“You always were the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance,” he went on, “but I have never seen you looking quite as wonderful as you do tonight.”

“I do not think that you should be talking to me in this way, Mr Willoughby,” Marianne said, able at last to look directly into his eyes. “Think of your wife, to whom you should be paying such compliments.”

“I never can think of my wife when I am with you,” he murmured. “Indeed, it is hardly possible to think at all. You must be aware of my regard.”

“You are clearly drunk and talking nonsense, Mr Willoughby. I think you are not in your own mind at present. All I know is that I do not wish you to speak to me of such things again. If your unfortunate feelings are such as you confide, I beg you will show your true regard by leaving me alone.”

As Marianne moved on to the end of the dance, meeting Sir Edgar once more, she felt such a cheerful sense of release from the anxiety she had been suffering that she felt her countenance must give her away completely. As he escorted her back to her seat, she was surprised to see Colonel Brandon. From his expression, she surmised that he must have witnessed she and Willoughby dancing together, though she felt certain that he must have seen them talking, he could not have had any idea of the subject matter.

“Will you dance with me, Marianne?” He held out his hand.

“I thought you were playing cards.”

“I was…” he hesitated, “but my thoughts kept turning to you. I am sorry to have left you alone for so long, Marianne. Please forgive me and do me the honour of accompanying me.”

“I can think of nothing I would rather do at this moment, than being joined with you in the dance,” she said, taking his hand. She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Then again, if I might refer to our earlier promise, perhaps there is just another form of union that I might consent to with more than a little pleasure.”

William looked lovingly into her eyes to whisper in return, “I can assure you, Mrs Brandon, I never break a promise and am duty bound to our pledge.”

“Must we wait until the last dance before we go home?” Marianne implored, returning his stare with an expression that spoke of her greatest desire. More than anything she wished to go home, to renew the close bonds between them that she felt wanting these last weeks. Marianne desired to show her husband how much she loved him and to feel him loving her in return.

William stroked his chin thoughtfully, catching his wife's regard with a bemused glance. “Of course there are the vast numbers of carriages to consider which might impede any expeditious progress. Perhaps it might be deemed wise to take our leave now.”

“Colonel Brandon, I insist upon it!” Marianne declared with a laugh and, taking his arm, marched him toward the door.


To be a woman with a passionate nature had its most favourable advantages, Marianne decided, pulling the pins from her hair that fell about her pale shoulders in a mass of dark, luxuriant waves. Such was her anticipation of the promised meeting with William that her hands shook and trembled as she struggled to remove the flowers from her tresses. When they had first married, Marianne had been quite anxious about that aspect of married life that she knew nothing about. Her love for her husband was not born of a grand passion in the way it had been for Mr Willoughby. The feelings of love that had developed from becoming more acquainted with Colonel Brandon and having a thorough knowledge of the man and his character had grown over a long period of time. He had courted her in the truest sense. Marianne's mind had first consented to the emotion that she believed was as near to being in love as that she had ever felt for Willoughby. The feelings were not so zealous, but the love she bore for William flourished slowly and with such intensity as she had never before known. He tended their affection with as much care as a gardener over a sick plant, and Marianne blossomed, blooming like a rose from one of his hothouses, her petals unfurling with every sonnet and poem of love that he read to her and with every attention that he paid. She had wished to be married. Colonel Brandon was the man she knew would make her happy; his temper and understanding were exactly what she wished for in a husband, but to say that she did not feel apprehensive about the expectations her husband might have when they were married would be to write a false history. Again, she need not have worried. No such demands were made. Indeed, her husband sought so little physical attention, keeping to his own quarters in the first days of their marriage, that Marianne was surprised to find that she was the one to crave his notice. The more he ignored her, the more she pursued William with relentless fervour. To her great delight, her mind and body soon met as one. Before the week was through, she was astonished to find not only did she want Colonel Brandon to love her but that she was pleading with him to make love to her over and over again.

