Sense and Sensibility (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (54 page)

“But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?”

“Yes, ma’am. She smiled, and said how she had changed her name since she was in these parts. She was always a very affable and free-spoken young lady, and very civil behaved. So, I made free to wish her joy.”

“Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?”

“Yes, ma’am, I just see him leaning back in it, but he did not look up; — he never was a gentleman much for talking.”

Elinor’s heart could easily account for his not putting himself forward; and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation.

“Was there no one else in the carriage?”

“No, ma’am, only they two.”

“Do you know where they came from?”

“They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy — Mrs. Ferrars told me.”

“And are they going farther westward?”

“Yes, ma’am — but not to bide long. They will soon be back again, and then they’d be sure and call here.”

Mrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor knew better than to expect them. She recognised the whole of Lucy in the message, and was very confident that Edward would never come near them. She observed in a low voice, to her mother, that they were probably going down to Mr. Pratt’s, near Plymouth.

Thomas’s intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if she wished to hear more.

“Did you see them off, before you came away?”

“No, ma’am — the horses were just coming out, but I could not bide any longer; I was afraid of being late.”

“Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?”

“Yes, ma’am, she said how she was very well; and to my mind she was always a very handsome young lady — and she seemed vastly contented.”

Mrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the tablecloth, now alike needless, were soon afterwards dismissed. Marianne had already sent to say, that she should eat nothing more. Mrs. Dashwood’s and Elinor’s appetites were equally lost, and Margaret might think herself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as both her sisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had often had to be careless of their meals, she had never been obliged to go without her dinner before.

When the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a similarity of thoughtfulness and silence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to hazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation. She now found that she had erred in relying on Elinor’s representation of herself; and justly concluded that every thing had been expressly softened at the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness, suffering as she then had suffered for Marianne. She found that she had been misled by the careful, the considerate attention of her daughter, to think the attachment, which once she had so well understood, much slighter in reality, than she had been wont to believe, or than it was now proved to be. She feared that under this persuasion she had been unjust, inattentive, nay, almost unkind, to her Elinor; that Marianne’s affliction, because more acknowledged, more immediately before her, had too much engrossed her tenderness, and led her away to forget that in Elinor she might have a daughter suffering almost as much, certainly with less self-provocation, and greater fortitude.

Elinor now found the difference between the expectation of an unpleasant event, however certain the mind may be told to consider it, and certainty itself. She now found, that in spite of herself, she had always admitted a hope, while Edward remained single, that something would occur to prevent his marrying Lucy; that some resolution of his own, some mediation of friends, or some more eligible opportunity of establishment for the lady, would arise to assist the happiness of all. But he was now married; and she condemned her heart for the lurking flattery, which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence.

That he should be married soon, before (as she imagined) he could be in orders, and consequently before he could be in possession of the living, surprised her a little at first. But she soon saw how likely it was that Lucy, in her self-provident care, in her haste to secure him, should overlook every thing but the risk of delay. They were married, married in town, and now hastening down to her uncle’s. What had Edward felt on being within four miles from Barton, on seeing her mother’s servant, on hearing Lucy’s message!

They would soon, she supposed, be settled at Delaford; — Delaford, — that place in which so much conspired to give her an interest; which she wished to be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid. She saw them in an instant in their parsonage-house; saw in Lucy, the active, contriving manager, uniting at once a desire of smart appearance with the utmost frugality, and ashamed to be suspected of half her economical practices; pursuing her own interest in every thought, courting the favour of Colonel Brandon, of Mrs. Jennings, and of every wealthy friend. In Edward, she knew not what she saw, nor what she wished to see. Happy or unhappy, nothing pleased her; she turned away her head from every sketch of him.

Elinor flattered herself that some one of their connections in London would write to them to announce the event, and give farther particulars, — but day after day passed off, and brought no letter, no tidings. Though uncertain that any one were to blame, she found fault with every absent friend. They were all thoughtless or indolent.

“When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma’am?” was an inquiry which sprung from the impatience of her mind to have something going on.

“I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to see, than to hear from him again. I earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should not be surprised to see him walk in to-day or to-morrow, or any day.”

This was gaining something, something to look forward to. Colonel Brandon must have some information to give.

Scarcely had she so determined it, when the figure of a man on horseback drew her eyes to the window. He stopped at their gate. It was a gentleman, it was Colonel Brandon himself. Now she could hear more; and she trembled in expectation of it. But — it was
not
Colonel Brandon — neither his air — nor his height. Were it possible, she must say it must be Edward. She looked again. He had just dismounted; — she could not be mistaken, — it
was
Edward. She moved away and sat down. “He comes from Mr. Pratt’s purposely to see us. I
will
be calm, I
will
be mistress of myself.”

In a moment she perceived that the others were likewise aware of the mistake. She saw her mother and Marianne change colour; saw them look at herself, and whisper a few sentences to each other. She would have given the world to be able to speak — and to make them understand that she hoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behaviour to him; — but she had no utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their own discretion.

Not a syllable passed aloud. They all waited in silence for the appearance of their visitor. His footsteps were heard along the gravel path; in a moment he was in the passage, and in another he was before them.

