Disclaimer: I don't own S&S, Jane Austen, or Emma Thompson, and I would be too frightened to if I could.
Flax and Fancy
As he drew his lips from hers and embraced her, pulling her body tightly against his and reveling in his ability to finally do so, he realized that she was shaking. He moved to draw back, but her arms clutched him more tightly. For a moment, he was completely unsure of what to do. Always a man of great social propriety, well educated, thanks to his mother, in the art of conversation, and once considered a very eligible London bachelor, Edward had absolutely no clue how to handle a sobbing woman. One sobbing woman, in particular, who had buried her face in his neck and was holding onto him for dear life. Her tears dampened the lapels of his waistcoat, and tore at his heart.
"Elinor?" His voice was soft, as he was afraid that any noise might frighten her away, or cause the weeping to crescendo. Unfortunately, it was either too soft to be heard over her hiccups and sobs, or she chose to ignore the plea in favor of gripping his back and shoulder more tightly. Either way, the name alone seemed unable to bring her out of her hiding place, and he found himself, yet again, with no clue as to how to proceed.
Fortunately for Edward, while he was attempting to recall any piece of the vast amount of literature he had consumed in University that might provide him a solution to his current predicament, Elinor had collected herself. She was now clinging to him as she fought to get her breath back under control and lessen the embarrassed flush that had spread across her cheeks. She felt terrible, bursting into tears on him, twice in one afternoon! But she had spent almost a year now, enduring varying degrees of separation from him, and the relief of finding him in her arms, free and willing, had become too much for her to bear.
"Elinor, I think..." Here, he finally drew back, keeping one hand comfortingly on her waist whilst bringing the other up to wipe the tears off her reddened cheek. "I think your mother and sisters will surely not approve of my marrying you if I continue causing you to cry." His deadpan comment caused her to snort, then laugh freely, lifting her spirits and drying her tears better than even his gentle hands.
"I believe Marianne will thank you. If not for taking me off her hands so she can be free to most improperly court Col. Brandon, then for at least forcing me to show some emotion." Edward smiled gently at the jest against her sister, but then shook his head. A hand came up to cup her cheek and he allowed his eyes to roam over her face.
"You do show your emotions, dear Elinor. I find, however, that one must be paying attention to notice."
"Indeed. I am, then, something like a horrid and disgusting spider, weaving away in shadowed corners," she replied, feeling exhilarated at how safe his hands and gaze made her feel.
"No," he replied, taking her hand and tucking it in his elbow as they began to walk back in the direction of the cottage. "More like… more like flax."
"Flax? So rather than weaving, I am to be woven?" She giggled at the comparison and his heart skipped a beat at the light sound. Giggling was something he had never associated with Elinor, but he now made it a personal mission to encourage the small sound as often as possible.
"No, not at all. I meant," he paused, stopping their walk to focus his attention more fully on her. "I meant only that too many people see you for your propriety, or for your exceptional household talents. But flax has, as one of its more abstruse qualities, a small bright blue flower, which blooms quickly, but lasts not for long." He resumed their journey back to the cottage with a gentle touch of his broad palm to her back, then reached for her hand and tucked it safely in the crook of his arm. "Many people notice it not. But I have found it the most striking of living things."
The meaning of his words was not lost on her, and she basked in the compliment as she had never allowed herself to before. "So shall you be the gardener? Or perhaps a young girl, picking flowers for the supper table?" Here, she giggled again, attempting, in vain, to picture the gentleman beside her galloping through a patch of wildflowers with a satin ribbon.
"No, my dear. I believe I will find myself most content to be the grass growing amongst the flax."
Trekkie101