Chapter Eight
"Mrs. Brandon, I hoped I might join you for tea this morning."
The request caught the recipient quite by surprise to the extent that she took her time in forming a response. In their full week of marriage, Colonel Brandon had never asked anything of Marianne, though she was always at the ready in case of any request, be it regarding action or inaction.
They had slipped into a daily routine that although not wholly unpleasant, was somewhat stunted by their self-enforced formality. In the past, such a suppression of true feeling would have stifled Marianne to the point of volatile frustration, but in her changed state she was content, if not perfectly happy, to do what she thought might please the Colonel in her quiet, unobtrusive existence. She rose late, wandered the grounds on Elinor's arm, made regular use of the grand instrument in the music room, and helped herself to whatever handsome volume in the library so delighted her to read at the time, all by encouragement of the Colonel, though never in his company.
In turn, Colonel Brandon was under the false impression that the greatest good he could do Marianne was to stay as far out of her way as possible, and with their combined misunderstandings, Marianne had begun to believe that despite his early attentions to her, he did not desire her company after all, and so the two were rarely together except in the evenings, when they took their meals with Elinor, and after dressing in separate rooms rejoined one another by sharing a bed, but with so much distance between them they might as well have been on opposite banks of the Thames.
In the morning, the Colonel had always slipped away so early and quietly that Marianne was never conscious of his departure, but awoke in solitude, and had formed a habit of taking her late breakfast while comfortably situated in her morning gown rather than taking the time to fully dress and delay breakfast for her sister and husband downstairs.
This morning, however, she had risen at a more reasonable hour, and was appropriately outfitted when her husband preceded the tea tray's arrival, asking if they might partake together.
Afraid he might misinterpret her hesitation for something other than mere surprise, she quickly rose to receive him, uncertain of how best to do so; whether it would be strange for her to offer him a seat in his own chambers, or if once past the threshold he might take up mastery of his suite again. "Of course, Colonel," she smiled warmly, clasping his hands in welcome, and then hastening to the tea service in a flutter of confusion as an unexpected flush added colour to her cheeks.
The nature of his expression upon being accepted in such a way did not escape Marianne's attention. It was equal parts relief and surprise, as if he'd been thoroughly expectant of being sent away directly. The tenderness of his features softened him so that Marianne thought him rather youthful for the short duration of his smile. When he was not so grave and his appearance less troubled, she thought he could easily pass for a man not so very far from a proper marrying age.
"These are your apartments," she reminded him, humour in her tone. "You need not ask to spend your time here."
"I do not wish to intrude," he said.
"Intrude on your wife?" She supposed in former times she had treated the Colonel's presence as an intrusion, and it was no wonder he was unaware of a change of sentiment in her that had never been expressed. "I believe you take your tea plain?" she said by way of distraction, feeling shamed at her previous behaviour.
"I thank you, yes."
Marianne fulfilled the prescriptions of her own indulgent tea and brought her cup along with his as she joined him on the couch. Not one for prolonged silences when there was clearly a subject to light upon, Marianne began by prompting, "May I ask what manner of topic has risked this so called 'intrusion?'"
Colonel Brandon was perched stiffly at the end of the couch, no less distant than he might have been before their marriage, and much further than Willoughby had ever endured to be from the object of his desire. It was with another blush that Marianne recalled the last time she and the Colonel had sat here together, and how it had ended with her leaning on his shoulder and encompassed in his arms.
"I wished to speak of your mother's impending arrival," he said, holding both teacup and saucer, but not drinking. "I am told that she is to be kept ignorant of the true nature of our marriage, but I am certain it would ease her mind to see that you are settled comfortably in your new home. In the interest therefore of her finding you thus, I beg that you tell me if there is anything I might do to further your happiness here."
"Dear Colonel," she said with a laugh, astonishing herself as much as him in the sincerity of her phrasing, "I cannot imagine you doing any more to secure my comfort than you already have."
His relief was evidenced by the way he let his shoulders lose some of their tension and he took a brisk sip of tea, partially in satisfaction, and partially in delayed recovery over Marianne's 'dear Colonel.'
"Except... perhaps..." she began haltingly. His gaze was instantly fixed on her and the tea set aside, ready at once to put to rights whatever she found amiss. "We see so very little of each other," she frowned, "and as my mother knows me all too well, I fear she'll become immediately suspicious if I am not as comfortable with the master of Delaford as I am with the estate itself. Could we not... spend more time in one another's company? It seems a natural occurrence in any good marriage for a husband's business to intrude on his wife's affairs, and though it is not in my nature to pretend an interest in things which do not seize my fascination," she openly admitted, "I am interested in knowing you better, Colonel."
"Me?" he echoed with some alarm.
"Yes, Colonel, you. I wish to know the man I have married. What are your passions, your pursuits, your purpose? I find so many books on your shelves that speak of similar tastes to my own, and it is the same with the music you've given me to learn, but I have no way of confirming or disproving my ideas of you. There must be somewhere we could begin more naturally."
"I am not well practiced in the arts of polite conversation," he warned, though not unkindly.
