If Only I Could

Chapter 36

As had almost become a habit in the Dashwood house, when the Sunday lunch was cleared away it was Brandon and Marianne who volunteered to wash up. They let Margaret fill the dishwasher, but then they just told everyone to go relax and they got on with the rest. It was the third Sunday after the horror at the night club, and Brandon had become a regular fixture at the house. He wouldn't go a day without seeing Marianne if he could help it and he had spent hours with her in her room, holding her while she cried and processed things: the magnitude of the change to how she saw the world was not insignificant. The easy trust she'd had with people, the faith in being able to trust her own judgment on people had been shaken to the core and her instinctive reaction had been to pull away from everything. Not go out alone, not go back to her university campus, and certainly not take anyone outside her family at face value.

Christopher had, for a moment, feared she might pull away from him too. The first day after coming back from the hospital she had just wanted to go into her room and not see anyone – even him. He had been so happy when the next day she had seemed pleased to see him and even said she'd missed him. From then on she had talked to him. He had held her close and let her talk about anything and everything. He had tried his best to assure her that shits like Willoughby were, in the end, a rarity – and that he would never let anything happen to her.

The fog had started to lift after about a week, and eventually Marianne had managed to get out of the house a bit. She'd even gone to the campus, albeit accompanied by Margaret. Marianne's normal energy and light was returning, and according to Mrs Dashwood (as told to Adele Jennings) it was all down to one Christopher Brandon. To Adele, hearing about the incident and about the secret relationship that had been going on had returned her faith in the universe: her instincts on these matters had never been wrong, and this time everyone had been saying how there was nothing there between the two while her instinct had been fighting the facts to the end. There was no end to the boisterous air of triumph surrounding Adele Jenkins that day. Of course she was appalled at what had happened, but to her, it meant a happy ending of sorts.

Marianne had been to Christopher's house a couple of times this past week, even staying the night, and something about the feeling he got when she was there had started nagging at Christopher louder and louder each day. At the hospital, waiting for Marianne to wake up, he had had so much time to think. He had had time to consider the world without her and, in particular, his world without her. The logical thought, then, had been to ask her to come live with him. His house felt right with her in it, the evenings and mornings (not to mention the nights) felt so very right with her there with him – why not make it a more permanent arrangement? But something about this plan had started to jar him in the past few days: somehow it was lacking.

It had been yesterday morning, when Marianne had spent the previous night at his house with him, and in the morning she hopped onto her bike to cycle home to Crouch End when it had dawned on him what the problem was. The only reason Marianne was going home then was that Christopher had some catching up to do at work. Why should that be necessary? If she lived with him permanently, she could just stay at home there and do whatever she would do. Even that hadn't felt right to Brandon and when he tried to stare into the emptiness that her absence made him feel, he saw that he didn't just want her to come live in his house. He wanted her to be more than a live-in lover and friend. He wanted her to be the one person who saw him as he was. He wanted to be hers in every possible way and her to be his family. And so it was that his catching up with work had been cut short by an urgent need to visit a jeweller.

Last pots and pans washed and dried, he pulled the girl to him by her waist to share a kiss. The sense of ease when it was no longer necessary to keep it a secret was uplifting. This time Brandon was feeling both the joy of being able to kiss this woman openly like this, but he also started to feel the slight panic and fear over what he had planned to do next. Perhaps this wasn't the right time? Maybe she wasn't ready for this yet?

"What's wrong?" the gentle, observant creature asked him then. She would notice. Over the months they had been tighter she had probably learned to read him the best – better even than Sir John. Brandon took a deep breath. There was no way around this now, he deceded. Come what may, he'd do it. If she said no, then it just meant it was not the right time. He was confident that Marianne would not refuse him completely.

Without a warning Brandon let go of Marianne's waist to take her hands in one of his and dropped to one knee.

"Will you marry me?" he then asked quietly, all his hope and fear openly visible in his eyes.

Marianne was gobsmacked: not in a million years had she expected this. The longer it took for her to say anything, the more anguished he looked.

"I'm sorry… it was not…" he then muttered, lowering his gaze. That spurred Marianne finally into action.

"No, darling, I mean, don't think that… You just surprised me…" she managed to explain, and decided to get on her knees as well: she needed to say things to him.

"Christopher Brandon, you just dropped such a surprise on me you'll have to let me take it all in for a bit. I can't believe you just proposed!" she then said and leaned forward to kiss him on the lips. This man had looked after her, comforted her and guided her through the haze she'd been in. He hadn't indulged her by no means, but had been the support she had needed to get past her wobble and start feeling like she could be a part of the world after all. What he had made her realise, also, was that she never wanted to be anywhere but by his side. She had her family, but there was this one person in the world who truly saw her to whom she was most connected to. And now he had asked her to marry him.

"Yes, Christopher, I would love to marry you," she finally answered, and the relief on his face was obvious.

"Thank God," he mumbled, as his hand reached into his pocket to find the ring he'd purchased.

