Eliza Williams sat bundled up on the swing that Mr. Ferrars had crafted for her as a rather extravagant Christmas gift and that Mr. Bhatt had fastened to the ceiling of the front porch. The February morning was chilly, but milder than it had been-a promise of spring to come-and her fresh cup of tea sat steaming on the table in front of her on the small work table she'd brought outside. She fiddled with the stitches on the rag doll she was mending for her daughter Charity, making sure they were even, her thoughts wandering on the life she had made for herself.
Little did she know when she traveled to Bath three years ago that the plans her caregiver, dear Colonel Brandon, had made for her would crumble like a too-dry scone. If things had gone according to their old hopes, she'd likely have finished school, been taken to the assemblies and salons in London that featured his most respectable acquaintances during the season, made a suitable match, and been someone's little wife by now. Likely she would have become a mother as well, the only consolation in the bleak picture that presented itself to her when she imagined what might have been. The prospect of marriage held nothing for her anymore. Willoughby had taught her that, though she could be persuaded to feel lust-that wolf that often wears the sheep's clothing of love-for a man, even the greatest and most tragic of stories in her life, her seduction and impregnation and subsequent fall from grace, could not really break her heart. The love she'd felt for him was always weak, though bolstered at the last by her own desperation and longing to be respectable again, and as soon as she birthed her daughter she knew that she couldn't bear the thought of really marrying him, being his wife, obeying him and following at his heels like a lapdog. Having a child was the greatest blessing of her life, and she silently thanked God that it had come with no marital strings attached-and then immediately caught herself. Her indiscretion was surely not Godly, nor was her failing the good Colonel and bringing shame upon him. What was wrong with her? Had she no sense of decency? Was she really thanking God that her life had come to this?
And yet-and yet. She heard Charity stirring inside the foyer, Mrs. Bhatt fussing with her, no doubt encouraging her to put on her tiny little coat and boots before stepping out into the cold to see Mummy. She smiled to herself. She was comfortable here, with the Bhatts caring for her more like parents than like servants, with Mr. and Mrs. Ferrars and their boy so close at hand, with her dear Colonel and his new lovely wife up at the big house on the hill, with her sweet Charity, and with this, a moment of solitude and steaming tea and the chill of late winter. She was happy. Was it possible that happiness, even purchased with sin and vice, could bode ill for a soul?
Stumbling into her reverie came Charity, all toddling limbs and bouncing curls. She climbed up into the swing. "Is that my dolly?" she asked.
"Yes, darling. Hadn't you better go in where it is warm? I will be but a few more minutes, and then we can have breakfast." She kissed the top of the little girl's darkening blond curls.
"But Mummy, I saw a carriage."
"A carriage, darling? In your dream?"
"No-a carriage."
Mrs. Bhatt, wearing about seven cloaks and the thickest mittens Eliza had ever seen to combat the decidedly non-Indian weather, emerged from the warmth of the house to refresh Eliza's tea. "Out the window upstairs, dear. She is right. I believe it is the Colonel's carriage."
Eliza smiled. "Ah. They are back."
"Mummy, can I go see them?"
"Dearest, I am sure that we will see them soon enough. Let's let them get settled in before we burst in upon their peace and quiet, hmm?" Eliza entreated sternly.
"Alright." Charity huffed and crossed her arms in toddler irritation, watching with only mild interest as the final stitches on the doll were complete. Eliza knotted the thread and tore off the end with her teeth, placed the needle in a pincushion, and handed the doll to her daughter. Charity, now delighted, felt the soft fabric of the doll's dress-velvet taken from an old waistcoat the Colonel had given her to make use of in her crafts-and began to croon to it and cradle it in her arms like a baby. But when a noise from down the hill was heard, woman and child alike started, and Charity, clutching the doll in one hand, jumped down off the swing, heedless of her mother's presence for a moment, and ran in the direction of the carriage which now appeared to be making its way directly for Eliza's cottage.
The driver, Mitchell, tipped his hat to Eliza as he slowed down in front of her. Charity danced expectantly by the door, and then suddenly Brandon burst out and scooped her up in his arms. He looked completely transformed. Eliza noted that he appeared to have put on a little weight, not an unhealthy amount, but enough to soften the features of his face; his arms were relaxed, less rigid than his wont; his back, still straight and strong, looked as though it pained him less, despite what must have been a long journey by carriage. He held little Charity up in his arms and dangled her, making a fuss to look over her and make sure she was alright, then suddenly let go of her before catching her, causing her to shriek in delight.
