#colonel brandon x oc

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 1 - DECEMBER MOON [A1]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC

Summary : During a night on December, Colonel Brandon meets a young woman who captivates him instantly. He then realises that what he had mistaken for love when he met Marianne had never truly been love.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness, mention of depression and loneliness.

A/N : Hello dear 😁 I'm so excited to write for my first Rickmas hosted by the amazing @deepperplexity ! I stumbled upon Rickmas last year... after Christmas, but I was in a very bad phase at the time and all those amazing stories helped me so much and I also discoverd the incredible trilogy "Judge and Sentenced" from @deepperplexity that I advise you to read because it's probably the best Turpin's fiction I've ever read ! Anyway, I'm doing my Sinclair by rambling here, therefore, let's begin Rickmas !

QUIET WISHING : Part II

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

Poor Colonel Brandon was returning from London, exhausted. He, who usually preferred to be perched on his stallion was comfortably installed in the shelter of his carriage. At 38, he had never felt so old and yet, he was still so young.

But a small voice, which strangely had the same intonations as a lady he knew, told him that he was just an old man full of rheumatism. It was not entirely false. He had an old soul since birth, fuelled by the mistreatment of a violent and unloving father and by a protective mother who died too early. As for the rheumatism, it was more a vestige of his life in the army, but also of an accident in India involving an elephant, which had almost cost him an arm and had left him with a painful shoulder, especially in rainy weather.

But beyond his 38 years that he carried like a burden, there was the memory of his sweet Eliza and te one of the mischievous Marianne. Two women who had broken his heart. The first without wanting to, the second on a whim.

Eliza, tender, intrepid and in love with him, this beauty with whom he had fallen in love while still very young and whom his father had taken away from him without scruples before sending him, at only sixteen, to join the ranks of his majesty's army. 

Fortunately, in India he had met John Middleton who had been more than a friend, almost a surrogate father. Indeed, 20 years older than Brandon, he had immediately taken a liking to the young man and his situation, helping him to climb the ranks of the army thanks to his influence.

Later, when he returned to England, he met his mentor's mother-in-law, Mrs. Jennings, an intrusive woman who had an unfortunate tendency to meddle in things that didn't concern her, but for whom he nevertheless had infinite tenderness. Her intrusive nature came from the pain of having lost his eldest daughter, John's wife, while she was expecting a child. A haemorrhage in the middle of the night, an incompetent doctor, and in the morning, the mother and child had gone to join the heavens. Mrs. Jennings reminded him of his own mother with the gentleness she showed him and if she was not known for her subtlety, she had always had the delicacy to never mention Eliza in front of him.

As for Marianne... This pretty devil who had reminded him of her deceased Eliza had hurt him much more than any whipping given by his father for an unimportant misdeed.

He had loved her at first sight, finding in her his first love and it had taken him time and a little too much of a difficult lesson to realize that she wasn't even the shadow of his Eliza. Eliza would never have shown the wickedness that Marianne had shown by letting him hope just after his infectious fever, graciously accepting his gifts and demanding his presence. No, Marianne, full of malice, had felt no remorse in making him suffer as she did with all those around her when she could no longer get anything from them.

She had let him believe that she was his just after this fever that had almost taken her, but when he had asked her to marry him, she had hesitated, giving him an ambiguous answer, a "maybe" more than a "yes". It was during a social event organised at Barton Park that he had understood that the young woman had set her sights on another man of barely 23 years old. A young and dashing high judge of London with a cold and severe look, but rich and powerful, much more than him, much more than anyone in Devonshire.

The next day, he had asked Marianne for an answer to his question and when she had still hesitated, he had told her that he knew and that he was freeing her. He didn't yet know that it was him that he was freeing.

Marianne was now married to this man that all of London nicknamed The Death's Judge, and if she was happily married or not, Brandon didn't know, all he knew was that she was expecting her first child while he was still alone, with no one to love. No loved one and no descendants.

Alone with his heavy thoughts and this feeling that he would end up alone, he who had so much affection to offer, so much love to give, if only a woman with enough spirit but also a certain reserve could make his heart beat again that he now thought would be cold forever, he would cherish her as no man could.

Two years had passed since the injury inflicted by Marianne and with time, his heart had calmed down, and his old governess, full of wisdom, had gently made him understand that what he had taken for love towards Marianne had in fact been only an illusion nourished by this vague resemblance of character that the young woman shared with Eliza.

It was then that the carriage stopped abruptly and Christopher had just enough time to put his hand in front of him so as not to crush his hooked nose against the empty seat in front of him.

"What's going on ?" he asked in his baritone voice as he got out of the carriage.

The icy wind immediately bit his cheeks as night fell gently, promising new frosts.

"A dog, Colonel Brandon, I wanted to avoid a dog," the coachman apologized.

Christopher saw it. A little further away. A dog with a red coat was curled up.

"Is it hurt ?" Christopher asked, genuinely worried.

"No, I avoided him," the coachman replied, "I think he got scared."

Christopher approached the animal cautiously. Medium-sized, the dog looked fierce, ready to bite, but Christopher was reassured to see no injuries.

"Are you lost, little boy ?" he asked the dog, hoping to calm him down.

As if to answer his question, a young woman's voice was heard behind the trees that lined the road.

"Henry ! Henry !" she shouted urgently.

That's when you appeared from behind the trees at the very moment the moon was hitting the night with its first rays. Christopher couldn't take his eyes off that angelic face, fine features that gave off great gentleness and eyes... eyes as deep green as the woods you had just left, green like when summer brought the trees back to life.

You stopped dead when you saw the carriage and your face went from surprise to terror.

"HENRY !" you shouted as you ran towards the dog.

Without even a glance at Christopher or his coachman who had just dismounted, you ran towards the dog who immediately stood up to run towards you.

"Henry, are you okay ?" you asked as if the dog could have answered you.

You examined him carefully, looking for an injury or a trace of blood.

"My coachman avoided it just in time," Christopher reassured you.

You stood up, turning towards Christopher who was slightly disconcerted by your gaze, deep, vibrant, eyes that reflected a thousand emotions at the same time... and who seemed to judge him.

"I promise you it was an accident, the dog rushed in front of the carriage," he felt obliged to justify himself.

You still said nothing, watching Christopher carefully. He did the same, although a little uncomfortable by the sudden silence of this young woman who had been so vocal when she had thought her dog was injured. He too looked at you. He had never seen you before, not that he knew everyone living in Dorsetshire, but he could at least boast of knowing everyone living around Delaford, most of them working for him.

