A/N: After recently rewatching the 1995 Sense & Sensibility film, I came looking for fanfiction of Marianne & Brandon's romance, since there is so very little of what happened between them at the end of the film (and to be fair, there's even less in the book, if I recall correctly. There are a lot of excellent fics around here for this couple, but none of them went exactly how I wanted them to go, so I felt the need to write my own version. Then it just seemed to make sense to share. I'd call it a sort of alternate/expanded ending, and I hope someone other than me gets a smile out of it :)

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and any recognisable dialogue belongs to Jane Austen, Emma Thompson, and other people who aren't me.

What Is Love?

'Is love a fancy, or a feeling?'

Marianne had once posed the question from Coleridge's sonnet to her sister and felt sure that, in Elinor's case, the true answer must actually be 'a Ferrars'. So it had proven to be, though the path to true love had run far from smooth. At least, in time, they had been granted their happiness together.

For Marianne, the question of what love truly was had remained unanswered that much longer. It had taken a near-fatal bout of illness and the attention of two gentlemen - one far more worthy of the title than the other - to truly make her see that love with neither fancy nor feeling, but a great multitude of things all wrapped up into one perfect whole.

It was something she had begun to consider more seriously in the weeks after her elder sister's engagement. Reflective as she was in mind and spirit, considering all that had gone before, Marianne began to suspect she had long been, if not ignorant, then certainly naive about the ways of love, though she had spent time enough reading of it, singing of it, and thinking of it.

Mr Willoughby had been her idea of love once. She could then imagine nothing more to ask or wish for than his attentions, certain as she was of his devotion. He did not speak love to her, but seemed to prove it in other ways. In his manner, his way of looking at her, his offer of simple, thoughtful gifts, his eyes and smile and... and it was only after it was over that she realised just how foolish she had been. How she alone had made his words and actions what she hoped they could be, rather than what they actually were.

It was in other ways that true love was to be proven. In constancy, in kindness, in small acts of caring that might pass by unnoticed if one were quite distracted elsewhere. Such Marianne was sure it had been with her, for all she had thought of for far too long was Willoughby, when all the time, another should have been the object of her affection, playing the role of hero in her story, even when she was not fully aware of it.

"Miss Marianne? Are you feeling unwell? Would you prefer perhaps to be left alone...?"

"No, Colonel, I assure you, I am quite well. I am only too deep among my own thoughts when I am sure I should be attending to your reading. You will forgive me, I hope?"

"There is nothing to forgive," he assured her, with another of those smiles that seemed to so warm her heart in every occasion of them being bestowed upon her.

Poor Colonel Brandon. To think that once she had looked upon him as so very old a man. Indeed, it was true that he was almost twenty years her senior, but how Marianne could have been so blind as to believe such things could truly matter when no other obstacle might stand in the way of love, she could no longer conceive.

Did she not read and become dedicated to the stories of every pair of lovers fighting through tempest and storm, society's strict rules, wars and tragedies, just to be together for a moment in truest love? Why then should a difference in age be at all considered when two people might make each other so perfectly happy and content?

"If I may be so bold as to ask, what is it that troubles you?"

Marianne considered telling the Colonel it was nothing worth the repeating, but of all people in the world, she did hope that perhaps he might understand. Though she could never have guessed it in the early part of their acquaintance, Colonel Brandon had indeed proven to have such a great understanding of romantic writing and music that she too enjoyed. He had feelings enough, she was certain of it, and those that tended in her direction pleased her more and more with each passing day of their friendship.

"I would not say that my thoughts trouble me exactly," she told him, her eyes fixed on the view rather than his face, for it seemed to improve her chances of speaking all she wished to say without further embarrassing herself or the good Colonel. "It is only that... I believe that I have been a very foolish girl, and I know you will reproach me for saying as much, if I allow you the chance, so you will excuse me if I do not do so. For too long, I thought myself far more wise than any other in the ways of the heart, and now, not a twelve-month since I was so very sure of myself in one way, I find I am altogether certain in another way entirely. Oh, but I am not speaking plainly," she declared, almost laughing at herself when she looked and saw the puzzled expression on the Colonel's dear face then. "You are familiar with Mr Hartley Coleridge, of course. Of his Sonnet VII."

"Indeed, I am."

"I have often read it over and wondered at its meaning. I have thought of love as both a fancy and a feeling, and believed myself to know so exactly what it truly entailed. Love was, to me, the great passion and tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, of Lancelot and Guinevere, of Heloise and Abelard. To die for love seemed to be the ultimate in beautiful sacrifice and devotion. It had not once occurred to me that to live for love might yet be a greater thing. To prove one's dedication and a steadfast heart by being always what another would wish for, but also what they most need."

She hoped then that her meaning had become more clear. Surely, in her words, such an educated man as the Colonel must note the comparison she made and what it meant. That what was felt between herself and Willoughby may have been passion, but that Colonel Brandon himself was now the very epitome of love to her. True love. The kind of thing that ran deep and endured anything and everything. Such a strength of feeling she could never have hoped to have found with her former beau.

