Morning could not come too soon, but with it came disappointment, for rain fell steadily from the moment Marianne woke. She did not venture out to see Miracle, and she ate her breakfast slowly, staring out at the grey gloom and dripping eaves of Delaford. Past the manicured lawn of the mansion-house she could see the church where Edward would be baptizing a new child of God, and beyond that the road to Bath where no rider could be expected.

She moved to the parlour and the pianoforte and found comfort in playing an old favorite tune, but so familiar was every note that her fingers played without need of her mind, and her playing did nothing to drown out her thoughts, which were fixed on Brandon. Could she love him? Could she find in her heart the sparkling emotion she had known once before? Was it possible to form a second attachment as one's first?

Familiar notes could not quell her racing mind. Marianne set aside the books she had brought to Delaford and drew out the book of duets her husband had given her on their wedding day, less than a week ago. Lack of familiarity required more attention, and despite the benefactor who had bestowed them upon her, the music at last demanded her full attention.

In a rest, she thought she heard hoofbeats. No one could be foolhardy enough to ride in the rain, through the mud of the country roads. When the piece was over, she thought she heard the door open. She rose and went to the window, where Brandon's horse was being led away from the front door. She said his name to herself, wonderingly.

Despite herself, Marianne was drawn across the parlour and into the foyer, where stood her husband, his oiled leather coat dripping onto the stone floor.

"Christopher, you're home," she said. "In the rain."

"I am," he agreed; it was, after all, sort of a stupid thing to say. She was surprised to find herself so glad to see him. The corners of her mouth twisted up slightly, no matter how she tried to suppress them. "I have never been one for the pleasures of town; Delaford has a far greater attraction."

"Rebecca, do take the Colonel's coat," she said, suddenly remembering herself. "And bring some warm water to his dressing room." She turned back to Brandon. "We should get you out of those wet things. I'll help you off with your boots."

They walked up the stairs together. "How is Mrs Jacobs?" he asked.

"Oh, dearest, she is very unwell. I went to see her yesterday and she was quite insensible of my presence. She will not be much longer."

His countenance fell and he nodded gravely. "It is best that she not linger."

"Yes," she breathed.

"I shall speak with Edward to be sure she is buried in Christian dignity." Brandon's generosity was striking, even to Marianne who had seen it so many times. He was indeed the very kindest and best of men.

"You are very good."

They entered his dressing room and she helped him off with his jacket, careful around his shoulder, which was very clearly aching. He then drew out from within the jacket two envelopes and handed her one. "This is your copy of my will. Pray put it with your records."

Marianne received it with both hands and looked at it; it was made of very fine linen paper and sealed by his lawyer. In it was contained the promise of her own safekeeping and defense; no son and no other could dislodge her from her own home nor deprive her of an income. She could not withhold the tears that burst forth. Instantly Brandon took hold of her arm and said her name imploringly.

"I - I -" She choked on a sob.

"Please, Marianne," he pleaded. "It is the very definition of my duty to provide for your protection and security." After another moment of struggle, she was able to master herself. "Put that with your things, Marianne, and don't think about it again."

Marianne nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She crossed through the bedchamber and into her own dressing room, which was almost an exact copy of his in mirror image, opened the drawer where she kept her jewelry and tucked the envelope beneath it. Her hand brushed the silhouette of her husband; Elinor had made it - so it was doubly dear - at the insistence of their mother, and Brandon had had it framed. Without two of the Dashwood women prevailing upon him, he would never have agreed to such a project of vanity, but Marianne was glad to have it. She admired the little profile for an instant; Elinor had not done him justice, she thought: he was a good deal nobler in brow and his nose more straight. She set it back down in its drawer and pulled out the two tortoise shell pins that held up her hair and then returned to the bedroom.

Brandon was already changed out of his damp clothes and into his dressing gown, and was bent over the basin washing off the mud from the road. "I could have Rebecca bring up some tea," she offered, softly. He seemed not to hear. "My love?"

"Marianne," he replied, looking a bit surprised to see her there. "Forgive me, I was -"

"Lost in thought," she supplied. He observed her quizzically as he dried his skin. Marianne turned slightly to look out at the dripping, pewter sky outside through the window above their bedstead, and her hair swept loosely over her shoulder.

She turned back to face him and stretched out her hand.

- Finnis -

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