And Who Can Be In Doubt Of What Followed

by Alexa Adams

  Marianne stopped to gaze out the window in the direction of Delaford House. "He always has business that takes him away just when I arrive."

  "Only twice, and then pure coincidence!"

  "Can you be certain?" she asked quietly.

  "Only reasonably. Why are you so suspicious, Marianne? Did I not know better, I would think you had deeper feelings for him than that of friendship."

  Turning to face her sister, revealing eyes full of tears, she replied, "I am not certain, but I begin to suspect that I do."

  Elinor beamed at her sister. "Oh, my dear Marianne! Nothing could make me happier!"

  Marianne gasped. "How can you say so, Elinor! There is absolutely no reason to suppose that anything resembling happiness would result from such a catastrophe!"

  "A catastrophe? How can you say so?” Elinor almost laughed. “Colonel Brandon is a wonderful man who has long loved you. If you could return his affections, it would be a marvelous thing for you both."

  "You do not know his feelings," Marianne said accusingly.

  "I am tolerably certain of them," was Elinor's smug reply.

  "But it is impossible! Do you not see that? After the entanglement with Willoughby, to say nothing of his assistance during my illness, how can I, the lady who scorned the notion of second attachments, propose to transfer my affections? Who would believe me? I do not accept it myself."

  “My dear sister, there is no need to convince anyone of your sincerity, as all who have observed you these past months already know your feelings. Do not glare at me so! Just because some of us know not to speak such thoughts aloud does not mean they don’t resemble Mrs. Jennings and Sir John’s on certain points. Mama, for one. She will be delighted.”

  “Elinor!” Marianne gasped. “Mama does not think of the Colonel in such a way! She has no notion of my falling in love with anyone.”

  “I assure you it has been her most ardent wish this past year."

  Marianne sat down, stunned. "I know not what to say! I can’t believe she never said anything!"

  "My mother would not manipulate a daughter's feelings so! She could not speak on such an issue."

  "I suppose not," she replied quietly. A long silence ensued, broken only when Marianne declared her intention of taking a long walk. Elinor did not offer her company, knowing perfectly well it was neither necessary nor wanted.

  When Marianne’s visit came to an end without the reappearance of the Colonel, Elinor again invited her to return soon, but her sister demurred. She would not impose her presence where it was unwanted, and she rightly reasoned that the Colonel could easily seek her company at Barton Cottage whenever he might so wish. He was not expected at the Park, and Marianne told herself it was silly to look out for his arrival, but, nevertheless, each passing day found her watching the road expectantly. On a morning two weeks after her return, a figure that in height and stature might be Colonel Brandon was seen approaching.

  Margaret looked out the window from Marianne's side. "Why it's the Colonel!" she declared gaily.

  "You do not know that. He is too far away to tell," scolded her sister.

  "Of course it is he, Marianne. Whom else should it be?"

  Marianne could not answer the question and so returned her gaze to the gentleman, who certainly did appear more and more like Colonel Brandon.

  "I shall go out to greet him," declared Margaret, rushing off to fetch her cape.

  Marianne watched as her sister ran out in welcome of the visitor, who responded warmly to such enthusiasm. She wondered if he was just paying a courtesy call on the family, or if his presence might be on her account. The tumult of emotions overwhelming her kept her mind from being able to focus clearly. All was feeling, and the wait for him to enter interminable.

  When he was finally announced and the pleasantries complete, Marianne could not tell if she had acquitted herself well. Reclaiming her seat, she hoped her greeting was at least cordial. She could not recall. Now unable to attend the inquiries her mother made, she tried to focus on her work, but her head remained stubbornly uncooperative. She could not even guess how much time had passed when the Colonel suggested the ladies join him in a walk, the day being particularly fine. Mrs. Dashwood dependably demurred while encouraging her daughters, and soon the three were wandering the downs. Margaret raced ahead of her elders, leaving Colonel Brandon and a dazed Marianne to converse privately.

  "I am sorry I had to depart from Delaford so unexpectedly when you were last visiting your sister," he began

  "Think nothing of it," she managed.

  "Luck has certainly run against me. Every time you are in the neighborhood, I seem to be called away."

  "Please, Colonel,” she rapidly replied. “You must not trouble yourself over it."

  "I would hate for you to suppose I planned my absences to coincide with your residence in the neighborhood."

  "Why should I conceive of such an absurd notion?" she defensively retorted.

  "Mrs. Ferrars indicated that you felt slighted after my sudden departure," he admitted.

  "Did she?" Marianne asked, suddenly anger focusing her mind. "She had certainly no business, or reason, to make such conjectures. Let me assure you, Colonel Brandon, that while the pleasure of your company is a benefit to my time at Delaford, it is not essential."

  "I would never presume it was," he replied cautiously, taken aback by her vehemence, "but do you not allow that the pleasure of your company might be essential to me?"

  She looked at him cautiously, and his nervous smile told her all she needed to know. A blush overspread her cheeks as she smiled back. His heart was hers still, and she now had a mind to appreciate it. In the heat of the moment she stepped towards him, not minding the ground beneath her feet as she did so, and readily slipped on a loose stone, twisting her ankle, and falling into the safety of the Colonel's open arms.

