“Charlotte and James are staying,” Mrs. Jennings began, proceeding to repack the contents of her clutch. “If you’d like, you can go home with them later, dear.”
Lucy nodded and watched as Mrs. Jennings hurried after them.
“Actually,” Robert began, and Lucy turned to face him expectantly, “I could take you home, Lucy.”
Lucy smiled and batted her eyelashes. “Why, aren’t you the perfect gentleman,” her voice hummed with flirtation. Lucy was determined that Marianne’s miserable state would not ruin her fun and gladly accepted Robert’s invitation to stay on at the party with him.
The following morning, Mrs. Jennings and Lucy were the only early risers and found themselves eating a light breakfast together in the open dining area. Lucy was especially chatty as she described every detail from the previous evening to the interested Mrs. Jennings. The elderly woman munched on toast while dividing her attention between James’s cousin and that morning’s newspaper. The New York Post had printed a featurette on the Dashwood International Charity Ball.
Interrupting their gossip session, Charlotte rushed in and began searching for her purse. James appeared at the entryway a moment later, pulling out his iPhone as he waited for her to find it.
Locating her bag, Charlotte slipped into her jacket and kissed her mom on the forehead. “See you later, Mom,” she said before following her husband to the front door.
Mrs. Jennings waved goodbye without turning to look at them and Lucy smiled graciously.
Ellie came downstairs just in time to see them off. “Where are they going?” she asked, coming into the kitchen opposite the dining area.
“Marital counseling,” Mrs. Jennings answered with a slight chuckle. “Back in my day, there was no such thing as ‘marital counseling.’ You were either happily married or unhappily married, and you just dealt with it.”
Ellie shrugged and proceeded to pour herself a bowl of cereal. She couldn’t remember her parents ever having marital problems. They must have gotten lucky in love.
“Actually, statistics prove marriage counseling works in seven out of ten cases,” Lucy stated matter-of-factly.
Ellie pretended to agree with Lucy’s statement while placing her bowl at the table. Remembering there was fresh coffee, she went back to the kitchen counter where the coffee pot was stationed and poured herself a full mug.
“Is Marianne coming down?” Mrs. Jennings asked, her gaze following Ellie as she returned to her seat. Ellie nodded and sat down, taking a sip of her coffee. “How did she sleep last night?” the elderly woman inquired.
“Not at all,” Ellie admitted, sighing as she pushed around her cereal absentmindedly. Having slept in the room next door to her sister’s, Ellie had woken several times to the sound of Marianne sobbing. Although she had attempted to comfort her sister, Marianne refused her sympathies, preferring to be alone while composing something on the computer.
While Ellie sat silently at the table, her mind replayed the events of the previous evening. As if it hadn’t been bad enough the way Willoughby had retreated from Oregon and then didn’t keep in contact, he had to go and make things worse by giving Marianne the cold shoulder in public, humiliating her. Had that been necessary? Chewing on that last tidbit while finishing her breakfast, Ellie’s concentration was diverted at the sound of Marianne’s footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Good morning, dear,” Mrs. Jennings greeted as Marianne entered the room.
They all tried not to stare as she grabbed a plate and slowly placed a few pieces of sliced fruit on it. Ellie wondered why her sister even bothered dishing up breakfast when she probably wouldn’t eat any of it.
A knock at the door saved Marianne from further scrutiny. Becoming suddenly alert, Marianne’s eyes lit up with hope as she set down her plate and rushed toward the door. Opening it with a beautiful smile, her sudden cheerfulness quickly evaporated when seeing it was only a bike messenger.
The messenger, trying not to take her odd behavior to heart, smiled as he pulled a large package from his over-sized backpack. “Priority mail for Marianne Dashwood.”
The excitement swiftly returned to Marianne’s features as she signed on his clipboard and accepted the hefty package. “Thank you,” Marianne said without giving him another glance and closed the door.
Marianne’s steps were full of anticipation as she rushed past them and upstairs to her room. As she passed by, Marianne met Ellie’s gaze and her glowing face cemented Mrs. Jennings’s suspicion that it was indeed from Willoughby.
