Confessions of a Colonel and His Lady

by Angoliel

Colonel Brandon and Marianne indulge in love letters while he is in London settling business affairs shortly after he proposed to her. I wrote this because I am simply mad about Alan Rickman, and I had to show Brandon's sentimental, romantic side.

2. I Do Promise

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

Author's Notes: Thank you to my three reviewers. Seriously, the people who have read and reviewed my LOTR fic should be around. I'm feelin' the love, people!

Summary: Having received the letter from her lovesick colonel, Marianne replies to his sweetness with her own confessions.

My Beloved Brandon,

I am glad to hear that you arrived safely in London. I am well, though I share your desire to be together again. I read your letter with great eagerness and frequent blushes, I'll have you know.

Dearest of my heart, while I smile at the thought of you adopting my sensibilities, I must caution you to sprinkle wisdom to your actions, as I should have done. I do admit that I have been a silly girl, and I wonder that you still have affection for me in spite of it. I am grateful to you, nonetheless. Yes, I will allow your pleasing words to strike a thrill to my heart, my darling colonel.

You say you are an old man. I forbid you to name yourself that hateful word - do not even consider it in your mind. My heart tells me it is not truly so, in that though you may be a man of six and thirty, I dare venture a guess that you still command the use of your limbs. To prove my theory, I shall give you private dancing lessons in the privacy of our own home when I become your wife. Then you should not be self-conscious before anyone except a devoted admirer.

I should hope that when you return, your eyes will have less sadness and more merriment. However, I too have a confession to make, dear Christopher. While your eyes intrigue and amuse me to no end, it is not that which delights me the most about you. It is your voice, my beloved. Your voice which, when loosed from your lips, covers your words with such an elegant blanket of velvet. Such richness I have not ever heard from any other. When you speak or call for me, the sound of my name drenched in the utter essence of exquisiteness makes me shiver, I must confess.

I am as helpless against your charms as you are against mine, Christopher. I willingly give you my promise that I will never cease to love you. But you must promise me the same, else I be as heartbroken as I had been before you proclaimed your love for me. As it is, I am

Eagerly awaiting your return,

Marianne Dashwood