The Lure of her Merits

by melpothalia

Summary:

A new reading of S&S, in which every event of the novel remains exactly the same (except the very end), and Austen’s glorious writing will entirely remain unaltered up until chapter 49.
— A Brandinor story, as I personally call it.

 

(Brandon's POV)

Notes:

I tried to “save” as many chapters as I could, that is, to include the same events and narrations of character’s feelings and have them exactly as they are told in the book ― only giving them a fresh new interpretation. This is therefore an expansion of the novel that shows more scenes, in which we get better acquainted with both Elinor’s and Colonel Brandon’s feelings, as well with their real intentions.

This work can be read independently, but it is better understood when combined with: The Extent of his Regard

 

Recommended playlist to listen to while reading this work:
A Suitable Wife: classic romance themes from period drama

Chapter 1: I.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 1

I.

They would see, he said, only one gentleman there besides himself; a particular friend who was staying at the park, but who was neither very young nor very gay.
— Chapter 7

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Although Colonel Brandon was never prone to gaiety, or peculiar circumstances have impeded him from ever rousing to something similar to joy, his spirits had sunk yet further in the last seven months. They were mostly afflicted by one event, which was by no means of trifling weight: the disappearance of his ward, Miss Eliza Williams, whom, ever since her mother’s passing, he had cared for with the utmost devotion, and whose influence was so firmly established in his heart. A natural child of his would have hardly been more loved, more cherished than Eliza, and two circumstances justified so indisputable a dominion: that of having been trusted to him by her dying mother, increasing the value of such an office; and that of being the offspring of his childhood sweetheart, which directly entitled her to his affections. Another motive heightened the fervour of his vigilance: the desire to do for the daughter what had not been in his power to do for the mother. Indeed, on receiving such guardianship, he was not only given a precious treasure, but also a renewed chance to expiate past sufferings. His forced relinquishment of Eliza Brandon, her divorce and subsequent descent into poverty and illness had injured him in ways that no talented writer can duly honour; and as the past is never within anyone’s reach, it is up to present possibilities and future expectations to make amends where definitive change is impossible.

His situation in life (that of a bachelor with no relations or wealth to support him) had never allowed him to welcome little Eliza under his abode, but he had attempted by every means possible to promote her comfort and education — first, at school, and later on, under private tutoring. There, under the government of a respectable lady and in company of girls her age, he wished to see her flourish, her mind cultivated and her person fortified by strong morals; there, he had intended her to become a sensible young woman, apt to choose for herself and, ideally, to decide on the grounds of prudence. There, in short, he had desired her to become all that Mrs. Brandon, by misfortune, did not live to be. — But what the sceptic eyes cannot confirm, the optimistic mind chooses to believe.

Unaware of the proclivities that governed his ward, he had allowed her to go to Bath with a friend. Such was the wretched place, however, that sunk all his aspirations. His poor Eliza was gone — gone without so much as a warning, an evidence, a clue, however faint, of her whereabouts! His despair was singular, and he had persevered in his search all the more for it: resorting to everybody who could assist him, he had determined that news ought to reach him, or that he himself would contrive to find her; and for many weeks after such an occurrence, he really believed such would be the case. Unfortunately, the inflexible, most cruel effects of time attested the folly of his ingenuity. Despite his exertions, there was no indication, no letter to sustain his frail expectations. Who can wonder, therefore, that his courage started to falter? Most anxious for her safety, most fearful of her being no more, did he spend his days at Delaford; and though in constant company, though friends were never in want and he was frequently called upon, he felt more alone than ever, for he could trust no one with his secret. The thoughts and self-reproach that must have consumed him, in the long evenings he spent wondering and conjecturing, and with no one to relieve him, must indeed have been sufficient to subdue his endurance — but this, too, is left to presumption. The excruciating previsions that he advanced, the tragic conclusions he anticipated, were his alone; anybody who would dare to speculate, without being a parent or having the feelings of one, would greatly risk to err.

Suffice it to say that his fortitude waned a little each day, for October was approaching, and with it, the greater certitude of having lost, perhaps forever, his little Eliza.

Chapter 2: II.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 2

II.

He was silent and grave. His appearance however was not unpleasing (…) though his face was not handsome, his countenance was sensible, and his address was particularly gentlemanlike.
— Chapter 7

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Probabilities would readily settle this as a season of trepidation and terror for Colonel Brandon, and would most decidedly confine him to Delaford’s Mansion (and, by doing so, satisfying the first desire of his heart). — But probabilities do not take into account the determination of external actors, or the unexpected influences that they might exert. Sir John Middleton, for his part, was quite determined to bring the Colonel to Barton by every means in his possession, and to introduce him to the younger part of the neighbourhood. Nonetheless, let us not presume that he had obscure intentions to bring him hither; truthfully, he could not be accused of ever having schemed in the whole course of his existence. His object was, quite simply, to promote the comfort of his newly arrived cousins by means of an increase of bustle and noise; and though Brandon did not qualify as neither energic nor loud, it did not signify with the gentleman: he was to be a man in a lot of young ladies, and that must therefore suffice.

This plan had everything to be successful, for Sir John (well-meaning, but not particularly perceptive) was unmoveable, and the Colonel hardly offered any resistance. In truth, he was a regular at Barton Park and his visits had become an almost daily occurrence; the most natural development was having him as a guest. It was therefore with a certain easiness that he acquiesced to his friend’s entreaties. In the very next day, he was breakfasting with the Middletons, fully installed and with all the appearances of a permanent residence at Barton Park, and hearing them comment on the Dashwood ladies that were to drop by soon. Yet, “soon” wasn’t soon enough to satisfy the host’s appetite of novelty, who was growing agitated by such a delay (keen as he was to flaunt them) and preparing to retrieve the ladies himself. This, however, was made unnecessary by them calling at the Park. It was, as described, a family of four women: a mother who appeared to be about his age, who was particularly warm and still handsome, and three daughters, the youngest of whom seemed to the Colonel to be particularly distanced in age from the eldest. Miss Margaret was indeed just a child, and no gesture or proclamation of hers was dissonant with her age. What intrigued him the most about the other two girls was the stout bearing of one, and the restlessness of the other, which made it seem as if their age difference was much greater than it actually was. But the eldest, despite her apparent reserve, spoke much oftener than the middle sister and was generally attentive to everybody.

Reserved characters are, of course, not necessarily shy; they are often more mindful, for being observant, and it is not unusual that they surpass in agreeableness those who are, by nature, unbending to general politeness. Indeed, eager characters, whose energy qualifies as voluble and gregarious, are not always the most pleasant companions, for they obey only to their own natural inclinations, and will only charm those they wish to charm. The present occasion gave Colonel Brandon the chance to verify it. Miss Elinor Dashwood was assiduous in her efforts to attend to everyone and she answered their intrusive questions with a degree of affability and mildness capable of surprising the most unflappable of men. Miss Marianne could not equal her sister’s forbearance in this respect: her countenance was too expressive for deference.

It was particularly expressive when Mrs. Jennings, who needed not much permission to claim the rights of an intimate, turned the conversation over beaux. Miss Marianne’s face on hearing her dissert over the broken hearts that they had collected in Sussex was indescribable: she gave an impulsive start, then fervently blushed and finally she hushed with silent indignation; but when roused again to conversation by the force of an insult, which was as to say that Mrs. Jennings rallied her on having discovered in her flushed cheeks the embarrassment of a lover, she marked her indignation by means of a scolding. The Colonel, who, contrarily to Mrs. Jennings, had interpreted the heat that rose up her neck and reached her face as deriving of irritation, saw her then reply in a tone of angry pride, ‘Indeed, Mrs. Jennings, I should be extremely surprised to discover that such was the general evaluation of my behaviour. Had your inquiry been more unobtrusive, perhaps you would now be aware of the real state of the business. But I shall inform you that, of all the terms least propitious to tempt me into entering the subject, “beau” is the one I abhor the most. It is foolish and vulgar, and I shall be very glad to hear it no more.’

To this warm effusion, followed Miss Elinor’s immediate exertions to deviate the poor woman’s attention to herself, and make amends where the indelicacy of her sister might have given offence. But, while not disparaging such officious efforts, this too must be said: that, though persistent, they were dispensable. Mrs. Jennings had not been in the least offended, for she had hardly understood the reproach, and saw only in the effusive form of its delivery the proof of a hidden passion and the anger of it being discovered by her experienced, sage eyes. This continued therefore to be a source of great amusement, if not for all, then for herself. But it was mostly the proper occasion for the Colonel to distinguish the way of proceeding of the two eldest Dashwoods.

A second and third interview afforded him a better understanding of their persons. It frequently happens that first impressions give way to the wiser judgements that a solid knowledge produces; but in this case, they were rather decidedly established as consistent with the truth. Miss Marianne was, at seventeen, the representation of eagerness; but as this eagerness had been first displayed in the form of indignation, it took him some time to ascertain the delights of its sensibility. Once such a chance was provided, the logical happened: the comparison with that other woman whose hold over his heart had been so undisputable.

Having the striking resemblance to Eliza Brandon subsequently dawn on him, by a similarity of mind and countenance, he could not contemplate it without bewilderment. It vastly astonished him to find two minds so similar: they professed equal opinions and prejudices, which they conveyed with fervour and sentiment; and if he could not approve the content, he could at least marvel at its style. After such an epiphany, reminiscent tendencies were inevitable, and many a time he found himself closely observing Miss Marianne, trying to find in her countenance the traces and expressions on which he once doted. But this he soon discovered to be a painful exercise, for he now directly associated her with his little Eliza, equal in age and temper, and who, having inherited much of her mother’s beauty, seemed to revive in Marianne Dashwood. That she became to him a constant reminder of Eliza’s loss, was a severe punishment for his reckless permissiveness, and one he did not contend with, for feeling the justness of it; but it did have the advantage of increasing his paternal regard for Marianne, and to wish her a better fate than his unfortunate relations.

Chapter 3: III.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 3

III.

Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no such encouragement to think only of Marianne, and in conversing with Elinor he found the greatest consolation for the indifference of her sister.
— Chapter 11

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The elucidating afternoon conferences at Barton Park had been quite useful on illustrating the general opinion of the Colonel’s surrounding acquaintance. Sir John, as well as his mother-in-law, delighted on advancing scenarios, of which all ended in his contracting a union with Marianne Dashwood; they pried over his affairs and studied his reactions, tested a few witty remarks and evaluated his reception to them — and what all of this came down to was the imputation of an attachment and the incessant raillery over it.

This being not the first time that his friends had leagued together to find him a wife, a campaign in which Mrs. Jennings’s youngest daughter had been the blessed nominee, he beheld it with perfect indifference, and settling it as foolish as it was unavoidable, trusted it to be dropped in due time. However, he was also obliged to avow that he had, this time, provided abundant foundation for suspicion. After all, he had observed Miss Marianne with an uncommon interest, that, unbeknownst to them, had more tortured than charmed him. But this interest had not the strength of love, not even of passing admiration; it was rather the wistfulness of a man who remembered his first infatuation and its tragic conclusion, and of a father who feared for his child.

Had the Barton party been able to discern his true feelings, they would be disappointed, indeed, for, unfortunately, Colonel Brandon was not bid fair to correspond to their expectations. For almost twenty years had his heart been dormant, and although made to stand strong emotions, as once proved by Eliza Brandon’s decease, he sought them no more. His having taken possession of the family property after his brother’s passing, five years prior, had allowed him to lead a more tranquil life than ever before, and that, combined with the hope of bringing his ward to Delaford one day with all the claims of a natural heir, constituted the full of his aspirations. Marriage was quite out of his head, for he had never fully recovered from his first disappointment, and had never since met anyone capable of inspiring similar sentiments. Never had he seen a woman of whose character he could think of with equal admiration, or whom he could rely upon so absolutely as his childhood confidant and friend.

Expecting nothing, he could anticipate nothing. It was consequently with substantial astonishment that he found himself roused to something like interest and live esteem for someone. Miss Elinor Dashwood, with her usual solicitude and widely recognised sense, had now the prerogatives of a cherished companion. With her, he could at last exercise his mind and find a similitude of tastes, an alignment of opinions, which must have made him at first nothing short of perplex. Yet, his stupefaction did not surpass his gratification, and could the object of his respect imagine the appreciation with which he sometimes beheld her, for having (though unintentionally) allayed his agitations and distracted him from the gloomiest predictions, she would undoubtedly be convinced of a higher regard than was the case.

This, too, would be Mrs. Jennings’s expectations, had she been aware of such emotions. She would have fancied an attachment on his side and elected Miss Dashwood the next candidate to be Delaford’s mistress. But as Brandon’s temperament greatly differed from the good woman’s, he only considered the matter how it actually was, without adornments or romantic exaggerations: he was eased by the charms of Miss Dashwood’s society and grew thankful for the effects it had on him. Anything beyond that was pure fantasy.

Chapter 4: IV.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 4

IV.

Elinor's compassion for him increased, as she had reason to suspect that the misery of disappointed love had already been known to him. This suspicion was given by some words which accidently dropped from him one evening at the park, when they were sitting down together by mutual consent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed on Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint smile, ‘Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second attachments.’
— Chapter 11

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Sir John’s events had always a factor of interest for his guests, particularly for those prone to dancing and activity. For quieter souls, their amusement was generally more discreet. Colonel Brandon, being one, had spent half of the evening observing the dancers; and as he was no card-player, and no talented musician to promote an agreeable ambience, he was most glad to be all sat down. He had met one who, apparently, felt alike; for on noticing the scarcity of gentlemen and having most readily offered his services to Miss Dashwood, she had stoutly marked her preference for inaction.

A tranquil moment of inconsequential conversation followed: they commented on the number of pairs, on her ladyship’s refined table, on Sir John’s delight in taking turns about the room to find the single ladies a partner, and on the piece that had just been played. But as they satisfied civility, having depleted all usual topics, a temporary silence (that usually precedes more meaningful exchanges) was welcomed.

‘I hope you are enjoying Devonshire, Miss Dashwood,’ he eventually started again. ‘I do not collect having ever expressed my satisfaction for having your family’s addition to our party.’

‘I believe you have expressed it through actions, if not by words — though your solicitude is much appreciated.’

Her smile was serene, but the Colonel thought he had seen in it the traces of fake casualty, as if she had been exerting herself to appear composed. With a purse of his lips, that expressed his inner struggle, he eventually added, ‘I am well aware of the challenges of adapting to a new place… Of being forced to leave everything one has ever known, to bid goodbye to a childhood home, and to make a life so far from thence. I, too, had to submit to such changes, and I don’t remember having been nearly as reconciled to them as you.’

She appeared to take a moment to collect herself, as unused as she was to such directness; and when once again disposed to speak, she affirmed, ‘I see what you mean. But indeed, Colonel, you have mistaken the case if you think me unhappy with such a change. We have been much blessed by it, and have met with unfailing kindness everywhere. Do believe that I—’ (clearing her throat) ‘I could not be better pleased.’

‘I do not doubt it,’ said he with the mildest accent, as well as he sympathised with her.

In fact, it would be impossible to don’t feel for any misfortunes that had befallen on Miss Dashwood, as well as he liked and respected her; but their circumstances being so similar (though the kind of suffering may vary) made commiseration as natural as immediate. Due to Sir John’s candour, he was sufficiently informed of the Dashwoods’ forced departure from Norland after their father’s demise, as well as the precarious circumstances it left them in. The girls, being a gentleman’s daughters, and a gentleman with no inferior means (that would be at their disposal, had a more just division of goods been made), were now forced to live with a much shorter income that they were accustomed to. Former comforts, which they had been brought up to know, had been forfeited, and though poverty was not the exact term to describe their situation, the descent must have been gravely felt.

Despite the variations of his circumstances, he could find parallels. He, too, had once been banished from home, for scheming to marry Eliza and almost impeding the union that better suited his father’s convenience. When his will prevailed, when her marriage to his brother took place and nothing remained, he subsequently left for the East Indies. By doing so, he meant to assist Mrs. Brandon and to promote her conjugal happiness through a removal of his person — but the pain of so cruel a rendition had never been forgotten, and the hardships he endured abroad as a consequence, he would never tell a creature. That Miss Dashwood had, in her own way, equally faced privations could not but commend her to his compassion.

Miss Dashwood’s countenance pleaded for a deviation from the subject; but as so total a change was not in accordance to his desire, he only went so far as to say, ‘You were in Norland for quite some time before the move was confirmed, I take it?’

‘Six months total, after my father’s passing and my brother took over the family’s estate.’

His mindfulness of it being no comfortable topic for discussion made him politely overlook the first reference and rather making a casual observation over the last part.

‘It would be expected that you would choose to settle somewhere a great deal closer to your family, where you could be better assisted...’ A sardonic curl of her mouth, however, advised him not to proceed. ‘Forgive me, Miss Dashwood. I am afraid my inquiry has been impertinent.’

‘Not at all, Colonel, for nothing is more natural than your assumption. It would have been sounder, indeed, if we had fixed somewhere in the Sussex, though I gather not in the immediate vicinity of Norland Park; and it surely would have been the case, had not a series of particulars— had not prudence… advised us otherwise. And, in short, a stay in the county went against my mother’s wishes.’

She had a placid smile, so becoming in her delicate features, when saying it, though the content and hesitations of such a speech left much to conjecture about. The gentleman wondered whether there was no personal motive to make her regret the departure, beyond those already known to him. He would not go so far as to imagine a reason so grave as the one which precipitated his departure; but it did not deprive her of his empathy, for all those who were suffering from an imposed abandonment had a first right to it. Still, young as she was, and with advisers so competent and consolation as effective as were at her disposal, he hoped to see her soon overcome any point of particular despondency.

His prospects were not as joyful. His little Eliza gone, and his only comfort being the company of a few friends, there was no indication of his terror ever ceasing until he’d find out the truth. If there were a Mrs. Brandon, his ward’s disappearance would perhaps be easier to endure, for the sharing of sorrows would have forcibly lightened the burden; but his present condition denied him even that relief, and the future promised the continuity of unaccompanied exertion — not because he contested the legitimacy of second passions, especially when all hope regarding one’s first choice is gone, but because he had never met anyone capable of inducing him to marriage; not since Eliza.

Such considerations, evolving as he abstractedly looked at the ballroom, made him soon turn his regard to Miss Marianne, so much alike his lost love in both comportment and principles, and whose beliefs regarding the possibility of second attachments (proudly announced on one occasion in which he had been present) so coincided with hers. Suppressing a sigh, he declared—

‘Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second attachments.’

‘No, her opinions are all romantic.’

Miss Dashwood soon explained the state of affairs to him in regards to her sister’s opinions and prejudices, and how she anticipated the regulation of her beliefs by a greater observance of the world. He soon felt inclined to share his mind on the subject, and what this produced was an almost revelation of past injuries. Regretting the honesty that had led to such incautiousness, he hushed in a moment, staying more silent than ever in her company.

Chapter 5: V.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 5

V.

The idea however started by her, was immediately pursued by Colonel Brandon, who was on every occasion mindful of the feelings of others; and much was said on the subject of rain by both of them.
— Chapter 12

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Mrs. Jennings had a knack for transforming the most common of circumstances in an opportunity for productive meditation. Such was the case of one of those evening assemblies that the Middletons delighted to hold, and that pressured Miss Dashwood in so embarrassing a way.

The whole conversation was on the subject of beaux, for curiosity had not yet been satisfied, and the fashion with which hers had seemingly been discovered deserved Brandon’s strong disapproval. Normally, he would have dispatched such occasion as one of the usual inquiries, without intellectual depth nor veracity, with which Barton Park’s hosts would honour their female guests. But he, who had spent a significant amount of time in her company and who had become a connoisseur of her expressions and reactions, had detected in her face a real discomfort, that she attempted in vain to conceal. As embarrassment only derives from established facts and the fear of their promotion (for otherwise it is called indignation), he was instantly convinced that there had been, in fact, a recipient of her affections, or at least a slight partiality on her side — independent from the initial of the gentleman’s name. Such fact could also explain her unease when last inquired on the reasons for her departure and for a settlement so far from home. Claiming both prudence and submission to Mrs. Dashwood’s preference, she had still alluded to “a series of particulars”, which might as well be called disappointments. There, she had gained his indisputable consideration. — What must be his opinion of her now, that he was assured of the romantic character of such particulars? How was he to read her sorrows with anything inferior to solemn respect?

