Colonel Brandon's Diary (30 page)

‘Can I go with you?’ asked Margaret.

‘Of course,’ I told her. ‘I have a horse that would suit you, too.’

‘I need you this morning, Margaret,’ said her mother. ‘But that must not stop you,’ she said to Marianne and myself. ‘It is a fine morning for a ride.’

‘I am not dressed for it,’ said Marianne, looking reluctantly at her gown.

‘I am sure the Colonel will not insist on your wearing a habit today,’ said Mrs Dashwood.

Marianne turned to me, and for answer I instructed the grooms to saddle the horses. I helped Marianne to mount, and Mrs Dashwood and Margaret waved us out of the stable yard.

Marianne had a graceful seat and rode well, and soon we were cantering across the fields, sharing the exhilaration of the early summer morning, with its smell of wild flowers and its cooling breeze.

‘I had forgotten how much I loved riding,’ she said, as we came to the road and slowed to a walk. ‘We must do it every day.’

‘I can think of nothing I would like better,’ I told her.

She began to look around her.

‘Is this a turnpike road?’ she asked me.

‘Yes.’

‘And it is very near the house.’

‘About a quarter of a mile, yes.’

‘Then you must always have something to look at. I like seeing the bustle and the activity,’ she said. ‘It is very quiet at Barton, but here there must be carriages passing all the time, and it will be very convenient for travelling.’

‘It is.’

‘Have you ever been to the Lake District?’ she asked me. ‘It is supposed to be very beautiful.’

‘No, I have never been, but I hope to go there one day soon.’

‘So do I. I have seen so little of the world; indeed, I have seen little of my own country. You, on the other hand, have travelled a great deal,’ she said, then she gave a grimace and I looked at her enquiringly.

‘I used to laugh at your experiences,’ she said apologetically. ‘I thought myself so superior, mocking you for your talk of the heat and the mosquitoes, but in fact it was my own experiences that were paltry, and not yours. I had not even been to London at the time! I knew nothing of the world beyond Norland and Barton, and yet I thought I knew so much. But now I want to know more. I want to go to Scotland, and if peace is declared, I want to travel to the Continent. And I think I would like to see India, too. What was it like?’

I told her of the burning heat and the vivid colours; the shimmer of the air in the morning; the pungent spices, and the exotic scents of jasmine and musk.

She listened intently and said, ‘There is so much of life I have yet to see. I am humbled to think of it. If I had succumbed to melancholy, I would have missed the chance to see all the wonders that life has to offer, but now I hope that one day I may have a chance to experience them all.’

So engrossed were we in our conversation that it was not until I heard the church clock striking that I realized we needed to turn for home.

We followed Mrs Dashwood and Margaret into the house. Hearing our footsteps, Margaret turned round and said, ‘Oh, here is Marianne with her beau.’

‘Hush! Margaret,’ said Marianne blushing.

But she was smiling as she said it.

 

 

We had a celebratory dinner this evening, for Edward has been ordained.

‘It won’t be long before you move into the parsonage, eh?’ said Sir John, who arrived to stay with us yesterday.

‘We hope to wait until the work is finished before we marry,’ said Elinor.

‘Lord! If you wait for the workmen to finish you will be waiting for ever,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘There is always some delay. You had better marry at once and have done with it.’

Elinor and Edward exchanged glances, and it was clear to all of us that the same thought had been in both their minds. Before the evening was over, they had decided to marry anyway, saying, ‘I am sure we can tolerate the inconvenience.’

‘You must get married from Barton,’ said Sir John.

‘Ay, Sir John, the very thing. We’ll hold the wedding breakfast at the great house,’ said Mrs Jennings.

‘We could not possibly impose on you . . .’ began Mrs Dashwood, but she was talked down, and I believe she was happy for Sir John and Mrs Jennings to have their own way.

‘Three weeks for the banns to be read,’ said Sir John musingly. ‘Then you’ll be marrying in September.’

‘And I’ll be visiting you in the parsonage by Michaelmas, just like I said,’ remarked Mrs Jennings.

She was so pleased about it that no one reminded her she had been intending to visit Edward and Lucy, instead of Edward and Elinor!

 

 

Elinor and Edward were married this morning.

As they set out on their wedding tour, Marianne said, ‘You are a good friend to all my family, Colonel. Without you, Elinor’s marriage could not have gone ahead, for she and Edward would have had nowhere to live.’

‘I hope that, one day, you will see me as something more than a friend,’ I said to her.