"I am Colonel Christopher Brandon," he finally introduced himself with a bow.

"[Y/N], [Y/N] [Y/S]," you answered in a soft voice, bowing back.

You seemed a little shy, perhaps due to your youth. But the more Christopher looked at you, the more he doubted that you were as young as you looked. A certain seriousness in your gaze, like a deep-seated pain that only someone who has lived long enough to know the true pangs of life could have.

"I have never seen you here before," he said in spite of himself.

"My father was hired as a gardener by the Hawthorns, we arrived a month ago," you answered without trying to appear for what you was not.

Christopher knew this influential family from Devonshire well, John's neighbours. You were far from their home, more than four hours on foot, maybe five if the rain started to fall on the ground that was freezing at full speed.

"You are far from home," he pointed out.

The moonlight prevented him from hiding a slight blush on your cheeks.

"It's Henry, he ran away this morning and I wanted to find him before nightfall. I was afraid he would die of cold tonight," you explained, glancing at the said Henry.

The dog, totally unaware of the fright he had given his mistress, amused himself by teasing Christopher's coachman who was not at ease in front of the animal, much to the amusement of the Colonel.

"You came all this way for a dog?" he asked, surprised.

"Henry isn't just a dog ! He's a full-fledged member of the family," you replied briskly.

Christopher apologized quickly. He hadn't meant to offend you, he had been sincerely surprised. In his world, full of nobility, a woman wouldn't have ventured so far, so lightly covered, to find a runaway dog.

"Aren't you cold, miss ?" Christopher asked, seeing you suppress a shiver.

"I'm used to it," you replied, looking away.

That was all it took for him to understand. He had already understood your modest condition, but he assumed, probably rightly, that your family had probably couldn't afford a proper coat.

Without hesitation, he took his off and before you could protest, he placed it on your shoulders.

"I insist," he said gently but firmly when you wanted to give it back.

A new silence settled between you. Christopher couldn't help but notice your similarities. You didn't speak much, looked serious but you had a certain dignity and you seemed deeply kind even if he guessed a volcanic temperament if you attacked those you loved, as you had shown when he dared to say that your dog was just a dog.

"Henry, that's a funny name for a dog," he finally dared to say.

"I called him that because when I found him, I was reading a book about Henry VIII."

"Found ?"

"Yes, an old farmer had abandoned his dog's entire litter in the middle of the woods. It was in the village where I used to live. Henry was the only puppy still alive. I brought him back and my father didn't have the heart to abandon him when he found him hiding in my room," you said before stopping suddenly, feeling like you had said too much.

But Christopher didn't judge you, not for your modest condition. He found you endearing, refreshing even in your own way.

"Can I drive you and Henry home ?" he offered kindly.

"That's nice, but we're going for a walk," you replied.

Christopher's smile immediately faded.

"Miss [Y/S], I insist, it's already pitch black."

"I don't think it's right for me to sit alone with you in your carriage," you said softly.

Christopher's eyes lit up with a flash of understanding. You had no chaperone to accompany you in the carriage and propriety shouldn't have made him insist, but it was cold, you were far from home, and he would not have been able to sleep properly tonight without being sure that you had returned home safely.

He was about to insist when, without warning, the rain began to fall, hammering the ground severely. He almost pushed you into the carriage before grabbing Henry and making him climb in at the same time as himself.

"You can't go back alone, by foot, in this weather, you will catch your death," he said in a tone that left no room for contradiction.

He told the coachman your destination and the carriage set off again. He wouldn't return home tonight finally, to his estate that he had so longed to return to, he wouldn't find his firm and comfortable bed and his governess's lemon cakes. He already knew that you would arrive home late, but he had no doubt that John and his mother-in-law would welcome him with open arms, even if he was not expected. It bothered him a little to impose himself like this, but he knew that the horse, and also the coachman, would not have the strength to make it all the way to Devonshire, then to Delaford.

The journey took place in comfortable silence. You were shivering slightly from the cold, snuggling in spite of yourself in the Colonel's oversized coat that smelled of cologne and another perfume whose name you did not know but that you had already smelled on your father's employer.

"May I ask you if you live alone with your father ?" Christopher dared to ask.

His intention wasn't entirely innocent. He wanted to know if you had a fiancé.

"Yes," you simply replied.

He wondered how old you were and what you did with your days, but he felt you were reserved and he himself was not a man who spoke easily about himself, he preferred not to bother you any further.

It was almost 10 pm when the carriage finally arrived near the modest cottage that the Hawthorns rented at a ridiculous price to your father. The place was small, modest. There were only four rooms: two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen as well as a small cold and poorly lit room that you used to take your baths.

Although you didn't know who Christopher really was, you guessed that he was important... and rich, and you couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by the smallness of your means, but at no time did Christopher seem to be bothered by it. He helped you down before handing you Henry.

"Come inside and get warm, [Y/S]," he said, bowing before adding, "it was a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you Colonel Brandon, really," you replied before disappearing inside, not without one last look at the man who still had his hazel eyes fixed on you.

Christopher then headed to his old friend John's, his thoughts filled with your face, your soft voice, that strange feeling you had awakened in him but that he tried to stifle at all costs. He didn't want to suffer, not again. He had finally learned his lesson. Love wasn't for him, you wouldn't make him suffer, not you too.

"Brandon ! My old friend, I didn't know we were expecting you !" John exclaimed when the butler announced Christopher.

"I'm sorry to intrude like this..." he began before being interrupted by Mrs. Jennings who told him with her usual joviality that he was always welcome at their home.

John invited him to drink a glass of his best whisky, a Scottish vintage that he particularly cherished, in his office. Christopher hesitated to confide in him about the intriguing encounter he had had, and wisdom made him hold his tongue. Until the next day, when at breakfast, when he ventured a few questions to Mrs. Jennings.

"Last night, as I was heading to your place, I met a young woman. A certain [Y/S]. Do you know her, Mrs. Jennings ?" he asked casually without telling the whole truth about your encounter.

"Oh, Miss [Y/S] ! I don't know her very well, she's a very private young lady, but..."

She knew a lot for someone who didn't know you and she was able to tell Christopher that you were a 28 year old spinster with no known fiancé. You were rather private although often seen with your faithful Henry.

"She sometimes walks on my land," John informed Christopher as he took a bite of bread, "I've never had the heart to tell her she walks on private land, she's so reserved that I don't want to make her uncomfortable," he added.

