"Waiting On an Angel," by Ben Harper
Note to readers: Sorry that it has been FOREVER since I have posted. I had meant to finish this a month ago, but life got a little complicated. One more short chapter to go, and I'm starting on it today. Should be finished within a day or two. There WILL be a sequel, still have to find out what happens to Margaret, whether or not Constance makes a reappearance and whether she will be nice, and, of course, how the Brandons' family grows… Bear with me. It might take a while, but it will happen!
"It's not...scandalous, is it?" Marianne asked.
"I think...I think Mrs. Jennings might have a heart attack if she saw it. And while I should not wish that on her… I must admit, there is a certain appeal…" Brandon trailed off thoughtfully.
The pair of them stood on the outskirts of the ballroom in Vienna, their new friends, the Crofts, who had made their acquaintance as they were staying in the same hotel. Mrs. Croft's brother Frederick (the same young man whom Brandon had once encountered at his club), who had just arrived to Vienna to stay with his relations as their guest, had happened to see Brandon as the honeymooning couple made their way down to supper a couple of nights before, reintroduced himself as a newly minted Navy captain, and there followed a flurry of introductions to his sister Sophy and her husband, who was an admiral. Sophy, it seemed, was not much older than Marianne herself, and Admiral Croft was of an age with Christopher Brandon. The similarities in age as well as temperament did not go unnoticed, and soon the pair of couples were enjoying all the society that late December in a cold country could provide. They had accepted the Crofts' invitation to a private assembly at the home of an English expatriot. Now the four of them stood staring at the spectacle before them-as the band played, couples danced together, partnered so close it was very nearly obscene, and created patterns of rotation and revolution around the dance floor resembling the movement of the planets around the sun. New, a little torrid, and oddly fascinating, Brandon thought.
Just then, the music ended and Captain Wentworth thanked his partner, making his way back to his sister and friends. He was flushed with exertion, and Brandon thought how much better the gentleman looked than the last time they'd met. So he was not really surprised when the captain offered Marianne his hand and gestured to her that he might teach her this new waltz. She looked up at Brandon, whose jealous twinge only lasted a moment before he saw the mirthful wink she gave him, and she spun away. He rested an elbow on the punch table, laughing quietly to himself as he watched his wife accidentally step on her partner's toes in her clumsy effort to learn.
As he watched the captain lift his arm for Marianne to pass under, he felt the small hand of Sophy Croft rest on his forearm. "Nothing to worry about, Colonel. His heart is taken," Sophy said, a little sadly, gesturing in the direction of her brother.
"Ah, yes. I remember him mentioning something of the sort when I met him. Sorry state of affairs, that. And he's still intent on that lady or no one, after all this time?" Brandon asked.
"Always, I think," Sophy murmured into her punch. "Ah, Mr. Rochester! I did not expect to see you here!"
A tall, formidable man with a dark complexion strode up to shake hands with Admiral Croft, then brought Sophy's up to his lips. He turned what seemed like a predatory gaze on Brandon, who smiled stiffly at him.
"Colonel Christopher Brandon, British East India Company, of Delaford Hall in Dorsetshire-may I introduce you to our friend, Mr. Edward Fairfax Rochester, of Thornfield in Yorkshire."
The two men sized each other up, and something was found wanting in each. They made the silent agreement to be civil. Brandon couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was that bothered him about his new conversant, but it was something very subtle. The Crofts, too, seemed to hold him at arm's length, keeping him in their acquaintance, he supposed, for the primary reason that he was a fellow countryman, a rarity in their travels, for the pair of them, it had been revealed, were traversing the Empire together, or nearly, Sophy a fixture on his ship. But countryman or not, Brandon couldn't help but be discomfited when the Crofts were drawn aside by another couple whom they knew, and he was left alone with Rochester.
"Don't dance much either?" the other man commented, taking a flask out of his waistcoat pocket and imbibing. "I hate it, myself."
"Dancing?" Brandon replied politely. "I don't mind it, if the right partner can be found, I suppose."
"Right you are, there," Rochester answered. "That one, for instance," he gestured to a blonde girl, probably younger than Marianne and very lively looking. "She looks like she'd keep you on your toes, doesn't she?"
Brandon cleared his throat, took another sip of punch, and prayed for a rescue. He was unlucky. At just that moment, Marianne wheeled back around, quick learner that she was at new dances, fully having mastered this new one, laughing in surprise at how quickly she whirled and glided. Her eyes met her husband's as she passed, and the smile of glee she gave him, her face transformed by the joy of the dance, made his heart skip a beat. This smile did not go unnoticed by his new friend, either. "Or her," Rochester noted thoughtfully. "That tallish redhead. Don't think I've seen curls like that before. Or curves like that."
Alarmed, Brandon turned sharply towards Rochester. "Careful, man. One of these days you're going to find yourself talking of...dancing...with someone's wife."
