The Cost of Wishes

Marianne had locked herself in her room to cry alone and bitterly. Willoughby, who loved her, had committed himself to someone else. The Dashwood girls, it seemed, were too poor to marry. Willoughby was blameless in this, she knew. It was all John Dashwood's fault; his and his son's. Had her great-uncle not settled everything on her nephew Harry -- had he only spared a few thousand pounds for her dowry -- she might by now be the one engaged to dear Willoughby rather than the cold, snobbish Miss Gray.

There was a soft knock and then someone entered. Had she not locked the door? She looked up, ready to cry into her sister's arms, for she could imagine no one else come to see her right now. Even Mrs. Jennings was not so stupid.

It was not her sister or her hostess but a house maid.

"Excuse me, Miss," the girl began. She smiled sweetly with teeth like even, little pearls. Her hands were folded demurely over her apron. Her hair -- a blonde, sunny color -- was pulled back neatly under her cap with a delicate wisp of curl over her forehead.

"Go away," said Marianne, unwilling to face her.

"Of course, Miss, right away. It's only I thought I could help you." She did not move.

"I do not want tea," said Marianne. "I want to be left alone."

"I suspect what you truly want isn't either, Miss. And I can help you, I swear. Begging your pardon for the presumption." She bobbed a curtsy for apology but otherwise held her ground.

Marianne gave her another look before she sent her away again and more forcefully. "How can you possibly help?"

The girl looked around as if to check that no one else had joined them. "I can grant wishes," she said at last in a loud whisper.

"You can do what?" asked Marianne. Was this some sort of joke?

The maid took a step closer and repeated herself in the same whisper. "I can grant wishes." She smiled again. "Give it a try," she coaxed. "Go on and wish for something, anything. I promise this one won't even count."

Marianne just stared at her, speechless.

"Go on, Miss. Ask for anything: tea and biscuits, or a rainbow outside your window, or a fire in the grate, or to go home to Barton. Just ask, Miss, and it's yours."

The girl was just trying to make her feel better and the sooner Marianne acquiesced the sooner the maid would be on her way.

"A fire in the grate," Marianne said at last.

"Done," said the maid with a snap of her fingers. Without moving from her spot by the bed, a blazing fire leapt up in the fireplace.

Marianne gasped and nearly fell over, so startled she was. "What did you do?" she asked when she recovered her speech.

The maid grinned and snapped her fingers again. The flame went out as suddenly as it had sprung to life, with only the scent of smoke to lead Marianne to believe she hadn't imagined it. "I'm magic," the girl explained. "I can grant wishes, and you look like someone in sore need of my aid."

"Why are you working as a maid if you can grant wishes?" wondered Marianne.

The girl laughed at that. "It doesn't work like that," she said. "Not for me, at least. I can only grant the wishes of other people. Every time I try to do what I want, it doesn't turn out like I had hoped. No, but I can grant you a wish. I can grant you ten wishes, if you like."

"Ten!" Marianne exclaimed.

"Would you like it?"

"Oh, but ten is too many," reasoned Marianne. That was nine too many. She only needed one wish to achieve her heart's desire. Willoughby had chosen Miss Gray for her ten thousand, and had Marianne been her equal in fortune there would have been no contest between them.

"Ten is standard," said the maid, who had apparently made a habit of helping people. "Besides, as I said, it doesn't always work out the way you want, so you might need extra wishes to get it perfect."

It still felt unreal. "So I can wish for anything?"

"Anything at all!" The maid bounced on her heels. "Give it a try!"

"I wish I was home again," said Marianne, not knowing what to expect.

The girl snapped her fingers and in that instant they were both transported to Barton Cottage. Marianne gave a shriek of surprise and looked about her for some sign of how this trick was done, but there was no reasonable explanation.

"I told you," said the maid, "I'm magic. So do we have a deal? Ten wishes to bring you your heart's desire?"

Marianne had sat gaping, trying to understand the inexplicable. "What is your name?" she said at last. "And what do you get from this? Do you want money?"

"Call me Nelly," said the sunny girl. "I like to give people what they want; it's what I'm good at. If you can get your true love before you run out of wishes, then you don't owe me anything. The pleasure of seeing you happy again shall be my payment."

"And if I don't?" frowned Marianne.

Nelly almost rolled her eyes. "Is it even possible that you'll need more than half?"

Marianne considered this. On a level playing field, it really was no contest between herself and Miss Gray. This would be easy. She could do it in one wish.

She smiled at Nelly, a grin that lit her whole face.

"Nelly, I wish to be rich."

---

Marianne sat in the parlor in Barton Cottage, trying unobtrusively to determine what had just happened. She had wished for money, but instead of finding herself immediately surrounded by heaps of bank notes, she was sitting with her mother and sisters, in the same diminished circumstances she had come to expect.

Then she heard a fragment of conversation she remembered, then another. Strung together like beads on a necklace, she realized that she was returned to the day she had first met Willoughby. She felt a thrill to think she was reliving this day.

