#colonel brandon x female oc

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 1: December Moon [A1]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

A/N:  IT'S THE FIRST OF DECEMBER! IT'S RICKMAS TIME!

I hope you're ready for a month of Alan Rickman fics - I certainly am even if most of them have yet to be done 😂 I have, however, managed to write the first draft of a few here in the beginning, and I'm super excited to kick this off in what is now the traditional way - with Colonel Brandon of course! 😍👏

Happy December, Happy First Advent, Happy Sunday AND HAPPY READING!

Tags/TW’s: First Meeting, Love At First Sight, (Light) Mutual Secret Pining, Miscommunication (Body Language), Fluff & Angst

Word Count: 4.1k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

December Moon

There was little to do but wait. Mrs Marble fussed with my dress, Miss Abel forced my hair into an elaborate updo with entwined pearls and loose locks around my neck, and I stood there like a mannequin. Never had I thought December would be ruined for me. But, here we are, and I’m for once not a ball of sunshine close to Christmas.

“There we go, Miss. All settled,” Mrs Marble said with a twinkle in her little eyes surrounded by wrinkles. “You shall be the centre of attention, such a beauty you are, Miss.” My nose wrinkled at her words. In anyone's eyes, that was all there was to me. Beauty. Golden locks, hourglass figure, pale skin dusted with a blush to highlight my cheekbones, and clear blue eyes not unlike the sky during a cloudless summer day. My appearance to any and all was that of a stunning woman in her prime at twenty-one springs of age — soon twenty-two.

“Time to go, Miss.” “Give me a minute alone.” They nodded and departed while I stepped up to the silver-framed wall mirror displaying the entirety of me. Dreary… The only thought echoing in my head was a sad affair to have when looking upon oneself. My eyes were not bright today, my smile not flawless, my shoulders slightly slumped and the weight atop them only grew heavier by the minute.

Outside, the snow fell slowly, just enough to dust the ground in white but no winter wonderland appeared beyond the large windows lining one side of my bedroom. In the middle sat a matching door leading out to the stone balcony, which was privy to a beautiful view of our large gardens with fountains and a large span of open grassland beyond the intricate layout of the land created by a landscape artist.

I stepped out into the cold, my skin instantly pebbling in the light breeze despite my dress covering nearly every sliver of skin from my collarbones and down. The sound of carriages, people chattering, and hooves stomping against gravel travelled through the air and a sensation most dreadful crept through my veins. This Christmas would be unlike any other. No use dawdling any longer…

I sighed, and as I began to turn, a black dot appeared on the horizon where the grassland slope began tilting toward our estate. I watched for a moment as the dot became an outline of a rider in full gallop, and wished — for just a moment — that I could climb my mare and gallop across the grasslands for a while to rid myself of the weight resting on me. No amount of riding will ever be able to take away the demand to marry before the year is out. How cruel a demand… There is none I hold even the smallest amount of affection for, how can father demand such a thing of me?

⁛•⁛

The hall gleamed. The polished marble floors, the spotless mirrors and golden candelabras reflected the glow of thousands of candles and the odd lantern here and there. The entire ballroom I entered, at a slow pace so as not to ruffle my perfectly fitted dress too much, was a haven for all things white and gold. The two colours I abhorred, along with pink in every hue. Still, it was a wonder to behold. A fairytale-like sensation lingered in the warm air while jolly, upbeat music filled the whole space where the rich and mighty of society had gathered. None were the wiser, none knew the true reason for my father’s sudden invitation to a “December Ball” — it had little to do with the season, and everything to do with my unwed state.

When Mother passed during the early summer, he became obsessed with marrying me off. Always under the guise of me being protected… Lies. For one, I was in no need of protection, nor were I in need of any rich man to keep my house should anything happen to my father — I was the last and only living relative of our family so all would become mine once he was old and worn out of life. I was perfectly protected in that sense.

“Miss Haymnick,” said a man in his mid-twenties, his brown hair neatly trimmed and his green coat perfectly tailored to his lean body. “Good evening,” I said with a short nod and curtsey. “May I request a dance with the lovely lady?” How bold of you. “No, sir. I am not sure I shall dance this evening,” I said with a soft smile to ease the blow. He merely nodded and stepped away with a slight rush and pinkish ears.

I moved further into the room, watching the well-dressed people filling it. My eyes landed on my father, dressed splendidly as usual and with a glass of brandy in his glove-clad hand. He was a handsome man, my father, but he was handsome in the traditional way — the boring way that seemed to be all the rage with the three young ladies standing a tad too close to him (I was no fool, he was a sought after man, my father, but he would not remarry — my mother had been his all and I was all that was left of her so protecting my future heritage was a priority of his in turn).

My eyes kept skimming the faces and clothes of those all around me. They were mostly known to me, one way or another, but none had ever caught my interest and did not manage to do so now either.

There were such shallow values, such lack of depth in those within the confinements of the ballroom I nearly felt my own soul dim under the weight of finances, politics, and outer beauty not deep enough to allow any true value to shine. Do not judge so harshly. You don’t know every person in this room. My mind whined at me, and I had to yield under its words — yet still, I felt as if I had met every person now present. Of course, my father had only invited the grandest of the grand, the richest of the rich, the most important in society to this celebration — which purpose had not been revealed to those attending. Such fraud…

I turned and Lady Hilliard stepped up with her son in tow. Oh, fantastic. I steeled myself as she beamed at me and forced her son, Mr Timothy Hilliard, to stand a step closer to me than her. “Miss Haymnick, what a marvellous celebration your family has put together, such lovely decorations and such high spirits.” I curtseyed slightly. “Lady Hilliard, Mr Hilliard.” I looked between the two and they both greeted me with a curtsey and a bow. “How fine of you to attend our celebration of December’s arrival,” I said, smiling to the best of my capabilities.

Mr Hilliard’s eyes roamed all over my being, the way he studied my neck had me swallowing a lump. He wasn’t a nice man, or one I found particularly attractive even if he in general was quite the catch in most young women’s eyes. “We are so sorry about Lady Haymnick, Miss Haymnick. My son—” she nudged him forward “—wishes to offer his condol— Oh, my word, is that—” she interrupted herself as the pair’s eyes moved past me and toward the opened double doors of the ballroom.

I slowly turned, as many had begun looking the that direction as well. “Oh, my word, it is!” Lady Hilliard squeaked quietly, a nearly hissed whisper of shock. I could not fathom her reaction to the man, my own being completely different. I had no idea who the tall man with broad shoulders dressed in red, gold, and black was. That did not stop my heart from skipping a beat at his unorthodox beauty, though.

I fully turned without realising, watching the man stride into the room with a regal air about him none I had ever met before could ever match. He was stunning, straight-backed but not high-and-mighty looking. He appeared strong and unfazed yet the way he moved spoke of a soft elegance. What truly made my breath catch in my throat was his eyes, though. They were on the smaller side, but in the golden light they shined while speaking of uncharted depths hidden beneath the slight veil keeping his secrets safe.

As I had watched, stunned, he had moved through the room and were now passing me without so much as a nod to Lady Hilliard who tried fervently to catch the man’s attention. His eyes, though, were fixated on me. My heart thumped harder and harder until he passed me by and turned his head — looking in the direction of my father who now walked toward the man in turn with determined steps I rarely saw him stride forward in.

They shook hands, exchanging pleasantries I could not hear over the murmur and music in the room. “Lady Hilliard,” I said, without looking away from the man’s back. “Who is that?” “Who is— Who is that? My word, you are young, Miss Haymnick. That is Colonel Brandon. A fine gentleman, rich and proper, unreachable yet gentle in his manners. He was sought after in his prime when ladies would line up to attend his balls and gatherings. Well, the few moments he was at home, that is. The man has been all over the world, fought in wars and returned unscathed time and time again. His estate, Delaford, was in disarray upon his overtaking of it but now it is most grand.” She blabbered and rushed the words out in a quiet tone so none other could hear, but I did not miss the longing in her tone.

“Is he wed now, then? Being so sought after?” I never thought you’d be of use, Lady Hilliard, with your gossiping from one end of the country to the other. “Oh, goodness, no, Miss Haymnick. He never married, he never sought a wife after his first love was lost. He is a broken but fine gentleman. My niece would do him good,” she said, the last part slightly under her breath and as I watched her for a moment her eyes seemed calculating. “She is too young for him, but nonetheless, he would be a fine catch,” she continued just as quietly, and the hunger in her features made me wrinkle my nose in disgust. She was a prime example of all things wrong with all in the ballroom. It was only thanks to my mother I had turned out differently, if that is such a grand thing given my circumstances, I don’t quite know…

“He’s such a catch,” she continued and my eyes hardened. “Rich, fancy, away most of the time and— Oh, he’s looking this way!”

I turned my head, unable to untangle my features from the disgust and annoyance before meeting the man’s eyes. His eyebrows drew together, his head gave a slight tilt as I managed to school my face into indifference — removing the ugly emotions and hiding the absolute flutter of emotions he stirred in me. His eyes hardened, though, and his thin lips turned into an even thinner line a second before I averted my gaze as his handsome features turned too harsh for my heart’s liking.

“Excuse me, Lady Hilliard.” She gave me a nod at my words but her eyes were hooked on the handsome man who now had looked at me differently. Perhaps my father had said something not to his liking about me?

I had no idea, but for whatever reason, his eyes had turned sad when he viewed me and the veil I had noticed before had solidified in a sorrowful manner. I might have been mistaken, perhaps he’s just like all the other frauds here… Calloused, cold, money-hungry and politically attached. My shoulders slumped.

I grabbed the many layers of fabric to lift my dress, making my escape from the ballroom easier as I rushed my steps to get away from the room giving me a sinking feeling of despair. One of the men in there would have to become my husband, and the suddenly appearing ray of hope when Colonel Brandon entered with his beautiful eyes, soft yet strong elegance, and stunning features, vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

There was no more to it, I would be wed to someone I had no interest in — someone who would never understand me, would never discuss the depths of poetry an entire afternoon or share my love of fictional stories all through the night, nor would I be able to discuss the intricate turmoil within an artist viewed only through the harsh brush strokes across a canvas painted many years ago.

I did not wish for a husband to keep me on his arm for display. I wanted no husband whose conversation was limited to finances and politics. No husband would ever suit me if he did not have a depth to his soul, a passion beyond money, or even a love of something that existed to please the heart and not the bank — something that garnered emotions without any further value.

I had walked myself right through the grand hall, out the doors, and along the gravel path around the house in my deep thoughts. I shivered in the cold evening air as the wind tugged on my hair and pulled at my dress.

The sinking feeling in my gut only ever grew with each passing thought, each hope of my heart being lost. I stopped at the frozen fountain, the ice glistened in the moonlight every moment the clouds parted above. My foggy breath seemed to shake out of me as his eyes haunted me — the way they changed without me having any knowledge of why. They had been so beautiful, so deep, so captivating when he passed me. Yet, when he looked upon me again, and our eyes had locked, his features had changed so swiftly.

“There is no hope…” I whispered while looking out over the gardens with a most forlorn sensation within my chest. “You will catch a cold.” I spun around, startled by the perfect voice taking me by surprise with my mind occupied of self-pity. “Who’s there?” I asked, looking toward the corner of the house where the silhouette of a man stood.

The silhouette moved closer, each step allowing me to see more clearly as the lantern light behind dimmed in intensity and the light of the pale moon turned brighter. Colonel?

My breath stuttered out of me, the wind tugged at the ends of his long coat as he walked toward me in a harsh stride. “You will catch a cold, Miss Haymnick,” he said anew, and I could have sworn my heart did a somersault at the delectable rumble unlike any other I had ever heard. “A lady such as yourself should not be wandering the grounds unaccompanied and under-dressed so late at night,” he continued and stopped just two steps away from me.

The clouds parted as I turned fully toward him. His harsh features were cold to view when his eyes seemed so closed off and empty. “Colonel Brandon,” I said and curtseyed. “Miss Haymnick.” He nodded his head deeply, his voice slightly harsh yet wonderful. “Have I offended the lady?” I blinked. “Excuse me?” He straightened. “I may be no beauty to look upon, but even that has yet to warrant such a display of disgust upon a woman’s face before introductions have even been made. Therefore, I ask, have I offended the lady in some manner?” he asked while holding my gaze captive.

I blinked a few more times, seeing the gorgeous man up close again — this time in pale moonlight — had my mind out of sorts and my heart in an uproar. He was striking, stunning, powerfully elegant. “No, you have not, Colonel,” I said, my eyebrows drawing together while his features softened a smidge. “Nor have I looked upon a handsome man as yourself in such a manner, sir.” He arched his eyebrow and a flutter broke out in my stomach. “I may be up in years, but I am not blind, Miss Haymnick.” “I’m sorry?” “You viewed me with the most abhorrent of looks, disgust smeared over your beautiful features. I shall not pretend I have not received harsh welcomes before, but paired with the lie you but a moment ago told regarding my looks I cannot—” “Lie? I have not lied, nor have I viewed you with disgust, sir,” I said, my hands balling to fists at my sides.

He reached up and unclasped his cloak at the neck. “You said I am a handsome man,” he said as he stepped forth, his voice slightly lower — softer. “After having viewed me with disgust, I find that to be a lie, miss.” He draped the warm cloak over my shoulders as I leaned back, taking half a step away from him before he had time to tie the string around my neck.

I glanced down, the fabric was lush and warm while thick and heavy at the same time. It smelled like heaven — of hay, horse, musk and wind. How something could smell of wind I could not fathom but as I drew a deeper breath to calm my raging heart at his sudden proximity it hit me with full force.

“There,” he said, taking a step back. “You ought to dress for the weather, miss.” I looked up at him, stunned at his sudden kindness amid the accusations of lies. “Thank you… But, wait, I have done none of the things you accuse me of, sir.” He arched his brow again. “A good person, as I have heard rumours of you being, ought to strive for honesty. No?” “I am honest!” I shouted and stomped my foot in frustration — Mrs Marble would have a fit if she saw my manners. “You saw me,” I continued loudly, “before I had time to—” no! He cannot know of anything, a man like him would laugh at the pitiful feelings my soul harbours. How could a colonel ever understand such things…

His eyes had widened, the shock of my outburst apparently enough to spook him out of the withdrawn, colder state he’d been in ever since our eyes had locked for a second time in the ballroom. “I am not lying, my good sir,” I said quietly. “A man such as you, so perfectly attuned to the world we live in, would simply not understand, as I cannot understand the likes of men such as you.” “Men such as me?” “Yes. Men such as you, colonel.” “And you have met many men the likes of me?” I merely sighed at his calm words, nodding toward the estate housing a party filled with men such as him.

He chuckled and shook his head slightly. My heart stopped beating for a second. “So that is how you view me, after a handful of seconds. Then I shall bother you no more, miss. Excuse me,” he said and clicked his heels before turning to leave. “Sir!” I called, not truly knowing why but my heart roared at him leaving. Something about him was so different to any other I had ever met despite the words I had just spewed in my dismay.

He stopped, only half turning so I could view his profile before he turned his head fully. I took a step closer, curious and something else moved around within that curiosity, too. “Yes?” His voice, so dark and deep, made a shiver slip down my spine. “Are you not?” I asked. “Am I not, what, miss?” “Like them.” “Life would have been easier had I been, but I’m afraid I must disappoint you.” “That does not disappoint me, colonel.”

His eyes widened as I took another involuntary step, something about him pulled me in and the more time passed the softer his expression turned and the brighter his eyes appeared. There were layers there, depth and that warmth I had always searched for in the eyes of others. So I stopped two steps away, spellbound by the beauty he was — even if that was shallow of me.

“Is it true? That you think me a liar for calling you a handsome man?” I asked quietly. “I am not a handsome man, make with that what you see fit.” “But, you are—” his eyes widened “—and I do not know what to make of the way you changed when you viewed me for a second time.” “You viewed me with disgust—” “I was disgusted by Lady Hilliard, for how she spoke of you.” “And, how did she speak of me?” he asked, his voice turning even softer yet it kept the depth that rumbled through me like gentle thunder in the distance. “I’d rather not say such things, but she wishes for you to marry her niece.” “Many wish to see their nieces and nephews wed—” “No, not like that, sir. She spoke about your-, your wealth and how you are never home.” “I am not home, for there is no reason to be. I have wealth for I have none to spend it on beyond the orphanage and my estate.”