Dabbing perfume on her wrists and throat, she hoped her appearance would have the desired effect. She tied a single, red silk ribbon about her throat and, thus satisfied with her appearance, arranged herself against the propped pillows on her bed. Marianne did not have to wait long before she heard a discreet knock at the door and her husband's voice call her name. Marianne was so thrilled to see him, draping her arms around his neck as he sat at her side, that she did not at first realise that his expression was sombre or that his countenance bore all the marks of one troubled by anxiety and worry. After peppering his face with kisses but not receiving one back in return, she pulled away.

“What is wrong, Brandon?”

“I have some bad news, Marianne. I came to tell you that I am unable to keep our appointment.”

“Whatever do you mean? What could possibly be more important at this hour of the night than of our being together?”

Taking his hands in hers, she kissed them both before employing his fingertips to her pleasure, easing herself as she did so onto his lap. He could not resist her, his hands caressing the softness that pressed against him, his mouth seeking hers with an urgency that thrilled her. Whatever it was that had threatened to separate them had vanished: Marianne knew that for the time being he was in her power and that he could do nothing to free himself. But as Marianne's yearning for her husband's love increased to a pitch of fever, William suddenly withdrew from her arms, concern etched on his features.

“It is no use, Marianne,” he said, kissing the top of her head before standing to adjust his dress. “I have come to say goodbye. It is imperative that I leave for Lyme immediately. Word has been sent that little Lizzy is dangerously ill again. Indeed, I have been informed that she may not see daylight tomorrow, and even if I leave now, I may be too late.”

Marianne could not believe what she was hearing. How could this happen now when she was beginning to feel that they might be resolving their differences, rekindling the love that she knew was threatened by misunderstandings?

“It will be a trial for us both to be separated again, my darling,” he murmured, sitting down again to take her hand in his own, “but you must understand there is nothing else to be done.”

“But Lizzy recovered last time and she will be sure to again. You do not need to be there. Stay with me, William. Wait and see; if she is not better in a week, then you may go.”

“I cannot delay. If anything were to happen to the child, I would never forgive myself. Please, Marianne, you must see I have no choice.”

Marianne reached for her peignoir, wrapping the muslin tightly round her slight form. She was shivering now; all warmth seemed to have evaporated from her body like the dying embers in the grate. “Why must you always put their welfare before mine?” she cried. “When will you consider that my needs are as important? I want you here, William; I shall be ill if you go, and if you leave me again, I shall not answer for the consequences. I am certain this is just a ruse to take you away. Eliza cannot bear the thought of you being happy with your own family!”

Marianne knew that she must sound like a jealous harridan, but she could not help herself. Was she always to come second or third in importance to Brandon? All her jealous insecurities came rushing forth in a torrent of words.

“There are times, Marianne,” he answered in grave tones, “when you astonish me. I do not think you are recognisable at this moment as the woman I married, and I must admit that I am finding it difficult to understand you. How you can imagine that I do not consider you is beyond all comprehension. That you do not appreciate my position, or that of others who do not enjoy your fortunate situation, is very clear. A little girl may be dying and all you can think of is yourself and your own selfish wants. Think for a moment, I beg you. Please understand that I have no choice.”

Marianne regretted her outspoken tirade in that moment but could not find the words to apologise. Her anger still seethed inside. William stood before her with his arms crossed, looking most displeased. “I will leave now but I need not go alone.

Perhaps you would care to accompany me; then you will see for yourself that it is impossible for me to act in any other way. Come, let us leave for Lyme together.”

Marianne knew that she could not accept William's invitation. There were unspoken reasons. “How can he ask me to nurse Willoughby's child and consider making me stay with the daughter of his first love? His one, true love,” she thought bitterly. What was William thinking to even consider putting her in such a position? No, she did not appreciate nor understand him, she realised, sitting with her arms hugging her body and her feet tucked under her. Perhaps it was better if he left. Some time apart might do them good.