  "Marianne!" Margaret cried, rushing over towards sister.

  "Are you alright?" the Colonel inquired. "It is the same ankle you twisted before, is it not?"

  "Yes," said Marianne, tears springing to her eyes. "How foolish of me!"

  "Nonsense,” was his determined reply. "The joint is weakened from the previous injury, and might very well give you trouble for years to come. We must get you home and bind it," and placing his free arm behind her, he swept her into his embrace and walked towards the cottage, Margaret running ahead.

  "Mama! Come quick! Marianne has hurt her ankle again!" Margaret cried as she entered.

  Mrs. Dashwood arrived just in time to see Colonel Brandon carrying Marianne over the threshold. Vividly she recalled the other time a gentleman carried her daughter through that door. How different her feelings now! She knew this man – his friendship, his integrity, and his heart – and though she felt distress in Marianne’s plight, she could also rejoice. Sending Margaret off to gather supplies, she saw one daughter seated on the sofa before excusing herself to supervise the other.

  "I cannot believe my clumsiness," lamented Marianne. "Thank you, sir, for your much needed assistance."

  "While I cannot agree that you are clumsy, I do wish you had better timing. I was most interested in pursuing our conversation."

  She looked away and said quietly, "As was I."

  "Forgive me if I am opportunistic, but I cannot allow this moment to slip by. I do not know when you might again hurt your ankle."

  "Pardon me?" Marianne blinked in perplexity.

  "Forgive me, Miss Dashwood, my dear Marianne, but I have noticed your heart is susceptible when you sustain such injuries. Would you not allow me to always be the one to assist you when in need?"

  "I know not whether to laugh or be offended! Are you asking ..." her voice trailed off, afraid of her presumption.

  "Yes, Marianne. Will you be my wife?"

  Tears completely unrelated to her injury spilled down her face as she enthusiastically responded, "Yes, Colonel Brandon. There is nothing I desire more."

  When Mrs. Dashwood returned, th
e new couple was so absorbed in their own happiness that they did not even hear the door open. Deciding that Margaret was in need of still further supervision, she quietly closed it again and tiptoed away.

  **********

  A wedding announcement will always be received in a vast variety of ways. Most who read it will not think anything of it, rarely even pausing long enough to poke fun at an odd name, but those who are intimate with the particular he and she in question can be relied upon to betray the entire universe of human emotions, from perfect happiness to rancorous malevolence. On the negative side of the spectrum sat Mr. Willoughby, of whom the less said the better. I will spare only a few more words for his nearest neighbor, Mrs. Ferrars, whose son-in-law had been promoting the notion of Colonel Brandon marrying one or another of his sisters since she first made his acquaintance, and who could find it in her heart to begrudge the Dashwood ladies any good fortune at all. She was well entertained by Lucy Ferrars, ensconced to her right, who possessed a seemingly endless supply of intimate anecdotes displaying Marianne in the most unfavorable light. Such camaraderie greatly bridged the divide between mother and daughter-in-law, gradually wiping away the sins of the past and rendering Lucy a valued companion. Nevertheless, Lucy had no scruples in composing a fawning missive to the future Mrs. Brandon, full of reference to affection that never existed, reminding her of the excellent times they shared at Barton Park, and offering her sincerest congratulations.

  John Dashwood received the announcement with as much joy as deference to Mrs. Ferrars allowed, no easy thing as his pleasure was twofold, for not only was his sister contracting so suitable a marriage, but he also knew himself instrumental in the promotion of the match. Surely this was precisely the kind of assistance his father had asked him to provide his sisters. He would be happy to look about, in a few more years, for someone appropriate for Margaret.

  More sincere were the sentiments of Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, who used the occasion to toast the happy couple through a great deal of brandy, predicting competing heights of felicity for the marriage all the while. Lady Middleton thought it would be appropriate to host an engagement party, also the perfect occasion to début her new plate, only just arrived.

  To Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood, seeing Marianne happily engaged to a thoroughly good man, who would not only care for her during his own life, but would also see to securing her future and that of their children, was nothing less than a dearest dream come true. This union brought peace and stability to the entire family, two sensations absent for far too long from their lives.

  Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favorite maxims. She was born to overcome an affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and voluntarily give her hand to another, and that other, a man who had suffered no less than herself under the event of a former attachment, whom, two years before, she had considered too old to be married: and who still sought the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat!

  But so it was. Instead of falling sacrifice to an irresistible passion, as once she had fondly anticipated, she found herself at nineteen submitting to new attachments, entering on new duties, planning a wedding, enjoying a courtship, and adjusting to the notion of patronizing a village. The transition came easily to her, and on the day that saw her leave the name Dashwood behind, as she walked down the aisle aglow with happiness, no one watching could doubt that she would flourish in her new role. Edward recited the marriage ceremony, and she felt as if all that tarnished her life thus far was falling away, revealing a pristine future ahead. Bumps and blemishes might leave their mark, but for them she was ready. She had her husband to help her and a most cherished sister, who would always be nearby. Marianne could never love by halves; and her whole heart embraced the future as she spoke the words that codified, forever, her devotion to Colonel Brandon.