Charity had led him to intervene; and with much originality did he contribute to the conversation, being the topic as prosaic as it was. But while his words were professed, his eyes stole a few glimpses in Miss Dashwood’s direction. He saw her grow pale at first; then, slightly colour at Miss Margaret’s clever jest; and then grow easy again when he entered the conversation. A thankful, though brief (almost unvoluntary), look towards him was the means to express her gratitude, and its effects on him were immediate: the acknowledgement of such delicacy of feelings and the consequential elevation of her position in his esteem.

Chapter 6: VI.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 6

VI.

While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in. Among the rest there was one for Colonel Brandon; ― he took it, looked at the direction, changed colour, and immediately left the room.
— Chapter 13

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Never had an envelope been trusted to him with such number of witnesses; and never had the occasion been the cause of as much fear as relief. Concealment of his terror on seeing the direction and recognising the handwriting was quite out of his power, and without thinking how it should be received, or the faults of interpretation that imagination encouraged, he almost ran out of the room.

Of these lines depended his entire security or his certain doom, and it wasn’t without quivering that he crushed the seal. His eyes drank the letter, finding as much reasons to rejoice, as newly renewed agitations — but the degree of his afflictions was still to grow in ways never imagined.

“To Col. Christopher Brandon,

From Miss E. W.

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Dear sir,

I am very much sorry to address you in such manner, after a period of eight long months of perfect absence. I do not wish to excuse my conduct, nor find clever ways to justify my silence. The censure is deserved and I am well aware of your repulse on receiving this letter ― but I have no one else to resort to, so I must appeal to your kindness and understanding.

Let me begin by tranquillising you: I am well, unharmed and healthy, and have been as of lately attended by a very respectable lady. I am in London, under the name of Anne Wallis, and am presently lodged at Mrs. Stafford’s, who discreetly conveyed me into her home. Here I have been staying for seven months, and sooner would I have reached to you, had circumstances permitted. I beg of you to come to my encounter at once and I shall soon explain all.

There is a matter I must further speak to you about, but such a delicate subject ought to be handled in person. Oh, I am miserable, indeed! Do haste yourself, sir. I have no means to sustain myself, and depend entirely on the kindness of strangers.

Yours & etc.

Eliza W.”

The feelings that such a missive raised, one must not have the presumption to ascertain; but common-sense dictates that, where there is abundant room for relief on the assurances of a daughter’s well-being, there is equal affliction for the uncertainty of its lasting until an interview confirms it. There were words capable of inspiring doubt as much as excruciating fright, that he reread a few times before accepting that nothing material could be learnt through them. He only knew that Eliza’s was a suffering of the heart, and to her succour he must go at once. Now informed of her whereabouts, he would ask for a Mrs. Stafford until he’d knock on the right door; and a few hours’ journey should both acquaint him with the business and tranquillise his heart.

In such reflections he spent long minutes before he remembered what was due to the Barton party. Some sort of composure was secured when he entered the room, and he hoped to appear serene when communicating his desertion. Many questions and pleas naturally followed, from everybody in general and from one in particular as eager as the girl he was to attend.

‘But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon, will it not be sufficient?’ asked Miss Marianne.

Despondent, and almost overcome with the keenness that had once been shared by his ward, and that now appeared out of her reach, one he was called away to relieve, he only found the strength to nod as a response. Yet, being soon roused by Sir John’s entreaties, was forced again into collectedness. He answered and counteracted suggestions as mildly as he could, and when the moment came to take his leave from every individual in the room, there was one he could not part from without deep regret.

‘Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sisters in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?’

‘I am afraid, none at all.’

A response contrary to one’s wishes is always received with some degree of dissatisfaction, but those less noble feelings deriving from self-importance are not concerned in this case — what the Colonel felt on the occasion should better be described as pure sadness. With a sort of guilt for departing in so hurried a manner, without any reasonable explanation or sound apology, and from an intimate friend, he declared—

‘Then I must bid you farewell for a longer time than I should wish to do.’

Respectfully bowing to Miss Marianne and Miss Margaret, he took his leave, discharging the unpleasant office with as much grace and forbearance as possible. To London he went afterwards, anxious and pacified in equal measure.

Notes:

I have adopted Colonel Brandon's Christian name (Christopher) from Sense and Sensibility's 1995 film version because I find it suits him, though I personally don't picture Alan Rickman when I write him.

Chapter 7: VII.

Summary:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 7

VII.

After her entrance, Colonel Brandon became more thoughtful and silent than he had been before, and Mrs. Jennings could not prevail on him to stay long.
— Chapter 26

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From the moment he had been trusted with Miss Eliza Williams, peace and comfort had been his highest aspirations, which in consequence fixed that sole wish that he had once dared to entertain — the financial means to secure them, given by the taking over of Delaford. This, he had long desired, more for his ward’s sake than for his own. It was necessary for her happiness, and for his in promoting hers: to her, the best education was to be provided; every attention to her comfort was due; and expecting to welcome her in his home at the proper time and elevate her to the highest possible condition, he had mused in such thoughts with cheerful hopes.

However, time and opportunity often reveal the frailness of dreams and projects through the most disagreeable methods. He had indeed found Eliza: her instructions had been precise enough to a determined mind like his, to whom resources and associations were almost illimited. “Miss Wallis” was retrieved from Mrs. Stafford’s abode and placed in more salutary chambers, through schemes of concealment and disguise. They turned out to be necessary, for although healthy, she was in the last days of her lying-in; a child was soon to be delivered, confirming the illegitimacy of her connections and the wrongness of her choices, and the removal immediately followed her recover.

Not long afterwards, he wished to know the name of the gentleman (if so he must be called) that deserted her, leaving behind empty promises of relief and return. And here, dear reader, did Colonel Brandon experience the harshest trial a man in his situation is expected to experience. With what astonishment, with what rage had he heard his poor Eliza pronounce those words that exposed the felon! John Willoughby — such was the identity given, or rather extracted at cost, that precipitated his most disordered thoughts and emotions. John Willoughby, Miss Marianne’s apparent intended; John Willoughby, an intimate with the Dashwoods and with such general invitation to both the Cottage and the Park! What was Brandon’s reaction on contemplating such deceit, as noble and tender as his own feelings were? He abomined the man, he loathed the conduct and, most importantly, he despised the ideal that had been henceforth proclaimed. He was no gentleman, without honour or compassion, a default which all his manoeuvres could not atone for: his agreeable manners and informed mind were lost in the matter of his conduct. In the Colonel’s eyes, he was only a libertine, a man who had seduced two lively, inexperienced girls, only to desert one and perhaps equally ruin the other! Who could now know his intentions? Who could trust his virtue?

To a soldier, the logical sequel was to defend his ward’s honour by means of a duel, which happened sensibly within a fortnight after his arrival, when Mr. Willoughby, too, blessed London with his visit. Having neither of them been harmed by such an appointment, it remained secretive, as all illegal actions ought to remain. But the Colonel’s heart was not the less troubled for it; having failed to wound him, for Willoughby wisely picked guns over swords, his debt had been paid, and the right to expose him had been forfeited. With no intelligence from Barton reaching him and no certainty of his engagement to Miss Marianne, he hardly knew what should be done on that head; and his spirits had been very much oppressed ever since quitting Devonshire.

The arrival of Mrs. Jennings was the first positive news that he had in many weeks, for he was sure to be always welcome in Berkeley Street, and with her he could at least hear and conjecture; and thence he went one morning, when a surprising turn of events wholly transformed his calm expectations in some kind of scare. He had first seen none other than Miss Marianne, who, startled at his entrance, had immediately retreated without so much as a word. This astonished him, indeed! That such would be her reaction on seeing him did not fail to disturb him, but that he should see her at all was beyond belief. No sooner had he conjectured of her being a guest of Mrs. Jennings’s and began to measure the probabilities of such a privilege extending to her sister, than Miss Dashwood’s presence confirmed it. The bewilderment, the approval of such extraordinary occurrence hit him suddenly; and having satisfied his immediate inquiry on Miss Marianne’s health, he soon directed his attention towards the usual nothings that make up a conversation. He was indeed glad to see her, and to see her apparently well — for the only ailments and sufferings that he could at the time consider was of a more evident nature, and inner aches were therefore devoted to his ignorance. But his satisfaction did not do much for the exchange: his persistent gloom deprived him from any originality or talent of expression.

In a calm way did they converse, without much energy or loquacity, until Mrs. Jennings joined them. Apart from one reference to Willoughby, which pained him more for the recollections it brought than for the assumption of a rivalry to Miss Marianne’s affections, he was content with such a junction and endeavoured to answer her enquiry with some gentleness, yet much more discretion. Serenity was perhaps the word better ascribed to him in such valued company, until the younger Dashwood entered the room.

This was an unforeseen blown, for before he had merely had the time to notice her, and now he was forced to observe her. Being the first time in her company after the whole dreadful affair burst forth, this presence much disconcerted him. If before the striking resemblance between the girl and his Eliza had affected him so, now the intricacies that tied so cheerful, so lively a girl to the destroyer of his ward’s happiness were almost too unsurmountable to bear. A fissure between what he observed and what he had recently learnt had printed on his mind the most vivid picture of Miss Marianne’s doom. He saw her already as the young girl he came to find abandoned and ruined, or worse yet, as the pale woman he came to find on her deathbed. — And this vision, this vision, Heavens preserve him, was too heavy to bear.

Shortly after, he took his leave on the account of a few unpostponable commitments, and leaving only the indication that he was to return soon.

Chapter 8: VIII.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 8

VIII.

Colonel Brandon, who had a general invitation to the house, was with them almost every day; he came to look at Marianne and talk to Elinor (…).
— Chapter 27

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The Colonel had been in a struggle regarding Berkeley Street ever since he had last entered it. The unexpected confrontation with Miss Marianne and the feelings it obtained had very much affected him, and for a while he questioned his strength to behold her again. Still, he eventually found another attraction to go thither. The prospect of finding Miss Dashwood, whom he had thought it would be many months before he saw again, roused him to something like joy; and as her company and Mrs. Jennings’s surpassed the damage of recent blows, his heart was healed of any aversion.

The first assembly afterwards, with the intelligence gathered since the separation hanging over his head, could not be deemed easy. In truth, he could barely devote a glance to Miss Marianne. But as she did not directly address him, and politeness did not oblige a longer interaction than a salutation, he was soon appeased. The second, third and fourth interviews, though not by any means easy, were less challenging, for he was always engaged in conversation with either Miss Dashwood or Mrs. Jennings; and in the eventuality of the younger Dashwood being in the room, which was not very often and only for five minutes, he had only to focus on the topic at hand to conquer his emotions.

So determined was he to overcome it, that he was little by little grown accustomed to look at her; and once accustomed, procured it with the intention of plunging deeper in his bitterness. So young a girl, ruined by misfortune and the reckless choice of a first infatuation! So pure a mind, so warm a heart, to be wasted in such scoundrel! Many intrusive thoughts derived from his melancholy observations, from that hopeless regard he gave her at times, and from the rarer expressions on her ailing, and he could not observe her without great pity.

Only one thing proved effective to distract him of such gloomy contemplations. Miss Dashwood’s general solicitude, who had always welcomed him with unfailing attentiveness and warmth, had rescued him from total misery. By her enterprise, he was incited to higher discussions, and he entered all subjects put forward with true interest. There, he discovered the beauty of mind and heart, as it did not entirely go without suspicion that such endeavours procured more his welfare than her amusement. As high as her merits had already placed her, it was still impossible that this conviction should not raise her even higher in his esteem, and he regarded her with particular gratitude. This persuasion established the promotion: that recovering her company had revived the satisfaction that it had given from the start; that, indeed, she had been very missed for her serenity and humour, even though it had not been in his head as of lately, since other matters gained the supremacy; and he began to look forward to their daily interviews.

Another consciousness hit him around the same time. That he felt animated to something superior to admiration, to something beyond respect. Devotion would perhaps be a more accurate term to convey his emotions, but that, too, seemed too strong a word to ascribe to a friend. Nevertheless, it pleased and comforted him; it was sufficient for now.

Chapter 9: IX.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 9

IX.

He looked more than usually grave, and though expressing satisfaction at finding Miss Dashwood alone, as if he had somewhat in particular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a word.
— Chapter 27

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Without entirely robbing him of the blessing that had been the restoration of his animation, an intelligence hit Colonel Brandon that could not but threaten his equanimity: that of Miss Marianne’s engagement to Mr. Willoughby. It had been given from several sources, and acknowledged indirectly by the lady, by her openly writing to the groom. This, he had the chance to observe when coming to their lodgings with the intention of checking the veracity of the news, having much contributed to his despair; and between the delicacy of the matter, and his unsureness of how to approach it without impudence, he could hardly begin. A silence of several minutes was in order before he could speak, and when he did, it was with such an anxious manner that he was sure to startle Miss Dashwood.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Dashwood, I believe I have been careless in my duties, that is, as a friend of yours—of your sister, of your mother, and having witnessed much of it— I believe I shall be forgiven—When am I to congratulate you on the acquisition of a brother?’

That last word, alluding to what Willoughby was to become to her, would his suspicions be proven true, pained him particularly, though he did not understand why, nor predicted its effects when planning such opening.

‘What do you mean?’ asked she in confusion.

Feebly smiling, he added the piece of information that was to explain everything.

‘Your sister’s engagement to Mr. Willoughby is very generally known.’

‘It cannot be generally known, for her own family do not know it.’

This was astonishing, indeed! They had kept it a secret; though Brandon was not sure on how such was possible with them being so liberal with their correspondence.

‘I beg your pardon, I am afraid my inquiry has been impertinent; but I had not supposed any secrecy intended, as they openly correspond, and their marriage is universally talked of.’

‘How can that be? By whom can you have heard it mentioned?’

‘By many,’ said he, with a sad accent. ‘By some of whom you know nothing, by others with whom you are most intimate, Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Palmer, and the Middletons. But still I might not have believed it, for where the mind is perhaps rather unwilling to be convinced, it will always find something to support its doubts…’

Here, he shut his eyes in despair, and trying to speak in a steadier voice, went on with greater energy, as if this was an unpleasant necessity that he wished to do away as soon as possible.

‘…if I had not, when the servant let me in today, accidentally seen a letter in his hand, directed to Mr. Willoughby in your sister’s writing. I came to inquire, but I was convinced before I could ask the question.’

His anxiety now heightened in a degree never seen by Miss Dashwood, and which he was incapable of dominating, he continued, ‘Is everything finally settled? Is it impossible to—?’ To dissuade Marianne was what he was on the verge of saying, though seemingly recollecting what was due to sense, he finished rather with, ‘But I have no right, and I could have no chance of succeeding.’

Indeed, he was very aware of the difficulties: everything was against him. What could a man in his position, having scarcely talked to Miss Marianne in the whole course of their acquaintance, do to prevent the marriage? How could he expect to interfere with success, and how would his interference be borne? The obstacles were infinite, and his consciousness of them being so overpowered him. He had no hope of being believed over Willoughby, and to conceal his character and misdeeds, as impossible as it was for him, was what he had now to do.

These thoughts succeeded themselves as he spoke, and only when observing his friend’s bewilderment did he recollect what he was inadvertently giving away.

‘Excuse me, Miss Dashwood. I believe I have been wrong in saying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on your prudence I have the strongest dependence. Tell me that it is all absolutely resolved on, that any attempt, that in short concealment, if concealment be possible, is all that remains.’

She appeared barely less affected on hearing him than he was on speaking, for she was in turns white and red; and when she spoke again, it was with such pitiful mildness that he needed not any other confirmation of their being engaged.

‘Indeed, Colonel, you have ascribed to me a role I don’t possess, that of a trusted confidant. As to their intentions and arrangements, I remain perfectly unaware, though I feel little… Though I have no doubt of their mutual regard. And as such being the case, I must say that their writing to one another does not entirely surprise me.’

Taking such words as the already expected confirmation, and the certainty that the engagement would soon become public, leaving no space for opposition or obstruction, the Colonel rose from his seat.

‘To your sister I wish all imaginable happiness.’ Clenching his jaw when forced to speak such a name, he declared still, ‘To Willoughby that he may endeavour to deserve her.’

Then, in a milder accent, even if not quite meeting her eye, he took his leave.

‘I wish you a good day, Miss Dashwood.’

This episode, that justified his fears, increased the desperate wish to impede such a deprecating connection, though means were scarce, and imposition, most absurd! What remained now, but that dreadful anticipation of the event that must fix that poor girl’s misery?

Chapter 10: X.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 10

X.

Mrs. Jennings (…) who had watched them with pleasure while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss Dashwood's communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel Brandon’s side (…) saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening more serious and thoughtful than usual..
— Chapter 30

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Colonel Brandon was a man so used to unpredictable turn of events that one would suppose him better equipped to face them. Yet, as resigned to their eventuality as he had become, nothing could prepare him to the news he was about to receive. Perhaps because they were so extraordinarily unexpected, or whether because he had been utterly convinced of their impossibility, he did not believe them at first, and rather defined them as senseless gossip. Still, the announcement’s veracity was strengthened by a name and the sharing of particulars that could only be provided by a well-informed person.

‘Can you divine it, Louisa? Seven hundred pounds a year. Not that it signifies, Sophia is secured either way. But if he is very well capable of adding to her part, we shall all be the better pleased for it.’

‘I do not doubt it! And surely, even if his wealth is found a little inferior, with her fifty thousand, they are off to a great start. Pray, when is the ceremony going to take place?’

‘Within a couple of weeks, I’m sure.’

‘Indeed!’

‘Well, who can wonder, as hasty as she has been with the preparations; and John Willoughby is hardly less impatient, for he does not tire of bringing up the alterations he shall soon make to the property to properly accommodate its mistress.’

‘It is all very well that such should be his first concern,’ replied the other lady with a laugh, ‘though I collect that not many alterations are in order.’

‘To tell you the truth, I am not sufficiently informed on Combe Magna’s state — but their immediate removal after the ceremony is a strong indication of its not being too out of repair.’ With an ironic twist of her lips, the first commented, ‘John Willoughby has a tendency for exaggerations.’

‘Say rather romantic adornments! But this, too, we shall forgive him.’

In such bantering they continued until their carriage arrived, having cited a recognisable name two other times. Stunned, perplex, in disbelief, he kept thinking to himself, “How odd”, or yet, “This cannot be!”.

Prudent as ever, he approached the counter to ask for further information on the ladies that had just left the shop.

‘Mrs. Ellison and Lady Thompson, sir. Both of large fortune and pleasant address. I dare say you shall hear more on their account, for a wedding is soon to be officiated concerning Mrs. Ellison’s ward, and that shall certainly be talked of enough.’

Ellison! Now, this was a name that ought to provoke assuredness, for on further enquiry that afternoon, he discovered her to be none other than Miss Grey’s guardian, and having equally learnt that Miss Grey was the happy elected, could doubt no longer. His astonishment! His relief! It appeared that Miss Marianne, and by extent the Dashwoods, were in all probabilities safe. Willoughby’s threat had subsided, and the most extraordinary part, without his interference! It had all followed its course, and he was all the more grateful as the more alleviated for it.

Though assured of it, he longed for a yet more intimate confirmation that would once and for all settle the matter. His having been invited to Mrs. Jennings’s gathering was naturally the right occasion to determine it. On entering the room, he rejoiced with the girl’s absence, that so permitted an open ascertainment of the facts without any injure to her person.

His gaze landed on Miss Dashwood, sat at a somewhat concealed corner, and he directly joined her. This, indeed, was customary, and therefore undeserving of suspicion; and the closest companions to them being assembled around a card-table, who devoted their attention to Whist and little else, they conversed without fear of auscultation.

‘How does your sister do?’

‘Marianne is not well. She has been indisposed all day, and we have persuaded her to go to bed.’

Eager to avoid offence, but heartily wishing to know the truth, he said, ‘Perhaps, then… what I heard this morning may be— there may be more truth in it than I could believe possible at first.’

The final hesitations on the business were removed by her explanations, which she liberally gave, even if not completely at ease — or so he felt her, as his eyes perused her countenance. The subject surely hurt her more than she allowed him to suspect, though this perception was forced upon him by the stiffness of her manner and the feigned calmness (so different from her real serenity) with which she answered all his questions. Yet, this one sentence let by her inner emotions:

‘Mr. Willoughby is unfathomable! Where did you hear it?’

