After a very thorough search of the entire house, Christopher found himself at a loss. It seemed his charming young wife had made it a point to disappear completely, and she had done it well. A dull ache settled inside his chest, tempered with regret over the morning's distressing event and his consequent argument with Marianne. He had reacted badly, he admitted; he had no desire to stifle Marianne and her passionate nature.
It was her unfettered spirit that had drawn him to her in the first place. Hardly suspecting that his life as he knew it was about to change forever, he had arrived at Barton Park some three years ago to the sound of an angel's song. There she had sat at the pianoforte singing with all her heart, a sound of such exquisite purity that the Colonel's heart had leapt painfully within him. How beautiful she had been, wholly unspoiled and blithely unaffected by the world at large.
At first, she had reminded him so very much of Eliza, the woman he had loved so deeply in his youth. He had watched Miss Marianne Dashwood subtly, at least as subtly as possible with the likes of Mrs. Jennings watching him so closely, and had seen in her the same love of life that Eliza had always exhibited. There was nothing beyond her reach, no dream that seemed unattainable.
And yet, he had found as their acquaintance had progressed that she was very different from Eliza, as well. Marianne's heart knew no bounds; Eliza, though he had no doubt that she had cared for him very much, had craved the thrill that love brought rather than the deep, powerful connection that love inevitably brought with it. Love had in many ways been only a novelty for thrill-seeking Eliza. Marianne had never treated the affliction of love with such triviality. To her, love was everything, and her belief had nearly sent her to an early grave after that monster Willoughby had…
Sighing heavily, he willed his troubled thoughts to cease, seeking for some semblance of calm. He was not a man given to extreme temper, but even he had his limits, especially where Marianne was involved. He loved her passionately; there was no denying that his love for her overrode all else. With that love came a natural need to protect her, and he still burned from Willoughby's callous treatment of her some two years before. To have him return quite unbidden into their lives was difficult to contend with.
Unsure where to take himself next, Christopher found himself back in his wife's favorite drawing room, gazing forlornly at her precious Broadwood Grand, only one of many wedding presents he had gifted her. With Marianne still deliberately missing and with little but unhappy thoughts to occupy his mind, he drifted towards the magnificent instrument, seating himself at the bench.
His fingers hesitating over the keys, he soon began a simple, sad sonata, one he had learned many years ago when his father still lived. The haunting melody filled the room and resonated through a good portion of the house, an outward manifestation of the Colonel's current mood, and before long he could hear rapid footsteps approaching the drawing room from the hall beyond.
Instantly rising from the pianoforte, he turned expectantly towards the doors, sure that his Marianne was returning from her temporary exile, only to find the door hastily thrown open by Sir John Middleton. The stout man practically exploded into the room, Harrison fast on his heels and obviously agitated that yet another guest had dispensed with all decorum in his master's house. "Sir John Middleton, sir," he called out with a touch of dejection, bowing stiffly and swiftly making his exit.
"Brandon!" Sir John bellowed, meeting him in the middle of the room and completely ignorant of the momentary disappointment that had flitted across the Colonel's face. "Just heard the news, Brandon, just heard the news. Devil take him! That John Willoughby is a right bastard if you ask me. Trespassing on your land, making eyes at your wife all over again. I tell you, Brandon, had I been anywhere near at the time, I would have sent my dogs after him straightaway, do you hear? Straightaway!"
Christopher should have known that news of the morning's event would reach Sir John sooner rather than later. His old friend had a good deal of bluster in him, but it was oddly comforting to hear him vent his anger over Willoughby's unforgivable breach of conduct. There were too few in the world that could see through Sir John's strange, unaffected behavior to the man beneath. There wasn't a man that Christopher trusted more in this world or the next, and he almost—almost—felt sorry for one John Willoughby if Sir John Middleton ever did cross his path with his dogs in tow, at least if he were in such a fine fury as he was now.
"Aren't you outraged, man?" Sir John demanded, his face turning a patchy shade of red.
"I am livid, John," Christopher confirmed, though he did not raise his voice. Sir John knew him well enough to take him at his word. Colonel Brandon was a man of control, true, but he was also a man of flesh and blood. Sinking heavily into the chair closest by the fireplace, he gestured for Sir John to take the chair beside him.
"I hurried over as soon as I heard," Sir John told him, gripping the armrests of his chair. "I could hardly believe it at first. My poor mother-in-law nearly fainted when she heard the news." Christopher had a hard time believing that Mrs. Jennings was ever in any danger of swooning, especially when there was such a sensational story to be heard, but he held his tongue. "She's with your wife now, come to comfort her, I dare say."
"She's with Marianne?" Christopher instantly sat up in his chair, having half a mind to abandon the drawing room and seek out the ladies immediately.
