The Excursion to Whitwell, Part 10

“Edward!” said Marianne, and at once she was on her feet and crossing the room again. She looked to Elinor, whose expression had calmed a little into a combination of excitement and anxiety. Wishing for Edward's sake—and infinitely more for Elinor's—to dispense with the formalities and the exceeding awkwardness of this meeting, she said to him, “I believe all here are known to you save Colonel Brandon.”

This news took Sir John and his mother-in-law by surprise. “What? Do you know my wife's cousins?” said Sir John.

“I do,” Edward crisply replied, and he nodded to the ladies in question. “How does your uncle?” he inquired of Miss Steele.

“Here now, come meet my friend Brandon,” said Sir John as soon as Miss Steele had confirmed the good health of her relation.

Mrs. Jennings was all curiosity and demanded that her cousins reveal how they knew Mr. Ferrars. Lady Middleton looked on with something like interest but, as ever, allowed her husband to take the active part. Mrs. Dashwood had risen from her seat, as had Margaret, and the gentlemen moved to stand before them.

Marianne linked arms with Elinor and propelled her towards the men. “Do not let Lucy make you uneasy,” she whispered. “You must ignore her if you can; ignore us all if you must. He is here, Elinor!”

Mrs. Dashwood's greeting was affectionate, and Margaret's lively; Edward unbent under their attention and began to appear more comfortable every moment. “I had planned to throw myself upon your hospitality, ma'am,” he confessed to Mrs. Dashwood, who assured him of his welcome at the cottage. He thanked her and warned in an almost playful tone, “I hope you may not come to regret it. My circumstances have sadly changed since last we met.”

While Mrs. Dashwood disclaimed any possibility of regret, Elinor released Marianne's arm and extended a hand to Edward, asking him, “Will you not shake hands with me?”

Instead of responding in kind, with his arms spread, he looked down at his attire in dismay and then up at Elinor. “I am still filthy from the road,” he said.

Was Edward out of his wits? Now was not the time to be put off by a little dirt! Had Marianne not seen the longing in his eyes for her sister, she would have scolded him.

Elinor, however, was undeterred. “I hope I shall always be glad to see you, whatever state you are in,” she said. Edward emitted a great gasp of a sigh and took Elinor's hand in both of his own. With that, Marianne let out her own breath.

Sir John exclaimed his pleasure in seeing the two young people reunited. Drawn thereafter by the more animated discussion in the room, he joined Mrs. Jennings in quizzing their houseguests.

Marianne, wishing to give her sister what privacy she could, stepped away to the instrument. She looked up from the music sheets when she noticed that the colonel had followed her.

“Your sister seems happy.”

“She is, and she will be even happier when all is settled.”

He leaned closer and spoke quietly. “There is some history?” he inquired, nodding towards the place where Lucy sat, being talked over by her sister and cousin.

“Oh, yes!” Marianne said, lowering her voice to match his. “Elinor discovered it, at least the part Edward did not reveal to her. The very idea of any thing between them has made me think much better of second attachments than I used to!” She closed her eyes for a moment. It was indeed one of the things that had changed her opinion. She pushed that thought aside. Edward had come, and Elinor would have the happiness that was her due! “That is all over now,” she told the colonel. “Edward assured us the matter was resolved honourably. I do not think he could have behaved otherwise. It is not in his character to use someone ill, even when he has been ill used himself.”

“The younger Miss Steele appeared quite...displeased when he walked in.”

Marianne smiled. “She can now have nothing to say, or she would have spoken. As long as Elinor is not the one displeased, I am satisfied.”

“Your solicitude for her does you credit.”

“Elinor deserves every consideration.”

The colonel glanced at the couple, still in earnest conversation. “What is his profession?” he asked Marianne.

“He has none, but I suppose he will want to take orders now. His family have been cruel. He is the elder son, but it is almost certain that he has been disinherited for refusing to let his mother choose his bride for him.”

“But what objection could she have to your sister? You are practically family, are you not?” His forehead creased. “Is he not the brother of your brother's wife?”

