Chapter 7: "Heroes," by David Bowie

Marianne was wrapped in her new velvet shawl beneath her winter-weight coat, and Brandon had been thoughtful enough to put the footwarmer in the floor for her, but she still shivered as she sat in the carriage and waited for her husband to slide in next to her. Shaking, she watched his mouth purse thoughtfully and answer questions, then laugh, smiling, then take his leave of his interlocutor (Williston), and finally saw him disappear briefly before opening the door and letting the frigid air in as he ducked under the doorway and crawled inside. Seeing her there wrapping her arms around herself in the cold, he gave her an apologetic look. "Oh, love. I'm sorry. I've kept you waiting. Come." And he held out his arm for her to sit as close to him as possible, so she could warm herself further by his heat. She was powerless to do anything else, her teeth chattering. "How do you propose to survive in Switzerland if this little coastal breeze sets you to freezing?" he teased.

"I shall wear every scrap of clothing I've packed, I suppose."

"That's not how I would choose to keep you warm," he replied, raising an eyebrow, and she chuckled. Then she nestled in and found herself, in her cold state, feeling sleepy and closing her eyes.

"Are you going to sleep on me?"

"Just a short rest."

"It won't be ten minutes in the carriage."

"That's alright. Tell me a story," she said, smiling sweetly, her eyes remaining closed.

He cleared his throat. "A story?"

"Mmm hmm. A bedtime story."

He smirked. "Once upon a time, there was a small tiger named Raja, who was the tiniest tiger in the whole jungle-"

She laughed. "No, no. Tell me a true story."

He thought for a moment. "What kind of story?"

"Tell me...tell me about the first moment you saw me."

He stared at her for a long moment, her round, rosy cheeks flushed from cold, her long eyelashes shut over those green eyes that would have looked straight into the heart of him and unbuttoned all the regimented rigour of his military training, his Spartan habits, and brought his soul to life again. "You vain thing. You want me to tell you about the first time I realized how beautiful you are." She grinned in her sleepy languor. He snorted and tugged her to him more tightly. "Once upon a time there was a man called Christopher, and he was invited to stay with an old army friend for a fortnight to shoot guns and forget his troubles."

"Was he very unhappy?"

Brandon paused. "Yes." Marianne's smile fell, and she placed a kiss on the underside of his chin. "His ward had disappeared. And he feared for her safety and her life. And beyond all that, he was very, very lonely."

"He did not deserve to be so lonely. He should have taken a wife sooner and been contented."

"Perhaps. Perhaps God was preserving him for something greater."

"I'm not so very great, Christopher."

"Shush. You're spoiling the ending."

She smiled into his collar.

"When he entered his friend's house, he found that he was entertaining new neighbors. Three sisters and their mother. The oldest sister was buried in troubles of her own, and Christopher saw that she would make a fine friend. The youngest sister was too young to know that the adventures in her mind were mere fancy, and that the real adventures in this world are much, much greater. And the middle sister-"

"Oh, this is going to be my favourite part. Was she very wonderful and beautiful?"

He laughed gently. "Actually she seemed rather cruel at first."

Marianne sat upright. She looked hurt.

Brandon looked into his wife's eyes with mirth, and said, "Christopher overheard her say to her younger sister, from where he stood across the room, that anyone so old as he was and still unmarried was doomed to be single forever."

Marianne's eyes apologized. "I was so heartless. And rude."

He smiled into her eyes. "She also said some other honest things, without much thought for propriety. Like telling Sir John, when he mentioned the American abolitionists, that slavery was, and I quote, 'an abomination that no civilized man ought ever to bear lightly.' And arguing with Mrs. Jennings over the correctness of a woman shaking hands with a man. I-er-Christopher realized that this young woman was terribly passionate and full of conviction, and some unpleasant truths must needs creep their way into her discourse, in the interest of true honesty. Like the truth of Christopher being older than Methuselah."

"You're not so old, and you weren't then, either. I was just young and stupid."

"And then they sat her next to him at dinner."

"Did we? Oh, yes, I seem to remember-"

"And he noticed, though they made polite conversation the whole time, that her eyes flashed in indignation when he told her his favourite composer was Bach."

"It is your one true moral failing."

"And he realized at that moment that something came to life in him, something unrecognizable, when he saw her eyes light up with emotion-something he didn't think he would ever have been able to feel again. And then, after dinner, she began to play on the pianoforte."