‘A second attachment for both of us,’ she said. ‘I do not know exactly what happened in your past, only that you had an unhappy love affair . . . do not speak of it if you do not wish . . .’

But I found myself telling her about it, ending with Eliza’s death.

‘She died in your arms,’ said Marianne. ‘To think, I judged Willoughby on his handsome face and engaging manners, believing him to be a romantic hero because he carried me home when I sprained my ankle. But beneath his smiles and teasing, he was a wastrel. And yet I dismissed you entirely, though you were ready to elope with your love when your father forced her into a hateful marriage, and you sought her out and protected her when she needed you most, caring nothing for the fact that she had fallen into disgrace. You looked after her daughter, fighting a duel in order to protect her honour, and then brought her here, where she could be happy. You have loved and suffered, and yet it has not made you bitter, for you have the courage to love again. It is you who are the figure out of romance.’

‘Marianne,’ I said. ‘I have no right to hope. You have your life before you . . .’ I became suddenly tongue-tied. Now that the moment had come, I was unaccustomedly nervous. ‘But if you ever — if I might — if you think — I am putting this badly — but if you should ever want my hand as well as my heart, it is yours.’

‘You have given me so much already that I should decline, but I cannot deprive myself of such a gift,’ she said, her face turning towards mine until our lips met.

At last we parted, and she blushed.

‘Am I to take it that you will?’ I said.

‘Yes, thank you, Colonel — ’

I smiled to hear that word, for the last time, on her lips.

‘James,’ I said.

‘James,’ she said. ‘I accept.’

 

 

What pleasure it is, to know that our betrothal has given pleasure to all our friends. After accepting their congratulations we walked in the garden.

‘I have loved you for so long, I can scarcely believe that, at last, I have the right to call you mine,’ I said.

She looked at me in surprise.

‘You have loved me for so long? Pray, when did you begin? I thought your feelings were quite new.’

‘My dearest Marianne, you are the only one who has not noticed! I have been in love with you for months; since before Christmas. Your open heartedness, your energy, your honesty, your eagerness and your tempestuous nature delighted me and brought me back to life.’

‘Then Mrs Jennings’s teasings were true?’ she asked.

‘They were.’

‘I thought it was absurd of her to tease you in such a manner. I pitied you for your age, which seemed very advanced, and indeed it was, next to my youth and immaturity. But now, although I am still young in years, I am no longer young in understanding. I have loved and suffered, and I have seen my sister do the same. I have been ill, and my life has been despaired of, and I have seen my mother look old and grey because she feared I would die. I have come back from the brink of death, and I have discovered that the sun still shines without Willoughby, that the wind still blows, and that there is poetry still in life, though I have found it where least I looked for it. I have learned to look beneath the surface of things, and now, I believe, our ages are not so very different; indeed, that the years that lie between us are a good, rather than an evil, for you have a great deal to show me; not just picnics and parties, enjoyable as they are, but matters of deeper import, too. Willoughby was a shallow pool, but I have found a river in which to swim.

‘I have been born to an extraordinary fate, have I not?’ she said, stopping and turning to face me. ‘For I have discovered the falsehood of my own opinions, and now it only remains for me to counteract them by my conduct.’

‘Which can never fail to please me,’ I said tenderly. ‘You have restored me to life, and together we will be happy.’

I kissed her and then we walked on, arm in arm, planning our wedding trip to the Lake District and talking happily of the future.

1798

Marianne and I were married this morning at Delaford church. Leyton stood up with me whilst Edward conducted the ceremony, and Marianne’s brother, John, gave her away.

‘I am surprised he managed it, for it is the first time he has ever given anything away in his life,’ remarked Margaret, who, at fifteen, is becoming decidedly saucy and is a great friend to Mrs Jennings.

‘If he’d listened to his wife, he’d have decided he couldn’t afford it, and he’d have ended up parting with nothing more than an arm,’ said Mrs Jennings, as she enjoyed the wedding breakfast. ‘Or, more like, a finger.’

Elinor, with her son in her arms, sat close by, and told them not to speak so loud for John would hear.

‘Tush! What if he does?’ said Mrs Jennings, before turning once again to Margaret. ‘Now, my dear, you will be sixteen soon. You must come and stay with me in Berkeley Street. You will break a great many hearts, I am sure: London is full of fine beaux!’

Amanda Grange
lives in Cheshire, England. She has published many novels, including
Lord Deverill’s Secret
,
Mr. Knightley’s Diary
,
Captain Wentworth’s Diary
,
Edmund Bertram’s Diary
, and
Harstairs House.
Visit her website at
www.amandagrange.com
.