Chapter Text
Their removal to the cottage at Barton could not have come at a more opportune time.
Elinor’s mother and sisters would undoubtedly feel the privations – they all would – but, as she emerged from the carriage and first looked at their new home in the dimming twilight, Elinor felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of relief.
Edward was engaged.
She had not at first realised what he was alluding to – attempting to allude to, at least – with his stumbling words about his education. In the end, she had inferred everything from his silences, especially the one following his mention that Mr Pratt had a niece. It had been an exceedingly long silence. Then Edward had stumbled through the explanation again, repeating himself word for word. Mr Pratt had a niece.
Elinor had understood.
Luckily, their mother had recently received a letter from her cousin, Sir John, containing the most suitable offer of this cottage, and Elinor had been deeply grateful at the thought of removing from their situation at Norland, already so strained with John and Fanny and their children, and now much worsened by her understanding that Edward meant to put her on her guard against any attachment. She had not thought herself so obvious in preferring his company; he was a very pleasant man, possibly one of the most pleasant she had known, and certainly there had been nobody else at Norland able to hold a civil conversation. So yes, she could admit to herself that she had liked him, but she had barely entertained the thought of the possibility of a future there. His family, after all, undoubtably had high expectations for him. And his manner had been friendly and open, indeed, but…
She had been mortified when he had spoken, absolutely so. Not just at the words, but at the fact that he had felt the need to speak. That she had apparently been so obvious in her admiration of him as to give the impression she might have expectations. Thinking back, Elinor’s mother had recently made warm comments on his character that were a little too pointed for her not to hold the same opinion, and Marianne had bluntly done the same only a week or two prior.
Did the whole world think Elinor in love with him?
She had lingered on this thought during the carriage journey, brow furrowed as she revisited the length of his stay, her own behaviour, and his halting admission again and again. She brooded that first night in the cottage, too, dwelling on the matter in what she could admit was an entirely useless bout of self-pity.
“Are you asleep?” whispered Marianne, after some time lying in the dark.
“No,” Elinor whispered back.
“Oh, good.” A few seconds of silence passed. “It is very quiet here.”
Elinor listened. “Not particularly,” she said, “but the noises are different.”
“I’m sure it is quieter.” They both listened to the night. “Perhaps you are right.” Marianne shifted onto her side. “Elinor?”
“Yes, Marianne?”
“Do you think we will be happy here?”
“I do not know.”
They breathed quietly in the dark.
“We are poor now.”
“Not quite poor,” Elinor said. It was an equivocation, and they both knew it. In truth, she was already thinking about the accounts she needed to manage and the conversation about limits that she would need to have with their mother.
“We have barely any dowry,” Marianne added, and ah, this was the heart of the matter.
“Yes.” Elinor sighed. She missed their father, very much, but she could not help also wishing he might have left better provision for them. “Still, you will yet make a wonderful match.” She tried to inject cheer into her words, but heard the forced nature of it and closed her eyes in resignation.
“You do not think so, really,” Marianne said. “But,” and now her own, truer, cheer shone through, “Edward will visit soon, and then it will not matter! He does not care for such things, I am sure.”
“Marianne-“ Elinor started, before cutting herself off. She was uncertain of what to say; what to share. She had never encouraged Marianne’s belief that she cared for Edward, but now it seemed particularly wrong to allow it to continue.
“I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together – I do hope you live nearby.” Marianne reached out and fumbled for Elinor’s hand on top of the covers. “I do like him-“
“Marianne,” Elinor said firmly. Marianne quieted.
Elinor still did not know what to say. She did not feel as though she had license to reveal that Edward was attached to another.
“I know that you want the best for me, dearest, and I-“ she breathed in “-admit that I did like Mr Ferrars, though not perhaps to the degree you imagined. But it was made clear to me,” she said carefully, “that there was no possibility of… that there was no possibility.”
There was a moment’s stunned silence, then, “It is not true, Elinor! If Fanny’s spiteful-”
“It was not Fanny who told me so,” Elinor said immediately, over the top of her sister.
“Then who?”
Another breath. “Mr Ferrars-”
“Edward!”
The following silence took on an air of deep betrayal. Marianne huddled in close, so that their faces must have been only an inch or two away from each other. Elinor strained to make out her features in the darkness.
