They neither saw nor heard anything else of Willoughby in the fortnight that followed, but that did little to ease the lingering tension still felt by the Colonel despite the blessed lack of sightings. It was a miracle in and of itself that word of Willoughby's trespass onto Brandon property had not found its way throughout the neighborhood.
As in any little hamlet or quiet village throughout the whole of England, gossip traveled the county on swift wings and was bandied about with near vicious glee. Marianne was now considered quite the respectable woman, having married well despite her reduced circumstances. But gently bred or no, there were those who had thought that Miss Marianne Dashwood was far too wild and willful to ever really marry respectably.
Imagine their surprise, then, when she had managed to catch one of the wealthiest, most eligible bachelors in the county. Though most of their genteel neighbors were benign enough to welcome Marianne warmly into their intimate country circle, there were those pettier individuals who had done so only because they had little choice in the matter. Were word ever to reach them that Marianne had been alone in the company of a man some believed to be her former lover—never mind that it had been under duress, and that he had no more been her lover than Sir John had—those matronly sharks would react as sharks always did when they smelled blood in the water.
Christopher would be perfectly willing to wash his hands of all those so-called gentle men and women who would dare look down on his Marianne, but he was grateful all the same that it would not be necessary. Evidently his household servants could be trusted to only gossip to the household servants of the Brandons' most intimate friends and family, for word of Willoughby's visit appeared to have reached Sir John and the Ferrarses only and no further.
Yet it was not enough. They may not have seen Willoughby again, but Christopher could not fully rid himself of the sneaking suspicion that the man would not give up so easily. He confided as much to Sir John one morning as the pair walked along a pretty, winding lane at the far edge of Delaford Park, returning from an unproductive but no less satisfying day of shooting.
"It's the soldier in you," John replied musingly, an uptick of humor in his voice. "Always assuming there's trouble ahead, expecting an attack at any moment. It's in your blood now, if not in your nature, to expect the worst. Next you'll be devising the most sensible of defense schemes, then plans of attack should your worst fears come true."
Christopher chuckled good-naturedly enough, but he wasn't particularly soothed by his old friend's words. "It's the soldier in me that knows when to trust his instincts, you old fool," he said with the slightest smirk. "And my instincts tell me that Willoughby is not finished with his grand gestures just yet. What sort of a blackguard would dare accost another man's wife, particularly when he already has the worst sort of history with said man?"
His thoughts turned bleak as he thought of Eliza, his young ward who even now lived quietly and alone far from society, raising the child that Willoughby himself had fathered. No good could come when a man like John Willoughby lavished his attention on any one woman. It had left Christopher's ward a young mother with little to no hope of ever re-entering polite society, and it had nearly driven Marianne to disaster in heartbroken despair.
And, lest anyone could forget the poor heiress who had unwittingly married the rogue, Willoughby's actions had now apparently pushed the woman to seek a separation or even divorce, something which only the most desperate of women ever pursued. How could Christopher expect anything except the very worst where Willoughby was involved?
Although given her full freedom, after Willoughby's unexpected appearance, Marianne had resumed her daily walks with an unusual amount of caution. Rather than ambling about the countryside beyond the woods as she was usually wont to do, she now elected to limit her ramblings to the hills and lanes between Delaford Park and Delaford Cottage, Elinor's home. It was a relatively short walk, but a pleasant one all the same; and if the landscape on this particular route lacked the gentle wildness Marianne could not help but prefer, at least the destination itself was always worthwhile.
"And here you are again," Elinor said warmly on the fifth such day Marianne arrived at the modest but no less lovely parsonage within the span of a single week. "You're timing is perfect, dearest, as Cook has just made those scones you love. I should hate to disappoint her when I fail to eat any of them myself."
Marianne smiled as she removed her bonnet. "I am more than happy to assist," she informed her sister cheekily. Since the time some two years past when the Dashwood family had been obliged to give up precious commodities such as sugar, Marianne had developed a vigorous appreciation for any and all sweets. Sweetness was all the more lovely when one realized that it was not always readily available.
