Chapter 5: "Crash Into Me," by Dave Matthews Band
Brandon tried to make his way casually towards breakfast, passing Bess, who looked at him a bit too knowingly as she walked towards Marianne's room, on the landing. He noticed that his servants had already cleared nearly everything from the night before. It looked as if his house was still in one piece, thankfully. He would have to give everyone a nice bonus before he left for honeymoon, as well as an additional day off once he and Marianne were back at Delaford for good.
As he entered the dining room, he became aware of the smell of bacon, as well as the fact that a conversation was being hushed up as he walked in and everyone turned to look at him. He kept his face neutral. "Good morning, Mrs. Dashwood. Sir John. Lady Middleton. Mrs. Jennings." He daintily took his place at the head of the table and scooped up some mushrooms onto his plate, took a sip of the tea that the footman behind his shoulder had poured, and kept his face trained on the broadsheet that had been placed by his knife.
The silence continued. Brandon waited it out. "I trust you are well this morning, Colonel?" asked Mrs. Dashwood.
"Quite well, ma'am. You?"
"Oh, yes. Very."
Mrs. Jennings chimed in: "And how is married life treating you thus far?"
He gave her a tight-lipped smile. "I cannot complain."
She raised her eyebrows and went back to her bacon. Finally after a few more minutes of interminable smalltalk, Margaret popped in, looking a bit the worse for wear-her hair barely done up and dark circles under her eyes. She slid into the empty seat next to Brandon. The footman filled up her cup with hot tea and she scarfed it all down in one scalding gulp, and gestured for more. "How is my sister?" she whispered to him through vocal cords that had been through a war.
"I'd say she's doing considerably better than you. How much of my scotch did you imbibe last evening?"
"Enough that I forgot how much."
"Captain Margaret." She looked up at him, miserable. "Eat some toast." She did. Slowly. It seemed to help a little, and she un-wilted bit by bit until she was able to participate in the conversation.
"Where is your lovely wife this morning, Colonel?" John asked.
"I do not know. I believed her to be dressing in her chamber when I myself came down to breakfast."
John raised an eyebrow. Brandon ate some toast himself. He read his paper.
"Bad business in America, looks like, doesn't it?"
"Hmm, yes, I suppose."
"Now they're having problems with France. This Adams chap has his hands full. Wonder when they'll come crawling back to us for help."
Brandon silently thanked John for the tendency he had of making an awkward moment less awkward through his gift for conversation. (Sometimes he made awkward moments more awkward, too, but Brandon would take what he could get today.) "Not sure about that, John. They seem to have things more or less figured out, or will eventually, anyway."
"Ooh, let me see! What's happening?" asked Margaret, tugging at Brandon's broadsheet. "I long to go to America!"
The three of them chatted about current events for a while, while the women at the other end of the table discussed the events of yesterday. Brandon, though he had just seen her, longed desperately for his wife to join them. His wife! He felt a rush of awareness and memory hit his belly. Sitting here with his friends, he felt surprised that the world had simply gone on turning for them. For him, it felt as if he were at once participating in the cheerful breakfast, and floating somewhere above the surface looking down. Everything had changed.
Marianne herself was being laced into her stays in front of her mirror, gazing at the reflection of the woman she saw there. She didn't look any different, not really, but she felt...as if a new world had opened up for her. Oh, God, how transformed she felt!
She had been very quiet for some time, only murmuring requests politely to Bess, who gently asked, "Are you feeling alright, ma'am? Are you… are you in any pain?"
Marianne turned in the other woman's direction and smiled, blushing and looking down. "No. I am… lost in thought."
"Ah." Bess nodded, knowingly. "I'm glad you're well this morning. I know it can all be a bit overwhelming. Becoming a bride, and all."
"Overwhelming-yes. But… but there is so much to say for it, all in all," Marianne sighed.
"The Colonel will take care of you. Like he takes care of everyone he claims responsibility for."