“He was very kind,” she spoke at last. “He obviously saw, as you did, that I enjoyed his company, and wished to put me on my guard.”
“On your guard!”
“Yes.”
“But he – but…” Marianne was overcome for a moment, then reached to place her arm around Elinor’s shoulders. “He spent all that time with you. He liked you - I could see that he liked you. Mama thought… Why would he-?“
The distress in Marianne’s voice was raw and heavy – stronger almost than that which Elinor herself felt.
“Even if he enjoyed my company,” Elinor said slowly, “that does not mean he was in love. And his financial situation – no, listen to me, Marianne – his situation may not make it possible for him to marry someone of my means.”
Marianne was crying. Elinor could tell from the way that she was breathing.
“It is alright, dearest,” she murmured, and wished ruefully that it was not her comforting Marianne at this moment. “It will be alright.”
*
When she returned from surveying the garden in the morning, it was to a strained silence at the breakfast table. Elinor looked at each of her family – her mother, staring red-eyed at her plate, Margaret’s wide, hurt eyes, and Marianne gazing steadfastly sideways out of the window - and knew that it was done. It was well enough, she supposed, that she had not had the responsibility of informing the others; Marianne had spared her that at least.
“Is there any tea?” she asked, and she was proud of how steady her voice was.
*
They found Sir John Middleton, his wife, and his mother-in-law, Mrs Jennings, to be most congenial and attentive neighbours. Indeed, Elinor would have thought them starved for company, except that Sir John immediately set out to invite Elinor’s family to any number of small parties to take place over the following weeks. “Perhaps twenty or thirty young people, all good sorts. We want to show you off now, don’t we!”
The Dashwoods had lived a fairly secluded life at Norland Park. Elinor had had only the bare start of a season in London, for it had been interrupted due to her father’s worsening health, and Marianne’s would have been this year, perhaps, or the next, but would never happen now. There had once been parties at Norland, of course, but long enough ago that even the familiar faces of their neighbours had begun to fade in Elinor’s mind.
Here, at the first of these gatherings, everyone was a stranger, even their hosts.
When they were introduced to Colonel Brandon – apparently a particularly close friend of the Middletons - Elinor thought he seemed a good and sensible man, if a great deal too old for Mrs Jennings to immediately begin speculating about what a fine match he would make for her.
“After all,” Mrs Jennings confided to her companions in what she mistakenly believed might count as a whisper, “He is ripe for the picking! And I think Miss Dashwood is the very one who might lure his fruit from the branches – see how he watches her!”
Elinor, who was standing near enough to their party to overhear all of this, briefly closed her eyes and prayed for strength. Had she not thought it would merely exacerbate the issue, she could have told Mrs Jennings that the colonel seemed to have paid her no more attention than any other lady – if anything, she thought he perhaps looked at her sister a little more often. Indeed, he was moving to speak to Marianne now.
Out of both curiosity and a stray thought that she ought to discreetly monitor the situation, Elinor moved closer to where Marianne was standing with some other new acquaintances, also Sir John’s neighbours, just in time to hear Colonel Brandon say, “And what do you think of Devonshire?”
“Oh, it is nothing compared to ____shire,” declared Marianne.
There was the briefest hesitation, and Elinor fancied that he was unsure of how to respond to so blunt an answer. “Certainly, you are justified in your attachment to your previous home. But perhaps you merely need time to become acquainted with the beauties of your new one?“
“I am sure that is true, Colonel,” Marianne said. “It is merely my heart that makes it feel impossible to believe such a thing at the current time.”
He smiled slightly, and there was a softness to it that made Elinor think perhaps she had been right in her earlier observation.
“But here is Elinor,” said Marianne, and reached out to bring her fully into their circle. The conversation turned to the various pretty sights that could be found in the neighbourhood, and Elinor listened and answered as polite behaviour required. The colonel, she noticed, did the same, not seeming to feel the need to lead or dominate the conversation, but stating his opinion when relevant. The others would all quiet to listen to him, which spoke well of both his character and the neighbourhood’s opinion of him.
“Colonel Brandon is a very amiable man,” their mother said in the carriage home, echoing Elinor’s earlier thoughts.
“Rather dull,” said Marianne.
“I believe it is called ‘making conversation’” Elinor commented.
