Colonel Brandon POV
All I can see are black eyes. I know I'm not awake or aware; if I'm unconscious, shouldn't I get to pick my own dream? He's the last thing I want to dream of. Let me see my wife. She's in the corner there, on the settee with a twisted ankle. But no, it's always just more of him.
If I'm dead, this must be hell. What did I do to deserve it? Kill a man who was about to rape my wife? Who was trying to steal my reason for living? If that makes me evil, you would have to send every man in the world to hell. Maybe this is purgatory. I can't make sense of anything, but whatever it is, it's a recording in my head that won't stop playing.
"Colonel Brandon, do you know Mr. Willoughby?", Mrs. Dashwood asks.
"I...uh, yes, How do you do, sir?", I ask.
"Very well, thank you, Brandon."
His face...I remember him. Something. Somewhere. I heard a rumor.
I look around. I'm not welcome. As a friend, of course I am, but my interest in Marianne is...undesired. This gaggle woman is all about the man with the black eyes. They can't see anything else.
"Well...having ascertained that Marianne is on the mend, I shall intrude no longer." I make myself scarce. Disappointment.
A dance.
"I never knew you were a dancing man." (scoffs)
"A word with you, Willoughby...in private."
"By all means...well?"
"What are your intentions toward Miss Marianne Dashwood?"
"I beg your pardon!"
"I believe you heard me."
"What are my intentions...and what right have you to ask me? I'm not aware that you're a relation of the lady. Is she under your protection?"
"I have her interests at heart."
"Oh you have, have you? What are YOUR intentions with regard to Marianne?"
"Whatever they are, they are entirely honorable. Can you say the same?"
"I cannot be blamed if Marianne prefers my company to yours. We're closer in age, in temperament, in taste, in short, in everything. I commiserate with you, but there it is. And to answer your question, yes, of course my intentions are entirely honorable! You will excuse me now..."
Bright shining hatred. She prefers him, not me. She loves him, not me. She wants him, not me. My blood boils with jealousy.
Rage. Pure red rage. The clang of swords. Of my old cutlass from the days when I stood on Nelson's deck praying to a God I didn't really believe in for a respite.
He ruined my Beth. He desecrated her. No one needed to know she was the orphan daughter of a prostitute. She was MY ward. I'm an honorable man, perhaps without my title, but too wealthy to be ignored by society. I could have married her well. Not to a gentleman perhaps...to a merchant, a wealthy one...an honorable, good, gentle, kind, man. She could have had a respectable life, a happy one.
But no, he ruined her. My little Elizabeth, the portrait of her mother, Elizabeth, whose name I repeated at least once every day of my life. He stole her future, and she was foolish enough to simply give it away. And now she lay, ruined, with his child at her breast, he with no intention of ever looking upon her again. What could she ever be now, but my dependent, and the recipient of whatever portion I leave her in my will? Hopefully enough so that she and the child could survive. But Marianne promised me, didn't she? She'd look after them? Maybe eventually she could marry after all. Maybe...clang.
He falls at my feet, what chance did he have? I want to kill him. By every law of God or man, by every law of the country of England, I could kill him stone dead and nothing would ever come of it.
But she loves him. She loves him, and to kill him would kill her. It would break her heart, and I won't do it because...because...I love her.
Every woman in the county is in love with him. Youth, a handsome face, and a silver tongue...is that really all it takes? He has no intention of marrying any of them. I can offer a home, stability, love, commitment, I offer an honorable marriage...none of that is worth anything anymore? To these young Romantics, logic is a dirty word. I'm old and out of touch.
I have to be dead to be this haunted. I feel nothing. But why can't I stop thinking?
Marianne POV
Clink. "Got it!", the doctor calls out and drops the little lead bullet into a metal cup. "I've never seen a bullet like that before, small, stuck in there good."
I swallow hard as the blood continues to spread over the Colonel's chest. The doctor wipes it up, and puts his bloody instruments on the bedside table. He presses down and stops the flow.
"This is the part where I need your help", he says, and hands me a spool of thread. He slowly threads a needle and sews through my husband's bloody, delicate flesh. I have to stop breathing and look away a few times. It takes a very long time. But he seals every hole, finally leaving my husband's chest looking like a mixed quilt. He wipes away the rest of the blood, and Christopher just lies there in bed, like a corpse.