As she did so, Marianne Brandon emerged from the carriage. The young woman had appeared a little uncertain and unused to her new state of being when Eliza had last seen her. But she too had changed. There was a new gravity to her features, a wise twinkle that glinted in her eyes, a wry smile that reminded Eliza (she realized) of Brandon's own. She looked like a gentleman's wife now-her clothes were fine and obviously new, as were her boots, and her bonnet was enviable-Eliza would have to study it later and find out how to replicate its decor on one of her own. In short-marriage appeared to be suiting both of them quite well.
Marianne made a beeline for Eliza, crying out, "We are sorry to call so early-but we felt we must see if you were awake, and pay a visit. We've missed you so!" And she embraced Eliza like a sister. Eliza found herself surprisingly choked up.
"Surely you have not tired of one another's company," Eliza chided, laughing.
"No, not at all. But that has not stopped us from longing to be near our dear friends," Marianne answered, her native candour and sincerity blending with the new maturity with which she carried herself.
"Have you been by the parsonage yet?" Eliza asked, picking up the tea tray from the table and gesturing for Marianne to accompany her indoors. They heard the Colonel and Charity chattering behind them, and the colonel directing Mitchell to drive on-that he and his wife had decided to take advantage of the weather being so much finer than it had been on the continent, and to walk the rest of the way.
"No, we have not. I long to see Elinor-how is she?"
"She appears to be well-but you will have to see for yourself," Eliza replied cryptically. Marianne gave her a quizzical look. Soon, though, she was distracted by the Bhatts, who greeted her and offered her a repast. Eliza repeated the invitation, and on behalf of herself and her husband, Marianne accepted, and settled down in the cottage's small parlor to await the announcement that breakfast was ready.
"Have you ridden up from London at this early hour?"
"My husband and I have both determined that, all things considered, since we have no particular business there, well-we both hate London. We decided not to stop the night there, but took rest in the carriage and came straight here."
"Hate London? But it is so very diverting! Though, I concede I do generally prefer the quiet of the country."
"Quite. And though we have not tired of each other, we find that we've both tired of travelling. A honeymoon, Eliza, is exhausting."
"I can imagine so," replied Eliza wryly, sipping her tea.
"I mean," Marianne explained, blushing, "there is so much to see and do, and one feels almost guilty if one doesn't see and do everything. After a few days of it, it's nice to imagine oneself safe in the comfort of home."
"Well, welcome home to Delaford, then."
Marianne smiled broadly, delighted. "I thank you."
"So what all did you see and do, then?" Eliza asked as Brandon joined them in the parlor, Charity in tow.
Charity joined in. "Did you see a dragon? Or a sea monster?"
"Alas, no. Have you learned about them in your picture books?"
"Yes. I love them. I want a pet dragon."
"What have you done to this child?" Brandon asked, bemused.
"You bought her those books," Eliza rolled her eyes.
"And you read them to her. Fueling her imagination beyond reason," he egged Eliza on, tickling Charity's belly.
"It never hurt anyone to be a little imaginative, did it?" Marianne asked.
"What did you do, anyway? Dragons or lack thereof notwithstanding," Eliza pressed.
"Oh, let's see. We stopped in Avignon-" Eliza shuddered.
Brandon chimed in with, "And it was exactly as uncomfortable as you'd warned." Eliza managed a smug smile.
"And then we made our way through Switzerland, and Germany, and finally into Austria-and we met the most interesting people-"
Brandon said, "like that chap in Switzerland-Frankenstein-"
"Oh, yes-very strange. He was a student, he said, having dinner at the inn where we were staying in Geneva. He took some time to speak with us, practice his English. He took us on a walk around the city, where we saw the most beautiful vistas, lovely mountain views-"
"Until it started raining," Brandon added.
"Yes-and then it was when things started getting really odd. He began to talk about nature, and our part in it, and intimated that he'd started thinking about his own part in the world and wondering whether men could be like gods, taking their own roles in creation, and whether they should-I'd never heard anything so Romantic-"
"It was quite a surprise to me, my love, that you didn't jump off and leave me for him," Brandon chuckled. "It seems like your sort of thing."
Marianne shuddered. "No, he was too odd for me. Much too odd. Even...almost frightening. Anyway, then we left Geneva, and made our way west-we saw some lovely castles, and some lovely bits of country-so many mountains! And everything was bathed in snow-I don't think I have ever seen so much snow! It's a wonder we didn't freeze to death!"
"And then, finally, we arrived at our final destination."
"And you liked Vienna?" Eliza prodded.
"Oh, yes," Marianne answered breathily, trailing off. "We met Herr Beethoven."
"Who?" Eliza asked, shrugging her shoulders.
"A newish composer. Marianne fell in love. Here," Brandon thrust a sheet of music towards Eliza from inside his coat. "She's been trying to commit this to memory since Dover, though she's had nothing to play it on. It's quite adorable, her hands moving up and down on an invisible pianoforte in the silence of the carriage."
