Sir John MIddleton could hardly contain his surprise when Colonel Brandon's carriage pulled up in front of Barton Park the night of the ball, but it was tempered greatly when emerged from the carriage the Reverend Mr and Mrs Edward Ferrars. "My dears, my dears," he declared, "Welcome, welcome. And where's your patron? Where's Brandon, eh? Stayed home on a night like this, did he?"

"I am here, John," Brandon intoned, alighting from the carriage behind the Ferrarses.

"The Colonel was good enough to lend us the use of his carriage, Sir John, but we would not think to use it without him," Elinor explained in her usual calmness of manner.

"Brandon, dear Brandon," Sir John exclaimed, "and you will never imagine who's also joined us, but your sisters, Mrs Ferrars."

"We shall go and find them," said Edward, as he ushered his wife into the mansion-house.

"Better go find Miss Dashwood, Brandon, before the other young men swallow up every slot on her dance card."

"You know perfectly well, John, that I do not dance."

"Ah, you're lying," Sir John maintained. "For I've seen you, and quite good at it, too."

"Fifteen years ago," Brandon replied, unmoved, as he handed his coat and hat to the servant. "And more."

"Bah!" Sir John bellowed, practically shoving his friend into the parlour.

"Colonel Brandon!" Margaret called, running up to him. She was dressed in a pretty emerald frock, one he recognized as having belonged to Marianne not too long before. "I thought you said you wouldn't come!"

"Indeed, Miss Margaret, I am as surprised as you."

"Surely you know someone you can introduce me to. A young man or two, Colonel?"

He did pay her the courtesy of looking around the dancing room where they stood, but had to admit that there were very few people there of his acquaintance, and none of an age proper for Miss Margaret. "Oh, well, Colonel. If you should meet anyone new, be sure to come find me."

Brandon assured her that he would and she disappeared into the crowd. He found Marianne seated in a back room chatting with a neighbor and waited patiently for her to acknowledge him, and was surprised when she did so quite quickly. "Good evening, Colonel," she said.

The neighbor excused herself and the Colonel sat down beside her. "Miss Dashwood," he replied. "What has drawn the nun out of her convent this evening?"

She blushed and looked down at her lap. "I'm afraid I cannot say no to my little sister."

"She can be quite persuasive," he agreed. "But you are not dancing, Miss Dashwood."

"No," she said quickly. "I am only here for her."

"Then we are in precisely the same predicament," he replied, and they sat together in silence for several minutes.

As it happened, Elinor and Edward came by to break the reverie. "Will you not dance, Marianne?" Edward asked, surprised.

Elinor sat down beside Marianne, slightly flushed from having finished the cotillion, and fanned herself subtly.

"I think not," said Marianne, flatly.

"Oh, come, Marianne," Elinor urged. "Edward is quite far from exerted."

He took his wife's hint and held out his hand for his sister-in-law. Thus cornered, Marianne could not bring herself to say no, and the two of them were off. Elinor and the Colonel could just see them weaving in and out of their line of sight around the corner into the ballroom.

"I did not know Edward was a dancer," he said.

"Nor I," she replied, smiling. Just as she spoke, Edward seemed to trip or step on a lady's dress, and spent the next moments apologizing while the rest of the party swirled past him. Elinor could only laugh.

"Your sister is quite changed these last months, Mrs. Ferrars."

"Yes," Elinor agreed. "I worry about this melancholy of hers. Will she ever be the same?"

Brandon sighed softly. "I cannot tell you."

Margaret went by with a group of other girls, waving at her sister as she went; Elinor waved back and smiled happily at her companion as the music grew louder with a new dance. Brandon rose.

"May I get you a beverage, Mrs Ferrars?"

"Oh, yes, please, Colonel."

With that, he departed, leaving her to watch the dancers and hope for another glimpse of her family members. She was surprised by how long her sister and husband danced; they returned to her just as Brandon did with the wine.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Elinor remarked to Marianne.

"Tolerably," she replied, though it was clear that she had indeed enjoyed the chance to dance again. It had been many months since she'd been on a dance floor - indeed, the last time, she had humiliated herself quite thoroughly and had thought she'd never go back to it. Marianne was quite surprised that it had hurt her heart so little to do it - but she could say no to Edward no more than she could to Margaret.

Brandon offered her his glass of wine, as he had only brought enough for himself and Elinor, but Marianne declined with a smile.

"Have you seen Margaret? Should I go find her?" she asked her sister.

"She went past a few minutes ago. She's fine, dear."

The musicians shifted to a Corn Rigs tune, and Marianne could not help but turn toward it. Brandon noted that this had once been a favorite of hers; for an instant, a terrible instant, he considered asking her to dance. His face flushed with just the thought of it and he took a sip from his glass.

But where Brandon's wisdom held, Sir John broke through. "Come, Miss Dashwood!" Sir John's voice, seemingly out of nowhere. "Come have a dance with our Colonel!" John appeared out of the crowd, an empty wine glass in hand, gesturing cheerfully at his friend. "He's a fine dancer, Miss Dashwood, I assure you of that - though he'll tell you he's out of practice, you must not believe him. Come, come!"

Marianne looked aghast; Brandon tried only to pretend he was not burning to wrench John aside and demand his immediate silence.

"Sir John -" Elinor began, rising from her chair to defend Marianne, and Brandon too.

Though she glared at her cousin, Marianne said, "Yes, Colonel, I'd be very pleased."

He nearly choked on his wine. Dazed, Brandon offered Marianne his arm and led her to the dancefloor, feeling the eyes of all their acquaintances on his back.

The dance was old and known to him, though he had not lied when he'd said he was too out of practice to make much of an impression, at least not a good one. "Forgive me, Miss Dashwood," he muttered as he passed her under his arm with the first notes.

Marianne had skill enough to make up for his falters. "It's nothing," she said.

They were separated for some moments by a change in partners; she was passed to a gentleman she did not know and felt briefly sorry for the woman who received hers. Brandon was strong and in good condition, but he was too uncomfortable here to bring much pleasure to either one of them.

"To what do I owe this dance?" he finally asked her during the promenade portion..

She managed to shrug. "It is the last thing Sir John expected."

He couldn't help but laugh under his breath.