“If Elinor had twenty or thirty thousand pounds, I dare say there would be no objection. My sister Fanny tried to warn her off when we were all at Norland together.”

“Mr. Ferrars seems a man of integrity to have stood by her. I wish him well.”

“I hope he will not have to go very far to find a living. I would hate to have Elinor at a great distance from me.”

The colonel seemed to be considering his next words, but Marianne was not to hear them. Sir John interrupted their tête-à-tête. “Brandon! I have called you three or four times already! Come join us. You must not keep Miss Marianne all to yourself.”

“You see, Miss Marianne,” cried Mrs. Jennings as they walked back to the group, “I did say he might only need a look at you, and I was right!” This statement was delivered with great pleasure and many a wink.

Marianne was amazed at how undisturbed James appeared in the face of such impertinence, but then he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and the edge of his mouth turned up just for an instant as he looked away.

'He is accustomed to it,' she thought. 'I shall never accustom myself to it.'

Dinner was got through somehow, even better than Marianne would have supposed possible. Lucy had made one or two remarks beforehand about Mrs. Ferrars's being reputed to have high aspirations for her elder son, as if any thing she could say on the subject would be worse than what they had heard from Fanny, or at all daunting to Elinor now. At least Lucy had restricted her barbs to the interval when Edward went up to make himself presentable, for she was meek as a lamb whenever he was in the room.

As for Edward, his face remained untroubled while he continued his attentions to Elinor. He was the opposite of reserved, which assured Marianne that his difficulties—all the ones that signified—were indeed behind him.

After the meal, Marianne sat with Elinor as Mrs. Jennings indulged her curiosity about Edward. “Miss Dashwood,” the matron said, “I have barely had a chance to tease you about your Mr. F! You look very happy, my dear. Do you have news for us?”

“Only that, as I am sure you observed for yourself, Mr. Ferrars is quite well,” Elinor replied. “Unless you would wish to hear how my nephew Harry gets on?”

“I would rather hear how soon you mean to set up your own nursery, my girl,” said Mrs. Jennings with a chortle.

“Mother!” Lady Middleton cried out with more animation than was usual for her.

Marianne bit down on her lip to keep from saying something inexcusably vulgar in protest. With the mixture of good and ill luck they had tonight, doing so might spur the woman on to greater indignities rather than shock her into silence. Though her sister bore up admirably, she could not. She could sit no longer; she got up and walked about the room. As she looked back, she noticed Lucy's sour gaze. Mrs. Jennings could not know how she injured her cousin. Still, Marianne had seen nothing to change her opinion that any injured feelings were not of the tender sort; the wound had been to the lady's pride rather than her heart.

Relief came, and quickly, by way of Sir John, who could be heard teasing the colonel and Edward for their eagerness to join the ladies. As the men entered the room, Marianne felt more in charity with her host than at any other time she could recall. She was sensible of what her family had gained through his generosity, but even the offer of the cottage had at first seemed a cruel kindness, one that removed her from Norland and forced her into company she would never have chosen. Now she was glad her welfare and that of her mother and sisters did not depend upon her brother's indifferent support. She was pleased Edward could meet them away from Fanny's stifling presence. And did she not owe to Sir John the introduction of Colonel Brandon into her circle?

She watched the two men as Edward passed them on his way to Elinor, and Sir John, talking all the while, laid his hand on Brandon's shoulder as if to usher him in her direction. The colonel stopped first to converse with Lady Middleton, who was closer, giving Marianne time to think and remember. Even the forwarding of her acquaintance with the colonel was in some ways the work of Sir John, for he had, in a misguided act of friendship, held back that letter from Eliza until they were all together on the water. He did not know, had no way of knowing. He had only wanted his friend to enjoy himself.

Sir John was James's friend. He knew the colonel's value, and she would learn to value him as much for James's sake as for what her family owed him.

If nothing else had, her changed sentiments towards Sir John Middleton would have revealed the state of her feelings. James was hers, and she likewise would belong to him and take an interest in his concerns, as was fitting. She had no doubt as to how she would answer him now. Indeed, she was eager for the question.

