Timeline for my fics, because apparently I have ADD and am incapable of finishing one before starting another.

"Mindful of the Feelings of Others" (Brandon's POV, 3rd person; in progress)

"Strange Fits of Passion I Have Known" (Marianne's POV, 1st person; complete)

"A Little Fall of Rain" (Marianne's POV, 3rd person; in progress)

Tentatively titled "How Blest I Am In This" (Alternating POV, 3rd person; not yet started)

"Always" (Marianne's POV, 3rd person; complete)

"A Little Fall of Rain"

(If you want to listen to something to put you in the mood for this fic, I suggest "Diagnosis," by The Weakerthans)

On a bright Friday morning in October, before the weather had turned cold but just after that snap of autumn had fully made its way into the Dorsetshire atmosphere, Colonel Brandon ducked under the door frame of the parlor and found his lady visitors-Elinor, Marianne, Mrs. Dashwood, and Margaret-congregated and engaged in needlework. They all looked up at him.

"Good morning, Colonel," Mrs. Dashwood offered.

"Good morning, ladies. I have-shall I say, a proposition. As Edward is currently engaged on business at the parsonage, I have lost my morning riding partner. Would you all like to accompany me on a ride around the property? I would go alone, but as it's so fine out-"

"I would love to!" exclaimed Marianne, and tossed her needlework unceremoniously to the side. She brushed her dress down and made her way towards him.

Margaret moved to stand up as well, but her mother grabbed her hand. "Elinor cannot go, of course, because of the baby, and I need Margaret here to complete her project. Perhaps next time, Margaret?"

"Oh-yes. Perhaps next time." There was a distinct grumble in her voice.

"Oh-" Marianne looked around her and realized that she would be thrown together, again. It really was becoming quite unsettling, how often this kept happening, from having him escort her into dinner, to having him engage her in discussions of books she had been reading, sometimes even alone in his study or his library. It seemed as if, since she and her mother and sister had arrived at Delaford a week ago, there was at least an hour each day in which she spent time alone with him, but never something like this-something where the two of them would be going away from the mansion house into the relative privacy of the outdoors. Marianne wasn't sure if she was in a good state of mind to be so truly alone with him. Especially since, recently, she had begun to realize certain interesting aspects of Colonel Brandon's...character. Surely he wouldn't want to be alone with her yet again? A man of his intelligence must surely want some other company to occupy his mind more effectively.

"Just you and me, then?" he said, looking at her with some mysterious scrutiny. "Mrs. Dashwood, is that alright with you?"

"I trust my daughter will come to no harm with you, Colonel." Mrs. Dashwood smiled beatifically.

And this from the woman who chastised me to no end when I rode out alone with Willoughby, Marianne huffed inwardly.

"I shall honor your trust, of course, ma'am. Miss Dashwood?"

"Well, I-I should change into my riding habit."

"Of course. Shall I meet you at the stable when you're ready?"

"Certainly." She curtsied, as he smiled-that smile which was beginning to have the strangest effect on her and cause her to have the oddest thoughts-and stepped out of the room, excusing himself to the other company.

All at once, her mother and older sister threw their sewing aside and stood up to flutter around her. "We'll help you get ready, dearest. Follow us!" her sister exclaimed, scampering towards the stairwell as fast as her growing belly would allow.

"What?" Marianne stood dumbfounded. "I don't think I need any help apart from my chambermaid's."

"Of course you do. The Colonel oughtn't to be kept waiting," her mother replied. "Don't dally; come on!"

Marianne, all confusion, followed the two hen-like women up the stairs, into her room, and towards the armoire, where they began hunting for her habit as if it their lives depended on it. "Are you really going to wear your hair like that?" her mother asked.

"Let her wear her hair however she likes; it won't make a difference," Elinor retorted.

"That sounds like an insult! Thanks ever so much, Elinor! Does my hair look like it's been ransacked by pelicans this morning or something?"

"No, no, I just meant…" Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood exchanged a meaningful glance. "It won't matter what your hair looks like. It looks fine as it is. Beautiful, in fact. It makes you look like a Da Vinci painting. Anyone would think it marvelous."

Marianne touched her hair tentatively as she stripped off her muslin frock and raised her arms for her mother to put the habit over her head. "Marvelous?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose he'll think so, too," her mother murmured as she worked swiftly on the laces.

"He-whatever do you mean?" Marianne felt her head go fuzzy as she realized who the "he" was. "What would Colonel Brandon care about my hair for?"

Her mother and sister, who was rifling through a box of ribbons, stopped what they were doing and stared at each other. "She doesn't know." Elinor's face was a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"What doesn't she know?" Marianne demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh, Marianne… sit down for a minute." Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor took seats on the end of the bed while Marianne sat in the armchair facing them. Her mother said, "Haven't you noticed anything about Colonel Brandon's...attentions?"

Marianne squinted, then flushed with sudden understanding. "You mean, you think… that the Colonel is thinking of… of…"

"I don't think the Colonel is thinking of. I know it," Elinor said, smugly crossing her arms in front of each other. "And I also know you're thinking it too."

"Don't be preposterous, Elinor. I may have been spending time with him recently, because we have seen so much of one another, but that doesn't mean…that I…"

"Marianne, you can't tear your eyes away from him," her mother chided. "Anyone can see you're smitten. And we," she gestured towards herself and Elinor, "are thrilled. No one could be so deserving of your affection as the Colonel. After all he's done for us. And for you."

"I am not smitten! And anyway, he-he doesn't seem to feel anything towards me, really! I mean…" Marianne cast her memory back to the few books he had loaned her to read over the past few days; the lingering conversations over tea; the way he had kindly stepped in to turn the pages of her music when she played at his beautiful pianoforte in the evenings. These, surely, were just marks of the constancy of his friendship. He was one of the few people who hadn't acted judgmentally towards her in the past year after her flame with Willoughby fizzled. He was chivalrous and kind, and all that, but it was inconceivable that he could feel anything close to what Willoughby had demonstrably felt towards her.

"Be fair to her, mama. She doesn't see the way the Colonel looks at her when she plays."

"Yes, you are right, daughter."

"Wait, how-how does he look at me?"

Mrs. Dashwood declined to answer. She wanted to give more proof to Marianne about the Colonel's affection, but it would not be fair to the Colonel to reveal to her daughter what he had dazedly confessed to her on the night they rode together to Cleveland, about how he would have been devastated if they had lost her. Elinor jumped in, however, with: "He looks like he thinks you look good enough to eat."

"Elinor!" Mrs. Dashwood and Marianne both exclaimed.

"What? I am an old married woman now, and can say what I like; and besides, I'm so fat with child that no one will ever look at me as a beauty again, so I must live vicariously through my beautiful sister."

"Nonsense, Elinor; Edward is as attentive to you as ever," Marianne responded, sorting through what Elinor had said in her mind. Could it be that the Colonel ever thought of her as someone he could… want?

"Marianne," Elinor said, more gently. "Don't take our word for it. Go out riding with him and pay attention. Don't look for obvious things. Colonel Brandon isn't obvious about it. He's subtle. You're intelligent; you will figure it out."

"But, I-" Her mother tied her hat on her head, while Elinor inspected her boots one last time. Then they shoved her out the door.

"Go!" Elinor shouted after her with a giggle. "Hurry! He's waiting for you!"