by Lauren Lane
He’d foolishly hoped she would understand his meaning in stating he was going to “visit his horses,” seeing as though last time she’d done something similar — leaving breakfast conspicuously and asking him to meet him at the stable and all. But he’d flubbed it up royally, as usual.
He’d waited for hours, but of course she hadn’t met him — she hadn’t even understood. Edward had never been graceful, but it appeared being in love had magnified his shortcomings even farther.
So now he did his best to put on a normal expression and behave as if his life weren’t a complete mess. In his walk to the village, he told the Dashwood sisters, he had seen many parts of the valley to advantage; and the village itself, in a much higher situation than the cottage, afforded a general view of the whole, which had exceedingly pleased him. This was a subject which ensured Marianne’s attention, and she was beginning to describe her own admiration of these scenes, and to question him more minutely on the objects that had particularly struck him, when Edward interrupted her by saying, “You must not enquire too far, Marianne: remember I have no knowledge in the picturesque, and I shall offend you by my ignorance and want of taste if we come to particulars. I shall call hills steep, which ought to be bold; surfaces strange and uncouth, which ought to be irregular and rugged; and distant objects out of sight, which ought only to be indistinct through the soft medium of a hazy atmosphere. You must be satisfied with such admiration as I can honestly give. I call it a very fine country, — the hills are steep, the woods seem full of fine timber, and the valley looks comfortable and snug, — with rich meadows and several neat farm houses scattered here and there. It exactly answers my idea of a fine country, because it unites beauty with utility — and I dare say it is a picturesque one too, because you admire it; I can easily believe it to be full of rocks and promontories, grey moss and brush wood, but these are all lost on me. I know nothing of the picturesque.”
“I am afraid it is but too true,” said Marianne; “but why should you boast of it?”
“I suspect,” said Elinor, “that to avoid one kind of affectation, Edward here falls into another. Because he believes many people pretend to more admiration of the beauties of nature than they really feel, and is disgusted with such pretensions, he affects greater indifference and less discrimination in viewing them himself than he possesses. He is fastidious and will have an affectation of his own.”
“It is very true,” said Marianne, “that admiration of landscape scenery is become a mere jargon. Every body pretends to feel and tries to describe with the taste and elegance of him who first defined what picturesque beauty was. I detest jargon of every kind, and sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense and meaning.”
“I am convinced,” said Edward, “that you really feel all the delight in a fine prospect which you profess to feel. But, in return, your sister must allow me to feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect, but not on picturesque principles. I do not like crooked, twisted, blasted trees. I admire them much more if they are tall, straight, and flourishing. I do not like ruined, tattered cottages. I am not fond of nettles or thistles, or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a snug farm-house than a watch-tower, — and a troop of tidy, happy villages please me better than the finest banditti in the world.”
Marianne looked with amazement at Edward, with compassion at her sister. Elinor only laughed.
The subject was continued no farther; and Marianne remained thoughtfully silent, till a new object suddenly engaged her attention. She was sitting by Edward, and in taking his tea from Mrs. Dashwood, his hand passed so directly before her, as to make a ring, with a plait of hair in the centre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers.
“I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward,” she cried. “Is that Fanny’s hair? I remember her promising to give you some. But I should have thought her hair had been darker.”
Edward silently cursed himself. Could this day get any worse? Why could he never make appropriate decisions or foresee trouble before it arrived? Why was he wearing the damn ring at all? Why had he even come here? Oh, damn everything to hell!
Marianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt; but when she saw how much she had pained Edward, her own vexation at her want of thought could not be surpassed by his. He coloured very deeply, and giving a momentary glance at Elinor, replied, “Yes; it is my sister’s hair. The setting always casts a different shade on it, you know.”
Elinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That was her hair in Edward’s ring, she was sure of it! But why would he wear such a thing? It didn’t make sense! He loathed her — didn’t he?
That the hair was her own, she instantaneously felt as well satisfied as Marianne; the only difference in their conclusions was, that what Marianne considered as a free gift from her sister, Elinor was conscious must have been procured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself. She was not in a humour, however, to regard it as an affront — rather, despite her head’s warnings, her heart began to swell. She must have had everything all wrong! She didn’t understand it, any of it, but suddenly the world was much brighter than it had been since that tragic ending to their magical tryst in the woods.
Underneath all the hope that was newly coursing through her veins, Elinor knew that she must not make a scene. She must wait until she and Edward were alone before demanding answers — and this time, she would not let him run away. So, affecting to take no notice of what passed, by instantly talking of something else, she internally resolved henceforward to catch every opportunity of eyeing the hair and of satisfying herself, beyond all doubt, that it was exactly the shade of her own.
Edward’s embarrassment lasted some time, and it ended in an absence of mind still more settled. He was particularly grave the whole morning. Marianne severely censured herself for what she had said; but her own forgiveness might have been more speedy, had she known how little offence it had given her sister.