"I intend to do my best to take care of him, as well. If I can."
"We've all tried. It seemed like a miracle he finally took a wife. We all wanted him to have someone to look after him. But he was so stubborn about it." Bess proffered one of Marianne's few dresses, a spring green one with darker trim at the bodice and sleeves. "He must love you very much, to ask for your hand at last."
"I think he does, at that." Her skin still thrilled at the memory of his hands touching every inch of her, his mouth...oh, God, the things he had done to her with his mouth… "He must." She suppressed a shudder but noticed the way her body responded to the memory of him, the rush of blood and the fluttery feeling that meant she longed for him again. She wondered how often he would be interested in her in that way. Was it wrong, to be so eager?
As she put the green dress over her head and felt Bess fasten the buttons, she realized how often he had seen her in this very dress. She felt a wave of anxiety that she was too poor for him, that such a fine man deserved a woman with much nicer things-a wife he could be proud to show off at parties and events. Was she undeserving of him? It was one thing to be betrothed to a penniless girl, but to be married to a woman with so few articles of clothing, and-now her mind spun out of control-so little practical knowledge for how to be a country squire's wife! If only God had blessed her with one ounce of Elinor's sense, she wouldn't feel so out of her element all of a sudden.
"Bess-" she began haltingly, "Do you think-that is to say, I'm not sure-erm...I've never run a household before."
"Are you concerned, Mrs. Brandon? The Colonel has been operating fairly well without a wife for his whole life. I think he would have let you know by now if he needed you to be an expert in housewifely duties."
"Yes, but…" What on earth did he see in her? He was so… so gifted in so many ways, and all she had to recommend herself was her youth, and her talent at the pianoforte. What if, in the aftermath of their evening spent in each other's arms, he came to realize all the love he'd borne for her was misguided-mere attraction to a girl who had no substance, no real usefulness?
"Mrs. Brandon," Bess said, sitting her down on the bed and taking her hand, "you will learn what to do. You will also learn, after living with him for some time-the Colonel doesn't keep company he doesn't want. If there's something he needs from you, he'll let you know."
Marianne nodded. She swallowed. She got up and gave herself one more glance in the mirror. Her hair had been tamed; her dress-though old-looked well and complimented her hair; she did at least have relatively new shoes on, for these had been purchased in London as a gift from Mrs. Jennings some time ago during that awful time with Willoughby and then cast aside when she returned to Barton, and she had just unearthed them to wear in her new life as a wife, as it seemed she'd need to be more fancy. She took a deep breath.
Bess followed her out of the room, closing the door behind her, and then disappeared to the servants' quarters, and Marianne tried to keep her breath steady as she descended the staircase. She made her way into a dining room that was bustling with talk, and, thankfully, though everyone glanced up to see her enter, there was not a large outburst. Everyone simply greeted her-"Mrs. Brandon." She smiled and curtsied and took her seat at the foot of the table, between her mother and Mrs. Jennings, and began helping her plate. She could tell her mother wanted her assurance that she was alright, and that Mrs. Jennings wanted something to fuel her gossip, so she stole a glance at her husband at the head of the table for fortification-and found him stealing a glance at her. When their eyes met, they both started in surprise. He raised an eyebrow. She blinked. He flashed a tiny, brief smile in her direction. She couldn't help herself-she grinned at him like a fool. Then she lowered her eyes and turned her attention to her mother, suddenly relaxed and content.
"My darling daughter. Are you well?" Mrs. Dashwood asked.
"Yes. Quite well, mother. Thank you. And you ladies? Are the three of you well this morning?"
"Do you hear her?" Mrs. Jennings asked. "Her first morning as a married woman, and she's concerned for our welfare! I say, married life must be treating her very well so far indeed for her to be so charitable."
"Mother, dearest," murmured the ever-conscientious Lady Middleton.
