Marianne POV

Was Elinor right in her fears? Was it gratitude for all he'd done, and he'd done far more than could be expected of any man, that made me want to accept Colonel Brandon?

I remember the day we returned to Barton after I recovered from Putrid Fever. I felt like the heat of my fever, which soared to 104 degrees, burned Willoughby right out of me like paper disappears in a fire—slowly and completely. As my mother and sister walked back to the cottage, I stayed a moment, my hand in the Colonel's.

"May I hope?", he asked, looking so vulnerable. Why did he keep risking his heart over and over? I could tell it was no joke for him, and it was no simple attraction to a younger woman, as I first thought it was. His heart had been broken, mangled, patched up, and ripped apart again by those before me. I could not lie to him.

"I can promise you nothing, Colonel."

"I do not ask for promises. I ask for possibilities", he responded, massaging my hand with his own.

"You may hope", I told him, and a very rare smile lit his face. I didn't think I'd ever seen him smile. His brow was so heavy, nearly hooding his eyes. He seemed to carry the weight of the world. I had an inexplicable desire to rub the lines on his brow, to see the stress go out of his face, if only for a moment. But of course, I could not.

"You must come to Delaford when it's convenient", he said. "My pianoforte and books are yours to explore."

The months that passed after that saw me a guest at Delaford 7 times. A party with Sir John Middleton and Mrs. Jennings ended with all us staying the night. Every time I entered the house, Colonel Brandon would stare at me as if picturing me there more permanently.

That night, I made certain to share not only a room, but a bed, with my sister to ensure I did not make tongues wag as I did at Allenham. Before we went off to bed, a slightly intoxicated Colonel met me in the hall upstairs.

"Marianne, I hope you sleep well. I hope you...always sleep well. But here. I'm not making any sense", he said, and I tried hard not to laugh.

"What I'm trying to say is...I hope you are comfortable here, I hope you feel safe here. I hope you feel safe... with me. It's all I ever wanted...I beg your forgiveness. I'm drunken fool tonight.", he moaned.

I took his hand and squeezed it. "You're tired, Colonel, but I'll see you tomorrow." Every time I showed him even the tiny hints of affection we were allowed as a single, unengaged, man and woman, he would look at me like a child on Christmas morning who got exactly what he always wanted. I wanted to loosen the tight white silk cravat that seemed to be choking him.

I remember every moment. How he took his time, how there were times I thought he'd never actually do it.

But here he is on one knees huffing and puffing with nerves, in tight tan breeches, a white shirt, and burgundy morning coat. I will never forget the violet lace I'm wearing Mother insisted on purchasing for me last week. I think she knew this was coming.

"You know how I feel about you, Marianne. I was never circumspect about it. You're a beautiful, honest woman, passionate beyond measure. I have loved you for a long time. The feeling has only grown stronger. I don't know anything about the poetry you love, the writers you understand, the art you enjoy, I'm just a military man. But that doesn't mean I don't feel the same level of love and desire your poets do. I promise to love you, keep you, provide for you, adore you, I...oh forget it all...will you marry me, Miss Marianne?" He looks up at me with expectation. I've never held a human heart in my hand before.

I take a deep breath and take his hands in mine. "It would be my honor, Colonel."

"Yes?", he asks, his face lighting up. His big, bright smile goes all the way to his eyes, crinkling the lines he's earned from years of service to the Crown. He jumps up.

"Yes, I said yes. Yes, yes, yes. I have no right to expect you to still love me after all that's happened. But I'm grateful you do", I smile.

"Why wouldn't I still love you?", he asks, genuinely perplexed.

"After everything I put you through. You've been of service to me and my family in every possible way, and I just kept choosing another man. I believed..."

He presses a finger to my lips, then takes a deep breath. "Mr. Willoughby is the last creature on earth I wish to talk about at this moment..."

"I'm sorry, I..."

"Give me a moment. You believe you are a...what? Terrible person? For falling in love with a man and staying true to him? For believing a cad, a scoundrel, who made us all believe he loved you? Who did the same to my ward, a sweet young girl who will likely never find a husband now? No fault lies with you, Marianne. You are the most innocent creature I have ever found on this earth. The things I have done...for king and country...I will not share them..."