"She was just coming down the stairs when your man showed us in, likely on her way to see you, I should think. Mrs. Jennings bustled her off to the gardens. Women talk and the like." Nodding slowly, Christopher couldn't help but wonder if Marianne had indeed been on her way to find him. It was a hopeful thought, but a comforting one nonetheless.
Some of his ire cooling off, Sir John took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and settling more comfortably into his chair. "What could Willoughby have been thinking, Brandon? The man's a scoundrel and a fool, but I didn't think he was quite so foolish as this."
"He apparently told Marianne he only wished to apologize to her."
"If he really felt so inclined, a letter would have sufficed, though I hardly think the man has any right at all to communicate with her in any way!"
"I couldn't agree more," Christopher sighed, watching somewhat bemusedly as Sir John made for the sideboard where he knew the brandy to be kept, pouring two liberal glasses and bringing one back to his friend. "Thank you," he murmured, swirling the contents of his glass before taking a sip.
"I am hopeful that Willoughby will not be foolish enough to try to approach her again."
"After becoming acquainted with your right hook? That should be incentive enough to keep him very far away, Brandon," Sir John chuckled appreciatively.
"Heard about that too, did you?" Christopher smiled.
"Oh, yes. The bastard deserved it, too."
Christopher hummed noncommittally, concentrating on nursing his drink rather than the conversation.
"Well, Brandon, I can see you're not much in the mood to talk. Now, now, don't try and apologize. I may be old and a widower, but I understand. You've had a nasty shock today, a nasty shock indeed. I only came over because I want you to know that you and your Marianne have my support, regardless of what happens. I'm not saying Willoughby will be back, mind, but I thought you might like to know that your friends are closer than you think."
"John, I hardly know what to say," Christopher said at length, truly touched by his old friend's gesture. Reaching his free hand across the breach between their chairs, he smiled tiredly as Sir John took his hand and shook it firmly. "You have been a good friend to me these many years, John. Thank you."
"Now, now," Sir John suddenly sputtered, freeing his hand instantly. "No thanks, no thanks! We've had quite enough of this sentimental drivel, I daresay. Now, you told me last night about a capital new gun that's just arrived from that seller in London. I demand you show it to me at once."
Though her feelings for Mrs. Jennings had undergone a good deal of change over the past three years, Marianne was having a rather difficult time putting up with her company at the moment. The woman was well-meaning, of course, but her timing couldn't possibly have been any worse. Squeezed beside her on a little bench that was barely large enough for the two of them, her countenance was somewhat stony as she listened to the woman prattle on and on about scoundrels and knaves.
"One can never be too careful, my dear!" she was saying now, remarking on some outlandish tale of a highwayman her daughter Charlotte had related to her in a recent letter. At least they had finally moved away from talk of Willoughby. Marianne was already horridly tired of hearing of him, even if her unexpected encounter with him was still so fresh.
All she wanted now was to find her husband. She realized she had been somewhat hasty in rushing away from him before, and deliberately hiding from him had been somewhat beneath her. Her outrage over his protective behavior had been very strong, but at length her indignation had abated and an understanding that his love for her was his only driving force had considerably soothed her.
When she had heard his song at the pianoforte from the guest room she had ensconced herself in, she had immediately come undone, weeping into her hands for a short time before firmly deciding that she would seek him out immediately and forget about their silly argument.
Her plans of reconciliation had had to wait, unfortunately, as Sir John and Mrs. Jennings had arrived just in time to see her hastening down the stairs. Left with little choice but to entertain Mrs. Jennings, she had allowed herself to be hauled away to the gardens where her neighbor's sympathetic horror and effusive advice had been duly offered without pretense of any kind.
And so it was that she was very much relieved to see Sir John coming into the gardens from the house with Christopher trailing not far behind him. She could see him hesitate upon the threshold, his eyes instantly alighting on her and holding her gaze for one heart stopping moment.
"Ah, Mrs. Brandon!" Sir John greeted with an effusion of boisterous warmth, offering her a quick bow before collecting his mother-in-law from the bench. "I am happy to see you looking so well, my dear, what with scoundrels roaming about the countryside."
"I have done my best to cheer your wife, Colonel," Mrs. Jennings grandly declared. "I now gladly pass the torch to you. I simply must get home and write to dear Charlotte about the goings on. She will be quite alarmed on your behalf, Marianne, quite alarmed!"
"You are very kind to come to visit me, Mrs. Jennings," Marianne said as warmly as she was able, rising from the bench to bid farewell to their visitors.
"Not at all, my dear, not at all. You can count on me to visit again very soon, of course. In fact, we were quite set on having a card party tomorrow evening, were we not, John?"
"A card party, yes! How could I have forgotten?"
