Chapter Text
Marianne Dashwood stepped into Barton Cottage, a forced smile upon her face after such a long time away in London and the extended stay at Cleveland. She was determined to be sanguine as she looked about the last room she'd seen Willoughby. Her piano-forte that they'd sang at and the settee where he'd cut the curl he'd hence returned. Her heart ached, but her smile remained in place. She took a breath, walking over to her instrument, she sat down at the keys and looked into the garden.
It seemed like only yesterday that he'd been there, and now he never would be again. She refused to openly regret him; her family mattered more now. She would try to be prudent, she would try to move on.
The next few days passed with Elinor carefully watching her, until one day, she invited her into the garden to speak of Willoughby. Marianne learnt that he had come when she was ill, that he had told Elinor the truth of his heart and that he could only regret his actions. But he had no plans of altering their outcome.
Marianne listened with attention, and came to a conclusion. One that helped her heart more than any other in her life. If he truly loved her, he would have been happy in moderate comfort. If he truly loved her, he would not have wanted for anything. If he truly loved her, he would have given her that love and not indulged himself with finery.
And even later when Elinor had called him selfish, did she wish to acquit him, but she no longer could.
Three weeks passed since they returned, and in that time Marianne had much improved. She walked in the garden and read under the shade of her favourite tree. Her weakness slowly removed itself and with her energy came an eagerness to learn more. She continued to read Cowper and Scott, and was given books on history from Sir John. When she wasn’t reading, she practised at her piano-forte every day, and had now a memorised repertoire of every sheet they possessed. She began to look forward to exhibiting them in company.
While most of her days were filled with reading and practising, her nights held little comfort for her. Though after the first fortnight she was able to sleep without weeping and stay sleeping until morning. She felt better, though she was sure she shouldn’t. A part of her knew she should continue to regret Willoughby, but another part of her wanted to move forward.
Not in love, perhaps never in love, but in her mind. To see the benches they had sat on and not only think of him. To not remember him in every area of their garden and lawn.
Then Edward had come, and with him a wave of excitement, and things seemed better. For Elinor’s smile was true and happy and Marianne could see the love within Edward’s manners towards her sister that she approved. Though, to her eye, he could be a bit more animated; Marianne was sure that to Elinor he was exactly the type of man she would like.
Mrs Dashwood said that Colonel Brandon was soon to call. Marianne had decided at once that they were old friends, and she would treat him with all the warmth and kindness that she would pay to any such friend that had been so courteous and kind to her and her family.
A fortnight after returning from Cleveland and Colonel Brandon could not convince himself to visit the Dashwoods. He was sure she would need time to heal, both in mind and spirit – she would surely still think of Mr Willoughby.
Yet, this separation did nothing for his own mind but add more weight to it. He thought of her at any moment he was alone, and so every night he found himself in a melancholy mood that could not be lifted. Even going to his dovecote, one of his favourite hobbies, held little distraction to him.
He sat in his study and worked on his surprise for her, or stared into the fireplace, his mind turning over certain truths he wished he had any power of changing. Yet, he could not change the time that separated them. Nineteen years was a great enough number to make him fret. And though he'd seen other men at an age more advanced than thirty six marry women of seventeen, he could not allow it to go without careful thought.
Three weeks passed so slowly, but if it had not been for Mrs Dashwood’s letters urging him thither he would have given Miss Marianne still more time.
She was so young and beautiful, and after weeks of contemplation, his mind decided that she would choose what he would be to her. That was the only thing that brought him comfort, for though he longed for her with every part of his heart, he wished even more for her to be happy. And if he was able to make her so, then he would give her everything he had.
He would not be human if he did not doubt. Doubt her affections would be given any time soon, or perhaps at all. But he would be open to them, revel in her company and enjoy any conversation she wished to have. He could not help his heart’s worry and his agitation was great as he road the four miles to Barton Cottage. He had every mind to only visit for a day or so.
When he arrived, Miss Marianne was sitting in the garden with a book. A shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and he wondered if she was warm enough after all that had passed. He went to her, instead of straight to the house. His heart needed to see her, to intuit any of her thoughts on the matter of their circumstance.
But that was all set aside, everything felt different when – as she looked up from her book at his approach – she smiled at him with so much affection that he felt his mind and heart admit that he hoped she would love him. In the time they were apart his love had done nothing but grow. And when she stood to walk to him, her hands outstretched, he took them both in his own.
'Mr Brandon! How marvellous it is to see you, it has been a long while and we have so much wonderful news!' Her smiles were so friendly and fixed solely on himself, that he felt a warmth that – he was sure – coloured his cheeks.
'Pray, what have I missed?'
'Mr Ferrars! Edward has come and asked for Elinor's hand!’ Through all of this she held their hands between them both.
'Has he, indeed? Well, this is happy news!' He smiled at her, their eyes meeting and hers so full of joy. 'Now I have more reason to promote the living of Delaford. If my dear friend is to soon be my neighbour.'
'She will be!' Her smile suddenly faltered, before she shook her head and turned to gather up her book from the bench.
'What are you reading?'
'The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’ – She looked around to ensure no one was listening – ‘I would like to finish The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne while you are here.’
‘You’ve saved it for me?’ The book they had begun at Cleveland, during her convalescence. He had no idea she had obtained it, no less kept herself from reading the remainder.
