Sir John Middleton was having en extremely satisfying day. There were few things he enjoyed more than lively company and a bit of gossip and today he'd found both of those commodities in abundance. His overall appearance as a jovial, light-hearted, chatty man often led people to believe him somewhat dim-witted; however, he was no fool. He'd known exactly the precarious position that Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters were in following the death of her husband some five years prior. He'd happily had the ability and means to offer his distant relations a dwelling as well as whatever comforts the larder of Barton Park could reasonably manage when they'd found themselves in need. He'd known all along that he was compensating for a serious dereliction in duty by the young Mr. John Dashwood, but he also knew what an awkward position it could put the Misses Dashwood in were he to publicly shine a light on the breech with their brother. He had rather wished than believed that the young man merely required time to adjust to his new position before providing for his sisters as he should. Had that been the case, making a spectacle of the boy could ensure that no help would ever come from an embarrassed and resentful Mr. Dashwood. He'd therefore maintained his silence on the matter.

This morning at his club, he'd discovered that such circumspection was no longer necessary. He'd found himself applied to by several gentlemen of his acquaintance to confirm the disgraceful behavior of Mr. John Dashwood and his harridan of a wife. With the tale already circulating the clubs and drawing rooms of London, Sir John was happy to contribute a few logs to the flames of the current gossip. He'd never been so close to the center of a scandal before and while praise had never been his intention, he found it quite invigorating to be lauded as something of a hero for his part in the business.

Following his newfound popularity at his club, he wagered that his mother-in-law and Miss Dashwood were likely experiencing even greater attentions and so decided to pop around. He found Mrs. Jennings' parlor flooded with visitors clamoring to see Miss Dashwood. As a gentleman who found great pleasure in good company, he passed an agreeable half hour in contented entertainment watching the throngs of the ton offer their solicitude and attempts to glean further information.

As the most intense calling hours she'd ever experienced finally neared an end, Margaret Dashwood vowed to herself that she would never tease Georgiana Darcy about her aversion to attention again. She'd been quite harried for four hours by anyone with even the slightest claim of an acquaintance with Mrs. Jennings or herself. While most of the callers were there to offer her sympathy or support, many of them had no scruples against asking her pointed questions about her family. She had received more invitations to teas, luncheons, and al fresco parties that day than she'd received in her entire life.

She'd felt a moment of relief from the onslaught when Colonel Fitzwilliam had been announced before she noticed the hush that fell over their other visitors. Miss Selena Thorne pointedly relinquished her seat to the Colonel with the conspiratorial air of someone martyring their own interests to aid those facing persecution. Any hopes for a restorative conversation with the Colonel were dashed as the throngs of callers pressed them from both sides and eagerly watched their interactions. Her affirmative response to his hushed request to accompany her on a ride through Hyde park the day after next was dramatically sighed over by those present. After the socially-appropriate half hour had passed, he bid her farewell. Margaret silently lamented that he abandoned her to the throngs due to propriety while some of their more persistent visitors whose presence was more irksome were far less mindful of their time.

As the appropriate hour for callers finally passed, the crowd dwindled down to just Sir John Middleton and Miss Anne Steele, as they fancied their connection to the family close enough to warrant a comfy coze. Knowing that between them Mrs. Jennings, Sir John, and Anne Steele could talk for hours without her input, Margaret allowed the chatter to flow over her while reflecting on the past four and twenty hours and the implications they would have on her life. She enjoyed Colonel Fitzwilliam's attentions more than any other gentleman of her acquaintance and she'd been so content on his arm the previous evening before she'd realized what was truly happening. Today, their parlor had been graced with several gentlemen ranging from the politely curious, to rakes who saw any scandal involving her name as an invitation or challenge, to fortune hunters who were convinced that her brother would have no choice but to provide her with a handsome dowry at this point. She had no interest in any of them.

In light of her newfound notoriety, Colonel Fitzwilliam was her only suitor who felt safe. He'd been paying his addresses to her for weeks before the current scandal pulled her out of relative obscurity. She felt confident that he was interested in her, as opposed to the spectators who visited today. She was therefore startled when a stray bit of Anne's chatter managed to shatter that illusion mere moments after she'd settled it in her mind.

"I'm so glad your beau visited you today Miss Margaret! And you'll be seen with him in a smart gig on rotten row tomorrow! To think, he's been ever so attentive! I hope all of this scandal will make your brother sort out your dowry in the end! I overheard Mrs. Darcy telling Mrs. Bingley that as the second son of an Earl he needed to marry a someone with money, so it's well enough that Mrs. Darcy went and forced your brother's hand! That must mean that you have the blessings of his family! I can't see the Fitzwilliams or Darcys treating you as infamously as poor Lucy was treated by your sister-in-law and her mother!"