He resumed the scene in Pall Mall, thus sparing her of details which were only useful in his recognition of Willoughby, and on her remarking on the lady’s fortune as an incentive to marriage, he replied, ‘It may be so; but Willoughby is capable— at least I think…’

Indeed, he was not the one to doubt the man’s dissipating tendencies; but on the remembrance of who he had injured, and sensing her now especially linked in her sufferings to his poor Eliza, continued with the utmost compassion, almost afraid of the answer, ‘And your sister—how did she—’

‘Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to hope that they may be proportionately short. It has been, it is a most cruel affliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard; and even now, perhaps— but I am almost convinced that he never was really attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and, in some points, there seems a hardness of heart about him.’

‘Ah! there is, indeed!’ was his abrupt interjection, filled with accusation and recent memories blessing his mind, and finally being able to express what he had not been at liberty to express before. But Miss Marianne’s being reticent in accusing him, like Miss Dashwood’s sense justly set he ought to be accused, was not auspicious, and with some anxiety he returned, ‘But your sister does not— I think you said so— she does not consider quite as you do?’

‘You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still justify him if she could.’

What must be his perception on hearing it? As informed of Willoughby’s conduct, and as aware as he was of his faulty character, this was a most despondent certainty: that he was still able to deceive her; and while the illusion stood, while his image remained immaculate, her misery must perforce last.

Many hours did he spend in deep consideration after the evening ended and he recollected to St. James Street, wondering whether a communication, if any, could appease the poor girl. He hesitated on the propriety of such a revelation, he dithered on its usefulness, and more yet, he dreaded the transmission. It was all against his senses; but the goodness of his soul told him otherwise — it ought to be done, for the greater good. And if his heart was to be bruised in the process, so be it. He was older and hardened. Now, surely, it did not signify…

Chapter 11: XI.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 11

XI.

‘My object ― my wish ― my sole wish in desiring it ― I hope, I believe it is ― is to be a means of giving comfort; no, I must not say comfort ― not present comfort ― but conviction, lasting conviction to your sister’s mind. My regard for her, for yourself, for your mother ― will you allow me to prove it, by relating some circumstances which nothing but a very sincere regard ― nothing but an earnest desire of being useful ― I think I am justified ― though where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?’
— Chapter 31

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The sort of determination that ensues from careful deliberation is always irrepressible. Thus, having decided that new information that would open Willoughby’s character further must reach Miss Marianne, the logical means to achieve it was to resort to her elder sister. The owner of a prudent mind, and a natural confidant for himself, Miss Dashwood was the elected recipient of such delicate report. With the intention of trusting her with the whole account of his little Eliza’s involvement with that man, and what had been the outcome of such a connection, Colonel Brandon had gone to see her ― and very glad was he on finding her alone, a circumstance which assisted the delivery.

Only, once with her, he sternly fought with the appropriateness of the opening; and uttering his hesitations as he pondered over them, he began thus, ‘I met Mrs. Jennings in Bond Street and she encouraged me to come on; and I was the more easily encouraged, because I thought it probable that I might find you alone, which I was very desirous of doing.’

When sensing her taken aback by such a confidence, as her expression conveyed both surprise and alarm, he was obliged to better justify his impudence, which he did with inevitable agitation.

‘My object ― my wish ― my sole wish in desiring it ― I hope, I believe it is ― is to be a means of giving comfort…’ How ridiculous his reasoning sounded in his own ears! A rectification was performed, ‘No, I must not say comfort ― not present comfort ― but conviction, lasting conviction to your sister’s mind. My regard for her, for yourself…’ Here his voice almost failed, as his eyes flickered towards her, ‘for your mother ― will you allow me to prove it, by relating some circumstances which nothing but a very sincere regard―’ (as his eyes searched hers and his heart sunk in his chest) ‘Nothing but an earnest desire of being useful ― I think I am justified ―’ But a sudden reluctance struck him; he distrusted his own judgement and feared the consequences of such a revelation, ‘Though where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?’

The lady, with her typical forbearance, reassured him: his intention had been apprehended, despite his awkwardness.

‘I understand you. You have something to tell me of Mr. Willoughby, that will open his character farther. Your telling it will be the greatest act of friendship that can be shewn Marianne. MY gratitude will be insured immediately by any information tending to that end, and hers must be gained by it in time. Pray, pray let me hear it.’

‘You shall; and, to be brief, when I quitted Barton last October―’ (sniffing at his own discomfiture) ‘But this will give you no idea― I must go farther back.’ Looking up, he slightly coloured with embarrassment. ‘You will find me a very awkward narrator, Miss Dashwood; I hardly know where to begin. A short account of myself, I believe, will be necessary, and it shall be a short one. On such a subject,’ sighing heavily, ‘can I have little temptation to be diffuse.’

Arranging his thoughts, he found that a mention of the last Mrs. Brandon should be brought forward; and endeavouring to refresh her memory with a conversation they shared one particular evening at the Park, was pleased to know her aware of the event and subject at hand. This assuaged a little the telling of heart-rending particulars, and that he would not have mentioned, were the incitement slightly inferior. In his slow kind of way, he gave her a full account of Eliza’s tragedy: her connection to himself, their planned flee to Scotland, her arranged marriage to his brother and her divorce — but this point he could not discuss with tranquillity; and carried away by emotion, he briskly left his seat and procured to appease his heart by motion. It was deemed necessary to continue the narration with decent serenity.

However, he soon forgot himself when noticing the lady’s distress. He grew anxious for her on seeing her features distorted by pain and affliction — emotions confirmed by her silence, for he had never seen her so incapable of saying what was right. Feeling an overwhelming impulse of going to her and give her relief by such means as were at his reach, he obeyed to the first command of his heart, and approaching her, took her hand, pressed it and devotedly led it to his lips. He did not immediately retreat: he lost a few minutes admiring the goodness that led to such compassion.

An additional moment for gaining composure enough to proceed was compulsory, after which he related his return to England, his search for Eliza, and finally her demise. Yet, being the subject hardly less painful to hear by so close a friend than being told by the unfortunate man, he aided her by cutting his short the relation of his own sufferings.

‘What I endured in so beholding her― but I have no right to wound your feelings by attempting to describe it― I have pained you too much already,’ he observed with regret and attempted to describe the rest of Eliza’s story without deviation, asserting to have been a witness to his childhood sweetheart’s last moments. This time, Miss Dashwood exerted herself to extract a few words of compassion, to which he was much obliged to. But the next and greater exertions were on his side, and he undertook to deliver the rest of the necessary information. Her fright and alarm on conjecturing Willoughby’s part in his ward’s tragedy was such as to rob her of all composure for a moment; but one consolation he had — that it was all before her with sincerity and accuracy, and it must in time support Marianne.

Putting an end to such an interview, imagining her need to attend her sister, he left her with not very pleasant feelings of having disclosed so hurtful a story, but the sole comfort of having assured them of the advantage of such a breach.

Chapter 12: XII.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 12

XII.

Colonel Brandon’s delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate discussion of her sister’s disappointment, by the friendly zeal with which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with confidence.
— Chapter 32

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To the painful, but necessary, communication, succeeded a period of apparent normality. He continued to be a regular at Berkeley Street, conversing with the ladies there stationed with ease (except the very one he had most benefitted with his exertion) and finding continual source of satisfaction — for in Miss Marianne’s serenity he found new reason to rejoice of what he had done, and in Miss Elinor’s tenderness he found consolation for every affliction. Mrs. Jennings, too, came to his assistance in the days that followed with her usual solicitude and prattle, and he had little to wish for but that such days might be endlessly repeated. This, together with his own duties and acquaintances in town, kept him busy, and such bustle contributed much to a greater placidity.

Nonetheless, it was still in Berkeley Street that he preferred to spend his time, and given free access to the house by the mistress’s will, he would frequently drop in for a morning call, afternoon tea or late supper. It was on one of such occasions, when a rubber party was being organised and the Middletons were in attendance, that the delicate matter was brought forward by an inspiration of his companion.

‘I do not recall the last time Marianne obliged anyone in a rubber,’ said Miss Dashwood at length, after a pause of several minutes. ‘She has always quite detested the game. And yet, there she is, serving as Mrs. Jennings’s partner while Sir John was excused — If nothing else assures you of her improvement, in that (if in anything) you may find safe evidence.’

This was spoken with a mixture of sarcasm and delight; but on seemingly realising that she had inadvertently touched an unpleasant subject, for the references it roused, her expression gained new severity, that was a form of embarrassment.

‘Indeed, Miss Dashwood, I am not entirely surprised that such should be the case. While one is ever unhinged and perfectly unaware of the reasons behind a heartbreak, the mind has no rest — but once these are provided, and if sound and robust they appear, improvement is most certain, though pain might linger still.’

His eyes were on her, as hers were on Marianne, in order to measure the impact of such words. The reaction was almost inexistent, apart from a pitiful look devoted to her sister and a somewhat reminiscing expression that must have been related to personal griefs, and no word (either in consent or dissent) was offered.

‘And,’ he started again, hesitant, ‘how are you faring?’

Apparently awake by so unexpected a question, she returned his look, and blinking twice repeated, ‘Me?’ As he nodded once to confirm it, she remarked, ‘I am not the injured, Colonel.’

‘No,’ said he with a condescending smile, ‘but you are certainly equally concerned in the deceit, and as well as you love your sister, how can I suppose you indifferent?’

This was effective in pressing for greater openness. Her expression became tender on recognising the truth of such affirmation.

‘I believe indifference is impossible under the circumstances. It is true that we were all greatly mistaken on Will— on the acquisition of a brother and son, and as warm and sanguine as my mother’s temper is, you can imagine how the disappointment was received by one who had come to love him dearly. But it is well that the mistake ends where it does. I believe it to become, in time, as cherished as a lesson, as it was once despised as an error; it shall subdue the tendency to excess and unwise judgement.’

Her detour towards general feelings, or those belonging to people close to her instead of honestly confiding her own, awoke suspicions. It seemed as if she was rather unwilling to debate her own vexation, as if she was determined to overcome it through endurance and patience. This pained him particularly; and being always with her, and having taken that post of confidant by his own admission, he felt allowed to speak plainly on the occasion.

‘That an alteration in one’s judgement and deportment after a chagrin is due, I do not challenge, and a change will and must occur to her benefit… although I would much rather see your sister guarding that alacrity that so beseems young minds.’

‘Alacrity does not always favour young minds,’ she stoutly declared. ‘On the contrary, it encourages them to imprudence. While one has not yet learnt to properly govern their emotions and combat prejudices, it can be very dangerous to be so wholly dependent on impulses, carelessly displaying their effects before common sense has the chance to check them.’

‘Shall I understand that you deplore alacritous temperaments? — or rather, that you fancy them inconvenient?’

‘Not at all; actually, I recognise their enticement, and consider them advantageous in many respects. That emotions are less mistaken for being transparent is a privilege exclusive of alacritous temperaments, and it can, at times, be a relief. — It is the injudicious tendencies that derive from them, so often observed, that I regret.’

A small pause was made before the Colonel returned, ‘I understand you… And you are right in some measure. Their openness can lead to the establishment of general expectations, that are frequently adverse to their interest, shall a change of circumstances—’ With a resigned smile, he dropped the subject, and limited his reflection to the next sentence. ‘But then, such mistakes are always pardonable in unexperienced people.’

‘Do you think so?’ asked Miss Dashwood in a tone that displayed her disagreement.

‘I do.’ In a careful way, he commented still, ‘Nobody would dare taxing your sister for having behaved accordingly to the expectations raised by another’s behaviour.’

‘Still,’ she replied with visible effort, ‘her having displayed her aspirations without a solid security has much damaged her, for now she is an object of discussion to virtually everybody who has witnessed the affair,’ (with another strong effort) ‘which is why I believe that eagerness does not come to anybody’s benefit.’

‘Neither does complete concealment — for, if frankness gives way to intrusiveness, so does to support, while reserve keeps one from even receiving compassionate solace.’

Having made his point, and felt that it had been understood, he immediately shifted the conversation towards more cheerful reflections, and Scott was picked upon as an eligible topic, as any other would have been then.

Chapter 13: XIII.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 13

XIII.

He [John Dashwood] was really resolved on seeking an intimacy with that gentleman [Brandon], and promoting the marriage by every possible attention.
— Chapter 33

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The routine that Colonel Brandon had come to cherish was a bit altered by an unexpected addition. On his joining the Dashwood ladies and Mrs. Jennings for tea, as was ordinary, a gentleman was introduced as their brother. Being the very one who had inherited the family’s property, some facts on his account had already been learnt, and not only flowing from Sir John’s goodwill. In fact, he distinctly remembered one evening at Barton when the subject of the Dashwoods leaving the county had been brought up. Miss Dashwood had then mentioned a “series of particulars” that determined their departure, and questions emerged due to narrator’s discomfit. The Colonel had later on ascribed it to a romantic disappointment; but perhaps his theory had been unfounded. Perhaps the only point of injure to herself had been the neglect of her half-brother.

Indeed, at first glance, nothing suggested that this was the case. Mr. Dashwood had taken possession of what was his by right; and certainly, it was not his fault that the assets had been unjustly divided, as Sir John had the goodness to explain once. No imputation of misconduct could be made so far. — But the Colonel had always wondered why such ladies were not more benefitted by their relations. He had concluded that Mrs. Dashwood’s wish to remove from the Sussex (confessed to him by her eldest daughter) had somehow ensued from a breach with her stepson.

All these particulars had encouraged the Colonel to suspect of those involved. But being a reasonable man, he was not to so determinately fixed in his opinion as to exclude the possibility of a greater acquaintance. There was one other reason that made him inclined to procure it, that only now started to grow on him. Whatever may be judged and said of the gentleman’s defects, he was still Miss Dashwood’s relative. There, if in anything, he would learn to find appreciation.

The astonishment at receiving his deference was nothing to the desire of a tighter connections with her family. So, when that very week he walked by the gentleman in Conduit Street, and preparing to salute him only with a bow was faced with a warm approach and a familiar invitation to dinner, he very readily acceded. This, indeed, was a most delightful anticipation, that seemed to promote both the chance to be with the Miss Dashwoods and give way to a deeper intimacy with their brother.

That he was determined on seeking it, was recognised; why such should be his objective, was an entirely different matter. He had not quite avowed to himself the constant impulse that led him towards everything regarding the Dashwoods. His first object had been to cement the friendship with Miss Elinor, and afterwards to be a means of comfort to Miss Marianne, whose heartbreak was so deeply laced with his little Eliza’s. But the incitation to seek it more earnestly now, he knew not; and in truth, he needed not to be aware of the motivation. When resolutions ensue from proclivities, they are sure to be pursued with much more success than if the head had been involved in the decision. It is no wonder, therefore, that he should unconsciously gain what better pleased his heart.

Chapter 14: XIV.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 14

XIV.

She could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, and hiding her face on Elinor’s shoulder, she burst into tears. Every body’s attention was called, and almost every body was concerned. ― Colonel Brandon rose up and went to them without knowing what he did.
— Chapter 34

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The anticipated dinner had brought the usual amount of curiosity, together with equal elucidation on the participants. Mr. John Dashwood had proven himself capable of holding conversations, and as far as improvements and acquisitions were concerned, abundant remarks were provided; and two or three comments on political matters and horse races determined him wise enough. The Colonel, who was in no mood to dislike anyone, bestowed much more merit in this capacity than it would have deserved in regular circumstances. However, one unforeseen disruption challenged this liberal inclination.

He had been shown a couple of screens of Miss Dashwood’s, which were hanging on the drawing-room walls, and was expected to give informed opinion on them. That he was as surprised with the address as with the artist’s skills, was quickly avowed to himself; but since the latter surpassed the first in importance, he discussed them with that admiration which he knew her to deserve.

‘Indeed, your kindness carries you too far, Mr. Dashwood. I am not as qualified as an admirer as you so briskly proclaim me… But though my abilities are scarce in this regard, I may go so far as to admire them with the less experienced eyes of a soldier. That they are very well achieved, is a testament to both technique and taste… The colour of the hills, in particular, accurately represents an autumnal scene, with the typical dismay of colder days, and I reckon the representation of gusts of air must have not been easy to paint.’ (with deep reverence) ‘I dare say not many artists would be apt to portray it as well…’ Smiling to himself, as his voice sunk a little, ‘But then, I suppose praise will always fall too short of what is due. Miss Dashwood’s talent surpasses any elegance of expression that I could ever attempt.’

No sooner had he finished his sentence, that his attention was already being claimed by one particular person.

‘What are you discussing with the Colonel, Mr. Dashwood? What keeps you so obliviate to what is passing here? Pray, let us hear the motive of your secrecy,’ said Mr. Dashwood’s mother-in-law in a stout accent, and on being told the reason, she demanded to see the screens herself. It was only natural that she should partake in the conversation, for she was a great admirer of art, and no one had as natural taste as herself. With such an opening, her superior rights were not only acknowledged by her son-in-law, but also expected to be shown by her own assessment of the pieces.

‘Hum, very pretty,’ was however the meaningless reaction of one who claimed to be a great expert on art. Handling over the screens without observing them, she was sure to collect Colonel Brandon’s stupefaction.

He wondered of such determined disparage, and looking at Miss Dashwood’s countenance, hoped to find in it a subtle hint that would clarify the business. Yet, he found no evidence of anger, pain or discomfit: only the traces of a sardonic curl of her mouth, that he had learnt to detect when it would have been lost to others. She despised the lady; it was clear. — The particulars of their intercourse, and what deserved her this reprobation, the Colonel was not aware of. But he suspected it to be a grave one, indeed, to cause such hostility.

Nonetheless, this stoic disposition of hers was soon tried with Miss Marianne’s interference.

‘This is admiration of a very particular kind! — what is Miss Morton to us? — who knows, or who cares, for her? — it is Elinor of whom we think and speak.’ Rather harshly snatching the pieces from Mrs. John Dashwood’s hands, she went on, ‘How proficiently is the earth depicted; how difficult it is, too, to depict the valleys as you did, and how wonderful is the palette of colours! It evokes all the charms of Autumn, and no one who has ever beheld Norland Park can claim the mansion is not perfectly portrayed. This is, indeed, a work of art of a most extraordinary skill, and I may very well wonder that it is not so judged by everyone. Even Miss Morton, who is nothing to us, and I dare say, with very little importance, would submit to its excellence without much opposition.’

This warm defence of her sister earned a stern look and a few spiteful words that wished to establish Miss Morton’s superiority.

‘Miss Morton is Lord Morton’s daughter.’

Although neither the lady’s talent could be recognised, nor her personal charms could be acknowledged on the occasion, she was proclaimed the superior one. The Colonel observed the younger Dashwood, who was now the target of vicious looks, with the utmost compassion and reverence, and was not entirely sorry that civility had been sacrificed in the defence of Miss Dashwood. Indeed, just like Miss Marianne had done justice to her sister’s performance, he, too, did justice to her character, finding in her enterprise that irresistible goodness that made her so cherished by his heart. As for her sister, who could not equally celebrate such an outburst, he saw her with despondency remain quiet and embarrassed, as if she wished by her submission to appease everybody and to quickly overcome the less positive sensations that had emerged. This, however, was a personal contrivance that was threatened once more.

Her sister moved nearer her and, saying something to her too low for him to hear, started to whimper on her shoulder. Raising up from his seat, and hardly knowing what he wished by such a motion, or which sister he wished to assist first, he was kept by indecision and civility to advance further; and standing not even midway from his intended destiny, beheld both with great commiseration.

Poor Miss Marianne sobbed bitterly, though quietly, and these sobs affected him very much, for the remembrance they evoked: that of finding his little Eliza in London and the subsequent narration of her story. This collection, despite being rejected right away (so disturbing it was), worked together with her brave interposition to claim his sympathy. To this, added Miss Dashwood’s continuous embarrassment, which she wished to do away without having the means to achieve it.

Conquered by his heart on beholding such a scene, he mitigated the distance between them and endeavoured to offer comfort only by this action: by extending his hand to Miss Dashwood, which she took and pressed, though hastily; and wishing to terminate the tumult, she said right away, ‘Everything’s fine, Colonel, Marianne is only a bit fatigued. She will be composed in a minute, I’m sure.’

On achieving such composure, not long afterwards, Miss Marianne retreated and seemed by her resolution to put an end to everybody’s pity. Colonel Brandon was lost in his inner thoughts about what had passed when he was again incited to conversation.

‘Poor Marianne!’ said Mr. Dashwood. ‘She has not such good health as her sister — she is very nervous — she has not Elinor’s constitution; — and one must allow that there is something very trying to a young woman who has been a beauty in the loss of her personal attractions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne was remarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor. — Now you see it is all gone.’