“He was very civil.” Their mother smiled slightly. “I am glad that Sir John invited us tonight, and that we shall have such good acquaintances here. I confess, one of my fears in moving here was that we should know so few people and have fewer opportunities to meet them.”
“Sir John is very attentive,” said Elinor.
“Sir John just likes having something to talk about. Like his mother-in-law,” muttered Marianne.
“Marianne!”
“Well, it is true!”
“He has been very kind to us,” Mrs Dashwood said with a reproving look towards Marianne. “More so than we could have expected.”
“I believe he does mean well,” offered Elinor quietly. Marianne gave a slight huff to signal her abandonment of the argument, then rested her cheek on her hand and went back to gazing out of the window. The carriage went over a rut, they were all bumped in their seats, and the topic moved on to the state of the roads.
*
From the start, they had dined often at the house with Sir John and his family. Now that Colonel Brandon had commenced a stay with him, they also began to see this gentleman often.
“He is all alone in that great house of his,” Sir John confided to them one day, not long after that first party. “So I have him here as often as I can arrange it. We should not leave him to brood!”
The cause of his brooding had recently been hinted at to each of the members of the Dashwood family by Mrs Jennings, who, despite their being new acquaintances, had confided there was a great tragedy involving a lady in the colonel’s past.
Now, Elinor smiled pleasantly at Sir John, Marianne glanced away in mute irritation, and their mother asked how long the colonel was likely to be staying in their part of the country.
“Well, he hasn’t said anything to me, but if I know Brandon he’ll – Ah, but here’s the man now!” This he said as the door to the room opened and the colonel entered. They all rose, the ladies to curtsey and Sir John to cross the room and shake his friend’s hand most energetically. “The ladies were just asking after your plans, Brandon. Will you be here long, or are you back to Town?”
Colonel Brandon’s gaze travelled across them. “I am uncertain at present.” A moment’s hesitation. “I usually stay at Delaford until the summer, though I may have business that takes me elsewhere.”
“But you must stay with me for at least another month or two, my friend! You can ride back and forth from Delaford easily enough, and I cannot be parted from you yet! And now we have our beautiful new ladies, who look to you to provide guidance in this new place.”
The colonel gave a short bow.
“Just as I thought,” said Sir John. “Capital.”
The conversation turned immediately to hunting, which held little interest to the Dashwood women, although Elinor’s father had been a keen hunter in his youth, then to the roads, then the price of sheep.
“Well, and we must be boring you,” Sir John said. “Miss Marianne, will you not play a piece for us before dinner? We do not stand on ceremony here.”
They proceeded to the adjoining room, Marianne moving with alacrity towards the instrument, and soon her hands were flying over the keys and her face shone with the passion of playing. Elinor smiled to see it, and she was glad once again that Marianne’s tendency towards mournful tunes in the wake of their father’s death seemed to have abated.
Everyone was respectfully quiet during the piece, but as Marianne finished and returned to join the group the colonel turned towards Elinor and asked, “If I remember correctly, you play as well, Miss Dashwood?”
“Yes. Although,” she added with a smile, “not as well as Marianne.”
“Perhaps you would play for us after dinner?”
Elinor smiled again and they stood to go into the dining room. She openly admitted that Marianne’s talent and execution at the piano far outstripped her own; she had not the depth of feeling that Marianne brought to a performance, nor did she pick up new pieces so effortlessly. It was not in her to begrudge her sister this talent or the acknowledgement of it, but it was nice to be asked, nonetheless, and not just as an afterthought.
“How are you finding Barton Cottage, now?” the colonel asked Elinor as the soup was served. He had asked her before, when they first met, but she intuited that he had not forgotten, rather that he expected her answer might have changed in the subsequent weeks.
“It is a very pleasant place to live,” she said, as she might have answered any relatively new acquaintance. As she had answered him before. Then, feeling a need to add something further, “Marianne and Margaret appreciate the plethora of meadows and wildflowers in easy walking distance.”
He nodded his agreement. “The surrounding land is very fine. I ride that way often – perhaps I shall call in one day if it would not inconvenience you all.”
“We would be very glad to receive you.”
“But I notice that you left yourself off the list of people who delighted in the countryside. How do you prefer to occupy your time?”