"Oh, my dear-"

"Do you know that I have no recollection whatsoever of what it was that you played that night?"

"I seem to remember Vivaldi."

"I seem to remember that look on your face-the one where you're concentrating, and I can see the wheels turning behind those eyes. That was when I knew."

"You ought to have hated me."

"How could I have? You fascinated me."

"Because I'm rude and opinionated and outspoken?"

"Because of your passion." He paused. "You were an unpolished gem, but I knew what it was I had found. I can recognize quality, Marianne. I'm not a fool… and I also never, in a million years, would have dreamed that you'd see something in me worth capturing your attention. I didn't want to cage you."

"You haven't-you haven't caged me. I have never felt more… free," she replied, looking at him and realizing the truth of her words. "And you are every bit as passionate as I am. You just wear it differently, and people respect you for it."

"Because I am a man."

"And because you bear yourself so calmly."

"It's because I am old." She elbowed him in the ribs. "Would you do your elderly husband an injury?"

"I don't think the elderly can do...what we did last night. And this morning. At least not with any ease."

"I'd be happy to test that theory again." He bit her earlobe.

"Patience, husband. We've nearly arrived at Elinor's."

And the carriage slowed and they descended. Edward came out to greet them, and Brandon handed his wife out of the carriage and then placed his hand on the small of her back as he led her into the parsonage. Such a small thing filled her with such warmth that she forgot how cold she had been.

Edward and Elinor provided them with a lovely tea, and delightful conversation. They repeated their plans for the honeymoon in detail-though at first Marianne was shy about this, realizing suddenly how meagre her sister's own wedding trip had been, her sister asked questions so enthusiastically that Marianne began to feel excited, and listen raptly as her husband laid out their itinerary. He kindly glossed over their misgivings about visiting his sister in France, merely said that they would spend Christmas there before journeying on. Edward and Elinor reminisced about their own honeymoon in Lyme, and the sights and people they had seen. Marianne reflected that listening to a conversation between her sister and brother-in-law had become like watching a dance of sorts. They finished each other's phrases and sentences so gracefully, it was clear they were of one mind and one heart. Elinor, always so practical, had found a man capable of bringing out her senses of humour, joy, and adventure, and though the pair of them lived a very sparse life (despite the Colonel's generosity, for he was always, she knew, giving them whatever he could to make them comfortable), they seemed genuinely happy.

After dinner, Edward and Christopher went to Edward's study to go over some final plans for the church roof that, in Christopher's absence, Edward would have to oversee. Elinor and Marianne crept into the nursery to stare at baby William, who had been sleeping-but who promptly woke up and started crying. At two months old, he was so small and helpless, and Marianne felt an urge so strong it surprised her to pick him up and rock him back to sleep. Having achieved success, her sister smiling on her, she reluctantly put him back in his cradle and tiptoed out into the hallway and towards the drawing room.

"Marianne?"

"Yes, sister?"

"Are you alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did everything go...alright last night?"

"Oh. That." Marianne blushed and sat down on the divan. "He was very...erm…attentive."

Elinor patted her sister on the shoulder. "I just wanted to let you know that it does get easier with time. The pain doesn't last forever. It really does help to relax."

Marianne studied her sister. "Elinor, do you find it...enjoyable?"

It was Elinor's turn to redden. "In its own way, yes. It takes some time, though, to feel...a sort of pleasure."

Marianne realized: what had taken perhaps many attempts for her sister, to take pleasure from her husband, had taken Marianne a matter of minutes. She wasn't sure if it was a testament to her own passionate nature, or her husband's skill-but she felt extremely lucky. And eager to repeat the performance. "Don't worry about me, Elinor. The Colonel...he is a very patient teacher."

Elinor smiled wryly. "He'd have to be patient. He's been waiting on you for two years."

Marianne laughed. "I think...I think we shall have no trouble making up for lost time."

"Well, you have your whole honeymoon to get used to one another's...idiosyncrasies. Much longer than Edward and I had before life returned to reclaim our attention. And then with William, so soon after… Perhaps the Colonel's patience will extend far enough that he won't get you with child after merely a month of marriage!"

"Oh-" Marianne started to say that it was not the Colonel's eagerness she had to fear, but her own. It seemed that admitting this would only confirm to her sister that she was as wanton and impulsive as she'd always been. Instead, she asked, "Was it very easy? For him to...get you with child?"