Their man brought in the mail and Mrs. Dashwood gasped. She held up an envelope edged in black: someone had died. This was not how Marianne remembered events.

"What happened, Mama?" asked Margaret quietly.

Mrs. Dashwood said nothing but broke the seal and read. Tears welled up in her eyes. Despite her daughters' gentle promptings, she dropped the letter and fled from the room as her tears overwhelmed.

Elinor picked up the letter and read it.

"What is it?" asked Marianne, disturbed by her mother's reaction.

Elinor was silent for a long time, reading and rereading the letter as her features curdled in horror.

"Elinor, what happened?" Marianne asked with greater force, snatching the letter from her sister.

"It's our brother, John," Elinor spoke hoarsely. "He, and Fanny, and our nephew are all dead." With that, she too ran off.

Margaret and Marianne both tried to read the fateful letter. Margaret was quicker but Marianne was older. She read through it twice herself and could only feel horror at the story therein: their half brother John had taken his wife and son on an open carriage ride in the park. The carriage had overturned, crushing Fanny and Harry instantly. John lived long enough to call for help but he too could not be saved. The note ended with the declaration that if his will declared no heir beyond his wife and child, then, as his next nearest relations, his half sisters stood to inherit his wealth.

Marianne clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. She disliked her brother for being weak and for marrying such an unamiable woman; her feelings toward Fanny were stronger and less pleasant, blaming her as she did for the total absence of support they had received from John upon their father's death. But Harry, though the instigator of their being written out of the will, was yet an innocent.

Marianne retired to her room, awestruck. Was this her wish? What had Nelly done? Marianne had certainly wanted to be rich, but not like this, not at the expense of a child whose greatest crime was being too adorable.

As in London, she locked herself in her room. Now, however, she called for Nelly. Surely someone as magical as the maid would have no problem being summoned.

It worked. Marianne had just started to pace the small chamber when the maid appeared behind her.

"Yes, Miss?" she asked cheerfully.

"Did you kill John and Fanny?" she asked without preamble.

Nelly nodded. "And their son, too. I took special care with the order of their deaths so that the Ferrars wouldn't get it all. That Mrs. Ferrars is a greedy, grasping woman."

"You killed them?" Marianne said, mindless of her volume. "Nelly, how could you?"

The girl shrugged as if it were no great loss. "That's how magic works, Miss. I can't create money from nothing, not the sum you need to win your Mr. Willoughby. It has to come from somewhere; family's the best place for it. It looks natural that way." She paused thoughtfully. "Of course, you'll miss meeting him today, but what is a day compared with your whole future?"

Nelly smiled again. For the first time, Marianne noticed a flaw in her appearance: a crooked tooth and a lazy eye. It marred the maid's otherwise angelic air.

"Well, I don't wish for them to die," proclaimed Marianne.

"But they're going to die anyways, Miss," answered Nelly is a gentle voice. "We all do. This way was quicker but the result was the same, believe me. However, if you'd rather, you can spend another wish to give them a longer time of it, let them make their goodbyes in proper form, and you can still get the money after."

She didn't want to waste her wishes on John and Fanny, but she saw no other way about it. Besides, it wasn't as if she needed nine more wishes to get her Willoughby. The first one was certainly enough.

"Very well," Marianne said solemnly with a nod. "I wish it."

Nelly snapped her fingers.

---

Marianne was sitting in the morning room at Norland Park. It gave her a jolt and she wondered how Nelly had interpreted this wish. Was her father still alive? Had Nelly killed the John Dashwoods and yet kept her own father alive?

The housekeeper entered and her words seemed to confirm the hypothesis. "Miss Dashwood, Mr. Dashwood is asking to see you."

"My father?" said Marianne with a lump in her throat.

At that, the housekeeper looked startled then ashamed. "I'm sorry, Miss, but I refer to your brother, Mr. John Dashwood. Bless me, Miss Marianne, but I was sorry to have lost your father, and I will be sorry again to lose his son." The older woman continued on in this vein as they walked, explaining that while she was always grateful to see Miss Marianne, she would have preferred it was under different circumstances.

By the time Marianne stood in front of her brother's door, she knew that Harry and Fanny were already dead, and that John was expected to join them soon. As soon as the family was injured, Marianne had been sent for to nurse them. It was no secret that Elinor was better as such acts of charity, but even in her weakened state, Fanny Dashwood didn't want to worry about Elinor returning to Norland Park and finding solace in the company of Edward Ferrars.

Marianne at last entered the chamber. There was a foul odor inside, but John motioned her to him. What followed was probably his deathbed confession: how disreputable he felt in not honoring his father's final wishes regarding his family; how unworthy he felt in receiving his dear sister's kind attentions; how despicable he felt in rejoicing that his elder sister had managed to put herself out of harm's way. He was, in a word, undeserving, and this speech cut through to Marianne's heart to think that she had ever thought ill of him. Perhaps she might speak with Nelly about what could be done to ease his suffering.