Many of my preferred occupations are no longer available, she did not say. She currently spent many hours each day managing the household and tutoring Margaret, but that was hardly a suitable answer.
Her hesitation was noted, and the colonel turned a little towards her. “It is perhaps hard to carry on as before,” he said kindly, “when one is uprooted from one’s home and routines.”
“Yes,” she said gratefully, seizing on this. “There are a great many things to arrange.”
“Perhaps as things settle you will find a little more time to enjoy Devonshire.”
“I do enjoy the countryside,” she said. “But I am not a great walker.”
“You prefer riding then?” She hesitated again, and after a moment he carried on as though he had never paused for her reply. “I am the same. There is a new perspective when one is ahorse.”
“I used to ride almost every day,” she said eventually. “With my father, mostly, but sometimes with Marianne or by myself.”
“You miss it.”
She did. Going out riding had been her main source of exercise – enlivening and calming all at once. She cleared her throat. “I believe I saw your horse as you rode up. He seemed very fine.”
“That was Pollux. I rode his grandsire when I was younger.”
She smiled. “My father was the same – the mare I learned to ride on was the great, great… - I lose track of the number of greats – granddaughter of the first horse he bought.”
“I hope that I will be able to say the same of my children one day.”
They paused as the course was cleared away, and then their attention was claimed by Sir John for a short while. At the next opportunity, the colonel turned to her again, and said, “I have learned that your father enjoyed horses – what else was he fond of?”
“Reading,” she said promptly, and found to her surprise that it was not painful for her to speak of her father. “We had the most wonderful library. Marianne liked to take books and read them in the sunshine, but I loved the library. Our father used to sit in a chair in the corner and mutter as he read. It is one of my strongest memories of him.”
“Oh yes,” said Marianne from across the table. “You painted him like that once, did you not?”
“Yes, a few years ago. I remember he would only agree to it if he was allowed to move to turn the pages.”
“You paint, Miss Dashwood?” Mrs Jennings joined in from her end of the table. Feeling a little awkward at the attention of the table swinging towards her, and to be talking across the people in between them, Elinor nodded. “Why, I should like to see your paintings sometime. Indeed, I positively long for it.”
As it seemed odd to invite the party to view the drawings affixed in their sitting room, this seemed unlikely to ever happen; she smiled again and turned to her other side to ask Sir John about his dogs.
----------------------------
Their acquaintance with both Sir John’s family and Colonel Brandon continued to improve. Far from losing interest in his new neighbours after a month or two, Sir John seemed to have made something of a pet project out of them. They continued to dine up at Barton Park frequently and, unless he had another engagement, the colonel always made a pleasant addition to their party.
Elinor thought the relationship between the two men an interesting one; Sir John had a great fondness for conversation about hunting and his neighbours but, although the colonel showed a pleasing respect for him, Elinor could not detect any similarity in their turn of mind. Perhaps it was as Sir John had suggested, and the colonel accepted invitations more often than he might have otherwise because he was lonely at Delaford.
They also continued to be exposed to a broadening acquaintance at the gatherings Sir John held, which Elinor was grateful for. Marianne’s words in the dark that first night had haunted her, especially since the news Elinor had then personally related had, with Edward’s true motivation concealed, seemed to entirely agree with the idea that they might have too small a dowry for anyone to want to marry them.
Elinor wanted so badly for her sister to make a good match – to be happy. She welcomed the introductions for Marianne, who shone brightly and danced and sang and had a coterie of admiring new friends at the parties.
She knew she should be concerned about her own future as well. It was… harder to think upon, for some reason. She had always been practical; she knew that she must marry to secure her own comfort - and now, indeed, all of their situations. But her plans for her future had been cut off like old lace with the death of their father. And then all over again, despite what she might have said to herself regarding her lack of expectations, with Edward’s words. She had only a small dowry; reasonable connections, to be sure, but she was neither so pretty nor so accomplished as Marianne and did not have the same lively nature. Marianne, Elinor could imagine effortlessly making someone fall in love with her. Herself…
Her imaginings currently fell short.
Perhaps she was so pessimistic, she mused as she sat to one side of the dancers at Sir John’s that evening, because she had not had a good night’s sleep in three weeks and was getting used to feeling as though she had a perpetual chill. It was all the more irritating as, since she was the one insisting that they not use more firewood, she was the only one who did not get to complain about it.