“Ahh. . .” Mrs. Jennings cooed with a slight chuckle once they heard the door to Marianne’s room close. “That should patch everything up!”
Ellie nodded but didn’t quite share in Mrs. Jennings’s confidence. If Willoughby really wanted to patch things up, why hadn’t he come in person?
Knocking on the door to her sister’s room sometime later, Ellie waited for an answer. Receiving none, her pulse quickened with concern. Tapping on the door again and still not hearing any response, Ellie opened the door and peered inside. Stretched out on the bed, choking with tears, was the broken-hearted Marianne. Paralyzed by her grief, Marianne lay next to an over-turned canvas, clinging tightly to a page of white computer paper. Bewildered by this display of misery, Ellie rushed to Marianne and wrapped her arms around her sister. For the next several minutes, Ellie listened to Marianne wail uncontrollably until it seemed almost too much to bear. She wanted to assure her sister that everything would be all right and attempt to ease her pain, but Marianne needed to grieve first.
Rolling over to face her sister, Marianne surprised Ellie by handing her the piece of paper she had been clutching. Then once again burying her face into the bed, she unleashed another downpour of bitter tears. The overwhelmed Ellie sat in confusion. Was Marianne asking her to read it?
As if sensing Ellie’s thoughts, Marianne stammered through sobs, “Read it. . . .”
A bit dazed, Ellie lowered her eyes to the tear-stained document and studied Willoughby’s familiar handwriting. Taking a moment to steady her voice, she began reading it out loud.
Marianne,
I have to ask you to please stop writing me. I’m not sure what gave you the impression that we were in a serious relationship or, for that matter, even dating, but honestly I only viewed you and your family as friends during my stay in Portland. As you know I was working at the time, and perhaps my enthusiasm for art in general led you to misunderstand my motives.
Ellie paused. Had they all been fooled? Had they only imagined Willoughby’s devotion to Marianne? Taking a deep breath, she kept her frustration at bay so she could finish his letter.
Sometimes my outgoing nature has the effect of misleading vulnerable young ladies, and if this has been the case, I can only blame myself for not having been more guarded.
Pausing again, Ellie looked down at Marianne as her sister continued to cry. This letter felt more like a script than reality. These words didn’t seem like Willoughby’s at all—but then, did they even really know him? Unlike the warm and contagious Willoughby of the past, his words were now cold and detached, having none of the personality that could be expected in a letter from a friend, and even more so from a young man who had been in a relationship with her sister. It was as if Willoughby’s time with Marianne had never happened, and it made Ellie want to pull her hair out—what was going on? Trying once more to finish the letter, she read on.
You see, it’s impossible that anything could have ever existed between us when my heart has been long attached elsewhere.
Ellie lowered the letter in astonishment. The words “long been attached elsewhere” kept revolving in her mind. If love had not been Willoughby’s intent, then what had? What had he meant by his visits, holding Marianne’s hand, speaking sweet nothings in her ear and giving her a diamond bracelet? Had Willoughby just been using Marianne? If so, they had all been so deceived!
“Oh, Marianne. . .” Ellie tried to comfort, softly stroking Marianne
’s long, curly tresses. “I know it really hurts right now, but just think how you would feel if he’d continued to lead you on for months and months before calling it off.”
“I won’t allow you to think badly of him, Ellie,” Marianne choked out. “He hasn’t broken any promises.”
“But Jim told you he loved you, didn’t he?” Ellie’s brows furrowed. Anyone would have thought the two shared a secret promise by the way Marianne had been acting.
“Yes—no—” Marianne’s breath was labored as she answered. “Every day I felt it. Sometimes I thought he had said so, but no, never outright.”
“Yet you wrote and pursued him?” questioned the confused Ellie.
“Yes—was that so wrong, Ellie—after all that had passed between us?”
“Let me see if I’m understanding this correctly,” Ellie attempted to connect the dots, “Jim gave you a bracelet worth thousands of dollars and even took you to his aunt’s house where you discussed ideas for the future, yet you were never in a serious relationship with him?”
