by Lauren Lane
“Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one, I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as ever I saw.”
“He spoke of its being out of repair.”
“Well, and whose fault is that? why don’t he repair it? who should do it but himself?”
They were interrupted by the servant’s coming in to announce the carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to go, said —
“Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out. But, however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be quite alone. I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind is too full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must long to tell your sister all about it.”
Marianne had left the room before the conversation began.
“Certainly, ma’am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention it at present to any body else.”
“Oh! very well,” said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. “Then you would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as Holborn to-day.”
“No, ma’am, not even Lucy if you please. One day’s delay will not be very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought not to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do that directly. It is of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of course have much to do relative to his ordination.”
This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr. Ferrars was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not immediately comprehend. A few moments’ reflection, however, produced a very happy idea, and she exclaimed —
“Oh, ho! I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so much the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness; and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you. But, my dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not the Colonel write himself? Sure, he is the proper person.”
Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings’s speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore only replied to its conclusion.
“Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.”
“And so you are forced to do it. Well that is an odd kind of delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to write.) You know your own concerns best. So good-bye, my dear. I have not heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to bed.”
And away she went; but returning again in a moment —
“I have just been thinking of Betty’s sister, my dear. I should be very glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for a lady’s maid, I am sure I can’t tell. She is an excellent housemaid, and works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that at your leisure.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said, and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject.
How she should begin — how she should express herself in her note to Edward, was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself.
He had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular business.
Elinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her upon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion were very great on his so sudden appearance. They had not been alone together in so long a time, and even after everything that had passed since their hasty parting at Barton, she could not ignore the tingling flush that worked its way up her body at the sight of him.
But she also had not seen him before since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his knowing her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of what she had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her feel particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He too was much distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of embarrassment. Just as the last time he had come to visit her, his reaction to being in her presence was immediate. His entire being was urging him to cross the room and take Elinor in his arms — obligations and propriety be damned. It was all he could think of, and whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to be on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could say any thing, after taking a chair.
“Mrs. Jennings told me,” said he, striving to remind himself that things between them were different now, that no matter how unchanged his feelings were towards the woman before him, her positive feelings towards him had no doubt been obliterated, “that you wished to speak with me, at least I understood her so — or I certainly should not have intruded on you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister; especially as it will most likely be some time — it is not probable that I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford to-morrow.”
“You would not have gone, however,” whispered Elinor, “without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been able to give them in person.”
Elinor was moving closer to him as she spoke, gliding toward him like a fish being reeled through the water. What was she doing? Did she not hate him? Surely she must, after all he had put her through. But still she drew nearer. The closer she came, the warmer Edward felt. “Yes,” he croaked, struggling to pay attention to the conversation. “Thank you.”
“Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she said. I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on the point of communicating by paper.”
She quite near him now, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss, her eyes glazed and fixed on his, the hem of her dress brushing against his shoes. As he was sitting and she was standing, his eyesight was in perfect alignment with the soft, bulging flesh of her breasts, peeking out over the top of her bodice. Edward’s heartbeat shot up, his ears began to pound, and his peripheral vision blacked out, leaving him helpless but to lose himself in the stunning sight before him. He no longer had any idea what they were supposed to be talking about, and he watched in awe, hunger, horror, almost as a spectator, as his hand reached out to Elinor’s trim waist, grabbing the fabric of her dress firmly and pulling her into his lap.
“Oh!” Elinor cried in surprise, as if she hadn’t even realised she had moved so close to him, as if she too had been acting outside of her own accord. But rather than pull away, she wrapped her legs around him and relaxed her weight into him. A hand reached up and brushed the corner of his mouth. She licked her lips.
That was it.
Edward took her mouth with his and was granted entry immediately. Their tongues intertwined, their hands roamed free, and they gasped for breath as they desperately explored each other.
What was this connection between the two of them that made them — two normally levelheaded, mild mannered individuals — become senseless, instinct-driven heathens, set on consuming the other within an inch of their lives?
Whatever it was, they were powerless against it, and had no choice but to give in to the burning, aching need.
Elinor’s nimble, fast-working fingers quickly freed Edward’s manhood from his trousers and lowered herself onto him with no pretense. She had no interest in working her way up to this moment —
right now, she needed him inside her more than she needed air to breathe. They both cried out in the instant they became connected, and moved together, their eyes glued on one another’s. Elinor could not think of Lucy, she could not think of what was right, she could not think of what this meant, or what would happen after. She just rocked over him, still sitting upon his lap, and reveled in the sensation of being filled with the man she loved.
