AN: Please don't kill the author. Words cannot begin to express how sorry I am for taking over a year--a year--to update. I never knew that writer's block could last so very long. While I'm still not completely satisfied with this chapter, I felt it was more important to keep the story going than to wait for perfection to come. I am going to try to update this story as regularly as possible, though with the way my semester is going I can't make any promises. Thank you for all of your encouraging reviews and please let me know what you think! I am always open to comments, suggestions, etc. Happy reading!
Marianne was rarely speechless. She almost always had something to say, some opinion or comment to add to a conversation, even a greeting or a farewell when the occasion called for it. Now, however, with a cool breeze blowing and the tall grass gently folding around her, she stood completely still, utterly dumbfounded. John Willoughby strode toward her, smiling pleasantly, as though he were merely a friendly neighbor come over for an impromptu visit. Outrage was bubbling up within her, overcoming the initial surprise of his most unexpected appearance.
How dare he? How could he possibly imagine himself welcome anywhere near her or her beloved Delaford? He, who had stolen her heart and then coldly returned it to bleed within her for the sake of fortune and a life of ease, was not welcome in her company anymore, no matter what feelings she had once harbored for him. They were gone, overpowered and overwhelmed by the all encompassing love she had found for her Christopher.
"You shouldn't be here." At last she found her voice. Her words were passionate and adamant, reflecting that fiery spirit Willoughby had once claimed to cherish. "I suggest you leave at once. My husband will not take kindly to you trespassing on his land." She was careful to emphasize the word 'husband,' pointedly reminding him that she was, quite happily, a married woman now.
But Willoughby had never been one for rules and decorum. In fact, he seemed to hear very little of the obvious warning in Marianne's words. As he had been a hundred times before, he was helplessly taken in by her beauty, fascinated by the way the sunlight set her golden hair aflame and by the delicate blush of her fair skin. "Marianne," he breathed, his smile brightening. "I would never have thought it possible, but you have only grown more beautiful with the passing time. I am, as ever, enchanted."
"Yes, I'm sure that you are," she replied scathingly, clenching her hands at her side. "Did you not hear a word that I said? I have asked you to leave, but now I am telling you. Leave, Willoughby. I don't want you here."
He had the audacity to look confused. Marianne took in his wounded countenance in a glance, all too aware of the face that had once seemed so handsome to her. His hair was as dark and rakish and unruly as she remembered it, his dark eyes smoldering with knowledge and passion, and his lips, turned now into a frown, were as expressive as ever. It was strange, though—he was certainly a handsome man, but not to her, not any longer. No doubt he could still catch the eye of many a female, but to this particular female he was no longer eye-catching at all. He was a vision of her past and nothing more.
It was becoming clear that he would not be the first to leave. Either he was too dimwitted to hear a word she was saying, she thought angrily, or he was determined to rile her further. Straightening her back and raising her chin into the air, she marched determinedly past him, moving at a clipped pace with every intention of returning to her home and her husband.
Marianne was fast, but Willoughby was faster. Finally pulling free from his temporary stupor, he rushed after her, planting himself squarely in front of her path. "Marianne," he begged, desperation evident in his voice, "please hear me out. I have come not just to see you, but to apologize to you. All that I ask is for a moment to do so."
Left with little choice, she drew to a halt, folding her arms impatiently and tapping a foot on the rumpled grass beneath her. "Well?" she demanded hotly, offering him this one chance to say what he had to say so she could finally quit his presence with all the righteous indignation she desired and a clean conscience to accompany it.
He faltered momentarily, running a hand raggedly through his hair. "I hurt you," he finally began, stating the obvious in a way that Marianne had little patience for. She fought the urge to roll her eyes in a most unladylike fashion, waiting for him to finish.
"I hurt you, and for that I can never, ever expect to find forgiveness. I was…careless of your feelings, of my feelings, careless of all feeling, you could say. Think what you will of me, dear Marianne"—she glared sternly—"Very well, dear Mrs. Brandon, then. Think what you will of me, but do not think for one moment that I did not love you. I did, in fact, love you to the depths of my being, and as long as I live, I shall never love any other as I have loved you."
In the silence that followed his passionate apology, though it was really a declaration rather than an apology, Marianne realized her mistake. She shouldn't have given him the opportunity to speak so frankly to her, even if he had proclaimed his intention was only to apologize. He would expect some sort of a response from her now, and while she still burned with anger at his total lack of judgment by choosing to confront her in this manner, she was somewhat reluctant to deliver the final blow that would send him on his way. She was not a cruel woman, though at times her rash behavior could make it appear so.
"Mr. Willoughby," she began, finding it difficult to look him in the eye. "I…thank you for your apology. Let me assure you that I have moved on from our brief…courtship, and am now quite happy in the course my life has taken. I wish you luck in all your endeavors, and, of course, extend that same wish for happiness to your wife, Mrs. Willoughby."