"What?" Margaret interrupted, unsure if she'd heard properly in the midst of Anne's rapid speech.

"Of course you've got the blessings of his family! You're ever so close friends with Miss Darcy, and Mrs. Darcy has gone to so much trouble to put you to rights, and everybody is talking about the Earl and Countess's attentions to you last night at the theatre while you was stood there plain as day on the arm of their son! They can't very well pretend to be surprised or incensed at the idea of you as his bride after that now, can they! I can't see them yelling at any poor soul who might suggest the connection to them or throwing anyone out on the street or disinheriting anyone at all!"

"Not that, what was the bit about money?" Margaret asked impatiently, suddenly questioning why Colonel Fitzwilliam's attention had been more marked since yesterday evening after the Darcys had started their campaign than it had been in the prior weeks. She'd thought he'd been caught as unaware as she had, but he was a trained Colonel in His Majesty's army. It now seemed possible that he was a part of the strategy.

"Oh, you know how these fancy gentlemen are! They grow up in veritable palaces but all the titles and property and money has to go to the heir, so the second son has to find a profession. But half-pay from the army in times of peace won't be able to support a wife and children on its own now, will it? It stands to reason that he'd be in need of a wife with a dowry."

"And you heard Mrs. Darcy talking openly about her cousin's mercenary intentions?" Margaret asked in shock, recalling her own initial dismissal of the Colonel as a sutor for exactly that reason.

"Oh, not publicly I dare say. I just happened to be sitting that dance out as so many of my beaux were out at the races that evening and I didn't have a partner. They were speaking privately enough, though it was at a ball, and I just happened to be passing by when I heard your name spoken in the very breath she spoke of your beau. Seeing as we're such good friends, I couldn't help but listen in. I thought it infamous that they'd talk about your fortune like that, but since Mrs. Darcy found a way to set it to rights and the Colonel dresses smart and behaves civil, I congratulate you most heartily on your conquest!"

Margaret felt the need to flee at this new information and gave the most convenient excuse that came to mind: "If you'll excuse me, after the long morning, I feel the need to retire for a bit before preparing for diner."

"Of course, my dear," Mrs. Jennings tittered, "you want to be at your best for Col. F. and Lord and Lady M. this evening!"

Margaret's stomach dropped at the reminder of dinner with Lord and Lady Matlock, another piece of evidence suggesting a marriage scheme. As she hastily rose to make her exit she saw Sir John give her a worried look then he likewise excused himself claiming he had some urgent correspondence to attend to.

"Thank you, Besty," Elinor Ferrars said as she took the offered letters from the maid. Maryanne always insisted that her servant retrieved the post for the parsonage while she was in town fetching the post for Delaford. Although they could not afford more than one maid of all work at the parsonage, it always warmed her heart that her sister did whatever she could to make their lives easier. "And how is Mrs. Brandon faring today?"

"Oh, you know ma'am, she's in rather low spirits. Says she can't hardly reach the keys of the pianoforte for the size of her." Elinor was amused by the frank manner of the servant. When Maryanne had entered her first confinement shortly before Elinor gave birth to her son they'd requested that Betsy take over the task of collecting the post because as a mother with four children of her own she was less squeamish about passing messages between the two sisters about their delicate conditions than John Coachman. Now, as Maryanne neared the end of her third confinement in as many years, they continued that tradition.

"I can see how that would distress her," Elinor said with a laugh, "please tell her that I shall pay her a visit this afternoon."

"Aye, that should cheer her right up ma'am," with that Betsy bobbed a curtsy and began the trek back up to the great house.

Elinor flipped through the letters, finding one from her mother – confirming her plan to arrive the following day so she could be there for the birth – and one from Margaret – full of all of all of the wonders from her first season in London, ending with her eager anticipation of her first trip to the theatre. She'd just completed her letters and was debating whether she ought to begin a loaf of bread for their evening meal or if she had time for a walk first. Grabbing her pelisse and bonnet, she's nearly made her way to the road when she heard rapid hoof beats approaching.

She was rather surprised to see an express rider turn into the parsonage. Fearing the worst, and most likely cause for an express to a parsonage, she mentally tallied which members of their congregation could be in need of last rites. She directed the messenger to the kitchens where Sara could offer him some refreshment and left to seek our her husband.

"Edward," she said as she found him ineffectually herding chickens in the yard, "an express has come for you."

He wiped his hands on a handkerchief, looking delightfully rumpled. "Thank you, love," he said as he took the letter from her and placed a kiss on her hand in its place.

She giggled at his gallantry even in his countrified state, but the laugh died on her lips as his face drained of color. "Edward, what is it?"