The Colonel was not of the opinion that this was definite loss of her bloom. After all, she was too young to be so desperately and irrevocably lost; though presently much affected, she would be soon restored to happiness. But as to Elinor’s constitution, Mr. Dashwood was not fully wrong. She had attested to her capacity of facing trials with equanimity, and as to her beauty, he did not believe it in general very likely to be gainsaid.

Chapter 15: XV.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 15

XV.

Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the world, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a son and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least to all those intimate connections who knew it before. This event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings’s happiness, produced a temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a like degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to be as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every morning as soon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in the evening; and the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of the Middletons, spent the whole of every day, in every day in Conduit Street.
— Chapter 36

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A few days after this astounding event, that had raised as many questions as emotions, a novelty of great importance was sure to inspire alterations in everybody’s routine. Mr. and Mrs. Palmer had welcomed a son, and for a time this held the first degree of importance, as everyone’s activities were organised around it and every discussion was either on the baby’s health, or on the determination of whether he better resembled father or mother. This, in itself, was a strong reason to rejoice in Colonel Brandon’s eyes, for as it required neither great effort to please, nor great intellect to discuss, it posed a contrast with what had been experienced as of late.

Commanded by propriety, interest and affection, the Colonel headed to Hanover Square as soon as an intrusion was not regarded as so inadmissible, as to not be received with pleasure. The mother was well and happy, and he was glad to verify that her usual good-humour had not been lost in the delivery. As to Mr. Palmer, no variation of any kind was detected: he was as stolid as ever, could not be prevailed upon emitting an opinion on the uniqueness of having an heir, and his humour had only changed in it having slightly decayed, for his mind being so often required in stupid matters.

The innovation that this visit produced was not so much in the baby Palmer, as it was in his grandmother being there at the time — and being the first time that they had been thrown together in a room since the last dinner at the John Dashwoods, it was a spectacular opportunity for conversing on what had passed. Mrs. Jennings was highly displeased with the hosts, and on verifying their want of affection for their sisters when they became the ill-chosen target of their mother, very sincerely spoke of their defects.

‘To see the poor girls so disowned, with hardly a word on the reception, and for half of the evening unaddressed by both mother and daughter! Lord, could I have believed such a thing possible, I am sure I should have never taken them, and am sure I shan’t call on them again, let my daughter Middleton say what she pleases. Well she may reprove it, for what I care. I declare, I have no patience with Mrs. Dashwood, and an’t the least tempted to see her again!’

In more civilised, but less sincere terms, did the Colonel reply.

‘Indeed, Ma’am, I was a bit surprised on such a reception, so used we have been to a greater degree of familiarity between ourselves. But it may not be so much a manifestation of disapproval of the Miss Dashwoods, as it may attest to the John Dashwoods’ discretion.’

‘Lord bless you, Colonel! Sure you do not mean to convince me that it is but their tempers! That is as unsound a reason as ever I heard, and one which does not very well redeem vanity! — And what can one conceive of Mrs. Ferrars’s disdain, if not their having close to nothing? For I’m sure that, had each two or three thousand, they sure would be better esteemed!’

On this, he did not remark, and going only as far as to deviate from the subject to the injured ladies’ reaction, asked, ‘And how are the Miss Dashwoods, as of late?’

‘Oh, they are not down in the mouth about it at all, and in my opinion, they have much gained in running off to the Middletons — for there, you know, Sir John always contrives to gather a few more young people around him, and they are sure to find Lucy and Nancy! — Aye, ‘tis a delightful thing for the girls to be together. Lord, how I chuckled when I sent them off to Mary! It was good of me to have thought of it!’

Receiving this novelty, he asked with hesitation, ‘So… they have been spending the chief of their time with the Middletons?’

‘To be sure they have, and so they must! Aye, ‘tis well that they’ve escaped the nonsense of a stupid old woman, and I shall be very deceived if they an’t monstrously relieved with the exchange!’

‘They certainly are pleased with so kind a hostess, ma’am, and grateful for your efforts to secure their comfort, though a little variety must do them some good,’ he returned, surrendered to such irresistible kindness, though smiling at the form of it.

The information gathered during this dialogue had not yet been shared with the Colonel due to the constrictions that had been forced on everybody since the Palmers’ boy was born, and now explained why instead of meeting the ladies at their usual residence, he had been invited to leave a card to signalise his visit. Very spontaneously did he decide, then, that a visit to Sir John was in order.

Chapter 16: XVI.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 16

XVI.

‘When I got to Mr. Palmer’s, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was sure it was very ill — it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples. So I looked at it directly, and, 'Lord! my dear,' says I, 'it is nothing in the world, but the red gum—' and nurse said just the same. But Charlotte, she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for (…).’
— Chapter 37

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The Colonel’s visit to Sir John happened a little later than the Dashwoods’, for to Sir John’s misfortune, they could not be persuaded to stretch their stay. This had puzzled him exceedingly! For where two or three girls happened to be in assembly, he judged it to be their unanimous desire to so continue, and given the host’s eagerness to promote their intimacy, they should have no reasonable ground to object. All that rested, therefore, was to praise the Miss Dashwoods to the Miss Steeles, in hopes to give that encouragement that the girls themselves had not given. Unbeknownst to him, this was rather a motive of jealousy and despondency, than of approval and contentment, and the Steele girls had been in a foul humour — until, that is, their flattery ensured a slight deviation of topic towards William’s funny tricks, or how little Annamaria had spent the last ten minutes in so quiet a manner that she was sure to be declared the gentlest creature in the world.

Therefore, what the Colonel saw on entering the Middletons’ drawing-room was this: two girls who had forborne the children’s mischievous teasing with admirable patience. Although having been only two minutes within the same space as them, but having not yet become immune to the general bustle as other guests seemed to be, he determined that he should go to Sir John himself, instead of being announced. He was in his study, not particularly engrossed with anything, but seemingly trying to escape his own family’s cheerfulness, and who welcomed him with effusion as soon as he walked in.

‘Ah! Brandon, man! Is that you? Upon my soul, I declare I did not expect you today! Coming from the Palmers, hey? How’s Charlotte? I hear my mother has been stationed there ever since she was brought to bed, and a fine account she brought us the other day. I say, Palmer is a lucky fellow. Two or three more sons, and he will be all set. But where in the world have you been since the dinner at the Dashwoods? Come, let me hear the full of it!’

The Colonel satisfied his curiosity by providing detailed information on every topic raised, and every interview he had had at Hanover Square was related.

‘Aye, they’ve been here almost every day; but why they left so soon today, I shall never understand. Shame you missed them.’

‘A shame, indeed. I should have liked to see them.’

Perhaps the Colonel only meant to be polite when so concurring, or perhaps his own expression gave away a much keener interest than one should expect about so trivial a matter. Another explanation, and this appeared to be the more probable of the three, was that earlier reports had reached Sir John to make him suspect of deeper layers in the Colonel’s interest for the Dashwoods.

‘Aye, aye, I see how it goes. The younger one turned you down, and now you’re smitten with the eldest. A fine lady, she is, and though she never dances, she’d make a perfectly good wife.’

More than shock was withdrawn from this speech, and although it had not been the first time that the Colonel had been accused of an inclination (which should have better prepared him for other absurd accusations of the sort), it was received with discomposure.

‘There is no likelihood of my marrying Miss Elinor Dashwood, John. It has always been quite out of my head.’

‘Oh! yes, I well know that you preferred Miss Marianne — and for a time we all believed you’d have her, after the whole affair of Willoughby’s engagement came about.’ Sir John’s goodness, that he expressed through his indignation, made him here burst with a coarse, ‘Ah! the scoundrel! Such a deceitful dog! To think that I received him every evening at Barton! I declare, I shall never have him here, as long as I live, and very well would I like to send him off with more than a scold, should he dare calling on us — but Mary always has her own way.’

‘You mean… that her ladyship wishes to continue the acquaintance?’

‘Aye, she thinks the Willoughbys are worth knowing in town, or what have you. — But you shan’t contrive to distract me, Brandon! It is of the Dashwoods we speak of, and I very well know what crosses your mind regarding one certain lady.’

‘What do you mean?’ returned he with an ironic smile, that showed his opinion on the whole business.

‘Now, now, don’t attempt to deny it. We’ve had it by Mrs. Jennings herself, and she is not very likely to err there, you know.’ With a genuine smile, he added, ‘Well, she is as good a creature as ever lived, and we are all monstrously glad of the match.’

Smiling within himself at the catch-phrase that his friend had got from his mother-in-law, so frequent had been their interactions, he answered with placidity, ‘Indeed, I believe your eagerness to derive from pure consideration, and I sincerely thank the friendship that led you so astray.’

‘Ah! led me astray, you say? You may think me uncapable to look about me, but I can very well perceive when a man’s smitten. Pray, were you not sat together at every assembly we’ve had in town? Did not you refuse a rumble only to be sat in intimate conversation? Nay, Brandon, you cannot convince me that you haven’t made up your mind, be you ever as sly about it as you choose. The wedding will take place within a few months, and we shall all be the happier for it — that is all.’

What was Colonel Brandon expected to say in such circumstances? Well, what a prudent man ought to, evidently. He denied every scheming to justify such a pursuit, except the live regard of friendship. Thus ended the business: one gentleman impossible to be convinced, and the other inapt to convince, the interview came to an end. Yet, it was not to be so soon forgotten.

Brandon now recollected every occasion in which he and Miss Dashwood had interacted, and they sure were plenty. Indeed, he had sought her company ever since being in town — and even now, sought her at the Middletons. He finally avowed to himself that such an irrepressible urge of going to the Dashwoods must have something more to it, that his pleasure with Miss Dashwood’s company or his solicitude for Miss Marianne alone could not justify. It must, indeed, be a symptom of a greater regard, one he had barely noticed before, but which had grown in spite of himself.

Still resisting to such astonishing judgement, he tried to find other reasons for his behaviour. But alas! he found only circumstances to reinforce his epiphany. Was it not true that Elinor had been his closest friend in Barton, and that intimacy had been instantly established? Had not their agreement in values and ideas been immediately discovered, promoting a genuine friendship? Had he not regretted leaving her, more than anyone else? This was all true; but still he might have doubted, had not their subsequent meetings in town hinted otherwise. She, he saw it now, had been the primary attraction to Berkeley Street, one which made him overcome the shock of seeing her sister after Eliza’s tragedy had been known to him — there, he had regained strength, and her kindness then had been so highly appreciated that admiration had turned into devotion (which was forever fixed with her tender care on hearing his past sufferings). Everything else, from that moment on, seemed to corroborate this theory: his incitement for her to confide in him, his own pursuit for a closer acquaintance with her relations, his praise on her talent, his attempt to soothe her after Mrs. Ferrars’ attacks — it all came together in an extraordinary depicture of his attachment.

What a blow upon him this was! He, who had already forfeited every hope of marital happiness; he, who sought only peace since Eliza’s loss; he, who expected nothing ever since being robbed of his last aspiration with his ward’s desertion. The earliest desire to marry had been taken from him a long time ago; and since disgrace had befallen his poor Eliza, he had let go of his ambition of settling her as his heir. Having no choice but to shield her from curious eyes and ill-meaning minds, he had established her in the country, and the so ambitioned merriment was now forever out of his reach. And now… dared he hope again?

This prospect was considered for a moment, and only a moment. Surely, Miss Dashwood would never return his regard. He was more than fifteen years her senior, and with such gravity as he was sure to repel every lover. Still, be the mind as stubborn as it is, a loving heart will never fully submit to a disappointment until all hope is lost.

Chapter 17: XVII.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 17

XVII.

But though so much of the matter was known to them already, that Mrs. Jennings might have had enough to do in spreading that knowledge farther, without seeking after more, she had resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort and inquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but the hindrance of more visitors than usual, had prevented her going to them within that time.
— Chapter 38

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After certain sentiments are ascertained and earlier notions corrected, the first interview with the object of one’s affections is always accompanied by a dreadful anticipation. So it happened with Colonel Brandon when first meeting the Dashwoods at Mrs. Jennings’s for one of those evening gatherings, that appeared to be convoked by the hostess and imposed on her in equal measure (for her habits in town seemed to rule her, rather than her being able to properly rule her own time).

A slight awkwardness on his side hindered a total familiarity, until Elinor, in her usual gentleness, engaged him in conversation. Much she had to say on trivial matters, and he was all the more pleased with it, for having not much to talk of beyond them. Still, even the most trivial of themes may cause discomfit. It so happened that one guest in particular, a lady intimate with Mrs. Jennings, though far more cultivated, had the misfortune of mentioning a well-known poem on the subject of love. This was sure to call Miss Marianne’s attention, for where she did find enjoyment, interest could never be concealed, and much was said on the subject by both of them.

‘Indeed, Mrs. Arthur, I cannot agree with you there!’ cried she with eagerness, in the defence of her cause. ‘If such constructions of language would be more frequently applied than they are presently, I’m afraid they would fail to convey any truth, or to excite any interest. Love sonnets ensue from true attachment alone, which cannot be feigned… It is no wonder, therefore, that there are so few which qualify as literary references.’

The lady giggled and counteracted, but very respectfully, ‘Surely, you do not believe poets to write only when they are infatuated… for then, hardly anybody would ever write! Do you suppose them to drop the pen for the rest of their lives if they’re unfortunate in their personal choices? — Nay, Miss Marianne, that is not sound. What an utter disgrace for literature would that be!’

‘Again, you misconstruct my words. Evidently, I do not believe a writer’s period of activity to be determined by the duration of an infatuation. I merely meant to say that writing in the autumn of one’s life is based on the recollection of happier days, and that a single attachment must serve him for eternity, for the improbability of ever overcoming a first attachment, when it is sincere, is most comprehensible.’

This spontaneous claim from the younger Dashwood was regarded with some consternation by the Colonel. He found himself in a very awkward position, that of having attached himself to another at a later period of his life. Though the subject was dropped and Miss Marianne soon withdraw, he grew even quieter, ruminating on the folly of his infatuation and of the despondent possibilities that lay ahead.

‘As you see, Marianne is not at all altered.’

Noticing that he was being addressed by Miss Dashwood, he soon exerted himself to produce an answer.

‘No… Second attachments remain as criminal as ever, in her opinion.’

‘But she will be eventually led to reason. I don’t believe her to be in mourning her whole life, and there will come a time when her actions shall contradict her policies.’

‘That is very possible.’ After a pause, he asked, ‘It sometimes happens that the more one is determined on a course of action, the more unexpectedly one is caught off guard. Not every scheme is so easily carried out as the heart wishes.’

To this, Miss Dashwood made no reply.

‘Do you believe there is any circumstance where a second infatuation might be legitimate?’ asked he, at length.

‘Of course — plenty, in fact. If the lover is not to blame for the indifference or misconduct of the object of affection, for example, why should he be penalised? That is just common sense, and I can only hope that it is shared by everyone. Marianne, for her part, will benefit from greater observation of the world, since only that might adjust her opinions.’

The Colonel was not so much inquiring after Miss Marianne’s temper, as he was looking to certify himself of her sister’s clemency. In verifying it, his spirits improved, for while positive assertions permitted implausible scenarios, as the one he fabricated in his head from the moment he began to know himself, there was always some hope.

While confidence and trepidation alternated, he did not cease his supplementary efforts to get closer to the lady’s connections. Indeed, Mr. Dashwood petitioned his friendship and renewed his invitations most relentlessly, that he was a regular at Harley Street ever since. There, he had had the opportunity to become acquainted with the family’s habits and tempers; and there, he had verified that the only quality that could possibly be ascribed to Mr. and Mrs. Dashwood was being closely related to the Dashwood sisters. That they were elegant and civil was evident, as any people of gentility ought to be. But their elegance was not quite sufficient to do away their want of brilliancy and want of taste. Mr. John Dashwood’s interests began and ended with the sale, acquisition and improvement of properties, or how he could augment his revenues, and the nearest he ever came to a poetic remark was on the fine oak timber that Norland Park possessed. As to his lady, her conversation was even less varied, for it was confined to the weather, their friends in town and little else. Still, Colonel Brandon would be perfectly able to overcome everything against them, disposed as he was to confer his good opinion, had they appeared good-natured; but there was such a neutral impassivity about them, such a perfect good-breading destituted of sincere warmth, that he could not like them.

There was only one person in his new set of acquaintances that he appreciated, the young man whom he usually saw in the John Dashwoods’ drawing-room. This gentleman, Mr. Ferrars, was Mrs. Dashwood’s brother, and though his timidity impeded a rapidly acquired knowledge of his person, the Colonel found him agreeable. His general conduct posed a sharp contrast with his sister’s insipidity and her husband’s dreariness, and in him alone could he find unaffected manners. Besides, as he soon learnt, the fact that he was a good friend with the Miss Dashwoods had a greater right to his esteem.

Mr. Ferrars, unable to do justice to himself, became more generally known to Colonel Brandon due to the conversations that the Dashwoods had in his absence. Being the eldest son, he was to be fixed with a comfortable income — but this was dependent on one circumstance: his marriage to the Hon. Miss Morton, Lord Morton’s daughter, with a fortune of thirty thousand pounds. It was, they said, a most advantageous match. If only the Colonel could rejoice for the man as his relatives! But unfortunately, he judged the design most unwise: to contrive a union solely based on numbers was a dire business, and he could not, in consciousness, agree with the conduction of their affairs. If Mr. Ferrars was in accordance with the plan, he could not tell; but he wished him a better fate, for his own sake, than a marriage of convenience enforced by others.

Chapter 18: XVIII.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 18

XVIII.

‘I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more.’
— Chapter 39

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A few days after this passed, on the account of some business in Bedford Square, where Colonel Brandon was on his way on foot, he ran into Mr. Donovan, the apothecary whom had been attending Mrs. Palmer. The occasion being propitious and the Colonel’s time being at his disposal, he asked very particularly about her and the child. But on such a subject, he learnt little, for Mr. Donovan, with his head full of the misfortune that had befallen the John Dashwoods, did not care to elucidate him before he started talking of it. Something wonderful was then learnt — that Mr. Ferrars, Mrs. John Dashwood’s brother, was engaged to be married to one of the young ladies under her care, whom the Colonel had only seen once at Sir John’s.

‘Pretty, she is, but having close to nothing, the match is unthinkable for them — how do you suppose it was received, Brandon? The house almost fell, so hysterical was Mrs. Dashwood… Upon my word, I thought the lady was about to have an apoplexy! And Mr. Dashwood, poor fellow, could do nothing, except beg very earnestly that she would let the girls fetch their things before being sent off. Well, a dreadful scene!... Whimpering, they went, and urgently was Mrs. Ferrars called, and as I made it a point of returning while this formidable mother was present, I soon understood that Mr. Ferrars would suffer much penury if he did not break off the match.’

‘I do not understand… You mean that Mrs. Ferrars does not give her blessing…?’

‘Hah! not only does she not give her blessing, as she promised never to fix his independence, should he insist in such a “disgraceful connection”, she said.’

‘I do not believe it, Donovan… Surely, Mrs. Ferrars would not have the heart of denying her son some assistance, for as I understand, though money being close to nothing on one side, it is abundant on the other.’

‘Oh, they do not care for all that!’ he simpered. ‘What do you think? That such people allow unequal alliances, be the man as infatuated as he may? Not them, indeed! No, Brandon, the unfortunate fellow is as unlikely to be assisted by any of them, as by his fiercest enemy, if not more so — for Mrs. Ferrars swears she will prevent an ascension in his choice of career, whatever he might pursue for his own support.’

‘How! To cast him off and injure him in such manner? That is beyond everything!’

‘And yet, it is very true. I am sure of it, for I am just returned from the John Dashwoods for the second time since all of this came about, and as I understood from a conversation I could not but hear, they can make no inquiry after Mr. Ferrars. It is so since he refused to break off the match most sternly, cost him what may. If a final breach with his family is not in order after all this, I don’t know what is — ah! Poor young man! What will become of him? No one can do nothing for him now!’

That he shared Mr. Donovan’s concerns, was evident; that he felt for the young man most sorrowfully, a feeling heightened by a strong approval of his decency and conduct, was most natural; but that assistance was made impossible, utterly impossible, Colonel Brandon could not quite agree, for no sooner had this exchange ended, did he begin to form an idea. That very morning’s post had informed him that the Delaford living had become available; and having understood that Mr. Ferrars intended to take orders (one of the novelties that he had heard at Harley Street, though scornfully talked of by his sister), he wished to bestow it upon him. Only they were not so familiar as to make such an offer from him less offensive, or less like charity. It should come from a friend.