The colonel moved on from the Middletons to Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret. He left them after a few moments and was next waylaid by Mrs. Jennings. Marianne was glad to see Elinor and Edward take the opportunity to slip away from the group.

Marianne took notice of some of the pretty ornaments in the room, but her attention could not long be diverted from the colonel. Soon he bowed to the ladies and walked towards her. He looked thoughtful, and she waited to hear what he would say.

“Miss Marianne,” he said, speaking so as not to be overheard, “now that we have a bit of privacy, I should be glad of your opinion, if I may consult you.”

“Certainly!” she said, surprised by his request.

“You said Mr. Ferrars is likely to take orders. I propose to offer the living of Delaford for his consideration, if you think it welcome. Some matters relating to its vacancy delayed my journey here, in fact. I wish it were a more valuable rectory—it is merely two hundred a year. The house is small, suitable for a bachelor, but I fear it may not be comfortable enough for more.”

“Do you think he will care about the size of the house,” said Marianne, “as long as he can share it with one he loves? But this is marvellous! Do you really mean it? You have only just met him!”

“The approbation of your sister and yourself is recommendation enough for me.”

Her hands came up over her mouth as if to catch the “Oh!” that whooshed out with her breath. “Your kindness is overwhelming,” she said as she stared at him. How could he give and give as he did? Did he never tire of it?

She could hear talk of ordering the carriage and retiring early on account of the travellers. “I shall tell Edward tonight,” she assured the colonel. “I will be very pleased to do so.”

“That pleases me a great deal.”

The earnest look in his eye and the turn of his mouth made something flutter within her. She knew enough of him to be sure he was happy to be of service to Edward, but there was more in his look. He seemed even happier to be of service to her by extension.

He had already done so much, more than she could repay. What could she do for him in return? There was nothing she had that he needed, nothing she could contribute to the ease or comfort of his friends. For himself, there was no impending error from which she could rescue him, none from whom he needed her protection. She realised she had not been thinking in this way before, when she had gone about blindly, blithely, tumbling headlong into love, lost in adoration of a man unworthy of her attachment and undeserving of her trust. She and Willoughby, for all their feelings, had been unfeeling together, caught up in each other, ignoring and disdaining the rest of the world by turns. What of good had they really known of each other? What virtues had they practised or inspired? Their love, if it merited the word, had been an easy, selfish, fevered thing that had rendered no lasting benefit to their friends or even to themselves.

James had turned to examine something on one of the tables, his hovering finger tracing its form without touching it. She wondered what he had seen in her eyes before he had turned away. For her part, she had not ceased looking at him.

She may not know what he needed, but she did know what he wanted. He wanted her friendship, her company, her affection, and she was prepared to give him that and more. She had known a selfish devotion, and she was ready now to embark upon a more generous one with a generous man.

She stopped herself from reaching for him, but she could not stop his name from passing her lips, so strong was the connection she felt. “James,” she said on a whisper, thankful she was too far away from the others for them to hear the subject of her thoughts spoken aloud.

“Hmm,” he said without turning round, as if his ears were attuned specially to the sound of her voice, imbuing the moment with the warmth and comfort of domestic familiarity. At first she thought she had only imagined that he heard her, that his answering syllable was mere coincidence, but then he looked over his shoulder and directly into her eyes, as if waiting for her to continue.

This time when she spoke, her voice was quiet but clear. “I am so glad you are come.”

* * *
Once they returned to the cottage, Mrs. Dashwood excused herself and Margaret to see to arrangements for Edward, and with a wink, she left Marianne to chaperone the couple.

“I shall not stay very long,” Marianne promised them. “I do have something to tell Edward, but first, I must know.” She turned to Elinor. “You were right, were you not? About Lucy Steele?”

“She was,” Edward answered for her. “I dared not speak of it openly at Barton Park. I should like to tell you both,” he said, looking for permission at Elinor, who nodded. “After all, had it not been for what Marianne said to me during my last visit, I might still be the miserable wretch I was then.”

