Chapter Twelve
Not soon after Marianne's condition was announced to intimate relations—which somehow meant Mrs. Jennings was informed of the matter, and by those means, a great deal others besides—a modest dinner party was begged of the Colonel by that well-meaning, but socially prolific woman, that he and Marianne do their duty to society by introducing themselves as a married couple to all their friends and near acquaintances before his dear sweet wife was to be confined.
This suited Colonel Brandon and his "dear sweet wife," as it granted opportunity of getting several social obligations out of the way all at once, rather than putting the burden on them to make calls round about which would no doubt exhaust Marianne with excessive travel.
The dinner party was made up of those persons who might have been expected to attend the wedding had the hosting couple married in the usual way, and though the gathering had first been christened a modest one by Mrs. Jennings, the larger dining hall was filled with relations and loved ones alike by the time supper was served, and not a single spoonful of the cook's efforts to feed a grand assembly was put to waste.
Though Marianne had participated in the proceedings with the notion that this was largely to perform a societal duty, she enjoyed herself more than she expected. Great care was taken in the choosing of her gown and toilette, her mother and sisters arriving a day early to help her decide which accruements to put together, and the Colonel having made provision for whatever finery she might desire for her debut as Mrs. Brandon. A happy symptom of her condition was that her hair had a lovely lustre and fullness to it, and with the combined efforts of Elinor and the sadly lacking lady's maid, it was not too difficult to manipulate it into a thing of beauty. There were other attributes that acquired fullness, filling out her gowns nicely in the bodice which was something she had previously despaired of whenever her bouts of melancholy rendered her less than shapely in figure. It was not so now. Her complexion was of a warm and natural colour, her form was still slender besides a slight bump in her belly which was possible to conceal beneath her gowns, and all in all she was quite the picture of good health.
Mrs. Dashwood was overjoyed by Marianne's condition, excitement and nervousness rendering every action of the frantic sort, and her attempts to help quite useless to Marianne, though she was convinced everything she did was necessary and right. She fussed over her daughter standing too long, sitting too near a draft, sitting too near the sunlight, or eating enough good fruit, but more often than the rest, expressing her absolute happiness with all the unrepressed emotion her daughters expected from her.
They were able at last to redirect her energy towards a more productive avenue in assisting Elinor with the meal cards and Margaret with her dress, which was far more suitable in her own mind than to any of her family, who considered her selection rather plain and unbecoming.
Marianne found it delightful to ready herself for a dinner party without constraint on wardrobe or adornment, and being able to offer Elinor and Margaret such trim and baubles and hair combs that might suit from the bounty of her own closet. She had so often complained of the necessity of making a faded, old gown seem new with choice accessories, and it was enormously gratifying to have everything really new at her disposal and to the rescue of her sisters.
She had directed rooms to be prepared for those guests who had lengthier journeys and would therefore stay a night or two before returning to their prospective homes. Mr. John and Fanny Dashwood were of the number of those staying, and though it gave her no pleasure to prepare them a room, Marianne took care that it was done to perfection, so that even Fanny could not complain of this or that issue with housekeeping, the view, or the placement of furniture. Mrs. Pickard was made to pass on many repetitions to the footmen and maids about how this or that item was to be moved, or polished, or polished again, how the view might be enhanced by fresh paint on the window sill, or the angle of a chair moving by so many degrees. By the end of all these efforts, when it was finally deemed acceptable after the fourth or fifth scrutiny, Marianne had gained such respect from Mrs. Pickard over her determined undertaking that it was very near admiration, and she was, from that day on, quite pleased to serve her mistress and defend her decisions to the rest of the servants, which was greatly advantageous to Marianne in her position.
When the Dashwoods arrived, they made a grand show of their entrance, behaving almost as if it were Fanny herself who had acquired Colonel Brandon's estate and Marianne could not be expected to understand how things were to be managed there.
Marianne bore it astonishingly well, and the Colonel defended her admirably without suffering slight or censure to the self-important woman, though even he was tempted once or twice to offer more than an uneasy incline of the head. Marianne had not thought she could love the Colonel so well as when he accepted her illegitimate child as his own, but it appeared she was wrong once again, and Colonel Brandon consistently proved to be her defender that night in the battle of wits that was even more often in society the downfall of women.