With this in mind, he hastened to Berkeley Street to procure one whose influence over Mr. Ferrars was sure to convince him of the sobriety of the plan without injuring his pride. In confirming the veracity of the facts, he gave way to his emotions on a subject that was close to his heart, for the proximity with his own ancient situation, as well as with his restored condition of a lover.

‘The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty— of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached to each other, is terrible. — Mrs. Ferrars does not know what she may be doing — what she may drive her son to.’ With a considerable effort to narrate the facts calmly, he proceeded with a more sober voice. ‘I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake.’ Here, his voice sank a little as his emotion grew, ‘and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more.’

The plan was now before her and was received with a great amount of disbelief and anxiety. He saw the colour vanishing from Miss Dashwood’s cheeks, only to return in a crimson shade; and in such words did she commend his offer, that he was sure to live upon such sweet accents forever. But when understanding that she meant to decline the errand on the grounds of delicacy, he counteracted more stoutly, and she was led to accept, by force of circumstances, to be the joyful messenger of such good news. He only regretted the living’s revenue to be unable to enable Mr. Ferrars to marry, which greatly surprised the lady.

‘What I am now doing indeed, seems nothing at all, since it can advance him so little towards what must be his principal,’ (with an earnest look) ‘his only object of happiness. His marriage must still be a distant good; — at least, I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.’

‘That is unfortunate, indeed; but if not a means to secure his primary object, it shall be, at least, a motive of great satisfaction for him. I shall endeavour to inform him as soon as possible, Colonel.’

‘I thank you, Miss Dashwood. You are very good. I am afraid I must take my leave from you now, as I have still some business to attend, but I expect to hear from you soon.’

‘You will not go, however,’ she started with warm anxiety, ‘without once again receiving my most sincere gratitude, which I bestow upon you with renewed recognition. It is a gesture I shall never forget. I shall always think myself very much obliged to you.’

An indifferent man might have produced a very pretty reply to words professed with such tenderness, a reply filled with easy embellishments that always display the speaker’s qualities and talents, though showing little of his heart. But Colonel Brandon, being far from indifferent, only smiled his happiness and immediately took his leave from Mrs. Jennings and Miss Marianne. This interview, though lasting only a few moments, was enough to animate his bosom for the rest of the day.

Chapter 19: XIX.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 19

XIX.

‘Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,’ said he [Edward], soon afterwards, rising from his chair.

Elinor told him the number of the house.

‘I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not allow me to give you; to assure him that he has made me a very― an exceedingly happy man.’

— Chapter 40

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A word from Elinor confirming the communication about Delaford’s rectory did not reach Colonel Brandon as soon as a visit from the blessed young man was paid. Indeed, within an hour, while he was immerged in business missives from his steward in the country, Mr. Ferrars was announced in St. James Street, nr. 36, and was afterwards led by a servant to his master’s study. Some surprise at the expediency of the business did not prevent the Colonel from cordially welcoming the gentleman, and by artifices of mildness and openness, he tried to make him behave in a less restricted manner.

‘I am very sorry for intruding you in such a manner, sir…’ started the visitor as soon as he was invited to take a seat on the more convenient settees that occupied the room. ‘I certainly would not have dared to call on you, little as we know each other, had not a motive of great importance— had not a very particular circumstance made it inevitable.’

Brandon had attributed such a start to the gentleman’s reserve and good-breading, although he simultaneously felt that something in his address denounced an unwillingness to do what he had to do. Sensing a trace of pride in it, the common pride of owing one’s good fortune to another, he proceeded with the tender care of a friend.

‘I understand you. Mr. Ferrars, though you are always welcome, I suspect that only one subject can positively justify your call, and that has to do with the parsonage in my possession.’

‘Indeed, that is the exact reason for my visit, for,’ (with awkwardness) ‘I have just been informed that you wish to offer it to me… And since I have no doubt of the veracity of the communication, as the intermediary is such an intimate of yours, I did not allow myself any doubt… In short, certain as I was of having been duly informed, and that no distortion of the message was possible, I wished to thank you personally for your service,’ (his eyes lifting from the floor to rest on his) ‘at a time when all my prospects have been ruined.’

Had the circumstances been different, Brandon would have sworn that the look bestowed on him was almost a resentful one; but yet again, Mr. Ferrars had the excuse of timidity to atone for it, together with the gratitude to which his good nature must compel him.

‘No acknowledgement is necessary, for I assure you, Mr. Ferrars, that nothing gratifies me more than being of service to you. I have heard of your infelicity through a friend and could not believe the cruelty to which you were subjected, merely for persisting in a most honourable engagement. — That is quite regrettable, and I am sorry to say that I find your mother’s decision most injudicious. To divide her son from the object of affection on the grounds of wealth! It cannot be.’ This was stated with more than ordinary disapproval, with personal indignation, as if he had been directly injured by the decision. ‘Knowing this, I could not in good conscience allow such an injustice, when I can be of some assistance — and as of today, I can in fact assist you, I offer you my services most readily. Believe it to be a mere act of friendship, without a drawback. It has arisen as much from suitable circumstances as from your own merits, if not more… For I must say that I was extremely pleased to hear of your perseverance. I applaud your resistance to every harassment, for doing what your own heart commanded, regardless of the consequences. In this you may certainly find a justification for the good fortune that is now in your way — for it is not due to any attempt to raise myself through your affliction, but to your merits alone.’

This speech was a pure, honest conveyance of his feelings and judgements, while seeking to reassure Mr. Ferrars and extinguish any trace of awkwardness, pride or reserve. However, it gave away more than what was intended.

What the other gentleman must have judged of the Colonel’s behaviour, one cannot be sure of; but the suspicion that had been fixed by an earlier conversation, together with the conjectures that the present observation provided, was displayed by his next declaration.

‘I see that every account of your person that I have had the honour to receive is accurate. You are a most righteous man, and it is well that you should be so widely esteemed. My sister and John, in particular, speak of you with such a profound respect, and so commonly do they express their wishes for your happiness, that I confess that I have become equally interested in it…’ As if it were rather an exertion, and with what appeared to be some oppression of spirits, he added, ‘And, indeed, it is right that you should attain everything you most desire — a comfortable home, friends who esteem you and all the blessings that a man in your position cannot but hope to gain.’

Little did Mr. Ferrars know the state of uncertainty, the desperation, the reluctance and the frequent discouragement that so often hindered Brandon from wholly enjoying his newly found happiness.

Simpering, he replied, ‘Believe me, Mr. Ferrars, most of the aspects that are ordinarily considered the pillars of one’s felicity are little— are nothing… compared with the true blessing that must constitute the fullness of it. I feel that you are more fortunate, at least in the one point that matters the most.’

His companion had for an instant, and an instant alone, a somewhat surprised expression on hearing of his dejection, that he soon overcome with the allusion to a previous reference.

‘What you said before regarding my condition… is true. I have indeed been exhorted to break off a match that has stood for the last four years… and that has cost me my inheritance and, possibly, every means of livelihood. You might guess, therefore, how greatly valued your goodness is.’

With some reluctance, he stood up, believing he had discharged well of his duty and offering a few words of convenience, a renewal of his appreciation and the wish to see him very soon. After performing all of this with a decent degree of grace, and not so wholly depleted an oratory, he bowed respectfully. — But Brandon extended his hand with an amiable smile, thus inaugurating a friendship that he wished to maintain. The gentleman, though reluctant, took it and all appearance of good will, be it slightly more honest on one side, or ever more feigned on the other, was established. Contrary to what must be the common systems of such relations, in this particular case the patron valued the connection more than the tenant, and wished to secure his good opinion more than the contrary was verified; but then, since one story can only have as many interpretations as the feelings and offences which are expanded on, this inequality of circumstances must not unsettle the reader, for it is not so odd a situation as to not be understood in due time.

Chapter 20: XX.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 20

XX.

For the convenience of Charlotte and her child, they were to be more than two days on their journey, and Mr. Palmer, travelling more expeditiously with Colonel Brandon, was to join them at Cleveland soon after their arrival.
— Chapter 42

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When everything was settled between the parties of Hanover Square and St. James and Berkeley Streets, they set off to Cleveland on the same day and hour, though the rhythm of the journey was to be altered by subsequent decisions. To secure Mrs. Palmer’s comfort, her husband’s carriage was to be at her service, while Mr. Palmer was to take a horse and go post in Redding. This had been advanced by none other than Colonel Brandon, who offered to accompany him, and the soundness of the scheme being universally recognised, it could not fail to be approved. Two days’ delay, the gentleman figured, would not be very material, and it would promote the comfort of the ladies.

It was in Windsor, however, that the most significant change took place, after a couple of hours’ stopover in an indifferent inn, made necessary by the horses’ need to rest — for it was there that an extended meal and the inevitable conversation that it always occasions altered the dynamics most drastically.

The subject of the conversation was at first nothing worth to be noted; but Delaford’s parsonage, which the Colonel had visited once after receiving a positive answer from its new curate, offered as much detail as it did interest. Brandon was determined to make all the necessary alterations to transform such a compact space into a welcoming home. Mr. Palmer, however content with the proposal, judged it a most astonishing affair that his friend should invest so much in a rectory that could not give him any revenue — for it was indeed an endeavour that could not possibly repay him, and to do so for a stranger, a complete stranger, was the oddest thing in the world! The other one counteracted with the sense that characterised him, and his defence consisted in his tenant’s merits. It was only natural that he should assist him, he claimed, since Mr. Ferrars were generally talked of as a kind man, and having been cast off by his own relations, could now rely only in the sympathy of strangers.

‘In fact, I cannot disagree. If he does not find help among his friends, it is not likely that he should find it anywhere else, unless a benefactor happens to cross his path, and as you will be such close neighbours, it is well that such help comes from you. — What in the world can they mean by bringing us such a small amount of cold meat? Twenty pounds, such a smidgen plate! How horrid is the service! I have never seen such a pathetic excuse of a hostelry in my life!’

Colonel Brandon, ignoring Mr. Palmer’s frustration with his meal, not nearly as luscious as the ones he was used to have under his roof, and which constituted the primary source of his vexation, replied only to the first part of such a speech.

‘You are very right in thinking that I should assist a neighbour, and I certainly would do so for any person that might have been under my patronage, independent of their relation to me. But as such a close friend of the Miss Dashwoods, he has superior rights than most. I cannot but wish him well.’

Mr. Palmer’s eyes flickered in his direction and the grim of malaise he had when he observed his plate was replaced by a smirk that, though brief, showed a perfect knowledge of the conversations that had taken place in his drawing-room.

‘I have no doubt,’ and with such a stolid sentence did he say everything he had to say on the matter. ‘What is his name, again?...’

‘Ferrars, Edward Ferrars.’

‘Ferrars?’ he repeated, with astonishment. ‘The man of whom we speak is Mr. Ferrars?’

‘Well, yes, Palmer,’ said the Colonel, perplexed at his perplexity. ‘How come you did not know? Have you not had the full story?’

‘I had been informed of his mother’s part in the business, but he was always referred to me as Mrs. John Dashwood’s brother. How staggering!’

The Colonel could not possibly understand such a reaction, for he was not sufficiently enlightened and unaware of the memories that his friend was revisiting at the moment. But I shall now report that they were closely related to a good-humoured jest which had taken place at Barton all those months before, when the Palmers happened to be visiting. Mr. Palmer, however little concerned about it at the time, was well reminded of the predictions that had been forwarded by his silly relations regarding a certain gentleman who had been a favourite with Miss Dashwood, and whose name started with the letter F. Well-informed as he was, it took but a slight attempt to fancy the infamous Mr. Ferrars as the gentleman in question, and the idea that Colonel Brandon was giving a living to a secret (though powerless) rival entertained him exceedingly.

None of this, however, passed through his lips. He immediately began to talk of the necessity of hurrying away, on the pretext that Charlotte was in urgent need of his help, as surely she must be too engaged with the child to manage the servants properly, and no one could be supposed to proportionate a dignified welcome to the guests like the Cleveland’s master himself. Had he displayed his true motives, Mr. Palmer might not have been able to convince the Colonel of the extreme importance of a sudden departure. With such a reasoning, however, founded in all that was fair and considerate to others, he had high chances of succeeding.

Two secret motives formed the basis of such an action. The first of which was grounded on shallow, selfish reasons — that it must not be such a penance to drop his food when he was already so displeased with it. The second, more noble, was related to promote an earlier arrival that could aid his friend in the pursuit of the blessing, for he knew him to return to town after Easter, and time being short, every exertion must be applied to secure his success.

This justice I must do to Mr. Palmer, that he had enough sense not to be indifferent to a man who had dined at his house almost every day since they had been in London, and that he wished the Colonel well enough to secure Miss Dashwood, let Thomas Palmer be as selfish, conceited and short-tempered as he was.

This is how the gentlemen’s stop was cut short and they hurried on to Redding, thus saving a couple of hours and arriving to a very late dinner, when they were due to arrive around supper time.

Chapter 21: XXI.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 21

XXI.

Colonel Brandon (…) treating her at once as the disinterested friend of Mr. Ferrars, and the kind of confidant of himself, talked to her a great deal of the parsonage at Delaford (…). ― His behaviour to her in this, as well as in every other particular, his open pleasure in meeting her after an absence of only ten days, his readiness to converse with her, and his deference for her opinion, might very well justify Mrs. Jennings’s persuasion of his attachment (…).
— Chapter 42

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Though very much surprised by his travelling companion’s irrepressible desire to bring forward their arrival at Cleveland, reasonable as his arguments were, Colonel Brandon was far from being displeased. In the end, he was only obeying his own will of going to her, and as quickly as physical means would allow, while his mind repeated this gentle encouragement with elation of heart: “and ahead, her — always her”. What he should do afterwards, he was not entirely sure; for he had not quite made up his mind as to make a proposal, which should come as such a shock as to deprive him even of her friendly regard, should it be ill-received. This was a dire prospect, and it affected him much. Still, an enamoured man is not quite at his own disposal; he is always at the service of intuition and impulse. It is no wonder that Mr. Palmer’s invitation had been readily accepted, as the principal means to appease his heart, defeat his reluctance and to prolong his time with the object of adoration. With what gratitude the time ahead was beheld can be imagined. In such an occasion (which had been far more victorious in moving him to action than Mrs. Jennings’ allusions to their loneliness when the Dashwoods returned to Barton), he relied to estimate his chances of ever succeeding.

The reception was naturally positive, with as much consideration from Mrs. Palmer (proven a perfectly gracious hostess) as from their friends, and for a while much was said about the dreadful weather that they had to endure, followed by the urge for a hot meal. Little could he say to Miss Dashwood on the occasion, except a few comments on his affairs since the last time they saw each other, and inquiring after her health; and much more would he have said, had not circumstances led him to the dining room. It was not until much later that Brandon was able to approach her without attracting curious eyes. She had taken a volume for a companion and was sitting quietly in the far corner of one of the large sofas that composed the Palmers’ drawing-room, while everyone else was entertained with a whist party on the opposite side of the room.

‘I see your habits haven’t changed.’

His low voice approached with the subtlety of an experienced thief, which made the lady shudder at such an address.

Laughing softly, he pleaded, ‘I beg your pardon… I did not mean to disturb you.’

‘You don’t disturb me at all, Colonel,’ she replied in the same low tone, despite the tremor in her voice, seemingly trying to collect herself after such a fright, and mechanically closed the book. ‘In fact, I’m afraid I’ve been a very careless friend… I have left you to your own devices, knowing full well that you’re not fond of whist.’

‘It would be a grave fault indeed if I had been forced to play; but as you see, the card parties are already formed, and I am confident that Mr. Palmer would loathe me as an adversary, so I shall leave him to Mrs. Jennings.’

Without asking for her permission, he took a seat beside her and read the words printed on the book’s cover aloud.

‘The seasons… I fancied Thomson a favourite of your sister’s. — I believe I heard her say so once… But that you should equally appreciate him should not surprise me, I suppose.’

‘And yet, such a construction of the sentence makes it clear that it does,’ she replied with a twisted smile. ‘You believe me, perhaps, of a more dispassionate disposition… or rather, a bit less prone to romanticism.’

‘As to that, I do not believe— I have no reason to think it likely— In short, I would not be so obnoxious, so positively obnoxious, as to consider it quite like that.’ In a voice that grew both in confidence and in seriousness, he replied, ‘In earnest, Miss Dashwood, I would not dare assuming it.’

Here, she showed him an amiable smile, that seemed to prove that no harm had been done.

‘But at the same time,’ Brandon continued, eager to overcome any coolness that might have arisen. ‘I was almost sure that you preferred satirical literature — at least, such have been my views since you have so ferociously defended Mr. Laurence Sterne.’

‘In truth, Colonel, it is very unkind to tax me for having eclectic reading habits. Furthermore, sensible opposition on this point is useless, since these habits are never expected to last either way. Once a lady enters on new duties, she usually celebrates with a total, irrevocable abandonment of all enjoyment — poetry books are hardly picked, pianofortes are closed and ballrooms are exchanged for whist parties,’ she commented with a glance over to their friends.

Snuffling, he concurred with such an affirmation.

‘That is the case for most, I dare say… But do you think often — I think you said so — do you wonder when such a time will come when you will have to give up all enjoyment?’

The lady looked surprised with the seriousness he ascribed to the subject, veiled under a pretence jest, and answered in a more sober tone to such an interpellation.

‘I think everyone must consider a change of condition at some point…’

‘Yes… they must, indeed.’

His pensive eyes were fixed on her as he considered all that was against him on the one point that mattered the most, and these sombre meditations were only perceived because of the wrinkle that momentarily marked his forehead. Yet, a second later, he recollected himself and with newly found energy changed the topic.

‘But is it possible to have a full conversation about literature without one other person’s contribution? It is a most unusual circumstance! Pray, where is your sister?’

The first part of such a speech was spoken with amusement, but when a new concern arose as to the exact location of one he hadn’t seen since his arrival, the last inquiry was made with honest suspicion.

‘If her employments in the last few days are to reflect any kind of pattern, most likely in the gardens, enjoying the evening breeze.’

‘Ah! yes, of course… We wouldn’t want her in the narrow cage, from liberty confin’d, and boundless air.’

She sniffed at this reference, and waved a comment on Miss Marianne’s love for cold, wet days, sure to inspire both poets and muses. Brandon, however, was impeded to reply by an urgent call to the whist table, where his presence was indispensable. Smiling his apology, he withdrew, not without receiving a very expressive look, liberally bestowed upon him by Mrs. Jennings.

The next day brought with it new opportunities to converse, which he was very desirous of doing, on grounds of both satisfaction and policy. It was necessary… nay, essential, to determine the degree of her affection. That he was esteemed, he had no doubt; but her esteem was not yet strong enough to entertain his hopes. It did not warrant the chance to have them augmented.

When they were all reunited in the drawing-room after breakfast, he drew a chair close to hers and gave her information that ought to interest her. As he had recently visited the parsonage that was to be occupied by her friend, he endeavoured to impart knowledge that should give her pleasure. The description of the space, its conveniences and disadvantages were minutely given, as well as the work that he intended to carry out. On some points, he asked her opinion very earnestly, alleging that a lady’s taste ought to be consulted to atone for his own lack of discernment. Though rejecting to raise herself at his expense, Miss Dashwood spoke frankly of what, in her opinion, must be done to promote the comfort of its occupants, however unsettled with the notion of indirectly promoting Lucy’s comfort — though the Colonel remained unaware of such soreness. To him, indeed, she was only giving proof of that amiability, that irresistible goodness that so exalted her in his eyes; and higher ambitions were not so wholly forgotten as not to trust a happy conclusion of such a season at Cleveland’s estate. A proposal was, possibly, the only reasonable result to a man in love, but as passion and hesitation must share the notoriety until a definite answer puts him out of his misery, important decisions are always postponed on the grounds of prudence. The inducement to act lay, therefore, in the lady’s charms, in those attentions and encouragements which nestled themselves in his heart, and whose tender remembrance increased in value, until the action, the final action, was made inevitable by the lure of her merits.

Notes:

“In the narrow cage, from liberty confin’d, and boundless air” – Extract of the poem Spring, by James Thomson.

Chapter 22: XXII.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 22

XXII.