There. That would have to do. Freed of any sense of obligation now, Marianne was determined to flee from his presence at once and to seek out the comfort she knew Christopher could provide her. He would know how to help her calm her temper, though she feared greatly his reaction once he learned that Willoughby had been on his property and confronting his wife.
She was held back, however, when Willoughby reached out to grasp her arm, his touch gentle but insistent. Her blue eyes were positively glacial now; she bestowed upon him such a furious glare that it could have halted Napoleon himself in his tracks, but Willoughby seemed oblivious. There was a deadly calm in his eyes, a determination that was becoming increasingly alarming to her.
"There is no Mrs. Willoughby." That couldn't possibly be correct. What sort of lies was he spinning now? "She left me, Marianne. She left me when she realized that I was still in love with you."
Why, why was he telling her this? Did he think she would simply throw her arms around his neck and cry out for joy? Did he truly believe he would be welcomed back into her heart, as though the past two years had never happened at all?
She swallowed loudly, jerking free from his grasp. "There may no longer be a Mrs. Willoughby, sir, but I am still Mrs. Brandon. There is nothing that can change that." In the distance Marianne thought she heard the approach of thundering horses, but the fury that roared in her ears took precedence over any other sound. Again she turned to leave him, and once again she was physically stopped when Willoughby reached out to her. He took her by her shoulders, whirling her to face him. His lips were swooping down on hers before she could register his intentions.
He kissed her, briefly, before she had presence of mind to push him away, but the damage was done. For no sooner had his lips touched hers than Colonel Brandon and his horse crested a nearby hill, a handful of mounted footmen not far behind him.
Nothing, nothing could have prepared him for what he beheld. His Marianne, preyed upon, touched, kissed by that bastard Willoughby, and on his own land! It was fortunate he had not thought to bring a pistol along with him. As his fears were so terribly confirmed before his very eyes, there was little holding back the pure possessive rage that filled him.
Willoughby caught sight of him, holding his ground as Marianne ran to her husband. Colonel Brandon rapidly dismounted, racing to meet her and gathering her tightly into his arms. He embraced her fiercely, feeling some of his fear melt away. She was, after all, unharmed. He kissed her swiftly on top of her golden hair, all too aware of the angry and humiliated tears flowing from her eyes. No explanation was needed. He knew precisely what had happened, and by God, he was going to see matters set to right.
Handing her to young McTavish, he moved with powerful steps to approach Willoughby. The younger man faced the Colonel bravely, a characteristic smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. "What, Brandon?" he taunted, apparently unaware of the very real danger he was in from Christopher's searing wrath. "Are you going to call the guard on me? Going to rally your troops and lead the attack? It was only a kiss, old man, one given to accompany the apology I--"
Colonel Brandon's fist met Willoughby's jaw, thrown with enough force to send the dark haired man reeling backwards before tumbling to the ground. Marianne gasped from where she stood, held securely in the arms of wise McTavish, who knew that, given the chance, she would have rushed to her husband's side in a heartbeat. Willoughby stared up at Colonel Brandon in awe, rubbing his chin and feeling the warmth of blood on his fingertips from his split lip.
"You are a scoundrel, John Willoughby," Colonel Brandon declared darkly from where he stood. "You are a seducer of innocents, a spoilt, insolent little whelp who doesn't know the beginning of the respect due to women, especially one as lovely and unequaled as my wife."
Willoughby was openly glaring now, unmoving as Colonel Brandon continued. "Now, heed this warning: Do not ever approach my wife again. If you so much as think about her within five miles of us, I shall see to it that you regret your decision for the rest of your life." Finished with him, the Colonel turned on his heels and returned to his Marianne, taking her back into his arms and guiding her gently to his horse.
"McTavish, see that this man is escorted off my lands. Inform the staff that if he is ever seen anywhere near or within Delaford, he is to be removed with all due haste and taken immediately to the local magistrate." The footman nodded briskly, signaling to two of his fellows to help him in following out their employer's orders.
Colonel Brandon saw to it that Marianne was not made to watch the removal of the trespasser, assisting her into the saddle and swinging up behind her, drawing a protective arm around her and grasping the reins with his free hand. They immediately rode for Delaford House, silence encompassing them.
For Marianne, the silence was as comforting and reassuring as Christopher's arms around her. She could feel the tension in him, how his jaw clenched so tightly and how rigidly he sat behind her. He was fighting valiantly to control his ire, wanting to spare his wife any more unpleasantness over the entire matter. Normally she would have abhorred being treated so delicately, like one of the many simpering females she knew who lived and breathed to be pampered and coddled. In this moment, however, she was entirely grateful for his thoughtful care and his quiet strength.