As the sisters settled into the cottage's cozy parlor, Marianne wasted no time in laying her hands upon the scones in question. "You're still having peculiar cravings, then," she said around a rather unladylike bite of the sweet and buttery little cake. "I can only imagine it's that little Ferrars of yours that has you turning your nose up at scones. You never did before."
Elinor smiled wryly, pouring tea for the two of them. "You've cream on your mouth, Marianne," she noted quietly, her smile turning somewhat crooked as Marianne brushed the clotted cream from the corner of her lips, then happily lick her finger clean. It was hardly ladylike behavior, but then, who cared for strict rules and unfailing decorum when it was just the two of them?
"Heavenly," Marianne sighed, already reaching for another scone. Holding it before her between her finger and thumb, she quietly but rapturously informed the scone, "Thou mak'st me merry, and I am full of pleasure. Let us therefore be jocund."
"Marianne," Elinor drawled with a smile, "are you quoting Shakespeare to that scone?"
"Poorly," Marianne confirmed before taking a very hearty—and once again very unladylike—bite.
Elinor laughed quietly for a moment. After a short period of companionable silence, she then observed, "You know, you've been taking to those scones as enthusiastically as I have been avoiding them." Her look was speculative as she set her teacup down. "Have you considered that you might be a mother soon, yourself?"
That thought certainly gave Marianne pause. Taking longer than strictly necessary to finish chewing her latest bite, she felt her cheeks grow inexplicably hot. She'd never felt embarrassed or shy in addressing potential childbirth and motherhood with her sister before; but then, their discussions had always centered around Elinor's impending happy event, never Marianne's.
"I think it is much too soon for that," Marianne said at last, reaching for her teacup and most decidedly not for another scone. "Christopher and I have spoken of children, of course. We've both decided that we very much want to try our hands at parenthood. I suppose you and Edward have been good influences upon us."
With raised eyebrows, Elinor laced her fingers together atop her rounded belly. "How lovely, Marianne. Though…I'm sorry, but I must say that I am surprised. Children are an expected outcome of marriage, after all. Surely you have been...trying…since your marriage, dearest?"
Oh, dear. Marianne felt herself blushing once again. This couldn't be too indelicate a subject to discuss with one's own sister, especially in such perfectly euphemistic terms, could it? Why, then, was she feeling so particularly mortified?
"Well, yes," Marianne said with a nod, busying herself with adding more milk than she actually liked to her tea. "Only, we have made a concerted effort to…try…well, to try harder, I suppose."
It was too much. With a delicate cough, Elinor tried but failed to hide what was most assuredly an amused grin behind the rim of her teacup. Seeing this, and already feeling keenly the absurdity of their conversation, Marianne could not help but laugh. "We sound like a pair of old maids, Elinor!" she exclaimed. "As though we've no idea what we're talking about. Oh, how awkward we are being."
"Well, much of the necessary steps leading to the blessed event of bearing children is awkward, really," Elinor remarked, her grin having faded to a knowing smile. "But I digress. Have you felt at all different in the last few days or weeks, Marianne? Has your stomach been upset, for instance? Or have you been tired at all?"
"No and no," Marianne was quick to answer.
"And have your courses—"
"Elinor, no!" Marianne burst out, her mortification well and truly complete now. "I am not discussing that with you over tea and scones, for heaven's sake!"
Her elder sister tilted her head curiously. "Good gracious, my dear. You've never been embarrassed to talk about anything in your life. If anything, it should be I censuring you, and not the other way 'round."
Marianne felt compelled to agree. She'd never understood how prudish and sensitive most ladies of their acquaintance usually were. What was it that made this topic of conversation so disagreeable, then?
"Perhaps…ah." A moment of clarity found Marianne. "Elinor, I'm not embarrassed, not exactly. I just..." How to put it into words? "I suppose I'm afraid."
That certainly caught Elinor's attention. "Afraid, dearest? Of what?"
Marianne drew in a steadying breath. "Of failure, I suppose," she said quietly, and knew immediately that it was the truth. How had she not realized it sooner? "It's just that, now that Christopher and I have realized together how dearly we should love to have children, I cannot help but fear that I will be one of those luckless, unfortunate women unable to have a healthy child."