"Am I to be chided for being polite?" Marianne giggled, feeling generous, her smile still plastered on her face. She wasn't put off even by Mrs. Jennings' humor. Nothing could make her distressed any longer-she had a husband, and she loved him, and it seemed he loved her as well.
"Oh, now, dear. I am simply overjoyed that the two of you wound up married, but you know I predicted it all along. The Colonel looks positively radiant today. Of course, you wouldn't know unless you watch him closely. He is so very guarded. But there's something different in the set of his shoulders, isn't there, dear?"
"I cannot pretend to know," Lady Middleton answered. "I hope that the two of you will be very happy."
Marianne, whose thoughts had trailed to her husband's shoulders and the way they felt, bare and warm and strong under her wandering hands, nodded. "I think we shall be, after all." She bit her lip.
When Brandon saw her take her bottom lip between her teeth, in one of the obsessive stolen glances he couldn't help himself from taking, he shivered. Like a much younger man, he found himself at once exhausted from their lovemaking, and strangely aching to repeat the experience now, so soon afterwards. Would she find him too eager if he wanted her again tonight? He didn't think he'd be able to get enough of her.
John was talking to Margaret about dogs. "And I hear that your new brother-in-law has a bitch that's due to whelp in a couple of months. Did he tell you?"
"No, he did not! Brandon, shame!" Margaret chided, mouth half-full of bacon. "Can we go see her?"
"I wager we can, but there's not much to see right now. She looks roughly the same as she looked the last time you saw her, and hasn't started growing yet."
"Is it Eurydice?"
"No, Calliope. The all-black one."
"Oh, she's so sweet! Are you going to keep the puppies?"
Brandon looked at Mrs. Dashwood, who was fast in conversation with her Lady Middleton, attended by her daughter and Mrs. Jennings. He thought he knew where Margaret's train of thought lay, but didn't want to offer or discourage without consulting her mother first. "I do not know yet. It first remains to be seen whether she will have a healthy and successful whelping, I suppose."
"Do you think…" Margaret lowered her voice. "Would it be possible maybe, if there is a healthy puppy born… that is to say, I have always wanted…"
Ah, now it came to what he'd suspected. He lowered his voice, too. "I don't know if your mother would be happy about that, Margaret. Why don't you ask her before you make me into the villain who must tell you no."
John lowered his voice, too. "I don't know why you need a dog, Margaret. I have twelve. Come visit more often at Barton and you can play with them."
"But they're all hunting dogs. I should like a pet."
"This puppy would be a hunting dog, too," John whispered. "Brandon's dogs are the finest hunting dogs in the county. Bred for excellence."
"But not if I don't train it to be a hunting dog. I'd train her to be a great big lap dog, who could fetch things for me, and..and..."
"What's the use of having a dog if not for hunting?" John asked incredulously. "That's what they're born for."
"They are not! They're good for all sorts of things."
"I think she wants it for a companion, John."
"Hmph. Strange. But, to each his own, I suppose."
"What are you lot discussing down there?" Mrs. Jennings chimed in.
"Dogs," Margaret uttered, taking a sip of tea.
"Ah," Mrs. Jennings responded, unsure of herself.
"One of Colonel Brandon's dogs is going to have puppies soon. Might we go and see her in the kennels?"
"Miss Margaret! You know very well that we must go back to Barton today. You need to finish packing your things! We're due to leave after breakfast!"
"Nay, Mrs. Jennings, I have already finished packing! I am extremely efficient. And also, it's Miss Dashwood now. I demand to be given my due title. Lord knows, it's taken long enough for my sisters to get married and for me to earn it."
"Oh, dear child. I forget you're nearly a woman yourself, now. Very well. Mrs. Dashwood, do you hear? Your youngest would beg leave to go to the kennels before we depart, to see one of the Colonel's dogs."
"Margaret! Have you finished packing your things?"
"I have, mama."
