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It had been over a month since Elinor had last seen Marianne; an odd fact, perhaps, for Marianne visited Delaford very often, but the sisters always seemed to narrowly miss each other, somehow– Elinor was out late many evenings, having spent the day with some needy parishioner or other, and by the time she returned to the parsonage, Marianne had already departed. Their paths could not seem to cross. It was all the fault of her newfound busyness, Elinor concluded. She had always been a responsible and industrious sort, and now she had plenty of opportunity to make herself useful. It was not so great a shock, now that she thought about it, that she had not seen her sister recently. Life simply got in the way, when one was a new wife, especially when one was inclined to play an active role in caring for one’s husband’s flock.
They could have made a greater effort to meet, she supposed. But after all, Elinor was not the main reason Marianne visited Delaford; not anymore.
Still, it was the Christmas season, and though there had been a tense moment when Elinor and Edward feared they would be summoned to Mrs. Ferrars's side, they were spared that fate and were to spend their time instead at Delaford House, with Colonel Brandon and the Dashwood ladies. Elinor was looking forward to seeing her mother and Margaret, but it was Marianne’s society that she wanted most of all. Their always steady correspondence had been a comfort, of course, while they had been apart, but a letter was never as welcome as a smile, a hug, a laugh, a conversation. It was with eager anticipation, then, that she waited for the Dashwoods’ arrival, and when Marianne came running to her door, Elinor hastened out to meet her; their tears mingled with their laughter as they embraced each other, exclaiming over how long it had been - too long! - and complimenting each other on how well they looked.
Reason eventually catching up with sentimentality, Elinor ushered Marianne out of the cold air, into the house and a seat by the warm fire. She fussed over her sister, making her comfortable, urging her to take some refreshment.
"I am quite well, my dear Elinor," Marianne smiled. "Do not worry about me. Come, sit. I have missed you most dreadfully!” She looked down, a little bashful. “It has been a great loss, not having you around as a constant confidante.”
Elinor wondered what secrets Marianne needed to confide that she could not trust to their mother.
"Not that I have anything important to tell," said Marianne, as though she had read Elinor's thoughts, "nor, perhaps, anything particularly interesting. Mama thinks--" she broke off suddenly.
Elinor knew what Mama thought - that an engagement between Marianne and Colonel Brandon would be settled during their visit - and did not want to encourage such a wishful notion. Marianne had already warmed to the colonel, and there was reason to suppose that she was even becoming attached, and though they were all very hopeful that a match would eventually be made, it was much too precipitate to hope for one so quickly. They must all have more patience and give the situation more time. Marianne still had much to learn... and unlearn.
"But what about you?" said Marianne hastily, covering the awkward silence. "What news have you to share?"
As it happened, Elinor had some significant news - she suspected, though she was not absolutely certain, that she and Edward would be welcoming a new Ferrars to the parsonage in the summer - but it was too soon to reveal it; she had not yet even whispered her hopes to Edward.
"Oh," she laughed, "there is nothing to share that would be worth the telling. My life is a quiet one."
"But you are happy?" Marianne’s brow was furrowed, instantly alarmed by the suggestion of anything less than perfect contentment.
"Very, very happy, my dear Marianne," said Elinor, pressing her sister's hand, and her voice was filled with such sincerity that Marianne’s concerns dissipated as quickly as they had appeared.
"That is the best news I could possibly receive." Elinor knew that she meant it.
She did not need to ask if Marianne was happy. Her sister glowed with health and youth and a new perspective on life; no outward sign of the Willoughby affair remained. She had grown over this year, matured, embraced joy almost as fiercely as she had once clung to melancholy. She smiled more than Elinor remembered; she brooded less. And there was something more, too-- a spark, perhaps, of burgeoning love, one Marianne seemed more than willing to begin fanning into a flame. The Dashwood family's world had finally righted itself, after being rocked by the death of their patriarch. It had been a difficult time, heartwrenching in so many ways, and Elinor’s fortune had changed first, but the Dashwood ladies were all on the rise. Life looked bright.
Elinor and Marianne moved on to other subjects, discussing all of their important sisterly nothings, enjoying this time together, without even their mother or Margaret or Edward to distract them. This, too, was perfect contentment, thought Elinor-- time spent with one's sister and dearest friend. By next Christmas, Elinor would be a mother, and, with any luck, Marianne would be a wife. They would have more pressing concerns on their minds, their own families to occupy their attention. Marianne would be the mistress of a good estate, the patroness of a village. Elinor would have a baby to cuddle and care for. Things were going to change; they would not have the same sort of time for each other. But for now, Elinor hugged Marianne tightly, enjoying every moment she got to spend with her while she was still a Miss Dashwood.