Before the middle of the day, they were visited by Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, who, having heard of the arrival of a gentleman at the cottage, came to take a survey of the guest. With the assistance of his mother-in-law, Sir John was not long in discovering that the name of Ferrars began with an F. and this prepared a future mine of raillery against the devoted Elinor, which nothing but the newness of their acquaintance with Edward could have prevented from being immediately sprung. But, as it was, she only learned, from some very significant looks, how far their penetration, founded on Margaret’s instructions, extended.
Sir John never came to the Dashwoods without either inviting them to dine at the park the next day, or to drink tea with them that evening. On the present occasion, for the better entertainment of their visitor, towards whose amusement he felt himself bound to contribute, he wished to engage them for both.
“You must drink tea with us to night,” said he, “for we shall be quite alone; and to-morrow you must absolutely dine with us, for we shall be a large party.”
Mrs. Jennings enforced the necessity. “And who knows but you may raise a dance,” said she. “And that will tempt you, Miss Marianne.”
“A dance!” cried Marianne. “Impossible! Who is to dance?”
“Who? why yourselves, and the Careys, and Whitakers to be sure. What! you thought nobody could dance because a certain person that shall be nameless is gone!”
“I wish with all my soul,” cried Sir John, “that Willoughby were among us again.”
This, and Marianne’s blushing, gave new suspicions to Edward. “And who is Willoughby?” said he, in a low voice, to Miss Dashwood, by whom he was sitting.
Elinor shivered delightfully at the sound of his voice so close to hers. She felt his breath on her neck and breathed in his scent, still familiar after all this time. She smiled to herself and gave him a brief reply, not wishing to reveal how her feelings had changed. That could only happen in the absence
of everyone else.
But Marianne’s countenance was more communicative. Edward saw enough to comprehend, not only the meaning of others, but such of Marianne’s expressions as had puzzled him before; and when their visitors left them, he went immediately round her, and said, in a whisper, “I have been guessing. Shall I tell you my guess?”
“What do you mean?”
“Shall I tell you.”
“Certainly.”
“Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts.”
Marianne was surprised and confused, yet she could not help smiling at the quiet archness of his manner, and after a moment’s silence, said —
“Oh, Edward! How can you? — But the time will come I hope — I am sure you will like him.”
“I do not doubt it,” replied he, rather astonished at her earnestness and warmth; for had he not imagined it to be a joke for the good of her acquaintance in general, founded only on a something or a nothing between Mr. Willoughby and herself, he would not have ventured to mention it.
CHAPTER XIX
Two days later, Elinor glanced out the window between stitches in her embroidery to spot Edward walking up the hill away from the cottage. She quickly calculated how soon he would crest the hill and be out of sight, and how soon she could catch up with him. Her sisters had gone into the village with Mrs. Jennings, and her mother was discussing something with the servants in the kitchen. Elinor felt confident she could slip from the house and join Mr. Ferrars on the other side of the hill before her mother returned.
She bunched her skirts in her hands, freeing her ankles, and ran as swiftly as she could without risking a fall. Moments later, she came up beside Edward, just as he reached the top of the hill.
“Mr. Ferrars,” she said, breathless.
Edward looked at her in surprise. He had been lost in thought — about this very woman — and had not heard her approach. And she was a most welcome sight. Her face was flush from her run, her breast was heaving, and her hair was windblown. He had never seen anyone so beautiful.
“Miss Dashwood!” he said. A quick glance at their surroundings told him they were alone. He was going to get his second chance after all! His stomach instantly knotted. Don’t ruin this, Edward, he told himself. He would only say what he had to say. Anything more and he risked scaring her away with his bumbling idiocy. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I wanted to … discuss something with you, if that’s all right?”
“Of course!” he replied, astonished, but not ungrateful, at her sudden change in demeanor. “Anything for you, Miss Dashwood.”
She smiled, grabbed his hand, and pulled him over the top of the hill and down the other side towards a thick cluster of trees. Edward sucked his breath in sharply at the contact, his body and mind remembering the last time her skin was against his.
Elinor led Edward through the trees to a place where she was sure they would not be found. She then dropped his hand and stood facing him, less than a foot between them. After days of looking for an opening to speak with Edward, now that the moment had arrived, she could not think what to say. They just stood there, taking each other in, the sound of their breathing the only noise in this quiet place.
She was a swarm of contradictions. Being so close to Edward once more was doing peculiar things to her body. Her heart was pulsing wildly, her palms her sweating, and the place between her legs was wet with desire. She wanted him now as much as she’d wanted him that day so long ago at her old home. And the ring on Edward’s hand made her belly twist with joy and hope. Those were the things that had kept her going these past two days, those were the reasons she had brought him here. But now that the moment had arrived, the despair of the past few months — the empty, heartbreaking time between Edward’s visits — was inching back into her consciousness and colouring everything. Should she follow her heart or her head? Was this a mistake? It was a risk for sure, but was it a mistake? She could not know.
