Posted on Saturday, 27 August 2005
The afternoon was less than ideal. Heavy, woolly grey clouds threatened rain but as of three o'clock none had fallen. The light was still good enough for Mrs. Dashwood to sit by the window with her sewing; Margaret had torn the hem out of her good dress earlier that week and the girl would need it for Sunday services. Margaret herself was holed away in her room, studying a book of maps the Colonel had loaned her, the weather the only thing keeping her indoors. Elinor was well married and living at the parsonage with her husband. The only one left was Marianne, who was now sitting in the parlour with Colonel Brandon, the both of them absorbed in a game of chess.
Even though the man had asked permission to marry her, Brandon waited to ask the girl herself. He wanted to sound out Marianne's true feelings for him, and though he was certain she believed them to be friends, he would not wish to share his life with someone who did not want him.
The game was well underway. Marianne was sitting straight in her chair, hands folded in her lap, as she contemplated her next move. Brandon, by stark contrast, was completely relaxed. One elbow was propped upon the table, his head resting in his hand. He had lost three times all ready that day but he did not care. The simple act of being near Marianne Dashwood was enough for him; winning a game of chess was unimportant.
"I believe I have the upper hand, sir," she said, raising her blue eyes to meet his grey. She gave him a sly grin. "Again."
"Very true," Brandon murmured. "However, if I move my knight here, I would be very close to taking your queen."
A smile turned up the corners of his mouth as she blushed, a light tint of pink spreading across her cheeks. Time, perhaps, to press his advantage.
"How close am I, do you think, to taking your queen? Two moves, three?"
"That all depends, sir, on how I defend myself." Her blush deepened. She had understood his meaning.
"And how will you? Your knights are vanished, your king is dead, bishops are too far away, rooks ineffectual, and your pawns are taken. Your queen herself is vulnerable."
"Are you suggesting I surrender my queen? Why doesn't your knight simply take her?"
"He is too chivalrous for that. He can offer her protection, fealty, courtly love."
Marianne's eyebrows rose. "Courtly love? She would not like that. There is not enough substance in courtly love, and the knight would look elsewhere for affection and utterly abandon the queen."
"No, he is entirely her servant. Her happiness is his, but without her he has no purpose."
"Even though she is a vain and selfish creature?" She looked away, down at the chessboard, the game long since forgotten. The intensity of his gaze, his words, in spite of his languid pose made her tremble.
"He loves her despite all of this, believing the vanity to be justified, at least in part, and the selfishness a phase to be outgrown. He loves her in spite of all her flaws and because of her flaws. Though she is a queen she is still human, and subject to human failings, but she is nonetheless queen of his heart."
Mrs. Dashwood watched, silent and smiling, the unfolding tableau. The Colonel now leaning in toward Marianne, the two of them quietly conversing. Marianne looking away, two crystal droplets falling from her eyes, only to be brushed away and replaced with a shy smile.
"What has the queen done to deserve such a knight?"
"Nothing, save being herself. He is devoted to her, and would gladly pledge himself to her if she would but have him."
There was a pause as his words flowed through her, and Brandon felt his heart stop beating while he waited for a response.
"She would," Marianne said, her voice shaking. "She will, and happily!"
She moved the knight to stand beside the queen, an odd position for opposing forces. A true champion would say that Brandon had lost yet another match, and Brandon would agree. The knight, however, had won the queen, which was more than satisfactory to both.