"Oh, and she seems so respectful and she's not doing anything wrong walking here with her dog. Poor child, she's always so alone." Mrs. Jennings said theatrically. "She sometimes helps out at the Hawthorne manor with the children. I did try to invite her to have tea with me once, but she told me she didn't think a girl like her belonged at my table."

"Nonsense !" John exclaimed, "Any pleasant and well-mannered person is worthy of being part of our acquaintances."

His mother-in-law nodded vigorously before continuing with the latest gossip, but Christopher was already no longer listening, his thoughts lost in a December night where the moon lit up your eyes a deep green.

Finally returning home, Christopher settled into his old worn fabric armchair, a book in his hand, but he wasn't reading. You were still there haunting his thoughts. He had felt this feeling before. Not like with Marianne, no. But like with Eliza.

He shook his head vigorously as if to get your image out of his head. He couldn't afford to have heartbroken, he wouldn't survive it, not when he had finally come to terms with the idea of ​​being alone for the rest of his life, in the comfort of the Delaford, with his dogs. And yet, he didn't see his day go by. Not because he had been busy with his fishing trip and his horseback ride, but because his mind had been busy. Busy with you.

And for no real reason, he found himself visiting his friend John two days later, under the pretext of proposing a hunting trip. John accepted enthusiastically, unaware that his friend's real intention was to see you again. And it didn't take more than two days for him to come across you near the small river that crossed John's land. Recognising him, Henry ran towards him, barking happily.

"Miss [Y/S], what a nice surprise to see you again," Brandon said politely, bowing.

"Colonel Brandon, this is a surprise indeed," you replied, giving him a slight bow.

"You don't have any gloves," he remarked, a little concerned.

However, what he didn't mention, although he noticed it right away, was that you were wearing his coat, the one he had forced over your shoulders a few nights earlier and that you had forgotten to give him back. The fabric still smelled like him, in addition to being of undeniable quality, giving you a welcome warmth. Christopher was kind enough not to say anything, happy that you had something decent to cover yourself with.

"I never wear them," you replied, shrugging, "I can't turn the pages of my book with gloves," you added, showing him the book with the worn cover that you were holding in your hands.

"Can I accompany you on your walk, Miss [Y/S] ?"

You nodded shyly and you walked along the small river together, Henry at your side. The Colonel didn't seem bothered by your four-legged companion who regularly jumped on him, leaving his footprints on his black pants. When you apologised, a little embarrassed by Henry's behaviour, Christopher replied with a smile that he loved dogs and that it didn't matter to him that Henry decided to repaint his pants.

When the sky began to darken in the late afternoon, you politely excused yourself, stating that you should go home before nightfall.

"Can I walk you home ?" Brandon suggested, genuinely worried about letting you walk home alone.

You bit your lip, hesitant. On one hand, you didn't want to risk being seen with a man and having rumors spread about you, but on the other hand, you didn't want to risk hurting the kind Colonel Brandon. You finally agreed, praying inwardly that no viper's tongue in the village would see you two. Your wish seemed to have been granted and it was with the manners of a gentleman that Colonel Brandon wished you a good evening before waiting until you had closed the door behind you to turn on your heels.

In love. He was in love, for sure. And it wasn't an illusion this time. You were nothing like Eliza. You were neither lively nor spontaneous. In fact, you were more like him: thoughtful, calm and sparing with words. But you also had a certain depth, a certain culture and a natural curiosity to feed your mind. He knew that with you, he would always have a subject of conversation, whether it was books, poetry, art, theatre or music. He had understood it when, despite your lack of education on the subject, you had taken an interest in his life in the army and when you had started to drown him in questions not about him but about India, the different cultures and people he had met there, he had found it refreshing.

At no time had you asked a question about his field or made any allusion to his status. But that was where the problem lay in Christopher's mind. His status. He had never really given importance to social class differences. Not with Eliza. Not with Marianne. His father had taught him a first lesson, Marianne a second, more bitter than the first one. What would he do if you were also a dowry hunter?

Christopher wanted to be loved. Loved for himself, not for his wealth, not for the Delaford. Of course, if you were his he would spoil you like never before. You would have the most beautiful dresses, your own coats, gloves, clothes for every season and jewellery to match each dress. 

You would have access to all the books you wanted and he would teach you to draw and play the piano so that you could occupy your time in his big house. But it was not for all that he had to offer that he wanted you to love him in return. It was for himself and a small, vicious voice told him that a girl like you, a girl of little condition, penniless, a gardener's daughter, an old maid at that, could never truly love him for himself. But another small voice, weaker but still there, told him that he must not let himself be swayed by a bad experience. 

After all, Marianne was just a child, a capricious and changeable little girl and he wasn't even sure that her real interest in his love stories was money. With her impulsiveness, Marianne fell in love as easily as one falls off a chair and he wondered if she would keep her promise made before God to be faithful to her high judge. Although he knew the latter well enough not to doubt that he would hold this little demon with an iron fist.

Several miles from the Delaford, your thoughts were haunted too. Haunted by a tall man with dark blond hair and hazel eyes. His eagle-beaked nose that made him even more distinguished and his shy smile haunted you. You knew exactly what you felt for him. You had known it the moment he had wrapped you authoritatively in his coat before forcing you into his carriage to take you home on that December night lit only by the moon.

You loved him. You loved him as you had thought you loved twelve years earlier. But you realized today that what you had taken for love at only sixteen had nothing to do with what you felt for the dark Colonel Brandon. This time, you were experiencing true love, the kind that burns you from the inside, consumes you, haunts your nights and fills your days.

But you had no right to love him. By discreetly asking around at the old bakery, you had learned who Colonel Christopher Brandon really was. A man who wasn't for you. A man too good, too important, too rich. How could a man like him ever be interested in a woman like you ?

But that wasn't all. Even if, by some totally improbable chance, Colonel Brandon could have the slightest interest in you, you were hiding something. A secret that would repel any man, even a man of your status. A secret that only your grandmother knew and that she had taken with her to her grave. A secret that would die with you but that condemned you to remain alone forever.

A few days later, you were alone outside in the middle of the night, frozen to the bone as a pure white snow fell on Dorsetshire. Henry was sheltered in your coat, or at least the Colonel's coat. The little rascal had burrowed away again and now you were both going to catch bluetongue. If it hadn't been for the full moon, you would never have been able to find your way through all that white. Just then, in front of you came a man on horseback, a magnificent black stallion with a fine appearance.