"You will come, won't you?" Mrs. Jennings pleaded, seeking for Marianne's hands and squeezing them tightly.
"Of course, Mrs. Jennings. We should be delighted," Marianne softly agreed, relieved when Mrs. Jennings relinquished her grip upon her hands to link arms with Sir John.
"Excellent, my dear! Excellent! Then we shall see you both then!" With a profusion of quick farewells, Sir John and Mrs. Jennings turned back into the house to see themselves out, leaving Marianne and Christopher alone in the gardens.
They were still separated by several feet of space, regarding one another cautiously for what felt like an eternity. Just when Christopher was sure that the weighty silence would drive him mad, Marianne suddenly burst into action, throwing her arms around him and bursting into tears as she pressed her head against his chest.
He sighed into her hair, unspeakably grateful to have her back in his arms where she belonged. With gentle kisses and soothing words, he soon saw her through her tears, drawing her against his side and leading her to the privacy of a stone bench set amongst immaculately trimmed hedges.
"Oh, these silly tears. I thought I was finished with them. I don't suppose you've come to tell me you're sorry," Marianne whispered, hiding her impish, though subdued, smile against his broad shoulder. "I know that I am."
"You are what, wife?" Christopher asked teasingly, his arm drawn close around her shoulders.
"I'm sorry," she emphasized with a sigh, settling closer beside him.
"As am I, Marianne," he murmured into her ear, drawing her onto his lap and settling his arms about her once more. Their next moment of silence was a far more pleasant one, each of them relieved beyond words to be done with the unpleasant business of finding themselves at odds with one another.
"Mrs. Jennings means so well, I know that she does, but I thought she would drive me mad before long," said Marianne, smiling despite herself.
"We shall simply have to hide ourselves away for the rest of the day, I'm afraid," Christopher replied solemnly, twisting one of Marianne's golden curls around his finger. "Seeing that word of Willoughby's unannounced visit has already spread to our nearest friends and neighbors, it will only be so long before the entire county hears of it. The local gossips will all be delighted to hear of it."
"I should hope not! I can assure you that I am already quite tired of the entire affair. I just wish that we could simply forget about it all and go on as though nothing had happened."
Gently turning her head so that he could look into her eyes, Christopher said, "But it did happen, Marianne. You may think that it is already growing out of proportion, but the fact remains that what Willoughby did…"
"I know, Christopher. I know." She kissed him gently, her fingers lingering at the sides of his face. "I will not make excuses for him. But I don't want to speak of him anymore. I don't even want to think of him. Since I am your wife and have you all to myself, I find that I am very selfish."
"Selfish, madam?"
"Yes, selfish. All that I want for now is to spend the day with my husband, to ignore the world at large and to just…be with you."
"Then I must be selfish as well," Christopher chuckled, brushing the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. "I can imagine nothing I should like more than to keep you all to myself, Miss Marianne."
"Good," she smiled, sliding out of his lap and pulling him to his feet. "Then let's go inside. Perhaps we can find a way to amuse ourselves in the drawing room."
"Not so fast, wife," was low reply. At her questioning look, he continued, "First, I'm going to kiss you quite soundly." He did just that, grinning at his wife's charming laughter before capturing her lips with fervent determination.
"Next," he continued a little breathlessly, "I'm going to take you back inside and see that you have a hearty meal. I missed you very much at breakfast this morning, and it would be remiss of me to let you miss yet another meal." Here she laughed again as he strode along the path, pulling her alongside him as he hurried back to the house. "And after that, Miss Marianne, we shall simply have to see."
"And I thought you had a plan for everything," she grinned as they entered the house. "Surely you can see further ahead than that. Really, I had thought that you were a more capable Colonel."
Laughing at their banter, Christopher rejoined, "Madam, you underestimate me. It is sometimes in a soldier's best interest not to reveal every aspect of his plan, should he indeed have one. As to what awaits you after breakfast, I have already said that you shall have to wait and see."
Perfectly content to follow him, Marianne had no argument. All was well at Delaford again.
AN: You didn't really think they'd be angry at each other for very long, did you? Now is probably a good time to reiterate that this is largely based on the 1995 movie version of Sense and Sensibility. As you can probably tell, I am very fond of the quirky personalities of Sir John and Mrs. Jennings. I hope their antics aren't too dreadful to read about, but I find them very charming characters and see them as warm, if unorthodox, friends of the Colonel and Marianne.
Also, I have been terribly remiss in responding to all your wonderful comments. I don't intend to let that ever happen again. Thank you so very much for your reviews, and I hope you'll keep reviewing! I promise to actually respond now that my life is settling down again. I actually love corresponding with other readers and writers, so please feel free to drop me a line anytime!