"You are my knight in shining armor." She broke the silence at last, just as their home came into view. "I didn't know he would be there. I didn't--"
Christopher tightened his arm around her, bending his head to kiss the corner of her mouth. "I know," he assured her, his voice deep and tired. "I know you, Marianne. You are not the kind of woman who rushes off for a secret rendezvous under her husband's very nose. I trust you completely." He felt her release a nervous breath and relax further into his arms.
"However, I also know Willoughby," he continued, a dark tone threading his voice. "He is exactly the sort of man to force himself on a married woman, even one he scorned and left with a broken heart!"
"A heart that you so graciously mended," Marianne reminded him quietly.
They had arrived at the house, met by Harrison and a footman who led the horse back to the stables as Colonel and Mrs. Brandon went inside, hand in hand. Christopher informed Harrison that he would meet with him shortly to discuss the morning's event, then ushered Marianne into the drawing room. Shutting the doors firmly behind them, he saw that she was settled onto a couch before abruptly striding away from her and over to the fireplace.
His hands gripped the mantel, his head inclined as he struggled to collect his thoughts. The outrage was still there, still eating away at him as he thought of all that could have happened between his wife of six months and Willoughby had he not arrived in time to put an end to it. To think of his wife's rosebud mouth being poisoned with an unwanted kiss by that scoundrel was enough to drive him mad.
Marianne's gentle hand on his shoulder reminded him that she was still in the room, and he turned to find her standing beside him with deep concern shining in her beautiful eyes. Without a second thought he gathered her tightly against him, kissing her deeply and passionately to wipe away any trace of Willoughby's unworthy kiss. She returned his passion, wanting the very same thing as he did; to replace something vile and abhorrent with something she treasured above all else.
He forced himself to stop, though he kept her wrapped in his embrace. "Marianne, I was so frightened," he confessed huskily, his hand gently guiding her golden head to rest against his chest. "Harrison told me that a man had been seen on the grounds and I knew, somehow I knew it was him. The thoughts that filled my mind then..."
"I wasn't frightened." Her voice was muffled against his chest, so she leaned her head back and repeated herself. "I wasn't frightened. I was angry and bewildered, but all along I knew that you were nearby. It was enough to chase away any fears that might have seized upon me." Rising onto her toes, she placed a quick kiss on his lips, throwing her arms around his neck. "How could I ever long for the kiss of another when I have all of your wonderful kisses to look forward to?"
Christopher was feeling some of his good humor return. "What, you don't think that a younger man's kiss might be more suitable for an angel such as yourself?"
"Don't be foolish," she chided him, and kissed him again, much more thoroughly this time, to prove her point. "There now." She struggled to bring her breathing under control, grinning up at him. "Do you really think that any other man, regardless of his age, could do so much justice to a kiss?"
"You flatter me," he laughed, impulsively scooping her up into her arms and smiling as her surprised laughter filled the room. Their conversation was far from over, as they were both well aware, but more pressing matters were suddenly appealing to them, such as their marvelous plan to welcome into the world more Brandon's as soon as possible.
Their plans would have to wait. They found this out shortly after Christopher strode to the door, only to find it opening apparently of its own volition. There stood Harrison, looking mortified that he had intruded on what was obviously an intimate moment. And to add to the entire scene, standing behind him and looking on with large eyes was Edward and Elinor, exchanging a glance with one another as Christopher hastily set Marianne down.
"Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir," the flummoxed butler hastily apologized, at a complete loss as to how to proceed. "Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ferrars, sir. I had thought to show them into the drawing room, but now I see that…" He swallowed convulsively, looking for all the world like he had just betrayed his king and country. Marianne was struggling to contain her laughter, her lips twitching irreverently.
Surprisingly, she was not the first to break into laughter. Of all the likely candidates, it was Edward who failed to stifle a chuckle, and soon all but Harrison had joined him. Muttering his excuses, Harrison took leave of them, looking bewildered and slightly nonplussed as he hurried to another wing of the house entirely.
"Come inside," Marianne bid them, rushing to Elinor's side and taking her by the arm. "Poor Harrison! I've never seen a man more mortified!"
"Poor Harrison indeed," Christopher laughed, his only regret that he had to release Marianne from his arms. He joined Edward on the couch, adjacent to the loveseat the ladies were seated upon. His eyes never left the glowing countenance of his wife, even as Edward began to explain their visit.
"We understood there was some sort of…altercation."
"Yes," Elinor added, "We could see a mounted brigade of footmen ride off in the distance, and a passing gardener told us there was some sort of a trespasser. Is this true, Marianne?"
Marianne shared a glance with Christopher, wordlessly wondering if they should explain it fully to them. It wasn't that they wished to be dishonest, but in Elinor's present condition, Marianne was ever careful not to upset her. Still, it would be impossible to keep the truth of the matter from reaching her sister's ears, and when Marianne really thought about it, it would take more than startling news to upset her calm sister.