Inwardly, you felt anxiety take hold of you. It was late and you could tell that the rider was a man, and you hoped that he was a man with good intentions.

The closer the horse got, the more familiar the figure on it seemed to you. But it was only when he was a few steps away from you that you recognized Colonel Brandon, dashing in his long wool coat.

"Miss [Y/S] !" he exclaimed in an almost angry tone, "what are you doing out in this weather ? You're going to catch your death !"

"It's Henry, he disappeared again himself again," you replied in a very small voice.

Hearing his name, the dog stuck his head between the flaps of the coat, his tongue hanging out trying to catch the snowflakes that were falling on you.

"Maybe we should build a proper barrier to stop your companion from scaring you to death... and freezing."

Brandon had said this with a firmness that left no room for any kind of humour. You nodded timidly, shivering despite the warmth of his coat.

"Give him to me," Brandon ordered.

You hesitated for a moment but when he held out his gloved hands towards you, you handed him Henry without fear. Deep down, you knew he wouldn't hurt your best friend. Christopher placed your dog inside his own coat, then he held out your hand.

"Ride with me, I'll take you home !"

You placed your hand in his hesitantly and he hoisted you up without any harm behind him before setting his horse into a gallop.

Your hands hooked on his hips, you gently rested your head against his back. You could feel the warmth emanating from his body pierce you and for a moment, you imagined what it must be like to be loved by a man like him.

When the horse stopped in front of the cottage you shared with your father, the snow had stopped falling and it shone like millions of diamonds under the benevolent gaze of the moon.

"Your father isn't here ?" Brandon asked worriedly, seeing no candles lit in your candle, nor the smoke of a warm fire burning in the fireplace.

"No. The Hawthornes are having a small party for the staff and he was invited," you replied as he helped you dismount.

Christopher dismounted as well, Henry still sheltered against his chest.

"Do you need help lighting the fire ?" Brandon asked, genuinely concerned.

"No, thank you Colonel, but I'll be fine."

The truth was that you couldn't start the fire eight times out of ten, but if anyone found out that a man had come into your house while your father wasn't there to chaperone you, it didn't matter that you were already 28, the rumour that you were a girl of easy virtue would spread like wildfire in the village and your father would risk losing his job with the Hawthornes, people of great kindness but who couldn't stand to be the object of mockery, especially at the fault of their employees.

"Good evening, Miss [Y/S]," Brandon murmured, his gaze tender.

"Colonel, I can't go home," you murmured.

"Why ?" Christopher asked in a whisper.

"Because you're still holding my dog in ​hostage," you replied with a slight smile.

Christopher chuckled before handing Henry back to you, but as he placed him in your arms, his fingers lingered longer than necessary on your icy hand.

Gently, he untied the silk scarf that brought a little more warmth to his throat and chest to place it around you, adding a touch of modesty to your fragile form in the face of his imposing stature. The scarf, light and delicate, immediately offered you an additional touch of warmth, a touch of warmth that manifested itself in a delicate blush on your cheeks, a touch of warmth caused by the violent feelings you felt for Christopher Brandon.

"I offer it to you. As well as the coat. They will keep you warm this winter," Brandon said softly, almost as if he were reciting poetry.

"Colonel..." you murmured, too moved to add a thank you.

"Miss [Y/S]..."

He hesitated for a moment. What he was about to say would change the destiny of both of you forever. He wasn't going to offer to be your friend. No, he was going to take a risk, a new one.bet against the reason that pushed him to make you a mere memory, against his heart that screamed at him that he would suffer again, against the love that seemed to refuse him with force, leaving him a little more broken each time.

"Miss [Y/S], do you allow me to court you ?"

A million emotions crossed your gaze and he could not name any of them. Inside, you screamed with joy while your heart beat so hard that you wondered if it would not explode with love. But there was this secret. This secret that could destroy the slightest illusion that you could nourish towards the slightest spark of love between Colonel Brandon and yourself. Yet, if your head told you to say no to him immediately so as not to hurt him later, so as not to hurt this man who seemed sincerely good and kind and who deserved so much better than you, it was your heart that answered.

"Yes."

You said it in a breath, your eyes diving into his. With tenderness, he caressed your face, a slight smile softening his features so often severe while you allowed yourself a sincere smile that hid your fear that he could learn what had haunted you for more than twelve years.

"I promise to always respect you miss [Y/S]," Christopher murmured, confusing your apprehension for what you were hiding with the fear that he was playing you.

"Colonel, please, call me by my first name," you asked him candidly.

"Only if, in private, you call me Christopher."

You nodded with emotion. He squeezed your small hands in his, smiling slightly at Henry's antics who was impatient at the idea of ​​going back to get warm.

"Come back, [Y/N], get warm. I'll come back to see you tomorrow and talk to your father. I'll ask for his blessing to court you properly." 

And without waiting to answer, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, while on this December evening, only the moon was witness to this hope that you both nourished. The hope of a new chance, of redemption, of finally knowing true love.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 10. Snow Prints

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: Christmas Market in Town -> The Lake -> Dashwood Home (Not exactly following cannon, moving the time to winter and the manner Brandon visits the Dashwoods for the first time.)

A/N: I thought we’d take a little tiny break from the serial fics - I do feel I need a breath as it takes way more to write several serials at the same time than one shots (for me) 😂 Also, Brandon seems to be very loved this year, so thought I’d give him some more screen time so to say 🥰

I have perhaps spent too much time on this fic but it ended up flowing and turning into this 5k piece - anyway, I really hope you’ll have a splendid time reading this! We are nearing the middle of Rickmas2023 and I feel good about having been able to post at a decent time every day so far 😍👏 (Let’s hope I can keep it up all the way through 👀😂)

Tags/TW’s: Instant Infatuation, Forehead Kisses, Hand Holding, Accidental Meeting, Unintentional Invasion Of Emotional Privacy, Self Derogatory Thoughts, Classicism, Nicknames, Mutual Pining, Confessions Of Adoration/Love, Implied Future Marriage, Slighty Sassy OC, Chivalry, Poverty Hints,

Word Count: 5k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Mrs Jennings laughed by a market stand down the busy street, Margaret squeezed my hand and I could not quite keep a smile from spreading across my lips as she giggled up at me. “She never stops, does she?” Margaret asked with that childlike twinkle in her eye. “I’m afraid not, Maggie,” I chuckled. “She means well, but I do think Miss Markle is quite over her matchmaking attempts, as most of us are.” “Well, you are free of it,” Margaret said with happiness, not knowing the knife it twisted within me. “Indeed, lucky me,” I said as happily as I could. Knowing full well she held little interest of pairing lowly me with anyone at all.