Colonel Brandon himself, with a much greater exertion, began to talk of going likewise. ― Here, however, the kindness of Mrs. Jennings interposed most acceptably; for to send the Colonel away while his love was in so much uneasiness on her sister’s account, would be to deprive them both, she thought, of every comfort; (…) she urged him so strongly to remain, that he, who was gratifying the first wish of his own heart by a compliance, could not long even affect to demur; especially as Mrs. Jennings’s entreaty was warmly seconded by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to feel a relief to himself, in leaving behind him a person so well able to assist or advise Miss Dashwood in any emergence.
— Chapter 42

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Despite the primary sources of blessed impatience, or agonizing felicity, that filled Colonel Brandon’s days, he was not so changed as to not retain old habits, founded in as much solicitude as natural sense — those same habits that made him often the most observant person in every room. It was this quality that made him notice the smallest nuances in someone’s behaviour, the fluctuation of humours and indispositions that characterised human species; and it was this very quality that put him among the first to notice Miss Marianne’s ailment.

Having assumed the post of an older, privileged guardian of the Miss Dashwoods, based in strong infatuation for one and sincere affection for the other, he was quite vocal about his concerns, in the expectation of imparting them on those who better qualified to answer them. Indeed, he felt that it was incumbent upon him to alert one who, had he not known the depth of her delicate affections, could almost be judged indifferent; but despite his soft instigations, no apparent effect was noticed. Much to his bewilderment, Elinor remained calm, confident that it was but a seasonal cold, that a good night’s rest would certainly cure — and for a while, that seemed to be the case.

Unfortunately, the course of events ended up attesting to Brandon’s pessimism instead of supporting the lady’s ingenuity, for on the morning of the second day after the feverish symptoms had first been perceived, he was informed that the poor girl had spent a wretched night, and the enterprise of sending for Mr. Harris seemed to indicate that Miss Dashwood shared at last his agitations. The diagnostic, while not despairing, was far from reassuring, and they were all in terrible suspense, anxious for the patient’s recovery.

This circumstance occasioned a disarrangement of everybody’s engagements and dispositions, for after the Palmers’ departure (for so in fright was the lady that her little boy should contract any infection, and so earnestly did she plead her husband to follow them, that departure was the only possibility for the hosts), Miss Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings shared the task of nursing the girl back to health. To Colonel Brandon, remained the solitary pondering over the calamity that was to befall on them — for though not much willing to believe a tragic conclusion, so dismissed by the apothecary’s verdict, he was not in a condition to refute the predictions constantly forwarded by Mrs. Jennings, especially during the evenings where he was to serve as her partner at piquet; and what the evenings did not achieve in fixing the certainty of Marianne’s demise, the afternoons did by self-inflicted meditations that could not but affect his spirits.

His head was filled with moribund figures, with consumptions, with past losses — and not being entirely deprived of first-hand intelligence of what the last stages of a malaise might do to a person, was in everlasting terror of what might become of the youthful, healthy girl that he had come to cherish almost as a daughter. By this time, he scarcely allowed himself to hope for an improvement and was mourning bitterly for the flower ripped on the strength of bloom.

But he mourned not only for himself, for the personal shock that her demise would provoke, or for the intrinsically connected fates of Marianne and his two Elizas. — He thought of that poor mother, only eighty miles away, who was to receive the worst news a parent can receive, without having the chance to say goodbye or to reconcile herself to the idea that Marianne would be no more, for no sooner would she hear of her illness than she would see her daughter on her deathbed, only a year after losing her own husband. — And he thought of her, bound to remember her initial self-possession with bitterness and guilt, reproaching herself for having lessened the degree of alarm that such a situation ought to have provoked, on top of the pain of losing her dearest sister. How devastated was Colonel Brandon on contemplating it! It was so violent an affliction, so excruciating a torment, that the only thing that could subdue it was the collection of his being there, at her side and ready to be of use; to assist her in every necessity and to give comfort when required — at least, the kind of comfort that is possible under the circumstances. For having urged him to stay when what was proper was his withdrawal (and much did he despise what was proper when it must forcibly deprive Elinor of his assistance, and himself of his only source of relief), he greatly loved Mrs. Jennings, and intimately commended her goodness, as only a man in despair can.

It was in this state of mind, oppressed and grief-stricken, that Colonel Brandon was in, when the worst seemed to be confirmed.

Chapter 23: XXIII.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 23

XXIII.

He, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost despatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might look for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The horses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words spoken too low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage
— Chapter 43

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Miss Dashwood’s unexpected entrance roused him from his melancholy to automatically plunge him in terror. The worst predictions were advanced by his fancy, and rapidly fixed by the alteration on her delicate features, now unable to veil her apprehensions.

With a voice that seemed to distrust itself, he called her name.

‘Miss Dashwood…’

He meant to inquire, but found himself unable to properly begin, or to find the words necessary. But she, with an immediate grasp of his difficulties, spared him by directly relating what passed.

‘Colonel… I am just come from my sister’s apartment, where her present condition is not… It is much worse than we had anticipated, and that the recent evolution seemed to indicate. Her pulse is low and she appears to be suffering from hallucinations, surely caused by her feverish state… I am— that is, Marianne is very anxious to see our mother, and I believe it may indeed be of the greatest benefit to her present comfort. I am afraid we must send someone for her at once, so that she may be conveyed as soon as possible. I know she shouldn’t want to be deprived of the knowledge of what his passing, and frankly, the severity of the illness makes further concealment impossible. I wish to consult you. Though I have an idea of what must be done, I was meditating within myself as to the best way of accomplishing it with the least possible inconvenience to everybody, especially Mrs. Jennings, and what might be the most expedient means… Perhaps a footman might be sent in her carriage, if we could only get permission… but I shouldn’t like to wake Mrs. Jennings and disturb her sleep (which has been much shortened) for that. On the other hand, of all the male servants, only the coachman might be apt to go to Barton, and then no one else could call for Mr. Harris again, which I am afraid is quite indispensable.’

More than once, the Colonel felt his heart sink during this communication, which so cruelly confirmed his projections and denounced the degree of her suffering. Animated by compassion and an ardent desire to be useful, he determined to convey Mrs. Dashwood himself before half of this had been said, and on the first opportunity told her so. No objection of hers could deter him, nor could any reasoning impede him from carrying on what was the only means of alleviation to them — for though his powers were scarce, he decided that they shouldn’t be lacking.

The post-horses were required, the coachman awaken and the distance calculated with exactness. All additional instructions for his servant were made, and he trusted Mr. Harris to obey to urgency as much as the situation demanded. The carriage was announced and he was seen to the exterior by Miss Dashwood, who left her very last recommendations, the recommendations of a friend and of a daughter, while delivering him a note to her mother. He took it, with a fear so heightened by anxiety as to almost destitute him of all composure. In a heartbeat, in an impulse, he took her hand, pressed it, and with a voice depleted of potency, but with such an expression of desperate intensity as to convey his warmth, said only, ‘I would not have you suffer for anything in the world, but whatever trials come your way, be certain of my attempt to remove them.’

He hurried off to the carriage and within a minute was on his way to a place where remained an agitated, scarcely less hurting parent than he himself had been with his poor Eliza’s disappearance, for it was an agitation founded on ignorance — but how much greater would be the pain of intelligence! How insufferable would be the attraction to Cleveland, filled with a trepidation that he could not abate and a projection that he did not have the heart to counteract with positive assurances!

Contrary to Miss Dashwood’s recommendation, he did not rest — he could not. He spent the full of the journey planning the moment of the reencounter, and trying to find sober ways to assuage the message. The note, too, that lay down at his side was every so often picked, giving fresh new strength to his agony. Every line seemed to bespeak of the writer’s avoidance of alarm while transmitting the gravity of the situation, and the last words could not be read without a throb: “Come what may”.

The progress of the journey was slow, adding new layers to his reflections and oppressing his mind; but it was precious to arrange his ideas through careful deliberation. So much so, that he knew exactly what to say when the moment would come, and so much in command was he of his own deportment, that he heroically performed it.

Mrs. Dashwood answered the door with a look of fear, which to the Colonel spoke more than the mere surprise at such a visitor: it spoke of a perfect consciousness of the danger, which her own notions had fancied much greater than Elinor’s letters had admitted. Whether this was due to a maternal instinct, or to her natural tendency to amplify what her eldest daughter communicated, the Colonel did not know; but it did assist his office of breaking to her the terrible evolution of her daughter’s infirmity. It was expected, it was forecasted, and so far in advance was her plan to go to Marianne that very day (even before the Colonel’s arrival) that a neighbouring family was expected at any moment to take Margaret under their protection until her return.

Less than twenty minutes after the servants had been given their last instructions, they were already on their way, and for the first couple of hours he gave a detailed account of the daily progress of Marianne’s illness ever since she had been put to bed. Symptoms and reactions, that were passed on to him by Mrs. Jennings, were recounted almost without concealment, with the exception of those calls to “Mamma” which could do nothing to reassure her. When these were given, and deepened by her subsequent questions, until she had a perfect mastery of the situation as if she had been its witness, a silence lingered. He desired to profess comforting words — but comfort and hope, he could not administer. He had been too pragmatic, too desperate himself, to believe any positive assurance of full restoration. And yet, he so much wished to be of use…!

Mrs. Dashwood was the first to break the silence, and her next inquiry was on his own feelings. He appeared tired, she claimed. On this point, he knew well what to say — that no fatigue was material when coming to the aid of a friend; and as he ventured to dissect the relief he felt on bringing together mother and daughters after many months apart, despite the circumstances, he believed to see some improvement on her countenance. Assisted by this happy idea, he risked to say, but very carefully, ‘With your presence, ma’am, Miss Marianne will grow appeased, and tranquillity, you know, is the foundation for improvement.’

More than this exertion without falling into error, he could not perform.

Chapter 24: XXIV.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 24

XXIV.

‘His was an involuntary confidence, an irrepressible effusion to a soothing friend ― not an application to a parent.’
— Chapter 45

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It was not until the latest hours of the evening, when the carriage was mid-way from Cleveland, that a subject was entered with more openness. Mrs. Dashwood’s vocal fears and trepidation, natural in a mother in such a situation, but made all the more violent by her natural temper, made reserve in her confidant impossible, and much was discussed on her account. He sincerely shared her sufferings for a girl who was, at once, so pitied and esteemed by him, made all the more dear for her heartbreak and Willoughby’s ill-usage of her, for her own striking resemblance to his Elizas, and for the fraternal claims she grew to have — and knowing intimately the feelings of a parent for a child seemingly lost forever, his compassion was very sincere.

But an undesigned comment by Mrs. Dashwood had a peculiar transformation in his spirit. In her goodness, she had meant to express her appreciation by declaring that his sentiments, so akin her own, would not be so ardent in a less benevolent heart, for such a tenderness could only be thus justified, or by his having a very particular claim to Marianne’s improvement. The idea of his own interest in the matter was felt as a shock because it was not entirely unfounded — for although his personal affection for Marianne made him desperately want her reestablishment, there were other motives of a less disinterested tendency that moved him. He wanted it for Elinor’s sake, and by extent for his own. He dreaded the consequent alterations of such a loss in the woman he loved, and the torment that she would experience if her former security would be punished by the worst possible tragedy.

He preferred to conceal these less flattering emotions, but it was too late: the sincerity of the shock with such an accidental confrontation made concealment impossible. His countenance was distorted by alarm and some confusion, and the long moment it took him to formulate an answer had probably helped to convince Mrs. Dashwood that her guess had been more accurate than she had thought possible. Understanding the impracticality of secrecy and suspecting that perhaps his attachment to Elinor had been long perceived by her mother, he opened his heart.

‘I do not attempt to deny… that your daughter’s well-being is very… it is the principal means of comfort to me at the present hour, for everything involved. And all things considered, for her sake, for yours, for Miss Dashwood’s, I do not believe I could be capable of bearing—.’

He could not continue, but it was sufficient. The madam’s eyes, always very expressive, grew in size and intensity with the new information that had been transmitted. An even lengthier instant passed before she could command herself to speak.

‘I cannot say that I have ever considered it possible… But then, on further recollection, it does not surprise me that it should be so. And your goodness, your kindness in making such a journey to the alleviation of both of us is the most indisputable proof of your attachment.’

Hearing of his attachment thus talked of by one who had such a close interest to it moved him exceedingly. Nonetheless, he did not dare to give a word of assent, as delicate as the situation was.

‘Although your approval has such weight with me, and I do feel it most sensibly, it is a subject which I would not dare enter upon at such a time. Miss Marianne’s welfare has the greatest claim on your attention, ma’am, and it is right that it should be so,’ was all he could say.

Mrs. Dashwood, like an anguished mother, concurred most promptly, and afterwards said only, yet in a state of agitation, ‘At present, I wish no more than her reestablishment, which (I might say) I still hope possible; and if so be gained, I shall want for nothing than to promote the very event that shall fix the happiness of both.’

This gave Brandon hope, even beyond what his own tendency had taught him to expect. But to talk of hope at such a time was nonsensical. Nothing was secured; nothing warranted the happy conclusion, and as to the present— Oh! How searing the anticipation, and how cruel the compass of waiting! This apprehension lasted throughout the night, with neither of them able to sleep, and it was with terror that both approached the estate the following morning, frightful as they were that Marianne was no more.

Chapter 25: XXV.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 25

XXV.

(…) She soon discovered in his melancholy eye and varying complexion as he looked at her sister, the probable recurrence of many past scenes of misery to his mind, brought back by that resemblance between Marianne and Eliza already acknowledged, and now strengthened by the hollow eye, the sickly skin, the posture of reclining weakness, and the warm acknowledgment of peculiar obligation.
— Chapter 46

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The torture of approaching the house was rapidly terminated by Elinor herself, who going to them with the urgency of a compassionate soul, cried out the good news of her sister’s improvement. Many thanks he gave to Heaven on the occasion, and though his joy was of a quieter sort (that only a tranquil expression conveyed), he felt the reencounter most sensibly. Mother and daughter, restored to one another, whose hearts united in such indescribable gratitude! The tears of one and the delight of the other were enough to atone for all the morbid thoughts he had had for the past week, and removed every last symptom of melancholy.

Once soothed, Mrs. Dashwood’s first concern was evidently to see her dear Marianne, and Brandon lived on the satisfaction of the report, at a later hour, given directly by the parent. Every detail filled him with delightful cheerfulness and he could very well linger in the auscultation of the narration with the same spirit, had not the good lady made a mark that ought to unsettle him.

‘Marianne’s improvement must be a positive assurance, Colonel, not only by the precious gift it is in itself, but particularly for confirming those hopes you have guarded. Now, surely, there will be no impediment to your union.’

Finding the wording puzzling, but ascribing to it the natural good wishes for his connection with her eldest daughter, which she had so fully comprehended and discussed during their journey, he replied in accordance.

‘You are very good, ma’am, but the event you speak of is still distant. For, indeed, it does not depend solely on my inclination, but on the lady’s, and there, I’m afraid, the prospects are very down-heartening. I would not suppose— In short, one cannot suppose it likely, for nothing founded on age or any other aspect, even temper (as grave as I am generally perceived), can be a strong foundation for the retribution of my admiration.’

‘Come, come! This can only be the product of a temporary want of spirits! I’m sure that time, a very little time, will do everything! It is not to be expected that her heartbreak will last, young and full of life as she is; and before you know it, her heart will be ready to love again, despite the promises of everlasting singlehood that she may be feeding herself since that wretched occurrence has destroyed her first hopes.’

This affected him very much, for it denounced an infatuation that he himself had never been aware of, and it proved an unsuspected rivalry that should perforce detain his plans.

‘Her first hopes… She is much affected, then? You think it improbable—’ Seemingly recollecting himself, he made an effort to suppress his despondency. ‘Forgive me, ma’am. I believe I was wrong to address such a subject… and at such a time! — I should not wish to be impertinent, placing my personal interests ahead of your child’s wellbeing; and indeed, I should not wonder if she’s still attached to another. I should have thought it most natural… But, in all truth, it had never crossed my mind, and I feel most ashamed for my foolish ingenuity. My chances of succeeding, of overcoming so rooted an attachment, are, as I understand, very small.’

Mrs. Dashwood could not pretend to understand neither the beginning of his inquiry, nor the allusions he made afterwards, since Marianne’s adoration for Willoughby was so vastly acknowledged, especially by those who had seen them interact at Barton. Yet, eager to contradict his last assumptions, she proceeded to soothe him with both friendly warmth and motherly zeal.

‘You distrust yourself, because you have not yet contemplated the high probability of her change of heart. But I, as her mother, know her tendencies and her aspirations, and more yet, I know what better suits her fancy, and I can guarantee you, Colonel, that your feelings will soon be returned. Indeed, I can see already a transformation, for the goodness produced by your contrivance to bring me here, and I am positive that you shall have it confirmed by her own self. You see how your benevolence has started to have its effects, it already has claims on her gratitude! You can, therefore, expect it to see it augmented in the future!’ Sensing that her discourse was having positive effects, she finished with a keen exclamation and warm advice. ‘Take heart! Marianne’s heart is not to be wasted for ever on such a man as Willoughby. — Your own merits must soon secure it.’

The speech, that at first was like a drop of joy on his heart, giving him the courage that he lacked, ended in a most extraordinary manner! The mistake could not continue after such a direct mention, and he suddenly apprehended the full of it: Mrs. Dashwood’s encouragements and insinuations were not applied to Elinor, but to Marianne — she was the protagonist of such a disappointment (a disappointment, as it became evident, well known to him); and Elinor’s heart was ultimately free! There was not, there had never been, another man to welcome her devotion! This was enough to tranquillise his mind, which had been so troubled by the possibility of an unknown adversary.

Still, after this had been ascertained, that other amazing conclusion, that of his partiality for Marianne, could not but be considered. Once again, he was imputed with an ambition that had never entered his head, and strong was the urge to contest it. But then, remembering the situation of his friend, and sympathetic for the good madam’s longing of restoring her poor, suffering child to happiness by whatever means that presented themselves, he resisted it. This was not the time; such an error would eventually be corrected, the truth explained and no loss of happiness verified, should she be as sanguine to see her other daughter established as she was to see Marianne. Now, however, he would not dare breaking it to her. Hers was the heart of a mother — and anything that might sooth it on the aftermath of her darkest hours was a leniency that he ought to comply with.

On the fourth day after this occurred, he was invited to see the girl, who (as he understood) was much eager to thank him for the great favour of having brought her dear Mamma during such distress. Apart from the suspicions that this particular summons could raise, he was grateful for the distinction; and wishing to see with his own eyes an improvement so widely acknowledged, to thus feel his security sounder and his peace more lasting, he acceded most willingly. What he did not expect was the shock produced by such an encounter. The youthful girl he remembered was drastically altered, and her beauty affected by airs of sickness and frailty. Her moves were constricted by fatigue and her voice had lost its expression, and they highly resembled those of two other women close to his heart. His devastation with the unhappy comparison was such as he could neither ignore the violent images that burst on his head, nor endeavour to affect serenity. Eliza Brandon on her deathbed and his ward on her lying in came to him as dismal figures: the figures of desperation and abandonment, of ailment and regret, and his memory almost overcame his presence of mind. It was a too great an affliction to endure without the appearance of suffering!

Afraid that this inner conflict had been apprehended, at least by those more observant, he exerted himself to take her hand, press it affectionately and find the proper words to address her. He was glad to see her recovered and was certain that she would soon be ready to leave the confinement of Mrs. Palmer’s dressing-room. She thanked him with a sparkle of her eyes, which, though exhausted of their former power, retained their warmth.

The interview was soon over, for she was kept by illness to talk much, and he was equally kept by emotion. It had been at once a challenge and a relief, for her looks were somewhat auspicious, in the sense that they were far from the moribund appearance that usually predicts a tragedy. This was enough to crown his peace of mind. What should follow it, he knew not; but after such an episode of despair for everybody concerned, a foretaste of better occurrences was the ordinary consequence, and he did not believe himself so unfortunate as not to experience the pleasure of optimistic anticipation.

Chapter 26: XXVI.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 26

XXVI.

Mrs. Dashwood was prevailed on to accept the use of his carriage on her journey back, for the better accommodation of her sick child; and the Colonel, at the joint invitation of Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings, whose active good-nature made her friendly and hospitable for other people as well as herself, engaged with pleasure to redeem it by a visit at the cottage, in the course of a few weeks.
— Chapter 46

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The Dashwoods’ departure was for some time discussed, as to determine the best means to effectuate it. It was suggested that the best way would be for them to take his carriage, which he was to retrieve in a matter of days. This was readily accepted and much appreciated, and the necessary arrangements were made.