But John Dashwood was not done. There was one more thing he wanted her to know. For traveling back to Norland so soon after leaving it, for being his constant comfort during his final trial, he was naming her his primary heir.

The interview left Marianne drained. She was now going to be rich enough that had Willoughby not loved her at all, he still might choose her over Miss Gray. She was attractive enough in a mercenary way to have any man she wanted, but the only man she wanted was Willoughby.

Eventually, she returned to the morning room where the housekeeper had first found her. A letter was sitting, opened but unread by the chair in which she had been sitting. A quick glance confirmed the address was to her, the handwriting was her mother’s. Marianne picked it up and read it.

Following her mother’s desperate hopes for her stepson the letter turned to some new joy in Barton. Elinor had a suitor. It was not the shy Edward Ferrars, nor the old Colonel Brandon. No, it was a young man come to visit his aunt who had fallen completely under her spell, making his declarations before the fortnight was out.

Marianne put down the letter, unable to read another word. Had Willoughby truly proposed to her sister? Why did he not wait for her? How could he not know she was coming for him, just as soon as she could?

“Is everything all right, Miss?” came a quiet voice behind her.

Marianne closed her eyes and tears dropped down her cheeks. “He is marrying Elinor instead,” she said softly. “I spent too much time in Norland, and he fell in love with my sister.”

“Oh, Miss!” breathed Nelly, taking the letter to confirm the truth with her own eyes. “I am so sorry. This is not what I wanted, you know that. It’s just that you wanted to give your brother more time, and now I’ve made you his heiress. I thought that would make you happy.”

If John was to die, then perhaps it was best for him to go quickly, thought Marianne. In the next instant, she chastened herself for thinking so. This wish had failed worse than the first. She needed to reconsider.

“Can I wish that my father never died?” asked Marianne. From the moment she realized she was back at Norland Park, the thought of seeing her father again was tempting.

Nelly frowned. “Begging your pardon but I do not think that is a good idea, Miss.”

“And why not?”

“Because he already died, Miss,” Nelly tried to speak kindly. “He’s just going to die again. That’s what Fate is. You cannot avoid it, no matter how many wishes you have. And having him alive still will keep you here at Norland instead of sending you to Barton where you’ll meet Mr. Willoughby. He’s at the time of life when a man looks for a wife. Believe me, Miss, if it isn’t you or Miss Gray, it will be someone else. Did not you just say he fell in love with your sister? I wouldn’t trust him with a very long leash. I suppose you could spend a few more wishes to get yourself invited to see Sir John Middleton just as Mr. Willoughby is visiting his aunt? Something unfortunate could befall Lady Middleton, thus requiring him to seek aid from his family,” she mused

Nelly looked hopefully at Marianne for approval, but Miss Dashwood found the idea distasteful. Lady Middleton was not an ideal but she was far more deserving of happiness than Fanny Dashwood.

Lacking encouragement, the maid sighed and spoke again. “Well then. I recommend we go back to the original plan. Kill off your brother quickly and painlessly with you already established in Barton Cottage, then put yourself in Mr. Willoughby’s path and let the cards fall where they may. Besides, we don’t have time for long courtship, I’m afraid. We need to get you back to Barton.”

Here Marianne became puzzled. “What do you mean? Why don’t we have time?”

Nelly looked embarrassed and covered her mouth with her hand. “Begging your pardon, Miss, but the wishes only last so long, then they go rancid. You have to work quickly now that you’ve begun.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” asked Marianne irritably.

“I had no idea you would need so much time,” the maid countered tartly. Marianne was struck by the creases in her forehead that had not been there when they had first met. Perhaps not just the unused wishes spoiled with time.

“Very well,” said Marianne. “We shall try it your way again. I wish you would take me back to Barton Cottage to meet Willoughby.”

Nelly snapped her fingers but she did not look happy.

Part 2

Again Marianne Dashwood was sitting with her mother and sisters when the mail came. Again her mother then Elinor read the letter of John Dashwood’s death. Had not Marianne wished that her brother’s family lived? Again her mother then Elinor left the room. Again she read the letter.

This time, instead of hiding in her room and calling for Nelly, she grabbed her shawl and bonnet and headed outside. A walk was what she needed: a walk to clear her head. John Dashwood was dead, but he had died twice already. Surely she was allowed to overcome her grief faster than the rest of her family, given how accustomed she was to this death by now.

She walked along the downs on her solitary ramble, wondering how much time she had. Nelly had not told her, nor did Marianne know what would happen if she ran out of wishes without achieving her heart's desire. Probably, she would die an old maid, but this was no different than what her fate would have been if Willoughby went through with his engagement to someone else. If she couldn't have him, she couldn't imagine herself happy with anyone.

She looked about her and realized this was the spot where she was to meet him. She scanned the landscape but saw no one so she sat down to await him. Sitting gave way to daydreaming, daydreaming gave way to lying down, lying down gave way to actual sleep.