"It was too late, Mrs. Brandon. He'd lost too much blood. He lost probably 60% of what he had, there's no solving that, but I promised Sir John I'd try my hardest. I don't want to give you false hope. I don't expect him to survive the night, Mrs. Brandon."
"And if he does?", I ask.
"That would be an excellent sign. If he wakes fairly soon...he may have a chance. I got all of the bullet, so the chances of putrification are low. More men die of that than blood loss", the doctor adds.
My mother is standing the corner, looking on sadly. I wipe away a tear. "Where are the maids, momma, I'm going to need help."
"I will help you, and Elinor is on her way."
"The maids?", I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Dismissed", my mother supplies, trying not to smile.
"Really? How did that go since you don't technically have the authority to do so?", I ask.
"I told them the order came from you", she supplies.
"Gee thanks."
"I got rid of all of them except the one called Beryl, the big woman, the cook. She refused to obey me if you can imagine that. I sent her out to get supplies..."
"Oh mother", I sigh.
"You need your family around you right now, Marianne, not maids who stab you in the back. Colonel Brandon wants to see you, not them." In my youth, I remember her dismissing a maid or two who was altogether too attractive. I smile despite myself.
"When she returns, tell her to fetch plenty of clean water for him in case he wakes. And to make soup—bone marrow broth with vegetables pureed completely thin. And tea, for all of us", I tell her.
She smiles proudly. "As you say, you are lady of the house", she says with a smile and leaves me alone.
With the man I've destroyed. He lies so still, naked but for a sheet to his waist. I feel like now we're all just waiting around for him to die.
Sir John is fetching his will from the attorney.
I hear a commotion downstairs, but refuse to leave his side. Pounding up the stairs, my sister and Edward rush into the room.
"My poor Marianne!", she weeps and I fall into her arms, sobbing.
"I'm unfit", I wail. "I was never good enough to be his wife."
"Don't be foolish", she insists. "You used to worship Willoughby..."
I wince.
"It's not unusual for there to be a few feelings left. You did nothing wrong, you didn't run away with him, you didn't even consider it. It was a misunderstanding. I don't think it's easy for the Colonel to believe you really love him, but he WILL believe it. Only you can convince him, and I imagine it will be great fun doing so", my perfectly staid sister says, wiggling her eyebrows.
"What change is here!"
"A happy marriage", she says, and Edward embraces me.
"I'm so sorry", he adds. "Would you like me to..."
"Yes", I answer wiping away a tear. Elinor takes my hand and we walk out of the room.
I can hear Edward performing the Last Rites, or Unction of the Sick. The Colonel was no more religious than I am, but I refuse to take any chances.
Beryl storms into our bedroom. I can hear her from down the hall.
"'Oo are you? What're you doin to the master? Yer not his pastor...", she complains and I run back down the hall. ""E's no dead, get away from im!"
"Beryl, this is the Colonel's brother in law and the new pastor", I tell her. She's sobbing. "Oh Beryl, I know how much you care about him. I'm just doing the best I can. He would want Edward to give him Last Rites."
"We knew each other well", Edward offers.
"'E was fine til you got here!", she sobs, pointing at me.
"Get out of this house! Do you not see my daughter trying to hold everything together while she's dying inside herself!", Mother booms.
"Momma, calm down. I love him dearly, and I know you do too. We're going to have to get through this together." I hold out my hand and Beryl reluctantly takes it. "Please make some broth, just in case. Let's stay positive. And I won't keep you away and will tell you if there is even a tiny change, I promise."
"Yes, mistress", she answers, wiping her tears and going down to the kitchen.
"You're too patient with her", my mother adds.
"She loves him like a mother. I can't judge anyone who has loved him."
"Yes, well I love you like a mother", she says and I hug her.
"Go ahead and finish, Edward", I ask him, and he nods solemnly.
I walk out into the hallway, wiping my eyes and my mother wraps her arms around me. Elinor follows suits and we're all three hanging onto each other.
"You will be fine no matter what happens, Marianne, we're Dashwoods. You will never be alone", Momma states.
I wish I didn't know better. Ultimately, we're all alone.
"Where's Margaret?", I ask.
"With Mrs. Jennings", my mother offers.
"Ugh...poor girl. But you were right not to bring her of course."
Edward walks out and nods his head.
"Please go to the Rose and Crown in town and get yourself something to eat", I say, "I will not have you starving."