“And I should like very much to hear it,” Marianne said, “but it need not be tonight. I do have news, however, that cannot wait. I think you will both like it.”

She then told them of the colonel's offer, which elicited expressions of wonder, gratitude, and joy. When all was quiet, Marianne caught the look in Edward's eyes as his gaze fell on Elinor and remained there. She whispered her goodnight and left the pair to themselves, in no doubt of what would follow.

The next morning, Marianne left the house early. The sky was still a riot of pink and orange, melting into light. The air was obligingly mild and comfortable at present; if that were to change, no doubt a brisk pace would keep the cold at bay. Marianne wanted solitude and exercise to allow her thoughts to wander where they would before breakfasting with her family.

She was so, so happy for Elinor, but her head was full of James. He was James to her now, and while 'Colonel' might do, 'Mr. Brandon' sounded entirely too formal, too distant.

Then, as if her mind had conjured him, she glanced up from the path to see him there.

Suddenly it was of the utmost importance that no one witness this meeting. Just as when she had once escaped the house to be alone with James's letter, she hoped now to be alone with the man himself, safe from even the possibility of prying eyes.

She looked about and made her choice of a pretty little bit of shrubbery high enough to suit.

He was so close now that he might call her name without shouting and she would hear it, but he said nothing and continued to walk steadily towards her. Keeping her eye on him, she moved away in the direction of the shrubbery. He came towards her still, his gait slower but just as deliberate. This gave her all the impetus needed. She hurried now to the place that was to serve as their outdoor parlour, pleased with its combination of beauty and breadth and privacy.

He walked in, slowing almost to a stop.

At once all the energy she had stored up while waiting those last seconds burst forth. With every step forward, she felt as if she were flying, and then she was flying, casting herself into his arms without apology and laughing when he caught her and for an instant kept her feet suspended above the earth.

He held her close and whispered her name over and over in her ear.

“I wanted to be near you,” he said at length. “I had no thought to see you walking out as well. When I did, I prepared myself for the greeting of a friend, but this,” he said, breaking off with a shuddering breath, “is more, more than I—” He rested his open mouth on her forehead. It was odd and exhilarating to feel his breath on her.

“I am going to kiss you,” he said with his mouth still touching her skin.

“I know.” It was the only thing wanting. “I have never kissed anyone, not even—”

He pulled back and looked at her. “You need not say a word. What is between us is new, even if not wholly unconnected with what came before. It is our beginning. The past we may leave to itself.”

She understood he might have said it for his own sake as much as for hers and at the same time realised she did not care who had come before her in his life.

His first kiss made her feel a fool for having once believed him too old for love. Subsequent ones proved his love was no serene affection either, but a passionate, active, lavish force.

They kissed for long, long moments.

“Are you cold?” he asked as the sensations sent tremblings through her.

“Not while you hold me.” She could tolerate even flannel waistcoats if they kept him cosy enough to let him linger out of doors with her! She looked up into his face. “There is still much of you I do not know. I must learn,” she said, letting her hands roam over his jaw, his hair, his shoulders, “until I know all of you by heart.” She roamed farther, without care or discretion or design, only unfettered tenderness. When she had done, she closed her eyes and pressed in close as he let his hands roam in turn. Such careful, caressing hands he had. She wondered what they would be like without the constraints of delicacy. “I wish I could feel more of you,” she said.

“Do you?” he said in a gruff voice. “You astonish me! All in good time, my love.”

“When?”

He laughed and kissed her in a way that made her heady with delight.

“Did I say that aloud?”

He nodded and smiled at her. “When?” he repeated. “It depends. When will you marry me?”

They walked hand in hand and discussed the matter with the seriousness it deserved.

They were still holding hands when they entered the cottage. James did not release her until they stood before her mother. Then he did so with obvious reluctance and addressed Mrs. Dashwood:

“I should like your permission, madam, to marry Miss Marianne.”