I blinked at him, feeling lost for a moment. “If I had a wife, I would be here more. If I had a home, and not a mere estate, I would venture out into the world less. As it stands, none have caught my attention. That is, until tonight.” Why my heart faltered and saddened by his words I could not say. The man was far beyond me in years, he was a sophisticated and aged gentleman with beauty I could barely comprehend — every second I looked upon him he simply turned more handsome, inside and out. The way he spoke of a wife, of a family being what makes a home, it was beautiful and poetic.

“Then why are you standing here, sir?” I dared ask while I gripped the edges of the cloak he’d hung around my shoulders. “Because you are standing here, miss.” “I— I don’t understand, should you not pursue her before the evening ends?” “I am, by asking if I had offended her, given her change in view from the most beautifully wondrous look rivalling that of clear summer skies, to one as harsh and cold as disgust distorting her stunning features unlike any I have ever witnessed before.”

My breath snagged in my throat in the blink of an eye. My shoulders stiffened and as he held my gaze unyieldingly I turned warm on the inside. Those eyes had seen horrors and beauty all around the world, yet now they appeared solely focused on me with a warmth within them rivalling the sun.

“You find me beautiful?” I asked, my voice a mere whisper. “Most beautiful.” I sighed and averted my gaze. “As they all do.”

His cold finger came up under my chin and I jolted back. It was not proper for him to touch me, for us to stand so close with no chaperon near. “I apologise,” he said. “Have my liking of your appearance offended you?” I shook my head. “No, sir.” “Then why..?” “I am beautiful, sir. I am aware,” I said with a soft smile while drowning in his eyes that had gone most soft and deep. “It is not always something…” my voice trailed off, for how could I explain that my beauty was a curse in the disguise of a blessing?

“It does not matter, miss. I am no match for you, either way. I shall take my leave so another, more suitable match can sweep you off your feet as you deserve.” What a romantic thing to say… “I wish you the happily ever after you deserve,” he said a breath later and clicked his heels together with sorrow in his eyes that tugged at my heartstrings. I had no time to make my brain understand he was leaving until he was out of view.

I jolted. I finally connect with someone and I, what, shoo him away? Oh, no… I drew an unsteady breath, feeling that warming scent of him waft up my nose. I ran after him, my feet thudding against the ground. “Colonel!” I called as I rounded the corner, just as he galloped out of the gates too far away for him to be able to hear me over the snorts of the horse and spraying of icy snow around its massive hooves.

To Be Continued...

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NEXT PART » Prompt 5: Open Doors [A2]

A/N: I'll be adding links to parts as I go along through Rickmas - so if you revisit or find Rickmas2024 later on you'll have access to direct links to continuations. My plan for this year is several serial fics and a few one-shots here and there as I know I'll get stressed and need breaks where I can just write whatever my little heart desires from time to time. Rickmas is INTENSE to write for, so 🙈

Anyway, how we feeling? We ready for this month's shenanigans? 😊

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[Dec:2024]

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 7 - QUIET WISHING [A2]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC

Summary : The Colonel is ready to move on and to taste the delight of happiness, but your secret weighs too heavily on your shoulders.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness. Depression. Mention of Abortion.

DECEMBER MOON : Part I

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

Colonel Brandon's heart was beating to a new rhythm. The rhythm of happiness at having found someone who seemed genuinely interested in him and not in his fortune, his title or his domain. You made him smile. Better yet, you made him happy.

He still remembered your father's face when he had asked him for permission to court you. The poor man had not believed it, you whose sharp mind had scared away more than one man, here was one of the richest and most respected men in the county interested in you and did not seem put off by your intelligence which sometimes bordered on insolence. But he also feared that Brandon wanted to take advantage of you.

"My daughter... She is not like the ladies you usually frequent in the salons, Colonel," your father had told him.

"Exactly, I don't want a lady who just smiles and sits idle while spending my money," Christopher had replied in his deep voice.

"She... [Y/N] is already 28 years old and has never been... courted or proposed to... that should... worry you," your father had suggested.

Christopher had found your father's concern cute. He had recognized in him a man worried about your well-being. He had reassured him of his intentions and your father who could not miss your annoyed and pleading look had said yes.

But at already 38 years old, Christopher did not want to spend months and months playing the game of convenience. He wanted to marry you quickly.

And you too, for your part, did not want to wait any longer to leave your father's home for the safety of a husband. But the happiness you had of being courted and loved by a man like him was tainted by the fear you had that he might one day know.

"[Y/N], is everything okay ?" Brandon asked you, looking genuinely worried.

You jumped slightly before smiling at him, your mind returning to the inside of the carriage that was gently shaking you on the bumpy road.

"Yes, very well, I... it's just that this is the first time I'm going to go to the Jennings and Mrs. Jennings... she's invited me often but I didn't feel like I belonged there..."

That wasn't really all that was bothering you but you didn't want to tell him the truth. If Christopher didn't believe you, he didn't show it, too busy admiring you in the wool coat he'd given you before you left, a coat that fit you and would keep you warm all winter.

The Jennings welcomed you warmly. He already knew that Christopher was courting you and although Mrs. Jennings' insinuations had made you uncomfortable at times, the day had been pleasant. But you didn't feel entirely at home in this world. You didn't know all the rules of etiquette and you were always a little slouched, a position reinforced by your feelings of inadequacy.

"You'll learn," Christopher said kindly when you confided your doubts, "I'll help you and if you wish, I can have a governess come and see you every day. But [Y/N], I'm not asking you for anything, you know that, right ?"

You nodded gently, grateful for what he was willing to do for you, to help you integrate into his world.

That night, lying in your bed with Henry by your side, covered with several blankets to counter the cold wind that was seeping in through the gaps in the windows, a dull anxiety invaded you. What you were doing was wrong. You were going to make this honest and sincere man suffer who didn't deserve it, a man who wouldn't even look at you anymore if he knew the truth, if he knew who you really were.

12 years ago

You were sixteen years old and you were considered one of the most beautiful girls in your village. Your long brown hair that you rarely bothered to style like a real lady, your soft and delicate face, your big green eyes, your natural kindness and your intelligence made you a rather singular person. You had few friends and the boys didn't really look at you, intimidated that you could hold a real conversation.

But you didn't care, you were still so innocent about things of love. You had a simple life with your father, a man who gave you more freedom than any other girl in your village could have dreamed of having.

No one looked at you except him. A lord's son, no less than that who had noticed you one day at the spring festival that was organized every year thanks to the kindness of his father. This year the old lord had not been able to come and it was him who had come. Tall, elegant, dark-haired with a nonchalant attitude, he had immediately caught your eye. He didn't look like anyone you knew. Nobody. And you didn't look like any of the ladies he rubbed shoulders with either. Why he had noticed you among all the others, you don't know and you would never understand, but it had been the case.

He had spoken to you to talk about the weather. He was charming, disarming too. He wasn't flattering and his sincerity had made you waver, giving rise to a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

That evening, when you returned home, you couldn't forget the smile that lit up his face, but you knew that you couldn't expect anything from this meeting. You were just grateful that he had been kind enough to speak to you, to treat you as an equal.

Except that you had seen her again. Once. Twice. Three times. And he had ended up admitting to you that if he came back to the village so often, it was to see you. Each time, he had a little gift for you: a drug, a silver brooch, a handkerchief embroidered with his initials, gifts that you kept preciously in a wooden box hidden under your bed. Not to mention the dozens and dozens of letters that you exchanged, hiding them in the gap of a stone wall on the edge of the village that secretly kept your correspondence while the other went to get the letter addressed to him. The drawer of your dresser was filled with the languorous words that he wrote to you every week.

"We could leave," he had told you one day.

"Where would we go ?"

"Anywhere. We'll get married in Scotland and then... We could go to America. Or this new land that he calls Australia. They say that there everything is big and everything is wild. We would be free to be what we want."

He kept telling you that your difference in status, in rank, was of no importance and he insisted a little more each time that you leave. And soon, he had infected you with his dreams of escape, of distant landscapes and of a future where conventions, social statuses would not exist.

Back to the present

"[Y/N], will you come with me to the Christmas party that the Jennings are organizing the night before ?"

Christopher was standing in your living room, his hands nervously playing with his hat while your father prepared tea in the next room, Henry at his side hoping to see him drop a biscuit.

"I... I'm not sure I have my place at such an evening," you answered, your cheeks blushing slightly.

You knew that the Jennings would receive prestigious guests, accustomed to the codes of this kind of evening.

"I will stay by your side the whole time," Christopher promised.

You looked up as your father came back into the room, nodding vigorously behind Christopher to urge you to say yes.

"Very well," you murmured.

The Colonel smiled, a shy smile on his lips, the same one that always made you melt.

"If you agree, Mr. [Y/S], I could take [Y/N] into town to buy her a dress for this evening."

"There's no need..." you began but your father almost immediately interrupted you to give his consent.

As you walked side by side, you could feel the eyes of the evil tongues who whispered about the fact that you didn't have a chaperone. Christopher didn't care. After all, you were practically his fiancé and at your ages, there were many other things to worry about. Besides, he was a man of honour, he would never have touched you before making you his wife.

But those whispers tightened your throat, taking you back years.

11 years ago

After a year of dreaming and hoping, you had abruptly learned the truth from a maid at the manor where the man you loved lived. He was engaged. Engaged to a woman of his rank.

"Is it true then ?" you had asked him when you had seen each other in your secret place, far from the eyes of the village.

"[Y/N], I... I am from an important family. I must honour my name."

"You promised me! You told me that our difference in status meant nothing, that we would run away."

"I shouldn't have let you believe that, it was a mistake."

"William," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

"[Y/N], it was a dream. A beautiful dream, but you have to wake up now."

And he continued like this, in a cold voice, pretending that everything you had experienced, shared didn't count, was nothing.

"I'm leaving the region at the end of the month. I'm going to Wales. The wedding will take place there and we will settle in one of my father's properties. I'm sorry [Y/N], but you are intelligent, you must have suspected that all this was only ephemeral."

He stroked a lock of your hair, then he turned away and left without a backward glance, leaving you alone with your sorrow, your broken heart, your body in pain.

You fell to your knees, crying silently. You stayed there for a long time, hours. It was almost dark when you finally returned home. You felt empty, betrayed, in another world, so much so that you hadn't even heard your father's remonstrances.

The next day, you burned everything: the letters, the gifts, you wanted to erase him entirely from your existence. But it was too late. He had already left an indelible mark on you.

Back to the present

A lump in your throat, you listened to Christopher talk to you about the future. Children he hoped to have with you.

You had to tell him. He had to know what you had done 16 years ago. You couldn't let him believe that you were a young virgin saved for her husband. You had to tell him everything. But once again, you were too cowardly to do it, promising yourself once again that tomorrow, tomorrow you would talk to him.

But you didn't, the days passed, you kept your secret, your regrets, your remorse and your guilt with you. But on this December 23rd, Christopher did something you didn't expect.

He came to your house without you expecting it. Your father was busy at the Hawthorne's. He was preparing the tables and the decorations for their Christmas reception. However, you didn't hesitate to let Colonel Brandon come home. You knew you had nothing to fear with him, and besides, your four-legged companion would protect you if necessary.

Christopher stood in front of you, a little nervous. He felt a certain resistance in you, but he hoped that what he was going to ask you would break down your last defences and that you would teach him to understand your silences and your sometimes shifty glances.

"[Y/N], I wanted to ask you something," he began, pacing back and forth.

You were sitting by the fireplace, your heart pounding.

"I love you. With a deep and sincere love."

Your breath caught in your throat as he stopped in front of you, his hands crossed behind his back.

"I don't want to wait any longer. I don't want to waste any more time. I know I want you in my life. You touched my heart when I thought it was no longer possible."

"Colonel Brandon," you said, emotion choking your voice somewhat.

Christopher looked at you surprised. You only called him that in public, never in private, not since he asked you to use his Christian name.

"I..."

You couldn't continue. Sensing your hesitation, he took your hands in his, so strong, so powerful.

"I know I'm not perfect. I'm not the most handsome man in the kingdom, and my past has been filled with pain and regret. But I'm grateful to God for making me endure all of this. Thanks to it, I learned to recognize a true soul."

"Christopher," you began but he stopped you by raising his hand.

"I would like us to go to the Jennings' party tomorrow night as your fiancé and for you to allow me to tell my best friend that you have agreed to become my wife."

You turned pale. As if he could sense the tension emanating from your entire being, Henry came to rest his head against your leg. You absently took him on your lap, your eyes wide.

You looked up to see the hope in Christopher's, and you felt sick. You put Henry back on the ground and stood up abruptly to walk away.

"[Y/N]," Christopher said softly.

He didn't understand. What were you doing ? You weren't like Marianne, you couldn't be. He had thought he saw in you what he had been looking for for so long, and here you were about to break his heart, like all the others.

"I can't," you whispered.

His words were like a slap in the air. Brandon took a step back, hurt.

"Why ?" he asked firmly, "was I just a game to you ?"

"No ! Never ! I... Christopher... I..."

Tears welled up in your eyes and you bit your bottom lip until it bled.

"[Y/N], explain yourself. I want to know," he commanded.

"I'm not what you think I am. You deserve a much better woman than me who is worthy of walking by your side."

"[Y/N], I don't expect you to be perfect. But I want you to be honest."

"Honest... I wish I was, but I'm afraid you'll never look at me again."

"[Y/N], what do you mean ?"

Christopher felt worry rising in him. What could you possibly be hiding ?

"I... you'll probably despise me after this, but please, don't tell anyone, ever. I'm telling you because I owe it to you. What I did was wrong. I shouldn't have given you false hope, but please, Colonel Brandon... Christopher... keep my secret, I beg you."

You were crying for real now. Christopher helped you sit up and handed you a glass of water.

"Despising you ? Never. What could you have done that was so bad ?"

His tone was soft, his gaze worried. You hesitated for a split second, then spilled the beans.

"There... many years ago, when I was only 16 years old, I let myself be seduced by a young lord. He... he was insidiously sweet and he made me a thousand and one promises. He promised me a bright future, dreams that I would never have dared to imagine, but...

11 years ago

"My dear, you haven't stopped throwing up for three days. We should really call the doctor," your father had told you tenderly.

"It's not necessary, Dad. We don't have much money and I'll get better soon, there's an epidemic in the village. I probably caught it when I went to sell our apples to Mr. DeGardener."

Your father had nodded, even if he remained worried about you. But you knew you were lying. You weren't sick. It was worse than that.

Two months ago, William had taken you to his house in secret. A magnificent home like you had never seen before. His parents were away, traveling to Scotland with three-quarters of the servants. He had let you in discreetly, under the noses of the few servants still present.

He had taken you to his room, kissed you on the cheek, forehead, nose, mouth. Up until then, nothing more than what you had already done. He then went down your neck and one of his fingers had gently lowered the collar of your dress to place a kiss on the top of your breasts. Out of breath, you had let him do it.

He slid his other hand along your leg, raising your dress up your thigh to place his hand under your drawers, and there again, you had not pushed him away. You knew what was going to happen, you were not as naive as you seemed... well, at least you liked to think so.

Several times, he had asked you if you were sure, if you wanted him to stop. When he had unbuttoned your dress, when he had slid it down your body, when he had removed your wool socks, your undershirt and one last time, before his hands slid your drawers down your legs

And after you had whispered "yes" to him one last time, he had laid you down on his bed and had taken your purity, your innocence, your entire body.

You obviously couldn't tell your father this, but there was one person you could confide in. You knew she wouldn't judge you and she would never tell him again.

You had waited until the next morning, for your father to leave for work to leave him a note and you had left for your grandmother's house. She lived in a modest house a little outside the village, nestled at the end of a path lined with old twisted trees that filtered the autumn light, making their foliage almost unreal.

With bruised feet and a fragile mind, you had timidly knocked on the door, your shoulders weighed down by an emotional fatigue that devoured you more than anything else. Your grandmother had come to open the door. When she saw you, her face had lit up with a toothless smile. Her white hair was tied up in a strict bun and her face, marked by the years, was marked by a little more worry when she saw you with red eyes and a defeated expression.

"Grandma, I didn't know where to go," you had said, bursting into tears.

She had immediately pulled you into her arms. You still remembered her scent of lavender and wood and for the first time since William had abandoned you, you felt safe.

She had led you to the fire and while she made tea, you had unpacked everything. Absolutely everything, while your grandmother had sat in her old, worn armchair, a blanket around her shoulders, listening to you without saying a word.

"My dear," your grandmother had finally said at the end of your story.

"I loved him, Grandma. And I believed him when he said he would marry me," you had said in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice.