This time was different from the other times Edward and Elinor had come together. This time was less gentle and loving and instead feverish and impatient. Whether it was their extended separation or the promise of a future without one another that propelled their passion was unclear. Nor did it matter. All that mattered was that time seemed to stop as the couple moved as one, as they grasped onto each other so hard they left fingerprints, as their entire bodies became drenched in sweat, and for that perfect, heavenly moment, all was right with the world.
But then they reached their release and the clock started up again, and reality rushed back into the room with the force of a tidal wave crashing against the shore.
Elinor pulled her eyes away from Edward’s, which had gradually lost their fire and become filled with concern, and slowly removed herself from his lap, straightening her skirts and handing him a handkerchief to clean up his spilled seed.
“Well,” she said, when he was decent once more.
He cleared his throat. “Well,” he echoed, staring out the window.
They were both as confused as a person could be — that they both still desperately wanted and loved each other was undeniable, but they were each painfully aware that their circumstances had not changed. There was simply no feasible solution to be had. They were not to be.
Elinor accepted this first, and, with more effort than she’d thought she had the ability to exert, she kept her eyes diverted from Edward’s and resumed their earlier conversation.
“As I was saying … ” She took a deep breath and told herself that if she could just get through this conversation, she would be free to fall to pieces when he left. But she would not break down in front of him. He was the one who had chosen to marry another, even after having been given an out by his very betrothed. The situation was out of her hands, and she would not debase herself by showing her weakness. “I am charged with a most agreeable office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.) Colonel Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the living — it is about two hundred a-year — were much more considerable, and such as might better enable you to — as might be more than a temporary accommodation to yourself — such, in short, as might establish all your views of happiness.”
Such a turn to the conversation would be shocking under the most normal of circumstances, but the fact that they were discussing this after what had passed between them not five minutes earlier was far too strange for Edward to comprehend. What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected that any one else should say for him. He looked all the astonishment which such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of exciting; but he said only these two words —
“Colonel Brandon!”
“Yes,” continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the worst was over, “Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern for what has lately passed — for the cruel situation in which the unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you — a concern which I am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and likewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion.”
“Colonel Brandon give me a living! — Can it be possible?”
“The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find friendship any where.”
“No,” replied be, with sudden consciousness, “not to find it in you; for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness … I owe it all. I feel it — I would express it if I could — but, as you well know, I am no orator.”
Elinor lowered her eyes and whispered, “There is no denying the truth of your statement. But you have other ways of communicating which I have always found to serve me quite suitably.”
Edward gaped at her, hardly knowing what to say … which was appearing to be quite a normal state for him as of late.
“And besides, you are very much mistaken regarding this matter anyway. I do assure you that you owe it entirely, at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon’s discernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know, till I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift. As a friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps — indeed I know he has, still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe nothing to my solicitation.”
Truth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action, but she was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of Edward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably contributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently entered it. For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had ceased to speak; — at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said —
“Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him highly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly the gentleman.”
“Indeed,” replied Elinor, “I believe that you will find him, on farther acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, and as you will be such very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost close to the mansion-house,) it is particularly important that he should be all this.”
Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the mansion-house much greater.
“Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,” said he, 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.” It was true, of course — until now Edward had feared the very worst for his future, having been cast aside by his mother and left with no skills or prospects. Colonel Brandon’s offer had saved him.
Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very earnest assurance on her side of her unceasing good wishes for his happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on his, with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of expressing it.
“When I see him again,” said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him out, “I shall see him the husband of Lucy.”
And with this anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent. She supposed it was finally time to move on, for she would never be with Edward again, and it would do no good to wish it so.
When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people whom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important secret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to it again as soon as Elinor appeared.
“Well, my dear,” she cried, “I sent you up the young man. Did not I do right? — And I suppose you had no great difficulty — You did not find him very unwilling to accept your proposal?”
“No, ma’am; that was not very likely.”
“Well, and h
ow soon will he be ready? — For it seems all to depend upon that.”
“Really,” said Elinor, “I know so little of these kind of forms, that I can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his ordination.”
“Two or three months!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “Lord! my dear, how calmly you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord bless me! — I am sure it would put me quite out of patience! — And though one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in orders already.”
“My dear ma’am,” said Elinor, “what can you be thinking of? Why, Colonel Brandon’s only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”
“Lord bless you, my dear! Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr. Ferrars!”
The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs. Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still without forfeiting her expectation of the first.
“Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,” said she, after the first ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, “and very likely may be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought, for a house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the ground-floor, and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen beds! and to you too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage! It seems quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to do some thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them, before Lucy goes to it.”
“But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living’s being enough to allow them to marry.”
“The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word for it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan’t go if Lucy an’t there.”