When she woke, hours had passed. The sun was much farther advanced in together sky and the breeze had turned colder. A view of the hilltops revealed no approaching Willoughby. Instead, to her dismay, Marianne recognized the figure of Col. Brandon on horseback. What was worse was that he recognized her too, and directed his house toward her so that he might speak with her.

He was polite about it, as he was in all things, waiting until he was close enough to hail her rather than shouting and halloing and waving his arms madly as Sir John would have done, but he was still unwelcome. Why was he here instead of Willoughby?

He asked why she was out unattended while the weather was worsening. She was a little curt in her answer: her family had just received distressing news and she wanted to be alone.

He took the unsubtle hint and bid her good day, yet he made no move to leave her. With a sigh of exasperation, she bobbed a curtsy and walked home.

Nelly was waiting for her, leaving heavily on the first door. "What went wrong this time?" she snapped, implying Marianne was at fault.

'"How should I know?" Marianne snapped back. "Willoughby was supposed to rescue me. I fell asleep and Col. Brandon found me instead."

"You fell asleep!" The maid didn't hide her disgust. "You fell asleep when there's a wish happening? Are you trying to lose?"

Marianne gaped wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

Nelly glared at her harshly, her once-cheery expression gone. "Never you mind," she answered darkly. "Just say the word and I'll take care of Brandon for you." She held up her hand, ready to snap her fingers.

Marianne was temporarily repulsed by the maid's bloodthirstiness. "No," she said with force. "There's no need. I already know what I want for my fourth wish."

"Fourth?" cackled Nelly. "Ha! This will be your fifth by my reckoning."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Marianne with a jolt. "It cannot be. I wished to be rich; I wished for John and his family not to die so quickly; and I wished to come back here. That is only three."

Nelly looked patronizing. "I agree that is three wishes but there is one more you are forgetting about. Your very first wish was to go home, which is when I brought you here."

"No!" cried Marianne. "That can't count. You said I could ask for anything."

"Yes," Nelly agreed, "and you asked for a fire. And after I gave it to you, and told you my limit is ten, you then wished yourself home to Barton. That makes four." She held up her fingers to illustrate the point.

Nelly hobbled about the room in her agitation. "So I ask you again, do you want me to take care of Brandon for you? It was perhaps a bit of a trick to count that first wish. If you want, I'll take care of the colonel and it won't cost you anything."

Marianne turned away, too horrified to consider deeply what kind of bargain she had struck. "No, please, leave him alone. I know what I want for my next wish and I am eager to make it."

"Are you?" Nelly's demeanor immediately changed. Marianne would be hard pressed to call it sunny, but the maid was gleeful. "Then let's hear it!"

Marianne lifted her chin and spoke with confidence. "I wish for Willoughby to propose to me." Were he already engaged to her, he could not become engaged to any other woman.

Nelly cackled.

---

Marianne was alone in the cottage. There was a knock on the front door and she heard Willoughby be admitted. A moment later, he was standing before her.

With words and actions, he told her that he loved her and, finally, that he wanted to marry her. She consented with alacrity.

In due course, he family returned and were greeted with the happy news. At that moment, Marianne could have died from an excess of bliss. Her wish had worked! She had at last achieved her heart's desire.

After being sufficiently feted by the Dashwoods, Willoughby asked to take her to Allenham to be introduced to his aunt. There was no argument against it, so the young couple set off.

Marianne was seated next to Willoughby in an open gig. He held the reins and with a flick of his wrist, the horses sped to a canter. Instinctively, she clutched at his arm. While she loved to ride with him like this, recent memories of her brother's demise made her nervous. With Nelly around, anything could happen.

She cautioned him to be safe and he humored her. Eventually they arrived at Allenham and a groom stepped forward to take control of the gig.

The servant tugged his forelock respectfully and announced that Mrs. Smith had received a disturbing letter shortly after Mr. Willoughby had left that morning and had insisted he nephew report to her as soon as he returned.

Willoughby looked confused and Marianne tried not to worry as he led her into the hall and sent word to Mrs. Smith that he was arrived with a very important guest.

He was summoned in a trice, and alone. He did not want to leave Marianne, but he could not defy his aunt in this.

Marianne was left behind with the hope that he would send for her as soon as possible. Fifteen minutes passed. A half-hour. She had resolved to ring for tea after her next circuit of the room when Willoughby returned. His grave looks, however, could not set her at ease.

She begged to know what was the matter. He gave her no specifics, only saying that his aunt had forbade the match. She pressed for details but he gave none. Marianne insisted that she speak with Willoughby's aunt. Surely if Mrs. Smith met her, all objections would cease.

Willoughby was then forced to admit that his aunt had just announced that she had another bride in mind for him. She had given her ultimatum: marry the girl of her choosing, or be disinherited and banned from Allenham. Without his aunt's support and eventual fortune, he couldn't afford to marry. As it was, he might be forced to let Combe Magna in a year or two. To require his beloved Marianne to live in such reduced circumstances would be too galling. How could he truly be her provider if he could not provide her the life she deserved? No, without his aunt's consent he could not afford to marry her.