"I know, my dear. But you are not the first young girl to be taken in by the sweet promises of a young man in search of pleasure."

"He left me like I was nothing. Like we had nothing in common and all his promises were nothing but wind," you said, crying even harder.

"You're no less precious, [Y/N]. No one needs to know what happened, it's yours," your grandmother had said wisely.

"Except... Oh, Grandma ! I'm expecting his child !"

Your tears had redoubled, almost choking you as your throat was so tight.

"There is no forgiveness for girls like me. I'm lost and when the whole village finds out, my father's name will be sullied."

The old woman had immediately stood up to hug you.

"No one needs to know. You made a mistake, that's true, but that doesn't define you. Neither you nor your worth. It's what you do from now on that matters," she had said firmly.

"What am I going to do, Grandma ?"

The old woman thought silently for a moment, her fingers clenched on the armrest of the chair you were sitting in.

"I... I'm going to go see your father..."

"NO !" you cried.

She silenced you with a look, the same kind of look she used to make you understand, when you were a child, that you were getting a little too insolent.

"I'm going to tell him that I'm not doing very well and that I want to go on a pilgrimage to talk to God. He'll tell me that I'm too old and I'll tell him that's why I want you to come with me, to watch over me."

"Where shall we go, Grandma ?"

"I know a place where we can help you."

"Grandma, you're not judging me, are you ?" you asked, consumed by guilt.

She took your hand in hers and squeezed it with all her strength.

"My poor little darling. You carry a weight that is far too heavy for a young girl, but you are not the first young woman to let a man abuse you. Listen to me carefully, this secret will be ours and you must never, ever let it define you or dictate the rest of your life, understood ?"

You didn't answer and she squeezed your hands a little tighter.

"Understood ?" she asked again with more force.

"Yes," you breathed.

"Good. I'm going to take you to a small, remote convent run by sisters who are rather... let's say more caring than others. They'll give you a choice. Either stay there until you're delivered and they'll then take care of your child, entrust him to a good family who can't have one or..."

You saw her hesitate and you raised a questioning look.

"Or what, grandmother ?"

"Or some of them know... they know how to make angels."

Your breath hitched. You knew what she meant.

"It will be your decision, [Y/N], but know that no matter what you decide, you will do what you believe is right and I, I will always love you just as much."

She hugged you again, whispering to you that anyone who dared to judge you would know nothing of the weight of the human heart. And a week later, you found yourself in this convent, surrounded by sisters who were not as caring as promised, who had made disparaging remarks to you under the disapproving gaze of your grandmother, but despite the sermons, one of them had created an angel and you had returned home as you had left, at least in appearance. But the specter of your guilt, you knew, would never leave you.

Back to the present

"It was supposed to be the best solution, an end, but it was only a beginning. I woke up after days of fever, weakened, my body bruised and my heart... my heart completely empty," you said without even trying to hold back your tears.

Christopher looked at you, his features serious but his eyes not devoid of compassion. He had listened to you from start to finish without interrupting you.

"That day, I lost my faith and my dignity. You see, Christopher, I am not what you think. I am not pure. I am just a slut who... who made an angel out of the child she was expecting. I am not worthy of you, of your love."

A heavy silence fell, broken only by your sobs. Christopher crossed the distance between you and took one of your hands in his. You tried to pull it away, but he stopped you.

"Please, Colonel, don't tell anyone. My father never knew, nor did anyone in our village. This secret belonged only to my grandmother and me. Today, my grandmother is no longer of this world, I am the only one carrying this secret. Please, please, keep it to yourself, I only revealed it to you so that you understand why we can't be together," you said in one go.

"[Y/N], look at me" he asked with authority.

You timidly looked up, afraid to see anger in his eyes, but you only saw love.

"I don't despise you. All I see is a young woman who, far too young, had to go through hell. But you came out stronger. And today, you don't have to carry that burden alone anymore," he said in a soft voice.

You shook your head violently, ready to protest, but he stopped you.

"You have survived much pain, much suffering that few could have borne," he continued with unwavering compassion, "and you are still here, standing before me, strong, fighting. It takes a strength that I can only admire, not despise."

"But I am not pure. I am broken," you whispered.

"And me too, life has broken me many times. But I got back up every time, like you. Life is like that. We all carry our burdens, but they shape us. You are not broken [Y/N], you are like a reed. The wind wanted to break you in two, but you only bent for a moment before getting back up."

His words resfelt like a balm on your bruised heart and for the first time in a long time, you saw hope and the possibility of finally letting those old wounds heal.

"I don't deserve you," you said weakly.

He squeezed your hand a little tighter as if to anchor you to reality.

"You deserve all the love in the world. And I love you. I love you as you are, for who you are. No matter who you were, what you've done. And if you're ready to accept me with my own demons, then I promise to love you, to protect you and together we will build a future far from the ghosts that haunt us. A future where there will be only hope, happiness and you can always lean on me."

You probed him as if to make sure he wasn't playing you, but you saw only sincerity and love on his features.

"[Y/N], do you agree to be my wife ?" Christopher asked softly.

"Yes," you said between sobs.

He held you close, resting his chin on the top of your head. When the front door opened, he quickly stepped back.

"[Y/N], what's going on here ?" your father asked, looking at Christopher suspiciously.

"Dad..."

"I asked [Y/N] to be my wife and she agreed," Christopher answered for you.

Your father's face might have made you laugh if you weren't still reeling from the confession you had just made.

"Well, that's a surprise," he finally said, sitting down heavily on an armchair.

The Colonel took his leave, not without kissing your forehead tenderly, almost possessively before taking his leave.

The next day, he picked you up for the evening at the Jennings, a ring between his fingers.

"It belonged to my mother," he told you as he slipped it onto your finger. "And now, it's yours. And you're mine," he said as he kissed your temple.

And you left for the Jennings, you wrapped in the wool coat that Christopher had given you, he had the biggest smile you'd ever seen on his face. And in that dark night where the cold bit your cheeks, you let yourself go against him when in the carriage, he wrapped his arms around you to warm you. But it wasn't so much his arms that warmed you as the promise of a future that you had never dared to hope for before. And silently, you thanked the heavens for having heard your quiet wishing.

[mrsseverussnape]

‼️Request Rules‼️

✨HELLO✨

I write fanfictions (one shots or maybe series), imagines, headcanons, drabbles, would include kinda stuff. If you would like i can make playlists or moodboards for the characters/celebs as well! Or if you have any other ideas let me know and i’ll consider them too😉👌🏻

If you request something please be a little bit spesific, don’t write “Snape x reader fluff” kinda things because it is quite hard for me to find a plot and i don’t know if you’ll like it or not. 🙌🏻 But don’t over detailed it either because not many people can relate it that way. Also i feel like you are making me write for your OC or directly for yourself.

If you’d like to request a character of the celebrities i listed and it’s not on my characters list, just ask me perhaps i write for that character too.

I can do ship moodboards for you as well! Write some information about yourself (likes/dislikes,Hogwarts house, gender-sexuality, prefer older/younger character etc.) and i will ship you with a Harry Potter character and make a moodboard for you two.

I write for a female reader because that is what i am comfortable with but if you ask i can try for a gender neutral reader too.

Also English is not my native language, if i use weird forms etc. that’s why.

Ps: i prefer writing for older characters better, like i would prefer writing for old! Sirius rather than young! Sirius etc. So probably you will get a better fic if it’s for an older character😅

❌THEMES I WON’T BE WRITING ❌

Student x professor relationships in anyways

Extreme smut

male/male, female/female relationships( i don’t know the dynamics in a gay relationship so i can’t express them in my writing at all, sorry)

Huge age gaps

A canon character’s sister reader etc. stuff

These are the things that came to my mind atm, might add more...

🌿CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR🌿

Severus Snape (young/adult)

Sirius Black  (young/adult)

Remus Lupin  (young/adult)

Lucius Malfoy  (young/adult)

Gellert Grindelwald (adult)

My original characters

Captain Jack Sparrow

Captain Barbossa

Sweeney Todd

Hans Gruber

Colonel Brandon

⭐️CELEBRITIES I WRITE FOR⭐️

Alan Rickman

Johnny Depp

The Beatles (all members)

David Bowie

Louis Garrel

Ben Barnes

Gary Oldman

❗️Lastly one more thing; i can’t promise to write every request. If i don’t like the request or basically i am not inspired by it, i won’t be writing it. I am doing this for fun and i don’t want to put any pressure on myself. I will be deleting the requests that i won’t be writing, if your request wasn’t uploaded for a long time,%90 it’s deleted❗️

💌Requests are closed💌

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 11: Out Of Reach [A3]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2]

A/N: It's time for Brandon!!! 😍 Now, this is going to be frustrating, just hold out darlings (she says as if it isn't something we enjoy when done right which I hope I have 😂) and we'll get through this together despite omissions of feelings being near miscommunication between our pining lovebirds unwilling to take a leap of faith 👀

Side Note: The electricity is RIDICULOUSLY expensive today - as well as yesterday - going up to 6.28 SEK when the more common price is 1SEK (1 SEK being about 10 cents) so I'm currently bundled up under double blankets with a warm wheat bag around my feet to keep warm as we've turned off all heat and everything but the freezer and fridge is unplugged 😂 I am beyond fed up with the idiocy of the economy - with all that entails - and I hope everyone else are toasty warm and not needing to turn of the heat ❤  

Tags/TW’s: Miscommunication by Omission, Mutual Secret Pining, Half-Confessions, Dire Situation Admitted, WHY WON’T THEY JUST SAY WHAT THEY’RE FEELING?!, Asking For Assistance/Pleading For Silence, Physical Attraction, Emotional Attraction, Desperation, Longing

Word Count: 2.7k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Out Of Reach

It had to be a dream, there was no other way. “Stay awake. No, allow me views of those eyes of summer skies, Miss,” he said harshly but the roll of his voice was a deep caress to my lulled senses. “Open your eyes,” he continued as he squeezed my ribs and thighs with his large hands. It took more strength than I wished to admit to do such a small thing. I managed to blink them open only to lose my breath at how close he was.

Colonel Brandon watched me intently, those inviting eyes shielded by layers of history, yet the crease between his brows softened as our gazes held each other. “Miss Haymnick,” he began in a quiet roll of a rumble. “Keep those eyes open for me.” “I… shall try,” I whispered between chattering teeth and full-body trembles from his closeness and the cold. “Your horse, she’s a calm one, yes?” I nodded. “Good.”

He held me tighter for a moment then manoeuvred me to lay on Marrygold, asking several times if I was fairing as he tugged on my dress and moved my arm before untying his cloak. The golden string around his throat ripped loose in a tug and my breath faltered as he draped it atop me. The smell of wind once more infiltrated my nose as he lay the cloak half atop my head and tucked it under my chin.

His finger graced my chin, the chill of his glove-free hand had me sucking in a breath but my cheeks warmed as his finger lingered a second longer than necessary. “No reins?” he asked as he looked the horse over. “Nor saddle. Miss Haymnick, what are you doing riding through the winter in such a state?” he asked but he was no longer by my side. His hand gripped Marrygold’s harness, he was leading her toward his own horse. “She is my horse,” I whispered, forcing the words out. “My best friend,” I continued, gripping her mane a little harder for a short moment before my numb fingers lost their strength. “Stay awake,” he urged, his voice a bit more frazzled than before as my words had turned quieter with each syllable. So tired… “Hold on,” the colonel said and I wanted to laugh for a second at the request. “We must get you warm.”

Marrygold began walking, slowly, down the slope of the hill and when I managed to tilt my head I found Colonel Brandon atop his horse with Marrygold’s harness looped through one of his reins. He viewed me with delicate worry in the harsh lines of his face. His regal nose had reddened from the cold as well as his cheeks, the top-hat held his slightly golden locks in place despite the wind. His straight back and decisive hold of the reins had a flutter break out in my stomach but it was his eyes that had my pounding heart in their grip. Eyes of poetry, I thought as my mind began to drift toward the loss I had secured by foolishly chasing him away with my thoughtless, detrimental mood all those days ago…

He urged the horse to go faster as my eyelids drooped. “A little further, Miss.” “I lost you,” I mumbled in my haze. “I was… foolish… it is… hopeless, now…” “Stay…” I heard him say yet my mind drifted before the rest reached me.

⁛•⁛

“Miss,” came the rumble from my dreams. “Wake up, wake up,” it continued as the steady breaths of Marrygold had me rising and sinking. “Sir, we ought to move her,” came the shrill yet worried voice of a woman. “She is not injured,” came a second male voice. “My lord, she needs—” “I am aware.” After those words, whatever lay atop me was stripped away and I shivered from the sudden chill.

I blinked, regaining some of my strength as wakefulness slipped in. “Miss Haymnick,” he said as my eyes found those which made me think of poetry and depth. “Can you hear me?” I nodded. “Yes…” “Oh thank heavens,” said the woman. “Come on, let’s get the lady inside, my lord.” “Come,” he said, focusing solely on me to my heart’s utter thrill. “Let us get you warm, miss.”

I groaned, pushing against Marrygold’s neck to get myself upright. Everything ached, each muscle and limb straining against any movement from the lack of energy and the bone-chilling cold, and before I could grasp the mane beneath my fingers the world spun and I fell to the side.

“Goodness me!” shrieked the woman as sturdy arms caught me up. My feet had hit the ground but I was unharmed with his arms around my waist. “Miss?” he asked as I tilted my head back, black dots lined my vision yet he remained clear as day. “I— I’m alright,” I managed to force out yet my feet would not stand flat against the ground, my legs bending and yielding — no matter how I tried to stand. “I have you,” he murmured while bending and manoeuvring his arms to lift me bridal style. “Let us get you inside, get you warm.” Those words had me in shambles when he viewed me with such scrutiny in his eyes — not of the judging kind, but the caring one.

⁛•⁛

He had left me atop a grand bed, with mahogany posts and a canopy of thick, green velvet tapering off into curtains that could fully shield the bed I lay in. The woman, who I now knew carried the name Hatchfield, had been ordered to remain by my side and help care for me. The man who had captured my heart with so little as a look and a few words of possibilities had left the room with only one glance back at me.

“There, miss. Let us get you dressed.” Mrs Hatchfield was fluffing up my dress which had been cleaned and sorted during the night. “The master awaits you for breakfast.”

I glanced at her, then the dress of deep red not unlike the ruby of blood or the shade of half-wilted roses. A muted yet bold red. A red designed to make a statement. How can I meet him after the trouble I have caused him, yesterday as well as the first day I encountered the man? I had no thoughts to help me come up with any form of plan for the upcoming encounter. Guilt, shame, even dread lingered in me yet the man had gone above and beyond for me yesterday and I would not sully my mother’s legacy or the brittle fraud of my family’s current state as affluent and important. I shall beg his forgiveness and plead for his good graces, plead for him to keep my state and actions a secret. I have already lost any chance at his hand, at his heart… I shall not lay more waste to the man’s life or peace…

Mrs Hatchfield helped me dress, lacing the corset swiftly but harshly — while whispering and murmuring about my beauty, from blond locks to hourglass figure. I was accustomed to such praise, no matter who said it the compliments meant little — either they held no sway or they were spoken with want for me in a manner not befitting (my heart, or my mind).

I looked around the room while she flustered about. The room had a soft sense to it, a strong but gentle energy filling it. The smell of books hit me as my eyes landed on a large bookcase filled to the brim with what appeared to be a large collection of poetry, legends, and… romances. I squinted to make out more of the letters along the spines of the books but my guesses seemed correct. “The Master has a cultivated collection, miss Haymnick,” Mrs Hatchfield said as she caught me looking. “This room is not usually one he allows visitors within. It is his second bedroom, when the master bedroom feels too big for the man. Or, when he requires solitude one can find him in that chair with a book in his hand.” She nodded toward an armchair dressed in green velvet much like the drapes.

“Is he a good master?” I asked, still studying the spines with great and insignificant names of poets. “A wonderful master, miss.” She looked over her shoulder at the closed door leading out of the room. “He would be a wonderful husband, too. For a lady with a gentle heart and appreciation for the quiet and calm life the master is always in pursuit of.” I scrunched my brows. “I heard he is never home, always travelling the world?” Can Mrs Hilliard have her gossip wrong? “Oh, indeed, that is the pursuit, miss. He searches for the right reason to remain here, but I do not believe he will find it out there in the world any longer.” She glanced up at me with a slightly mischievous, almost knowing smile.

