Author's Note: This is a one-shot that popped into my head as I was watching the 2008 Sense and Sensibility. Of couse, it does not do justice to what was originally in my head--alas. And of course, I stole the dialogue from the mini-series and the characters from Jane Austen. Forgive any little inaccuracies (after pointing them out to me, of course!) because, although I have tried to do my research, things may have escaped me. Last and not least, this is dedicated to my friend Lizzle due to our running jokes about Jane Austen characters and movie quotes.
~*~
Marianne followed Colonel Brandon through the door, into his library where there stood a marvelous pianoforte that was longer than the parlor in her cottage, built in breathtaking mahogany. After taking a long look around the room, she glanced back at him where he stood by the door, watching her.
"I'll leave you to explore," Colonel Brandon said politely. "Come and find me when you're ready."
"Thank you," Marianne said, smiling a little. There was no more need for words as Colonel Brandon left the room. On the drive over, he had mentioned going hawking this afternoon.
Making no noise, Marianne sat down at his pianoforte. She would come and find him when she was ready, but first she began to play, haltingly at first, but then her fingers grew more sure of themselves. The pianoforte was the finest that she had ever played—the keys were meticulously smooth, the notes beautifully in tune.
Since her father's death and the subsequent inheriting of their home by her elder half-brother, Marianne had hardly had the opportunity to play on a decent pianoforte. Marianne remembered little of the week when she, her sisters, and her mother had packed up the few belongings that would not go to their brother. She had played dirges and melancholy tunes until her fingers had ached and her wrists had cramped, her way of coping with the loss of all that she held dear.
She had enjoyed her opportunities to play on the Jenning's pianoforte, and the badly tuned piano in the little cottage that she, her mother and her sisters shared, but none of these could compare to Colonel Brandon's pianoforte, with real ivory coating the keys, in shining, brilliant white.
He cared for her deeply, she knew, yet she was grateful to have the time to herself to caress the lovely keys. It was Colonel Brandon's way of showing his feelings without smothering her. What a fool she had been over Willoughby, but if she had not descended to such a low point in her life, especially during her illness, her affection for Colonel Brandon may never have developed at all. She knew how to love him, and he her, with none of the uncertainties or inconstancies that had been lurking behind Willoughby's words the whole time he had pretended to love her. In stark contrast, Colonel Brandon was as steady and dependable as he was good. They would be happy together, she knew.
The song reaching its climax, Marianne's fingers flew across the keys, coaxing the music out of the instrument as Eleanor had once had to coax Margaret out of her beloved tree house. Unlike Margaret, however, the music came without a fight. The music that came out of the instrument was a balm for her very soul, healing all of the cuts and scratches that Willoughby had inflicted upon her through his callousness and she upon herself through her own foolishness.
The final chord dissipated as Marianne arose from the pianoforte, spirit refreshed. It was time to find Colonel Brandon.
