A/N: Hi! I had some nasty writer's block and I hate that this was so long in coming.
I decided to go back in time again, to when our Colonel first sees Marianne...and then I have a surprise after that. :)
It didn't seem fair, Marianne lamented. She didn't like their new house, she wasn't fond of their new neighbors, and now they were being dragged out for yet another event.
If father was still alive…! Oh! How things would be different!
Marianne missed her father; in different ways than her sisters did, to be sure. She missed his smile, she missed his enthusiastic pride in his girls, she missed everything about him. And while she didn't miss the money, per se, she missed not being treated like someone who didn't have any.
She didn't care about the money, but they'd been treated like churchmice, begging for scraps, ever since they'd moved.
She hated it. And John, only giving them 100 a year to live on! Such a sum was unthinkably small, and she knew it hadn't been her father's wishes that his beloved second wife and daughters be driven to such poverty.
Marianne sighed, letting the servant help her from the carriage.
They were at the Jennings, and the only thing that was keeping Marianne from feeling crazy was the fact that they had a piano. They had an amazing piano, and Marianne had been told that she could play it; in fact, part of the purpose of this party was so that Marianne could play it.
And play it she planned to; as long as possible, staying at the grand instrument until dinner was served…
If only she could get away with it, she thought gloomily, but the gloom dissipated once she was presented with the noble thing.
It was beautiful. She lay but a hand on the key and trembled a little; she hardly dared touch it.
"Go on, go on," Mrs. Jennings was urging.
"Our party is not complete yet," Elinor protested. "Did you not invite your friend, the Colonel...something?"
"Oh, Brandon comes on his own schedule," Sir John rebutted. "He does like music, however."
"Go ahead and play," Mrs. Jennings continued. She passed a sly glance that Sir John met. "There is no reason to delay, he is a music lover…!"
Sir John nodded; Elinor was frowning but Marianne had no time for their machinations today and she didn't care if this was some plot of theirs.
She just wanted to play.
Everyone had finally sat down, adjusted themselves, talked, and then finally all was settled.
Marianne began to play, her finger gliding over the keys, for how could fingers not glide when met by such a beautiful instrument? The tone was beyond anything, and she'd never laid a finger to such a fine thing. Her father had had a piano, to be sure, but it had been old, a wedding present or something of the sort.
This was new, this was grand, this was beautiful.
Marianne didn't know quite how long she'd been playing; she felt off in another world, but suddenly there was applause, the piece was over.
She stared down at the keys a moment longer before looking up.
And there he was.
She started a little, inside, not visibly.
He was old, to be sure, but he seemed so intent on her that she fought a blush. His eyes were staring at the picture she made, and Marianne fought to keep her eyes from meeting his, forcing herself to look away.
She started into a sprightly tune, something silly which made Mrs. Jennings crow with delight and laughter.
The strange moment passed; the gentleman was noticed and pulled into the company. Marianne finished the song and slipped in just as he was being introduced to Elinor, hoping to catch the end of the introduction and avoid one for herself.
Alas, it was not to be had.
"And Colonel, this is our new songbird," Mrs. Jennings was gushing. "I never thought that my pianoforte would be played with such skill. This is Miss Marianne Dashwood. Miss Marianne, Colonel Christopher Brandon."
Marianne let her eyes meet his; and they were sharp, but somehow mournful, and she didn't like the way they pierced hers.
"How do you do?" She wondered.
"I am well," he said. "You play with great skill."
"I have played since childhood, anyone can play well if they start early." She kept her words sharp.
He seemed nonplussed.
The company had started to chatter again, and Marianne suddenly found that they were at the edge of the group, not the middle and Colonel Brandon was keeping close to her; not too close, it was more like he was guarding her.
Well, she didn't need to be guarded!
She stepped away, moving back to the piano without excusing herself, making a show of looking for her gloves, knowing fully well that she hadn't taken them with her to the piano, but wanting something else to do, to distract the whole scene.
She could feel Elinor's eyes on her, and she knew her sister could tell that Marianne was flustered.
"If you're looking for your gloves," Colonel Brandon began, suddenly near her again. "I believe there is an unattended pair on that chair."
"Oh." Marianne looked to the damned chair, knowing full well that her gloves would be there, exactly where she'd put them.
"Colonel," Elinor smoothly interjected. "We are one of your new neighbors, I presume?"
Marianne could hear him tell Elinor about his estate but she wasn't listening, she refused to listen.
She suddenly knew what Mrs. Jennings plan had been, and she didn't like it. Show her off, make her pretty—the Colonel wasn't even eligible! He had to be on the wrong side of five and thirty and Marianne wasn't putting up with this treatment. Especially when his gaze was so intent as to unnerve her.
"What did you think of me, when you first met me?"
The words slipped from her lips almost without thinking, and then Marianne blushed fiercely, because she knew they would be turned around on her after her betrothed answered the question.
"I'm not sure you want the answer," Christopher—oh dear, it was hard to even think of him as that—replied.
"I do," she began, hesitant.