Mrs Hatchfield had ordered my hair, patted down my dress, and now showed me to the colonel who sat in an intimate tea parlour. The shiny floor and dark walls soothed and calmed — the fabrics in shades of dark blues and deep greens paired well with the dark wood of the furnishings and framework. My eyes saw it all for but a moment, and then they found the colonel at the very end of the room.

The large windows showcased the white landscape beyond and the light framed him perfectly as he stood with his back to us, turning swiftly as Mrs Hatchfield announced my arrival.

Colonel Brandon walked up, meeting me by the table able to seat six people in delicate chairs, and my courage faltered. He was marvellous. From his clothes in hues of brown and black to his features set in softness despite the harsh lines of his face. The strong jaw and regal nose matched perfectly and yet again his eyes arrested me fully. They held my gaze for a moment before etiquette took over. He bowed, and I curtseyed.

“Miss Haymnick,” he said, and by the lord, his voice had me shivering. Hearing it so clearly, with no background noise or whistling wind had me appreciating it on a deeper level. “Colonel Brandon.” I tried to smile but my insides were corded so tight I struggled to move my muscles accordingly. He arched a brow. “You have quite the expressive face, my lady…” I lowered my gaze, heat burning my neck and cheeks. “Sir… I— Sir, I apologize for the trouble I have caused and the harm done to your evening yesterday.”

Looking up, I found him peering at me with a tilted head. “You have caused no harm, nor trouble.” “I—” He interrupted by taking a step toward me. “Are you fairing? You were in quite a disorderly state when I found you.” There was no animosity in his voice. “I am well, sir. Thank you, for your consideration—” “Then, if you would, explain to me why on earth I found you half frozen to death out in the winter cold?” His words were direct, but his mannerisms and eyes spoke of worry.

What do I say? I must plead for his good graces… “Sir—” I drew a shallow breath as the intensity of his gaze nearly snatched my breath away “—I must beg of you to not speak of… what happened. I… I have caused harm to my family’s reputation and find myself in a situation where such a thing cannot slip into the gossip mills of society. Please, sir,” I said with as much regret and pleading in my voice as I could portray without fully begging in desperation.

I lowered myself in another curtsey, looking down at his polished shoes while my back and shoulders stiffened. “Please, sir, I beg for your grace and silence regarding the matter of my actions and state. I cannot make a dire situation an impossible one with my—” “Dire situation? Are you coming to harm, miss?” he asked, alarm in his voice and he moved above me but I couldn’t see what he was doing. “I—” What do I say? Yes, but also no? I am coming to harm but not in the manner he believes. Oh, what a sordid mess… “—I am not in harm's way, sir. Not in the manner you are imagining.” “What, in your mind, am I imagining?” he asked. “Miss, please stand. I do not enjoy this view of you.”

I winced. Hearing that he did not find the view of me to his liking hurt. All my life I had been told of my beauty, of my looks, of my handsome features and beautiful shape. It had mattered little to me, my beauty a curse and blessing that had yielded nothing. The man I would have wished for it to affect now disclosed he did not enjoy the view of me despite previously having stated he found me beautiful. Perhaps all truly is lost. For a moment, I had to stop tears from forming in my eyes before I could rise and straighten.

I kept my eyes lowered, focusing on the golden chain hooked to his waistcoat and attached to a watch hidden from view in his pocket. “I apologize, sir.” “Miss,” he began quietly and I watched his hand move toward me for a second before he stayed it and fisted it by his thigh. “You are quite the conundrum.” “Sir?” I asked, looking up out of pure shock. I had never been called that before. “There you are,” he said with a smile and soft eyes holding mine. “Now, tell me what this dire situation is. I cannot have a lady such as yourself be in any situation of negative consequence. Those eyes of summer skies should not be dulled by clouds, miss.” I sighed, my shoulders slouching and my insides softening at his poetic words of my eyes. It was not a new compliment, nor a particularly innovative one, yet when he spoke it… my heart soared.

“Come, sit. We shall talk over breakfast. You must be famished,” he said, breaking me out of the saddening thoughts that had begun to encroach upon realising I had offended him and lost my chance days ago — in one day I find and ruin what my heart seems set upon… “Thank you, sir…” “I have not forgotten about your dire situation,” he said as he pulled out my chair. “A beauty such as you must have many protectors. Forgive me for what I am about to say, but you appear in no need of the services of an old colonel yet I find myself desperate to have your confidence—” he helped me sit and my skin burned as he held my hand gently “—and I am seasoned enough to know it is a fool’s wish that has occupied my soul.”

He gave a contrite smile and released my hand while my breath faltered and my ribs seemed to constrict my insides more than ever before. “Sir?” I asked, not daring to hope fully yet unable to restrain the wishful thinking. “I shall not ask for what it wishes, do not fret, my lady. I will assist in any manner I can in your dire situation, my lips sealed and my expectations diminished to none but your confidence and temporary seat at my table.”

My heart pounded, my breaths came shallow and rushed through my nose as my lips were held tightly closed to keep the words from spilling out. Was he implying that I had stirred his heart as well? That his soul had been caught in wishes of me as mine had been of him? I must be delusional, surely he means some form of monetary compensation or alliance between our estates will not be requested for keeping my secret?

“If you view me with such harsh eyes much longer, I must retreat like a wounded soldier, miss…” His voice was sorrow-filled and deeper than before. I gasped a breath and straightened while trying to school my features. I had never before failed to truly hide my inner thoughts or reflections, my emotions or sensations but in his presence, my heart wreaked havoc on my control. “I am not accustomed to men such as you… I apologise,” I whispered while clasping my hands atop my dress and clenched them tightly. “I believe you accused me of being just like all others.” “But… you are not,” I whispered as tears welled. “You are so much more, sir. And far out of my reach now…”

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh my word 😩 What kind of Rickmas is this?! Why am I doing this to us? Ugh, the suspense, the longing, the pining, the miscommunication by omission is just killing me (yes, yes, I know I'm the one writing this but still) and I cannot wait to get these two together and stop this nonsense of not speaking out about one's feelings 😭 Then we gotta get old daddy'o on board too of course, but I mean the colonel is everything he wanted his daughter to find, no?

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[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 20 - WRONGFUL PERCEPTION [E1]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC (Marie)

Summary : When the daughter of an old friend has compromised herself, Christopher Brandon sacrifices himself to save her reputation. But maybe love can blossom, even in the most unusual context.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness. Loneliness. Abandon. Rumours. Harsh mother. Unwanted pregnancy.

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

It had been a long time since Christopher had seen Sir William Fleet. He had known him in the army and although he was much older than him, he had quickly become friends with him. He was a wise, discreet, and introverted man, quite the opposite of John Middleton who was also a good friend of William. The latter liked to joke that John was often the yin to his yang.

Christopher's visit was not insignificant. He had received word from John that their old friend was very ill and the doctor was not certain that he would survive the winter. Christopher had therefore made the trip, hoping to see his friend in better condition than he had been told.

A servant showed him into the large Fleet home. The place was much more modest than his Delaford estate but it was a beautiful, well-kept place, which housed the memories of several generations, some more prosperous than William today, although he had done a remarkable job of managing the family fortune.

"Colonel Brandon, my father will see you," a small, shy voice startled him.

He turned around and couldn't help but stare in spite of himself at Marie Fleet, William's daughter. He had never met her before, every time he had come to visit his friend, his child too shy to meet anyone's gaze had always taken refuge in her room and her father, sometimes too indulgent, had always let her do it. Christopher remembered a month's stay where the young girl who could not have been more than twelve at the time had managed the feat of never being seen by anyone.

Marie was twenty-one now and she was a pretty young girl with soft features, but her eyes, which she had been pretty, seemed to carry a shadow that betrayed torments far too great for a young lady of her age and rank.

"Miss Fleet, I am delighted to meet you," Brandon said, bowing politely.

She gave him a small bow without answering, then headed down a hallway, still in silence. Christopher knew he had to follow her and she led him to a small private sitting room with heavy green drapes that filtered the sunlight, giving the room a pleasant, subdued light.

"Christopher, my old friend !" William exclaimed as he rose from his chair.

He didn't look very well but he didn't seem as ill as John had said. Perhaps the potions were taking effect.

"Do you need anything, father ?" Mary asked, never looking up from the floor.

"No, thank you, child. You can get back to your business."

She left without asking for more as William went to a bottle of Brandy to pour a generous amount into two glasses.

"You seem to be in better shape than the rumours suggested," Brandon pointed out cautiously.

"Marie is taking good care of me, but this cough refuses to leave me alone. The doctors weren't sure I'd recover, but I'm more robust than he thinks," William replied, taking a sip from his glass.

"John said you were dying."

William stared at his glass, swirling the liquid without really seeing it.

"I exaggerated a bit because I wanted to be sure you'd come," he finally admitted.

"Why didn't you write ? I would have come without you lying about your condition," Christopher said coldly.

"I didn't lie. Not really. The doctors really weren't sure I'd recover, and they said it would be a harsh winter, especially in this big, old house. But... there's something I'd like to ask you."

Before he could continue, he was overcome by a coughing fit that doubled him over. Christopher stood up to help him, but William stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"It would be as much of a lie as saying I'm perfectly fine. I'm getting old, and while I'm not yet in the grave, my health is failing. Fast. Too fast. And I need you to do me a favour, old friend."

"Of course, tell me," Brandon said, watching him closely.

It was true that William was not the dashing soldier he had once been. Life had worn him down, and Christopher could see the weariness imprinted on every one of his features, that weariness that life brings and that never goes away once it sets in.

"My daughter... She has no suitor. She has always been very lonely and the boys, the few who were interested in her fortune, have ended up turning away. As soon as she opens her mouth, she surpasses them and it scares them. And so much the better, I don't need a dowry hunter as a son-in-law. But, if I die and she is not married, she will have nothing. Everything will go to my nephew. I can't leave this world without being certain that she will be protected. She could work for you..."

"Work for me? You want me to make your daughter a servant?" Christopher asked, really surprised to hear such a thing, "her cousin will be able to take care of her, right ?"

"He would have done it before, but when... when she... not after that. He will disown her and she will end up on the street. She is a good girl, she made a mistake, but she does not deserve to pay for it for the rest of her life, and she is brave, she will work hard, I am sure of it and I know that you treat your people well."

Christopher frowned without understanding.

"Christopher, I trust you. I ask nothing more than that you accept her under your roof when I am no longer here. She and..."

"What are you hiding from me William? " Christopher asked, understanding that Marie's situation was not as trivial as it seemed.

There was something more than a father worried about his daughter who would not inherit his estate or his money and he could not put his finger on this certainty William had that his nephew would refuse to take care of Marie.

"Christopher, what I am going to tell you must never leave this room."

Christopher nodded solemnly.

"Marie, last summer she went to London with my brother and her cousins. There she met a young man. A young man unworthy of her affection, but she did not know that. She did not want to tell me much, but he comes from an important family and he is said to be a lawyer. Anyway, she believed his sweet talk and... and..."

William was unable to continue, the lump in his throat compressing him too much, this lump of fear for this only child that he had always cherished so much since the death of his wife.

"She's carrying a child," Brandon guessed, jaw clenched.

"Yes. It can't be seen yet, she must be barely two months old. We went to see a healer who offered to... to deliver her early, but Marie refused."

"How could your sweet and shy daughter have gotten herself mixed up with a smooth-talking lawyer?" Brandon growled, although his anger was not directed at Marie but at this miscreant who clearly refused to assume his paternity.

"Out of naivety. Also out of hope of finally being loved by someone other than her old father. It's my fault. I was too lenient with her, I wanted to compensate for her years when I was not there and she had to grow up with the firm and implacable authority of my wife who never let her get away with anything. I trusted her and her cousins ​​to watch over each other, but Marie, although intelligent, is terribly naive in matters of the heart and the flesh. She believed in her fine words, she let herself be seduced and now... now, if anyone finds out that she is expecting a baby out of wedlock, she will be ruined. And how can you hide such a thing ?"

William's voice broke on these last words but he bravely held back his tears.

"I first thought of hiding her until the delivery and then giving the baby away, but Marie... she wouldn't survive it, I know her, she wouldn't bear to see her baby taken away from her. And she couldn't keep such a secret, pretend that nothing had happened, she would suffer from it, would never recover and would be unable to find a husband."

"That's the best solution," Christopher pointed out, "you could entrust the child to good people, who would raise it well."

"I know, but I thought... I thought that you could take her and the child in. She could put some money aside, and I have some for her too, a little safe that no one knows about. When she had saved enough, she could leave for the Americas and invent a new life for herself. To say that her husband died in India. They say anything is possible there."

"So you want me to take in your daughter and her child, for your daughter to work for me until she has enough money to escape to a country where she won't know anyone and will be left to fend for herself with a child? " Christopher summed up.

"I don't know what else to do," William admitted.

"Marie is innocent, she can barely look anyone in the eye, and do you think she'll be able to survive alone in a distant land ?" Christopher asked.

"Isn't that her best hope ?" William asked, no longer hiding his tears.

Christopher stood up, pacing.

"No," he finally said firmly, "there is another solution."

"Which one ?"

"Marriage."

Christopher's words were followed by a heavy silence.

"Christopher, I would never ask you that," William began.

"No, but I'm offering it to you," Christopher interrupted.

"What about the child ?"

"Mine. No one will have to know."

"I... Christopher, do you understand what you're proposing ?" William insisted.

He knew Christopher was a good man, he also knew that after Eliza disappeared, hisMy friend didn't really believe in love anymore, but to find himself trapped in a marriage of convenience with a lost girl...

"I'll take care of her, she won't want for anything and you know that your inheritance interests me very little. When you die, I'll make sure that everything goes to your daughter and her child. If it's a little girl, I'll make sure that everything is done legally so that she inherits everything when she's an adult. That way, you'll know that at least one Fleet girl will have some freedom to choose the life she wants to lead."

"Christopher... Marie, what if she never gives you back what you're offering her now ?"

"Then, so be it. I'm not doing it so that she owes me anything. I'm almost 35 and I no longer have any illusions about finding love. I'm old and very unattractive."

"Nonsense! Old? Wait until you're my age, wait until you need a maid to get out of bed and you can call yourself old, you young fool," William said, rolling his eyes.

"No matter, I'll watch over her and the child. It doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl, it will be mine and the child will never want for anything. As for Mary, she will be free to move around, the Delaford will not be a prison for her. Besides, John's cousins ​​are set to move in near him in his old cottage. Maybe she can find a friend with one of them."

William thought for a moment, emptying his Brandy in a slow sip.

"Are you sure, Brandon ? I don't want to give Mary false hope, make her believe that everything will be fine if you're not sure."

"I am. I won't back down."

"Good. I'll talk to her tonight," William said, feeling a terrible weight lift from his heart.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to do it myself," Christopher suggested.

William nodded, standing up with renewed vigour.

"How about we go see the ponds ? I don't really have time to tease their tenants anymore, but my gardener takes good care of them."

The two men went out together, William joking like in the good old days of the army, Christopher still the stoic and composed man who suffered in silence. He didn't suffer from his decision, however, he knew it was the right one. Mary would have a chance, she and her child, which Eliza had not had.

Late that afternoon, before dinner was announced, Christopher asked permission to speak to Mary alone. The young woman slowly entered the library where he was waiting for her, her eyes lowered, her cheeks slightly pink.

"Colonel Brandon, did you want to speak to me ?"

"Miss Fleet, we were never formally introduced."

She didn't answer, but he didn't miss her hand that almost landed on her stomach before she stopped it.

"Miss Fleet, may I speak to you frankly?" Christopher asked, observing her carefully.

"Of course," she answered, looking up at him for the first time.

"Your father... he confided... he confided your secret to me."

Marie blushed violently, her eyes wide in a mixture of fear, anger and shame.

"He..."

She was tempted to tell him that he was a little senile and no longer knew what he was saying, but she didn't want to disrespect her father in this way.

"He shouldn't have. It's my burden, not his," she said instead.

"I'm afraid a child's burden is always his parents'," Christopher replied bitterly.

Marie was lucky to have an understanding father who wanted to lighten his load. If his sister had ever returned home in Marie's condition, their father... he preferred not to think about what his father would have done. He remembered that his sister was happily married in France and focused on what he intended to tell Marie.

"I can help you," he said, his features softening with the compassion he felt for this very young woman.

"How ?" Marie asked, frowning.

"I proposed to your father and he accepted."

"What ? But he had no right ! And I, don't have a say in it ?!" Marie fumed.

