Margaret Dashwood, smushed up against the corner of Sir John's carriage, rounded the corner into Colonel Brandon's expansive property. Her heart gave a flutter.

It wasn't that she was nervous to be here. That would be ridiculous, she reflected. She had been here before, and everyone was so kind-from the journey she'd made here for Elinor's wedding, to the visits leading up to Marianne's inevitable marriage to the Colonel. This was simply another in a long line of obligations to appease her sisters' need for society. It was a good thing she liked her sisters.

Because this time there was an added thing that made the visit different. Mrs. Jennings, since the wedding of Marianne a few months before, had not stopped talking about getting her married off.

"There it is, the manor house," the large, bustling woman reverberated next to her. "And in just a couple of short days, you'll be going to your first ball. It is too much excitement to be borne. Mary, you must allow me to help the girl get ready."

Mary Dashwood nodded her head, gracious. "Your solicitation is always appreciated." Margaret's mother was almost reverential to the Middleton family since the wedding, believing that without them, it was possible Marianne would never have met anyone and would have been a spinster all her days following her desertion by Mr. Willoughby. Now that it seemed another match might be made, this time between her youngest daughter and some man or other in the Colonel's neighborhood, Mary was positively twinkling with excitement. Margaret realized that it was the happiest, and youngest, that her mother had looked since before her father had died.

"Ugh. I still wish you'd let me leave off the ball. I'd much rather...rather…" The truth was that Margaret would rather do just about anything.

"Nonsense, Margaret," chirped Sir John's wife, Lady Middleton, gently. "You will be splendid. You've grown up quite a lovely girl. You'll have no trouble finding a suitable husband. Heavens, we might be able to have you married off even before the Season, and save you a journey to London!"

But Margaret longed to go to London. And to Vienna, and Avignon, and Paris, like her sister, and to Calcutta and Pondicherry and Cairo and New York and Charleston and the icy wilderness of Canada and the jungles of Africa… Anywhere, literally anywhere, other than a ball.

The families emerged from the carriage onto the lawn in front of Delaford's big house, and there, smiling with outstretched arms, waited Marianne, with Christopher's arm wrapped around her. Margaret rushed forward ahead of her mother and everyone to embrace her sister. "Hello, my dear girl," Marianne murmured. She had taken on that look that Elinor wore now, that look of being wise, and loved, and very, very married. Christopher embraced her too, and then both of them commenced to greeting all of their other guests.

It was an unseasonably warm evening, and no one rushed inside, though it was nearing the hour for dinner and everyone needed to go in and change clothing. Sir John's booming laugh could be heard roaring over them, at something that someone had said-likely laughing at his own joke. Margaret wandered off alone for a minutes, inspecting the blooms in the formal garden just to the east of the house. Something was missing. Someone.

Suddenly she was not alone. Colonel Brandon himself had moseyed next to her, studying a patch of pansies. "Captain Margaret," he began, "you've never been one to fall into melancholy fits in the garden."

"Unlike my sister," she smirked.

"Best take care, then," he bantered back. "Look what befell your sister. She's stuck married to an old dotard." He plucked a dried, dead leaf off a healthy plant. "In all seriousness, is there something on your mind? Are you apprehensive about something? You've not been your usual boisterous self in the past few minutes."

Margaret paused and thought. "For starters, I'm not Captain Margaret anymore. I'm quite grown now."

"Quite," he smiled, looking down at her from the miles and miles above her where he stood-he really was quite tall.

"And-well, I'm not certain about this ball business, Colonel. I'd really rather not go."

"But you are, as you've said, grown."

"Yes-and don't grown people get to make their own decisions?"

He nodded thoughtfully. Then he said, "Is it the dancing that you are afraid of? Or the company?"

"Er-" She blushed.

"Has Mrs. Jennings given you the impression that you are to find a husband at this ball?"

Her blush deepened, and she wanted to bury her face in her frock and disappear like a frightened tortoise.

Brandon sat on one of the large rocks that bordered the flowerbed. "Do you want to find a husband?" he asked gingerly. He avoided her eyes as he said this.

After a moment's silence, she sat next to him and answered, "No."

"Ah." He plucked a pansy and twirled it in his fingers.

"Can I confess-I don't think-I told Marianne this, once, but I think she believes it was just a...just a sign of childishness. But I...I don't wish to marry. I don't think I will ever wish it."

Brandon looked out into the distance for a minute.

"And before you chastise me, I know that I will have to do it anyway, and make certain that Mama doesn't have to take care of a spinster daughter in her old age. I know it's a natural part of life for a young woman, but...I wish...I simply…"

"You want something more?"

"More…" She remembered all the stories he'd told her, before he'd begun courting Marianne in earnest-stories of adventure in the East, of battles and voyages and new people and languages and notions- "Yes. More."

Brandon turned to face the girl. "Miss Dashwood," he said, allowing her the full dignity of her title, "If there is anything I can do to assist you in this pursuit, I will do so. Not only for the love I bear your sister. I may not be able to save you from marriage, but...perhaps there is something."

"You won't tell Marianne we've spoken? Or especially Mama? I don't want her to think I've been whinging."

"Not a concern. Your secret is safe."

She smiled a little, and then her heart stopped.

The light tinkling laugh, like the tintinnabulation of a wind chime, carried across the early-spring breeze. Eliza's laugh.

"Ah, well, here's someone to cheer you up," Brandon announced, standing up.

Margaret held her smile and her dignity and stood, walking towards the sound.

Dear God, she was beautiful.

Hair of pure white gold; eyes smiling to shake hands with Sir John, to lightly embrace Lady Middleton who stiffened only slightly to be approached so by someone of so ignoble a reputation; a tall, graceful form, so perfect and angelic, it was idiotic to imagine her as anything other than an innocent maiden, until mayhap you saw her cherubic child so frequently clinging to her other hand and remembered that she was a mother-and then you remembered that lingering on her skin was a fragrance of danger, of the forbidden, enough to make you nearly swoon-

"Margaret!" she cried out briskly, and ran over to the young woman, embracing her. Margaret didn't notice, she told herself fiercely, the way Eliza's breasts pressed against her when they embraced, or the scent of lilac in her hair, or the softness of her skin. Whatever would possess her to notice these things?

"How are you, Eliza?" she chokes out.

"I am quite well," Eliza answers. The two step off to the side and walk, arm-in-arm, towards the house. "Your Mrs. Jennings tells me you're to attend your first ball soon?"

"Er, yes, I suppose I am."

"Now, that is something I have never had occasion to do. I do hope you'll let me help you get ready, and select your gown, and practice your hairstyle? Only, I was never...well, you see, I never got to go for my coming out, because…"

"I know, Eliza." Margaret found her heart fluttering, despite herself. "Perhaps having you to help me prepare wouldn't be so bad, after all."

"And do you know how to dance?"

"No-I never did learn. Mrs. Jennings said the Colonel promised to hire me a dancing master while I'm here."

"Yes, and I can practice with you as well-I'm quite good! Maybe we can teach Charity."

"Yes." Yes, yes, yes, yes, thumped Margaret's heart.

And just like that, as they entered the foyer of the mansion house and handed off their wraps to the footman, Margaret began, in earnest, to look forward to a ball.