"Oh, alright then." Mrs. Dashwood was preoccupied with fussing over her middle daughter. Brandon felt his heart beat hard in his chest when his wife smiled brilliantly as she said something to her mother. That smile might kill him. "Your sister is going to the kennels with the Colonel, your husband, to see a dog."
"Oh." Marianne looked up at her husband, whose eyes were trained on her.
"Would you like to accompany us, my dear?"
She smiled. "Yes! That would be lovely. Unless mama needs my help with packing?"
"I can manage, my daughter." Mrs. Dashwood patted her daughter's hand. "Run along. We'll reconvene in an hour when we've all packed and made ready, to say our goodbyes."
The party gathered at table began to disassemble, Brandon standing up, followed by John and Margaret. Brandon walked the length of the table to take his wife's hand and help her up, and his eyes, when they met hers, were warm and loving-with something hidden behind them, something she knew only required the privacy of his bedchamber to be unveiled. She blushed at him, remembering. He kissed her hand. Wordless, they followed John and Margaret into the entrance hallway, while Lady Middleton, Mrs. Jennings, and Mrs. Dashwood made their way back to the guest quarters to finish packing. Bess had been asked down to bring them their coats, and the four of them bundled up in scarves and gloves and headed out into the snowy morning towards the kennels.
Marianne walked arm-in-arm some distance behind the two men with her sister, Margaret, who waited until the exact moment they were out of earshot of anyone in the house to whisper as quietly as she could, "So? What was it like? Did you do that...thing...with him?"
Marianne elbowed Margaret in the ribs.
"Ow!"
"You nosy person. Prying into personal matters you're too young to understand."
"You're not that much older than I am, you know. Can't I ask my beloved sister if she is happy in her choice of husband?"
"That's not what you asked. If you'd asked that, I would have said yes. Simple question, simple answer. But you had to be impertinent."
"So you're still happy with him, even after last night. Interesting. Nice piece of information. And dear sister, impertinence is my middle name. Or haven't you learned?"
Marianne rolled her eyes. "Apparently I'm still waiting for you to learn some semblance of propriety. I shall be waiting a long time."
"Come now, Marianne. Remember what you were like when you were even older than I am. Riding around with single men in carriages; giving them locks of hair…" This earned Margaret a pinch. "You're cruel, sister." She ripped her arm out of Marianne's grasp and rubbed.
"I was foolish then. I don't want you to be foolish, too."
"I won't. Thanks for your concern," Marianne drawled sarcastically. She paused for a moment. "Did it hurt?"
Marianne looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
"You know, when he...when you…"
"Oh." Marianne blushed. "Not that it's any of your business, but...it didn't. Well, the first time it was a little uncomfortable, but…"
"There was a second time? Ooh."
"Shut it, Margaret." Marianne's face was red as a beet now.
"I wasn't being impertinent. I was just...Marianne, I'm just happy for you. Please don't be angry."
Marianne sighed. "I'm not. Just...it's very personal."
"Did you, um...did you like it at least?"
Marianne blinked. "If I tell you I liked it, will you change the subject?"
"Yes. Yes, I will." And Margaret did just that. "Do you think Mother will let me get a puppy?"
Brandon and John walked a ways ahead of the two women, Brandon refraining from looking behind him every few steps to make sure Marianne was still there and not a dream he'd dreamed, doomed to disappear. John whispered to him.
"I take it things went...well last night?"
Brandon snorted. "Nosy."
"Curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat, John."
"Christopher. I'm not a cat."
"Things went… well. Beyond that, I feel it improper to disclose."
"Was it at least worth all the misery you've been through over her for the past two years?"
Brandon smiled to himself. "It would have been worth another ten."
John took a deep breath, blew it out through puffed cheeks, and patted his friend on the back. "Well done, man. Well done."
They arrived at the kennels a few moments later, and as soon as Brandon opened the door, he was greeted with three big, fur-covered creatures who almost knocked him over in their enthusiasm to say hello. "Good morning, boys," he said, giving each a scratch behind the ears. "Mrs. Brandon, dear, have you met the dogs yet?"