Eliza raised her eyebrows at the composition. "Fascinating."
"And we learned the waltz," Marianne added, snapping herself out of her reverie.
"Whatever is that?"
"Here, I shall show you," Brandon answered. "Charity, may I have this dance?"
Charity, giggling, held out her arms for Bamba to dance with her, but he surprised her by placing his left hand at her waist and telling her to step on his feet. "Maestro, may we have some music?"
And Marianne, laughing, began to hum a tune in three-quarter time, while Brandon and his partner whirled around. Eliza was utterly delighted. "How wonderful!"
Marianne smiled. "He is, isn't he?"
Just then, there was a knock at the door, and soon Mrs. Bhatt entered the parlor. "Mr. and Mrs. Ferrars, Miss Williams. Breakfast will be ready presently."
"Elinor!" Marianne jumped up and ran into her sister's arms. Elinor staggered at the weight of her sister as the fullness of it nearly knocked her over.
"Gently, Marianne! Gently!" And Elinor unconsciously changed her posture, placing a hand instinctively against her own stomach, in a way that made Marianne stand back and stare her sister hard in the face.
The surreptitious look of pride and pleasure that Elinor gave her caused Marianne to embrace her all the more, but tenderly this time. "Oh, Elinor. How happy I am to see you."
"And you, dearest," Elinor replied. "Are you...well?" She looked meaningfully at Marianne as she asked this.
"I'm...oh. No. That is to say, I am not unwell. There has been no change to my health," Marianne answered quietly.
Edward, to whom Charity had transferred some of her interest as she now clung to his leg in a hug, explained their presence: "Elinor wanted to bring over some of the raisin scones we were given. It seems that Mrs. Price from the village is very eager to thank me for christening her newest little one last week, so she's spent every waking moment since then baking up a storm. We couldn't possibly eat all of them, so we brought some to share."
"And with perfect timing!" Elinor interjected. "So good to see the two of you! I take it your honeymoon went well?"
Brandon's eyes met his wife's then, and the heat of his gaze in that split second was enough to cause a sudden warmth to ignite in her core. Then he smiled, somewhat bashfully. "It certainly seems to have been a success. We've traipsed around half of Europe."
They made their way into the dining room as Brandon and Marianne retold their sister- and brother-in-law of their travels. Eliza sat Charity in a high chair and presided over the small feast, scones and tea and coffee and ham and fried eggs. It did her heart good to be so surrounded by friends, and it was certainly good for Charity. She took a backseat here as the foursome chatted amiably, the newlyweds detailing the most entertaining points of their travels, and the clergyman and his wife explaining all the happenings of the parish in their absence.
As they dabbed at their mouths with napkins in the wake of their meal, and Brandon listened to Edward regale him with a tale of a dispute between two of the tenant farmers over a patch of woodland that would have to be reconciled, Marianne was heard to quietly ask her sister, "Does Edward know?"
Elinor shook her head. "I want to be sure. I'll meet with the doctor from the village this week, like last time, before I tell him. I have written to Mama to get her advice, and she agrees with me."
"Will you write to her again soon, to come and visit?"
"I had thought about it," Elinor admitted. "It would be quite nice to have her about."
"And we did promise to invite Margaret back soon, too, did we not?"
At this, Eliza's hand shook where it held her cup, and she spilled an infinitesimal amount of tea into her saucer. She did not know why.
"It would be lovely to have them for Easter again," Elinor agreed.
"Oh, just think of it!" Marianne clapped her hands together excitedly. "I think we shall have them both here. And maybe-oh, I shall regret suggesting this, but maybe we shall invite Sir John and his family, as well. Our first party. Well, at least, my first party as...as a wife. Oh dear, I already feel that I am behind in preparations."
Elinor laughed. "Don't bite off more than you can chew, dearest. You have yet to really take on your role as mistress of Delaford, and you're already planning something grand! Remember that the Middletons are our friends. They'll understand if you're not ready to invite them. They'll also understand if your first party is simple."
Marianne rose up to her full height at the table, and said, "I think you underestimate me, Elinor. I intend to prove you wrong now, just to spite you," and she smirked as Elinor rolled her eyes.
"Have it your way, dear. Just let me know if there is anything I can do to aid you in your preparations. I don't want you working yourself into a frenzy...oh...oh dear." Elinor covered her mouth with her hand, looking desperately up at Eliza, who stood immediately.
"Come, come," Eliza whispered to Elinor, and gently helped her up from the table. The two women disappeared from the dining room.