They argued and pleaded with each other but the end result was that Marianne Dashwood returned home alone in a closed carriage driven by a groom.

Through the ride home, Marianne thought of what had just happened, the injustice to which she and Willoughby had been subjected, who was to blame, and how she might fix it with another wish. She also thought darkly that Nelly had done a poor job of it. It felt, indeed, like a dirty trick, and she was sure to tell the maid when she was back at the Cottage.

"Why wait?" came a voice as, without warning, Marianne was not alone in the carriage.

"Nelly!" was all she could say for a moment.

The maid made no move to speak, but stared at her with a harsh and unyielding expression.

When her heart finally lowered itself to its accustomed spot, Marianne spoke again. "You knew that was going to happen, didn't you? I want to marry him. You know this yet you do nothing to prevent his aunt from breaking us up."

Nelly looked ready to argue, and Marianne realized this was not a battle she would win. "You asked to be engaged, but you expressed no desire for the good things that follow. It was you who restricted your own wish. Someone else has a claim on your Willoughby; she always had. I was able to delay the presentation of her claim until after Willoughby proposed, but I could go no further without costing you another wish."

"Impossible!" cried Marianne. "Willoughby loves me. He could not have attached himself to anyone else."

"As to whether and how he attached himself," leered Nelly, "suffice it to say that this happened before he met you, and the affection was all on her side. He had quite broke with her. In desperation she wrote to Mrs. Smith and the old woman believed her. At least, that is what happened originally. However, once he had proposed to you and been accepted, how was I to know the old woman would still enforce such a spurious claim?"

Marianne thought about it. "It was Miss Gray, wasn't it?"

Nelly regarded her. "She will have no recourse should Mrs. Smith not oppose the match before it can be widely known," she said in confirmation. "After that, Willoughby is as good as yours, until death do you part." She let that sink in before making her next offer. "I can take care of her -- take care of them both -- if you wish it."

There was something in the unholy light coming from the maid's eye that gave Marianne pause. She might have given the maid full latitude to deal with the problem in any way she saw fit but for her obviously murderous disposition. Had Marianne not known for certain that Nelly would resolve the obstacles to wedded bliss by simply killing anyone who stood in the way, she could have turned a blind eye to it. As it was, it was growing more difficult with each wish.

"You may prevent Mrs. Smith from breaking our engagement, but you may not kill her."

Nelly was displeased at the restriction. "And what of the girl?" she spat.

"Do not harm her," said Marianne, her voice trembling.

The maid looked at her with contempt. "Shall I tell you what happens?" she asked. "Would you like to know what damage your benevolence will cause? She will follow him. She will haunt your marriage."

"You cannot know that," said Marianne quietly. "You cannot know that if you didn't know how Mrs. Smith would react."

Nelly grimaced. "It is a guess. She has yet to be dissuaded. She is obsessed with the man you love. You had best do something now while you still can."

It was a moral dilemma and Marianne felt it shake her confidence in everything. "If you kill Miss Gray," she said at last, "will that be enough?"

Nelly smiled at her thoughtfulness. "Now you are planning it right!" she congratulated. "Unfortunately, no. Mrs. Smith will still receive the letter. You must kill them both; only then will you be truly happy."

But Marianne didn't think that her happiness could be rooted in two deaths, especially if one of them was her fiancé's aunt. The practical side of her realized that any wedding would have to be delayed if Willoughby was in mourning. Miss Gray, on the other hand, was only instrumental in Marianne's unhappiness and played no part in her joy. If Miss Gray were dead, and Marianne had nothing to do with it, there was nothing to regret.

The slow indecision weighed on Nelly who was aching for a wish. "Suppose we take care of Miss Gray permanently and leave Mrs. Smith temporarily indisposed. She'll be right as rain in time for the wedding."

"Must we harm Mrs. Smith?" asked Marianne.

Nelly patted her hand. "It'll be nothing that can't be fixed. After all, were it not for a sprained ankle, you wouldn't have met Mr. Willoughby."

"And what of Miss Gray?"

"Would you ever give up on Mr. Willoughby?" asked Nelly. "If you cannot, how can you imagine someone else doing so?"

Marianne wracked her brain for an alternative. "What if she fell in love with another man?" she said in a moment of inspiration.

"Could you imagine falling in love with another man after knowing Mr. Willoughby?" Nelly was trying to sound kindly but, with her yellow, crooked teeth and her stooped back, the grotesque picture spoiled the effect.

"Do not harm Miss Gray," said Marianne at last. "When she hears of our engagement, her hopes will be ruined and she may withdraw her claim."

"She may indeed," agreed Nelly darkly. "So long as no one offers her ten wishes."

Marianne was alarmed. Surely Nelly wouldn't give Miss Gray the means to undo everything? It was unfair and capricious.