“You are not dancing?” came a voice from beside her.
She looked up to find Colonel Brandon had moved to stand near her and gave him a welcoming smile. “No,” she said. “For I have danced the last three and needed to sit down for a moment.”
He smiled as well, gentle creases appearing around his eyes. Her initial impression of him as a fine and well-mannered gentleman had been confirmed over the last weeks, and she was beginning to feel comfortably familiar with him.
“I am taking a break from the dancing myself,” he said, and made a slight gesture to the chair on the other side of her. She nodded and he swept his coat out behind him as he took a seat. “How have you been since our last meeting? Have you succumbed to the joys of the countryside after all?”
“I have gained a new appreciation for its hedges,” she said, a little drily. He tilted his head, inviting her to continue. She hesitated, for she had made the first remark unthinkingly, but the story was not one that she would normally relate to a slight acquaintance, especially someone of too high consequence to have chased after laundry blown away by the wind.
Sensing her discomfort, he smiled and turned his gaze back to the dancers. “Indeed,” he said, “I have always found the hedges of Devonshire most fine myself. Other counties cannot possibly compare.”
Her lips twitched. After only a few meetings she had observed the colonel had a dry wit, but it was so subtle that she felt most of their party never noticed it. “I must defer to your greater knowledge, Colonel,” she said after a moment. “I fear I have not made an impartial study, nor has it been broad enough.”
He shifted, glancing at her with the raise of an eyebrow. “Not impartial? You admit your bias then?”
She gave a slight smile but no reply, feeling that she did not know him well enough to be tempted into making herself look foolish.
They watched the dancing for a little longer, as partners came together and apart, and the musicians briefly lost their tempo when a small dog leapt yapping at the violinist’s ankles. Elinor’s eyes unconsciously tracked Marianne’s graceful progress, and, in doing so, she became aware that the colonel was doing the same. Curious, she monitored him from the corner of her eye and became surer of her conclusion: he was most definitely watching her sister.
This was something to ponder, as they sat quietly together. Certainly, she had noticed that he had directed occasional admiring looks towards her sister previously – most men did, upon making Marianne’s acquaintance. He had made no particular effort to speak with Marianne, however, nor to learn more about her, and indeed spoke much more frequently with Elinor. This latter behaviour had led to the further flourishing of certain expectations on the part of Mrs Jennings, who seemed to be one of those ladies with little else to do in their lives apart from attempting to match-make those around them. Elinor could see no more in his behaviour than an attempt to be congenial towards Sir John’s newly arrived, friendless neighbours, and had thus far given no particular credence to the idea that Colonel Brandon might be looking for a wife.
“Your sister is in high spirits,” he noted a minute later, and she found some relief that he had spoken of the object of both their attention.
“She enjoys the chance to improve new acquaintances,” Elinor said. It was partially true. Marianne had not originally been particularly complimentary towards any of the people they had met at Sir John’s parties, but Elinor thought that might be due to the lowness of her mood following their father’s death and their subsequent move here. If nothing else, these occasions provided the chance for distraction and amusement, and Marianne thrived on those. “And to dance at every opportunity.”
“She reminds me a little of someone,” the colonel hazarded, and Elinor glanced curiously at him. “A lady I used to know, and another…” He hesitated. Elinor held herself quiet and still, feeling this was somehow a painful subject. “I have a ward,” he resumed slowly. She nodded, saying nothing. This seemed to be the right course of action, as he elaborated: “A girl of about your sister’s age. A little more shy, perhaps, but with the same spirit.”
“Where is she, your ward?” Elinor asked after a few moments.
“In ____shire, with friends.”
“You must miss her?”
“She is a faithful correspondent.” He smiled. “Indeed, I am better educated on the subject of ribbons and small dogs than are most bachelors, I think.”
“And what do you write to her of in return?”
“Large dogs,” he said wryly. “And to tell her that she must look elsewhere for advice on the latest fashions.”
“I imagine you a doting guardian.”
“Easily persuadable, you mean?” he asked, then held up a hand to fend off her denial. “No, you are entirely correct. I find she has brought a great deal of unexpected joy into my life.”
