Authors Note: I AM BACK, at last! I've been reading some lovely stories here about Marianne and our dear Colonel but I've lacked the inspiration needed to write. Here's hoping that it has returned for good! I'm quite out of practice and therefore very unsure of this, but there will be more and I hope I improve more with time! My plan is to continue this story at least until they are married. Stop back soon because this chapter will have a "part two" up soon if all goes to plan with my pesky plot bunnies, and we'll get into Marianne's head a bit more on why she was feeling such an admiration for the Colonel ;)
Colonel Brandon placed himself into his usual seat in the library of Delaford, blowing a breath out of his mouth unceremoniously as soon as he had landed for what felt like the first time all day. One of his stable hands, his very best one, unfortunately, had fallen ill just the day before and one of his sons, a scrawny boy of ten or so years, had called upon him just after daybreak, relaying the circumstance to one of the Colonel's servants. "He really does want to work! He was gettin' ready just before I left, sir, but Mama 'stracted him while I ran off to tell you not to let 'em! He really shouldn't be workin' right now!" The boy had said, words rushing out of his lips. Colonel Brandon, an early riser, had started his trek down the stairs, already heading to his stables to begin the day, as the boy was speaking, and he excused him-and his father-from work that day, asking them both to rest although his stable hand's son had offered to work as a replacement. He could have helped around the stables, with the animals and what-not, but Brandon knew that he would be far more help for his family at home. The loss of one servant out of many did not seem to be much of a loss to an outsider, but Mr. Brown was an excellent hand and helped keep all operations in line when Brandon could not be here himself, and things seemed to go much smoother with him around. He got plenty of work done in a day, and those jobs ended up falling into the Colonel's lap as he refused to overwork any of his servants. All of them already did plenty enough, and after all, he was plenty capable of doing chores for his household himself, and still fancied himself to be in rather good shape, and obviously still young and limber enough, but with all of the happenings- Elinor and Edward's upcoming wedding and his own engagement being the biggest- he was already losing rest, and the day had taken a toll on him. He glanced down at his apparel, sighing as he caught sight of his muddy boots and breeches, and was just about to ring someone up to draw him a bath in order for him to clean himself up when Mrs. Banes, previously his mother's personal maid but now, one of the people who helped run the house, came rushing into the library. "Sir, I'm so sorry not to knock but you must come quickly!" Her face was enough to concern him, and he jumped up from his seat at the first sign of her worried brow, knees and back protesting at the quick movement after the long day. She had seen quite a lot in her time at Delaford-broken limbs, bruises and blood from him and his brother as they grew up, emergencies with servants, animals and other things-and nothing had fazed her quite like this.
"Mrs. Banes, what on earth-" Before he could finish, she was explaining what she knew. "All I know is it's one of the Dashwood's, sir, I don't know more-" And he was rushing out of the library, running to the stables and saddling a horse, galloping towards the cottage as quickly as he could.
As he rode to the cottage, his mind was racing and his stomach was churning. He thought of Marianne; she had been doing so very well, the doctor giving her a completely clean bill of health not even two weeks ago after Mrs. Dashwood had asked him to come and check on her, always concerned over her middle daughter. She was bright and happy, her skin had returned to a healthy shade, and she had gained most of the weight that her illness had taken from her. She seemed happy, always eager to go for walks or rides with him. He had to work on keeping up with her whims and fancies, and he could not imagine how her health could change so drastically in a day, as he had just seen her the day before. He imagined carriage accidents and other things. She had sprained her ankle once, perhaps she had fallen again? Thankfully, before his mind could go to somewhere much worse and even more terrifying, he had arrived at his destination, and when he saw Marianne Dashwood standing outside of the cottage, he had wanted to cry out in relief. She had her head cradled in her hands, her back slouched over as if she was crying, but when she heard the sound of hoofbeats, she lifted her head and seemed to beam at him in relief past her tears and worry. She was not at ease, but she was fine physically, and she was alive. He dismounted his horse before it had slowed to a stop and left him tied at the gate, rushing to her side. "Marianne? What has happened?" He scanned her face for sign of fever without even noticing it himself, for any sign that she was not truly fine, but found none.
"Oh, Colonel!" And she was suddenly in his arms, her own going around his neck as she stood on her toes, reaching for him as quickly as she could. "Margaret! Sh-she fell, from her treehouse. She was trying to climb down and fell. She-oh, God, she won't wake up!" And he was returning her embrace, not caring for propriety in the slightest. The cottage sat far away from any other houses or towns, any how, and they were not near any prying eyes, nor did he think that it would be an issue given the circumstances. His stomach churned at the thought of something happened to "Captain" Margaret; she was a strong, lively young girl, very similar to his beloved Marianne in many ways, but also a lovely mixture of the two sisters. She was destined for greatness, if only she would not be held back by her gender. He was very fond of her, already feeling more like her brother than just a family friend, and he could hardly imagine her weak or sickly.