"It just seemed to happen. After a handful of weeks of...being intimate, I felt a change. And a sickness."

"Sickness?"

"It didn't last very long for me-Mother said it lasted months for her. Anyhow, don't think of it. When the time comes-and I wager it won't be long, with the way the Colonel looks at you-you have me to talk you through it, and Mother, and of course Eliza. And just think of how happy you shall make the Colonel!"

"Happy?"

"Marianne, you must have realized the importance of giving him an heir."

Marianne thought about conversations she'd had with her husband before their marriage-the way his family inheritance was currently aligned, and how the child of his sister-the very sister whose imminent proximity filled Brandon with dread-was next in line if Marianne didn't produce an heir. "Of course."

"Just think of how he will feel if you give him a son."

"He could break the entailment on Delaford and provide an inheritance for Eliza and Charity...and for me…"

"And any other children you produce."

"Oh, my. I never thought of marriage as such a…"

"Practical endeavour?"

"Yes."

"Did I kill the romance?"

Marianne laughed. "No. Just given me things to think about." She paused. "But surely, that's not… he was prepared to be a lifelong bachelor before he met me."

"Yes, but now he has you. Don't you think he realizes what having a wife could mean for his estate? If I were him, I'd want a child as quickly as possible to secure my assets."

"Of course," Marianne said again. She furrowed her brows. Suddenly, Edward and Christopher re-entered the scene, Edward grinning.

"Mrs. Brandon, your husband is something of a genius. He has planned out everything to a tee. I cannot thank him enough for his patronage."

Marianne looked up at her husband, who looked uncomfortable at the praise, and beamed. Brandon said, "I'm simply doing my proprietary duty. Don't think of it."

They spent another hour together over drinks, talking and laughing. Edward asked if the Brandons would be in church the following morning, but Christopher informed him that they planned to be on the road by first light. Marianne thought this might be a bit ambitious, but kept her opinion to herself. At Elinor's first yawn-it was close to nine-Marianne stood, and took her husband by the hand. She smiled at her sister and brother-in-law and said, "I think it is time that we return to Delaford. We have an early morning."

Elinor stood, stiffly, Marianne noticed, whether from pain or exhaustion she did not know. She came over to Marianne and offered her an embrace. "Godspeed, sister. May your next few weeks be filled with joy."

"Yes," Edward filled in, shaking hands with Christopher, "and don't worry-I'll try to keep the population of Delaford from flying off the handle while you're gone."

"Just preach something about hellfire and brimstone to dissuade them," Brandon quipped. Elinor snorted.

"And look after little William to make sure he doesn't grow too big before we return," Marianne said. "I fear he won't be sweet and small forever."

"No, soon he'll be taking the world by storm, like Charity," Brandon supplied. "She has grown too fast. Look after her and Eliza for us." As he said this, his face grew serious. Elinor took and shook his hand.

"We will," she replied.

After Marianne had shaken hands with Edward, she took her husband's arm and he led her up into the waiting carriage.

She sat still and quiet for a minute, and at first Brandon thought she was simply tired. He accepted her silence and unfolded his arm so that she could rest her head against his shoulder, and he could rest his chin on the top of her head, lost in thought-in all honesty, giddy with anticipation of the joys that awaited him as soon as he and his wife were once again in the privacy of their chambers. After a few moments, though, he felt her gaze on him, and he bent his face down to search her eyes. "My love? Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes...I was just thinking."

"Dangerous words," he teased.

"What do you mean?"

"Simply that I hope you weren't thinking anything along the lines of getting rid of me."

She snorted.

"Is something troubling you?"

"Only that… well...I was wondering when you would wish for me to...to…" He gave her a worried look as he waited for her to get out her thought. "To have a baby."

At once, he raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean? I mean, we've…"

"Elinor said… said that you would want an heir, and soon. I want to make sure I'm doing everything I-"

"Elinor said what?" He was sincerely puzzled, and scratched his head.

"We spoke...erm...when you and Edward were in his study. We talked about...about how she...well, how she and Edward had… erm… expected little William so soon after their wedding, and she suggested that you...that you might perhaps also want… that is to say…"

"Elinor suggested that I would want a child immediately?" he clarified.

She nodded. "I assume that's why...why you wanted to be with me, last night."