Elinor looked back at the dancers, at her sister’s golden curls bouncing with every step. “Marianne brings a great deal of joy to mine also,” she said.
They sat quietly for a minute until the dance came to an end, and then he turned towards her. “Are you engaged for the next?” She shook her head with a smile. “Might I have the honour?” he asked, standing and giving a slight bow, hand extended for her to take.
It was perfectly gentleman-like of him, and she accepted with pleasure. They moved out to take a place amongst the other couples as a new piece of music began, and for that moment the room seemed suffused more with warmth and pleasant laughter than smoke and noise.
*
The colonel and Sir John called on them at the cottage one morning a few days later, accompanied by a weaving sea of dogs and the grand present of a partridge – ‘almost couldn’t find it in the bushes, a slippery one, that, but my pointer…‘ - and an invitation to walk back to the park with them. Mrs Dashwood exclaimed at this lovely idea, though demurring herself, and so Elinor, Marianne and Margaret donned pelisses, bonnets and muffs and set out into the late winter sunshine.
They made a disjointed party, with Sir John’s long strides frequently cut short as he thought of some new tidbit to tell them and Margaret just as frequently distracted by something interesting she saw at the edge of the road. On Margaret’s discovery of a burrow of some sort, Sir John’s interest was immediately engaged – ‘now what might live in here, I wonder?’ – and Marianne broke out into a fast walk, easily outstripping Elinor and the colonel as they slowly walked on.
“I saw something move!” came the excited shout from behind them, and then an exaggerated shushing from Sir John. Elinor smiled and saw the same expression on the colonel’s face.
“I’m so glad she has you and Sir John,” she said impulsively. “I was worried she would be lonely here.”
His glance was curious. “Has she found no friends her own age?”
“They are not usually interested enough in sword fighting or pirates. I rather fear she thinks most of polite society terribly dull.”
“Compared to pirates, certainly!”
“You have none, hereabouts?” she asked, a little teasingly. “And yet still you extoll the virtues of Devonshire? What then, do you like about it, Colonel?”
His face eased into an appreciative smile. “Indeed,” he said gravely, “I have many observations I would be most willing to share. Perhaps they might be of use.”
Elinor did not regret her impulse, for the following minutes were full of his observations about nature, the state of the roads, and his estate at Delaford, that were respectively thoughtful, dry and warm, and periodically interspersed with the odd comment about the hedges thereabouts.
“But I must surely be boring you by now,” he concluded, and brushed aside her protestation, “and will have quite the opposite effect than I intended, for you will decide you never wish you speak of Devonshire again.”
She laughed and assured him the truth was quite the opposite, and a moment later they came upon Marianne, who had stopped to wait for them.
“Are they lost, do you think?” Marianne asked, looking back down the path. It was winding enough that they could no longer see the spot they had left their companions, but Elinor rather thought the two of them were probably still exactly where the others had left them. “I wonder if Margaret has tried to climb into the hole yet?” Marianne said, echoing her thoughts. “Perhaps I ought to go and look.”
She set off again before Elinor could agree that they should all go back, and Elinor watched her retreating golden curls with a rueful look.
“Shall we?” The colonel offered her his arm. She accepted it with pleasure, and they headed back towards the cottage.
Her mind drifted as they walked, thinking of the menus she needed to agree with Betsy for the coming week, how cold this spring would be, her father, her sister, the party they were to attend on the morrow, the fact that they would be wearing the same gowns again.
Although she was not as fond of the pastime as Marianne, Elinor did enjoy dancing – as long as she had a skilled partner, at least. The first time she had been asked once she was out of mourning, at the first gathering Sir John had invited them to, she had felt quite unequal to the idea and almost demurred, but since then her spirits had risen enough to feel the benefit of exercise and amusement again. Marianne, though initially loudly expressing her similar distress at any idea of gaiety, had done the same and made an even brighter recovery. Elinor saw a lightness of her expression whenever she danced that had been a rare sight in the year since their father had died.
“May I inquire as to your thoughts?”
She glanced at the colonel and realized she had been silent for some minutes.
“Oh, nothing interesting, I assure you.” He nodded acceptance of her answer, and, after a few moments, she added, “I was only thinking that it is good to see Marianne’s spirits recovering.”
