Is there any Felicity in the World Superior to This?
Part Seven
Marianne had not seen the Colonel since their meeting outside that ill-fated Thursday evening outside the cottage…and after glancing briefly at his uneasy countenance, she immediately held no great hopes for a pleasant afternoon's conversation. Shifting nervously about the floor, she then sat down, gathering her abandoned needlework. Forcing a small smile in his direction, she then threw her eyes determinedly at her work and the minute stitches that threaded across the board. The Colonel followed suit, only taking his time to lay down his hat, gloves and crop upon a nearby table before sitting down.
Marianne's heart beat nervously in her heart – and her hands trembled involuntarily as they pulled fruitlessly at the threaded needle.
'I do hope you are feeling better, Miss Dashwood,' said he after a few minutes silence. The words stuck in his throat and Marianne's face fell as she realised the possible cause of his visit. He had not forgiven her…foolish girl that she was for thinking that she would be! That was immediately evident; no…it was confirmed – confirmed by the frown that lingered in his eyes and the creasing of his brow. The latter then rose quizzically and she remembered that he had enquired after her health.
'Yes – much better…' she murmured quietly. He seemed satisfied at her answer, and endeavoured to speak further before she added suddenly and with utmost sincerity, 'And – I thank you.'
His eyes started in surprise at her tone of complete earnestness and abruptly darkened at the implication of her answer. Did she know of how she had been saved? And furthermore, his part in it?
He looked away and she returned to her needlework, quite unable to think of anything else to distract her thoughts. The darkening of his gaze at the implication of the accident was proof enough of his reason for coming to Barton. He was no doubt here to end their friendship…her constant fears had terrifyingly turned into living proof. In misery, she endeavoured to part the blame entirely on Mr Farley and with equal disappointment, found that she had not the heart to do so – although perhaps, she surmised with a surprising disdain that had heretofore escaped her knowledge, it was not wholly undeserved towards that particular gentleman.
Nevertheless, it was the immense weight that hung upon her present consciousness that tugged her from the depths of her silent reverie. She shifted slightly in her seat and he immediately raised himself from his own. She looked up, afraid that he would take his leave, but just as quickly looked back down. He had only stepped heavily towards the open window and was now looking gravely out of it…and she quietly grieved at the distance that had been inevitably stretched between them.
Discomfited by the awkward chaos that had been brandished before him at his arrival, Brandon was feeling equally at unease. He had never believed that he would feel so. Envisioning the ideal proposal that had fluttered unconsciously a hundred times through his mind since its composition all those months ago, he was appalled by the situation he found themselves in. He had expected joy – not dread. He had imagined pouring his love for her, his hands clasped about hers, kneeling before her… And now, having seen the nervous reluctance in Marianne's countenance and the gradual unfolding of unbearable awkwardness – it was an impossible shambles. The wine had initially invigorated his spirits. Now it only stirred languidly within him.
He forced his gaze outwards and caught the brief glimpse of Margaret hiding in the trees, staring in his direction. His face fell – even before a determined Mrs. Dashwood dragged her forcibly back down the path. A sudden thought took hold of him – should he leave? His eyes lingered apprehensively over her still figure, her head bowed determinedly over her work… Or dare he finally put an end to their suffering?
She felt his gaze upon her but dared not look up, feeling the strain rushing up hotly into her cheeks. For minutes on end, he stood there; his graceful hands resting against the tabletop, the slight breeze that entered through the open window ruffling his hair…and Marianne thought her heart would burst in her breast if he did not look away.
As if sensing her anxiety, his head snapped abruptly towards the window, and an immense rush of relief swept through her veins. Now it was time for her to make her leave – she would not let him pronounce those words…those words which would carry so much pain and lingering sadness if they were ever at all coldly murmured in her unwilling ears. If she was certain of anything – anything at all…it was that a cold word of final departure from the Colonel's lips would mercilessly break her heart. That was certainty.
She rose and discarded her work and rushed towards the stairs.
'Miss Dashwood – Marianne…'
The sound of her Christian name and pronounced in so loving, so desperate a tone caught her breath in her throat and she stilled in her steps. He had turned toward her now and she too turned towards him, inexplicably drawn by the unmistakable tenderness in his voice and the yearning, desperate expression that had taken hold of his gaze. He spoke again.
'Marianne…tell me, once and for all, and truthfully…have I any chance of ever succeeding?' She really could say nothing. 'I know, to a great extent, a very great extent, that a man at the advanced age of seven and thirty has little chance in competing with another man of seven and twenty – but…no, why should I hesitate?' Mesmerisingly, he drew closer to her. 'My dearest Marianne, if you can find within your heart, yes, your dearest heart of hearts, to bring yourself to love a man who loves you to the depths of his soul, who will protect you with all that he holds dear to his heart and who can see no woman equal to you in both mind and spirit…tell me so at once.' He paused, his eyes fixed intently upon her own.