Fortunately, Edward saved her from having to gather her thoughts by speaking first. “Miss Dashwood, before you speak, I would like to say a few things first — if you’d allow it, of course.”
Elinor nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Edward took a deep breath and glanced briefly at the ring on this hand, before returning his attentions to her face. He opened his mouth, but it took a moment for the words to emerge. “Firstly, I must say that you look even more beautiful than I remembered. Devonshire is certainly agreeing with you.”
Elinor looked down, blushing.
“Secondly, I wish for you to know that I came here with the sole purpose of seeing you. I did not have business in the village. During my last visit to Norland Park, I felt your absence gravely. And during those insufferable moments in which my sister and her husband felt it necessary to inform the entire household of their every move in the bedroom … ” He paused to shake his head as if embarrassed to admit he was related to Fanny at all, and Elinor giggled. “ … I was jealous beyond belief, aching for you to be in my arms and my bed.”
Elinor’s giggles came to a halt as she looked into Edward’s eyes. He was looking back at her with intensity, as if he was trying to relay just how much he felt for her, as if words alone would not suffice. There was also a hint of uncertainty in his expression that suggested he was nervous about her reaction. It was the same expression that had been there the day they’d made love, when he’d seemed unsure as to whether she returned his feelings and desires.
So, once again, Elinor used actions to put his mind at ease. She took one more look at his ring for confidence, then, in one swift move, she closed the space between them, raised herself up on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his. Edward gasped in surprise, but quickly recovered, wrapping his arms around Elinor and deepening their kiss.
After a long, heavenly moment, he pulled back. He had to do what he hadn’t done last time — he had to let her know the truth. “My darling, there is more I must tell you … ” he began.
But Elinor had heard all she needed to hear. He still wanted her. He’d yearned for her as she’d yearned for him. He’d travelled all this way just to see her again. Whatever else he had to say could wait. She shook her head and kissed him once more. Edward groaned in response and slipped his tongue inside her mouth.
His thoughts were a whirl. He could not believe his good fortune, that he, the fool of the century, he who had done everything wrong, could really be back in this incredible woman’s arms. She had not let him finish his speech, and indeed there was so much more for him to say, so much for her to understand. He knew that conversation must take place eventually. But why should he ruin this moment when it was clearly all they both wanted?
He knew in his soul he and Miss Dashwood were perfect for each other in every way. Elinor was everything he had never even known to wish for — he’d never imagined the sexual instincts of women could rival those of men. But here was the proof. But then, maybe Elinor wasn’t like all women. He already knew that she was different — better — in so many ways. Maybe her sense of adventure in the bedroom — or, in their case, the woods — was exceptional too. It didn’t matter — he didn’t plan on being with any other woman as long as he lived, so he would never get to find out. And that was perfectly fine with him.
He would marry her to-morrow if he could. If he were free to do so, he would drop to his knee this very moment and ask for her hand. But he was not and he could not.
Still, when he was with Elinor in this way, everything else fell away. And this time, as with the last, he let it.
Elinor reached down into Edward’s trousers and he groaned as she wrapped her hand around his stiff arousal. As she massaged him, he responded in kind, lifting her skirts and reaching inside her undergarments. His fingers immediately found her centre, and her legs began to tremble. She had not touched herself there since her day with Edward at Norland; with a heart as black as hers had been, the desire simply had not been there. But now she realized just how muc
h she needed to experience release.
As they kissed and groped one another, Edward slowly backed Elinor against a tree. Using the thick trunk as support, she hitched up her leg around his hip. “Oh, Edward,” she murmured as he stroked her. “How I’ve missed you!”
“My dear Elinor,” he whispered back between kisses. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.” He pulled back, removed her hand from his trousers, and knelt down on the grassy floor.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes glassy with desire. “Why did you stop?”
Edward just smiled, pulled off her undergarments, and thrust his head under her skirts. His mouth went directly to the place where his fingers had been, and he tasted everything Elinor had to offer. Acting on pure instinct, he ran his tongue gently up and down her warm, wet seam, teasingly.
Elinor let out a moan of pleasure unlike anything he’d ever heard, and he knew he was doing something right. She widened her stance and spread her legs farther apart, granting him access to do whatever he wished. He dipped his tongue in deeper, licking up and down, drinking in her sweetness. Then he used his hands as well, parting her folds and plunging one finger, then two, then three inside her as his mouth worked the stiff bud above. Elinor moaned and groaned and whimpered with every lick, kiss, and caress.
Then, as he began to thrust his hand within her more firmly, he took her bud between his lips and sucked. Instantly, her legs quivered even more forcefully and she cried out, “Oh, yes! Please, do not stop! Never, ever stop!”
Edward obeyed, and soon Elinor was screaming out in ecstasy. Eventually, her trembling subsided and she placed her hands on his head through the fabric of her skirts, beckoning him above. When Edward emerged from the sanctuary between Elinor’s legs, he looked up at her face, flush with contentment, and grinned.