"You can if you want", I tell him, "If I'm to be your wife, you must let me carry some of your burdens."

He scoffs and I'm not sure I like it. "You want me to lay the burdens of a lifelong soldier on the most delicate of flowers? They crush even me. I have done terrible things. I have tried to always be honorable. I have tried..." He rubs his forehead.

"I'm sorry to have upset you", I respond.

"You could never upset me. And you have finally said yes and made me the happiest of all men today. My point was that these great sins you believe you have committed, do not exist, and even if you'd committed a few in reality, they will never hold a candle to the memories I carry every day. You are my perfect angel", he finishes, kissing my hand.

"I don't want to disappointment you, Colonel, I'm far from perfect", I insist.

"You will always be perfect to me", he growls quietly in his low, deep voice, "And don't you think it's time you started calling me Christopher?"

"Christopher", I repeat. It suits him, yet seems less than he is.

"Marianne", he says, nodding and smiling wider than I've ever seen. "You are in charge of everything—when, where, etc, but for myself, I would not wish for a long engagement. I feel like I have already waited for you forever."

"I would not either. I tend to draw catastrophes to me anyway", I laugh, "I refuse to take the chance of this not coming off."

"I was thinking the same", he laughs. "One of the many reasons I can't wait for you to be mine." He brushes a hair behind my ear. "In my care, there will be no more catastrophes, no more pain, lies, and broken hearts. Hopefully no more suicidal walks in the rain..."

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"You will be loved and adored and spoiled. You will never have reason to cry. That's why I kept persisting, Marianne. I can love you better than he can. I can love you better than anyone", he says.

I'm not thinking of propriety as I push myself against him and he takes me in his arms. I bury my face in his chest.

I have often thought he was a bit too old for my taste. But a very handsome man and big in the most delightful ways. Well over 6 feet tall and widely built, he has broad shoulders and well-muscled arms, hips well apart, thick thighs, and I can't wait to see what I think will be a large bottom, all encased in tight breeches. But if I keep thinking this way, we'll never make it to the wedding.

"I apologize...that was forward of me", I state.

He throws his head back and laughs. "You're my fiancé now, Marianne, you may touch any part of me you wish..." He crooks an eyebrow at me. How did I never know he was so playful?

And why am I throbbing somewhere between my legs?

"I will never be induced to have you before our wedding night, and I do not wish you to have one drop of worry about that either. We have our whole lives", he says, holding me against him.

"I must..."

"Go. I know", he says. "You must tell your mother. And begin planning."

"But...I don't want to go. I want to... I can't describe it...I can't imagine it." I feel so confused. Excited. Terrified. In equal measure.

"Well, I can, little one, and I've wanted it for far longer than you. Another reason for a short engagement."

"Are you not going with me?", I ask, disappointed.

"I wish we could tell your mother and sister together, I'm so sorry, my dear..." He smiles at the new nickname he can give me. "But I have many business matters to attend to now. I'm still officially in the army for instance. My driver will take you."

He takes my hand and we walk outside. The carriage is waiting, with his driver

in place. "You have what I gave you?", Colonel Brandon...I mean Christopher, asks.

The driver pats the longbox on the seat beside him.

"I know you have one, Wallace, but you've never carried more precious cargo." I presume he gave the driver a weapon of some kind.

"I can't believe you're finally going to be mine", he says. "May I kiss you?"

I move toward him, and he leans in, capturing my lips gently. He first barely touches his lips to mine, then deepens the kiss just slightly, I respond and I feel him smile against me. He touches the tip of his tongue to my bottom lip and kisses me again so softly. The barest of butterfly kisses and my head swims.

He kisses me on the forehead then and our eyes meet. "I love you, Marianne."

"I love you too", I say, still the slightest bit unsure.

"You will", he says, "That I promise you."

He hands me into the carriage and it bounces quickly away. He stands outside watching until I'm gone.