Her mind was in upheaval. She hardly knew what to say – but the first question that arose to her head was that did she love him? Come to love the man standing anxiously before her, the steadfast soldier who had risked his life in engaging in a duel for both her and Beth's sake and moreover, the noble gentleman who stood by her throughout her suffering regardless of her past preference for another? And even she did not, was she prepared to learn to love him? Was she?
She let out an involuntary gasp of realization and turned away in bewilderment. His face fell; replaced with an expression of utter disbelief and disappointment.
'Colonel Brandon – '
He shook his head, more out of sincere shock than anger. He had long expected this, long expected her reaction…he had…
He struggled with his words. 'Your – reaction is – no doubt to be expected, Mari – Miss Dashwood. I perfectly comprehend your feelings. I – I think it best, for both of us, if I took my leave.'
His reverted formality and coolness hurt Marianne deeply, she turned to him abruptly. To be so unfeeling – foolish – when he was so desperately in need of encouragement…comfort…why on earth was she always doing the wrong things?
Unsteadily, he rose to his feet and underneath his frosty exterior, she suspected lay a much deeper hurt than she had expected. Almost subconsciously, he gathered his hat, his riding gloves and his crop; Brandon knew scarcely what he was doing. His mind was in an upheaval of contradicting emotions…he felt himself give a short bow and leave the room.
'Colonel Brandon!'
He stopped in his tracks and with a ferocity that startled her, whipped around. Having rushed towards him to detain him and being so close to his person, his abrupt turn towards her caused her to topple, off-balanced. His arms instinctively thrust forwards, grasping her arms firmly to prevent her from falling. His hat, gloves and crop lay scattered across the floor but he barely seemed to notice. The intensity in his eyes captured the wandering gaze of her own and they stood there, in perfect stillness, awaiting the other's next move.
It was she who finally made the decisive move. Releasing herself gently from his grasp, she gazed up at him, into his face, full of tentative uncertainty, into his deep, hazel eyes until something in his powerful expression caught her off guard and gave her an unfamiliar and peculiar sense of confidence. Slowly and with the impression that she had been waiting her entire life for this moment, she quite effortlessly and without a single trace of embarrassment, reached up towards him and pressed her lips against his.
Oddly exhilarated and yet perfectly at ease, it was at that precise moment that she understood that there was to be no other for her but the man standing before her. His arms abruptly folded around her and in the strange yet pleasantly familiar circle of his arms; it came to her, a fact pure and simple, so simple that she thought herself a fool not to have realised it sooner. Her weeks of rumination, careful consideration, her concern for his health, his feelings, his own well-being…and her high regard and admiration of his noble qualities…they had all inevitably resulted in this blissful, inexplicable feeling that coursed through her veins.
Was this love, she thought…not a flight of fancy, a heightened, passionate idea of romantic ideals that she had always related with what she had felt for Willoughby…but true, sincere love? If what she was experiencing now, deep within her heart, in this man's arms was not to be called so – then what was?
To her profound astonishment, a warm confidence that pounded within her heart told that she was neither inclined nor wanted to care.
At last, they broke apart, and his embrace loosened, albeit only slightly, only slightly enough for him to stare down tenderly, before adding softly, a glimmer of exhilarated joy radiating within his eyes: 'I would interpret that as an obvious 'yes'.'
Part Eight
It was only before the end of the week that the whole of Delaford and Barton knew that Colonel Brandon, the patron of the village and whom everyone had nearly deemed as a permanent bachelor was finally to be wed to the charming Miss Dashwood. Both men and women familiar to the Colonel and his young fiancée rejoiced at the news of the approaching wedding and nearly everyone had their own manner in which to greet the Colonel's engagement.
Mrs. Jennings, though it seemed quite inconceivable by more than one person in the village, grew more boisterous and cheerful, teasing either the couple or themselves individually when she had the chance to meet them. Brandon laughed modestly at her mention of there 'being no more than a dozen young ladies who were to be very disappointed at the news of his engagement'. It was widely known that there had been many ladies eager to attain his attention in the past for though he was not handsome, he was deemed as an attractive and noble gentleman; an undoubtedly suitable husband for any lucky young woman who happened to stray across his path.
'Please, Mrs Jennings,' entreated he one evening when they had all assembled at Barton Park. 'You are much too generous in your descriptions.'