"Starving?!" It's Beryl coming up the stairs. "I canna believe what I'm hearing. I can have a roast chicken in a few hours, or leftover pheasant or lamb shank from this week heated in 20 minutes."
"I'll go with the shank", Edward says eagerly.
"Edward..." Elinor rolls her eyes. "My sister may want some private time with the Colonel."
"Oh...I...uh...of course we'll go out."
"No, no, no. I really just wanted to make sure you were fed. Thank you, Beryl, I didn't mean to insult you. I presumed you would be busy with the broth", I say.
"Doesna take forever", she comments.
"Go ahead", I say, shooing them all downstairs for dinner.
"Mistress?", she asks, trying to get me to walk in front of her.
"I'll not leave him", I answer, "But please feed my family, and thank you."
"You must eat something, skinny little thing at that you are", she comments. My mother would be having a fit.
"I'm not hungry, Beryl, thank you", I answer.
She walks downstairs, and minutes later returns with pheasant, vegetables, and a potato on a tray.
"Mrs. Brandon", she says with a nod, putting the tray on the bedside table. She nods again and leaves.
Mrs. Brandon, huh? She's acknowledged we're married? Just in time for me to be a widow.
The smell of it turns my stomach, the flesh on the plate. I'm seen too much torn flesh. But I drink the tea gratefully. Beryl returns with tea for me several times, tssking as she takes away the untouched plate. I doubt we'll ever be friends, but perhaps we're becoming allies. We love the same person.
My family stays away most of the night but returns at the witching hour. "Marianne...", my mother whispers somberly from the doorway, "You must be exhausted. Come, get some sleep. Your sister and Edward have been abed for an hour."
"I won't leave him", I answer.
"You promised the doctor you would sleep in the guest room", momma reminds me, but I know the doctor saw the lie in my eyes when I agreed.
I stand up and stretch, my back a painful twist from sitting in a chair and watching him for hours. I pull back the covers on his left side as far from the injury as I can get. I know there's a chance I could hurt him sharing a bed. But, I won't leave.
"Marianne, he's injured, you could bump him, he should sleep alone..."
"I... won't be surprised in the morning." I'm crying again. "I won't be. If he goes...in the night I want to know when it happens, I want to be holding his hand, even as if grows cold in mine." A torrent of tears.
"Oh Marianne, no! That's just morbid, my child, you don't want to be in here alone with him when he passes, trust me. I was going to get into the guest bed with you, we'll share as we did when you were little", momma says, holding out her hand to me.
"Thank you, momma, but no. I will be fine..."
"Marianne..."
"Mother..."
She stops and takes a deep breath. "You are a woman now. I'll respect your decision. But please don't be afraid to come in and wake me, and if the worst should happen, please don't stay in here alone with him..."
I hug and kiss my mother, then tuck myself in next to him, holding his hand.
I move sweaty dark hair off his forehead and blow cool air across his face. He's still warm. I can feel his heart beating. I blow out the candles.
"I love you. Please, please, please, stay with me", I whisper, kissing his lips. I will get no sleep. But we will be together as long as we can be.
Colonel Brandon POV
The flashes, the scenes I shared with the man I killed, have come to an end. Darkness. Then light, and I walk into my own study.
I gasp as I hear the gentle twinkling tones of my pianoforte played by Eliza. She sits on the stool, playing happily, and turns to look at me.
I've felt like a had two choices for a long time now. I want to close my eyes and go to sleep and relax. I want to sit next to her, rest my head on her shoulder, and slowly fall asleep. I take a deep breath, relaxing as I listen to each fragile note, as sweet and weak as it is doomed.
Somehow, I know this choice will be peaceful. Whether there is something after I go or not, just the darkness of eternal dreamless sleep, I know it will peaceful.
My other choice is hard and painful.
Pain. I feel like my entire life has been about pain. An endless cycle of one kind or another. Much more of it is required for the other choice. More much. I just don't want to hurt anymore. I'm about to sit down, just to rest my eyes, when I hear Marianne calling for me.
She needs me. My wife needs me. Every cell in my body floods with adrenaline. I can ignore her, and rest quietly, or I can answer her call and endure more bone-rattling, heart-searing pain.
I see my beautiful, beloved Eliza smiling at me. "Don't pretend you didn't already know what you were going to do when you got here", she insists. I nod my head and laugh. Just like always, she's right.