Part One
Marianne Dashwood pursed her lips and scanned over the letter she'd just composed, assuring herself that it was exactly what she wanted to say. Her quill still rested against the flat of her hand, ready to correct any phrase that did not strike her with poetry. Her mouth moved, silently following the phrases of her missive.
"Dear sir, I am afraid that I can not..." She breathed, speaking aloud, and deposited the quill into the inkpot. "It will do," She shrugged, dissatisfied with her efforts and sealed the letter with crimson wax.
"Marianne! Marianne, we have company!" Elinor's familiar soprano bellowed into her ears from the hallway. "Please, do come into the parlor and accept our guests."
"Just a moment, Elinor." She called back, slipping the folded letter into her bodice where it was sure to be quite safe. Her skirts hit against her ankles as she swiftly exiting Delaford Parsonage's small study. She pinched her cheeks for color as she made her way down the polished wood hallway, and pushed a rebel strand of curly auburn hair behind her ear.
"Miss Dashwood." A deep voice intoned, a voice she knew so well and one that she had longed to hear for since her arrival at Delaford yesterday afternoon.
"Colonel Brandon," She curtsied, almost before seeing him, but she met his eyes as she again rose up, smiling broadly. For a moment, she just observed him. He was in full uniform-something she had never seen- and the sight left her slightly bereft. He was so very tall, and his redcoat made him regal and almost intimidating. The Colonel offered her a white-gloved hand so that he might take her own and bestow a kiss upon it. Marianne merely looked at his hand, the long fingers, so capable, and almost forgot his purpose. "How good of you to come." She smiled demurely as he planted his lips momentarily to the back of her hand.
"I only wish that I could stay."
To this first comment, her eyebrows rose and a wave of unexpected disappointment swept over her. "Is there something the matter, my friend?" She inquired, recalling the last time he had left so abruptly. Perhaps something had happened to his ward... "You are not to join is for dinner?"
"Regretfully, I can not. It took quite a bit of convincing my superior officer in order to stay to this late hour. I wanted to bid you welcome before I leave."
"Superior Officer? Before you leave?" She assumed the brocaded divan near the north wall of the parlor, opposite Elinor who was simply watching them converse as she sketched in her leather-bound journal. "I am afraid I do not understand, Colonel."
"I must depart...I have been asked to lead an expedition into Africa. I am to sail this evening." His hazel eyes expressed deep concern and a barely veiled sadness at leaving.
Marianne noticed that his right hand rested on the ornate hilt of an officer's sword. She did not know whether this image stirred or frightened her. "But, I thought you had retired from the army."
He shook his head resolutely. "I am afraid that when the King issues an order, I must follow." He took a seat directly across from his two favorite ladies. He shrugged and ran a hand through his amber blonde hair.
Marianne leaned forward with alarm and pressed his hand, without noting the significance of the gesture . "It is not to be dangerous, I hope?" To this question she received a long pause of silence, accompanied only by the sound of breathing.
The Colonel scarcely knew how to answer his friend without causing her further distress. the mere fact that she cared for his safety had already left him reasonably speechless. He stared down at his hands and noticed that he knotted them in a nervous fashion. "I think it shall be safe, Miss Dashwood. I am sorry that I have been called away and will not be able to receive you at Delaford manor this week. Please, stay here as long as you wish, Miss Marianne. You may also have my library and music room at your disposal whenever you wish." He started to rise, his heart heavy with the thought of leaving his dearest guest, but stopped when a tiny hand curled about his wrist.
"How long will you be gone?" Marianne's eyes were pleading, and she found herself surprised at the strength of her emotions.
He frowned, extremely distraught, his shoulders heaving. "The expedition is to last for an indefinite period...I regret to say." He bowed his head, his mouth tight.
"You will write, Colonel Brandon?" She squeezed his hand, her voice caught dry in her throat.
He was struck by her request and quite undone. He inhaled deeply, trying vainly to mask the storm of feeling rising within his soul. She was making it so very difficult to leave. "Yes . . ."He murmured. "If you would like."
"It would please me greatly." She forced a smile and escorted him to the front door. He bowed to her once more with respect, the tails of his coat hitting against the back of his strident legs.
Marianne allowed him to turn his back and walk a few steps down the drive to his awaiting mount, before she called out to him. "Colonel Brandon!" She rushed to him, not really knowing why she'd done so.
"Yes, Miss Dashwood?"
If she could believe it, she thought she glimpsed a single tear on the verge of escaping his expressive eyes. Again, she paused, at a loss of what she might say to him. her mind was a virtual whirlwind. "I will pray for your safe and quick return." Marianne Dashwood pressed her lips to his cheek, before running back towards the house, unable to bring herself to watch his departure.
Part Two
"Marianne!" Elinor set aside her knitting as her sister came scrambling in the front door, one hand to her mouth, the other clutching at the fabric of her mint day-gown.