He was staring wearily at the unopened letter in his hand, "this is my mother's handwriting." She gasped, they'd heard no word from his mother in the entire span of their marriage. He slowly opened it, brow furrowing as he read. "I've been summoned to London."

Maryanne Brandon – feeling large, irritable, sore, and unable to follow her usual pursuits – had installed herself on the chaise lounge in her husband's study with a volume of poetry. If she couldn't properly entertain herself, at least she could lounge about where her husband was conveniently at hand to solicitously ask after her health or offer whatever was in his power to provide her relief at every groan or grimace she uttered. She'd finally managed to find a comfortable position and was indulging herself in some Byron when the silence was marred by a loud exclamation of "Bast!" from the vicinity of the desk.

"Whatever is the matter?" she asked, looking up from her book. Her husband's brow was furrowed, he was violently clutching a letter, and his eyes looked thunderous.

"It is nothing, my dear," he said in a voice of forced calm, clearly lying.

"Is it Eliza?" She asked, her interest piqued.

"No," the anger and worry in his eyes, however, increased.

"Christopher Brandon, I can tell something is wrong, what are you not telling me?"

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, my dear," he said with the same tight, restrained expression he'd effected all those years ago when she'd been ill and he'd been avoiding talking about ...

"Is it Willoughby?" Maryanne heaved herself off of the lounge and walked toward his desk.

"No ... well, yes, in part," he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"What could Willoughby possibly have done that could effect me now? You know that's all in the past, despite all of my silly sermons on first love, right?"

Surprisingly, Christopher laughed. "What Willoughby has done," he paused for another laugh," is thrown himself down the stairs at the theatre, made a spectacle of himself, and broken his leg."

Maryanne eyed her husband suspiciously, "and this is why you had that murderous glint in your eye a moment ago?"

"Well ..."

"What are you not telling me?"

"Maryanne, I don't think this is something you ought to concern yourself over in your condition."

"In my condition?" Maryanne repeated, "In my condition!" She was yelling at this point, "do you think it is wise for me to fret and come up with dreadful scenarios in my head in my condition when you could just tell me?"

"Perhaps you should sit down," He tried to interrupt her but she continued on in her speculation.

"Willoughby? What could he have done to incite this level of anger? You've said it's not Eliza. It's obviously not me he's importuned this time ... if he was at the theatre, I'd wager he's in London or Bath ... Good God! Margaret!" He was not quite able to surpress the wince at her name and Maryanne knew with a sinking dread that something terrible had befallen her baby sister.

"Maryanne!" Colonel Christopher Brandon said, rushing to her side with real concern as his wife clutched her stomach and began to weep, "please sit down, it is not so dire as what you fear."

He'd just managed to sit her down and calm her breathing when there was a knock at the study door followed by the butler announcing Mr. and Mrs. Ferrars. "Colonel Brandon, I must leave for London," Edward said as he entered the room.

At the same moment, Elinor shouted, "Maryanne, whatever is the matter, is it the baby?"

"It's Willoughby!" Maryanne sobbed to her sister, "he's gone after Margaret."

"Calm yourself, dearest, Willoughby has done nothing to Margaret," Christopher soothed his wife. Turning to Edward, he asked, "So you've heard, has Sir John written to you as well?"

"Sir John? No, I have received a letter from my mother demanding I attend her in London immediately."

"Ah, yes. That makes sense."

"What makes sense!" Cried Maryanne, "How are any of us to make sense of this if you refuse to explain yourself?"

"I'm sorry, dearest, I just did not want to distress you."

"As you've clearly failed at that goal, will you please just tell us what has happened?"

"There has been a scandal," he was interrupted by a loud cry from his wife but he hastily continued, "concerning your brother."

"John?" Elinor confirmed, "what can he have done." She'd sat herself beside Maryanne and was soothingly running her hand up and down her sister's back.

"Apparently, the ton has been made aware of his treatment of your family following your father death and they are receiving quite a bit of public censure," turning to Edward he added, "your mother's behavior has likewise been called into question both for encouraging their actions and for her own treatment of yourself."

"After all of these years, what could have brought all of this to the surface now?" Elinor asked.

"Apparently Margaret mentioned something of the matter to a Mrs. Darcy who then somehow managed to pry the whole story from your brother and his wife directly."

"But how does Willoughby fit into this scandal?" Maryanne asked, finally regaining some semblance of calm.

"Sir John did not witness the altercation himself, but according to the rumor mill, Willoughby confronted your brother at the theatre while in his cups for 'ruining his life' by denying you a dowry, my dear. Some accounts claim your brother threw him down the stairs in self defense, others claim Mrs. Willoughby pushed him after he disparaged her so publicly, but Sir John believes he merely fell."