'Yes – and if I might say so, dear mother-in-law', ventured a hearty Sir John, 'you are quite on the verge of making more than one gentleman in the village quite envious of this old soldier,' he added cheerfully, giving Brandon a jovial pat on the shoulder.
'Oh, how can you be such a tease, John!' laughed Mrs Jennings before turning to Brandon's smiling countenance. 'And Colonel Brandon – you know this is nothing but the absolute truth!' she trilled enthusiastically, smiling at the Colonel's diffident shrug in return. 'And you must hold a dance in honour of this event, dear Colonel – I will brook no refusals…it is positively out of the question that you should squander this opportunity –' added she with unabated excitement as her eyes briefly glanced at Marianne's graceful figure at the pianoforte. Having lent her concentration to the conversation unfolding loudly a few feet away from her, Marianne's voice had gradually – and considerably weakened. In the face of Mrs Jennings' inquiring stare, she now struggled to regain it and with increasing embarrassment.
Brandon's gaze soon followed – and upon seeing the inevitable softening of his expression, Marianne's voice immediately grew firm…with the neither of them noticed the knowing glances that were shared between the majority of the party or the merry chuckles that were so enthusiastically elicited from the good mistress of the house.
It was decided that, indeed, to Mrs Jennings' suggestion, and with utter delight on that kind lady's part, a dance was to be held at Delaford in honour of the occasion. The town rejoiced accordingly, eagerly anticipating the forthcoming festivities as well as displaying unexpected enthusiasm at the prospect of a new patroness of the village. Windows were scrubbed with admirable precision, houses cleaned with remarkable easiness of manner while the younger members of the community were beginning to be dressed in their Sunday-best, despite the fact that the wedding of their renowned patron was not to be for another two months!
Brandon looked upon the eager joviality of the village with a pleased yet puzzled eye. He had merely smiled when he had been overwhelmed with well-wishers at Delaford manor on the announcement of his impending marriage. However, it did not prepare him for the immense shock that he received when he was twice nearly overthrown his horse, Gawain, when the village endeavoured to overwhelm him with gifts while on his habitual inspection of the village grounds.
'Surely such gifts and well-wishes are to be expected on such an occasion as this, but surely this is certainly quite extraordinary,' remarked Brandon as they walked across the expanse of the sunlit grounds at Barton, with Marianne at his arm. Mrs Dashwood had very lately been taken to inviting her future son-in-law to Barton more than usual – and the latter had, in return, very gladly acquiesced to the proposal…much to Marianne's delight.
Marianne gleamed a vibrant smile in his direction. She was exceedingly pleased by the re-attainment of his jovial spirits…and it delighted her to see him so at ease with himself. It had nearly tortured her to see him so low when they met at last only a week ago and with the prospect of a possible end to their friendship leading her thoughts throughout the visit – it was with both immense relief and utter amazement that she found herself, a week later, engaged to him. She had certainly not imagined so – no, no thought of his ever proposing to her had ever entered her mind and it was only when he had finally sustained the courage to speak to her that she immediately understood his heartfelt purpose. And what happiness, what joy had followed! And she was determined not to let his spirits be once again led asunder.
'I certainly hope that you're not proposing to be condescending to your own beneficiaries, Christopher,' she smiled. She had lately taken to calling him by his Christian name; the word being a delight as it sprung off her lips – and by the tender delight that inescapably glowed in his eyes each time she said it, reassured her that his gratefulness was almost in equal measure. Now, that delight was mingled with a sense of bewilderment and pressing her advantage, she impishly started to tease him: 'Or the townspeople will think me a most unsuitable influence on you and beg you to rethink your impending marriage.' She sighed, looking about. 'Would they stone my windows in their outrage, do you think?'
His answer to this was a thoroughly raised eyebrow. 'You can be nothing but the best influence on me, Marianne.' He smiled at the heightened blush that rose in her cheeks but said nothing of it, only adding in mock seriousness: 'As for the prospect of smashed windows, my dear; it would grievously fall into my own hands if word ever gets out that I have rethought my position.'
'And may venture to inquire after your stance on that position, sir?' Marianne teased.
He stopped and turned to her, capturing her gaze within his own. 'On that matter, you need not ask…for my mind is quite certain.' He paused, smiling. 'Mrs Brandon.'
Gently moving a stray hair from her face, he then leant to kiss her but was prevented by doing so as a loud shout of surprise and then a muffled thump resounded upon the ground behind them. Laughing and releasing the other's arm, they rushed to the aid of the sprawled figure upon the grass – and the two of them, with a thoroughly embarrassed-looking Margaret between them, finally returned to the house.