"Well," her Colonel continued, and Marianne breathed easier, knowing that she wouldn't be able to think of him so personally until they were wed. "You were a maestro, and I, who had once thought myself a good musician, was blown away. I have seen many a woman pretend they have mastered the pianoforte but, Miss Marianne, you are the only one to whom the boast is true."
"I am not a master," she began.
"And the only one who refuses to boast it," he said, cutting her off. "Don't be modest, Miss Marianne."
"Pride is unbecoming," she replied.
They were sitting outside on the lawn, and Marianne knew that her mother was somewhere in the parlor, keeping a lazy eye on them.
Margaret was up a tree, and Marianne was conscious of her as well, but no matter.
"And besides that…" He was continuing, and Marianne felt her heart skip a beat. "You were lovely. You were a songbird, a maestro, and beyond that, you were possibly the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."
Her cheeks were bright red from the compliment, and she began to protest that as well, but her Colonel reached out and took her hand, stilling the words.
"These hands," he murmured. "So small and yet so accomplished."
"Colonel," she whispered.
His eyes met hers, and they were both thinking of the same thing, and it burned both of them, as he jerked his hand away, adjusting his gaze elsewhere.
"I must now ask you the same question," he began. "Something I don't think you wish me to do."
"Oh, Colonel," she began. "I was not the same person, and I admit, I didn't like you. You stared, and you cannot deny that, and I knew that Mrs. Jennings meant it to happen thusly and I did not like being set out like that!"
"Like what?" He wondered, discreetly bringing his hand back to cover hers.
"Like bait," she said.
He burst out in a laugh, one of few. His smiles were still rare, and laughs even more so, and Marianne felt her heart thrill. God. She'd never thought that one of Christopher Brandon's smiles could bring her to such a state, but here she was, waiting on each one with baited breath.
"I do believe Mrs. Jennings can make anyone feel like bait," he said. "I do not blame you."
Her face was red, and she paused a moment. "I was going to say," he continued. "That I would not ask such a question, knowing that my…"
She met his gaze, wondering what word he was going to place there, and he seemed to realize what she waited for, and paused.
"Beloved."
The word hung in the air, and Marianne felt her hand move, interweaving her fingers with his, sheltered from her mother's view by his leg.
"I would never ask you a question you didn't want to answer," he said.
"Well, you should start," Marianne began. "Because honesty is necessary."
"Yes, but I trust you," he said. "And if there are things you wish to hide, they may stay hidden. That is not dishonest, merely private."
She stayed still a moment. Their hands were locked together now, and his thumb was on her wrist, lazily drawing circles.
"I thought you were old," she admitted, and felt his smile. "But I must say this, so don't interrupt me. I thought you were old because I could not imagine myself aging. I thought that I would be forever young, that I'd find someone to marry and we would be like Greek lovers, somehow achieving eternal life like Psyche." She met his gaze. "At that age, I would have preferred taking on the Underworld to admitting that I was mortal. And then I did end up in the Underworld, and came out the other side much wiser. Colonel, I no longer see your age as a bad thing. I cannot imagine marrying someone less wise than you, I look at society's finest and only see young boys who have not yet learned what it means to be a man. And then I see you, and see the best man I have ever been privileged to know."
"Miss Marianne—"
"No," she began, her cheeks red hot. "Please, let it be silent for a moment."
There was silence. She felt the breeze on her cheeks, felt the sun coming down. He shifted just a little bit closer to her, so their shoulders almost touched.
"I love you," he told her, not looking at her, perhaps sensing that she couldn't bear such a thing right now. "And I think I loved you from the moment I saw you. And I knew that it was impossible, that you were so young, so beyond a man like me."
"Mrs. Jennings said from the start we'd make a good match," Marianne began, trying to diffuse the tension, and her sudden need to be closer to him. "I hate that she's right, but we seem almost perfect for each other."
He again burst out laughing. "Such reluctance," he said. "She is always right, and that is the most infuriating thing." He met her gaze, and the heat between them seemed to intensify. "Miss Marianne, I could not planned this better myself."
"Considering that all of my plans had me ending up the wife of a wastrel, obviously neither could I," she quipped.
"Were you my wife, I would kiss you right now," he told her.
"If you were my husband, I'd let you do more," she countered, and knew that she now had to stand up, leaping to her feet, feeling that all of her strength had returned and thanking God above for it.
She had to end this moment, before they did something they'd regret, before they went too far. Her mother was just inside and Margaret was here somewhere and she knew both were too honorable to eavesdrop, but that didn't mean voices didn't carry.
He was standing with her, offering her his arm, and she took it, holding tight; met his gaze one more time.
"I cannot wait," she admitted.
His only answer was to tighten his hold for a moment, and she contented herself with remembering his kiss, knowing there were only more to come.
A/N: The second part takes place just a few days after the first chapter. Hope y'all enjoyed and please let me know your thoughts on their conversation. I know it got a bit intense, but well, I think that some intense emotions were shared. Both Brandon and Marianne are such passionate people and I can't view their courtship as something that was dull or tame :) ~ Meowser