He leaned forward in the seat, taking his arm from around her, and spoke his words carefully. "Marianne...perhaps in my… er… eagerness to be with you last night, I didn't...communicate some things properly. And I underestimated how...how uninformed you were."

"Did I displease you? I thought...I thought…"

"No." He looked at her and negated her fear firmly. "No you did not. My love, I...I wanted you. I wanted to be with you. Not so that we would have a child, not because it is the thing husbands are expected to do with their wives. I wanted to be with you because I love you and I wanted to show you how much I love you, how beautiful and fascinating I find you. I wanted to make you feel something of what I felt when I look at you. I didn't...I don't expect anything, Marianne."

"I didn't think so...but Elinor…"

"Elinor is a very practical woman. She thinks of marriage in terms of practicality, as well, for all that she really and truly does love her husband."

"Yes."

"I am not married to Elinor for a reason, Marianne. Do you not think that if I had wanted to marry your sister an opportunity would have presented itself?"

"Oh-I-it would have?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "If I had offered, she would have accepted. Not out of love. Out of practicality. She would have had a home, become mistress of a household. Your mother would have had one fewer mouth to feed. It would have been like shooting fish in a barrel. You know this."

Marianne thought, and nodded. "Narrow miss for me, then."

"No, it wasn't. I never would have offered. Even though it was the practical choice. It was you or no one. It was always you, Marianne. Not because I wanted a child, or an heir, or even a companion for my loneliness. I wanted, quite bluntly, you, your heart, and your voice, and yes, your body. And if I have those things...I don't care if I never have anything else. Just being your husband is enough."

"So you don't...you don't want a child?"

"Of course I do. That is to say, I don't not want one. I've always wanted to be a father, and of course I'd like an heir. It would simplify things for the estate. But never for one minute will I be disappointed if I don't have these things, because I have the thing I want more than anything. You."

"Oh." She took a deep breath. "I feel silly." She smiled and laughed at herself. "I thought perhaps that's why you were so...interested last night. And this morning. That you were hoping…"

"I was hoping to enjoy...the pleasures of your company. All the pleasures of your company." He put his arm back around her, where, he felt, it belonged.

"And if we do want to have a child? How do we…how do we go about it? Is there something special...or…"

He cleared his throat. "I have not ever...but from what I understand, we simply...continue on as we have been. There are certain times of the month that are more effective than others. I believe it will depend on your...er...your monthly… erm…"

"Oh. That." She giggled. "Why does no one explain these things to women before they are married? Why does our society tiptoe around these types of things?"

"Can I ask you an honest question? If you had been fully informed about...about being intimate… what it was like...before you'd married me? Would you have waited for marriage? Would you have...have done those things with Mr. Willoughby?"

"Fully informed? About how pleasurable it can be?" He nodded. "I don't know." She looked up at him, and saw what looked like disappointment on his face. "Would it have changed anything about the way you feel about me if I had?"

"No. I can say with certainty that it would not."

"You would have married Eliza, even…"

"Yes. When I found her, I was...I would have. But then I knew she was near the end of her life."

"And you would have married me, too, even if I had been...compromised?"

"Of course."

"What would people have said?" He snorted. "But you don't care about that, do you?" He shook his head. "But you would have been disappointed, if I had not been a...a virgin last night."

"Not disappointed. But...there is something comforting to me as a man, to know that…"

"That no one else has been with me?" He nodded.

"It isn't about...about purity, or anything like that. It's just nice to know that, if something...nice happens, you don't have any expectations of what it ought to be like, from someone else. I can...I can teach you. In some primal way, I feel as if you are...mine." He paused. "Do you wish I had been inexperienced? When we came together for the first time?"

"Well, one of us had to know what to do, didn't he?"

"Many couples are both inexperienced when they marry. That doesn't mean they don't figure things out. Do you wish things had been different for me? For us?"

"Well…" she reflected. "If you hadn't been with all those women…"

He rolled his eyes. "It wasn't so very many."

"Nevertheless-did-did their companionship help to make you feel less lonely?"

"Only for a brief moment. I was never visiting that...that house," he explained, referring to the bordello near his outpost in the Company, where he only very rarely made an appearance, the house in which he had lost his own virginity to a slightly older woman with brown hair and kind eyes a few months after he learned of Eliza's marriage, "in the hopes of becoming less lonely. Just easing a need. Even young and stupid as I was, I knew that it wasn't the same."