Nelly would not be chastised. "Do you imagine I am the only one of my kind? No. There are others, and we don't always get on well together. Leave your rival alive, and she might still do mischief when you have no more wishes to protect you. I tell you what: I shall let you retract an earlier wish about your brother and his family, and use it on this other girl. Get her out of the way, get Mrs. Smith on your side. Then nothing would stop you."

"I don't want you to kill anyone," Marianne said.

Nelly shook her head. "But it is often the easiest way. No one finds death odd when it causes deserving, young people to inherit their fortune, but if I made coins fall from the sky like rain, people would never stop asking questions. Trust me. I have been doing this a long time. Death is best."

"Do not kill her," Marianne repeated. "I do not want you to kill anyone for my sake."

The maid was ready to argue her case again but Marianne preempted her. "I wish for Mrs. Smith to be stopped from reading the letter, but not killed. Just sprain her ankle, just like mine. That will be enough."

Nelly did not look pleased.

---

Again Marianne was sitting alone in the Cottage. Again Willoughby came. He proposed and was accepted. Again her returning family heaped congratulations and joy on the couple. Again he received permission to present her to his aunt at Allenham. Again she nervously asked him to drive carefully. He found her as amusing and novel as before, and she wondered if people were constantly reliving scenes according to wishes.

The same groom greeted them as before but his message was different. Mrs. Smith had not read a disturbing letter. She had tripped on the carpet, he began to tell them.

Marianne, who had been dreading some misinterpretation on Nelly's part, nearly laughed in relief. "Willoughby," she teased, "it appears the women closest to you have the unfortunate tendency to sprain our ankles."

The groom shuffled uncomfortably. "Yes, Miss," he said. "Only Mrs. Smith hit her head when she fell and she hasn't woke up yet. We sent for Mr. Harris as soon as we found her but he hasn't come yet."

"Good God!" exclaimed Willoughby, overcome with surprise.

Marianne was equally horrified, feeling the additional guilt of wishing Nelly would sprain Mrs. Smith's ankle.

They wasted no more time in the yard but repaired immediately inside and up the stairs. The servants wore their relief on their faces to see Mr. Willoughby returned, taking no notice of Marianne as she hurried beside him.

As they entered Mrs. Smith 's private chamber, the maid sitting with his aunt leapt to her feet, tears springing to her eyes. After brief greetings and introductions, she told her story.

"I delivered her tea at the usual time, and Mr. Jerome brought in the post. Then we left her. And then Mrs. Michael had some mending for me so I lost track of time. When I looked at the clock, a whole hour had passed and she hadn't rung for me, so I went to check on her. That's when I found her lying on the floor, unconscious. I was never so scared. I think I screamed. Mr. Jerome sent directly for Mr. Harris, and some of us carried her to her room. She hasn't opened her eyes yet, sir, but I've heard her mumble."

"The groom said she tripped," said Marianne, instantly feeling like an interloper.

"Yes, Miss," the girl said. "She must have been going for the post when she fell. It was sitting exactly where Mr. Jerome left it, unopened. I don't know how long she was lying there, Mr. Willoughby, but her cup was nearly full. Oh, I feel awful, sir! If only I had been quicker with the mending!" Marianne felt sick to her stomach to recognize Nelly's handiwork.

"Where are the letters?" Willoughby asked.

"I picked them up and brought them here," volunteered Ginny, handing a small packet of envelopes to him.

As Willoughby took possession of the post, Marianne hoped Nelly's magic would enable Mrs. Smith to wake, but the old woman remained as still as before.

"Thank you, Ginny. You may go, but please return with Mr. Harris as soon as he arrives."

When the maid left them, Marianne offered up her deep and sincere apologies. "There is nothing to forgive," he told her, which only made her feel worse.

He fiddled with the packet of letters for a while as he talked of inconsequential interactions he had shared with his aunt over the years. Slowly and by degrees his eye was caught by the return address on one of the envelopes. He frowned and became fixated on it: running a finger over the ink as if to rub it away, placing it at the bottom of the pile, moving it to the top again, holding it aside as if he might almost slip it into his pocket.

Marianne saw, and understood. It pierced her heart. "Is something amiss?" she asked with a mouth full of ashes.

He shook his head but still could not put the letter with the rest. "It is nothing," he said with distraction, "just a bill from a tradesman that I have already paid. I -- I think I will take it, and confront the fellow for engaging in dishonest practices." So saying, he slipped the offensive missive into his pocket. He struggled for words that would lead the conversation somewhere else, but his ears suddenly caught a noise in the hall. In an instant, he was at the door, greeting Mr. Harris, discussing his aunt's fall, watching and waiting for a greater sign of hope.

Mr. Harris was able to revive her in no time. The old woman was woozy, and her head and ankle ached mightily, but there was no reason to expect lasting harm.

Marianne stayed long enough for an introduction and was received with all possible warmth. She did not linger long enough to wear out her welcome. Willoughby remained at Allenham to dote on his aunt and he sent Marianne home in a closed carriage, much though it pained him to separate from her.