"I could hardly blame his wife if she had done so after he courted two women at the same time, clearly chose her for her dowry, then went around shouting about it in front of all and sundry," Maryanne said with a mercurial glint that he'd never seen in her eyes. After the pain and suffering that rake had put Maryanne and Eliza through Colonel Brandon could hardly disagree.

"I would imagine, then," Edward pulled them all out of this dark reflection, "that my mother requires my presence to help quiet the scorn against her. A part of me is inclined to continue the estrangement that she herself insisted on, regardless of her current predicament, but that hardly seems charitable of me. I joined Elinor on her visit to inform you I'd be taking the post to London. I should hope I will return in time for Sunday services, but will write to the curate of —parish to engage his services if I am unable."

"I appreciate your forsight. There is no reason for you to travel post, however, I find I must go to London as well, so you may ride with me."

"Why should you go to London?" Maryanne asked, her suspicions again rising.

"It would seem ..." he considered how best to voice his concerns without overly burdening his wife, "Sir John has some concern that Mrs. Darcy did not act entirely without motive. It seems that her cousin, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, has been courting Margaret. As a second son, there is some concern that he would not be able to marry without some financial incentive."

"So he is mercenary!" Maryanne cried, "poor Margaret!"

"It seems like a rather roundabout path for a fortune hunter to find a dowerless girl and then force her relations into giving her money," Elinor rationalized, "is it not possible that he cares for Margaret herself and his relations were merely upset on her behalf? Indeed, I've had a letter from Margaret today relating the attentions Colonel Fitzwilliam has shown her, particularly that he values her opinions in a way otherwise lacking in the gentlemen in London. We have ample evidence, after all, that some men would be willing to forgo wealth for a loving marriage." She smiled tenderly at her husband and took his hand.

"I know Colonel Fitzwilliam and he is an honorable man, but I've also heard him speak of the constraints of being a second son. Which is why I must go to London and assess the situation," Brandon said, turning to his wife, "though I am loathe to leave you ..."

"Don't you dare say anything about my condition! I have every comfort I may desire, an army of servants at my command, my sister within an easy distance, and my mother will arrive tomorrow. I shall be well. Poor Margaret requires your help more than I at the moment. It is very clear that John and Fanny would happily sacrifice her future happiness if it would restore their own reputation and Mrs. Jennings is never inclined to miss an opportunity to project a wedding among any young people of her acquaintance. Who shall look out for her interests if not you?"

Colonel Brandon declined from pointing out that Edward was bound for London and would likewise look out for the interests of their shared sister-in-law. His prior friendship with Colonel Fitzwilliam and the fact that they were both military men gave him an advantage in the situation that the mild-mannered Edward Ferrars did not possess. "Very well, my dear, we shall leave immediately."

Author's Note: So, I went down a bit of a rabbit hole trying to figure out the timeline of events in this story today (even as the author), so I figured I should share that with you. Everything that has happened thus far has happened in less than a week:

Saturday: The first ball where Elizabeth hears Margaret's story & enlists Lady Matlock's help to get the rest from Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars (Chapters 1-3)

Sunday: Darcy confronts John Dashwood (Chapter 4, not explicitly said in the story, but Elizabeth, Lady Matlock, and Darcy start the rumor mill in motion)

Monday: The evening at the theatre with the rumor spreading (Chapter 5)

Tuesday: Rumor mill at full force, Anne Steele shares Mrs. Darcy's comment about Col. Fitzwilliam needing to marry into money, proposed dinner at Matlock House, Sir John Middleton sends an express to Col. Brandon, Mrs. Ferrars sends an express to Edward Ferrars (Chapter 6)

Wednesday: The express messages arrive at Delaford & the Parsonage (Chapter 6 continued b/c it would take ~15-20 hours for the letters to arrive and the express messengers rode overnight)

Foreshadowed timeline:

Thursday: Col. Brandon & Edward Ferrars arrive in London (2-day trip because it would be dangerous to drive a carriage overnight). The proposed drive in Hyde Park.

Note on Regency travel: I've made some sloppy calculations to handwave my timeline into making sense with the fast pace scandal moves. Assuming that in a hurry Colonel Brandon could travel at about the same speed as Mr. Darcy (8 miles/hr), it would take a little over 15 hours to travel via carriage from Delaford in Dorsetshire to London (~123 miles according to google maps). If the gentlemen left around 10am (assuming the expresses came early and they're all keeping country hours) and traveled for seven hours the first day, stopped at an inn for the evening, then left at first light and traveled eight hours the following day, then even accounting for stops to change horses etc. they could arrive in London in the early/mid afternoon in time for Colonel Brandon to confront Colonel Fitzwilliam before he's scheduled to take Margaret for a ride at the fashionable hour (~5:30 ish). It'll be a tight timeline, but they'll execute it with military precision.