Though Colonel Brandon’s offer had been an impulse of his heart with the aim of promoting the comfort of the ladies, particularly that poor infirm girl, he was not yet to selfless as not to congratulate himself on the design that should make him see Elinor within a very short period. The dreadful event that had changed the dynamic at Cleveland had diverted him from what must now be his principal object, and not much had he learnt that should encourage him to make an offer. A new opportunity to assess his chances of success, such as a future visit to Barton, was therefore gratefully seized.

Still, as our behaviour is often guided by what we feel instead of what we find reasonable, Brandon escaped his resolution of leaving such an assessment for a more proper occasion. On seeing the lady earnestly looking at the lawn through the glass windows, possibly cherishing a scene which she would never contemplate again, he did not resist the urge to approach her.

‘It rained very hard yesterday… so hard that it filled the lawn with a more vivid shade of green… and now, however, it is all dry, and the soft breeze blows its joy upon us.’

Her comment made him believe that there was a deeper layer to her contemplation, as if she had been portraying the very oscillations of existence, with all its highs and lows, which human nature is bound to experience. — Whether this was an accurate reading of her behaviour, he could not be sure; but it was sufficient to pour out his judgement on the source of true felicity, long ago determined (though only now fixed).

‘There is a joy, Miss Dashwood, that not even a cool, fine breeze may be able to promote. One that is not founded on walls, or objects, or even weather conditions; I speak not of cheerfulness or serenity, but of true felicity, fixed and immutable, that must be yearned for every human creature…’ Here, his gaze left the landscape to seek hers, ‘and which must stand during every storm or battle, be our peace ever so tried… be our sorrows and difficulties ever so great… be our wealth ever so shortened, or our health ever so weakened…’ (his voice lowered) ‘I speak of constancy — true, persistent, and everlasting constancy. We all procure it, I believe, scarcely finding an object to bestow it upon, or one apt to value it. — And that is, perhaps, the proof of sublimity, the validation of a higher aspiration, that of securing what is, ultimately, the object of happiness.’

This declaration, as spontaneous as genuine, and which could not fail to be comprehended, alarmed her exceedingly. He saw it in her startled eyes, in her colour varying, and for a minute feared to have been too unrestrained. With a new self-possession, therefore, and a look as if he was dismissing his reverie, he apologised and made it pass as a simple indulgence of sentiment or philosophy. She replied accordingly, with a jest that could not but made him smile, and he addressed the comfort of being restored to normality.

Yet again, a proclivity of irrepressible tendency burst forth, making him peruse her feelings by means of an anxious implication, that of his not showing up as soon as expected.

‘But I suppose it would not be— would it be of any consequence if I do not?’

‘You would be much missed, Colonel. But you would not deprive us of the pleasure of your society for longer than a week, I’m sure.’

This was sufficient, quite sufficient, to do away any hesitation. She had understood him; and he felt his bosom swell as it had not in years.

One other moment fixed his hope. When assisting the ladies to the carriage, he received the earnest invitation of her mother with more than pleasure, with that sanguine approbation which a man in love with a woman expects to receive from her parent. This was followed by a tender recollection that Marianne, in her illness, was entitled to all the comforts that could be provided, and with earnest supplication he urged her to occupy the largest place. When these two ladies were seated, he turned to Elinor and tried to smile; but his emotion kept him. He had only the courage to utter a few insignificant words, which preceded the parting.

‘I hope you have a safe journey, Miss Dashwood.’

Without waiting for a reply, which she would not give, he held out his hand, and the contact sent a shiver down his spine; and in an instant they were gone — every indication that they had been there disappeared — and he stayed outside long after the carriage was out of sight.

Chapter 27: XXVII.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 27

XXVII.

Colonel Brandon immediately afterwards took his solitary way to Delaford.
— Chapter 46

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Delaford — that estate where his highest childhood ambitions had been nurtured, where Mrs. Brandon had been so utterly unhappy, where he had learnt to make a home for himself — rose, portentous, on the horizon. Colonel Brandon galloped towards it, now with more urgency than he had all the way, eager to hasten his arrival.

The reception was warm, with the housekeeper readily going to him and the servants (warned by an earlier note) all in line to salute him. He greeted them all with the familiarity of a friend, and was showered with those respects which servants pay to a good master — that is, by the expedient provision of clean sheets, the preparation of a hot meal and the delivery of his correspondence.

After he had eaten, he lingered by the fire, observing it and falling into a reverie at the same time. Possibilities were forwarded, outcomes were anticipated, and though he had found enough in reminiscence to bolster his confidence, he still had some reservations. An active confirmation of Miss Dashwood’s feelings had never been given, and he had feared that the open delight in his company had been solely based on friendship. But on the other hand, an absence of evidence did not imply an absence of feeling; and then again, did she need to be straightforward? Had her behaviour towards himself not been clear enough? The memory of moments from earlier in the day came to his aid.

“I have the advantage of having all of my friends close by. I will leave nothing behind that I should regret.”

“Well, if I am fortunate enough to be one of them, it must be a comfort to know that I will be intruding on you within a few days. But I suppose it would not be— would it be of any consequence if I do not?”

“You would be much missed, Colonel. But you would not deprive us of the pleasure of your society for longer than a week, I’m sure.”

Her smile when so saying… Could he forget her smile?

But this was not the only fact on which he based his reflections. He remembered her attitude when her sister’s illness had worsened. She had gone to him directly; she had wanted to consult him. What a delicious sensation when recalling it, now that the horror of Marianne’s illness was over! Her deference for his opinion, her going to him to confide in him her fears and apprehensions… Her accents and recommendations as she led him to the carriage… Oh! he could live on them forever…! And then, there had been a look, a certain look, at the commission to inform Mr. Ferrars of his assistance, which he could not recall without pleasure; it had been so earnest, so anxious…

Whether this was the product of his imagination, or of sober observation, nobody must suppose it ascertainable, and not even he could tell. But a man roused to passion always ends up believing in his good fortune, until it is either decisively destroyed or confirmed. What Colonel Brandon had not yet realised, however, was that his actions had been compromised ever since he had understood himself. His will no longer belonged to him; it was at the service of his emotions, and no option but one remained. A proposal had been designed by his heart before it had been approved by his head — and he did not see why he should give in to weak inclinations now, when happiness was more attainable than ever. It was rather ludicrous to think how insignificant his reservations had been; how foolish his fears! And he felt all the better, and all the more blessed, to surrender to his inner inspiration.

If the heart had commanded in such a matter, the mind soon joined in the concurrence of his choice, for the more he thought of such a prospect, the more reasons he found to support it: her delicacy, her sensibility, her prudence, her humour — in short, her merits — all came together in her favour, and lest he should be too infatuated for clear reasoning, he could conceive no better woman to bestow his adoration upon. He was fortunate (yes, now he could say it) to love a very deserving soul, and to expect his affection to be returned, or even hers to be gained by assiduous exertion. This must sustain him, and this must fix his felicity at last. After all, it was not so delusional, so improbable an end, as to don’t allow him to dream.

Chapter 28: XXVIII.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 28

XXVIII.

‘When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma’am?’ was an inquiry which sprung from the impatience of her mind to have something going on.

‘I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to see, than to hear from him again. I earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should not be surprised to see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day.’

— Chapter 48

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Many days since his establishment at Delaford had gone by, but they brought no tidings of Barton. He had rather the pleasure of receiving letters from Sir John, announcing a rapid return to the Park, as well as his little Eliza, repeating all those tender commendations of his goodness and expressing the wish for his visit. This evidently drowned him in tenderness, and helped him support the agitations that attacked him in his loneliness.

In all truth, though his chest was as of late filled with the most exquisite sensations, produced by a stronger security in his future bliss, he could not command himself enough to stifle his anxiety. There was one missive which he waited for with an impatience bordering on frustration: Mrs. Dashwood’s communication, which was to update him on their reestablishment, her daughter’s convalescence and the reencounter with Miss Margaret. Through this means alone could he determine whether the context was favourable for his calling on them, and he dared not be the first to write, at the risk of being impertinent.

But a day came, during the customary perusal of his correspondence, when a letter written in the madam’s handwriting reached his hands. In the privacy of his study, he opened it with urgency, and was pleased to read the following:

“Barton, 27nd April, 17—

Dear sir,

I am pleased to write you a most delightful report of our present situation. We are well-established in our Cottage, back to our old ways, and want for nothing. I cannot conceal my satisfaction at having our Marianne reinstalled, with all the pleasures of her books and her pianoforte to raise her spirits and compose her mind, and I can already see the positive effects of such a removal. Grief, I know, is still very poignant in a sensibility like hers, but it is not to last. I am confident that she will rapidly be restored to happiness and gain strength in the same proportion, supported as she is by the attentive care of us all, and by those future joys which shall in time be found in her dearest friends.

We have resumed our old habits and pleasures. Music and drawing have been pursued by two you know well, and our studies have been taken up with perhaps as much delight. Meanwhile, some news has reached us which ought to make us rejoice. The Middletons are due to arrive within a fortnight and this will surely be a fresh new source of joy — and one which my youngest daughter is looking forward with animation.

My Margaret arrived almost a week after us. A postponement was necessary, for I did not want to risk having her before Marianne had recovered. But now this last comfort has come to crown our happiness, and we are, I dare say, almost as serene as when we first arrived at Barton, without any loss of happiness to weigh upon us, or any regrets to diminish our present consolation. Only in one respect have our expectations been disappointed, and that is of your delay. My dear friend, I should not like you to postpone your visit on any account, and I would very much like you to share in the serene bliss we are now experiencing. Be assured that it is indeed more than an invitation of courtesy, but of live esteem, which you shall find on more than one part, for the great favour you have done us.

Yours sincerely, &c.”

 

Such a letter surprised the Colonel in the most delightful way. He had waited, he had hoped that the chance to go thither would present itself, and nothing but the most delicate feelings on his side had prevented him from asking to be received at Barton. He knew the time wasn’t proper, for after so terrifying an ailment that had almost fixed Marianne’s demise, and Elinor’s exhaustion with her care, the Dashwoods would much prefer to spend time as a family rather than attending imposing visitors. But this self-command, ordained by all that was proper and delicate, went against his wishes. Indeed, he had never submitted more reluctantly to civility before. Yet, praise God, he now had not only official permission to call on them, but above all the explicit assurance that his presence was desired.

No time was lost in the decision, which was already pre-arranged in his mind, and but for his early promise to visit his ward, he would have departed the next day. As it was, he performed his duty and remained with his Eliza for five more days, finding much to rejoice in the healthy growth of her child, before he followed the next claim of his heart. The week following the receipt of Mrs. Dashwood’s letter, he set out, with a sensation of delightful anticipation, for the village in which all his hopes lay, and for the woman on whom all his happiness depended.

Chapter 29: XXIX.

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 29

XXIX.

About four days after Edward’s arrival Colonel Brandon appeared, to complete Mrs. Dashwood's satisfaction (…). No rumour of Lucy’s marriage had yet reached him: ― he knew nothing of what had passed; and the first hours of his visit were consequently spent in hearing and in wondering. Everything was explained to him by Mrs. Dashwood.
— Chapter 49

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His excursion to Barton was blessed with fine weather, which must have been a pleasant enough harbinger — but even if it had poured down torrentially, he would not have delayed the visit for the world. On it depended his security, and though animated by strong feelings of trepidation, he did not expect a very cruel reaction to sentiments so pure and sincere as his were.

But alas! his expectation proved too optimistic, for he did not quite find the ladies in such a “serene bliss” as the letter had suggested. He was warmly received by Mrs. Dashwood, but there was something about her, something of a concern that was immediately perceived. Her means were at his disposal, her food was offered and he was urged to take the best seat by the fire — and yet, that rapturous welcome which her manners had taught him to find in her was lacking; that fervent animation was absent — and as for her daughters, none was at sight. It was odd, indeed! He, who had persuaded himself that he would find a house full of mirth, was now seeing it so quiet, so deserted, as to make him suspect that a tragic novelty must have struck them.

With the utmost delicacy did he initiate his customary inquiry after their health and engagements, and little by little after their agitations. This manner, to a sensibility like Mrs. Dashwood, could not fail to obtain a greater frankness than any pressing would have done; and considering him a loyal friend, and one who was particularly implied in anything that should occur under her roof, she began to confide to him her most recent afflictions. It all came about, therefore, not even fifteen minutes after his having taken his privileged seat, and the lady had settled herself in the armchair opposite to his. She then started a narration of a remarkable nature and of unparalleled interest, and more than once was the Colonel’s feelings heightened to the point of alarm. This is how she began:

‘Your delicacy has not gone unnoticed, I assure you. And, indeed, I am in dire need of sensible advice, for I hardly know what to do. You might, perhaps, assist me in my present need, as you have assisted me in my darkest hours.’

‘So I shall, to the best of my abilities,’ said he, beginning to feel his serenity waning. ‘What is the matter, ma’am?’

‘You shall hear it all. A rather strange, and I might say, painful business — which is not, however, founded in any real tragedy,’ the poor woman hastened to clarify when noticing the severity of his countenance, ‘for truly, it is nothing so severe as to not be overcome in time.’

He grew tranquil, and commanded himself to express his sympathy for whatever point which should excite her sorrow, hoping that it might be brief and soon forgotten.

‘Very well you might wish it, Colonel. But this is not a sorrow that a mother can easily forget.’ Once again aware of the alarm that the chosen terms had caused, she added, ‘I must refrain myself from speaking so — I must be more cautious — but how shall I tell you?’ A moment of deep consideration, revealing the wrinkle that divided her forehead, passed. Then, with seemingly new resolution, she declared, ‘You are by now well-acquainted, I believe, with the young man under your protection.’

It was more of an affirmation than a question. He assented as to have seen him a number of times, though disclaiming the pretension of knowing him intimately. This satisfied Mrs. Dashwood.

‘As you know, Mr. Ferrars had been for four years engaged to be married with a lady whom he had met at Longstaple, while studying at her uncle’s private school. This lady, whom you have presumably seen in London, has turned out to break off the match to marry none other than his brother, Mr. Robert Ferrars.’

News of a lesser importance would have perturbed him deeply — what might be the effect of such dreadful message, therefore? With such benevolent feelings as his were, which the season of tenderness heightened, and for feeling that the whole world ought to share his happiness, he felt the injury almost personally.

‘Poor man!’ he cried with unsurmountable disturbance. ‘I sincerely feel for him! To be thus abandoned by a woman for whom he had given up of everything… friends, fortune, security… one who has chosen to bind herself to none other than his brother! This is hardness of heart, indeed!’

‘Judging by your reaction, I take that none of this has reached you in Delaford, then...’

‘No… No letter from town reported anything on that head. — How is he supposed to live on? To bear such indignity, such cruel indignity… — Indeed, I do not wonder at your affliction on his account!’

With a condescending smile, she returned, ‘That is not all.’

The Colonel, who thought nothing could surprise him more, heard with astonishment the next revelation.

‘You are surely not aware that this particular connection was not desired by us. — And very naturally so. You could not have suspected it… I may be wrong in saying so much, Colonel, but now, it makes no difference whether we discuss it openly or not, given that the union with Miss Steele has not taken place.’

‘Certainly,’ he concurred, answering to her delicate concerns with civility. ‘I have no doubt that you had your reasons to reprove it, for, as I understand, Mr. Ferrars is a friend of your family. You would not wish him to enter into an imprudent union.’

‘No,’ replied Mrs. Dashwood, with some embarrassment at her friend’s ascribing to her noble sentiments which had not been the cause of her objection. ‘But I do not attempt to deny that other reasons, first in our estimation, have constituted the primary objections.’

‘Objections against the lady’s character?’

‘No, for then, it had not been fully known to us.’

‘Her lack of fortune, then?’’ he asked hesitantly, judging such an aspect irrelevant to any of them.

‘Certainly not! I am referring to objections relying on the gentleman’s interest, rather than the lady’s disadvantages.’

Frowning in confusion, Brandon returned, ‘I am not sure I understand you. You mean… that there was another lady? One who had greater rights to Mr. Ferrars’s affections?’

Smiling, the madam gave the information that was closest to her heart. ‘Perhaps you do not know that Mr. Ferrars had an inclination for Elinor.’

The Colonel felt his heart sink into his chest.

‘For Elinor…’ he repeated, not knowing what he did, and hardly noticing he was using her Christian name.

‘Indeed.’

His head was filled with conjectures, the worst of which was that of an undetected attachment, of an unsuspected infatuation, that had rivalled with his own. For how long, and how long ago, were the next aspects he wished to see answered, and to them he proceeded with perturbance.

‘If it raised such universal expectations, ma’am, I take that the inclination was returned...’

Here, the afflicted mother knew not what to tell him. That passion, which she had believed she had so well understood, which before she had seldom questioned, was now so unknown to her as to make her incur in error when discussing it.

‘I hardly know what to tell you… I entertained no doubt— but this will give you no idea!’ She appeared to recollect that no explanation had been given, no details had been provided to justify the whole of the story. ‘We first met Mr. Ferrars on his coming to us at Norland Park in March last, after the estate had been taken over by my husband’s son. As Mrs. John Dashwood’s brother, he was invited to spend a period there; and there their attachment grew. To say that I had any reservations then would be foolish — I had no doubt of their mutual affection, and their union became a certainty. At least, to some extent… for to one who had witnessed their affection, nothing was more likely to happen.’

‘I see,’ Brandon mumbled. ‘But Mr. Ferrars was engaged by then.’

‘Yet, secret as it was, we knew nothing of his betrothment, and nothing in his demeanour claimed that his interest was ever less intense, or ever less sincere… Speaking now as a mother, I had no motive to object, or to regard the connection as more prohibited or degrading than circumstances came to prove.’ With renewed energy, she continued, ‘You must understand, Colonel, that I do not impute any blame to the man we speak of — for he is only guilty of imprudence; and being a worthy gentleman, far from having libertine practices or inappropriate employments, I do not trust that he had meant to injure. He had, it appears, only found himself attached to one when he could do nothing to prevent it. Or, at least, such was the representation that was made to us.’

During this speech, Brandon had had enough time to gather his thoughts: so much so, that when she ceased to speak, he was ready with an answer, given with great serenity.

‘I understand you. You have only believed what their behaviour towards each other seemed to indicate, and your expectations were accordant to it. As for Mr. Ferrars, there is nothing in his conduct worthy of accusation. He has acted in every respect with dignity: he has kept an engagement which has given him more pain than pleasure, and to it he was faithful without compromising his honour, though the cost has been so high and his reward so insignificant.’

He had said all that was right on the occasion and was now preparing himself for the worst.

‘What I don’t understand is, why has he not come to you, now that he is free?... What keeps him?’

With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Dashwood imparted the extraordinary news on him.

‘But he did seek us, Colonel.’ His anxious look rested on hers and he felt himself trembling at what was to come. ‘He was here three days ago.’

‘The purpose of his visit, I gather,’ he said, feeling his throat tighten for air, ‘was to secure his lady.’

‘It was,’ Mrs. Dashwood confirmed, and the floor seemed to crumble beneath his feet.

‘And so, you have all been in perfect harmony these past few days,’ he tried to smile while he said it, though distrusting his own voice.

‘Not indeed, for we couldn’t persuade him to stay more than a day. He left for Oxford the very next morrow after his arrival.’

‘That is a way of celebrating which quite escapes my understanding, I confess,’ was his sardonic remark.

‘Of celebrating?’

‘The contraction of a new engagement, I mean.’

‘That is precisely what I meant to tell you. There is no engagement. That he did propose, was admitted by Elinor, but the acceptance was never given. She has maintained a strict silence on the subject ever since, and nothing can press for greater opening. You, perhaps, as a friend of hers, would be more successful in your inquiry, and I heartily wish you may be, for it would save us many days of ignorance, which only adds to our consternation.’

This much was said, and Brandon, though hearing it all, was for a minute so confused, so bewildered, as to deprive him of saying what he ought.

‘Do you mean to say that she refused him?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

Another moment passed while his eyes remained fixed on hers. He retained an expression almost completely unaffected by emotion, and the great surprise he felt was only conveyed in the unflappable rigidity of his features.

‘Refused him?’ he repeated still, in the same kind of calm disbelief.

‘Yes, Colonel.’