Marianne reflected as the carriage gently rocked, but her musings were uninterrupted. It seemed that she had finally gotten her wish.

---

Notes: if you want a HEA for this story, just slap a "the end" right here and claim victory.

Part 3

The affianced lovers were celebrated throughout the neighborhood, constantly invited to dine or take tea at every house, for every member of the community found something charming in them.

After the first two weeks, Marianne found it all quite fatiguing. All she wanted was the perfect communion of spirits that they had experienced during the time which she called their courtship. How she longed for the peace of Combe Magna, where she did not have to suffer from meddling Middletons or jesting Jennings at every turn.

Hearing that, Willoughby could only tease her, for his neighborhood included a Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, the fair half being the younger daughter of Mrs. Jennings and therefore sufficient lure to draw that loquacious dignitary often into his circle.

Marianne bore it as well as she could, but one evening when their nuptials were less than a week away, Sir John had insisted they all come to dinner with the promise of music to follow. This invitation felt especially irksome because she knew she would be paraded about as proof of Mrs. Jennings' prowess as a matchmaker while Sir John made some very amused observations to Willoughby, and her mother and Elinor turned a blind eye to the lack of decorum on display. Then, to cap the evening, Lady Middleton would ask for music, and Sir John would call upon Marianne to play and then insist that Willoughby sit beside her to turn the pages so everyone present could gawk at the couple without reserve.

But the worst part of it all was the music itself. Marianne always had a passionate nature. Whether it was poetry, or music, or even taking a walk, she felt deeply about everything she experienced. That passion was most easily observed and appreciated by those that listened to her music. But not now! Between the unending social whirl of her engagement, and the desire to spend her quiet moments talking with Willoughby about their future, she hadn't time to practice and the effect was undeniable. Sir John noticed, and he would tease her about it, and mention it to anyone else who might listen. In no time at all, Mrs. Jennings took up the banter, joking that now that Miss Marianne had found a husband, she had no need for the instrument. It was unsupportable that Marianne should be criticized, however lightheartedly, by such a buffoon, and as soon as she could, she made her excuse and stepped aside so that others could perform.

She quietly excused herself from the room and paced the hall, waiting for her anger to subside. Her sister soon joined her.

"Marianne, are you alright?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Did you hear the things that woman was saying about me?" Marianne asked heatedly. "How rude of her! I believe she is still talking about something ridiculously inconsequential, never mind who is playing. Who could listen to anything else with that vulgar creature constantly braying?"

"Marianne!" exclaimed Elinor in shock.

Marianne took a deep breath. "I am sorry, Elinor," she said, "but you must admit that there is a heavy dose of the absurd in her."

Elinor was still dissatisfied. "I know you were hurt by her comments, but you must realize that she did not mean to be unkind."

"She called my playing soulless!" complained Marianne. "How is that not unkind?"

"Because she meant to compliment your earlier playing," explained Elinor. "You did not hear her full statement."

That did not make it better, but Elinor eventually soothed her nettled spirits and the two sisters returned to the room.

As she stood on the threshold, Marianne regarded the company. "I just wish," she whispered to her sister, "that I didn't have to listen to that woman ever again."

She heard a snapping noise from behind her in the hall, and then Mrs. Jennings stood up in a panic, grabbing at her throat and trying to speak. Something was obstructing her breathing, and the more she struggled for air, the harder it became. She staggered about the room silently but for the sound of her bumping into the furniture. Everyone else had likewise fallen silent, mouths gaping slightly in horror.

"Mother!" Lady Middleton cried at last, breaking the spell. "Mother! Somebody do something! Help her!"

Marianne's unused wishes had not expired once her engagement became official. She had achieved her heart's desire but that hadn't ended Nelly's magic. Marianne realized she now had three wishes left, and she knew how she needed to spend one.

"I wish Mrs. Jennings is not harmed," she whispered, like a prayer.

The effect was not immediate but when the Colonel thumped a hand hard across her back, pieces of a biscuit fell from her mouth and she made loud gasping noises.

The danger had passed but it left everyone shaken, Marianne most of all. The party broke up of its own accord, and guests trickled out as their conveyances were ready. As Marianne and Willoughby were guests of honor, they were the last to be called, and Marianne spent her time showering Mrs. Jennings with every arrears of civility, trying to assuage the guilt brought on by her heartless wish. The old woman, not realizing how responsible Miss Marianne truly was for her choking, was quick to return every attention. Between the two of them, they made quite the comedy to anyone who chose to see it.

Willoughby's carriage was finally on the drive and so they made their goodbyes. The Colonel had been called earlier but he was still outside on the gravel, standing by his horse and waiting for something.

Colonel Brandon had not been in the area when the engagement was first announced. Something had called him away unexpectedly and he had only recently returned. He had given the happy couple a brief bow when they had met in the drawing room but, as they were called upon by all, he had not the opportunity of speaking privately with either of them.

