In the afternoon following their wedding, Marianne and Brandon sat in the parlor at Delaford. "What a perfect day," Marianne said with a contented sigh. "Perfect in every particular."

Brandon could not disagree. "Indeed," he replied. He looked at his young bride, still in her wedding clothes, with pride and a little unease. She was the new mistress of this house, as she had long been mistress of his heart, but he had to confess that he knew very little what to do with the lady living in his home.

"I hardly know what to do with myself," she said, seemingly reading his mind. "I've hardly had a night in a house without Elinor." Brandon smiled; he too loved her sister, the wife of the curate of the parish on his estate. Her wedding had done just a few weeks before, and her husband, Edward, had performed their own marriage earlier that day.

"Why, when we were in London this winter, Elinor and I were obliged to share a room – even a bed!" She smiled fondly for a moment, then seemed to realize what she had just said to her new husband, colored, and looked away, to the other end of the room. Brandon followed her eyes, and saw that they had alighted on his pianoforte. Suddenly remembering, he stood and walked over to it; he open the chest beneath the seat and drew out a handsomely wrapped package. He returned to Marianne, and handed it to her.

"A wedding gift," he said, with a smile. She returned his smile, and eagerly took hold of the package, opened it, and found that it contained a book of duets.

"Oh, Colonel –" she paused. "That is, thank you!"

"Shall we try one out?" Brandon asked smiling still.

"Oh yes! Let's." They walked together back to the pianoforte, and together sat down. He let her play, and they sang together. Despite their mutual love of the instrument, they had never played together before. He was a shamed to admit that he much preferred to listen to his beloved Marianne, the far superior songbird, and to silence his own pleasure in the music in favor of pleasure in her.

Afterwards, they sat together for a moment. In fact, he had to admit that they sounded quite good together. He reproached himself for not trying this sooner. He was so pleased to be seated beside her, joined together in a shared venture, at last. The final chord of the piece hung in the air like the perfume of spices. But suddenly a thought went through his mind, a question he had longed to ask, but have been too afraid. "Marianne, I hope - that is, by now, the ceremony over and done with, I hope you are now secure enough in my affection and esteem to allow me to liberty of asking you a question. And, I hope, to give me a truthful answer, knowing as you must that it will change nothing about my esteem."

"Pray continue," Marianne replied, earnestly. "Whatever you ask, I will answer."

Brandon paused nevertheless. He studied the keys of the pianoforte, pondering the prudence of the question pressing on him. "What, exactly, was the nature of your relationship with … Mr. …"

She pressed her lips together, blushing, looking away, then studying his face, trying to discern his mind. At last, deciding on the truth, she replied, "I have retained my virtue."

Brandon could not deny that he was relieved, not for reasons of his own pride but for her heart and the denial of such final satisfaction to his bitterest rival and most hated enemy. At that moment, with a sigh, he released his last hold on the man who had stolen so much from him and from those he loved, and promised himself to never again think the name of that blackguard.

"And you?" she asked, piercing his silence. "What is the status of your virtue?"

It was a silly question for anyone acquainted with the ways of the world, and Brandon had the suspicion that she was well aware of the answer she would receive. He was, nevertheless, nothing if not steadfast in his commitment to Marianne and to, now that he at last had the dearest desire of his heart, share with her all the particulars, torturous and tortuous as they were, thereof. "In my time abroad, I confess, I transgressed against what the better of me knew to be right. I have since seen the destruction, the utter ruination, of such actions upon all persons concerned, and I have repented of my misdeeds and not repeated them since my return home."

Marianne nodded, considering his words. She knew well what was the ruination to which he referred. Moved by compassion, she took his hand and pressed it. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to speak, but stayed silent in the mutual assurance of their friendship.

As he had so often longed to do, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Amidst the planning of her sister's wedding and Marianne's own recovery from sickness, he had arranged his own proposal of marriage through her mother, Mrs. Dashwood, to whom he had once confessed the depth of his feeling for Marianne during the depths of their mutual despair over the young lady's recovery. Marianne had accepted, to his great and lasting astonishment, and preparations for her arrival at Delaford had begun almost immediately. With so much activity, he realized even then, there was little time for his intended to adjust to the changed nature of their relationship. They had had little time alone together, and littler still occasion to deepen their affection beyond admiration. Not that Brandon needed much to become sincerely attached to her, as he had been since the first time he had seen her pretty face, heard her speak, or perceived the sweetness of her heart. He worried, rather, about the depth of her feeling for him, for though he would have, and had, loved her no matter her regard for him, he hoped that the events of that happy day had not doomed her to a life with a man she neither knew nor truly loved.

How she had changed since her prior disappointment. Her silence now, as he was lost in thought, was testament to her new regard for the need of prudence. Brandon could not help but feel conflicted over the change, for the lows of her emotion had been in direct proportion to the highs, and he wondered if the evenness she displayed now was evidence of a lack in either extreme.

Seated thus, hands clasped, they remained for several minutes, each wondering what the other was thinking. It was she who broke the silence.

"Well, dearest," she said, breezily. His heart jolted inside his chest and for several moments he felt unable to breathe. "Shall we try the next in the series?"