As we drive up in front of the door of Delaford, I watch out the window, and only because I'm on high-alert, I see the sparkle of eyes in the pitch black struck by the light of lanterns being lit for our arrival.

Colonel Brandon isn't watching so closely. "Did you see that?", I ask. "Eyes glinting off the lanterns."

"Some animal sniffing around for food. I'm sure it took off when it heard the carriage", he reassures me. I'm not so certain.

The carriage comes to a stop. Christopher steps out, turns around and offers me his hand, and I step out behind him. Whatever it was, it fled to the back of the house.

Beryl takes his coat and scarf as we walk in, and he heads for his study, yawning. "What a long day", he moans, "I'm going to pour myself a brandy. I'll be up in a few minutes."

"If you see Penelope, will you send her up to help?", I ask.

"I certainly will", he answers, "Your sister looked lovely. I think she and Ferrars are going to be very happy."

"I can't...thank you enough, as usual. The wedding, his living, the church, the house...it's all too much. Thank you for making that happiness possible", I smile.

"Surely you know it's all for you."

I did, and I still didn't know what to say to that. I smile and head up the stairs and into our bedroom to get into a comfortable nightdress.

I'm blind with it over my head, and I hear the door open. "Penelope, thank goodness, I seem determined to strangle myself, can you help me with the tiny buttons?"

"Of course I can", I hear spoken in a voice I know all too well. It used to thrill me, now it terrifies me. Both then and now, I break out in goosebumps.

I pull the dress back down fast. "You better not be here", I insist. Willoughby steps out from behind the screen where my nightdress hangs.

"You're in HIS HOUSE now?!", I bellow. "Are you crazy? You are, you're crazy. I should have seen it from the beginning. Get out!"

"Oh Marianne, crazy. Isn't that what the old guards calls us Romantics? But what did the Age of Enlightenment bring? Respect for science, government, logic, freedom, but for whom? You and I know "there are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

He has always spoken my language. Part of me just wants to continue the conversation. It would be amazing to have someone to talk to on this level again, to discuss the Romantic poets and art. But with him, I see brilliance and madness are not necessarily far apart.

"Willoughby, this is over. I love my husband, and I want you out. If you don't go, I will call him and his men, and there will not be a snowflake in hell's chance of you leaving this house alive!"

"Such language!", he winks. "If you were going to do it, you'd have done it already. Truth is, you don't want me to get hurt. And I'm sure part of you doesn't want me to hurt him. Can't call for him and prevent bloodshed at the same time. You're not the violent type, Marianne. Now sit and talk with me", he insists.

"He's coming up here any minute!", I insist.

"I see the conundrum. The next time you see me, I'm taking you with me. Be ready, take anything you can't leave behind", he says, pulling me into his arms and into a passionate kiss.

As the door flies open, several thoughts pass through my head in a thousandth of a second. Christopher will shoot him, no, he'll shoot us both. Well at least it's finally over. I hear a female voice.

I manage to push him away, to see Penelope standing in the doorway with an entirely shocked look on her face.

"Mistress!", she wails.

"He was just leaving", I insist. Willoughby pushes his way past us both and out the back of the house.

"The Colonel knows this man has been a problem", I say to Penelope. But she's just standing there with her mouth open as if she's rubbed an old lamp and a genie popped out. "Listen", I insist, shaking her. "The Colonel knows about him. He needs to know about this, but please leave it to me. Don't say anything, I'll handle it."

"Yes, mum, I mean, no, mum", she chirps, curtsies at frantic speed and runs out the door.

"Oh my God", I breathe deeply and fall onto the bed. Willoughby is right. I don't want my husband to kill him. I care about his welfare. It's the only rational explanation, and it's far more accurate than the idea that I just didn't want to upset Christopher. But not wanting him dead doesn't mean I want him back.

I think for first time, I'm straight with myself about this. Part of me will always care for and appreciate John Willoughby. I may even always love him. But I love Colonel Brandon more, and nothing Willoughby ever says will change that or make me trust him again.

I gasp as the door opens and my husband walks in. "Are you okay?", he chuckles. "Who were you expecting?"

"I'm fine. Sorry..." He kisses me on the cheek, and I turn away until the blush fades from my cheeks.