"I hope you don't mind me choosing for you," he apologized as he opened the box and showed her the elegant, modern diamond set in white gold. Marianne simply shook her head to indicate she didn't mind at all: Christopher's taste was second to none in all things design, and he knew her tastes so well already. The ring was absolutely beautiful. Yet, Marianne was certain she wouldn't have cared if he'd presented her with a ring pull from a can of Coke: the true gift in all this was to be his, and to start planning a life together. She tried to say it all in the kiss when she just about leaped on him.

It was that very moment that Anne Dashwood had decided to come and see what was taking so long and if the pair needed a hand with anything.

"What…" she started to ask, a little confused. Christopher Brandon and her daughter were on their knees on the floor, arms tangled around each other, sharing a kiss that left little to be guessed about how keen they were on each other.

"Mum!" Marianne managed to pull herself off Christopher. Her smile was as wide as Anne had ever seen it and before she knew it Marianne had leapt up again and was hugging her with all her might. Christopher got back to his feet as well, but did not offer any explanation.
"Christopher just asked me to marry him," Marianne explained, almost out of breath.

"Oh darling!" Anne exclaimed. She had hoped for this at some point, but this was sooner than she thought.

"And I said yes. Oh Mum! I love him so much…"

The rest of the afternoon had been filled with hugs, laughter and immediate (but not realistic) plans for the wedding by Elinor and Margaret. No one was surprised to hear Marianne accept Christopher's invitation to come to his house tonight. Not being surprised didn't, however, mean that the Dashwood ladies did not take the opportunity to tease Marianne and Christopher about the evening, though: their departure was filled with suggestions of all manner of romantic schemes from champagne and strawberries to scented baths. Brandon still wasn't entirely used to having what he considered his private life out in the open to this extent, but tonight he was walking on air: Marianne had agreed to marry him. That one decision had immediately righted every nagging feeling he had had over the past week. He still wanted her to come live with him, the sooner the better, but now the promise of their commitment to each other somehow locked all the pieces together.

He was so unbothered about the teasing they had received upon leaving the Dashwood house that he had, indeed, ran them a romantic bath in his gloriously spacious tub, complete with a little bubbly and the foot rub he gave her as they were having this indulgent soak. They talked about her moving in with him and about when to have the wedding. They even talked about the kind of a wedding they would like ("simple" they had agreed, no surprises there).

Some time later Christopher took his fiancé to his – their, as far as he was concerned – bed. The talk and the planning had quieted down and their communication was taking place at a more visceral level. At first, Marianne straddled him, leaning over him as they kissed, deeply. His hands caressed her sides and over her hips and her buttocks, taking a firm yet gentle hold of her backside to lead her movements over him a little. The way her weight felt on top of him, the way she rubbed against his erection was heaven to him.

"You're an amazing man, you know" she whispered to him between kisses.

"It's all you, Marianne. It's all you," was his whispered response, and he took even firmer hold of her to reverse their positions, him leaning over her now.

The kisses, slow and languid until now, heated up as he moved a little more of his weight on top of her, slipping his leg between hers, pressing his thigh firmly against her throbbing core. She se let out such a delicious low moan he had to work hard to control himself and not push into her there and then. Instead, he allowed his mouth to start wandering, slowly making his way down south of the border – except he had not been alone with his need to be in her: Marianne put her hands on either side of his face when his kisses reached her breasts. She motioned for him to look up at her face:

"Christpher, I want you now. I want you as close to me as you can – like we'll always be from now on," she said to him seriously. He held her gaze for a moment, and understood exactly what she meant.

Moving up again, leaning on one elbow and draping her leg over his other arm he settled over her and sought to align his member with her core. Slowly and tenderly he then pushed into her, their foreheads touching as he did this, and they both let out a soft moan. Their eyes never leaving each other's, Christopher started to rock against Marianne at a slow pace, still holding her leg over his arm so that it was bent high on his waist. The closeness of their position was second to none. Their entire bodies were in contact, their lips and mouths met in between the glorious grinds, their eyes maintained connection. Tonight, their love making was all about intimacy and closeness, about being the centres for each other's worlds. The pace perhaps never reached such frantic cadence as had been known to happen from time to time, but the intensity of their movements together left neither in any doubt about their feelings. Finally, it was Marianne who cried her release first, long and intense, soon followed by the uninhibited groan from Christopher, released into the pillow beside her head.

They took some time to come down from the high, neither in a hurry to let go of each other.

"Will it always be like this?" she then asked, smiling. Christopher lifted his head to look at her sweaty, glowing form, seeing her joy and happiness. He chuckled a laugh.

"I can only promise to try. But you do realise you're marrying an old fart, right?" he joked back at her only to be rewarded with a playful smack at the back of his head.

"You…" she muttered, but the hand that had just given the little smack now pushed the fingers into his hair and guided him to kiss her once more.

"I love you, Christopher Brandon. Don't ever forget that."

He looked at her in the eyes, contemplating her words. Yes, he knew that and he could trust in those words.

"And I love you, Marianne Dashwood."

THE END.

From the desk of Gillingham:

Thank you so much for reading this (and any of my other dabbles in this fandom). This chapter concludes the experiment into having my favourite characters adventure in the modern world. Needless to say, I took rather a few liberties with the story line, but hope the story has provided any readers with some fun and entertainment. Cheers!