Christopher couldn't blame her for her reaction, but she was still young and naive about the world around her. She had been far too protected by a father who had wanted to redeem himself by offering her everything she wanted without ever letting her stray too far from him. At least until that unfortunate escapade in London where she had proven that she knew nothing about the world.

"Your burden would also become mine. You would be protected from rumours, from judgments."

"A pity marriage ?" Marie spat.

William entered at the same moment.

"Come, come, my child, why all this shouting ?" he asked calmly.

"That's your solution, father ? Marry me to a stranger ? Chain me to a man I don't know ?"

"You feel insulted, Marie, but that's the best solution. Christopher is a good man, I have known him for a long time. He will watch over you and your child.

"Father !" Mary exclaimed, outraged.

"You will have a name and protection, just like your child." William said, raising his voice a little.

"You can't force me !" his daughter insisted.

"No, but if you have any common sense you will accept. You made a mistake, an unfortunate mistake, but all is not lost. Christopher is offering you a marriage to save your honour, you will have a roof over your head, you will get my house and my money when I die and this child will never be called a bastard, Mary. This is an opportunity and if you don't take it for yourself, don't be selfish, take it for the baby !"

She took a step back. It was the first time her father had spoken to her like that and his harsh tone took her by surprise.

"What if I refuse ?" she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Christopher stepped forward, towering over her.

"I'll do everything I can to help you, but I think marriage is the best solution. It will spare you the rumours, the prejudices, and most importantly, it will spare the child. It will have a chance, a real chance in this world. You know that a child with no name has nothing in this world."

Marie remained silent, her green eyes shining with silent pain until she finally whispered :

"If you think this is the best solution, father, then I accept."

The old man sighed in relief. Making Marie see reason hadn't been too difficult, and with any luck, this marriage would become more than a marriage of convenience.

The marriage couldn't wait, not with a nearly two-month-old baby growing inside Marie's womb. That night, William was already making plans for the wedding with Christopher. It would take place in the small chapel that bordered his land. Nothing too lavish, nothing too flashy, which suited Christopher just fine.

Marie, she said nothing. It was not the wedding she had dreamed of, nor the man she had imagined her life with, but she had only herself to blame for having believed the fine words of this lawyer, son of a Lord with words as clever as the venom of a snake that paralyses its victim to kill her.

Except that she was not dead, and she was suffering. Her heart was broken and the child she was expecting would remind her for the rest of her life of her mistake and the fact that she was condemning Christopher to a life he had not asked for and did not deserve.

Five days, she would be married in five days. Her father had her mother's dress brought to her, but Marie hesitated.

"Father, I don't think she'd be happy if I wore her dress. Not under these circumstances."

"Marie, your mother was harsh, but she loved you. And she wouldn't have abandoned you, I'm sure of it."

Marie bit her lower lip.

"You'll look lovely," William added as he handed her the dress.

The days passed in a total blur for poor Marie who seemed totally disconnected from everything that was going on around her. In any case, she didn't really have a say. She was asked her opinion on the flowers and she just nodded, she was asked her opinion on the meal and she just recalled that she hated onions.

The ceremony took place with few guests, as agreed. Brandon, dignified and elegant in his red suit, supported Marie when her father handed her over to him. The young woman was shaking, but she was elegant in the white dress that her mother had worn years before. Christopher lifted her veil that hid her frightened eyes and smiled softly at her, hoping to reassure her.

When it was time for the vows, Marie said hers without even hearing them while Brandon said his with firmness and honour.

"We'll leave for the Delaford tomorrow," Christopher announced to Marie during dinner.

"Good," she said calmly.

She ate little, aware of her uncle who was looking at her sideways. He didn't know, she was sure, at least not about the child. But it was not impossible that the cousin to whom she had confided about those nights with the young man who had conquered her heart had spoken to her about it and that he had guessed the reasons for this hasty marriage.

Arriving at the Delaford, Christopher showed her the room she would occupy and Marie, once alone, lay down on the bed and fell asleep immediately until the next day. A maid came to help her get dressed and set up her things.

Christopher, for his part, was aware that he had to give her time. Only time and respect could lead Marie to adapt to this new life, and who knows, perhaps also to accept him as a husband and not just as a protector.

The days passed and if Marie made efforts to talk to him during dinner, she always kept a certain distance. However, although he wasn't really demonstrative in his gestures, Christopher did not fail to be so in his attentions. Every day, he ordered the servants to ensure that Marie's room as well as the small living room where she liked to embroider and the library where she sometimes read were always well heated.

He had also noticed the young woman's love of fruit tea and since then, the kitchen shelves were overflowing with it. He had also had new shoes made for her so that her swollen feet would suffer less and he had also asked that the poetry books, a genre she seemed to like, be all gathered on easy-to-access shelves in the library.

And yet, it never seemed enough to make the young woman lower her guard.

"A ball ?"

Christopher had just announced to her that they were invited to the Middletons. There was a ball there and he hoped she might meet John's cousins ​​or make friends with a lady to ease the loneliness that seemed to follow her like a shadow.

"I don't want to go," she said calmly.

"Why ?" Christopher asked softly.

"I... I wouldn't know anyone," she said.

He could see she was genuinely frightened. Perhaps the memory of the last social outings in London and their aftermath still haunted her.

"I'll be with you all the time," he said, "John is my best friend, I can't upset him by saying no."

She bit her lip, annoyed. She had met John and Mrs. Jennings soon after her marriage to Christopher and had found them nice if a little too outgoing for her tastes. She had also met Elinor Dashwood when she had tea one afternoon with Mrs. Jennings and had found her very nice but she had not liked her sister who thought very little before she spoke and who was a little too impulsive for her. She also did not like this man, this Willoughby, with whom she was constantly hanging out. Something told her that he was not trustworthy. He looked too much like... like the one for whom her heart had raced, making her believe she was in love, except that he was only a mirage and not a lover.

"I am afraid they will see," she finally murmured.

Christopher took her hand gently in his and she did not remove it to his great pleasure. No one would see, he thought. No one except him who could notice the subtle changes in her figure. But her pregnancy was still easily concealed.

"They won't notice. Amelia will take care of your dress and nothing will be noticed. But Mary, we'll have to tell them," he told her kindly.

"But they will know. It doesn't take a great mathematician to figure out that I was pregnant before we were married," she said in a small voice.

"We'll say the baby was premature," he argued.

"They'll see that it's not small enough to be premature," she pointed out.

"In that case, we'll stay confined for a while. They'll pretend that the child was born fragile and can't be in contact with too many people so as not to get sick," he said with conviction.

"And the servants ?"

"They won't say anything. They're loyal to me and they're carefully chosen by Mrs. Hudson and Mr. Stafford to ensure that they meet my standards and the grandeur of this house."

Marie finally accepted, her stomach in knots, but deep down, she wanted to please Christopher. She owed him that after all. He didn't force her to do anything, was always respectful and in return, she was going to impose another man's child on him. A child he had promised to recognize and raise as his own. She owed him more than a ball, she owed him everything. 

On the night of the ball, as Christopher had promised, no one noticed anything. However, he couldn't help but notice their similarities. Like him, she had this gift for not showing what she felt, even if he guessed her discomfort that must have knotted her stomach at the idea of ​​being surrounded by so many people, she was sparing with words and she had this melancholy air that never left her. He wondered if she had always had it or if, like him when he was just a young man in love with Eliza, she had been happy to live and all smiles.

He had asked her to dance, and although a little clumsy with her feet, she had accepted and had let herself be guided by his kindness. When they returned, she had accepted that he put his coat on her shoulders to protect her from the frost that was starting to bite the roads and arrive in their home, she had agreed to share a last tea with him before going to bed.

The next day, when she had joined him at the dining room table, she had told him to announce her pregnancy and Christopher's smile had made her heart skip a beat. It was as if he were announcing the expectation of his own child, he carried the pride of a father and it had hurt Mary's heart, all too aware of what she was doing to this man.

That afternoon was particularly rainy. Mary usually didn't mind going out in the rain for a walk, but today the rain was falling hard and the wind was blowing so hard that even the trees seemed to struggle to stay standing.

She had taken refuge in the private sitting room, the one that never saw a guest, and she was busy knitting socks for the baby when Christopher came back with a pile of mail to sort.

"Oh, sorry Mary. I didn't mean to disturb you. I can go to my office," he said, already turning around.

"No, stay. The office is probably freezing, no one has lit a fire in it," she said, setting her work down next to her.

"Can I help you ?" she asked as Christopher settled into an armchair by the fireplace.

"Well, you can answer these letters if you like," he said, handing her a few envelopes, "they're congratulations on the birth of our future baby."

He watched her furtively several times as she wrote concise but courteous replies. She was fragile and vulnerable, but he could see that she was strong, much stronger than she thought. He would teach her.

That night, Marie struggled to sleep. She was troubled by the conflicting emotions she was feeling. Finally, she decided to go down to the living room. She was pretty sure that the fire still warmed the room and she could read a little away from this oppressive room. 

As she entered, she jumped. Christopher was there, a book in his hand. He looked up at her and couldn't help but examine her closely. She wore only a simple nightgown that hugged her pregnant curves, making her look even more feminine than she had when they first met.

"Sorry. I didn't know you were here," she said, looking down.

"You're not disturbing me. Do you need anything ?" he asked gently.

"No. I couldn't sleep," she said, moving slowly into the room.

"Sit down. Would you like some tea ?" he asked, pointing to the still-steaming teapot on the coffee table.

She nodded, and he poured her a cup, which she held in her slender hands to warm them.

Christopher picked up a blanket that was neatly folded on a dresser and placed it on his shoulders. Marie murmured a small thank you, but the sincere smile she gave him filled Christopher with a joy he couldn't explain.

"Marie, do you have any happy memories ? Before... before all this ?"

He immediately blamed himself for asking, but he was itching to get to know her a little better.

"I remember my father teaching me to read in his study instead of working with the ledgers," she said with a wistful smile, "and summer days by the ponds. One of them was clear and I used to swim in them when I was younger."

"Marie, are you happy to become a mother ?"

There was a silence during which she had to make an effort not to burst into tears.

"I... I never imagined becoming a mother like this," she finally said, "but, he said he loved me, he told me we would live in his family's mansion, that we would have a good life and then... when he got what he wanted, he didn't even look at me anymore."

She couldn't hold back her tears any longer. Immediately, Christopher stood up to come and take her in his arms. She let him do it without resisting.

"And now, in addition to having ruined my life I ruin yours," she said between two sobs.

Christopher pulled back and took her by the shoulders.

"Marie, you didn't ruin anyone's life. You made a mistake, a mistake in judgment, but your life is not over because of it. You are strong and you should be proud of yourself for being here, still standing and fighting. And you are not ruining my life. I chose you and I don't regret a thing."

She looked at him, her eyes full of gratitude and for the first time, she thought she had had a wrongful perception of Christopher when he had proposed to marry her to save his reputation. He was a man of honour and he proved it to her every day.

"There are rumours, I know," said Mary as she pulled away from Christopher's embrace, "Marianne Dashwood mentioned it when we went on a picnic with Mr. Middleton and Mrs. Jennings."

Christopher clenched his jaw. Damn Marianne and her forked tongue. Of course there were rumours, he knew that. Some people said that this hasty marriage had been orchestrated to save the young woman's reputation but thanks to John who, although he understood the truth had been kind enough to pretend he knew nothing, the rumours thought that it was the honourable Christopher who was not so honourable that he will pass it was rising and that he had sinned before redeeming himself by marrying her.

"Don't listen to Marianne Dashwood. She is a girl of little judgment. This child, Marie, is ours and I will challenge to a duel anyone who dares to say otherwise, is that understood ?"

She nodded, but Christopher put a finger under her chin to force her to look at him.

"Is that understood ?" he insisted.

"Yes," Marie whispered.

"I know you think everything is ruined, that you are lost and that nothing is right, but it is not. Everything is fine and you are not lost, you are my wife. And in time, it will get better, you will see."

They finally separated and Marie returned to her room, gently caressing her round belly. She wondered how a woman like her who had sinned, damaged goods, could deserve a man like Christopher Brandon.

Christopher lingered in his office for a moment. He opened a drawer and pulled out a portrait of Mary, a portrait he had made himself. It had taken him no more than a few months to fall in love with her and yet, even if she opened up to him, she still seemed far away.

He had often wondered if an arranged marriage could open the door to true love and he had long doubted it. His parents had never been happy in their marriage, his brother had ruined Eliza, but still, John had assured him that his marriage, although arranged, had been a solid foundation and that the love he had built with his wife had been much stronger than a quick passion in the glow of a burning fire that made the heart of a man blinded by the illusion he called love beat faster.

But there was no wrongful perception for Christopher. He had fallen in love with Marie, and with patience, she might eventually give herself to him. At least, he hoped so, now that he had a chance to experience love in his tormented life.

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 22 - SHIVERING CERTAINTY [E2]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC (Marie)

Summary : And if, finally, love could blossoms in the most unusual way ? And if, finally, Christopher didn’t really sacrifice himself ? And if, finally, both of them get exactly what they deserve ?

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness. Loneliness. Abandon. Rumours. Harsh mother. Unwanted pregnancy.

WRONGFUL PERCEPTION : Part I

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

At breakfast, Marie stared at her plate without much appetite. Brandon watched her furtively. Her round belly left no doubt: in a few months, they would be parents.

"Marie, is everything okay ?" Christopher asked, worried.

"I... I don't really know," she said without looking up.

"Are you scared ?"

"A little bit," she said, gripping her spoon a little tighter.

He reached out a cautious hand to place it on hers. She looked up at his big green eyes and found only tenderness.

"What if I'm not ready for it ?"

"You won't be alone. I'll be there. And we'll hire a governess," he tried to reassure her.

"But I don't want my baby to be raised by servants," she said softly, "I... I want to be a good mother," she confessed, looking down again.

"And you will be," Christopher affirmed, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

Marie gave him a small smile. She still wasn't entirely convinced that everything would be okay, but Christopher had this gift of making her feel calmer, safer. She still felt bad about imposing an illegitimate child on the Colonel, but he seemed sincerely invested. He never made her feel like a burden and if at first she had regretted their union, she accepted it more and more now.

Maybe, yes maybe if she gave him a chance, she could have a good life and even know love, the real one, the one that is born of deep feeling and not of a fleeting passion.

After breakfast, Marie went to get a shawl to go for a walk in the gardens. Christopher, who was busy in his greenhouse preparing the soil for the future roses that would bloom again in the spring, saw her pass by and decided to follow her discreetly.

As she arrived near an old oak tree, she stopped for a moment, her hand placed on her belly.

"Marie, is everything okay ?" Christopher asked as he approached slowly.

She turned around, a big smile on her lips. Without a word, she approached him and, to the Colonel's great surprise, she took his hand to place it on her belly.

Christopher's eyes widened when he felt small knocks against his hand. The baby was moving.

"Hello, little one," he whispered with emotion.

"Do you think it will be a little boy or a little girl ?" Marie asked as she placed her hand against Christopher's which was still resting on her round belly.

"It doesn't matter. It'll be a darling child," Christopher replied, fascinated by the movements he still felt under her large, firm hand.

Marie closed her eyes, a strong emotion pressing on her heart. She was torn, torn between what she had done, between what she was imposing on Christopher, and the feelings she had for him and the future that could be bright, if only she would agree to let him love her and her baby.

"Do you want to know ?" she asked suddenly.

"Know what ?" Christopher asked surprised.

"What happened. Who is the father."

"No, it's your story, it belongs to you."

"But I want to tell you," Marie whispered.

A gust of wind came to sweep the leaves all around, lifting Marie's dress slightly and revealing her ankles that were not covered by her woollen stockings. They were so swollen that she could no longer tolerate any fabric on her sensitive skin. That little glimpse of skin troubled Christopher more than he would have thought. He remembered his brother once telling him about one of his one-night stands when he was not yet engaged to Eliza that a woman's ankles were the most wonderful thing and Christopher, who had laughed at the time, was beginning to believe him.

"Let's go inside and take shelter. This wind could make you sick and now is not the time with the baby on the way," he said, holding out his arm to her.

She followed him into the living room where they sat down by the fire. A maid came to bring them tea and biscuits.

"At the end of February, I went to London, I..."

"Marie, you don't owe me an explanation. I already know that you met a man, that he cheated on you and left you," Christopher interrupted, "I don't need to know more."

"But I feel like I have to tell you everything," Marie said, struggling to hold back her tears.