I was an orphan, a mere child-tender for the Dashwoods before Mr Dashwood passed and left the family in ruin - in every manner. Now I was a burden on the kind family, allowed to live with them and dine after them in exchange for not only taking care of Margaret but cleaning and tending to every manner of household chore whenever needed, teaching the child to read and write, to interpret texts as well. No pay given, but a roof over my head and food in my stomach. It was more than I could ask for given the circumstances.

“Mellie,” Mrs Dashwood called, “go buy us some mistletoes and meet us at home!” “Right away, ma’am!” I called back, squeezing Margaret’s hand before ushering her toward one of her older sisters. I trodded off, heading down the market street with vendors filling the space and air with shouts of prices and smells of Christmas. I weaved through the crowd, well-versed in not being in the way.

I found the right vendor and purchased the holly for the Dashwoods, laying them atop the bread and carrots in my basket before turning about. My eyes caught sight of a brilliantly red coat with black and golden details. It stood out in the throng of greys, browns, whites and beige clothes, none as brightly coloured — not even the greens and blues, all in muted saturation. A man of the military? My eyes slid upward only for my breath to catch. He was stunning in profile. Older, with slightly peculiar features — like his hooked nose and thin lips — but more handsome than any other man I had ever laid eyes upon. His grave features and remote manner of looking only made his features shine brighter in the afternoon sun which made the snow glisten on the rooftops.

I stood stock still in the middle of the street, a messenger boy ran right into me, knocking my basket out of my hand — breaking the spell I had been under by the man. I hurried to pick up the greenery, the cloth-wrapped bread, and frost-bit carrots, before scurrying away, throwing one final glance back before entering one of many narrow alleys. His eyes appeared to see me for a second before I turned and hurried away from the market. No matter how handsome the man was, or how my heart had stuttered at his appearance, he was no man for me. I was all too aware of it.

I held on tightly to the basket, the day was beautiful and with the bright sun and lack of wind I managed to keep warm. I sped up my steps as I cleared the town’s border, crossing over a field to take a shortcut through the woods beyond; then it would only be a matter of two more fields to cross, a small hill to hike up, and I would be home once more. I didn’t mind walking through the snow, the boots Mrs Jennings had given me upon winters arrival were far too big but allowed for three pairs of socks which kept me plenty warm as long as I moved about. I was thankful for her gift, even if it were only for them being too small for her but too big for anyone else to wear, and with their shafts reaching nearly to my knees no snow slunk within them even if I pulsed through it at the moment.

I reached the woods, feeling a need to look back toward the town where I had seen the handsome man I was sure to never see again. Even if no man ever finds me to his liking I can at the very least allow the oddity of daydreaming of it to keep me happy, should I not have at least that? I squinted against the direct sunlight as it sank, bathing the sky in orange and pink only making the glittering snow look further magical with the twinkling light of lanterns and candles coming from the town. “A military man, perhaps that would be a grand life.” Not that I shall ever know it for real.

I half giggled to myself, enjoying my little daydream where the man in red would smile sweetly at me and marvelled at the quietly spectacular view. It was interrupted when something came barrelling across the field, someone atop a horse riding at the utmost speed with snow spraying about them yet I could not see any details with the last bit of sun glaring me in the eye and turning them into nothing but a shadow.

I thought little of it, many cut across the field to return home, so I turned and kept walking while wondering what voice would belong to the man in red — a commanding one, an assured one, a powerful one. I could not imagine a man who looked like he had to speak in any meek or bright fashion. No, no a most strong voice ought to belong to such a gentleman.

“Miss!” I spun around in haste at the dark rumble of a call that was somehow heard so clearly. “Miss!” the man called again and I raised a hand to cover my eyes from the sun. My heart stuttered as the man in red came barrelling towards me, his giant black steed’s hooves made the snow spray in magical waves of sparkles all around him.

He halted the horse with great skill, going from a gallop to a near-complete halt in a mere two steps. “Miss,” he said again, his voice a rumble which seemed to shake my insides. “Y-yes?” I asked, bowing my head while curtsying deeply. The thud of feet hitting the snow-covered ground rang out and I looked up. He was a head taller than me, his shoulders stiffly held and his back utterly straight. He looked every bit a stoic gentleman as he inclined his head before reaching out his hand, holding a mistletoe.

“Sir, I— What is this?” I asked while looking between the man who made my heart run rampant and the greenery in his glove-clad hand. “You left this behind, miss.” “Oh… oh!” I rummaged around my basket and indeed, there were only seven when there ought to have been eight of them. “Thank you, sir. I apologize for the trouble you went through for such a small thing.” My cheeks nearly seemed to burn as he handed it over while I spoke and then secured the mistletoe under the towel covering the basket.

The man looked at me, his eyes sweet but his features stoic. “It was no bother, miss. I merely followed the snow prints.” But, I left none behind until I reached the field? “I’m grateful for your kindness and effort, sir.” “Colonel Brandon, miss. At your service,” he said and placed his closed fist atop his chest before bowing slightly. “Melinda Merryweather,” I replied, endeavouring to keep my cheeks from burning up under his stare. “Beautiful Honeybee,” he said in a quiet drone and my eyes widened. “Excuse me, sir?” “Oh, no, miss, your name. Melinda, of Latin origin, meaning sweet. Constructed of mel, meaning honeybee, and Linda, meaning beautiful.”

I was not proud of it, but I gawked at the man. He knew more about my name than me myself. I had been aware of the Latin origin but the meaning of it had never been told to me. “My mother did have a fondness for the buzzing creatures, they fill an important role after all.” “Indeed,” the man said, “there would be little in terms of flowers without them.” “Oh, I was referring to food, Colonel Brandon. Flowers are pretty though.” “Their honey?” “No, they pollinate far more than flowers,” I continued, the education I had been given as a child tender to the Dashwoods far beyond any I would have had in another situation. “You are a woman of education.” “Oh, no, sir. I have merely been most lucky as a tender of children for the lovely Dashwood family.”

I did my utmost to speak calmly, but my entire body seemed caught on fire, the flames growing stronger with each second in his company. Talking is not my issue, remaining silent is. I’m certain he sees me as a know-it-all by now. “Luck plays a grand part in life. I admit, it has not been so graceful to me until now.” “Oh? You appear a most lucky man, sir.” “I shall not ruin said image of me for you, Miss Melinda Merryweather.” What to say to such a statement?