The good lady then went on to share particulars of the last days, of how Elinor had come to prefer solitude to company, and how she had resisted every endeavour to alleviate her. That very morning she had gone for a walk towards Allenham, as she had told the servant, in case anyone asked for her, and had been out ever since breakfast. On receiving the mother’s entreaties and pleas, he assured her that he would seek out Miss Dashwood himself, and hoped, by means of gentle persuasion, to give her that relief which had hitherto been beyond her reach.

Chapter 30: XXX: EPILOGUE

Notes:

Read combined with: The Extend of his Regard: Chapter 30

XXX: EPILOGUE

An extraordinary conference frequently excites the curiosity of the listener; but curiosity was not sufficient to describe the disordered feelings that Colonel Brandon now experienced. In the course of twenty minutes, he had discovered many details which ought to demand his consideration. Miss Dashwood had been attached to another — one whom he himself had intended to help in his establishment, and one who might have been the cause of his torment, had he been successful in his pursuit of marriage. How twisted was fate! To think that he himself had given the means for such a union; that he would have been henceforth obliged to promote their prosperity and comfort, had things turned out differently — and yet, he would have done it, and more, for her sake. He would have warranted her conjugal felicity, should thus be her choice and would have extinguished every trace of devotion to the benefit of the young couple — or if so proved impossible, would have tried to conceal it.

By a work of Providence, however, he was spared all this. She had refused Mr. Ferrars, and this allowed him to hope. Either her own former inclination had been abated by time, or the gentleman’s conduct could not be approved… Another possibility, which flattery wished to advance, could not yet be contemplated by reason: for, indeed, her regard for his own person could not have induced such a refusal. It was, he believed, a too high an aspiration to be probable. Still, a swelling of his chest, a sweet contemplation of what might be, filled the morning air, and he set out to the valley of Allenham with a palpitating heart.

About a mile and a half from the cottage, he spotted her figure, motionless as a statue watching the horizon. He could have hastened the pace — he did not. An intuition told him that this was a moment to be cherished, one to be contemplated with tenderness in the years to come. He did reach her, eventually, and, sensing her absent-minded, unaware of her surroundings, addressed her in a low voice.

‘It is not fit that you have not taken a walking companion, Miss Dashwood.’

He saw her stiffen, and when she turned, saw her countenance flattered by the fresh-feeling breeze. She looked well; but her expression was distorted by an anxiety imprinted on her in recent days.

‘I like to be alone, I am very fond of solitude.’

He smiled condescendingly and walked across the distance that separated them to stand by her side and they both looked out at the landscape for a while.

‘You have arrived sooner than expected, Colonel.’

‘Have I? I thought myself too late already.’ Seeing her puzzled expression, he added in a more open manner. ‘Your mother has rebuked me for my delay, after so earnestly urging me to come hither in her letter.’

‘That does not surprise me. She is quite anxious to gather around her all those who mean the most to her. And, I suppose, nobody can censure it in her.’

The beginning of her speech was too great a temptation to be ignored; he wished to address so prohibited a subject, and now he had the opportunity. The means to proceed, however, made him hesitate; and a long moment of silence was needed before he could hazard a hint.

‘But she did not contrive to gather around her absolutely all those who mean the most to her, did she?’

He felt the intensity of her gaze, though he would not look at her while so saying. He soon heard her trembling voice, which gave him a deeper comprehension of the feelings of anxiety which animated her.

‘I understand you. You are referring to Mr. Ferrars’ visit. I take that my mother has sent you to advise me?’

‘I am here at my own commission. Though I do not attempt to conceal that Mrs. Dashwood has appealed to me for assistance — she is not, she is far from being the principal instigator of my inquiry.’ He hesitated as to how to approach so delicate a subject, but once he had decided on the best course, he went on with confidence. ‘Miss Dashwood, I have many times come to you for assistance… My sorrows, my misfortunes, they are all known to you with the sincerity of which I expect to be capable. Many times, I have sought your advice, and I have depended on it with the security which your own prudence justifies. This has been without any obligation. It was a trust bestowed without expectation of retribution… But I would not be deluding myself if I thought that you have equally trusted me on more than one occasion. I know it is so, and that this certainty has a strong foundation. I wonder, then, why you do not come to me now with your afflictions. Will you deprive me of my assistance now, when you have never deprived me of it in more severe trials?’

A long minute passed, perhaps two, before the sweetness of her voice reached his ear.

‘Your attention to me, Colonel, is more than I can express… I feel it most sensibly… But whatever disappointment you have imagined me to suffer, believe it unfounded… believe it inexistent, in short. My refusal has little to do with external objections to Mr. Ferrars’ conduct, which was dignified from the first. It was a refusal which derived from my own will and understanding. I could not accept him… and surely you will understand me… that if a woman has no affection, at least no wedded love, for a man, she must not accept his proposal.’

He could not wish for more: her past love was extinguished; she had so assured him with a security which he could not question, though she sounded much oppressed at times, as if it were an effort to speak. His eyes undesignedly rested on hers, and with an emotion that he could scarcely contain, he said, ‘I do understand you; and I would not dare censure it in you. On the contrary, if such are your feelings, you have done as you ought in rejecting Mr. Ferrars’ offer.’ A moment’s struggle for composure was needed, before he bravely tried to remove his last reservations. ‘Integrity would do very well to justify your conduct, but having heard the nature of your infatuation, as explained to me by your mother, I cannot help wondering whether there is not some other factor which might have played a part in such a decision.’

Her response was so anxious, so desperately fearful, as to convince him of the accuracy of his suspicions.

‘Indeed, I— I do not know what you mean.’

‘Do you not, really?’

No answer was given, and the Colonel, therefore, chose to be straightforward.

‘Miss Dashwood, I am come from Delaford with a purpose, which I can no longer conceal from you; and however foolish you may think me, however laughable you may find my expectations, I entreat you to listen to them with the attention of a friend.’ She was now listening with the utmost attention. ‘I have come to admire a lady who has, perhaps, been entirely indifferent to me — at least, I had reasons to doubt her regard equalling mine. My age, my temper, they are all against me, and I am well aware that more suitable admirers have more reason to remain hopeful. But I cannot help myself — the expectations have grown independent of my will, and it is now too late to subdue them without a decisive refusal.’

She seemed to be arranging her ideas and her expression was somewhat frightful — he wondered if he had been wrong in so beginning his speech, if such an address had been unwelcome. But if so… no matter… He had gone too far to retreat.

‘You mean to ask her, then?’

What an exquisite torture this was to his heart! He was now half-fear, half-hope.

‘I believe my intentions have been too clear to be misunderstood. What my words may have lacked in force or intelligence, my feelings strive to atone for in time. No one can be deceived in them — so exposed as they have been, so freely discussed by a number of people; and not even you, I dare say, must now question their nature. Tell me, then, if I have no reason to hope.’

There was a parade of different emotions on her face, of which anxiety was the most prevalent; and the Colonel did not know whether this was caused by the discomfort of receiving the second unwanted proposal in the same week, or by the insecurity of her own judgement, as only a lover could have. But soon, very soon, everything was explained, and in such a way as Brandon could have never anticipated — for with the utmost sureness of the message, though the delivery had been affected by emotion, she said the following:

‘My regard for you both ought to justify my wishes for your success. However, as strong as your affection seems to be, I would not venture to describe that of my sister. It is a point which— only she might be supposed to clarify.’

‘Your sister!’ he repeated, with an astonishment which could not be put into words.

‘Indeed, I am not qualified to dissertate on Marianne’s opinions. — But her gratitude, her fervent gratitude, shall be the foundation of a higher admiration. Of this, I do not entertain a doubt.’

An unguarded protestation almost escaped his lips, before reason bound him to silence. A minute, a few seconds, were necessary to assess the declaration properly; and having understood the nature of her concerns, and at once grasped the cause of her agitation (an agitation based on false premises), he constructed the following justification: she not only shared the conviction of his attachment to Marianne, which was first expressed by Mrs. Jennings and Sir John on the Dashwoods’ arrival at Barton, but also regarded the connection as the most probable event. How this suspicion had survived the refutation of every event since, he did not know for certain, but he suspected that Mrs. Dashwood’s opinions, presumably shared with her eldest daughter, had contributed much to its solidification.

‘I am afraid I have been terribly misled as to your judgement, if such are your views of this conversation.’ (With a deep breath) ‘Your sister has never been the object of my affection, though that seemed to be the opinion of half our acquaintance. You have, perhaps, been deceived by the judgments and wishes which have been repeated to you, and which I had yet no opportunity to refute. But, in short, they are unfounded… They could never be, since… my affections have long been engaged elsewhere.’

‘Deceived… unfounded…’ Another instant; another instant alone, and she would comprehend it all, and make his felicity. ‘You don’t mean… I am sure I am misreading it all. Whom do you mean?’

‘Elinor…’

She closed her eyes, and in that moment he knew it had dawned on her. But he knew her well enough to know that beneath that placidity, she was in turmoil. He moved closer, and her freed tears confessed it. Had they been ruled by sadness, his grief would have had no limit; but they were a mere confession of her relief, and therefore of her love. He needed no words to confirm it, apart from one — and that very word, which would fix his happiness and lift him to ecstasy, he would soon reap. For now, he confined himself to offering tender reassurances.

‘Had I thought any misunderstanding possible, I would have acted in agreement to relieve you of your apprehensions — But I thought that my actions, my address, would have spared you much of it.’

‘How could I suspect their motivation? They were the natural concerns of a friend.’

‘Can you honestly believe them so?... In retrospect, I allow that some of my actions have been rather guided by esteem; but even so, I find it difficult to believe that my preference for your company has not been understood. It has been discernible since the first weeks of our acquaintance in Barton. — And the consciousness, later acquired, that it was so, that such a preference indicated a stronger regard than I myself had allowed possible at first, was from that time on fixed as the ultimate proof of attachment. Whom did I seek out almost daily in town? — for it was there that I began to understand myself… — Who did I constantly seek for confidences, and to whom did I entrust my past? And if none of this is enough, remember what I said to you in Cleveland. I had spoken to you on the subject of marriage, and though it was quite spontaneous, I then procured to certify myself that you desired my early visit… The purpose of such visit, I am sure you are now aware of.’

He took her hand and pressed it with urgency to his chest.

‘Elinor… I should not place my feelings at your consideration at present, knowing how strained the recent days have been for you, if I did not have reason to believe that my address may be desired…’

A small nod of her head, as she smiled through her tears, was assurance enough. With a heart full of faith, he began:

‘Elinor, I have long meditated on happiness with the consciousness of what must constitute it — and longer still have I wondered whether I should know such blessing, which seemed to me so unconquerable — but when one is abruptly confronted with the principal object of felicity, in an order carefully disposed by Providence, as a precious treasure guarded for him, there can be no doubt, no confusion, as to the foundation that must sustain it. You alone, Elinor, are the foundation.’ With great feeling, and in a lower accent, he said, ‘I ask not for much — one word from you shall be sufficient, whether to elevate me to euphoria or to sink my aspirations. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?’

A smile, a look — and a word, at last, passed.

‘Yes.’

He led the hand he still pressed against his heart to his mouth and kissed it with respectful veneration. Then, he suspended the motion of a tear that was patiently running down her cheek by means of a kiss. The last tear, he caught on her lips.

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It is customary in such stories to provide the minutiae of the events that followed. They, however, may be spared — for what particular agents say on the occasion rarely differs much from any other story ever told. Yet, though specificities are left to the imagination, broader facts might be addressed, for indeed, in such a case, which has been the object of curiosity of many, a few explanations (and these shall be brief) are in order.

What Mrs. Dashwood felt on receiving Colonel Brandon’s application on his return may be summarised in a word: stupefaction. She could not assimilate, could not comprehend, the extraordinary event that was now unfolding; and at first fearing him inconstant, was very seriously leaning towards a decided refusal of her consent. But having learnt to submit to reason rather than to hasty judgement (as eager as she was to follow her Elinor’s example in every particular), she listened, with an astonishment bordering on disbelief, to the narrative of such an attachment. There, she found the miscalculations she had made in striving to promote a child’s happiness at the expense of the other. Her sensibility suffered it most violently — but the Colonel’s presence and manners were sure to dissipate any remnant of self-reproach, and once ready to regard with elation the establishment of a daughter, she was able to rejoice in its anticipation as immoderately as she had harboured previous apprehensions.

That adoration, which transpired in the Colonel’s speech, proved to be as strong and fixed as her sensibility could have desired, and no force of expression was in want to satisfy the lovely lady. It was a passion which exactly suited her taste, which her active fancy must approve, and which, therefore, made the separation from her Elinor easier — for, indeed, she would not have parted with her for any one inferior in her esteem; and congratulating herself on a transfer of affection which implied no loss to herself, for the same son was gained in the transaction, she gave her consent.

The next to receive such intelligence were, evidently, the other two ladies of the household, and their reactions, though divergent at the end of Elinor’s communication, united at first in incredulity. Marianne, to whom such news had come so abruptly, so unexpectedly, could only reproach herself for not having previously understood the feelings of the sister she loved so well. No indication, not even a look, had ever aroused her suspicions, so absorbed she had been in her own infatuation; and it took her a great deal of listening and wondering for her to believe that Elinor’s love for Brandon was as firm as her love for Edward had appeared to her. Once this had been achieved, and even had surpassed her expectations, she rejoiced in the event with as much ardour as her temper would allow, and expressed it as eagerly in words as in tears. Margaret, for her part, had not yet received incalculable lessons to make her wiser. To her, the suitor was not the sort of man she supposed likely to attach her sister, and it took her many months of observation and deeper acquaintance before she was able to consider the Colonel less as an “absolute old bachelor” and more as a fine gentleman, and to condescend to think the match tolerably suitable. But after first setting out to approve of him, the ascent to affection was rapid, and the old reticence regarded as foolish. This progression was a motive of amusement to Miss Dashwood, who could not contemplate it without wishing to augment her notion of common sense, and yet in wishing it, to preserve for her own entertainment the youthful prejudices which must guide Margaret into adulthood.

The composition of several letters refreshed the feelings now so deeply entrenched in Barton Cottage. Sir John, to whom one of the first missives was addressed, made sure that half of his acquaintance had been informed before the engaged couple had had a chance to announce the happy news, and took it upon himself to speak for everybody’s satisfaction, as well as his own. His communication was a long one, for its content depended more on his good-will than on anyone else’s amity — for, in truth, had it been dependent on her ladyship’s feelings, it would have been summarised in this simple line: “What a great joy, indeed!”. However, he took as much pleasure in dissertating on Lady Middleton’s happiness as he did on his own, and so he reached the epic length of four pages, front and back, with earnest assurances of their future merriment, writing to each of his friends that their individual selves had been the most fortunate in securing so agreeable a spouse, thus offending none and promoting universal pleasure.

So well did Sir John work to the benefit of Colonel Brandon and Miss Dashwood, that a couple of days after his letter had reached its destination, others followed, with addresses from Cleveland and Norland, both conveying the same kind of gaiety, though the style differed. John Dashwood has taken pains to write a very satisfactory letter to his sister, congratulating her on securing a man of such worth and respectability, and urging her to bring forward the date of the marriage before any unexpected event might affect its occurrence, for “people had little, very little in their power, and she should not like to run any risk which might endanger her prosperity.” With a renewed promise to be among her first visitors at Delaford, and Fanny’s wishes conveyed in the post-scriptum, he finished his letter with a degree of earnest satisfaction that surprised even Elinor.

The note from Cleveland was a little less silly and exceedingly more well intentioned; but little did it convey apart from declaring Elinor as fortunate with her life partner as the writer herself had been with hers, and assured her that Mr. Palmer had said something very droll on the subject when he first had it, though she could not remember exactly what it was. Elinor did not doubt her, and kept her amusement to herself.

But in the midst of all these fervent well-wishers, one communication was lacking, which much surprised and unsettled either the two betrothed. Mrs. Jennings had neither written, nor conveyed her wishes through her daughter Middleton, but this fact was soon to be explained, for instead of writing, she thought it more fit to express them in person. The decision to leave town had been made almost immediately after the joyful news had been received, and this might be an indication of more than ordinary gaiety. Attributing such a happy conclusion to her sage design, both in the city and in Cleveland, rather than to Elinor and Brandon’s own inclinations, she considered herself an active participant in their happiness, and one who stood much above the common grounds of esteem of both. Thus, rejoicing at the event which was to remove the Colonel’s gravity and which was to make the felicity of a lady who was a particular favourite with her, she offered her services in the preparation of the marriage with such vigour as to make it unrefusable; and her wishes so found a happy correspondence, that the only point of disappointment to her was that the marriage did not take place before Michaelmas. Nonetheless, she had the great consolation of knowing that her chief predictions had been fulfilled.

Miss Eliza Williams did not have the same liberty as Mrs. Jennings to come to Delaford to celebrate the engagement. However, her letter was very sincere, filled with tenderness and adoration for one whom she was impatient to meet, and ready to love as the woman who made the happiness of the only parent she had in the world. This first letter was answered directly by Miss Dashwood with as much affection, and the correspondence between them became so regular as to make them perfectly acquainted with each other even before the marriage brought Eliza hither. With such a strong foundation, mutual adoration could not be checked and they grew in each other’s esteem as much as Brandon could have wished. It was with an immense delight that he saw such a solid and strong regard between the two dearest objects he had on earth, and he wanted now for nothing to be exquisitely happy.

Other, less important, reactions were expected over the following days, and many more friends were present when the joyous day arrived. Much was celebrated, much was eaten and all was well. Then, Elinor removed to Delaford to the delight of all her friends, who commemorated her settlement as near to them as to make unexpected visits feasible. To this event, a period of superb felicity followed, but not much needs to be said about it, except that it was a period which confirmed the predictions of every careful observer, who affirmed that Colonel and Mrs. Brandon were as perfectly suited to each another that no disagreement must ever arise between them.

It cannot be said that Mr. Ferrars did not suffer. Indeed, Elinor’s marriage and removal to a place where he had little to do except to witness her happiness with another had been felt with mortification, and the first few months were quite trying. He felt that the recklessness which had led him to lose the woman whom he had adored was now being punished in the cruellest way. However, let no one despair on his account, for this is not a report of misfortune. Time, as trustworthy as ever, came to allay his agitations; and the happiness of Mrs. Brandon, which had been his first object, being attained, he grew to consider it with tranquil contentment. So well did he preserve his principles, so willing was he to overcome his infatuation by study and exertion, that he was soon rewarded in a most unexpected way.

It must be reported that Delaford became, for its masters as well as for himself, the preferred place of visitation for a number of friends. Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters, being among the most regular, endeavoured to divide their time between the mansion-house and the parsonage, which much contributed to the elevation of his spirits. The lady, with the affection of a mother, talked much with him of the peaceful contentment which he was due to experience; and whenever her optimism failed to influence him, the agreeable distractions of her daughters did so. Marianne, which had been earnest in her pursuit of a more serious study, found in him a suitable companion. Thomson, Cowper and Scott were thoroughly discussed, their old disputes revived, and though their feelings and opinions did not always coincide, they always conversed with great animation. Here, the gentleman learnt to revive, and here he found solace — and though the nature of his regard was disbelieved at first, and afterwards even concealed to the advantage of his friend, it could not be suppressed. His feelings grew in spite of himself, his diffidence and reservations, and hers were, in time, scarcely less intense.

Marianne, to whom a second attachment had been unthinkable, found herself by degrees coming to admire one whom she had loved as a brother, and who had been no less unfortunate than herself in her first choice. This, I understand, may shock the reader, so different he was from what one might expect to be Marianne’s next inclination, and indeed I do you justice. That eloquence was not a quality he shared, and that he did not read with as much feeling as she would have liked in a husband, could not be refuted. But Edward had a claim, which Elinor’s old partiality justified: for Marianne, eager to love him for her sister’s sake, had long overcome those points which had injured him in her eyes; and having become such an intimate connoisseur of his virtues, his genius and his taste, could not guard her heart from the irresistible allure of his calm disposition.

What is there to say, now, that they found in each other the lenitive for every injury? Two years of constant companionship had done more for either than the most profound study could have done; and their union, two years after the Brandons had celebrated theirs, came to crown the aspirations of every affectionate friend. It was a conclusion predicted even by Elinor and Brandon, and desired by them with as much ardour as Mrs. Dashwood; and when it did take place, the two sisters had the supreme satisfaction of residing within sight of each other, with husbands as worthy and respectable as they were generally thought to deserve.

FINIS

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of S&S: The Subtleties of Sentiment