"You don't owe me anything, Marie. I know what there is to know, I also know that you are strong and you are not alone. You are not anymore. I am here."

"I am sorry that I didn't love you right away, Christopher," she said in a breath, "I agreed to marry you for my father, to spare him after what I did to him, to spare him the shame of having a slut for a daughter."

"Don't you ever talk about yourself like that," Christopher scolded her, "you're not a slut! You're a young woman who was abused by a man without honour. I didn't love you right away either, Marie. I wanted to protect you, save your honour, but for me, this marriage has become much more than a formality," Christopher declared without taking his eyes off her.

"I think it's more than a formality for me too," Marie whispered, her eyes shining, "but I feel guilty."

"Don't be. Never. Forget all that, Marie. This child is a chance, a chance for true love for you and me. And it will be loved, darling. This child is my child, Marie. And you, you must free yourself from this guilt, from these memories that have broken you. Free yourself from the past that you can't erase and focus on our future together."

"Christopher," Marie whispered as she moved closer to him.

"If you had asked me to walk away, I would have, but not now, not now that you have confided all this to me. I know you were betrayed, but we're not all like that, Marie. Try to trust me."

She nodded softly, sitting down next to him. Christopher placed a hand against her cheek. Marie leaned against his palm, more serene than she had been since she'd discovered she was pregnant.

"You're so patient with me," she said, placing her hand against his, "so good."

"I'm yours, Marie. You have my loyalty, my protection, and my love. Unconditionally."

"And if we ever have a fight, will you blame me ?"

"Never ! I'm not like that, Marie. I would never blame you for making me fall in love with you. And I would never use our child against you. This is my baby, it is mine, mine and it will never have to know the truth, because the only truth is that I am the father," Christopher said firmly in a voice that left no room for contradiction.

Marie nodded with emotion, overwhelmed. She had not chosen this marriage, but this union that she had seen as a punishment could well be a blessing if she agreed to forgive herself.

Christopher took her gently in his arms and she let him do it, resting her head against his chest. He offered her stability, security and she felt happy.

Both were aware that there would be efforts to make, trials to overcome, but together, they would be stronger. Christopher was her new beginning, it was a shivering certainty.

"Let's be a family, a real family," she said, raising her head to look into the Colonel's hazel eyes.

"I would be more than happy."

That night, Marie asked Christopher for her permission to sleep with him, which he gladly accepted. That night was the first of many. She felt safe by his side and she loved that he would lay his head against her belly every night to tell their future baby about his adventures in India as their relationship slowly blossomed into respect and love.

"Christopher !"

Christopher woke with a start at the sound of Marie's voice.

"What's going on?" he asked, getting up to light a candle.

"The baby, it's coming," she said with a grimace.

Christopher noticed that the bed was wet. Her water had broken. He immediately called for the doctor and the housekeeper. The doctor arrived quickly with a midwife who told the Colonel to wait outside.

Christopher paced up and down the hallway, clenching his fists every time he heard Marie scream. Inside the room, the governess was wiping his forehead while the doctor, with the help of the midwife, worked to contain a slight haemorrhage.

"Christopher, I want Christopher," she gasped, her fingers clenched on the blood-stained sheets.

The governess went to get him. The poor man, his hands shaking, silently prayed that everything would be okay. He could not bear the loss, neither her nor the child. When the governess told him she was asking for him, he did not hesitate for a second to go back into the room.

"Christopher," Mary whispered when he saw him enter, "stay close to me. Stay."

He came to sit next to her and took her hand in his, squeezing it delicately.

"I'm here, Mary. I'm staying close to you."

He ran a damp cloth over her forehead before placing a kiss on it. In that moment of extraordinary intensity, he offered her the strength and calm she needed, a rock in the storm.

"The baby is coming," the midwife said, pressing a little on Marie's belly.

It took another two hours for the baby to decide to leave the comfort and security of her mother's womb. Marie was exhausted and had lost consciousness once, woken by Christopher who had patted her cheeks to bring her back to her while trying to control his own fear.

When a shrill cry rang out, Marie sighed with relief, a tired smile on her face. The doctor came to place the child in her arms and congratulated her. A little boy. He was tiny, fragile and so innocent. He didn't look premature either, but the doctor and midwife had seen other things and they knew it was not their place to judge or to tell anyone.

"Christopher, do you want to take your son ?" she asked without even realizing that she was crying with happiness.

Christopher took the child with an exaggerated bow, afraid of hurting him.

"Hello my little boy. My son," he said, looking at this little being so pure that he held in his arms.

"He is so beautiful," he said, smiling, "he is a true blessing."

"What do you want to name him ?" Marie asked, placing a hand on her son's head.

"It's up to you," he answered without looking away of the baby's face.

"No. You're his father, it's up to you to choose your son's name."

"What do you think of Thomas ? Thomas William Brandon ?"

"Thomas William Brandon," she repeated, "yes, I like it."

She looked at her husband tenderly, filled with an inner peace that seemed to erase the pain of her past. There was only love in her once-bruised heart and the shivering certainty that this family he was building, everything she had lived, lost, suffered, had led her to this man who was healing her.

"I love you, Christopher," she said as the midwife took their son away to be washed.

Christopher stared at her, his throat tight. He had believed for so long that he was unworthy of being loved, and now he had a family.

"I love you too Marie," he replied, stroking her damp hair, "and Merry Christmas," he added with a smile.

Two years later

Thomas walked awkwardly in the library, following his father who was putting away books. Thomas was a child full of energy who loved to be behind his father, his hero that he tried to imitate from the height of his two years.

Marie entered the room as Christopher who had just picked him up showed her a book containing pictures of exotic animals that he had seen in India. She walked forward, looking at them tenderly, to Brandon whom she hugged from behind, resting her head on his back.

"Don't give him the wrong idea," she said, caressing Thomas' cheek.

"Believe me my dear, as long as I live, our son will never enter the army."

He turned to place a light kiss on her forehead.

"How are you ?" he asked, placing a hand on her belly.

"I'm happy. But exhausted. I wish your child would let me sleep at night," she said, laughing softly.

"I hope it's a little girl," Christopher said, gently caressing the slightly rounded curve that already hinted at the arrival of a future baby in their home.

"A winter baby and a summer baby," Marie said, looking at Thomas who was fidgeting a little in Christopher's arms, demanding her attention.

"And it's all thanks to you, my son," Christopher said in a soft voice, "you're the one who made us a family."

Marie snuggled a little closer to him. On this Christmas Eve, she couldn't be happier. She had everything she had ever wanted and more. Christopher looked so beautiful with their son in his arms. Together, they had overcome so many obstacles and their love was only stronger, growing a little more each day. He was her strength and she was his.

Marie and Christopher had the shivering certainty that they had always been meant to be together and both thanked the heavens for having pushed destiny to bring them together. Neither of them had understood it right away, but they were soulmates. That was a certainty.

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 24 - CHRISTMAS PARTY

Pairing : Judge Turpin x OC Colonel Brandon x OC Sinclair Bryant x OC

Summary : It's the eve of Christmas for three generations of a same lineage.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Someone hates Christmas.

A/N : Thank you to @deepperplexity for hosting Rickmas but also for her kindness and for her talent ! It's always a pleasure to read you ! And I had so much fun challenging me for this Rickmas and it gave me the motivation to coming back to my own personal writing and for that even more thank you !!!

And Merry Christmas to you all dear reader, I wish you all the best.

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

Richard hated Christmas. It was no surprise to you who had learned it in your first year of marriage. It was not really a problem for you not to celebrate Christmas, in your family, you did not have the means to do such a foolish thing.

Indeed, before your marriage to the High Judge of London, Lord Richard Turpin, you were nothing more than a burden on your poor family. Not that your parents had ever made you feel like one, but you were growing old without finding shoes that fit you, which had ended up alarming them. What is a woman if she is not married ?

And who would marry you if you were nothing more than an old maid who had lost her freshness ?

Judge Turpin, obviously.

You had been afraid at first, but you also knew that refusing would be foolish. You were past the age of being able to wait for your soulmate and when your father died, you would have ended up at best in a hospice, at worst on the streets of London. So you had accepted Richard's proposal reluctantly, worried about the trap you had closed on yourself of your own accord.

The wedding had taken place quickly and you had resigned yourself to being locked in a golden cage and to giving him the heirs he needed, because you were not naive, you knew that was the only reason why he had rushed the marriage with a complete stranger.

Except that night, he didn't touch you. Nor the following ones. After your wedding, when he had brought you back to the manor and shown you the room where you would sleep, he had gone out, leaving room for a maid who had helped you change. She had told you that Richard would come back later because it was his room and you had shivered with fear, except that when he returned, he had chastely kissed you on the forehead before ordering you to go to bed.

You had obeyed, expecting him to exercise his right as a husband, but he had said in a cold voice :

"You will be mine, but not by force. You will be because you want to be," and he had blown out the candle.

You still remember thinking that you would never be his, except that you already were, by law. And later, it was your heart that would decide that he wanted to be entirely hers.

Two years later, you gave birth to your first child, a son, an heir. A difficult pregnancy, a delivery that had almost left you for dead, but you had survived to the greatest relief of Richard who could never have imagined continuing to live without you. That night, as he forced you to eat a few mouthfuls of broth to regain your strength, he had confessed to you that he didn't know how he had managed to live until now before you.

When five years later, you were pregnant again, against all expectations given your advanced age for a lady but also because of the scars left by your previous pregnancy, Richard had made sure that nothing could happen to you. You couldn't even get up to go pee without being followed by the old governess who reported all your nonsense to him like a zealous employee... except that you knew that she did it mainly because of the maternal love she had for your husband and that she had become very attached to you, the woman who had managed to make the merciless judge of London human.

Richard and you complemented each other perfectly; he was the authority and you were the gentleness. He punished, you comforted and waited for him to leave for work to lift the punishments.

If only Christmas didn't exist. 

Except that after the birth of your first child, you had insisted on an intimate Christmas at the manor. Just the two of you and your son and later your daughter. And Richard, giddy with the love he felt for you, had agreed. But he still hated this holiday as much and never let himself get caught up in it, even if he tried to hide it more or less skilfully for the sake of his children.

"Woman, I swear that if you add one more garland, you will sleep in another room," he growled when he saw you decorating the banister.

"Well that's not what the manor lacks," you replied without looking up.

He rolled his eyes, mumbling something that sounded like "Ah ! women," when your little girl came running to throw herself into his arms.

He bit his tongue to keep from reprimanding her for running like a wild girl through the corridors of the manor. She was only six, much more impetuous than her brother, unimpressed by her illustrious father and showing him a love as overflowing as yours that always melted him, even if he was careful not to show it.

"Father, I want you to teach us a Christmas carol," she demanded enthusiastically.

Richard's gaze darkened. You gave him a warning look. If you were used to walking on eggshells when it came to Christmas, it was harder for children who didn't understand their father's aversion to this holiday.

You, of course, knew. His painful childhood, those holidays locked in his room while his parents feasted with their prestigious guests, the laughter that echoed while he opened the only gift he never received at that time, the one from his governess.

"I don't know any Christmas carols," he said, trying to control his tone.

"But you're old, you should know plenty," your daughter answered with the candour of a child her age.

"My dear, you should ask your brother. He would love to teach you the ones he knows," you intervened so as not to make Richard more uncomfortable than he already was.

Fortunately, your daughter was not a child who was too difficult to convince, and she went in search of her big brother who would have to sacrifice his game with his toy soldiers.

"That's why I didn't want us to celebrate Christmas in my mansion," he grumbled.

You went down the few steps that separated you from him to come and snuggle against his chest.

"Richard, we can't deprive children of Christmas," you said softly.

"And why not ?"

"Because we love them ?" you suggested with a smile.

"I can love them without Christmas. I would love them just as much without this damn Christmas, because they are yours, silly !"

"Well, since you love me so much, make an effort because it makes me happy to offer a little magic to children. I never had the right to it when I was little. I know you don't either, but if you would agree, just for once, to leave the past behind you and focus on what you have now, you could maybe enjoy this holiday."

He rolled his eyes but said nothing, just kissing the top of your head, undoing a strand of hair from your bun with his finger to let it fall down your shoulder.

"You're lucky I love you," he said with a sigh.

"No, you're the lucky one," you replied before going back to decorating the banister.

He would never admit it, but he knew he was the luckiest man to have met you.

"Richard," you called out to him.

He looked up at you, one eyebrow raised in question.

"You know, you've been led to believe that Christmas is just a frivolity, but the truth is, it's a family holiday. And we're here, all together. That's all that matters."

He pondered your words as you made your way upstairs. Shouts could be heard from the playroom and you assumed that the pretend war with the toy soldiers had become a real war between the siblings.

"Tell them that if I have to intervene, Christmas is called off," Richard said behind you.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. Christmas was in two days and you weren't going to let your grumpy husband cancel it, and even the children knew that.

"Father, father !" his two children shouted in unison as they entered his office.

It was Christmas Eve, the only day when the children were allowed to stay up until midnight, but it was only nine in the morning and Richard could tell it was going to be a long day. He should have canceled Christmas yesterday, when they had given him the chance by bickering like paupers from the slums of London.

"Stop yelling like seagulls," he said angrily, "and what's the use of me hiring the most expensive and famous tutors if they can't teach you how to knock on a door ?" he added, looking at them sternly.

"Excuse me, father," they said in unison.

"Why all the fuss ?" he asked, inviting them to come and sit on his lap.

They didn't need to be asked twice to join him.

"Look what mother gave us ?" your son said, showing him an old account book.

"Can you read it to us tonight, father ?" your daughter asked, giving him her doe-eyed look.

He was about to answer that he didn't read that kind of book, but he stopped himself just in time. Your words the night before had kept him busy for a long part of the night, and he was determined to make an effort. For them. For you.

"Very well, but only if you finish your plates without protesting tonight and if I don't hear you arguing. You are brother and sister, behave as such, not like animals in a circus. Understood ?"

They nodded, kissing him each in turn on the cheek before returning to their games. Meanwhile, Richard, alone in his office, watched London stretch out before him with a smile on his lips.

That evening, he participated awkwardly, but sincerely in the party. He even surprised himself by enjoying himself, especially when the children presented you with a Christmas play that they had rehearsed since a story you had told them at the beginning of the month.

When it was almost midnight, Richard had an arm around the children who had fallen asleep against him on the sofa listening to him read the Christmas story, and another around you who was dozing, his head resting on his chest.

"You were right," he whispered so as not to wake them.

"I know," you answered, raising your head to look at him, "about what ?" you asked anyway.

He let out a rare laugh before kissing you tenderly.

"That if I focused on the present, I could enjoy this holiday.

You kissed him back, radiant.

"You see, it's not too late to create new memories for yourself. Happy memories."

"You're the one who makes me happy. And them," he said, looking down at your children.

You rested your head against his chest, your hand caressing your daughter and son's heads affectionately. It had taken Richard Turpin a while, but he had come to understand how much the family he had built with you was essential to him and that it was what made Christmas magical.

Christopher Brandon loved Christmas. Even more so since you were married and you had made him the father of five beautiful children. Three sons and two daughters who had inherited your sweet face and noble character, except for your eldest who looked exactly like his father, but who had your natural curiosity.

For Christopher, Christmas was the warmest holiday of the year. You and the children were by his side, and if he didn't organize any special parties at the Delaford and he didn't accept any invitations to spend this time with you, his domain was always filled with joy and laughter.

On this December 24th, the house was beautifully decorated thanks to you. The big tree in the living room added a little more warmth to your family celebration and the children were having fun by the fire. Your eldest son was playing the piano while your youngest daughter accompanied him by singing a Christmas carol that Christopher had taught him earlier in the day.

Your second son was looking out the window praying that it would start snowing, he who dreamed of a white Christmas to have snowball fights with his brothers and sisters and snowmen with his father.

Christopher was looking at them with affection, but he had this little smile, imperceptible to anyone else, but not to you. He was preparing something, you were sure of it. However, no matter how much you had pestered him all day to know what it was, he had refused to answer you.

"Dad, can we open the presents ?" your youngest son asked him. "Oh, yes," your daughters chimed in.

"In an hour, after dessert," you replied with a soft smile.

"And here I thought you were eager to see what I was preparing," Christopher teased you.

You gently punched him on the shoulder, but with a nimble gesture, he grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips.

"Don't set a bad example for the children," he told you with a smile.

You rolled your eyes, returning his big smile.