Taking another sip from his flask, Rochester purred, "Never stopped me before."
Unconsciously, Brandon cracked his knuckles.
Just then, the music ended. The young captain, bowing, released his beautiful partner, who made her way back to her friends with such speed that Brandon did not have time to respond to Rochester's impertinence. Sophy reached out to take her hands, and began introductions. "Mr. Edward Fairfax Rochester, this is our dear Colonel's new wife, Mrs. Christopher Brandon-formerly Miss Dashwood, of Devonshire. And she has just been learning our new dance, and soaking up the Viennese culture."
Rochester smirked-smirked!-at Brandon, and then kissed Marianne's hand. She smiled, unaware that there was some tension, and asked if he too was fond of dancing. He responded by asking her for another waltz, and she agreed, shooting her husband a quick gesture to demonstrate that she was headed back out to the dance floor.
For about ten seconds he watched them, a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. Then he turned to the Admiral and said, "I think I want to get some air. I shall be on the terrace. No, no-" he shook his head, smiling. "I'm fine, you stay here. I'm just a bit warm."
Taking his glass of punch, he retreated to the cold privacy of the outdoors.
Marianne finished out the remainder of the number the band played, dizzy with the effort as well as with all the twists and turns she'd been forced to do. Rochester was a much more dominating partner than Wentworth had been, and his conversation, though serious, which she usually liked, was altogether...too harsh, perhaps? She couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was, but she was a bit relieved to have done with him, and since the band was taking a pause in their playing for a few minutes, she took the opportunity to rejoin her friends. Her husband had gone, she assumed to find refreshment or to speak with someone he'd seen, so she sat in a chair next to Sophy, her new friend. The Admiral had offered himself as a partner at cards across the room, and Sophy sat, smiling, comfortable in her solitude, but no less happy to allow Marianne into her presence.
Sophy began by admonishing her: "It is perhaps best, I should warn you, not to acquiesce to Mr. Rochester again. Though he is rich and very well connected, I'm not certain...my husband, also, is not certain that he is to be fully trusted."
Marianne shuddered. "I think I know what you mean. Thank you. I didn't want to be rude, but…"
"Neither did I, or I would have warned you beforehand."
Marianne relaxed into her chair. "I really am so glad we found you, Sophy. Your friendship has been such a nice thing during this journey."
"Honeymooning is tiring, when you are constantly in company with just one person, is it not?"
"Well-no, not really," Marianne reflected. "I've still got so much to learn about my husband-I feel I will never be really bored. It seems that each time we ought to run out of conversation, we find something...he's got some kind of surprise for me, tomorrow."
"Ah, yes," Sophy smiled. "He's told us all to be very quiet about it."
"You know as well?"
"Yes, and you will soon see why. My husband is helping."
Marianne thrilled that there was some secret plan afoot, and that she was at the center of it. Although it should not have really shocked her, for the next day was her birthday-she would be twenty, an age she viewed as respectable-and it was within the regular scope of her husband's behaviour that he would plan something special.
"These men we have found for ourselves…" Sophy stared off into the distance, and Marianne realized she was glancing at where Admiral Croft quietly played whist at a table far off. "Do you ever feel that we are too lucky for our own good?"
Marianne caught herself scratching her head pensively, and then remembered her manners, clasping her hands in her lap. "Often."
"I never quite know what it is he sees in me, but I hope to God he continues to see it," said Sophy wistfully.
Marianne kept to herself the thought that came to her, that Sophy was singularly beautiful as well as intelligent and poised-and that it wasn't a stretch to see that the Admiral would have fallen in love with her. She smiled, thinking about her own husband, and how she would teach him to waltz later in the privacy of their own room-the way it would move her to feel that it was his arms around her, his legs pushing against hers as he steered her, his hips so very close to her own, arms and legs and hips she new intimately now-perhaps it would be an abbreviated dancing lesson. "I take it my husband has gone with yours, to play at cards?"
"Ah, no. I thought you knew? He went out to the terrace for some air."
Air? Marianne reflected. But it is literally freezing outside. Why… Has something bothered him? Is he angry?
"Perhaps I ought to go check on him?" Marianne began to rise from her chair.
Sophy nodded, and then turned back to the dance floor, where her brother was approaching her. Frederick took Marianne's place next to Sophy, then stood up again and offered her a dance, and the two of them scooted off to waltz. Marianne, briefly and intuitively wondering whether this Captain Wentworth fellow wasn't putting on some sort of brave front to cover up for a lonely heart, let it go as she stepped out through the French doors of the banquet hall.
It wasn't hard to spot him, because there were only a handful of people who stood outside. Three couples huddled privately, taking the opportunity of the freezing evening to gain privacy from prying eyes. And Brandon stood with his back to everyone, empty punch cup dangling from his fingers as he gripped the banister.
