A Modern Day Sense and Sensibility: An Adaptation of Jane Austen's Classic (23 page)

“Let’s get her out of here,” Brandon took charge, voicing the thought foremost in Ellie’s mind. He proceeded to pick
up Marianne, cradling her in his arms as he and Ellie maneuvered through the forming crowd. As they passed near Mrs. Jennings’s table, the elderly woman stood, concern and curiosity etched across her features.

Having noticed the commotion as well, Lucy and Robert rushed from the dance floor. “Are we leaving?” Lucy asked Mrs. Jennings, still a little out of breath from the vigorous activity.

“Charlotte and James are staying,” Mrs. Jennings began, proceeding to repack the contents of her clutch. “If you’d like, you can go home with them later, dear.”

Lucy nodded and watched as Mrs. Jennings hurried after them.

“Actually,” Robert began, and Lucy turned to face him expectantly, “I could take you home, Lucy.”

Lucy smiled and batted her eyelashes. “Why, aren’t you the perfect gentleman,” her voice hummed with flirtation. Lucy was determined that Marianne’s miserable state would not ruin her fun and gladly accepted Robert’s invitation to stay on at the party with him.

The following morning, Mrs. Jennings and Lucy were the only early risers and found themselves eating a light breakfast together in the open dining area. Lucy was especially chatty as she described every detail from the previous evening to the interested Mrs. Jennings. The elderly woman munched on toast while dividing her attention between James’s cousin and that morning’s newspaper. The
New York Post
had printed a featurette on the Dashwood International Charity Ball.

Interrupting their gossip session, Charlotte rushed in and began searching for her purse. James appeared at the entryway a moment later, pulling out his iPhone as he waited for her to find it.

Locating her bag, Charlotte slipped into her jacket and kissed her mom on the forehead. “See you later, Mom,” she said before following her husband to the front door.

Mrs. Jennings waved goodbye without turning to look at them and Lucy smiled graciously.

Ellie came downstairs just in time to see them off. “Where are they going?” she asked, coming into the kitchen opposite the dining area.

“Marital counseling,” Mrs. Jennings answered with a slight chuckle. “Back in my day, there was no such thing as ‘marital counseling.’ You were either happily married or unhappily married, and you just dealt with it.”

Ellie shrugged and proceeded to pour herself a bowl of cereal. She couldn’t remember her parents ever having marital problems. They must have gotten lucky in love.

“Actually, statistics prove marriage counseling works in seven out of ten cases,” Lucy stated matter-of-factly.

Ellie pretended to agree with Lucy’s statement while placing her bowl at the table. Remembering there was fresh coffee, she went back to the kitchen counter where the coffee pot was stationed and poured herself a full mug.

“Is Marianne coming down?” Mrs. Jennings asked, her gaze following Ellie as she returned to her seat. Ellie nodded and sat down, taking a sip of her coffee. “How did she sleep last night?” the elderly woman inquired.

“Not at all,” Ellie admitted, sighing as she pushed around her cereal absentmindedly. Having slept in the room next door to her sister’s, Ellie had woken several times to the sound of Marianne sobbing. Although she had attempted to comfort her sister, Marianne refused her sympathies, preferring to be alone while composing something on the computer.

While Ellie sat silently at the table, her mind replayed the events of the previous evening. As if it hadn’t been bad enough the way Willoughby had retreated from Oregon and then didn’t keep in contact, he had to go and make things worse by giving Marianne the cold shoulder in public, humiliating her. Had that been necessary? Chewing on that last tidbit while finishing her breakfast, Ellie’s concentration was diverted at the sound of Marianne’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Good morning, dear,” Mrs. Jennings greeted as Marianne entered the room.

They all tried not to stare as she grabbed a plate and slowly placed a few pieces of sliced fruit on it. Ellie wondered why her sister even bothered dishing up breakfast when she probably wouldn’t eat any of it.

A knock at the door saved Marianne from further scrutiny. Becoming suddenly alert, Marianne’s eyes lit up with hope as she set down her plate and rushed toward the door. Opening it with a beautiful smile, her sudden cheerfulness quickly evaporated when seeing it was only a bike messenger.

The messenger, trying not to take her odd behavior to heart, smiled as he pulled a large package from his over-sized backpack. “Priority mail for Marianne Dashwood.”

The excitement swiftly returned to Marianne’s features as she signed on his clipboard and accepted the hefty package. “Thank you,” Marianne said without giving him another glance and closed the door.

Marianne’s steps were full of anticipation as she rushed past them and upstairs to her room. As she passed by, Marianne met Ellie’s gaze and her glowing face cemented Mrs. Jennings’s suspicion that it was indeed from Willoughby.

“Ahh. . .” Mrs. Jennings cooed with a slight chuckle once they heard the door to Marianne’s room close. “That should patch everything up!”

Ellie nodded but didn’t quite share in Mrs. Jennings’s confidence. If Willoughby really wanted to patch things up, why hadn’t he come in person?