"I think that it is unwise for anyone to think of love as only one thing," she continued then, "for is it not so very much layered and intricate in its design? Is love not all things rather than but one? All things that are good and true, such as trust, faith, companionship, and caring?"

"I believe it ought to be so." Colonel Brandon nodded his head, looking surprisingly sad in such a moment. "Though I would hope that in the case of love between two people with marriage in mind, for example, that the passion you spoke of might also be found. I would also hope, Miss Marianne, that you would not give up entirely on your wish to feel such things."

He seemed as if he desired it unsaid the moment the words had left his lips. Certainly, he averted his eyes in such a way as to appear embarrassed, and Marianne did not wonder at it, her own cheeks beginning to burn at the implication.

"Perhaps it is possible to have the best of both worlds," she said, clearing her throat a little before she dare go on. "In time, I hope I may come to know for myself. For now, I can only say that I am a willing student to the cause, as I have been in so many other topics under your tutelage, Colonel," she told him, daring to be brave and meet his gaze once more. "And since we are in quite the mood to share today, I wonder... but would it be truly wicked of me to make such an intimate enquiry?" she mused aloud. "For it has been many weeks now of us spending so much time in each other's company, all but alone, and yet I am left to wonder, what is your Christian name? Do you feel it impertinent of me to ask you for it?"

"If it would please you to know it, then I am all too eager to tell you," he assured her. "I am, in fact, Colonel Christopher Brandon."

Marianne was uncertain how to respond to his sharing such a thing, and was prevented from discovering what she might have said, for her sister Margaret soon came upon them, wanting their attention, as she so often did. Marianne would no sooner deny her than the Colonel would, but the time did soon slip away from them and no more was said of love or similar on that occasion.

It would be a few days more before they met again. The Colonel had reason to go to London on business, but made a further visit to Barton Cottage directly on his return, armed with books and trinkets enough for all the ladies of the house.

"You are too generous, Colonel," Mrs Dashwood told him. "I am sure we do not expect it, though we are, of course, most grateful for every kindness."

Marianne did so wish that her mother would not speak so when directing her eyes so very specifically. It was not at all that Marianne herself was not grateful to the Colonel for his attentions, his gifts, and his dedication, but as she had hoped to make clear in an earlier conversation, it was not only her thanks she wished to bestow upon her dear friend. Indeed, she had high hopes of them being that much more than merely friends as time wore on, but how to say as much without further embarrassing or indeed disgracing herself and her family?

The maturity that Marianne hoped she had gained through the trials of her young life may have taught her to be wary and mindful, perhaps even a little more guarded in her words and actions, but still, where love was to be had, she so wished to be otherwise. With Colonel Brandon, she felt she ought to be able to say and do as she so wanted to, for certainly, he would understand. If she were to be free with her feelings, he would never treat her as another had, she was sure, and yet...

"Miss Marianne," he said so abruptly that he quite startled her, the two of them coming to a sudden halt in their walk. "I can go no further until I have... That is to say, there is something that has been playing upon my mind since our last conversation. I am afraid I cannot go on wondering and must ask you... I must ask you, am I wrong to live in this hope I have found? All that you said to me, all that you appeared to mean... Have I misinterpreted? Do I read too much into your musings of love and further attempts at intimacy?"

If Marianne believed it were possible for one person to read the thoughts of another from their mind, she would surely have said such a miracle had occurred, at least in part, between herself and the Colonel then. For had her very heart not been aching with feelings she was unable to express until he gave her such an opportunity as this? Was she not, with every step, falling further into the despair of a love unspoken, until this very moment?

"Oh, Colonel," she said, a smile upon her lips over which she had little control, and laughter in her voice born of pure relief, she was certain, "or if I may be so bold, dearest Christopher," she tried instead, watching his eyes fall shut and a kind of joy come upon his face at the sound of his name from her lips that she felt echoing in her own heart. "I am so truly grateful to you for being as astute as you are, for I am sure I should have gone quite mad had you not truly understood my meaning. A lady, I know, should never express so much of what she is feeling for a man, until his own desires are laid bare. It is not the way of things, and of course, you know enough of my frankness to think that I may not see fit to live to society's rules where love is concerned. That being said, you have also borne witness to my transformation from foolish girl to, I hope, a young woman of better sense and... and so, yes. Yes, please, do believe that I wish for you to have hope, for it is all that I have myself. Hope that I may still appear worthy in your eyes, after everything that has passed, for I should feel truly blessed to be so."

These words from her he could not mistake or misunderstand, she was sure, and when he took both of her hands into his own, she knew that they were finally as one in their wishes and hopes. That his heart and her heart were to be forever entwined.

"Dearest Marianne," he said softly, drawing her a little closer. "You will consent then, to be my wife?"

"Yes. Most willingly," she confirmed, half-afraid her voice would fail her if she tried to say more, and yet trying for all she was worth to impart every true thing she was feeling. "For love I am sure now to be neither fancy nor feeling, but quite simply all that is here between you and I."