"He's leaving, Elinor! What if he never comes back?" Marianne did not wait for an answer but rushed down the hallway to the guest bedroom, flinging herself on the bed. She shook with sobs, a hurricane of mixed emotions drowning her heart. Of course, she was upset that her dear friend was leaving, and for such a far away place, but she had no idea, the idea would hurt her so terribly.
"Marianne," Elinor's hand was on her sister's shoulder, and her voice soothing.
Marianne felt Elinor's body press the mattress as she took a seat on the edge of the bed. "He won't come back, will he? He'll forget all about us . . ." Had she been in her right mind, Marianne might have realized how ridiculous her fitful comments sounded.
Elinor patted her sister's hands. "The Colonel is a skilled officer and much loved by his troops. I am sure he shall return home to Dorsetshire safely." Elinor smiled tenderly, having full faith in Brandon's hasty return. After all, what could possibly be gained from an African expedition?
Marianne sat up at the comforting words and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "But, that does not mean that he will not forget us." She frowned and slumped forward, resting her head on Elinor's shoulder.
To this, the elder sister stroked her sibling's hair away from her forehead, and replied rather matter of factly, "Marianne, you can not be in denial of the Colonel's high regard for you."
Marianne nodded, but said nothing, just sniffled a bit.
Elinor noticed the calm slowly impeding upon Marianne's dramatics and heaved a thankful sigh. After a moment's hesitation, she wondered if it might be possible to now ask a question, which had been plaguing her mind for quite a few weeks' time. "Marianne, I do hope you will not think me rude for asking, but am I to believe that you no longer find the good Colonel's attentions towards you to be unwelcome?"
For once, Marianne was speechless, and her face spoke little. It was a vain attempt at concealment, for soon a flush had consumed her porcelain face and a grin taunted at the corners of her lips.
Elinor did not press further- she surmised the truth. Even if her sister was ignorant to the fact, her dear friend Brandon had found a welcome place in Marianne's heart. And nothing more, save the upcoming birth of her first child, could make Elinor happier.
"The Colonel and I are the dearest of friends, Elinor. And, that is all I will concede, for that is all I have to concede."
Although Marianne had ceased crying, Elinor still noted her obvious melancholy. "Is there anything I may do, Marianne?"
"No, I think I shall be all right, Elinor. Colonel Brandon's news just came as a bit of a shock, I'm afraid." She cleared her throat and sniffled a little more, retrieving a handkerchief from the first drawer of her desk.
Elinor caught sight of a hint of navy thread on the corner of the tiny cloth, but Marianne had pressed it to her face, obscuring her view. And although her curiosity piqued, she decided it was better not to inquire on the giver of this small token. "Well, if that is all, I shall bother you no more." Elinor smiled gently and exited the room.
Marianne, left to her own devices, sat on the edge of the bed, her palms flat on the thick quilt. She hummed softly, smoothing the insignificant wrinkles in an effort to distract herself. Her efforts were in vain, and she found herself fighting back a fresh onslaught of confused tears. "This is not to be had!" Quickly, Marianne shot from the mattress and straightened her gown. Remaining in the safe confines of the parsonage would only drive her near mad with boredom. As much as Marianne Dashwood savored her silent moments of worthwhile contemplation, it could be a torture to be always left alone with her thoughts. She grabbed her jacket from the desk chair and hurriedly pulled her arms through the sleeves. It was brisk outside and she did not wish to take chances with her health.
"Marianne, where are you going?" Elinor peered up from her sewing just long enough to watch her younger sister whisk past her and towards the front door.
Without stopping, Marianne averted her head and called back. "To Delaford Manor, Elinor. I wish to make use of the Colonel's kind offer."
Elinor looked to her for further explanation.
"He has graciously given me the liberty of his extensive library and Broadwood Grand." A slight pause as she turned the brass doorknob. "If I immerse myself in music and literature, I might clear my head." She shrugged haplessly, not quite convincing herself of this solution.
"Or you might find that you only grow more consumed with your troubles, Marianne." It was a warning with not too subtle insinuations.
Rather than answering, Miss Marianne Dashwood opened the door all the way and made for the lovely home oh her dear Colonel Brandon.
Part Three
Marianne gathered her shawl about her shoulders, cinching the corners in her tiny fist. With her other hand, she lifted the brass knocker from its base and wrapped lightly. Her fingers fell to her side as she waited for the door to open, and hoped to mask her impatience.
The door opened none to soon, revealing Miss Woodward, Brandon's soft-spoken and extremely responsible headmaid. Since the new Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ferrars had assumed the parish, Marianne had become a frequent visitor to the Manor home, and nursed growing friendship with Miss Woodward.
"Good afternoon, Miss Dashwood." The maid ushered her inside, smile spreading across her flushed cheeks.
"And a fine one to you, Emily." It did not matter to Marianne that Miss Woodward was a servant, they were friends, and she made a point to address her by her Christian name.
"What may I do for you, ma'am?"