"It was Willoughby," she admitted.
"Willoughby?" Elinor was aghast. "Surely not. Why would Willoughby…" She needed only to think about upon it a moment more to understand what might have happened.
"He happened upon me while I was taking a walk, and told me he wanted to apologize."
"Happened upon you indeed," Christopher growled, feeling his anger return to him. "Waited to find you alone, more like it."
"And you sent him on his way?" Edward asked, looking to the Colonel for the answer.
"Oh, yes. Quite."
"He hit him," Marianne revealed.
"No!" Edward and Elinor exclaimed in unison.
"Well, he did deserve it. He tried to kiss me."
"Tried?" the Colonel exploded.
"Marianne!" Elinor gasped. "Why would Willoughby do such a thing? He was always passionate, to be sure, but I can't imagine him--"
"He told…he told me his wife had left him." Silence followed Marianne's words. Christopher looked absolutely livid. The color had drained away from his face, a slight tick barely noticeable in his clenched jaw as he rose from the couch and moved to stand before the fireplace. Both of the former Dashwood women watched him worriedly, while Edward tapped his fingers against his temple, also worried for his sister-in-law. There could be no mistaking the point of the man's visit when that fact was made light.
"Why didn't you tell me that?" Christopher demanded quietly, as though only he and Marianne were in the room.
"I was going to, of course, but it didn't come up."
"Do you have any idea what this means? This tells me he has designs far more serious than we thought."
"Oh, really, Christopher. Willoughby is foolish, but he's not dangerous. My virtue is not being threatened, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't make allusions that it was."
"But how do you know that? How can you be certain that's not exactly what is at stake here? Don't forget my young ward, Marianne. When a man like Willoughby decides to go after something, there is very little that will stand in his way."
"Marianne," Elinor calmly interrupted, "it is perhaps best for us to assume the worst. I do not mean to frighten you, dearest, but the Colonel is right. Think about how he has treated you, how he has treated us all in the past. I would prefer not to think the worst in people, but his behavior today was really quite serious. A married man simply does not seek out a married woman like that."
"But that does not necessarily mean that I am in any danger, Elinor!" Marianne argued, exasperated with both her sister and her husband.
"Nevertheless, you must stay strictly to the gardens now, Marianne," the Colonel intoned solemnly.
Marianne was immediately on her feet. "You cannot be serious, Christopher!"
"Indeed I am, madam," was his only response.
"Willoughby would never be so foolish to try to approach me again! You know how I love to walk. Next I suppose you'll tell me that I am to stay strictly to my rooms in case he should decide to break into our home, as well?"
Edward and Elinor shared a nervous glance, well aware of the marital discord that was swiftly escalating. Though their natures were almost perfectly temperate in every way, they, too, had had their fair share of disagreements in their two years of marriage. Elinor had often wondered when Marianne and the Colonel would experience their first true argument. It was truly unfortunate that it should come occur over such a disturbing event.
"You cannot coddle me, Christopher!" Marianne asserted at her husband's determined look.
"I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe," he quietly informed her, his calm tone of voice only emphasizing how serious he was on the matter. "So long as John Willoughby resides in this county, we cannot take any chances. I should have known better than to have believed our troubles with him to be at an end."
Fighting tears of anger and frustration, Marianne stormed out of the room without another word. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Christopher was lost in his thoughts for some time. "I am sorry you had to see this," he sighed at length, running his hand over the mantle absentmindedly. "Marianne is both beautiful and charming, and she is of course very, very intelligent. But I fear that she is still very naïve. Despite Willoughby's despicable treatment of her, she still does not understand that some men are the worst sort of villains."
"But perhaps we are overreacting," Elinor said. "Willoughby may have hurt her with his cruelty, but he has never truly harmed her. I believe we are right to be cautious, but perhaps it is not necessary to…well, coddle her, as she said."
"Perhaps," Colonel Brandon allowed.
Edward, too, had been lost in thought since Marianne's departure. Leaving the couch to cautiously approach his brother-in-law, he paused to smile reassuringly at his wife. "I will be sure to keep an eye on things from my parish," he assured Christopher, standing beside him. "I will ask my parishioners to keep an eye out as well. Discreetly, of course."
Christopher nodded slowly, turning away to face his wife's beloved pianoforte. "Perhaps you should speak with Marianne," Elinor suggested, sending a wordless look to her husband.
"Yes, that might be for the best," Edward concurred as he collected his wife from the loveseat. "We shall make ourselves scare for the time being."
Nodding slowly, Christopher smiled weakly as the pair bid him farewell and left. Taking one final moment to collect himself, he too left the drawing room, determined to seek out wife and try to set things to right.