In such a moment, she fancied a pair of newly-engaged lovers in any number of romance novels might share a kiss. In reality, she did not harbour such hopes, when rules of propriety and decency must forever be adhered to. It was then such a truly pleasant surprise when, on realising they may not be spotted by anyone, Colonel Brandon drew her ever closer and firmly but gently pressed his lips against her own.

With such warmth and eagerness did she receive his token of love, returning it as best she knew how until the moment passed. The smile upon his face was, she was sure, reflected upon her own, as it then was on all the faces of those closest to her when the news of the engagement was duly imparted.

From that day, only on one occasion was the love between the happy pair ever questioned, and then, in hushed tones and with the utmost care taken to assure Marianne that Elinor meant no harm in the asking.

"Dearest one, I will say what I must and when I have your answer, will promise never again to speak of it, but please, tell me truly, do you see your marriage to the Colonel as his just reward for all that he has suffered in aiding you through your troubles, or is your heart indeed entirely won over?"

"I do not blame you for the question, Elinor," Marianne assured her. "I shall even admit to wondering such a thing myself in the beginning. Of course, I am most grateful for the Colonel's attentions, for all the care he has shown to myself and my dear family, but it is not only this that shall bring me to the altar. I am sure you know I could never make any real promise to a man based on this alone. What I have suffered has certainly altered me, but not so very much as to make me over completely anew.

"I think of love most true whenever I look upon my dearest Christopher. I confess, it was not always so, when I was so easily blinded by another, but that is all forgotten now. Rest assured, sister, my heart is entirely in this match. My marriage shall be a happy one, I am more than certain. Yourself and Edward shall indeed have competition for the couple most deeply devoted in marriage when I become Mrs Brandon!"

It sounded like quite the good joke, but Marianne was pleased to note that Elinor saw beyond the jest of her words to the truth beneath, for she meant them as sure as any she had ever spoken before. She did intend to be very happily married, just as her sister and brother-in-law evidently were.

On the day of her wedding, Marianne had not a moment's hesitation or uncertainty, and when night came, she found she was as ready to take on her wifely duties in the dark as she had been sure of her vows at the altar.

So strange a revelation it had been to hear from Elinor what a wedding night truly entailed, Marianne had done her best to keep her expressions as neutral as possible throughout the explanation, but found it more difficult than she might first have guessed. Still, there was no fear in her as she awaited her husband in the dimly lit bedchamber. In all things, she trusted her him to do what was right by her and was sure that feeling would never change.

When at last he came to her, in such a state of undress as to quite astonish her, Marianne thought only of her own state of being, wondering what he might think of her when presented in such a way. She ought to have known perhaps that all would be well, that he would, as always, speak of her beauty and his delight at being in her presence.

"But you are shaking," he noted, his hands reaching out to her shoulders. "I beg you, do not be uneasy, my love. You have nothing to fear from me."

"I am not afraid," she told him without pause. "I would never have you think so, for I have never once... With you I am always safe from harm. With you I am loved in a way I have never known from another. Today, I pledged my life to you, because it is all that I wanted. Tonight, I am yours to do with as you wish. Not because I am a wife and therefore obedient, but because I am a woman in love with her husband and only eager to prove as much."

She waited then only for his guidance on how to proceed. His hand moved to her hair, the lightest of touches that made her eyes fall shut. Marianne was sure she shook with only sweet anticipation as he then took her face into his hands and drew her close enough to kiss.

It was at first so tentative and sweet, as any kiss they had shared before had been. When all at once she found her body pressed decidedly against his own, her arms about his neck and his hands so hot and firm upon her skin, through the thin fabric of her nightgown, it became the most exhilarating thing.

Though she had fancied herself somewhat prepared by her sister's careful explanations, still Marianne found herself startled by the very literal rising of her husband's passion. Still, she felt a thrill in knowing that it was she that was the cause of his stirrings, that everything she was and did had some profound effect upon him, as he did upon her. The nerves and worries quite faded to nothing, as better sensations and feelings drove away all else.

And as he lay her down upon the bed, showing her what love was in such a way as no poet or playwright could ever hope to convey in words alone, Marianne knew, once and for all, what true love really meant.

Is love a fancy or a feeling? It was neither of those at all. Though it remained a great many things, as she had reasoned before, it was also infinitely more than she ever supposed. Love had proved in truth to be an enigma, a paradox. The meeting point of great passion and true gentleness, of complete trust and utter abandon, of all that is good and steady, yet forever a new discovery to be made.

In her husband's strong embrace, her head pillowed against his chest, where she might enjoy the steady sound of his good heart in her ear, while her body yet hummed with newly-sated pleasure, Marianne sighed with real contentment.

"I love you, Christopher. With all my heart and everything I possess. I believe I always shall."

"And I love you, dearest Marianne," he told her, placing a kiss in her hair. "For as long as I have breath in my body and, I suspect, even beyond such mortal bindings."

With such sweet promises delighting her ears did Marianne fall into slumber, a smile upon her lips she was sure should never shift, knowing she should never have to wonder about the true nature of love ever again.

The End