“I thought we were at the time—I believed we were serious, but then . . . oh, Ellie, I don’t know anymore,” Marianne shook her head, lowering her eyes. “All I know is that I felt myself to be as much a part of him as if he had asked me to be his wife!” Following this declaration, Marianne started sobbing again and fell back onto the bed.
“Unfortunately, Jim didn’t feel the same, Marianne,” Ellie said tearfully, glancing at letter still in her hand before dropping it onto the bed and wiping away a stray tear.
“But he did Ellie, he did! I know he did!”
“Marianne, calm down,” Ellie tried to dissuade her sister from being so passionate.
Ignoring her, Marianne continued, “We were once everything to each other!” Then pulling away from Ellie’s comforting touch, Marianne declared, “Ellie, I have been used, but not by Jim.”
Waiting for Marianne’s hysterics to pass, Ellie began slowly, “Marianne, if not Jim, then who?”
“The world, Ellie, the world. . .” Marianne answered before collapsing once again into her sister’s arms.
Holding tightly to Marianne, Ellie felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She hated Willoughby—she hated him for coming into their lives, for leading Marianne on, and most of all, for breaking Marianne’s most fragile heart.
Later that day, Mrs. Jennings found Ellie in the kitchen making a sandwich for Marianne. Scurrying toward her with a magazine in hand, the elderly woman got Ellie’s attention. “Ellie,” Mrs. Jennings began, “Jim’s getting married.”
Ellie froze—not sure whether to laugh or cry. She’d just learned that her sister wasn’t secretly engaged to Willoughby after all, and now he was going to marry someone else?
Mrs. Jennings acknowledged Ellie’s silence as disbelief. “Yes! It’s true. See for yourself,” she pressed, handing the magazine to Ellie.
Ellie looked to where Mrs. Jennings pointed and saw the picture of Willoughby with that same woman from the charity event. The mystery woman was a Ms. Paris Grey, and along with their picture was the headline “Engaged!” written at top. Looking inside at the article, it read:
Paris Grey of the Greys of Manhattan has found quite a match in New Yorker art critic Jim Willoughby of Colorado. In just two short weeks, their wedding will be held at the Hilton hotel where some 2,000 guests are invited.
Ellie glanced over at Mrs. Jennings and shared her frown. “She must be very rich.”
“She is,” Mrs. Jennings confirmed matter-of-factly. “Poor Marianne. . .” she paused to lament, “But tell her to take care. There are plenty of eligible men in this world, and with movie star good looks like hers, I have a feeling she won’t be single long.” With that, Mrs. Jennings closed the magazine and turned to leave as a mischievous smile lit up her face. “In fact, I can only imagine what Brandon is thinking right now. . . .”
Ellie hated to admit it, but it was getting harder to deny the signs that Marianne was growing worse every day. She had hoped her efforts in nursing her sister back to good health would not be in vain—but the improvements Ellie so strongly desired to see were still lacking. It was perplexing to witness the once lively and exuberant Marianne looking like a mere shadow of herself.
Managing to coax the heart-sick girl from her room, Ellie and Marianne were now lounging on the leather couch together watching some TV.
“Ellie, Marianne,” Charlotte called as she stepped into view. “Brandon’s here to see you.” Acknowledging this, Ellie stood while Charlotte disappeared to show him in.
“Why can’t he just leave us alone!” the exhausted Marianne exclaimed before getting up to make an escape. But just as Marianne was about to succeed, Brandon entered the room and the two nearly collided. “Oh, excuse me,” she said without remorse, maneuvering around him to exit. Brandon lingered at the door, his eyes clouded with sadness.
Mortified by her sister’s behavior, Ellie smiled awkwardly in greeting. “Hello, Brandon,” she shuffled her feet.
“How is she?” Brandon cut to the chase, his voice laden with concern. Although he hadn’t seen Marianne since the evening of the charity ball, her alteration had not gone unnoticed by him.
“Marianne . . . she. . .” Ellie wasn’t quite sure how to begin, but reminded herself that Brandon was a friend and could be trusted. Starting over, she didn’t try to give him the run around. “She takes things very hard. In her mind, she is still trying to justify Jim’s actions.” Ellie motioned for Brandon to follow her example and sit.