They both looked ahead to Marianne’s slight figure in the distance. “Indeed. It is a very hard thing, the loss of a loved one. I have seen how deeply you have all been affected by your father’s passing.”
Elinor thought back to the dark cloud that had hung over their final year at Norland, to the weeping and grief-stricken silences. The icy civility that had characterized the majority of their interactions with their brother John’s family, and the feeling that they had lost their mooring in the world and were lost and adrift. And Ed-
“My father was a good man,” she said quietly. “The world is poorer without him in it.”
He nodded. “I am sure your father, too, would be happy to see your sister doing well.” Elinor started to agree but he continued, “And yourself, of course.” Seeming to detect her confusion, he slowed his pace. “You do not notice your own recovery?” he murmured.
She hesitated. It seemed a strangely intimate subject, although he had been perfectly friendly in his observation. “It is perhaps easier to see such things in others,” she eventually said, and he inclined his head and cordially changed the subject.
The lair was empty, they were told when they re-joined the others; Margaret’s disappointment tempered only by the promise that Sir John would show her a fine badger’s set in the woods.
*
Although Elinor was not entirely sure how it had come about, it was settled that she would paint Lady Middleton.
“My little dove does so love to be painted,” confided Sir John to her, as Elinor faintly protested the idea. “And anything to keep the ladies happy, eh?”
Given that her own observations suggested he was far from the most doting husband, and that Lady Middleton’s meagre interests did not seem to extend beyond her children, dress or table, Elinor could only imagine the idea had sprung forth from the bosom of Mrs Jennings, who was even now beaming proudly at her from across the room.
“But, Sir John,” Elinor tried again, “I do not have-“
“Oh, none of that, none of that; I’ll have supplies sent for. It’ll be a great thing, to have an artist around the place. It shall be a joy to watch you work, my dear.”
“Oh, Elinor, it’s such a lovely thought.” Her mother smiled at her. Elinor could read in her face her pride in her daughter being asked, and her readiness to render any service to Sir John, given his great kindness to them.
“Of course,” Elinor said, graceful in defeat. “I would be delighted.”
Sir John did indeed have everything sent for, and, in concern at not getting quite the right materials, he instructed his man to get far more than was needed. Elinor and Marianne exclaimed over everything with great delight when it arrived, already planning future projects, since it would all be theirs to keep. Elinor detected a twinkle in Sir John’s eye that persuaded her he enjoyed surprising and spoiling them, so she did not attempt to protest his generosity again.
Lady Middleton proved to be a problematic subject. She could not decide how she wished to be painted, providing no suggestions of her own but finding fault with every one of Elinor’s. She did not wish to be painted in the garden, for it was too cold, but the light inside was far too insipid. She would like to be painted with her favourite pug, but then no, he might be distressed by having to stay still for so long, and the children too would fidget.
Once they at long last began, with Lady Middleton inside but seated next to the window, the lady proved so restless that Elinor rather thought the children would have been an easier proposition. They, at least, might have been bribed with sweets.
Still, once the initial frustration had faded, Elinor settled into her work, pleased with the superior materials and enjoying the challenge. Lady Middleton’s dubious comments concerning Elinor’s progress could be easily deflected, and, once the sketch was finished and the painting began, she, too, seemed to enter into the spirit of the undertaking, and was more content to sit peacefully and arch her neck just so.
It had been settled that Elinor would call several afternoons to work on the portrait, and during each sitting they attracted various observers. Sir John and Mrs Jennings were well meaning disturbances, but Elinor found the accompaniment of young giggles from the doorway quite charming – here, when driven by simple curiosity rather than pursuit of attention or treats, they were a great deal better behaved than Elinor had seen them in the past. Occasionally, one of the children would grow daring enough to tiptoe up behind her and whisper commentary back to his siblings. Usually, they were not there for too long, however, before their nursemaid came to round them up.
On the third sitting, Colonel Brandon arrived just as the children were ushered from the room.
“I see you have admirers of your work, Miss Dashwood,” he said with a smile, watching their sullen retreat. “And I am not surprised,” he added as he came nearer and looked upon the painting.
“It is not finished,” she felt moved to say, although that was self-evident. Still, it was coming along well, and she was quietly pleased with both the form of Lady Middleton and the colours she had applied.
“I shall merely admire an excellent start, then. How do you do, Lady Middleton?”