I had no need to think of it though, the man bowed and mounted his steed once more. My heart skipped a beat as he turned the horse about. “Thank you again, Colonel Brandon,” I said and he smiled at me, my skin burned and my breath caught as the last sunlight left the world but it seemed all the brighter when he smiled. “I wish you the best, beautiful honeybee,” he said with a sudden softness to his features and put his horse into motion, setting off in a rushed gallop without looking back once while my heart seemed to race at the same pace as the black horse.

Never had I met a man such as him. He was different, in the most sweet and good manner. I ended up watching him gallop back to town, I simply couldn’t make myself leave before he was gone. Strange sensations filled my chest and the heavy basket in my hand suddenly felt light in comparison to the weight of the newness, or, perhaps it was the knowledge a man such as him were not meant for me. For someone like me. A colonel had little business with a child tender turned into some form of a maid and teacher of reading and writing out of the goodness of my employer of many years. As much as warmth for the man bloomed within me, a sense of hopeless longing grew as well.

***

“I’ll only be an hour!” I called toward the little sitting room where Marianne and Elinor sat, one embroidering and one playing on the forte, while I slipped my boots over the many layers of socks I had adorned. I loved Marianne’s music, and voice, not blessed with either skill myself. Books, poetry, and stories lay me far closer to the heart though.

Reading, writing, and weaving stories of my own were my pleasures. My loves. And the past week my poetry had turned longing and somewhat sappy, to be truthful. I needed a moment with nature, to take a breath and rid my heart and mind of the grand colonel who called me a beautiful honeybee before riding off in a swirl of snow.

I wrapped a second scarf over my shoulders and headed out, the weather was splendid but cold. The midday sun had the world in a sparkle, a winter wonderland to adore and enjoy. I took a deep breath of fresh air and set off down the hidden road few carriages traversed. I followed it down the hill and then began my trodding across the field to reach the ice-covered lake where I was sure the most wonderful view where to be seen.

I had no idea how right I was…

As I came over the little hill, a wonderful view indeed sprawled out before me. But nothing could compare to the man standing right by the edge of the snow-covered beach, holding the reins of his large steed in a loose grip. With the sun shining high I could see him most perfectly, even if he wore no red coat I would have known his posture anywhere. The air about him was that of a single kind. I had spent so many words on the man, writing poetry to expel the feelings I had endeavoured to suppress ever since I had managed to tear myself away from the edge of the forest where I had last seen him galloping away in haste.

I stood still, once more stuck looking at the man from a distance without him being aware, and I felt as if all the feelings I had sought to tamper down and rid myself of through poetry took over completely. Let loose by his appearance where I least expected him. Oh, this is not proper! This is lunacy of the acutest kind. The man is a colonel, for goodness sake. I was about to turn around, play the coward, and run away while my heart ran rampant. “Honeybee!” came the loud rumble of the colonel, stopping me in my tracks (not that I’d begun to actually move).

The sound of boots and hooves walking through snow filled the air as he neared. My mind blanked when his soft gaze landed on me and a small smile spread his lips most sweetly. “Colonel Brandon,” I said and curtsied while hiding my bare hands behind my back. A bit embarrassed I had no gloves to speak of when he wore such fine ones of leather. “What a wonderful surprise,” he said. “What brings you to the lake, miss?” “Oh, umh, well, I was merely out for a walk to— To clear my head a bit, colonel.” “Perhaps a coincidence, I am here for that exact reason. What troubles you, if I may enquire?” You . Not that I could ever admit to such a thing.

“My troubles could not possibly be of any importance to a colonel, sir Brandon.” “I would take great pride in absolving you of any trouble, honeybee.” His voice was honest, his gaze a bit harsher and his voice once more a line rather than a smile, and that nickname set my stomach into an absolute flutter. “Do not tease me, sir.” “Never,” he said while taking a step closer. “I am not a man who would trifle with a beautiful woman,” he continued, taking another step. He was almost too close, yet not close enough.

My fingers fidgeted behind my back, the ends of my scarf swaying lightly in the soft breeze. A gust of wind blew by and my scarf flew off, tumbling along the snow in soft waves. He was off after it before I had a chance to even react. “Colonel!” I called, feeling like a nuisance to the man. “Colonel! Stop! It’s my—” He bent and snagged the thin fabric, holding it up with the sweetest of triumphant smiles before he jogged back. My icy fingers covered my mouth to hide the giggle, or perhaps to cool the heat flushing my face.

“My lady,” he said with a slight bow while holding out my scarf for me. I suffocated the laughter bubbling within me at his theatrics and reached for it. He jolted and grabbed my hand before I could pull away. “No gloves? In this chill?” he asked, concern written all over his handsome face while mine contorted with shame and embarrassment. “Thank you,” I said and wrung my hand free. “For catching it, sir.” I draped it over my shoulders once more but he only tilted his head to study me closer.

“I ought to return,” I said after a moment of silence, a silence far too intense. “They are expecting me at home,” I continued and curtsied swiftly before turning on my heel. “Miss Melinda,” he called, “stay safe!” “I shall, Colonel. I’m quite capable!” I called over my shoulder before waving at him, picking up my pace while leaving deep prints behind which I knew he would not follow this time.

***

It was the tenth of December, another week had passed since I saw the colonel and my little notebook was by now full of poems all revolving around him, around what he made me feel and wished to expel. My silly little heart had no wits about her, my mind just as snagged on his handsomeness — his kindness a lingering torment when there was no world in which I could be anything to such a fine gentleman.

“Mellie,” Margaret whined, “you’ve been writing for hours!” “Huh? Oh, have I really?” “Yes!” she said with a certain oomph to her voice. I merely smiled at her, mustering up the courage to not show her anything at all. “Is there a reason I ought to stop for the moment?” I asked as she leaned on the desk where I had, indeed, been sitting for several hours as lunchtime had arrived. “Mama asked you to fetch a bird for dinner, it’ll be dark if you don’t go soon.” “Oh, oh right! Yes, of course,” I said while shutting my little notebook and standing. “I’ll head out right away.” “But it’s lunchtime, silly goose.” “Well, there will be no goose of any kind, or other bird, if I don’t get a move on, will there?” “I’ll make a sandwich for you,” she said and scurried off with the usual happy spring to her steps. “With cheese and peppers, how you like it!” she called over her shoulder and I smiled at her sweetness.

