On Pasts and Presents: Chapter 11

Brandon's meetings were progressing well and at this pace he could well be on his way home to Delaford this time next week. But his mind was not at ease. It was now three days since he sent his letter to Marianne and as soon as he had sent it he had started to doubt if perhaps he had said too much. He should have understood not to write as soon as he arrived in town – and more than that, he should have understood not to have sent the letter he wrote, but to write a new one instead! Oh Lord if he had now scared her off or made her doubt how sincere he was about her!

When he had arrived it was getting late and he had been riding most of the day. He was tired and miserable for having to come away. He had seen to his horse, then refused dinner but had a drink – or perhaps more than one – of whisky to ease his mind and aching heart a little, and had then sat down to write to his sweet Marianne. Telling her about how she made him feel, how he missed her in every possible way, had seemed perfectly natural and a good idea at the time. In the morning he had simply instructed his man to see that the letter gets to Marianne, and he had taken off to see to his affairs. It was the evening of that next day when he had thought about what he had written, and a sense of dread had descended upon him: what if he had said too much? Yes, they had kissed and yes, she had even initiated it that time, but all the same: she was such an innocent, sweet, young thing!

Brandon's fretting was interrupted by a knock on his door. His man entered the library where Brandon had been sitting with his paperwork. On the tray, his man carried an envelope. Brandon felt his heart beat a little faster the moment he saw the envelope and saw that it could be one from Marianne.

"Thank you," Brandon muttered as he took the letter.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, thank you. That'll be all. I'll not need anything else for the rest of the evening", Brandon dismissed his servant almost too eagerly. The handwriting on the envelope told him this was, indeed, from Marianne, and he wanted to be left alone with this letter. He waited until the door was closed once more before using his opener, noticing his hands were trembling a little.

My dear Christopher!

What joy when your letter arrived. I know it is silly to worry about you when you're simply going to town. A journey which you have covered in all conditions and temperatures, I'm sure. Yet ever since that horrendous time when I feared I might not ever see you again, I feel such a stab in my heart when you go away. I feel it a little even when you simply get on your horse and return to Delaford when you've been to see us at Barton Cottage.

What you said about letters providing us a way of talking openly and honestly when our usual society so easily gets in the way of that under normal circumstances is absolutely correct: this is almost the only way to say things that would be difficult to communicate otherwise. And I thank you for all that you told me in your letter.

All I want is the privilege and freedom to express how alike our feelings seem to be: I love you so much, my dearest Christopher! This I have told you before and I hope you know that and remember that in your heart. I need only think of you and I can feel how my heart grows fond of you and I know that the day you marry me I will be the happiest of women.

But there is more. I hope you will forgive me, but I had to talk to my sister Elinor about this. Do not worry, I did not talk about your letter or anything else we have said or done as such, but when you wrote about closeness and intimacy, all I could do was think of our kisses or those times you have held me or just touched me by sitting next to me at the piano forte. For some time this closeness has evoked very special feelings in me, and I now believe you feel such emotions too. I wasn't sure what my feelings meant, so I asked Elinor (in private, of course). You talk of joy when you hold me in your arms. How I wish I could see you this very moment so that I could submit myself in your arms, be held by you and feel your kisses again. For me your closeness brings pure joy and bliss, do not ever doubt that, my love. My heart and my body respond to you in ways I have never even imagined and if I am greedy for wanting more, then be it: I am greedy.

Tonight, I shall also lie in bed, thinking of you. To think that you might be doing the same brings me some comfort. Oh, to be married to you already!

Please look after yourself and come back safe. Mother, Elinor and Margaret all send you their best wishes.

Love always,

Marianne

She was right: come the night he would be in his bed and thinking of her. How could he do anything but? And now he knew for certain she would be thinking of him, too! Oh damn and blast these wretched months he still had to wait to make her his for good.