Marianne shook her head. She had never been overly fond of dogs, though she didn't have anything against them. She'd never been out to the kennel, though it was on the way to the kennel. She was learning that there were many things about Delaford about which she was still clueless. How many other places had she yet to explore in her new home? "You'll have to introduce me."
"This is Ajax, and this is Priam." He indicated two brown spaniels. "Brothers."
"Erm, how can you tell them apart?"
Margaret sniffed. "Priam is shorter. And much calmer. Look." She bent down and held out her hand, and Ajax, the slightly taller dog, bounded over to her and began licking her hand, and then her face, with wild abandon. Priam slowly circled the girl and nuzzled her legs through the fabric of her gown, leaving strands of brown fur clinging to it as he went.
The third dog, a veritable giant compared to the other two, made his way over to Marianne and sat down at her feet, looking up at her expectantly. "That's Hephaestus," John said. "Ugly beast, isn't he? Staffordshire terrier, looks like."
Marianne reached out a hand and patted his head twice. "He's sort of...I mean, he's not totally ugly. I think I like him. Sort of."
Brandon smirked, watching them. "He's a kind of stowaway. I found him as a pup-he was hanging around outside of the kitchens, hoping for scraps from the servants. He isn't right for hunting, but he was an orphan, and he got on well enough with Priam and Ajax, so…"
"So, Brandon's always had a penchant for sob stories, and he wound up with this lump," John finished. The dog was licking Marianne's hand.
"The girls are inside. Eurydice has a hurt paw-she got into some nettles a couple of weeks ago before the snow fell, apparently. And Calliope needs to rest up, since she's due to whelp in a few weeks."
"Which one is the father?" Margaret asked.
"Williston says she got out when she was in heat, and he isn't too sure, but he's fairly sure it was Ajax."
"Oh, the puppies will be so precious…"
Margaret followed Brandon into the kennel to see the females, and Marianne followed them both. Was it intentional that men's trousers clung to their thighs and backsides in just such a way? She had never noticed before, but her husband was exquisitely formed. Of course, it didn't hurt that she knew exactly what was underneath… these thoughts would not allow her to continue in company with dignity, so she pushed them aside, and as she did so, she felt a nudge against the back of her leg. She turned around, startled, and saw a pair of big brown eyes in a tan-coloured face, gazing up at her with adoration. "Looks like Hephaestus likes you, love," Brandon remarked as he opened the door to the stall where a small black spaniel rested in queenly comfort, surrounded by pillows. Margaret rushed inside and threw herself onto the nearest pillow to the dog, who gingerly got up and succumbed to the attention Margaret lavished on her. Hephaestus left his place by Marianne's side and went into Calliope's pen to lie next to her. Sir John walked out and began tossing a stick for Ajax and Priam to chase. Brandon and Marianne stood in the entranceway, alone for a moment.
"Think your mother will let her keep a pup?" Brandon asked Marianne, slipping a warm arm around her waist.
"I don't know…" Marianne looked at the younger girl with the dog, and smiled. "It would cost something to keep one, wouldn't it?"
"That's not a problem. I can...if Mrs. Dashwood says yes, I can provide some meal…"
Marianne looked up at her husband. "Do you have some kind of natural imperative to be generous and wonderful to everyone whom you meet?"
He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You're thinking of giving my sister a dog-I presume an expensive hunting dog, plus the means to feed it. You provide for Eliza, for her child, for Elinor and Edward, for all your tenants...you married penniless me, and gave me a grand home, with no dowry in return…"
"You think that makes me generous?"
"You're the most selfless person I have ever met."
"Marrying you was the most selfish thing I've ever done."
"Selfish? What on earth do you mean?"
