Disclaimer: I am a decent writer, but I am nothing compared to the almighty power of Jane Austen. Do not hate me for my lack of eloquence, and I hope, that you can learn to love the story.
Chapter One: Learning to Love Again
Marianne looked back on the day that she had woken from the sickness that nearly claimed her life. She, of course, began to realize that if only she had kept a little more control on her emotions, then she wouldn't have put the poor Colonel through all of the grief that he'd been through.
According to Elinor, Marianne was indebted to the Colonel not only for her being carried inside, to warmth, to safety, but she also must thank him for the sacrifice that he had made in going to get her mother, after of course, doing every thing that he could have possibly done for her Elinor here. For the tiniest of these trifles, she knew that she owed him a lifetime of gratitude, yet beyond her first words of thanks, he would hear nothing of it any more after.
Marianne, having been through all of these ordeals, was the most profoundly grateful for the way that he had put her family above himself. He treated Elinor with such warmth and kindness, the actions that he made were wreaking havoc in her emotionally, every which way, bringing her to the conclusion that not only was he a kind and generous man, he was also a passionate one.
She, in her foolishness, had completely misread the man, assuming that as a man gains in years, that the age, no longer a friend to the body, is furthermore no friend to the soul. With sickness and death pervading all of the years to come, once a certain age had been reached, then sorrow and difficult times became constant companions. Though, now, of course, she realized, what seemed too late, that he wasn't really old at all. His age was nothing more than a stone's throw away from hers, which left her with no reason for her conduct toward him and every reason to regret the way that she had treated him.
Of course, he probably had no inkling of any feelings for her, so the idea that he would go to such trouble, just to see her taken care of, when her heart was not his dearest possession, gave her cause to care for and respect the man who had done so much for one who had been so unconscionably rude and ungrateful.
She looked up from the carriage, having just arrived at their home, for now, - was to be her home, for Netherfield (?) was a distant stranger. She wanted to believe that she would one day look as fondly on the grounds and people here as she had there. Since waking, she had been solely focused on the affirmation of the feelings of her sister and mother, trying to sooth them while also remaining quiet, with her mind being so fraught with many different questions to ponder. Why had she allowed herself to fall for Willoughby and more so, what gave her the right to pine the rest of her life away on someone whose soul would so easily forfeit such a love as theirs.
As her and her sister talked of Willoughby, of his presence during her sickness, of Elinor's compassion that only slightly kept her from ejecting him and his person from the grounds immediately upon his arrival. She, of course, knew that he had said many things of his regrets. For Marianne, however, she knew now that she would have to be strong enough to move on, knowing that the concept of one love per lifetime was a little less lenient than could be decided.
She knew, in her heart, that while it would take a little time to move past Willoughby, for the good of her heart and state of mind, as well as knowing how altered was his state, she felt no hardship in learning to love another. She knew, that in the future, she would seek to be more cautious. Her heart, through this, had learned that pain could be saved by caution, which if the love was strong enough, would not have its passion injured or its tenacity weakened.
He, the Colonel, had been continuing to check on her status as the days passed after he had finished bringing them the fortnight from home. When they had arrived, Marianne had grown weak from the long hours of travelling. Colonel Brandon had insisted on helping her walk the path, so that, if she should faint, or be unable to continue, he would be there to carry her inside.
She would've blushed, and did blush thinking upon the instance in the present. The only reason she could think of for her lack of response was her sole focus on being strong and learning to rely upon herself. Part of her heartache, she knew, came from depending so wholly upon Willoughby for her newfound happiness, which now, proved to be utterly ridiculous. Now, it had been four days since she had arrived home and Colonel Brandon was expected any moment. She sat outside, wishing that she could read, while looking at the green slopes not far from their cottage. She looked out, admiring the scenery, but wondering at the plight of her sister. She, of course, knew now that she would give up Willoughby again, many times over, if it were in her power to bring Edward back to her sister.
Though she had regarded her sister as passionless in the past, she was beginning to notice that, like Colonel Brandon, her sister placed her actions in the small gestures of kindness that she did for Marianne and the family. Marianne, in her shoes, healthy and well, did not know if she would, nor if she could, have been so selfless in her regard to others within the midst of her pain.
She heard footsteps near her, and realized that she must not have heard the person's approach. She looked over her shoulder, to her left, and heard Colonel Brandon say softly, "Good morning, Miss Marianne."
She smiled, for she had grown to enjoy his company. He had a good ear and was more than willing to tell her of the many places that he had been, of the wonders that he had seen. It made her many dull hours fly by, though she could hardly have moved from her place in the yard.
"Good morning to you, Colonel." He smiled, a soft light in his eyes.
"May I join you?" he asked, ever the gentleman, seeking her permission.
"I would be delighted." Her voice rang with sincerity and she was pleased to know that in at least a few ways, she had noticed herself changing for the better, especially around the Colonel.
He motioned for another chair to be brought to him and he said, "If you don't mind, I brought you a present. I know that we were talking of your magnificent library at your previous home, so I thought I would add to it, if you wouldn't be offended by the gesture." She felt the calm that radiated from him, wondering at his peace, at the happiness that he exuded.
"What book is it? May I see?" He reached into his satchel, bringing out a well loved copy of the Shakespearean sonnets.
"From my library to yours," he said, placing it in her hands. The book was light and as she opened it, she ran her fingers across the pages, knowing she didn't yet have the strength to read aloud.
"I've always loved the sonnets," she said, hoping to spur some light conversation. "I'm sure my family will be delighted at your addition to our library."
He looked at the page that she had opened to, looked to her, and said, gently, "Shall I read to you?"
She brightened, wondering how he could have known that she had wished to ask. "I would like that very much, if you have the time."
He smiled, then turned his eyes to the page, his somber, passionate voice coming alive as he read,
"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought"
His voice melded with the words, the richness of his voice finding perfect harmony with the tempo of his thought-filled pace.
"I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
and with old woe new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
for precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
and weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
and moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances forgone,
and heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
the sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end."
Marianne felt herself shed a tear at his performance, at the way his voice made it seem as if these were his woes and griefs, which reminded her of her own. He looked up, concerned by the tears.
"Miss Dashwood, do you feel well? Should I take you inside?"
"No, Colonel," she assured him while wiping away her tears. "Your reading was excellent, would you continue?"
He paused, looking at her, trying to see for himself if he should seek out any aid for her, but he must have believed her judgement, simply saying, "As you wish, Miss Dashwood." He held out his handkerchief to her. She took it gingerly, giving a small thanks in response.
He continued reading and there they sat for a few hours more, talking of sonnets, while the other Dashwood's watched from the garden, from the house, all hoping for Marianne to have a second chance at happiness.