"Still, I could never begrudge you that." After a minute she added, "I also think some of the things you learned from those women-well, maybe I ought to thank them personally," she teased, boldly placing a hand on his thigh. He covered her hand with his own, and kissed her neck beneath the ear. She sighed. "You know, even if I had been with Willoughby it would never have been as good as it is with you. How I feel when you kiss me, when you touch me…" she flushed, and it wasn't with embarrassment. "It never would have been as...pleasurable."

Brandon smiled sadly. "Maybe if you'd met me when I was Willoughby's age, you'd have said the same about me."

"If I'd met you when you were Willoughby's age, I'd have been eight."

"Touche." He smiled. "Younger men...even me...their needs are different. I was much more demanding. Impatient. It took a long time for me to learn how to think of someone else's needs."

"Then it is very fortunate for me to have such a distinguished, mature man for a husband." She took a deep breath, and added, "One who know how to render me completely useless with longing."

She met his eyes then, and she shook visibly when she realized how deeply she desired him, suddenly, forcefully. The pair of them became aware that the carriage had been stopped in front of the mansion for some time. "Oh," Brandon said, for lack of anything else to say. They were home. Just steps away from… His heart began to pound. "I-er-do you still want to-when we get upstairs, that is." Why are you nervous? You have done this before. With this woman. This blessedly beautiful, sensual, impeccably curved and contoured woman whose soft lips and hot little cunny taste sweeter than sugar, whose voice sounds like music each time she says your name, not to even bother mentioning the way she sounds when she's crying out for you at the height of...oh, God, this isn't nervousness. This is anticipation. This woman has you strung out on a limb like a man half your age. Deep breaths, Colonel. She's yours. Don't fuck it up. Prove she didn't make a horrible mistake in marrying you. Take her upstairs and show her what you're made of.

"Yes. I mean, if you want…" Why are you so nervous? she asked herself. You've done this already. There shouldn't be any more pain-only pleasure-but what if I don't do what he wants me to do? What if it becomes awkward between us?...Wait. What am I thinking? I am not some silly little girl anymore. I am a woman of conviction. His woman, come to that. He made me his woman. I belong to this man, this strong man-and oh, how strong he is, how he tossed me around like a weightless ragdoll until he had me where he wanted me, but so gently-this handsome, yes, handsome man, with his big, strong hands and his arms and long, long legs that are all smooth skin and coarse hair covering hard muscle, and his cock-oh, I may blush and playact that I am diffident, but when it comes down to it I loved it, loved it like the most wanton of profligates, the way it felt in my hand, and up inside me pulsing, thrusting… "I want you. Yes. I want you again. Please. Let's go. Right now," she said, her voice quivering but no longer from anxiousness-now the only emotion that worked its way through her consciousness was sheer desire.

Without another word, he opened the carriage door and led her outside. He scooped her up into his arms-realizing, whimsically, that he had never actually carried her over the threshold of his home as his bride. She gasped in shock, then grinned when she realized what was happening. "Thank you, Peters," he called jovially to the carriage driver who waited on his orders. "Good evening, Carter, Mrs. Williston, Kingsfield, Herriton," he greeted the servants who waited in the doorway of the entrance hall inside the mansion.

Carter, the butler, asked, "Is there anything with which Master will need assistance this evening?"

Brandon set his wife down on the floor, and she straightened her bonnet and coat. "You can take our coats, and then-" he looked down at her. "Then I think we shall turn in for the evening. We won't require your services."

"Will-begging your pardon, sir. Will Mrs. Brandon require me this evening?" Bess asked.

Marianne shook her head. "No thank you, Bess. You are dismissed." Soon the servants carried their outerwear away, and Brandon grasped his wife's hand and marched her upstairs. If he was eager for her, she thought, it was nothing to the way the blood rushed through her, making her feel and want things she had never consciously thought of. Even the brush of her skirts against her thighs as she walked caused her breath to heighten, her pulse to quicken. With each stair they ascended, Marianne felt herself ache for him a little more, a little stronger. When he finally turned the doorknob of his chamber, he sort of kicked the door open, pushed her none too gently into the room ahead of him, and then kicked the door closed again, and before he could pounce on her, she pinned him against the chest of drawers adjacent to the entrance and claimed his mouth with her own, and it was the most fulfilling, liberating thing she had ever done-to take what she wanted, without waiting, without asking for permission, and to know that not despite but because of her desire and her independence, she was accepted and wanted, and loved.