"To bind you to me, forever? Something as wild and beautiful as you, to become mine? I'm not generous, Marianne. Everything else I've ever done in generosity has been preemptive penance for this-this thralldom." His eyes smiled, but she knew that there was some gravity in his words-some small agonizing fear that somehow, despite all that had passed between them, she was still not completely devoted.
"Husband?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm a willing partner here, you know."
He kissed her hand again. "And I shall do everything in my power to make certain you remain so."
"I love you."
"I love you," he replied. She kissed his cheek near his jawline, and then reached up to touch the scruffiness her lips had encountered. "I ought to have shaved, oughtn't I?"
"I don't mind."
"You see, I ran out of time."
"We were otherwise engaged this morning."
"Yes," he said, kissing her temple.
"Am I interrupting a private moment?" John asked, coming back into the kennel.
"Not very private, apparently," Brandon answered.
"I think we'd probably best head back. The ladies are likely waiting and ready to head back to Barton."
"Sir John," Marianne said.
"Yes, my dear Mrs. Brandon," he answered, smiling curiously at her.
Marianne stepped momentarily out of her husband's embrace and reached out her hand to shake Sir John's. "Thank you for all you've done for my family. I don't know that I have ever said it. But your generosity to us has likely saved us from disaster. I also have to thank you-" she looked back at Brandon-"because it is clear to me that without your introduction and your good will, I never would have met my husband. And your esteem for him speaks volumes on his behalf, just as his friendship with you is an indicator of your own good character. I know too, about your role in that bad business-with-with Mr. Willoughby. You've put your own life and reputation on the line for people I care about, and I don't know that I can ever repay you the debt I find I owe you."
John was completely taken aback. He looked at Brandon, who shrugged his shoulders and caught his wife's hand in his own and brought it to rest in the crook of his arm.
"That's one hell of a woman you've got, Chris," he finally said.
Brandon nodded his head. "I'm aware," he said, scratching his head with his free hand.
"Margaret!" Marianne called. "Much as I don't want to see you go, you're holding up the party."
"Out in a minute!" came her reply, and soon, covered in shed black fur, she emerged. The four of them made their way back to the mansion house, where they saw the carriage waiting for them. Lady Middleton oversaw the packing of the carriage with their trunks and bags, and Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Dashwood stood to the side helping her supervise the two manservants that hefted the weighty items. Another small figure waited, slightly off to one side as well, and rushed forward to meet the party coming from the kennels.
"I came to say goodbye!" shouted Eliza, half-running towards them. Like a tiny shadow that suddenly came disengaged from its caster, Charity appeared from behind Eliza, her tiny legs working hard to catch up. Eliza threw her arms around Sir John. "It's been so good to see you," she said.
"You as well, old girl," John replied, patting her on the back.
She stepped back and looked him in the face. "Don't be a stranger."
"Oh, dear, Eliza, I suspect I'll be back before you know it. We'll have to escort Mrs. Dashwood to visit two sets of grandchildren before long, won't we?"
Brandon, who had his arms full of a wiggling Charity-sized bundle of energy, snorted. "Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren't we, John?"
"Listen, Brandon, when God wills it, it will happen. If you're doing your marital duty, of course."
Marianne, who had blushed more in the past two days than she'd ever blushed in her life, blushed again.
"Why is it that Sir John gets to be impertinent and I am told to shut it?" Margaret asked, right before Eliza threw her arms around her. Margaret blinked hard, and a wave of shock passed over her face. She replaced it as quickly as possible with her trademark smirk.
"Will you come back soon, do you think?" Eliza asked her.
"I think...if I am invited…"
"You are always invited, Captain Margaret," Brandon assured her. "We will be back from honeymoon in two months, and then it will be nearly spring. We'd love to have you. Would we love to have her, wife? I should ask my wife. Wife?"
Marianne laughed. "She is my sister, after all. We'd love to have you," Marianne said.
"Say goodbye to Miss Dashwood, Charity," Eliza said.