  Northanger Abbey

  It is, sadly, not always the fate of two lovers to hasten together towards perfect felicity. Some unfortunates must instead endure the torment and heartache of doubt and separation. Such sad circumstances are all the more to be bemoaned when brought upon a couple by the capriciousness of a misguided parent, but a blissful Catherine Morland and Henry Tilney had no notion that they were soon to be so imposed upon. As they entered the parsonage at Fullerton, intent on requesting of Mr. and Mrs. Morland their permission to marry, neither had any notion how near disappointment loomed. Do not suppose that it was this eminently kind and practical couple that was so ill-natured as to needlessly barricade their daughter's path to happiness, but it was their very abundance of said qualities that dictated General Tilney’s interests, no matter how perverse, must be considered.

  Yet before such objections could be taken into account, the Morlands had first to overcome the shock of Mr. Tilney's most unexpected proposal. One might think that Mrs. Allen would have been so good as to mention Catherine’s forming of a very decided attachment to this young man, but that lady not being the most perceptive, and the Morlands themselves not being ones to indulge in speculation, they were taken entirely by surprise. Indeed, when Mr. Tilney first requested a private conference with Mr. Morland, only recently returned to the house, it seemed his purpose must undoubtedly be to provide the sort of explanation for Catherine's ejection from Northanger Abbey that had best be spoken in private, and the rector braced himself to hear a very disagreeable account. Imagine his surprise when presented with a most wonderful request for his daughter’s hand! After taking the few needed moments to compose his thoughts, he responded thusly: “Forgive me, Mr. Tilney, for my prolonged silence, but I am afraid I had no notion that you and Catherine had such a decided partiality for one another. Has my daughter accepted your proposal?”

  “Yes, sir. I have been so fortunate as to win her affections.”

  “Following her abrupt removal from your ancestral home, I was rather of the belief that we would not be hearing from any member of your family again. This request, under the circumstances, is most unexpected.”

  Henry nodded in understanding, “I fully comprehend what your feelings must be, Mr. Morland. Believe me when I say my father' s precipitate actions drastically accelerated my intended courtship. As Miss Morland was always viewed by my father in a most agreeable light, actively courting her favor and encouraging our association, I hardly expected his inclinations to take such a decided turn.”

  Mr. Morland raised a quizzical brow. “And might I ask what caused such a sudden change of heart?”

  “It seems that the mischief must be laid at the door of one Mr. John Thorpe, with whose family you are unfortunately already familiar. What you may not be aware of, sir, is that this man also had pretensions towards your daughter, apparently born out of a quite mistaken notion regarding her fortune. Indeed, I believe it is this misconception regarding the affluence of your family that influenced his sister's behavior towards your son. The selfishness of both has caused enormous grief and sorrow.” Mr. Morland showed his agreement, causing Henry to pause before continuing: “Mr. Thorpe, while in Bath, had occasion to regale my father with a massively exaggerated account of Miss Morland's worldly expectations, including a quite unfounded presumption regarding her relationship with Mr. and Mrs. Allen, and it was this, unbeknownst to myself, that persuaded the General to invite her to Northanger. I am sorry to say my father would not be inclined to show such condescension if possessed with a true notion of her expectations.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Tilney, but being so perceptive regarding General Tilney's values, did you not question this surprising kindness towards one whom, I suspect you knew, was not as well dowered as your father expected?”

  A pained look crossed Henry's face. “His unusual behavior did indeed take me by surprise, I confess. I even discussed it with my sister, and she too could provide no explanation for his unaccountable overtures. All I can plead in excuse is that I was very taken with Miss Morland, as was Miss
Tilney, who lives an isolated life, and we were both too pleased with our good fortune in securing such an agreeable companion to question my father's motives. It is rare that one meets with such innate goodness and unaffected behavior as your daughter possesses, Mr. Morland. She is a credit to both you and Mrs. Morland, and I naively hoped that it was these qualities that influenced my father's hospitality.”

  “I thank you, Mr. Tilney, for the acknowledgment, particularly as it is no easy one to make. We are very proud of Catherine, especially considering the presence of mind and fortitude she displayed upon her recent adventure, which I admit to being something of a revelation to my wife and myself. I assume you are about to explain why such attributes were called into action? As pleased as we are to know that they exist, I would not have had them make their debut under such circumstances.”

  “No indeed, Mr. Morland, and nor would I! My father again encountered Mr. Thorpe in London. Now speaking under the influence of both his and his sister's disappointed hopes, he exaggerated the extent of your family's poverty to a similar extent that he had previously proclaimed your wealth. My father, angry that he had been misled, and blaming Miss Morland rather than the creature truly responsible for his misconception, took his rage out upon her. He hastened homeward and with all expediency withdrew his hospitality. Thus was she forced to travel in such a decidedly unsuitable manner. As soon as I learned of the circumstances, I rushed here, eager to insure myself of her wellbeing. I can only be thankful my sister had the forethought to make sure Miss Morland had the funds on hand to pay for her journey, else I know not what might have befallen her at my father's hands.”