"Oh, Marianne," Elinor said sympathetically, and moved immediately to sit beside her sister. With her sister's hand rubbing soothing circles on her back, Marianne found it both easier and more difficult to say more.
"Do you remember Mrs. Kent, mother's friend?"
"A little," Elinor nodded. "I remember our mother's grief at her death, certainly."
"You can't have forgotten the circumstances of her death. Mamma spoke often of how dearly Mrs. Kent longed to be a mother, and how Mr. Kent was beginning to grow impatient. And then at last, when she finally had her dearest wish, Mrs. Kent and her baby both died."
Taking Marianne's hands in her own, Elinor waited until her sister was looking at her. "You have forgotten some of the details, dearest. Mrs. Kent was a good deal older than you are now. She was a good deal older than our own mother, as I recall. And her health had never been very good. Don't you recall how she never stayed very long at Mamma's card parties, always suffering from some head cold or another?"
"I had forgotten that," Marianne confessed. Before, Marianne had pictured Mrs. Kent as a delicate but lovely woman, of an age with her mother, or so she as little more than a child had supposed. At Elinor's reminder, however, Marianne began to recall that Mrs. Kent had not been delicate so much as she had been fragile, even frail.
"But still I worry, Elinor. I know it is foolish, for it is all beyond our control, but I do worry. I almost don't dare hope that I might be with child now, so soon after Christopher and I turned our hearts and minds toward the subject. It would be too cruel if I got my hopes up, only to discover I was wrong."
Elinor nodded in understanding and patted Marianne's hand. "You are one of the bravest women I have ever known, Marianne," she said earnestly. "The finer details as well as the risks of bearing children might intimidate you now, but you must believe me when I say that it will almost all become bearable, even joyful, when your turn comes, as surely it will."
"Almost all?" Marianne said sweetly, though her smile was somewhat wicked.
Elinor came very close to rolling her eyes. "I've never lied to you before, Marianne, and I'm not about to start now," she replied wryly. "Oh! What excellent timing. Place your hands here, Marianne, and you will feel your little niece or nephew agreeing with me."
With Elinor's hands guiding her, Marianne pressed her own to Elinor's firm, rounded belly, waiting expectantly. She did not have to wait for very long. What she expected would be a fluttering of movement was in fact manifested as a rather strong knock beneath her fingertips, and she was instantly and utterly delighted.
"Oh, Elinor! He is so much stronger than the last time I felt him!"
Elinor raised her eyebrows at that. "So you've decided it is a boy, have you? And how have you divined that?"
"An aunt's innate intuition," Marianne instantly and smartly responded. "It's too lovely, Elinor. You're going to be the most wonderful mother."
"And so are you," Elinor was quick to remind her.
"I will try," Marianne agreed, her eyes sparkling with the fresh appearance of tears. "Oh, Elinor, I will try so very hard."
"I know you will, dearest. We both will. No more fearing what you cannot control, hmm?"
"No more fear," Marianne nodded, and she felt for the moment her hope eclipse all her concerns. "No more fear."
Notes:
Words can't express how sorry I am to have disappeared for years. When I first discovered the world of fanfiction, I remember wondering how authors could just disappear in the middle of a fic I loved. It was so disappointing, and I couldn't understand how they could just up and walk away from their readers.
I'm sorry to say that I understand it a little better now. Authors don't walk away so much as life sort of cuts in. In the years since I last updated, I graduated from college, went to graduate school, and then moved across the country for a new job. It took me a good two years to settle into my work and feel like everything was stable again, but I never really forgot about all the fanfics I'd started and never finished.
The hardest part about returning is that I'm sure my writing style has changed over the years. I hope it's not too jarring, or so different that it turns some of my past readers away. I've also toyed with the idea of editing the previous chapters, but I think I'm going to leave them as they are for now.
Thank you for not giving up on me, and thank you so much for all of the lovely reviews that still pop up every now and then! I've been so bad about responding to them, but I want you to know that every last one of them have brought a huge smile to my face, and have bolstered my courage to take up this little writing project again.
Next chapter to come as soon as I can! I know better than to make promises, but it is coming. Really :)