"But she is Miss Dashwood," Charity said from her perch in Brandon's arms, pointing to Marianne. "And she," she pointed to Margaret, "is just Maggie."
"No, no," Eliza laughed, "I explained it to you on the way here. Bamba is now married to her," she said, pointing to Marianne, "and so you must call her Mrs. Brandon now."
Marianne shook her head, and reached out her arms to the small child, offering to take her from Brandon. He let go of her weight, and Charity looked up at Marianne. "No, you must call me Marianne. Just Marianne, my dear."
"And you must continue to call me Maggie," Margaret demanded.
"Miss Dashwood, I'm trying to teach the child respect," Eliza quipped.
"Yes, but then I'd have to be respectable. And I loathe the thought. It's Maggie to Charity, please. And Margaret to you, Miss Williams. Always."
A look passed between them, and for a moment, as Marianne and Brandon fussed over Charity, time seemed to stop. Then, Charity giggled as Brandon tickled under her chin, and reality reasserted itself. They all walked towards the carriage.
Margaret crawled into the carriage, followed by Mrs. Jennings and the Middletons. Mrs. Dashwood hugged her daughter to her. "Be safe, dearest. And write to us."
"I shall write every day, Mama!"
"No. No, no, Marianne, you'll be far too busy and preoccupied to write every day. The Continent! Soak it up-you will want to concentrate to fully appreciate its beauties."
"Alright, then-I shall write every other day."
"That's more reasonable." Her mother smiled. "And Colonel-" The man in question stepped up to shake her hand, but instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "You have done more than I can ever even begin to thank you for."
Backing away from Mrs. Dashwood, he said, "Au contraire. You have given me your blessing in marrying your daughter. That's everything. You've...given me the whole world."
"Please take care of her. She can be difficult sometimes. But she's got the truest heart of anyone I know."
"I won't break it, Mrs. Dashwood."
She nodded. "Thank you." And she ascended into the carriage.
Waving, Marianne, Brandon, and Charity watched as the carriage began its trek back to Barton Park.
"This feels somehow official," Marianne mused. "I'm of Delaford, fully, now. I didn't get into the carriage and drive off with the others. I'm...I'm staying."
"I hope you don't regret it," Eliza said. "That wouldn't please us, would it, Colonel?"
"Not one bit," he answered, his voice heavy with emotion.
"I don't. I love it here."
Eliza noted, "She's one of us now."
"One of us!" Charity echoed from where she stood clutching Marianne's skirts. "Marianne, tell story."
"Me? Tell story? I don't know any Raja stories."
"No. Tell other story. Mama says you know lots of stories."
Eliza shot her an apologetic look. "I told her you like to read."
"I do like to read. I'll think of something. Would you like to go inside?"
"Yes. And then, you tell story."
Marianne held the small child's hand and led her inside. Brandon and Eliza watched them go.
"How are you?" Eliza asked.
"I'm not sure," Brandon replied. "I feel...so happy...it hurts, somehow."
Eliza put her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her. "You'll get used to it."
"I? Are you happy, too, Eliza?"
Eliza watched her daughter disappear into the entrance hall. "When I look at Charity, it's as if all the hardship, all the darkness, was completely worth it. She's everything to me. I love her so much it hurts."
"Then you do understand."
"I do." She paused, lost in thought for a minute. "I think any kind of love, real love, romantic or otherwise, brings with it an ache. It's God's way of reminding us that nothing in this world is perfect, no matter how happy we may be."
"You sound positively wise," Brandon pronounced.
"I learned from the best," she teased, poking him in the side. "Let's go in. I'm turning into a bloody icicle out here." And they made their way into the house and followed the sound of Charity's laughter into the drawing room.
Note: Sorry it's been a while. I have a few more chapters here in the works for this story, and most of them are fluff, and some of them are smut. These take me longer to write somehow than tension; tension is much easier to write, but happiness and warm fuzzies don't motivate me the same way. So please be patient-you will get a finished product! I promise!