"Has the doctor arrived?" He took a quick glance around the roads, concerned over the poor weather. It had stormed for days straight and the roads were horribly muddy. He prayed that it would not postpone the doctor. If Margaret suffered from a concussion, things could take a very bad turn quickly, especially since she still remained unconscious. His mind went back to his days in India, having quite a lot of experience with injuries such as this, but quickly cast his thoughts away. No, we are not in India, and Margaret will not have such a morbid fate to die alone and frightened as many soldiers did so very often.
"He had just walked in when you arrived." Colonel Brandon turned his gaze upon Marianne, still in his arms, her face hidden as she held him closely to her. He placed a gloved hand on her hair, stroking it as a feeble attempt to give any sort of comfort that he could, before gently pushing her head away from his coat to see her face; she was fighting tears, her green eyes glistening with tears that she tried so very hard to fight back.
"Marianne, you have a very strong, very resilient sister." She sniffed, nodding her head in agreement, but still plagued with her doubts. He continued, "It is more than likely a simple concussion, or perhaps she went into shock. She will be fine. I have never seen any stronger of women than the Dashwood's." When her eyes met his, she spotted the ghost of a smile that was so very him, and she felt her heart lighten, if only a bit.
"I do. She is very strong."
Brandon took her arm and slid it though his, beginning the short walk towards the cottage entrance. "You need to go inside. It's far too cold for you to be out of doors for long."
"You worry too much. I'm not going to wither away or contract another fever from chilly weather." He raised a brow, now guiding her into the house with a gentle hand. "I'd rather not take the risk."
"There is hardly any risk at all." She laughed then, surprising him. She, like her youngest sister, was resilient. "Then again, I don't think that there was much of a risk for a woman to nearly die because she liked taking walks in rain, or much of a risk of receiving a possibly life threatening injury because of a tree house."
"It won't threaten her life." They walked through the doorway then, Colonel Brandon allowing her to step into the cottage before him as he slid the door shut silently. He suddenly was at a loss for words; what do you say in situations like this? He remembered how things were when Marianne was so sick, when they were unsure if she would make it through. He hadn't trusted his voice then, knowing for certain that if he talked, his voice would show his emotions far too clearly. If he had lost control, it would have only made matters worse for Marianne's family and friends. He was thankful for the long ride to Mrs. Dashwood although he had been exhausted. It was a chance to grasp at composure.
Marianne took a seat in the parlor and glanced up at him, breaking him out of his thoughts when he looked down and saw her gaze. She smiled weakly before letting out a breath and leaning back further into the seat, still looking at him in an odd way that he could not name. Some odd mixture of worry and what he thought looked quite a bit like...admiration? Although he couldn't quite grasp why she would be feeling such a thing towards him, at least not now when he had done nothing grand to earn it. He was here...but that was his duty, to be here. They were engaged to be married, a couple. This was his duty, husband and wife yet or not.
"Marianne?" He finally broke the silence, taking the empty seat next to the couch that she had sat on and moving it closer. "Is something wrong?" It seemed like a ridiculous question to ask, considering what was going on upstairs. Doctors. Margaret. Injuries. Stress.
"I wonder...what I've ever done to deserve you." His eyes had trailed to his boots but jolted up to meet hers once more, widening with shock. Where had that come from? He knew that she cared for him, obviously. Marianne Dashwood was not the type of woman to agree to marry a man that she cared nothing for. And her excitement and gratitude when he arrived that very evening showed plenty of love. She had told him that she loved him and he believed her, but such admiration? He was used to being talked about, being gloated about by other men in the Army for his actions and so called bravery, used to others telling him that he was a good man, but the compliments had always seemed empty to him. Marianne never said anything that she didn't feel strongly.
"I believe you have things backwards, Miss Marianne." She opened her mouth to speak; to argue, of course, but they began to hear footsteps on the staircase and the doctor, along with Mrs. Dashwood-where Elinor was, he was not sure-made his way to the door. He and Marianne jumped from their seats, his arm going around her back instinctively, waiting for bad news or good news or no news at all, wishing to soften any sort of blow, to shield her from any more pain.
"Mama?" Marianne could barely speak, her heart in her throat.
"She's awake. Awake and bossing us all around." They all gave a sigh of relief, at Mrs. Dashwood's words, the doctor stepping closer to Marianne and the Colonel. "She has a concussion; a mild one, and will have quite the ache in her head, but she will be just fine. She went into shock which caused the fainting spell. Her back will also be quite sore for some time, she seems to have hit it on the way down."
"She-she landed on her back. I saw." Marianne murmured. Brandon held her waist tighter.
"She'll recover, Marianne." He muttered this quietly towards her ear, releasing her at last although he wished that it was not a necessity. He had perhaps overstepped near the doctor and her mother, but he found that he cared very little. "She will."