There was one issue on which Fanny was not eager to light upon, and that was the current whereabouts of Mr. Edward Ferrars and the affianced Miss Lucy Steele. The most she would say—and that with the look of one whose teeth are being pulled—was that to call her "Miss Steele" was no longer an accurate mode of address, as she had only a day prior taken the name of Ferrars.
This announcement produced an indignant squeak from Margaret who began to say, "But I thought..." and was promptly hushed by fierce looks from both her elder sisters, and a sharp pain at her shin from her mother's kick beneath the table. The matter might have ended there, but Mrs. Jennings had all the eagerness on the subject which Fanny lacked, and well could have gone on into the night about the goodness of the two young people in question and their deserving of every happiness in the world and more besides, were it not from a loud clearing of the throat by the Colonel that arrested her attention.
"My dear Colonel! Is the bird too dry for you, or have you let it go down wrong again like that frightful day in Cleaveland—I shall never forget it!" she remarked jovially, and with a long drawn sigh as if her mother's heart went out to him. "I daresay, it is a might salty tonight, but nothing in comparison to the sad state of the partridges at Michaelmas, which we suffered through the eating of while Cook was away visiting her dying mother, poor thing. She lived a remarkable long time you know, and we were more surprised that she took as long as she did to pass on, but, really!" she exclaimed in her usual, distracted manner, putting her silver down with a clatter, "Colonel Brandon, you do seem troubled about something. Come, come, now. We are all family here; you must not keep secrets. You know how gifted Sir Middleton and I are at wheedling things out of you! Out with it, sir, and do not make yourself a solitary martyr without cause."
"Why should I be troubled with such a lovely wife and good friends about me?" the Colonel countered, his features softening as a smile played about the corners of his mouth.
"That is just as I would expect you to answer, you naughty man, and in so doing you have not given us a real answer at all," Mrs. Jennings complained, but she let the matter drop nonetheless as Elinor had tactfully broached her with questions of how Charlotte and her newborn son were.
The Colonel and Marianne exchanged looks over the near disaster of conversation; he with harried concern for her sister, and she with tender gratitude that he would be so openly troubled by a subject that might cause Elinor pain. The remainder of the evening passed by pleasantly, and with no more terrible frights by the mention of Edward's or Lucy's name, nor so much as a reference to a similar situation which might arouse interest in them. This was largely due to the unspoken agreement between the Brandons and the Dashwoods to do everything in their power to keep the rest of the company entertained and sufficiently distracted by any means to prevent the matter arising again. Such an alliance was astonishing, indeed, and was a strange business to have Elinor's feeling and Fanny's pride so tangled up in the same disappointing man.
Marianne was quick to thank the Colonel when they were alone again. She had been so concerned over her sister during the course of the evening that she could not even be bothered to find insult in the request from Fanny to be sent up a servant to rearrange the room she'd been given.
"Thank you for looking after Elinor," she remarked whilst tying the ribbon round the end of her braid. "She might not easily show how affected she is by Edward's marriage, but I know she must be heartbroken." Her hands dropped to her side and she expelled a sigh. "I did not think they would marry so soon! Ah, but... I had almost forgotten..." she shifted in her chair to address the Colonel directly, "They are to live here. Within walking distance, even. I suppose your offer was a great deal more than acceptable to them both," she said, and hoped it was not too bitterly uttered. She stood and began to tighten the ribbons on her robe, a thing somewhat strange if she intended on retiring to bed soon.
"Did you not read my letter to Mr. Ferrars?" the Colonel queried, "I had given you leave to."
"Yes, I know, but I was much too struck by the contents of the letter addressed to me that I was unable to bring myself to look at the other." She said nothing of the collection of romantic correspondences she'd discovered in the little drawer that day of the duel, but decided to hold her peace until a more appropriate time. "I trust you were as kind and noble as I know you to be," she said with a toss of her head in his direction, and he could not tell if she was in earnest or not.
"I am honoured that you place such blind faith in me," he said with caution, "but I had wished you to read it, if only to tell me if I had overstepped my place in what I'd said regarding your sister."