His countenance, as he entered the room, was not too happy, even for Elinor. His complexion was white with agitation, and he looked as if fearful of his reception, and conscious that he merited no kind one. Mrs. Dashwood, however, conforming, as she trusted, to the wishes of that daughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her heart to be guided in every thing, met with a look of forced complacency, gave him her hand, and wished him joy.

He coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply. Elinor’s lips had moved with her mother’s, and, when the moment of action was over, she wished that she had shaken hands with him too. But it was then too late, and with a countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and talked of the weather.

Marianne had retreated as much as possible out of sight, to conceal her distress; and Margaret, understanding some part, but not the whole of the case, thought it incumbent on her to be dignified, and therefore took a seat as far from him as she could, and maintained a strict silence.

When Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very awful pause took place. It was put an end to by Mrs. Dashwood, who felt obliged to hope that he had left Mrs. Ferrars very well. In a hurried manner, he replied in the affirmative.

Another pause.

Elinor resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own voice, now said —

“Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?”

“At Longstaple!” he replied, with an air of surprise. “No, my mother is in town.”

“I meant,” said Elinor, taking up some work from the table, “to inquire for Mrs.
Edward
Ferrars.”

She dared not look up; — but her mother and Marianne both turned their eyes on him. He coloured, seemed perplexed, looked doubtingly, and, after some hesitation, said, —

“Perhaps you mean — my brother — you mean Mrs. — Mrs.
Robert
Ferrars.”

“Mrs. Robert Ferrars!” — was repeated by Marianne and her mother in an accent of the utmost amazement; — and though Elinor could not speak, even
her
eyes were fixed on him with the same impatient wonder. He rose from his seat, and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing what to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to pieces as he spoke, said, in a hurried voice —

“Perhaps you do not know — you may not have heard that my brother is lately married to — to the youngest — to Miss Lucy Steele.”

His words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment by all but Elinor, who sat with her head leaning over her work, in a state of such agitation as made her hardly know where she was.

“Yes,” said he, “they were married last week, and are now at Dawlish.”

Elinor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease. Edward, who had till then looked any where, rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps saw, or even heard, her emotion; for immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie, which no remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs. Dashwood could penetrate, and at last, without saying a word, quitted the room, and walked out towards the village, leaving the others in the greatest astonishment and perplexity on a change in his situation, so wonderful and so sudden, — a perplexity which they had no means of lessening but by their own conjectures.

Unaccountable, however, as the circumstances of his release might appear to the whole family, it was certain that Edward was free; and to what purpose that freedom would be employed was easily pre-determined by all; — for after experiencing the blessings of
one
imprudent engagement, contracted without his mother’s consent, as he had already done for more than four years, nothing less could be expected of him in the failure of
that
, than the immediate contraction of another.

His errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one. It was only to ask Elinor to marry him; — and considering that he was not altogether inexperienced in such a question, and just how much they’d shared together, it might be strange that he should feel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in need of encouragement and fresh air.

How soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however, how soon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he expressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly told. This only need be said: when Edward knelt down on his knee before Elinor, the joy and relief and love that flowed between them was so bounteous that he could barely get the words out before she leapt on top of him.

Their lips joined simultaneously, and they eagerly fed from one another, as if finally being presented with food after an endless fast. Elinor could scarcely believe she was in Edward’s arms once more, and she savoured every second of this moment, appreciating it for the true miracle it was.

Marianne had hustled Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret from the room at Edward’s appearance, aware that his plan was to propose to her sister, and knowing full well what would take place between the couple once the engagement was official; it was, after all, exactly how she would wish to commemorate such an event, and she felt obliged to provide Elinor and Edward with the utmost privacy.

Elinor knew her sister’s agenda in escorting the family out of the room, and therefore felt confident that, though in a somewhat public drawing room, she and Edward would not be disturbed.

She broke away from his lips, and worked her way down his body, kissing him everywhere as she removed his clothing piece by piece. When she reached his trousers, she unbuttoned him and watched with delight as his rock hard manhood sprang forth from its confinement. Elinor licked her lips and took him in her mouth, reveling in his moans of pleasure as she pumped him up and down with her lips and hand.

“Oh, Elinor,” Edward groaned, rocking his hips along with her movements. “You are the only woman for me. You must know how … how sorry I am for — ”

“Shhhh,” she whispered. “I know.”

Edward reached under her skirts and found Elinor was wet and ready for him. He almost burst in her mouth right then, but he managed to control himself just in time — now that Elinor was finally his, he wanted this moment to last as long as possible. He slid a finger inside her and teased her from the inside as she continued to suck his hardness. Then, using the moisture she produced, he slipped his thumb across her swollen bud, sliding back and forth rhythmically, and he felt her centre tighten around his hand. She began to produce enticing moans of her own, and he sped up his tempo. Elinor could not hold off any longer — she spasmed and trembled into a million pieces, her mouth sucking harder on him as she reached her completion.

Edward waited until her tremors faded away, and then took action. He flipped Elinor onto her back, raised her skirts, pulled her bodice down to reveal her glowing, radiant breasts, and entered her. They both moaned with relief at the exact same time, and their eyes locked, passion firing between them, as their hips rocked together frantically.