"Nor am I, I'm afraid. But I since have the unhappy disposition of speaking a great deal too much of my own opinion, and if it is your nature to speak too little, perhaps we may help each other," she offered. "Shall we... take tea together every morning like we are now? Provided you are not obligated to attend another appointment?"
He inclined his head, the youthful smile returning to his face, making him almost... handsome, she thought. "I confess such an arrangement is exactly what I might wish, if you can bear the prolonged company of such an ancient relic as I."
Having considered the matter settled in the good-natured smiles that passed between them at his teasing, Marianne took opportunity in starting at once. She found it easier than suspected to pique the Colonel's interest by simply speaking of her own likes and dislikes, and discovered him full of insight and sentiments cultivated not only through diligent study, but worldly experience. He knew so much on such a diversity of subjects that were it not for his agreeable manner it might have put Marianne in too much awe of him to proceed comfortably. They descended to breakfast together that morning, and had become not only easy with each other in the interim, but merry, each in their own way.
Elinor regarded it in the healthy colour that had returned to Marianne's cheeks as she took her chair, and the cheerful gait and nod of greeting from the Colonel. She saw these marked changes, but kept them as observations to herself, not desiring to spoil the easiness of the breakfast table with her own private joy, in case it caused embarrassment to either party.
It was on the morning of her mother's arrival that Marianne first began to notice that the gowns which had fit so poorly due to her ill health were now snug in places she thought rather strange. Elinor gently reminded her that it was not solely the overindulgence of Colonel Brandon's breakfast table that made her so, but the condition she was in was certain to bring even more changes upon her that she would not so easily hide in the coming months.
The thought gave Marianne a cause for brief panic, but as she was not visibly rounder in ways that simple tucks and cinching could not conceal, the alarm was put aside for the receiving of their mother and Margaret.
The two missing elements of the family followed their invitation to stay at Delaford post-haste, and Mrs. Dashwood was gathering her favourite daughter into her arms almost before Marianne was sufficiently prepared. Mrs. Dashwood blessedly mistook all of her fierce blushing for a newlywed glow, and her determination to discuss in great detail every matter besides her sudden marriage was assumed to be embarrassment at having fallen so quickly in love with a man she used to deride as quite aged, though being no more than five and thirty. It was therefore a pleasant beginning with Marianne's anxiety concerning her mother so quickly abated, and Margaret as a diversion for introducing any number of topics Marianne counted safe.
Supposing that she would not always have Elinor to assist her—for Marianne was not shaken in her resolve to have her married to Edward—Marianne had begun to manage the household on her own; little things at the first, but gradually and surely she took a more prominent role, allowing Elinor to slip into her natural position as a guest, and her mother to be receive in like manner. She was now able to give tours of the house with only a little floundering at certain turns or in dimly lighted corridors, but it was not so much the direction of things that eluded her, but the placement of small yet significant objects that had always been in Elinor's care before.
It was in such a moment of searching—the larder keys being temporarily misplaced—that she came across a most singular sight. In the private library—a smaller room than the grand library where the Colonel had squirreled away some of his favourite books, and taken no pains to arrange furniture in a manner suiting anyone but himself—she found him in full dress, reclining comfortably in a large, leather chair, boots upon the ottoman, reading prose aloud to his two dogs.
She watched and listened for some time, her presence being betrayed at last by the lively Dalmatian perking her head up and trembling all over with enthusiasm at the prospect of more active pursuits. One word from her master was enough to keep her from bounding towards Marianne in welcome, but the damage had been done, and the Colonel started and coloured slightly when he turned in his chair to see what had excited her so.
"Oh!" Marianne cried, "Do not stop on my account!" She hastened to the chair opposite him, the better to reach the more subdued of his dogs who liked to put his nose in her hand while she pet him, and also to prevent Colonel Brandon from moving from his own seat to stand at her coming. "That was beautiful! Do you often read to your dogs?"
"I find it helps to settle them after a chase, and for me to hear the words spoken aloud, as I believe verse was meant to be enjoyed."
"Will you continue, then? Would you object to reading to me, as well?" she asked delighted. "And to... to...?" she hesitated, not being familiar with his dogs' names.
"Duke is the doting one with his head currently in your lap, and Molly there would rather not take a rest for poetry, but run herself into exhaustion."
"And will you read to us?" Marianne persisted.
That half-formed, but meaningful smile crept over his lips and he nodded once his acquiescence. "If you can bear to listen."
"I have never denied your gift for reading, Colonel. It is Edward I despair of."
This new discovery of the Colonel's pastime afforded Marianne yet another way to while the hours in the pursuit of better knowing her husband. It became her favourite part of the day, when they would take their places by the fire, and Duke and Molly too, to hear the Colonel read to them. Elinor was invited as well, but often excused herself with exaggerated trifles or errands with their mother and Margaret so that they might have their time alone. Alone, that is, besides the two loving giants that sat at Marianne's feet, and by whose acceptance was perhaps the strongest affirmation to her truly being the mistress of Delaford.
Author's Notes:
Life fact: if the hounds love you, you're in!