"What do you mean?!" Marianne started, becoming instantly agitated. "You mentioned Elinor! I did not know..! Oh, I wish I had read it, now! But whatever did you say?"
"It seems to have made no difference in his decision to marry Miss Steele, though he has not written me to accept the living, which thing I find strange. Unless some other, more appealing means of vocation has been presented to them."
"That is not likely," Marianne dismissed the thought at once. "But, Colonel! Will you not tell me what you said?"
He rather enjoyed having her enthralled by his revelation, and the expectation of what was to still be revealed. It made him hesitant to inform too quickly. He wished to linger a little longer with those wondering eyes fixated entirely upon him, as if he were the only one that mattered in that moment. "I only told him the terms of the living, and how suitable we found the cottage—that the plot was serviceable for keeping chickens and grazing cattle. As your sister was a great influence in these matters, it is only natural that her efforts were acknowledged. I'm certain he knew of whom I referred. He could not mistake it, I think."
"Then you never so much as mentioned Elinor by name?" she frowned, disappointed after all.
"I did not. Although I did say there was a young lady, a very close relation to my wife who was staying with us, and seemed quite determined to make the cottage pleasing for his sake. I said that duty was admirable, but it was a pity that duty and heart could not always be reconciled."
"Oh, Colonel!" she cried, and surprised him by bounding towards him with an expression of utter happiness. He held her by her arms, afraid she might injure herself by colliding with him in her eagerness. "I am so glad that you said so! Ah..." she quickly became downcast, "But he has married Lucy anyway. I do not understand him!"
Colonel Brandon was having a remarkably difficult time understanding his wife's dizzying change in emotions, and was battling his own temptation at having her pressed so close to his body while she looked up at him, flushed and excited. "He... is not his own man, my... Marianne, but bound by duty to keep his word."
A look then was given him by his wife, one that clearly stated her feeling on that subject, and the poor excuse she thought it.
Colonel Brandon loosened his hold on her, feeling uncomfortable under such a gaze, though he would not completely relinquish his possession, and asked if she was angry with him.
It was then she finally gained awareness of their interesting position. Marianne coloured as the warmth rose to her cheeks, and the Colonel felt her arms stiffen beneath the favourite robe she wore. She swallowed and coughed a little in embarrassment. "No, Colonel. I believe you have done everything one could have asked of you in such circumstances, and more besides."
His breath and all memory of how to reclaim it abandoned him in the instant Marianne reached up and placed a sweet, short kiss upon his lips. He let her go in his astonishment. One hand nearly brushed the small of her back while the other hovered very close to her cheek, but he did not dare to bring himself to touch her.
"Oh, Marianne..." he sounded sad, she thought; perhaps even on the verge of tears. She waited, nervously anticipating his rejection of her; his regretful sentiments and the dismissal of previous feelings that no longer swayed him.
"Do you intend on sleeping soon?" Whether the question was full of implications for activities most often conducted within a bed, or merely a form of distraction so that he might find a way out of his current situation, she could not tell.
"I do," she murmured softly, searching his eyes, and aching to know whether she had made some dreadful mistake and wishing desperately he would give some indication of what he was thinking, "but I think Elinor must be very low tonight."
She hated to ask in such a moment, but as Colonel Brandon was not reciprocating her forward action, and the lack of clarity was making her anxious to flee, she asked, "May I go to her?"
"Whatever you wish," he said, and Marianne felt it a little too brusque. At her hesitance, he said more patiently, "Of course, if Elinor would be comforted by your presence, you should be with her tonight."
"You will not take this as a rejection?" she asked, almost fearfully.
"Only if you insist upon it being one." He smiled without real joy, and Marianne hated to be torn between her sister's crisis and her own.
"Here is my answer," she said, reaching up to try another kiss.
He was slightly more prepared for her this time, and dared to catch her lips as they were raised to him, making them linger for the briefest moment longer than before. After what seemed an eternity, and yet far, far too soon, he let her go. As she slipped from his arms and out the door, she turned back once to look at him with cheeks aglow and eyes alight; burning with some new sentiment he did not recognise in her. Colonel Brandon sighed at her departure and thought it a pity indeed that she was not to share his bed that evening.