Instead, Brandon looked pensive as he walked to the other end of the room. “Do you . . . would it be okay if,” he began carefully, “if I related some circumstances concerning Jim that might lessen your sister’s despair?”
What could Brandon possibly know about Willoughby that could make Marianne feel better? Nevertheless, whatever he had to share must be important, so Ellie nodded and waited for him to continue.
“When I left Portland this last summer. . .” Brandon continued, “No . . . I must go back further.” He sighed and turned from the window to look at her. “I once knew a girl much like Marianne—the same warmth of heart, the same passion for life and expression. I was very much in love with her, but my dad disapproved of the match and sent me overseas. Being financially dependent on my dad, I went, believing she would wait for me. I completely lost touch with her. When I came back three years later, the first thing I did was try to find her. At last, after six months of searching, I eventually found her. She was in a shelter, dying, and, as I was to discover, had mothered a child who was then only two. I was with Sophie in her last moments. She made me promise to raise Skylar, her daughter who was then in state custody, as if she were my own. When Skylar turned fifteen, I placed her in a school and visited whenever I could. But last February she suddenly disappeared. I had allowed her to go to New York with a friend, and this friend either didn’t know where Skylar had gone, or wouldn’t tell, so I was left to think the worst for eight long months. I received the first bit of news regarding Skylar’s whereabouts the day of the picnic. She was pregnant, and the man responsible had deserted her—”
“Jim?” Ellie asked, breathless.
“Yes,” Brandon answered resolutely. “Jim left Skylar with nothing—not even for the child.”
Ellie shook her head with disbelief. She could believe Willoughby to be the cruel destroyer of hearts, but never thought him capable of something this bad.
“With your sister though,” Brandon began to explain, finally taking a seat next to Ellie. “I sincerely believe Jim’s feelings were geniune. His aunt has since informed me that he had every intention of asking Marianne to marry him. Although she insisted he marry Skylar, to the point of disinheriting him, Jim refused and panicked, giving up his plan of proposing to Marianne and fleeing immediately to New York. Apparently he was relying on his aunt’s money to offset the fact that Marianne was penniless—and love wasn’t enough for Jim to forgo his lifestyle.”
So Willoughb
y had meant to propose, but his past came to haunt him. Though Ellie received this information with an odd feeling of relief, how on earth was she supposed to tell Marianne about it without further heartbreak? For someone with Marianne’s sensibilities, what could be more romantically devastating than a man who meant to propose but circumstances got in the way?
After Brandon left, Ellie remained downstairs in the solemnity of the family room to further digest Brandon’s revelation. Although she’d rather keep the information to herself, Ellie knew it wouldn’t be fair to Marianne or Brandon. Yet, she couldn’t stop agonizing about how and when to approach Marianne so as to lessen the blow it most surely would cause.
Later that night, Ellie plucked up her courage and told Marianne. Her sister cried and cried until she couldn’t cry any more. It was the knowledge that Willoughby had loved her and intended to propose which broke Marianne’s heart all over again. A rat was a rat, even if he had fallen in love, and because he was not the man she had believed him to be, it was like losing him twice.
Watching her sister try to stomach the fact that Willoughby would never be a part of her life, Ellie tried to soothe by brushing Marianne’s hair. “At least now you know. . .” Ellie began softly, “. . .he did love you, and saw a future with you.”
Marianne felt as if her life were over. She would never love again—it wasn’t possible. How could someone’s heart, which was once filled with the truest love, be emptied by neglect and refilled by another?
Ellie woke early the next morning to find Marianne still cuddled up next to her, sleeping heavily. She watched the slow rise and fall of her sister’s chest and felt peaceful seeing her exhausted sibling now resting without signs of defeat or worry. Laying her head back down onto the pillow, Ellie tried to fall back asleep but her mind was just too wired to shut off. Quietly getting up, she wandered into the Palmers’ library and selected a book from among Charlotte’s extensive collection of classics. Then, settling onto the comfortable living room couch, Ellie readied herself for some quality relaxation and reading time—something she hadn’t had the luxury of doing for weeks, maybe even months.
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