Marianne came up behind him. "Christopher?" she said tentatively.
He turned to face her and raised an eyebrow. She saw an opening, and moved in closer to him, covering his hand with her own.
"Are you alright?"
He nodded. "Are you?"
"Did you leave because of me? Because I was dancing?"
He thought about her question. Nodding, he said, "In a sense, I-I suppose I did."
Marianne bristled at this. "It isn't decorous of me to refuse everyone who asks me to dance. You needn't be jealous."
"Oddly enough, I wasn't."
"Oddly enough?"
"I trust you. Truly. Even though you look like the type of woman who would be excellent at breaking hearts. And every man here seems to know it." He smiled a little. She rolled her eyes.
"Is this about Captain Wentworth? You were the one who introduced me to him, after all-"
"No, it's not about him. And again, I trust you."
"Is it about..about Mr. Rochester?"
"More him, yes."
"He was vile." Brandon snorted. "Not on first appearance, of course, but...he was like Willoughby." She realized the truth of this as the words came out of her mouth.
Brandon stilled, then relaxed, putting his arm around his wife. "Yes," he said.
"But you...you trust me?"
"There have been moments when I have wondered...wondered what would happen if you met him again. In truth, the circles we travel in...it is almost certain it will happen at some point. I needed to know how it would be."
"If I met him again? Do you think I would...would lose everything we've built, for him? Surely you know-"
"No." Brandon took a shaky breath. "No, I know you don't love him any longer. it's more a worry about my own behavior. That Rochester...before he knew you were my wife, he...he saw you. And he said something about you. Something...I wanted to fight him. To hurt him."
"And you have a history, haven't you, of avenging the honour of women you care for?"
"Or trying to." Brandon shook his head. "And I don't know how to feel about it. After I dueled Willoughby, I promised myself-and moreover, I promised Eliza-I'd never risk my life or my health again for something like honour. But, Marianne, to a man-and a military man at that-asking me to withhold that need is like asking me to cut off a limb. God, how I longed to strike him."
"You could have, you know. I never asked you to withhold that part of yourself. You could have struck him in the middle of the assembly room, and I'd have still left the premises on your arm, and been proud to. But don't think for a minute you'd be doing it for me. I don't need you to fight another man to prove which of the pair of you is more suited to be my husband. You will always, always be more of a man in my eyes than Mr. Rochester, or Willoughby, or anyone. Unless you think my honour is so fragile that-"
"No, Marianne," he cut her off gently. "As I said-I trust you. Completely."
"Good." She stared at the night sky, clouded over and threatening to snow again. They'd seen so much snow on this journey that Marianne, who loved snow, was beginning ever so slightly to long for spring, though she hadn't completely lost her yen for the romance of the softly falling flakes. The air was clean and clear as she took a breath. "Why?"
"Why what, my dear?"
"Why do you trust me?"
"Should I not?" he teased. "Ought I to be worried about blackguards like Rochester?"
"Of course not."
"I trust you because I know you. I love you. And I know-I feel it, Marianne-I know that you love me. Though God knows why."
She sighed, content. "Good," she said again. Then she twisted and looked at him again. "Then why the big production of coming into the cold when I was dancing with someone else?"
He laughed. "Just because I trust you, doesn't mean I'm happy to watch you dance with someone else, particularly that someone."
"Then you ought to have asked me. Or at the very least, you ought to have asked Sophy Croft, or some other lady, while I was otherwise engaged."
"Ah, but I do not know how to waltz."
"We shall have to remedy that."
"Don't you think it looks a little like...like the whole world would be watching us...in our most private activities? It's so close, so intimate."
"Yes, maybe a little… but it's...it's lovely." She took his left hand and placed it on her waist, then took his right hand and positioned it in her own. "And it's quite easy. It's the easiest dance to learn. You just glide. Here. Step forward."
He took a step. "Now right." She sort of led him with her hip, until he found a box with his feet. "And back, left, together. Is that so bad?"
He smiled, eyes meeting hers, and said, "Nothing could be more delightful."
"Have you had enough of this?" Marianne gestured around to the assembly. "Can we go back to the hotel now? I should like to teach you some more steps, if you want to learn."
Brandon squeezed his wife's hand. Thank God, he reflected, he hadn't become overwrought earlier with Rochester (who ignored all passers-by as he attempted to woo a brunette in a darkened corner, Brandon noticed as he walked towards the exit). Some men were destined to be lucky with so many women, to act as they pleased and to find pleasure and companionship wherever they went-
And some men were even luckier, because they got private dancing lessons from Mrs. Christopher Brandon. Though, admittedly, tonight's lesson was, as Marianne had predicted, shortened. More pressing needs being discovered, Marianne and her husband abandoned the waltz in favour of a much older, more primitive dance, the roar of the fire providing the music, and the dance floor replaced by bed linens, soft and warm.