Finally, at the children's insistence, you agreed to let them open their presents at the same time as dessert was served. Their smiles, their laughter filled you and Christopher with joy. He then got up and left the large living room under your surprised gaze to come back with a small package in his hands.

At least you thought it was a package, but when he approached, you saw fur. Fur fluttering.

"Dad ! You brought us a dog !" your youngest daughter exclaimed.

Your five children rushed over to him and your eldest took the little ball of fur in his arms to pet it to the youngest while warning them to be gentle. You couldn't help but notice how much he looked like his father.

"So that's what you were hiding," you said with a smile as you sat back down on the couch, the children at your feet playing with their new friend.

"They've been asking for years for a dog that wouldn't be used for guarding or hunting, but just to keep them company. John's dog had puppies and he kept this one for me," he said with a soft smile as he watched the young puppy shyly move into his new surroundings.

"What's his name ?" your eldest daughter asked as she turned to you, her auburn curls dancing around her head.

"It's up to you," Christopher replied.

That was all it took for the kids to get into a heated discussion over the dog's name.

"And to think we almost had a quiet evening," you said, feigning exasperation.

"Oh, but this was all part of my plan, Mrs. Brandon."

"What plan ?" you asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"We've got an hour, while they argue, make up, and decide on a name. Enough time for me to give you your present."

He stood up, holding out his hand to you with a mischievous glint in his eye, and you knew that didn't meanonly one thing: the library books would witness your antics again.

"Your ancestors are so funny," you said, closing the diary of Colonel Brandon's wife.

Sinclair turned to you with a smile, Richard Turpin's diary in his hands.

"This one belonged to my great-great-great grandfather, the High Judge of London."

"Do you think it's as interesting as your great-great-great grandmother's ?"

"Oh yes," he said with a big smile, "it's more... juicy."

"Juicy ?"

"She was rather reserved about everything to do with sex, but he goes into detail and believe me, she wasn't shy in bed at all !"

"Sinclair ! You're talking about your ancestors," you gently scolded him.

"But it's true !" he defended himself.

What had started as a search for a Christmas book in Sinclair's vast library had turned into a dive into memories from another time. You had found Colonel Brandon's journal by chance, the one that chronicled a time before his wife, in the army and Sinclair had then decided to share with you the intimate lives of all his ancestors, although he could not go back further than Christopher Brandon.

"What a treasure to have preserved all his memories," you said as he pulled another notebook from a chest.

"Lionel had Brandon's," he said, mentioning his rich and eccentric cousin, "but he didn't find them very interesting so he gave them to me. I never told him what Richard's contained, he would have been dying to have my hands on them and read the craziest positions he made his wife take," he said nonchalantly.

"Sinclair !" 

"Oh, don't be such a prude. You're shy in public too, but when we're in bed..."

"Sinclair Bryant ! I swear if you write that in a diary I'll kill you !"

He laughed as he pulled you against him.

"It would be for prosperity," he whispered in your ear.

"Our child could find it."

He pulled away, his eyes wide as you clapped your hand over your mouth.

"Our child ?" he repeated, looking at you intensely.

You lowered your head, guilty. You'd known for three days, but you wanted to wait until Christmas struck twelve to tell him. But you weren't far from four after all.

"You're going to be a father, Sinclair," you said, placing your hands on his chest.

"I... Me ?"

"Yes, you big idiot," you replied, tapping him gently on the shoulder, "who else do you want it to be ?"

"How long have you known ?"

"Three days, I wanted to surprise you, as a Christmas present."

He shook his head, closing his eyes. After his divorce, he thought he could never be happy again. Then, he had met you one evening when your train was stopped in the middle of the tracks because a tree had fallen due to the storm that was raging that day. He was coming back from Manchester where he had to go for his job, you were coming back after yet another job interview for a job as a teacher. A new refusal that had depressed you more than usual. He had seen your big wet eyes, but also the strength with which you fought not to let any tears fall. You started talking, he made you laugh, he appreciated your simplicity and he thought that maybe that was what he needed: someone simple who knew how to appreciate the little things in life.

You had parted ways that night without knowing that fate had decided that you could never live without each other again. You had crossed paths several times, Sinclair had helped you get a job thanks to his many contacts, he had invited you to eat with him several times, introduced you to his parents - and to his great relief, his mother had immediately liked you unlike the demonic bitch who had broken his heart -, you had introduced him to your parents, and finally, one summer afternoon, in a gondola in Venice, he had proposed to you.

And today, you were going to make him a father.

"So, you're not so disappointed anymore about missing Lionel's big Christmas party, right ?" you said, smiling. 

The doctor had warned you that the pregnancy could be complicated and that you should stay calm. Your bad cough had arrived just in time to find an excuse not to attend the party without having to confess the real reason to your husband.

"Maybe it'll be twins," Sinclair said, placing his hand on your stomach.

"I'd have enough on my plate with two Bryant," you joked.

Except that once again, Sinclair's skills as a forecaster had not been wrong. Eight months later, his mother and his aunt would no longer be the only twins in the family. Now there would be two beautiful little boys as curious as their father and gentler than their mother. But you didn't know that yet. It was for later, far long after this Christmas Party.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 20: Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2], Prompt 11. Out Of Reach [A3], Prompt 17. Truthful Longing [A4]

A/N: It’s Christmas time! Well, at least over her. Mom’s arriving any minute now and I’ve done a shift at the library today as well. Tomorrow the first Christmas celebration will go off and I’m super excited - stressed, yes, very much, but excited 😂👍 I hope you’re having an amazing Friday (or whatever day it is you’re reading this) and that you’re ready for some more Brandon love! 😍👏❤

Tags/TW’s: Not really any tags or warnings for this fic, I’m not sure how to tag it but there’s some angst, some mentions of the previous panic attack, some miscommunication (not between MCs) and a wild blurting of feelings 😅

Word Count: 1.4k

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Wrongful Perceptions

“Are you certain I shall not ready the carriage?” Christopher asked as I adorned a heavy cloak smelling of him. “Marrygold will take me home. I am fond of riding.” “Then I shall ride with you.” “You will?” He nodded at my words and a butler stepped up with his coat and top-hat in hand. “Thank you, Peter.” “Master,” the butler replied as Christopher dressed for the cold. “I shall delay lunch,” the butler continued and Christopher nodded.

As the doors opened, a gust of icy wind whipped across my face. Two stable boys stood at the end of the stairs holding each of our horses. I glanced at Christopher, he had already planned to come with me it seemed. “Do not look at me with such judgement, Calliope.” “You ought to practice on your perception of my, what did you call it, expressive features?” “Is that so?” he asked with a smile as we walked down the stairs. “I am not judging, I am thankful to you…”

We fell into silence after that. The winds howling and Marrygold’s pleased snort took over as I grabbed her reins. A saddle had been strapped to her, not that I needed one, but it was proper. “Which way?” I asked as Delaford had been an unknown location to me before the turn of events that led me here. “North-east,” Christopher said. “North if we take the forest route, which is quicker.” “North it is then.”

The wind dragged my hair loose, my gloved fingers chilled while gripping the reins as we galloped between trees — Christopher and his steed close behind me. He called directions now and then, yet my mind lay not with our destination but the estate we were leaving. It would become my home should father agree to our hasty marriage.

I pulled on the reins while leaning back, halting Marrygold to a standstill with a neighing, and Christopher came to a stop beside me. I panted, my mind raced and that dreadful feeling of panic surfaced.

“Dear, are you fairing?” His words went passed me as hasty as the wind. “Calliope?” he asked, and came up right next to me, laying a hand atop my trembling one. “This is wrong,” I whispered. Shame marring my thoughts as I realised we had no dowry to offer, soon not an estate or coin to our name and it would drag my heart’s treasure down in the eyes of society.

“Summer sky,” he said, squeezing my hand. “The only thing wrong is your lack of enthusiasm at the moment. Have you… Are you regretful of accepting me?” “No! Christopher, lord no,” I said, guilt building within me. “But I am no match worthy of you.” “My heart has spoken, even if you had been a maid I would have asked for your hand. I am too old to trifle with my own heart, too gone in years and too seasoned to give society or propriety any thought in matters they have no say in.” “Oh, Christopher…” “As it is, you are from an esteemed family, with a grand legacy and a name worth something in the eyes of society. None of it matters, but your heart.” “Grand legacy… It will soon be gone.” “No, my dear. It will soon be entwined with mine and you shall want for nothing.”

⁛•⁛

The doors swung open before my feet hit the ground. “Calliope!” Father shouted while running down the stairs. “Where have you been?!” he continued and swept me into his arms. The gaping hole of the open doors held my gaze as I remembered the horrible sensation I had experienced of them wanting to swallow me and the grand room beyond expanding around me before plummeting toward me. A trick of the mind, of course, but no less terrifying.

“Father, I’m alright,” I said as he squeezed me tightly. “Where have you been? Why would you leave in such abandon?” he asked as he stepped back and took hold of my upper arms. His eyes lingered on the golden rope keeping the heavy cloak tied around my neck. Then he seemed to find himself, and propriety. along with etiquette in one swoop as Christopher dismounted his horse with a thud.

“Father, I have great news.” Father looked to my right where Christopher now stood. “Colonel Brandon?” he asked. “Indeed, sir. I had the good fortune of finding your daughter on my estate.” “At Delaford? My Calli, what—” I smiled, wishing to soothe the wrinkles of worry from his forehead. “It is a long story, but we have news, Father. Shall we take up the parlour?” I asked, and Father nodded while muttering a string of agreeing words and inviting Christopher in.

After disrobing, we entered the west parlour on the second floor. Christopher had walked close by my side while Father had led the way two steps ahead. I had paled during the ascent of the stairs. Only yesterday had I bolted down them in a rush of panic. Things were different now, yet the remnants remained.

We were served tea by Miss Abel, then Christopher and I found ourselves seated on the sofa while Father sat in one of the three chairs. “So, news you say?” he asked. I nodded, glancing at the man beside me for a second. “Good news. You will have a wed daughter.” Father spluttered into his teacup. “A marriage? What— When— Who have managed to capture you, my Calli?” he asked; as if the man sitting next to me was not evidence enough. “You have a nephew, Colonel Brandon?” he continued, his eyes going between us both — utterly confused it seemed.

Christopher chuckled. “No, sir.” “Then, I am at a loss.” I nearly rolled my eyes. “Father, I shall marry the colonel,” I declared and Father shot out of the chair as if it had burned his behind. “The what?” “The colonel, Colonel Brandon,” I clarified while laying a gentle hand on his strong thigh, not sure what to make of Father’s reaction. Should he not be jubilant?

Father dropped his teacup. It shattered atop the thin rug. “Father!” I called out, instantly on my feet. “What have I forced you to do,” he murmured, looking at me with an ache in his usually happy eyes. “You are my beautiful Calliope, your mother’s spitting image, a soulful being of joy and poetry. What have I forced you to—” “Father,” I interrupted harshly as the man he spoke so off-puttingly about had risen next to me.

I turned, laying my hands on Christopher’s chest — his heart pounded beneath my right palm. Looking up, I found eyes of sorrow once more looking down at me. “I shall find a solution to your dire situation,” he murmured, his voice held taut by pain. “I am not agreeable, it seems…” He smiled most softly, a half smile, a sad smile, a painful ordering of his handsome features. “No, please,” I whispered. “I shall find a solution for you.” He turned toward Father while grabbing my wrists to lower my hands before he fully twisted himself to slightly bow his head toward the wide-eyed, shocked man. “Lord Haymnick, thank you for your time. I return your daughter in a better state than I found her.”

That was it.

Father blinked, I tried to grab Christopher's arm but he moved out of the room swiftly in harsh strides. “Father!” I shouted, rounding the table and snagging myself on my own dress. “How could you?!” He blinked, seeming dazed. “What? My Calli, you cannot marry a man so—” “So what? Caring? Gentle? Kind? What?! He’s the best man I have ever met and I cannot hide a single thought from him! I cannot lie to him, I cannot stop myself from thinking about him!” “He could be my brother, for goodness sake.” “So? That has never stopped any marriage before. And he could not be your brother, he’s—” “Calliope, please, I have several good suitors for you on hand, you don’t need to—”

I snarled, frustration leaking out of me while I fought myself not to run after Christopher. “I want to marry him! I— Father, my heart is screaming for the man you just spoke so terribly about. You—! I was told to marry before the end of the year, and marry I shall, but I will marry none other than Christopher!” “But, but Calli, he’s—” “Wonderful!” I shouted, stomping toward the door after having lost the battle to run after him. “He saved me, in every way possible and I will marry him. Not because it is necessary, or because of the fraud you’ve spun. I will marry him because I… I am falling in love with him.” I grabbed my dress, and heaved a frustrated breath that had my nostrils flaring, as I glared at my gaping father before readying myself to run after the man I could not lose. Again...

To Be Continued...

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A/N: GAAAAAH - Father, what have you done you nincompoop?! Thank goodness we get the next part of this already tomorrow - hehehe 😘

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[deepperplexity]

Prompt 17: Truthful Longing [A4]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2], Prompt 11. Out Of Reach [A3]

A/N: You guys 😭 This part is— Gosh, I love it and I’m just a mess of tears and happy feels after finishing today’s fic 😭👏 Gosh, I do so hope you’ll love this - and please send some good vibes and extra energy my way today if you can (it’s accounting day, AND I’m doing corrections to my accounting before it’s time to do income taxes in January… I hate accounting, I just wanna write my silly little books and marvel at torturing my characters before they get their HEA but nooooo…. Gotta do accounting and deal with taxes and this is NOT the vibe for Rickmas Season 😒) ❤

Tags/TW’s: Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Revealing Secrets, Kissing, ALL THE DAMN LOVELY LANGUAGE AND SPEECH, Proposal, Light Grovelling, Light Pleading, Threat Of Miscommunication (Instantly Resolved), ALL THE BRANDON LOVE

Word Count: 1.3k

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Truthful Longing

His eyes widened, shock and worry filling them, as I let my tears roll down my cheeks. “I have to leave,” I said, rising so swiftly the delicate chair toppled. He stood just as quickly. “Leave? I cannot in good conscience—” “Sir, you are making my life unbearable.” He stiffened, the shock an worry exchanged with something more painful. “I— I am at a loss. You view me with such harshness, such darkness in your eyes, and I cannot fathom what I have done to earn your disdain…” “It is not disdain, Colonel Brandon,” I forced out, stiffening my spine and hardening my heart in preparation for the hurt soon to attack it. “You— Forgive me for being blunt—” I snivelled and tried to steady my voice “—but you are the loss breaking my heart, sir.”

He took a step back, his chest rising with a deep breath. “I cannot—” “I have enough honour not to detain your attention when it is hopeless, when a fraud is playing out and you— I cannot be dishonest with you and nor can I be honest. I am at the losing end whichever way I turn,” I admitted, feeling pain sear my core and burn my soul as his eyes sought answers in mine. “I will not sully my mother’s teachings, her legacy, with lies or tricks. I will not—” “What lies? What deceit? What tricks do you speak of? You have told me nothing, miss. I am breaking in earnest for your confidence, wishing to leave for the world yet foolishly remaining here with a shrivel of a hope that you would send word, extend an invitation, seek me as my heart has sought you long before I knew of your existence.”

He had walked up to me while speaking in fervour, I had stepped back and he’d followed with demanding eyes of endless depth. His words — poetic and romantic in speech — were laden with hurt and anguish. I must tell him. “Sir, please… I am no match for you, or your heart.” “So you cast me aside, without the courtesy of reason? Am I to be left wondering for the rest of my life what I did to cause you such disdain for me when I saw in your eyes that same longing as the one you made erupt within my heart at first glance?” “I will marry before the year is out,” I whispered, standing on shaking legs with a queasy stomach and wet cheeks. “I have no choice. Not anymore…” “So that is your dire situation?” “No…” I said, not wanting to lie to him. “That is the result of my situation, my family’s situation…” “Speak plainly, please,” he urged and the contrite look of his handsome features would forever be written on the walls of my heart.

I took a step back, grasping my dress with white-knuckled force. “We have lost everything, and I must marry before the year is out… If I do not, my father’s façade will fall as we will fall from good grace and no affluent man shall have me. I will lose my protection, my safety, and those are the last things I am holding on to. All else I have dreamed of has already been ripped from me. You… I cannot be dishonest with you, colonel. I cannot allow the fraud to harm—” “Marry me.” I blinked. “W-what?” “Marry me. Let it be me, and I shall endeavour for the remainder of my life to please you and make you happy. I will do all in my power to restore the things ripped from you even if the love will be one-sided in our marriage. Perhaps you could come to like me, at some point in time if my efforts are great enough.”