‘Yes! For if I had not, I would not have the constitution to keep you in suspense of their fate! No, it was safer to not gain the information in the first place.’
‘That is very kind of you, Miss Marianne,’ said he, and she smiled up at him just as Margaret came out to encourage them inside.
Luncheon was so lively, each person so full of happiness at all the news, and he could not help but be affected by it. They sat in the parlour after, the whole family, he and Mr Ferrars sitting on dining chairs on one side of the room as Marianne played the piano-forte. Mr Ferrars was different to him now, more friendly. It was as if another man had come to his lodgings in St. James street all those weeks ago. He looked him in the eyes, his manners so much more open; though Brandon could only attribute Miss Elinor for the change in his demeanour.
When, in the afternoon, Elinor and Mr Ferrars suggested they go for a walk, Marianne looked at him conspiratorially. ‘I’m still too weak to walk very far, but perhaps if Mr Brandon would like to sit with me in the garden. We could read?’
Brandon was thankful for good books, for he was sure it was her wish to finish the Mrs Radcliffe novel that had granted him with such a delightful offer.
‘Yes, that sounds very agreeable.’
‘Well, I’m walking!’ said Margaret as she stood and tugged her mothers arm. ‘Mama, will you come with me? I need someone to talk to.’
‘Yes, I’ll come with you.’ Mrs Dashwood laughed, and as they all put on their hats to leave she gave Brandon a warm look, reminding him that she had repeated granted him permission to court her daughter. He smiled softly as she left, feeling a small flutter of hope in his heart as Marianne led the way out into the garden.
He pretended not to notice their maid sitting in the window keeping watch, or that their handy-man was clipping the hedge row only far enough away to not hear them speaking. Marianne had the book tucked under a blanket as they made their way to the two chairs situated under a lovely tree. Then, once the party had departed, she quickly found their place and faltered for a moment.
‘Mr Brandon, I am better now. I can read for a while to you if you would like?’
‘I would like that very much.’
‘Then we will trade between chapters,’ said she, her countenance so pleased that he could not help smiling as she began to read.
He listened to her voice, allowing it to whisk him away to a horrid castle and the threat of a terrible Baron. He was soon caught by the intrigue just as much as Marianne and when her chapter ended, she could not contain her sorrow.
'How horrid!' cried Marianne, lamenting the fate of Mary. 'I cannot imagine anything so dreadful as to be handed over to a madman!'
'Her poor mother,' said Brandon. 'To decide something so difficult.'
'And Alleyn and Mary! To choose to save a brother and lose love, it is all so very wretched! Pray read, for I can hardly bear to wait any longer!'
He took it and began to read, his mind being so completely lost to the story that he only realised on looking up at the end of his chapter, that Marianne was staring at him with great attention. His mouth felt suddenly dry, and he offered her the book. He had trouble listening for a moment, for he was struck with amazement.
Here in the garden, sitting with Miss Marianne under the shade of a tree, he was finally starting to feel a genuine happiness settle around him.
The first day he left the Dashwoods, he was in high spirits. They hadn’t finished the book, and when the party came back from their walk, they all went back into the parlour for afternoon tea. And then, as the sun set he declared he should go, for he needed to walk back to the Park. When they all bid each other good bye, Marianne asked when he would return.
‘In the morning.’
‘I am glad to hear it.’ She curtsied and went inside and joy filled his heart. She wanted him to return, and he would come back with the sunrise if he could. He stepped out into the twilight, a lantern by his side for light, and paused when he heard quick foot-steps rushing after him. His heart jumped for a moment, thinking perhaps Marianne had come to find him, until the light illuminated the sheepish face of Mr Ferrars.
'Mr Brandon, I wanted to apologise for the way I at first received your gracious offer of the living.' He looked away for a moment, embarrassment twisting his countenance. 'You see, I had thought there could only be one reason for you to offer it to me. Since we knew each other so little, I – I had thought you were giving it to me for Elinor's sake. That she had asked you to do it. That she had – well, that she had given it herself.'
It had been obvious by the way Mr Ferrars’s accepted the living that he was not made easy by it, but Brandon did not suppose the man was jealous. He’d thought Miss Dashwood had the right to offer the living because she would be mistress of its Park.
'You see, I had mistaken kindness for’ – he cleared his throat – ‘for something else.' Edward looked down at his hands in defeat.
‘You cannot be faulted for resisting another situation that at first seemed so disagreeable. Know that Miss Dashwood and myself are very good friends.’
‘Yes, I have seen it, and she has spoken to me of her feelings for you. That it is – may I be so bold to say – a brotherly affection.’
‘Nothing would make me happier than for her to be my sister.’ Brandon spoke in a comforting voice and Edward smiled softly.
'I am so very grateful for all that you have done. I look back on how I came to you with regret. Pray, may we start fresh?'
'Of course, we are to be neighbours and nothing would be more pleasant to me than to receive you as a friend.'
'Thank you, Mr Brandon.'
'You may call me Brandon, or Colonel if you like.'
'Thank you, Colonel. You may call me Edward.'
'Excellent. Then I shall see you on the marrow.'
'Yes.'
Brandon watched as Edward scampered back up to the cottage. A smile turned up his lips as he began again down the path towards Barton Park. His heart already missing Marianne’s sweet face.