped in his chest. Was he doing the right thing? Did Marianne require more time?
Marianne smirked happily. "Sir, seeing as you have at long last made up your mind, I will gladly consent to be your bride."
Fear welled up in Brandon's heart. He could not take advantage of Marianne. "My darling, thank you. But you must know, if you have any doubts, any consideration which alters your thinking, I shall not hold you to this, until we are married, of course. Then you shall be stuck with this old man."
Mischeif flashed through Marianne's eyes. "Will you kiss me goodnight, my own Christpher?"
The staid Colonel blushed, but did not hesitate to fulfill the his lady's request.