We stood in silence. Looking at each other. Had he completely missed every point I made of my love for him? I missed every point he made of his genuine want for me. Can— Despite everything, did I perhaps not lose my chance with him?

“Miss Haymnick, please, do not look at me as if I have offended your very eyes with my grovelling for your hand. I am ashamed enough as is,” he murmured, the tips of his ears reddening as he looked away and to the side. His perfect profile was a marvel to gaze upon even in the upheaval of emotions fluttering and flitting through me. “I should be the one grovelling, sir… You have not left my mind since I saw you gallop through the gates in a spray of snow so far away my call of your name did not reach you…”

Brandon whipped his head around, his gentle eyes painted with disbelief. “You called for me?” I nodded. “You went after me?” he continued and I nodded once more, my stomach still utterly tied in harsh knots. “You are the only man I have ever met who touched my heart and forced my soul to bare itself even in my features.”

Brandon stepped closer, and I stood still. “Your features are expressive.” “No, sir. You make them that way,” I confessed. “The first look of disgust was a reflection of the conversation I held with a woman regarding you, and just one look at you had my heart in a trip and hearing her strip you down to wealth pained me in a manner it usually does not. I was disgusted, by that, not your handsome face.” “I believe I accused you of lying at that point.” “I cannot lie to you, even to my own detriment and downfall.”

He stepped closer. “Then I ask again, will you allow me the honour of your hand as I ask fully aware of your dire situation and my own selfish hope of it swaying you toward me as a husband?”

My head tilted as he took another step toward me, forcing me to lean back to keep eye contact. “I…” Can I marry him and force the soon-to-be eruption of gossip and our family’s downfall upon him? Can I accept that he is aware of this and still wishes for me to be by his side? “Miss, you are forcing my breath to stall. Say yes,” he murmured as his hand reached up and cupped my chin. I shivered as a lightning bolt shot through my entire body at the contact. The warmth of his fingers, the sturdy yet soft grip, the unfailing hold his eye had on mine — I was lost to him.

“Say yes, Miss Haymnick. Say yes despite the flaws I have and the manner you seem to wish for me to remain unaffected by your situation. Say yes. I will beg for your hand if needed. I will beg for those beautiful eyes to each day look upon me. I will—” “Yes…” I whispered. “Yes, Colonel Brandon.” He softened before me, letting out a breath of relief. “Christopher,” he said while leaning in. “Calliope…” I replied as his soft eyes warmed when my breath fanned his face. “Calliope,” he repeated and I nearly fainted at hearing my name spoken with ardency and want in his deep voice. Never had my name sounded so perfect. Never had a touch felt so magical. Never had I thought a man such as he would come to my rescue and save my heart.

“I am a desperate man in your vicinity, my Calliope.” It was the only warning he offered before his lips pressed against mine. I whimpered at the warmth and all the dreams I’d ever had of my first kiss faded to dull greys in the face of reality. The warmth of him seeped into me from the connection, his free arm snaked around my waist as his lips pressed harder yet remained delicate and soft. My hands went to his shoulders and the smell of wind filled my nose as his fingers slipped from my chin to the side of my face as he angled my head and I melted in his arms — throwing propriety out the window.

To Be Continued...

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NEXT PART » Prompt 20: Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

A/N: WAAAAAAAAH 😭👏 I love them so much and they are such fumbling idiots speaking in beautiful words but not hearing each other until it’s truly spelt out. BUT NOW THEY’RE FINALLY HEARING EACH OTHER - and I’m in loooooove ❤❤❤

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[deepperplexity]

Prompt 5: Open Doors [A2]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1]

A/N: Time to continue the very first fic of Rickmas 2024 - this will not go as you think 👀 I surprised myself when I wrote this and just allowed it to flow. As I mentioned previously, I am letting things just come as they please this year and I write whatever pops into my head (with the previous parts in mind of course) but yeah, this took a turn 😂

I hope you'll love it and have a good time despite the teeny tiny smidge darker theme of this fic - we'll get to see our dear Colonel again but perhaps not in a manner we had thought, or hoped. Happy reading darling! ❤❤

Tags/TW’s: Pining, Longing For Him, Threat of Forced Marriage To Unwanted Man, Family Fight, Loss, Fear, Crying, Anxiety, Panic Attack, Running Away

Word Count: 2.5k

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Open Doors

It had been four days since the ball, since I met him. Colonel Brandon. Thursday had never been a day I liked or disliked, yet this day seemed exceptionally dreary. The sky loomed above — dark with winter clouds — and no matter what I found to occupy myself with it inevitably led my mind back to the colonel.

The book of poems? His eyes. The soft sound of piano strings? Hi voice. The flickering candles? The golden details of his coat. Even the delicious tomato soap had managed to take the same shade as his coat when it was supposed to be a much brighter red.

“This is delicious,” I whispered to myself. Miss Abel topped off my wine glass at that exact moment. “Cook added beet juice, Miss.” Her words explained the shift in colour. “Tell cook I loved it,” I said and she nodded with a soft smile of her own. “Have you seen Father?” I continued. “No, Miss.” I sighed, sifting the spoon through the soup. “He has yet to speak with me, says he will not utter a word until I declare what man has asked for my hand.” “Well, excuse me for saying so, Miss, but there are many eligible men whom—” “A hand I have accepted, I should add.” The only one I could even… Yet he evaporated in snow and has already left his estate on another worldly escaped according to the ever-flowing gossip.

I rose so fast that my chair screeched against the floor. “I am done with this,” I declared to the maid, the butler, and the kitchen maid who carried a large tray with freshly baked bread into the room. This had been my life since Mother’s death. A lonely, quiet, uneventful existence with my father in mourning — it was not the life I had lived and was not the life I wished to live.

I marched toward Father’s office, my dress raised by my hands and the many candles and lanterns along the walls cast several shadows of me in every direction. I was going to tell him to stop this mad search for a husband, to live with me and take solitude in my future being secure and my heart whole — not ravaged or broken by an unloving and dreary husband.

I raised my hand, ready to knock, when my father’s quiet crying reached me. The sobs, the whining moans of sorrow and worry palpable through the wooden door painted white, and my hand stayed. I could not disturb hi, or enter his office when he was in such a state. Any proud man would be appalled to be seen in such a state. No, I am his daughter and I have seen him cry before. Mother’s passing had been hard on us all.

I knocked softly. “Father?” I asked, grabbing the golden handle of the door as the room beyond went quiet. “I am entering now.” And I pushed it down before forcing the door open in a slow movement. “Calli, my wonder,” Father said, wiping at his eyes in a hurry. “Have you decided on—” I sighed deeply. “Marrying a man will do us no good, Father. I am capable on my own and a husband would only increase the risks of my future heritage to be—” Father roared. A savaged, frustrated, spine-stiffening shout that had my mouth locking up in an instant. Never had I seen him angered to such a degree. “There is no heritage!” he shouted, his hands banging down on his desk — laden with papers. “There is nothing that will protect you when I die!” he continued while looking at me with horrendously wide eyes, deepened by fear and wrath. At me, or life, I could not tell.

My heart stuttered. “W-what? But we are well off and our estate is—” “Being claimed as collateral when the new year comes,” he whispered, sinking into his chair as nothing but a heap of defeat. “There are no more lands, no more money, our lands were wiped clean…” “Wiped… Father, what are you talking about?” Fear made my mouth thicken. “Our lands—” “Claimed.” “Our yearly—” “Gone.” “But our estate—” Father banged his hands on the desk, stood, and leaned over it to glare at me with those fear-filled eyes I had never seen the likes of before. “The last thing we have, and the wagers for all shall dry up come mid-January.”

I gasped, my breath coming in heavy pants. “But…” “Calliope, my Calli, you must marry while the ruse remains intact. Before our poverty turns public knowledge.” Public— I didn’t even know?! “How long have you known?” My voice was meek, quiet, hurt. “You must marry, this month, before the year is out,” he said, avoiding my question. “Mr Hilliard has asked for your hand, and I will accept. I cannot give you any further—” “No!” I shouted, dread slipping down my spine. “I’ll never marry that man!” “You shall and you will!” Father roared, but his voice was held taut by anguish. “You cannot make me—” “If I had a choice, I would not. You know I would see you marry for love, as…” “You will doom me to a loveless life? For your lacking?” I asked. The words were cruel, the sentiment behind them equally so. My father’s eyes reflected the hurt they caused. “You will marry me off to die a slow, painful, cold death under a man the opposite of any I would ever have wished to—” “ENOUGH! Get out! Out!” he snarled as tears streamed down my cold cheeks and the world had turned upside down beneath my feet.

I bolted out of the room, taking off in a panicked rush down the long hallway, and swallowed my cries in an effort to suck air into my constricted lungs. We were poor, soon broke and cast out, and the life I had lived — had envisioned to have — was a shattered glass bowl beneath my pounding feet taking me to the unknown in a flurry of hurt.

Father had lied. My life turned into a fraud. I would have to fraud myself to a wealthy husband to be safe and protected. The deep sound of his voice reverberated in my mind. The depth of his shielded, soft eyes was an endless pool my heart wished to drown within. In the madness, the hurt, the chaos unravelling every spool of carefully laid thread weaving my life together he turned into my loss. My loss of everything. The harsh words I’d spewed, the way my heart had fluttered and my stomach tightened in his company, it had been the one chance my heart had had — and that chance was now irrevocably lost to the cold light of the December moon in our frozen gardens.

I will not see them bloom in spring… The thought was shattering. I did not care for wealth, fancy gardens, or giant estates with a servant for every need — I did care for safety, protection, and a life where the comfort of the arts was never lost. Those comforts, that safety, were only afforded to the affluent.

I ran down the sweeping stairs dressed in a golden carpet, the giant walls of the state seemed to grow around me — towering as I spun around at the base of the stairs. The ceiling seemed to head toward the sky, the walls and floor morphing to abandon me. The eyes of the statues, the paintings, they seemed to watch me with malevolent abandon.

I gulped and spun, my red dress flaring out like a parasol unable to catch me should I plummet out of good grace, and my pulse roared like a thousand waterfalls in my ears. I panted, losing my breath as the walls and ceiling stopped for the mere blink of an eye. I gasped, looking up in fright as my panic soared. They plummet toward me, attacking from all sides while stealing any chance of breath. I shrieked and ran toward the giant mahogany doors — throwing all my weight against the heavy wood.

“Let me out!” I screamed, pushing down the handle and slamming myself against the door. “P-please,” I wheezed. “Let me out!” I jerked on the handle and the door glided up as I felt the ceiling’s wish to crush me.

Throwing myself outside, I stumbled and tumbled down the stone stairs. My body thudded along as I rolled in a heap of trembling limbs. The snow dampened my landing and I scrambled up, scratching at the snow-covered ground to get myself up. I stumbled forward while rising, panting and heaving when looking back at the looming estate — it seemed to lean toward me, the gaping hole of the door a giant mouth wishing to swallow me up. I ran toward the stables, my mind not working but my panicked heart seemed to direct my body by pure remembrance.

The doors were open and I hurried inside, finding my horse in her box with her halter on. I unhooked and threw away the lead keeping her in place. My shaking fingers grabbed her mane and I heaved myself atop her bare back. She whinnied and stomped her hooves, my errant state leaking into her.

I whimpered a cry as fear hurled through me. I would lose her as well. Steering her around I urged her out of the box, the stable boy came running with a broom in his hand. “Miss Hay—” “MOVE!” I shouted in a panic as Marrygold set off out of the box, down the wide hall with boxes on each side, jacked up on my fear. The stable boy threw himself into a pile of hay with a curse as I surged forward and out through the open doors.

I held on to her mane, squeezing with my legs to remain seated as she galloped toward the giant gates, snow spraying around her hooves and my dress covering her behind like a drape of blood. I cried and leaned forward, my only thoughts being those of a painful future and broken promises of love.

⁛•⁛

My breaths stuttered, the biting wind attacked from all sides as Marrygold walked along through the forest buried in snow, and I slumped atop her, hanging like a lifeless doll with nothing but my beating heart and shivers to tell me otherwise.

Marrygold neighed loudly as my hands lost their grip on her main, hanging on each side of her wide shoulders. The warmth of her, and the thickness of my dress, kept me from completely freezing to death but my energy dwindled. Ice sat in my lashes and hair, the soft swirls and pinned curls since long loosened by my mad dash and pulling branches we’d galloped through.

“W-what do.. I do… Marrygold..?” I panted, resting the side of my face against her neck and mane. A whimpered breath slipped past my numb lips as I closed my eyes and let her carry me wherever she wished. Her steady steps and the crunch of snow took over the panicked racing of my blood and an eerie stillness descended over me. I allowed her steady breaths to calm me, to ease the pain and comfort the broken within me that nothing could ever heal.

Marrygold neighed and huffed, stopping for a moment. I took a slow peak — struggling to wake when the cold numbed me — of where we were, seeing only a sweeping grassland covered in snow that sparkled under the early night’s moon. Hours had passed since my raged escape from my home. I closed my eyes again as my horse began to walk once more.

We moved down a slope, the tilt of her body enough to tell me, and she neighed once more. I thought I heard something, but only the sound of crunching snow filled my ears along with her deep breaths. She neighed again. “It will all be good,” I whispered tiredly. “Somehow, I’ll keep you…”

The sound of hooves in a gallop reached my ears. Faint, in the distance, and off-beat with Marrygold’s walking. It became louder and I struggled to open my eyes, lifting my head sluggishly. There, in the distance with a large estate and tree line as a backdrop was a silhouette, someone atop a horse racing toward us. Father? But no, the estate’s shape behind was unknown to me and the silhouette of a man and horse was different.

I grabbed at the mane, endeavouring to sit myself up straight, but I was weak and cold to the bone. My hands lost their grip and I fell back down toward her neck, losing my balance and sliding toward one side slowly — my legs unable to excerpt any strength to hold. It happened in a few seconds yet my sluggish brain told me it took an eternity.

I slid off her back and fell toward the thick blanket of snow below. I saw her golden-coated legs before landing on my side. The snow blocked my view and I blinked to get it out of my eyes as I tried to heave myself up on my elbows, shaking my head so the blond tendrils whipped about — half stiffened by frozen tears in some places.

“MISS!” came the rumble of my dreams, my heart’s lost dream. I looked up but Marrygold’s legs blocked my view. “It can’t be,” I whispered as the legs of a midnight black horse came into view. “Miss!” the deep rumble of Colonel Brandon called again, fright in his baritone voice, as the sound of galloping hooves came to an abrupt halt and I nearly slumped on my trembling arms. But he’s away, I had time to think before the man rounded my horse and grabbed me.

Soft but frightened eyes found mine, wide shoulders and a high top-hat blocked the view of the world as strong hands rasped my arm and neck before lifting me up, out of the snow. “Miss—” his eyes widened in shock “—Miss Haymnick, what on earth—” “Colonel?” I whispered, feeling tears well anew as he held me up and placed a leg beneath my back. He nodded. “My lady, what are you doing out here?” he asked but before I had time to respond he continued in haste. “You are blue. By the lord, what have been done to you?” he asked but his tone asked for no answer.

He rose with me in his arms, my body shivered and shook but it was half from the cold and half due to him. My heart was in shambles, unable to make heads or tails of the world when he held me close despite him being the loss my heart had been torn over. In his strong arms, my body gave way to the cold and the tiredness. “Stay with me,” he urged from far away as my feet dangled. “Miss Haymnick, stay awake.”

I tried, I tried with all the strength I had — but, my mind wondered if this was merely the last hurrah before a cold death all alone with only the hallucination of him for comfort. Surely, he could not be here when he was supposed to be out in the world and far out of my reach. If that was true, I would welcome the false warmth and the trickster of a heart that pounded widely for him even in my losing battle of consciousness would not find me fighting against it.

To Be Continued...

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NEXT PART » Prompt 11: Out Of Reach [A3]

A/N: Well, that got hectic and deep and slightly dark 👀 I do looooove a dramtaic reunion though 🤭🙈 What are we thinking? Can we get these two together now perhaps? ❤

Also, happy Thursday darling! Any plans for the weekend? ❤ I'm about to head off to the library (job number two) and then I'll hopefully have some time this evening to finish tomorrow's fic so it's ready for you guys as early as possible 🥰 This weekend will probably be a mix of family time, writing, and gaming - throw some cleaning in for good measure 😅

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