Lady Middleton made a slight wave with the small bouquet of flowers she was holding, and continued her gaze into the distance. Elinor wondered what the lady thought about during their sessions, since she did not seem a woman given to reflection or introspection.
“You have quite captured her expression,” the colonel said, looking once again at the canvas. Elinor thought this not entirely truthful, since she had attempted to soften the haughty distraction of Lady Middleton’s face by some degrees.
“I often wonder,” she replied quietly, with this thought in mind, “when looking at portraits made some hundred years ago, how closely they resemble their subjects. One might look upon one’s ancestor and search for some similarity of feature, but of course there is no guarantee that it was a faithful portrait at all.”
He gave a small smile. “Surely any particularly poor replica would not be kept?”
“Unless the changes were at the will of the person sitting for it.”
“That would present a problem. What is your suggested solution?”
“Oh, I have none,” she said with a wry smile. “It is far easier, I find, to observe problems than to remedy them.”
He stayed with them a few minutes more, and then left to continue his business with Sir John.
“If he is here this evening, that will make an even table for dinner,” Lady Middleton said upon his exit, sounding a great deal more animated regarding this than in any of her actual conversation with him. Elinor suppressed a smile, and started to put away her things for the day.
*
When Elinor heard a friendly “Miss Dashwood” and the sound of steps on the stone path, she hastily abandoned what she had been doing, smoothed the front of her pinafore, and turned to greet Colonel Brandon.
He came to a halt a few meters away and bowed. “How do you do today, Miss Dashwood? I thought I would stop by on my way back to the Park.”
The colonel frequently went shooting with Sir John of a morning, and it had gradually become his habit to separate from the group afterwards and stop in at their cottage twice a week to see if they needed anything. Elinor usually looked forward to these visits, but she had not expected one today - Sir John having said yesterday evening he did not think he would shoot today - and felt more than slightly embarrassed to be caught dishevelled and unawares.
“But I have interrupted you,” he said, after she was silent a moment too long. “Pray tell, what were you doing? May I be of use?”
“No, no, it was nothing important – thank you, Colonel. Will you not come inside?”
But she was too late, for he had stepped up beside her and looked over the open gate she stood by.
“Ah,” he said with great sagacity.
She sighed and turned to gaze over the fallow field alongside him, watching three of their scraggly white and brown chickens make an unhurried break for freedom.
“Margaret forgot to close them in,” she said presently, after Beatrice, their best layer, had advanced another meter. Hero had got turned around and started making her way back to the cottage, and Ursula had crouched in some long grass so that only the fluff of her head could be seen.
“Perhaps I should fetch a servant,” he suggested, lips twitching in a smile.
She hesitated, uncomfortable with reminding him of their circumstances. “John and Betsy are at the market,” she said, and bravely moved through the gate. Three chickens would be a loss for them, and Margaret, who ought to be the one chasing them down, was nowhere to be found. “So, I am afraid I shall have to make do.”
He looked again at the chickens, and she knew she needed to start after them now but could not help pausing anxiously for his response. If she expected censure, she did not receive it, and was instead astonished when he began to remove his coat and then draped it over the gate.
“Colonel-“ she started, but he was already striding past her into the field. After they had covered half the distance, he half-crouched, gesturing for her to do the same, and, although she could not move as quietly as he, the chickens did not seem too disturbed by their approach. She managed to scoop up Hero with little trouble, the hen almost nestling into her arms, and then saw Beatrice explode into a sprint. The colonel let out a low cry and broke out into a run after her, and Elinor could not help laughing at the sight of it. He pursued his quarry with great determination, catching her despite her evasions, and Elinor still had a smile on her face as he made his way back.
“I believe this is yours,” he said, holding the bird close to him so that it could not get away. Elinor rather feared the effect it might be having on his clothing. “But where is the last?”
“Oh, Ursula!” But though they searched thoroughly, Ursula had been quite successful in her escape, and even the colonel’s kind words could not salve the sting of losing a hen. At least they had saved two, Elinor thought, and, chickens firmly back where they belonged, she saw the colonel off.
*
The next morning, he knocked, bearing a fat, beautiful red hen with a white ribbon around its neck, and she felt almost bad for the scolding she had given Margaret the day before.
*