Upon seeing him after his long and unexplained absence, Marianne felt pity for him. He was old -- much too old for someone like her or even Elinor -- but she pitied him for being a bachelor, for being so mild and immune to passion and feeling, for being in love with someone who could never love him.

Marianne went to him and gave her thanks for his actions that saved Mrs. Jennings. He demurred. She then hinted brightly at her own happiness, giving him leave to wish her joy.

He apologized, but he "must speak with Mr. Willoughby on a matter of grave importance." And none of Marianne's smiles could lure another word from him.

Willoughby helped the Dashwood ladies into his coach and then stepped away for a private conversation with the older man.

Marianne feigned disinterest; after all, Willoughby would surely tell her later. But after a while, she couldn't help herself and craned her neck to catch a glimpse of what was happening. After all, Elinor wasn't going to look.

She could hear nothing of their conversation from that distance so she had to rely solely on interpreting their posture and gestures. They were having an argument and it was assuredly escalating. Just when the thought that they would come to blows shifted from impossible to probable, Colonel Brandon slapped Willoughby's face.

Marianne gasped, which drew Elinor's attention. They both sat mesmerized for what followed.

The colonel issued his challenge clearly. Willoughby accepted it.

Marianne could not sit idle. She bolted from the carriage and ran to the two men as they exchanged a few more terse phrases. Her sister followed close at her heels.

"Willoughby!" Marianne cried as soon as she reached him, but her fiancé ignored her.

"Mr. Willoughby," tried Elinor, "I already think of you as a brother and as such --"

Willoughby was in no mood for gentle advice. "Forgive me, Miss Dashwood, but I've never had a sister and as such I would not know how to listen to her." He would have turned to stalk away but Marianne blocked his path.

"What did the colonel say to you?" she asked him, mindless of who might hear. "What is going on?"

"It is of no import," he said dismissively.

"How can you say that?" said Marianne. "It will be swords or pistols."

"I misspoke," Willoughby corrected. "It is of grave importance to Col. Brandon, but it cannot matter to you why he has sought such an interview."

"You are wrong, sir," she shook her head. "It matters very much to me why an old yet respectable man thinks my fiancé has committed a crime so gross as to necessitate a duel."

Willoughby glared at her, coldly furious at her reproach.

"If you will not tell me," she threatened, "I shall ask the colonel."

Willoughby almost laughed. "The 'old yet respectable man' is much too fastidious to answer your question, be you ever so direct."

He was right. Col. Brandon would never tell her anything. Whatever Willoughby had done, the colonel misguided sensibilities would no doubt prevent him from revealing the ugly truth to Marianne. And it was certainly ugly to inflame such a reserved man.

She stared at him, trying to account for it. Nelly was behind this, to be sure, but by his voice and manner Willoughby knew he was not blameless. The only sin she would lay at his door was that he lied to her about the letter to his aunt. Perhaps the girl who had fallen in love with him had got word to the colonel? But why would she do that? What could she say? What lie could she tell that would lead the colonel to attack Willoughby and challenge him to a duel?

Marianne felt Nelly’s presence and shut her eyes. “I wish,” she said sadly, “to know the truth.” She then turned her eyes on Willoughby. “Tell me what happened.”

He looked ready to walk away. Instead, he grit out, “Brandon called me out for having an affair with his ward. It was over before I met you. It never meant anything to me. The girl just wouldn’t realize she was beneath me. She tried to get in touch with me; apparently she is pregnant. When I refused her letters, she tried writing to my aunt. And when that failed, she finally wrote to her uncle Brandon and confessed everything. And so now he attacks me and impugns my honor, when it was his own ward who was the paragon of depravity.”

Here the colonel spoke up, unable to allow Willoughby to repeat his distortions. But Marianne had heard enough; whatever the colonel might have to say, it could not make matters worse.

She had trusted Willoughby and adored him with her whole being. And he had shown himself, over and over again, to be unworthy of her constancy. At that moment, her heart broke and freed itself from the torment of loving him.

She turned away from the scene, and saw Nelly waiting for her. In the general commotion, no one else seemed to see her.

The maid hobbled to her side, smiling with crooked, yellow teeth. “One more wish, my dear. That’s all you get.” She rubbed her hands. “What would you like, Miss? Shall I kill one of them, or both of them? Or do you have a special punishment in mind for your Mr. Willoughby?”

“He is not my Mr. Willoughby,” said Marianne. “I was deceived ever to think it. And I might have continued to be deceived had I not insisted on the truth. I can never trust him again, and yet I still ache.”

“I can make that pain go away, Miss,” said Nelly, “if you wish it.”

Marianne looked back at Willoughby briefly. “How would you do it?” she asked the maid. “How would you take the pain away?”

“Death,” answered Nelly calmly. “Death is always the easiest way. Just say the word, and it won’t even hurt.”

“I wish it,” sighed Marianne.

Nelly smiled, her teeth as sharp as knives.