But, Marianne did not answer, instead her eyes devoured the familiar, large foyer with its fine crystal chandelier, and warm forest tones. Although, she knew beyond any doubt that she was at Delaford, it seemed a strange, hollow place. For, upon every past entrance, the Lord of the Manor had appeared only seconds after the door's opening, bowing and pressing his guest's hand with a tenderness that could not be mistaken for anything save dear love.
"Miss?" Emily stepped forward and placed her hand on Marianne's shoulder. "Is everything all right?"
Marianne inhaled deeply, trying to erase her obvious sorrow, before speaking. "Emily, has the Colonel already departed for port?" She wished to God that he would be upstairs in his chambers, packing the last of his belongings for the journey, or giving last minute instructions to his staff concerning the upkeep of the large estate.
Emily, not a fool, noticed the visible sadness on Marianne's features, the slight tilt of her posture, the way her usual animated hands just hung low at her sides. It pained her to offer the only answer she had. "Colonel Brandon left for the port an hour ago, Miss Dashwood. I am sorry that you missed him."
Then, he'd left directly from the parsonage. Brandon had felt he could not go without saying goodbye to her. It was a comfort and a source of further pain to know such. "It is all right..." She glanced at the looming grandfather clock in the right corner of the entryway. "The Colonel, as you are most likely aware, has given me the liberty of playing his pianoforte and perusing the shelves of his library. If it is not a busy time for you, might I take advantage of his kind offer?"
Emily nodded and curtsied, a grin hidden behind her eyes. She was aware of her master's high regard for Miss Dashwood. About his own home, he made little effort to conceal his ardour, giving his staff special instructions to keep the house impeccable, the newer books placed at her eye level, and the pianoforte dusted when her arrival was pending.
"Thank you." Marianne made a quick curtsy of her own, then turned left down the hall and into her beloved music room. Upon entering, she shut the oak door behind her and sniffed in the fresh aroma of newly cut roses adorning the many small tables of the chamber. The Broadwood stood majestically in the center of the room, the light of floor length windows splaying across its fine, varnished wood.
After basking in the sanctuary of the room, Marianne took a seat on the piano bench and touched the keys that would allow her emotions to give way. Only in music did she reveal every sentiment she'd ever felt. It was safe that way. Her dear esteem for Brandon might be given its full weight in a Mozart sonata or a Handel aria. Although, they shared Beethoven as their common favorite, playing his work would be trying on her heart right now. And, as Marianne had hoped, the music consumed her with each press of an ivory key, each ringing tone easing the tension in her muscles, the strain in her soul.
Part Four
Brandon boarded the ship, the sea breeze slapping at his face and billowing his fine black cloak as he walked the gangplank. His thoughts were not were they ought to have been; not on the strategy of battle or of his position of leadership and his journey, but of his dearest friend. Marianne Dashwood. He loved her, he'd known that since he'd first heard her sing at Barton all those months past. He couldn't put a name to what he felt for her-love almost seemed insubstantial. More than love, purer, with admiration and wonder at her intelligence and spirit. Her unrivaled talent and appreciation of life. It was something he couldn't have felt in the past, not even for Eliza, nor would he ever feel it for anyone else in the future. There were certainties in life, and Marianne Dashwood, his love for her, was one of them.
"Sir, allow me to show you to your cabin." A very young soldier, his voice breaking by intimidation and fear of the future perhaps, saluted Brandon.
The interruption of the youth struck the Colonel from his reverie. "Yes, yes, thank you." Brandon responded with a salute and followed the soldier down the planking of the boat. All eyes were on him as he passed. After all, he was in charge of a mission he was yet to fully understand, and every man on this ship would be looking to him for instruction. Naturally, they would be curious about their commanding officer.
"Here you are, sir." The red haired boy opened the narrow door of a private cabin on deck. Brandon's nostrils were immediately assaulted with the smells of the sea, but also that of fresh bread and fruit. "Is there anything else I may do for you, sir?"
"No, everything is fine. Thank you again. You may go." Brandon offered the youth a smile before heading into his new quarters. He would have to learn to make himself at home. He would be spending quite a bit of time in this space.
It seemed comfortable enough, a window looking on to the bow, desk right under it. A bed to the right, with green curtains that might be drawn around it. A single oak bookshelf with various volumes of nautical and military nature adorning it. Even a map of the route they would be taking to reach the continent. All together quite equipped for his convenience. But it wasn't homey, and lacked many things that he might desire. But, then he hadn't expected comfort and leisure. He was a soldier after all, and was well accustomed to living without most privileges. Something about the sparsity of it invigorated him.
Brandon set his single bag down by the foot of the bed, and took a seat at the desk, examining its contents and papers strewn about the surface. A few letters from his commanding officer, General Martin, stating how glad he was to have Brandon aboard, so to speak, and a detailed account of his activities for the rest of the week. His hand reached out to take an orange from the fruit basket near the window. It smelt of home, his kitchen, of the fine tea Marianne loved to sip so daintily as they spoke of books and music.
Marianne . . .