Sense and Sensibility (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (38 page)

Lucy, who was hardly less anxious to please one parent than the other, thought the boys were both remarkably tall for their age, and could not conceive that there could be the smallest difference in the world between them; and Miss Steele, with yet greater address gave it, as fast as she could, in favour of each.

Elinor, having once delivered her opinion on William’s side, by which she offended Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny still more, did not see the necessity of enforcing it by any farther assertion; and Marianne, when called on for her’s, offended them all, by declaring that she had no opinion to give, as she had never thought about it.

Before her removing from Norland, Elinor had painted a very pretty pair of screens for her sister-in-law, which being now just mounted and brought home, ornamented her present drawing room; and these screens, catching the eye of John Dashwood on his following the other gentlemen into the room, were officiously handed by him to Colonel Brandon for his admiration.

“These are done by my eldest sister,” said he; “and you, as a man of taste, will, I dare say, be pleased with them. I do not know whether you have ever happened to see any of her performances before, but she is in general reckoned to draw extremely well.”

The Colonel, though disclaiming all pretensions to connoisseurship, warmly admired the screens, as he would have done any thing painted by Miss Dashwood; and on the curiosity of the others being of course excited, they were handed round for general inspection. Mrs. Ferrars, not aware of their being Elinor’s work, particularly requested to look at them; and after they had received gratifying testimony of Lady Middleton’s approbation, Fanny presented them to her mother, considerately informing her, at the same time, that they were done by Miss Dashwood.

“Hum” — said Mrs. Ferrars — “very pretty,” — and without regarding them at all, returned them to her daughter.

Perhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother had been quite rude enough, — for, colouring a little, she immediately said —

“They are very pretty, ma’am — an’t they?” But then again, the dread of having been too civil, too encouraging herself, probably came over her, for she presently added, “Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton’s style of painting, Ma’am? — She
does
paint most delightfully! — How beautifully her last landscape is done!”

“Beautifully indeed! But
she
does every thing well.”

Marianne could not bear this. She was already greatly displeased with Mrs. Ferrars; and such ill-timed praise of another, at Elinor’s expense, though she had not any notion of what was principally meant by it, provoked her immediately to say with warmth —

“This is admiration of a very particular kind! what is Miss Morton to us? who knows, or who cares, for her? — it is Elinor of whom
we
think and speak.”

And so saying, she took the screens out of her sister-in-law’s hands, to admire them herself as they ought to be admired.

Mrs. Ferrars looked exceedingly angry, and drawing herself up more stiffly than ever, pronounced in retort this bitter philippic, “Miss Morton is Lord Morton’s daughter.”

Fanny looked very angry too, and her husband was all in a fright at his sister’s audacity. Elinor was much more hurt by Marianne’s warmth than she had been by what produced it; but Colonel Brandon’s eyes, as they were fixed on Marianne, declared that he noticed only what was amiable in it, the affectionate heart which could not bear to see a sister slighted in the smallest point.

Marianne’s feelings did not stop here. The cold insolence of Mrs. Ferrars’s general behaviour to her sister, seemed, to her, to foretell such difficulties and distresses to Elinor, as her own wounded heart taught her to think of with horror; and urged by a strong impulse of affectionate sensibility, she moved after a moment, to her sister’s chair, and putting one arm round her neck, and one cheek close to hers, said in a low, but eager, voice —

“Dear, dear Elinor, don’t mind them. Don’t let them make
you
unhappy.”

She could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, and hiding her face on Elinor’s shoulder, she burst into tears. Every body’s attention was called, and almost every body was concerned. Colonel Brandon rose up and went to them without knowing what he did. Mrs. Jennings, with a very intelligent “Ah! poor dear,” immediately gave her her salts; and Sir John felt so desperately enraged against the author of this nervous distress, that he instantly changed his seat to one close by Lucy Steele, and gave her, in a whisper, a brief account of the whole shocking affair.

In a few minutes, however, Marianne was recovered enough to put an end to the bustle, and sit down among the rest; though her spirits retained the impression of what had passed, the whole evening.

“Poor Marianne!” said her brother to Colonel Brandon, in a low voice, as soon as he could secure his attention: “She has not such good health as her sister, — she is very nervous, — she has not Elinor’s constitution; — and one must allow that there is something very trying to a young woman who
has been
a beauty in the loss of her personal attractions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne
was
remarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor. Now you see it is all gone.”

Elinor’s curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars was satisfied. She had found in her every thing that could tend to make a farther connection between the families undesirable. She had seen enough of her pride, her meanness, and her determined prejudice against herself, to comprehend all the difficulties that must have perplexed the engagement, and retarded the marriage, of Edward and herself, had he been otherwise free; — and she had seen almost enough to be thankful for her
own
sake, that one greater obstacle preserved her from suffering under any other of Mrs. Ferrars’s creation, preserved her from all dependence upon her caprice, or any solicitude for her good opinion. Or at least, if she did not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward’s being fettered to Lucy, she determined, that had Lucy been more amiable, she
ought
to have rejoiced.

She wondered that Lucy’s spirits could be so very much elevated by the civility of Mrs. Ferrars; — that her interest and her vanity should so very much blind her as to make the attention which seemed only paid her because she was
not Elinor
appear a compliment to herself — or to allow her to derive encouragement from a preference only given her, because her real situation was unknown. But that it was so, had not only been declared by Lucy’s eyes at the time, but was declared over again the next morning more openly, for at her particular desire, Lady Middleton set her down in Berkeley Street on the chance of seeing Elinor alone, to tell her how happy she was.

The chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon after she arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away.

“My dear friend,” cried Lucy, as soon as they were by themselves, “I come to talk to you of my happiness. Could anything be so flattering as Mrs. Ferrars’s way of treating me yesterday? So exceeding affable as she was! You know how I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her; but the very moment I was introduced, there was such an affability in her behaviour as really should seem to say, she had quite took a fancy to me. Now was not it so? You saw it all; and was not you quite struck with it?”

“She was certainly very civil to you.”

“Civil! — Did you see nothing but only civility? — I saw a vast deal more. Such kindness as fell to the share of nobody but me! — No pride, no hauteur, and your sister just the same — all sweetness and affability!”

Elinor wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still pressed her to own that she had reason for her happiness; and Elinor was obliged to go on.

“Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement,” said she, “nothing could be more flattering than their treatment of you; — but as that was not the case — ”

“I guessed you would say so,” replied Lucy quickly — “but there was no reason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like me, if she did not, and her liking me is every thing. You shan’t talk me out of my satisfaction. I am sure it will all end well, and there will be no difficulties at all, to what I used to think. Mrs. Ferrars is a charming woman, and so is your sister. They are both delightful women, indeed! — I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable Mrs. Dashwood was!”

To this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any.

“Are you ill, Miss Dashwood? — you seem low — you don’t speak; — sure you an’t well.”

“I never was in better health.”

“I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it. I should be sorry to have
you
ill; you, that have been the greatest comfort to me in the world! — Heaven knows what I should have done without your friendship.” —

Elinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success. But it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied —

“Indeed I am perfectly convinced of your regard for me, and next to Edward’s love, it is the greatest comfort I have. Poor Edward! — But now there is one good thing, we shall be able to meet, and meet pretty often, for Lady Middleton’s delighted with Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall be a good deal in Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward spends half his time with his sister — besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars will visit now; — and Mrs. Ferrars and your sister were both so good to say more than once, they should always be glad to see me. They are such charming women! — I am sure if ever you tell your sister what I think of her, you cannot speak too high.”

But Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she
should
tell her sister. Lucy continued.

“I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took a dislike to me. If she had only made me a formal courtesy, for instance, without saying a word, and never after had took any notice of me, and never looked at me in a pleasant way — you know what I mean — if I had been treated in that forbidding sort of way, I should have gave it all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where she
does
dislike, I know it is most violent.”

Elinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by the door’s being thrown open, the servant’s announcing Mr. Ferrars, and Edward’s immediately walking in.

Elinor’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him, and it was as if every feeling she’d ever beheld for the man — attraction, desire, confusion, anger, love — rushed back into her body at once, overwhelming her ability to speak or think properly. Edward appeared to be feeling the same, for he simply stared at Elinor, his mouth opened slightly as if he had been about to say something but lost his train of thought half way through and had forgotten to close it again.

Edward did not know what to do with himself. He’d come here with the purpose of seeing Elinor once more, of enveloping her in his arms and feeling her pressed against him like he did every night in his dreams. He’d had it all planned out. He would invent whatever excuse was necessary to get Elinor alone, should she not be alone already at the time of his arrival, and he would let his actions say what he could not, after all this time apart. He would
show
her how her loved her.

He would take her mouth with his, hard at first, then gradually becoming slower and softer, tracing the edge of her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, and then gently taking that lip, swollen from his kiss, between his teeth, tugging playfully. Then he would slip his tongue into her mouth once more, and kiss her like she deserved to be kissed, with all the love and admiration in the whole world. Then, eventually, he would break away from her delicious mouth, kissing down her jawline and neck, tasting every inch of her soft flesh down to her breasts, where he would rip off her bodice and take her perfect, erect nipples into his mouth. He would suck and tease and nip and lick until she cried out with pleasure and begged him for more. But he wouldn’t indulge her just yet. Instead, he would slowly, achingly slowly for both of them, undress her, casting aside the torn dress, and sweep her beautiful body off the floor. She would wrap her legs around his waist, grinding against his rock hard arousal tauntingly as he thrust his tongue into her mouth once more. He would kiss her and kiss her, letting her know that she was his and he was hers, that it didn’t matter if they never made love again — if he could kiss her like this for the rest of eternity, it would be more than he ever deserved.

But she would soon show him that it didn’t have to be that way — that he could kiss her and do whatever else he wanted with her, because when they were together, there was no outside world, no mothers, no secret engagements, no careers or fortunes to worry about. When they were together, everything was perfect.

Edward would lay Elinor down on the sofa and undress himself, enjoying that delighted glint Elinor always got in her eye when she laid eyes on his manhood. But she wouldn’t get it — not yet. First he would lick and kiss her from the tips of her toes, up her ankles and smooth, firm calves, up her inner thighs, where she would quiver with want and need, and then bury himself between her legs, tasting everything she had to offer him. She would spread her legs wide for him, letting him see and feel and taste all of her, and pull her head more closely to her center and she erupted with spasms of passion. He would feel that glow deep within him that he always felt when he brought her to completion — the satisfaction that he was the only man who had ever brought Elinor to this point of sheer ecstasy, and the wish that he would forever be the only man to be given that honour.

She would look up at him with low-lidded eyes and whisper just one word: “Please.”

And he would deny her no longer. They would both cry out as he entered her, and they would rock together in time as they reached their release in one perfect, simultaneous moment. And then, after a few moments passed, they would do it again, and again after that, for Edward knew they would never tire of each other.