Author Note: Another one-shot! :) I want to thank you all so much for the kind reviews, every single review so far has put the biggest smile on my face! I appreciate it and I hope you all enjoy this. I believe my next one may be about Marianne's attempt at getting our dear Colonel to laugh..hmm. Any ideas on what she might do? ;)
She had never been so sick in her life. Thoughts of the nights she spent shaking in her bed, the bed clothes damp with her sweat from the fever, still horrified her. She did not think she would make it through that time. She thought that, surely, if her body did not fail her completely, her heart would break into pieces and leave her sick for life, yearning for what she could not have. The fever she could bear, but the aching in her heart was so strong, she felt as though someone had stabbed her in the chest. But day by day, she began seeing the light at the end of that tunnel. Her fever finally broke, and although her body was still weak, weaker than it had ever been before, and the doctor had told her that she would most likely have effects from it for the rest of her life, she was out of danger. But, even as she began feeling better physically, her heart still felt just as sick. She had tried talking to Elinor, explaining her feelings, hoping that letting things out in the open to be free would help them fly away. But, as hard as she had tried, the feelings remained. Her mother had tried talking to her as well, even sat with her for hours a day, praying with her that God would grant her peace and healing. What she needed the most, she thought, was an escape from her room! Although the doctor had told her that she no longer risked losing her life, she was still too weak to do much more than sit up in her bed. Moving too much made her body ache and tremble. She was left alone with nothing but her feelings to mull over. Her sisters and mother could not spend the entire day with her, of course. What she needed was freedom, an escape from her heart, her emotions.
That escape had come in the form of a man that she least expected. Colonel Brandon.
When he had first asked her if she would like company on his free days, she had only agreed out of desperation. She felt like if she spent another hour in solitude and quiet, she would go mad. Her head ached too much when she tried to read, and of course, playing the pianoforte was simply out of the question. Even if she could get up and walk to it, the music would make her head pound even more than her beloved books. And she couldn't ask her family to sacrifice even more time for her just because she lived in boredom. But after the first day in his company, she realized that she was looking forward to seeing him the next day. She had never heard him read out loud, but she realized on that first day, she had been missing out on one of the most beautiful voices she had heard. Of course, she had heard him speak before. They'd had countless conversations, all boring and of no consequence, and she now realized that he was simply too afraid to speak of more interesting topics. After all, she had been with Willoughby, and Colonel Brandon was a respectful man, regardless of how he felt in regards of John Willoughby. He would not assume, and attempt to grow closer to Marianne unless he felt his attentions would be desired, or at the very least, not a burden. Marianne wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed how rich his voice was, or how she had not realized what passion he had for literature, just like herself. But more importantly, she finally saw what her eldest sister and mother had seen, what they had tried opening her eyes to. She saw how much he cared for her. Why else would a man like him, highly respected and quite busy, offer a girl like her so many hours in his day? Just to read, and talk? He asked nothing of her, expected nothing. He was content, happy to be with her and offer support, and entertainment. Willoughby, she knew, was never this kind.
She sat up in her bed, back propped up with a mountain of pillows behind her, as Colonel Brandon read on. They had been enjoying sonnets by Shakespeare in the recent days, and just moments ago, after he'd taken his seat, he told her of a new book he had found, full of poems and short stories by a new writer he'd discovered. He had brought home a copy and given it to her, to save for the day when she could read by herself again. To give her something to look forward to. He came to the end of the page, raising his head slightly and showing her his small smile, hardly noticeable, and gone just as quick as it had come. She wanted him to truly smile, she realized. To see his teeth. Had she ever even seen him laugh? She pictured him in her mind, face bright and happy, his head thrown back in laughter, shoulders shaking. The image in her mind made her smile, and wish for a way to make him laugh.
"Miss Marianne?" She felt her cheeks turn pink at this wods, suddenly noticing that he had stopped reading, and had been looking at her with a...what was that expression? There was great fondness there, in his soft brown eyes, but something else. She had seen that look before, never pointed towards her, but she had seen it. She remembered seeing it in her father's eyes, God rest his soul, when he saw her mother. She had even seen it in Edward Ferrars eyes, when he came to their cottage and his eyes found Elinor's. The emotion there, so unrestrained, was enough to make her breath catch. That is love, Marianne Dashwood realized. He loves her? She knew he felt fondness towads her, but she had always thought that his affection was only friendly - he felt sorry for her, pitied her, but surely, that was the end of it. How had she been so blind?
"I'm sorry, Colonel." She apologized, eyes finally meeting his. "I suppose I'm still rather tired." At her explanation, he started to rise from his seat, and she gathered that she had said the wrong thing. "I should take my leave then, allow you to rest." She didn't understand her emotions at all. Months ago, she wouldn't have been effected by his presence at all, let alone been upset that he was leaving. She didn't know why her feelings had suddenly changed, but she did know that she was not quite ready to be away from him, not yet.
"Please, Colonel," She started, sitting up straighter as she mustered up enough strength to lean ever so slightly to grasp his arm lightly. He had been sitting quite close to her bedside, it was easy for her to reach him. She felt a rush of energy, a spark, when she held his arm, and the surprise of it nearly took her breath away. She had never touched him like this, and it felt so very different than how it felt when she was with John Willoughby. It felt right, never improper. She felt safe, knowing he'd never break her heart. "Do not leave just yet, unless you simply must." Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself for her next words. She was unsure, unsure of what she was about to say, but her heart and mind would keep her awake all night unless she was honest with him.
"I must admit, Colonel, I am rather miserable when you are not here. My sisters and my mother, they are wonderful company, of course, but one can only tolerate so much conversation about wedding plans, oh, and of course, bandits. Margaret's imagination is even more tiring than my fever!" She had worried that she would regret her words. She did not tell him she loved him, or give him a sort of flowery speech, or recite a romantic sonnet, but she had admitted more to him concerning her feelings more than ever. She admitted that she missed him when he was gone. It was a start.
He smiled, this time, almost bearing his teeth, but he seemed to hold himself back before too many of his emotions showed. "If you wish, Miss Marianne." He found his seat again, and wordlessly took the book off of the small table he had placed it on, and cleared his throat, ready to begin again. Marianne leaned back in her pillows, her heart at peace in the presence of the Colonel.