Barely making it to the washroom in time, Elinor bent herself over a bucket and began to retch, all of her good-feeling this morning dissipating as she realized that perhaps she had not been well enough to travel. It had been hard enough to conceal from Edward the past couple of weeks what her suspicions were, without adding sickness to the mix. But here it was, and it could not be helped. To Eliza, who rubbed her back with a soothing hand, she merely said, "Thank you," not able to meet her eyes as another wave of nausea overcame her.
"Was it this bad the last time?" Eliza asked.
"No-no, it was not," Elinor answered, her breathing laboured. "It was so mild. William has caused me so little trouble, throughout everything, that it's as if he's taken care of himself. But this one...this oneā¦" And she retched again.
Eliza couldn't help but let her mind wander, as she helped Elinor to wash her face and find her balance and composure once again. Margaret might be invited. In no time at all-Easter was only a few weeks away-
Margaret was such a dear friend. Her laughter, her sparkling eyes, her sense of humour, her attention to Eliza's interests and pursuits, her bravery and candour, the way she played with Charity-every bit as energetic and excited by the child as Brandon was-Eliza couldn't help but feel herself lucky to have cultivated the slightly younger woman's companionship as she had. Thankfulness-that was it-thankfulness, and the thrill of seeing a dear new friend, with all the depth of feeling one would experience at the thought of seeing an old friend-these emotions were what caused Eliza's heart to give an anticipatory flutter, her breath to catch in her throat. Eliza had always longed for a sister, and the sisterly affection of the two Dashwood women, now a Ferrars and a Brandon, showed her that the third Dashwood and she must share something like their sisterly bond. Was that it? Certainly.
Meanwhile, in the dining room, Edward noticed that his wife was missing. "Oh, she has-I think she and Eliza have gone to look at some new bolts of fabric in the morning room," Marianne lied quickly. Just then, the other women reemerged, both with shaky uneasiness about them if you looked really closely. But Edward was preoccupied with his discussion with Brandon, and didn't notice just then.
Soon, the sun rising higher in the sky, Brandon looked at his wife expectantly, and she rose to leave. "I think it is time we make our way back to the house. We have a lot of unpacking to do."
"Yes-and I am quite looking forward to stretching my legs, and then perhaps taking a nice, long nap."
They all exited Eliza's cottage, saying goodbye to its inhabitants, and Elinor and Edward were walked most of the way back to the parsonage by the Brandons, for whom it was on the way. Saying farewell to them for the time being (Marianne once more hugging her sister gently to her), they finally began their ascent to the mansion house.
"It finally feels real, doesn't it? This is our life now," Marianne mused.
"Yes. I think so. Although for my part, I don't know if I'll ever really believe I'm not living in the most wonderful dream." Brandon smiled down at his wife, who had taken his arm. She squeezed it, and they continued walking, until they came to the part of the path that led somewhere familiar.
Marianne took the lead and suggested with her body language that they take a detour. "We should visit it. It's such a dear place, now."
"As you like." Together they strode away from the path and headed toward the ruined pavilion, the place where they had taken shelter from the rain those few months ago. "You know, every moment I spent here with you that night, before you indicated that you wanted me to kiss you- I burned for you," he narrated softly as they reached the first column.
She smiled to herself, lost in the memory. "If you had not been so damnably attractive, standing there in the lightning in your shirtsleeves-I don't know that I would have had the courage."
"I thank God every day that you did," he replied, all seriousness as he gazed down at her. "Marianne-" his voice caught in his throat, he could do nothing but take her in his arms and bury his face in the soft hair that was gathered up into a bun.
"Christopher, we should go home," she murmured into his chest, the longing building up in her once again as she marveled at the tenderness of his arms around her.
"Yes. We ought to," he replied. And then he looked into her arms, searching her eyes for any sign of regret or disappointment in him-and finding none-and bending down to take her mouth with his own-when, once again, as they had the last time, they heard hoofbeats in the near distance.
"Colonel Brandon! Colonel Brandon! Welcome back to Delaford-and just at the right time-for there is an emergency! You must come at once!" It was Williston, Brandon's stable master, running toward them, an abandoned cart and a boy jumping off a black stallion completing the scene behind him.
"Every time," Brandon groaned. He gathered his wits about him and disengaged himself from Marianne's arms.
As Williston got closer "I've brought the cart around-all I could saddle up in time-so I can drive Mrs. Brandon back to the house. Jacobs has Othello ready here. Come. You must come at once."
Brandon, alarmed, apologized to Marianne with his eyes. "I will return to you as soon as I am able, my love," he murmured before jumping onto the stallion and following Williston's hasty directions. Flummoxed, Marianne allowed herself to be handed up into the cart, Williston and Jacobs, the stable boy, riding in front as they deposited her in front of the mansion house and handed her down. Just like that they left her, and she wrestled with the indignity of running off after them before finally deciding to go in, make herself at home, and have another cup of tea while she waited on her husband's return.