I was out of the house a few moments later, hurrying towards town once again to get a bird for the family for the evening. Given how cold it was, one could have bought several and just had them in a box outside - they’d keep for weeks if the weather remained. But, again, I was not one to complain about some walking. I was rather fond of being out like that, truth be told. Truth be told, huh? More like give me something to take my mind of the man in a red coat, with a sweet smile, and soft eyes, and— Stop. Just, do not think of him. Simple as that. It was not , however, simple as that.

All the way to town, then through it, and back home again, I thought of the man. When I went down the hill to the house he was really the only thing I thought of at all. The fact I managed to keep my wits about me enough to see snow prints of male shoes unlike any other prints was a miracle. As the Dashwoods had company, obviously of the male kind, I walked around back and took the small servant entrance almost straight into the kitchen.

“Cook, here, I found a fantastic goose for dinner. It’s missing half a wing but the butcher gave me a great price for it.” “My, my, my, that is a good bird,” Cook replied as I held the naked goose up. Plucked and ready for cooking. She grabbed it and my cold fingers flexed with an ache to them. The thing was heavy and with the evening chill I struggled to get my blood flowing again for a moment while undressing my outside clothes only to put on a new scarf over my shoulders and thicker slippers on my feet rather than the boots and tripple socks.

“Here,” Cook said and handed me a tray of tee with some biscuits on a plate. Four cups on it, but it was the pretty china so the fourth one certainly wasn’t for me and Margaret didn’t drink tea. “Who’s visiting?” I asked. “Oh, some upstanding man, the boring type if you ask me. Tense looking. Too old for any of the Dashwoods too, no idea why the lady entertains him for so long.” “Long?” “He’s been ‘ere since one, came right after lunchtime.” “Well, perhaps he fancies one of them, or one of them fancies him. Is he rich?” “Very much so, Mellie.” “Well, there you have it then, Mrs Dashwood couldn’t send a rich man away — no matter his looks or age when she has two daughters she needs to wed.” “Indeed, but we both know the lady cares too much about what her daughters want to ever force a marriage.” “True, maybe she can force a marriage with a rich man upon me?” I laughed, both cook and I perfectly aware I wished for no such thing and nor would it ever happen either. No, love would be my biggest reason for marriage — riches were good, but love far outweighed it in every way.

As I came closer to the parlour I heard Marianne speak, asking whoever was visiting to read another. I didn’t know what she referred to but I gently pushed open the door, not making a sound as I backed in to not wobble the tray. “Snow prints—” My heart stopped in my chest. “—were followed, a path—” My fingers trembled. “—he ought not have taken. She was below—” The tray clattered to the floor, the china breaking and shards scattering all over the floor as I heard Colonel Brandon read my poetry, about him !

“Mellie, goodness me, are you alright?” said Mrs Dashwood with a shriek. I slowly turned, seeing the man who I had written those words for staring at me with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, Marianne sat far too close to him. He was a captivating reader, I could not fault her for her investment, yet my heart ached at the sight of the two.

“I— That’s—” “I gave it to him,” Margaret said with a beaming smile. “You write so well, Mellie!” she kept going and Colonel Brandon looked between me and the notebook containing my most inner thoughts in his hands. His eyes turned wider, his face paled and I felt my insides twist as he stared at me again.

Tears stung my eyes, the shame and embarrassment, the hurt and fear, the ache in my chest at the betrayal of the child I thought so highly of. “Excuse me,” I blurted out before bolting out the door, not staying to clean up the mess. “Mellie!” called Mrs Dashwood. “Mellie, what—” called Marianne with confusion in her tone but I was out of earshot for her sweet, clear voice. Such a contrast to the Colonel’s, so perfectly matched.

I ran out through the kitchen entrance, past Cook who prepared the infernal bird, and out into the snow lit up by the climbing moon as early evening had arrived. “Honeybee!” came the voice I dreaded to hear. “Stop, please!” he called and I stopped, my hand on the gate at the end of the backyard and my slipper-clad feet deeply buried in the white coldness below.

His running steps reached me, and the crunching of snow and slightly panted breaths filled my ears. Warmth wrapped around my shoulders as he hung his coat over me and I spun around in shock at the action. He was stood in only his vest and shirt, the biting wind tossed about his beautiful hair but all I really saw were the sweet, kind eyes staring at me.

“I never knew,” he said quietly while taking a step back. “Knew what?” I asked, attempting to not inhale deeply as his scent wafted up my nose. The perfect scent, the warmest and most comforting of scents. “That is was your beautiful poetry I was reading, the child gave it to me, asked for me to read something out of it. I thought it belonged to one of the ladies present in the room — and they did not object,” he said while looking most forlorn, nearly distressed. “I was not even aware you resided with the Dashwood household.” “I have for many years,” I said. “Marianne will be a perfect match for you,” I continued while thinking of their voices, the way she sat right beside him on the sofa.

Colonel Brandon stepped closer. “I have already found my match,” he said. “I asked you not to tease me, sir. And you said not to be a gentlemen who trifled with women.” “And I have not,” he said, his eyes hardening while coming far too close, forcing me to look up at him. It was all in my head… Only in my heart, not his. Perhaps, perhaps he is merely a most kind man? I have little experience with those.

“Honeybee,” he said, snagging my attention anew. “I have not, and will not, trifle with you, tease you. I am too old for games and life far too dark as is for me to make it any worse.” “Sir!” “I speak true,” he declared. “A gentleman such as you ought to be more aware of your own handsomeness.” He blanched at that, blinking at me before a timid smile stretched his lips in a manner that looked as if he were unable to control it.

“You find me handsome?” “What woman in their right mind would not?” “Oh, I do believe you may be a woman of singular taste, honeybee.” I gasped, gaping at him. “I beg your pardon? Are you accusing me of something?” “I am not a favourable option for most beautiful women, such as yourself. I am well aware of it. My riches perhaps an aid in seeing past it, or my standing in society.” I gasped anew, a mixture of an exhale and a laugh of disbelief.

“You are terrible, sir. You may wish to know I had no idea who you were until you introduced yourself, even then, I am new to this part of the county and have had little to do with the upstanding citize n so I am not aware of your riches. I do recognize the bravery and skill you possess to climb up the ranks, but any silly nilly knows such things,” I said with both hurt and irritation at the man who twisted my insides with warmth and want. “I apologize, miss,” he said, his face held in some sort of shame at the assumption he’d held of me perhaps. “No need, I am but a servant of no importance or value.” “What a foul thing to say…” “Truth is sometimes.”