Knocking on the door to her sister’s room sometime later, Ellie waited for an answer. Receiving none, her pulse quickened with concern. Tapping on the door again and still not hearing any response, Ellie opened the door and peered inside. Stretched out on the bed, choking with tears, was the broken-hearted Marianne. Paralyzed by her grief, Marianne lay next to an over-turned canvas, clinging tightly to a page of white computer paper. Bewildered by this display of misery, Ellie rushed to Marianne and wrapped her arms around her sister. For the next several minutes, Ellie listened to Marianne wail uncontrollably until it seemed almost too much to bear. She wanted to assure her sister that everything would be all right and attempt to ease her pain, but Marianne needed to grieve first.

Rolling over to face her sister, Marianne surprised Ellie by handing her the piece of paper she had been clutching. Then once again burying her face into the bed, she unleashed another downpour of bitter tears. The overwhelmed Ellie sat in confusion. Was Marianne asking her to read it?

As if sensing Ellie’s thoughts, Marianne stammered through sobs, “Read it. . . .”

A bit dazed, Ellie lowered her eyes to the tear-stained document and studied Willoughby’s familiar handwriting. Taking a moment to steady her voice, she began reading it out loud.

Marianne,

I have to ask you to please stop writing me. I’m not sure what gave you the impression that we were in a serious relationship or, for that matter, even dating, but honestly I only viewed you and your family as friends during my stay in Portland. As you know I was working at the time, and perhaps my enthusiasm for art in general led you to misunderstand my motives.

Ellie paused. Had they all been fooled? Had they only imagined Willoughby’s devotion to Marianne? Taking a deep breath, she kept her frustration at bay so she could finish his letter.

Sometimes my outgoing nature has the effect of misleading vulnerable young ladies, and if this has been the case, I can only blame myself for not having been more guarded.

Pausing again, Ellie looked down at Marianne as her sister continued to cry. This letter felt more like a script than reality. These words didn’t seem like Willoughby’s at all—but then, did they even really know him? Unlike the warm and contagious Willoughby of the past, his words were now cold and detached, having none of the personality that could be expected in a letter from a friend, and even more so from a young man who had been in a relationship with her sister. It was as if Willoughby’s time with Marianne had never happened, and it made Ellie want to pull her hair out—what was going on? Trying once more to finish the letter, she read on.

You see, it’s impossible that anything could have ever existed between us when my heart has been long attached elsewhere.

Ellie lowered the letter in astonishment. The words “long been attached elsewhere” kept revolving in her mind. If love had not been Willoughby’s intent, then what had? What had
he meant by his visits, holding Marianne’s hand, speaking sweet nothings in her ear and giving her a diamond bracelet? Had Willoughby just been using Marianne? If so, they had all been so deceived!

“Oh, Marianne. . .” Ellie tried to comfort, softly stroking Marianne’s long, curly tresses. “I know it really hurts right now, but just think how you would feel if he’d continued to lead you on for months and months before calling it off.”

“I won’t allow you to think badly of him, Ellie,” Marianne choked out. “He hasn’t broken any promises.”

“But Jim told you he loved you, didn’t he?” Ellie’s brows furrowed. Anyone would have thought the two shared a secret promise by the way Marianne had been acting.

“Yes—no—” Marianne’s breath was labored as she answered. “Every day I felt it. Sometimes I thought he had said so, but no, never outright.”

“Yet you wrote and pursued him?” questioned the confused Ellie.

“Yes—was that so wrong, Ellie—after all that had passed between us?”

“Let me see if I’m understanding this correctly,” Ellie attempted to connect the dots, “Jim gave you a bracelet worth thousands of dollars and even took you to his aunt’s house where you discussed ideas for the future, yet you were never in a serious relationship with him?”

“I thought we were at the time—I
believed
we were serious, but then . . . oh, Ellie, I don’t know anymore,” Marianne shook her head, lowering her eyes. “All I know is that I felt myself to be as much a part of him as if he had asked me to be his wife!” Following this declaration, Marianne started sobbing again and fell back onto the bed.

“Unfortunately, Jim didn’t feel the same, Marianne,” Ellie said tearfully, glancing at letter still in her hand before dropping it onto the bed and wiping away a stray tear.

“But he did Ellie, he did! I know he did!”

“Marianne, calm down,” Ellie tried to dissuade her sister from being so passionate.

Ignoring her, Marianne continued, “We were once everything to each other!” Then pulling away from Ellie’s comforting touch, Marianne declared, “Ellie, I
have
been used, but
not
by Jim.”

Waiting for Marianne’s hysterics to pass, Ellie began slowly, “Marianne, if
not
Jim, then who?”

“The world, Ellie, the world. . .” Marianne answered before collapsing once again into her sister’s arms.

Holding tightly to Marianne, Ellie felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She hated Willoughby—she hated him for coming into their lives, for leading Marianne on, and most of all, for breaking Marianne’s most fragile heart.

Later that day, Mrs. Jennings found Ellie in the kitchen making a sandwich for Marianne. Scurrying toward her with a magazine in hand, the elderly woman got Ellie’s attention. “Ellie,” Mrs. Jennings began, “Jim’s getting married.”

Ellie froze—not sure whether to laugh or cry. She’d just learned that her sister wasn’t secretly engaged to Willoughby after all, and now he was going to marry someone else?