Time stretched on while we stood in silence, simply looking at each other. “Miss Melinda, your poetry,” he began while looking at me with something I could only describe as respect, perhaps even admiration, “it is most beautiful, passionate, deep .” The change of subject threw me for a loop, a man such as him ought to hold no admiration of any kind for a woman such as I. “Like your voice,” I whispered before I could stop myself. I had thought of hearing my words in his voice, there was no way not to when his voice was such perfection. He chuckled. “My voice is to your liking?” “Everything about you is to my liking, as far as I’m aware. Sir .” I couldn’t help the sass, or the way my face had hardened while my insides were in an uproar over the man. I had to protect myself from the rejection that was sure to come despite his sweet words. It was only a matter of time, surely.

Yet, it did not.

His hands cupped my face, the gesture most intimate and highly improper. “If you are ever made aware of a trait of mine that is not to your liking, I will be very much obliged to correct it, to your liking, honeybee.” “W-What do you mean?” I asked, my breath tumbling out in a shuttering way. “Would you object to me?” My eyes widened while his finger stroked my cheek. “Object to you? Sir?” “I am beyond happy I caught a glimpse of you, heard the vendor call for you about the holly, and found your prints at the edge of town. I rode around quite manically to find you, you know. Following those snow prints, it was the best decision I have ever made.” “Colonel… Stop, we cannot, it’s not proper.” “Propriety can take flight and be on its merry way, honeybee. I have my heart set on you, my beautiful honeybee who writes the most captivating of poetry and smiles with nothing but honesty in her eyes. I have my heart set on you, Melinda Merryweather.” “It was about you…” I whispered while my skin burned under his touch. “Me?” “Yes… For weeks now, I’ve tried all I can to rid myself of these feelings and thoughts…”

Brandon viewed me with a mixture of torment and joy, I chuckled nervously while he released my face and grasped my hands. His coat slid off my shoulders as he tugged me closer — gently — and the cold December air wrapped itself around me. “Would you allow said feelings to grow? Fester? Become an irrevocable part of you?” “Colonel…” “I am already lost to you, honeybee. Allow me the chance to make you happy,” he asked kindly, his hummingly dark voice nothing but an endless promise of said happiness. “Yes. Yes, please,” I whispered as tears of relief and joy wetted my cheeks. “Honeybee… Beautiful Melinda… My Melinda,” he said before he leaned in and kissed my forehead with force, his thin lips perfectly warm against my chilled skin. “You shall not regret this, I promise you my all.”

We leaned back, my heart was aflutter and my stomach a warm ball of knots, and I could not help but smile at the sweet gentleman who had captivated my heart so easily. “I fear any regret I may have will be only a reflection of your own, Colonel.” “Christopher,” he corrected. “My name, is Christopher, honeybee.” “Christopher.” “How sweet a sound you make it. I shall wish to hear it every day for the rest of my life.” I only nodded at that, too stunned to speak when he so brazenly declared I was to be his for all time to come. I held no objections to that as his hands squeezed mine with warmth, his kind eyes a balm to my soul and his smile a thing of beauty far beyond the sparkling snow all around us…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh how I hope you enjoyed this One Shot with our dear Brandon 🥰 I had so much fun writing this, and it did indeed turn out to be far longer than I had planned but I enjoyed each word I wrote of this 😍👏

IMPORTANT: Tomorrow I’ll be picking up a story from Rickmas2022! You do not have to read it before reading this years parts, but I do recommend it to get the full story. I will do a small recap before diving into the new parts too. The fics I will be continuing is 14. Icy Roads & 15. Frosty Glass (yes, it’s Hans and Anna-Louisa who are making a comback by super popular demand 😂👏). I've yet to start writing it but, well, guess it'll be a late night today 👀👍

Q: You can only choose one hot drink to consume during December: Coffee, Tea, or Hot chocolate? A: COFFEEEEEEEE all the way for me 😂☕

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[Dec:2023]

[muiitoloko]

If that’s okay for you if I may request

Colonel Brandon If that’s okay? Cause I read all your Alan rickman stories and I love them all so very much! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for writing those

Title: You are you

Summary: You are everything he needs, even if he doesn't realize it initially.

Pairing: Colonel Brandon × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Madness, Self-criticism, inferiority complex, unrequited love, anguish.

Author's notes: I've been wrestling with writer's block for a while, trying to figure out how to craft a one-shot with Brandon. Then, a spark of inspiration hit me while watching the Netflix series "Queen Charlotte." Drawing from her character and that of King George, I found the muse I needed to create this piece. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for your support!

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Colonel Brandon stood on the sprawling grounds of his estate, his thoughts consumed by the recent turn of events. Marianne had chosen John over him, and though he felt a pang of sadness and disappointment, he knew he had to respect her decision. Seeing her happy with another man brought him a bittersweet sense of contentment, knowing that she had found the love and happiness she deserved.

But as the days passed, Brandon couldn't shake the lingering emptiness in his heart. He knew he needed to move on, to find a wife who could give him children and heirs to carry on his legacy. And so, he reluctantly resumed his search for a suitable match, his heart no longer seeking love, but rather a practical solution to his need for a family.

It was during one of his social engagements that Brandon encountered you, the eldest daughter of the duke and duchess, a woman living in seclusion on their vast estate. He had heard whispers of your eccentricities, but he paid them little heed, his focus solely on finding a wife who could fulfill his need for heirs.

As Brandon got to know you better, he discovered the truth behind the rumors surrounding your behavior. Your parents, the duke and duchess, confessed to him the challenges you faced, the periods of aggression and madness that plagued you intermittently. Despite their wealth and connections, they had been unable to find a solution, leaving them resigned to your fate.

But Brandon was undeterred by the revelation, his pragmatic nature guiding him forward. He saw in you the potential for a suitable match, a woman who, despite her flaws, could provide him with the children he so desperately desired. And for your parents, you represented a burden they were eager to unburden themselves of, a means to secure your future and their peace of mind.

For Brandon, it seemed like the perfect compromise—a marriage born out of duty rather than love, but one that could fulfill both his and your parents' needs. And so, he approached you with a proposal, his demeanor calm and composed as he laid out his intentions with unwavering clarity.

As Colonel stood before you, awaiting your response to his proposal, you couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. Despite your eccentricities and the challenges you faced, you couldn't deny the practicality of his offer. It was a solution that could benefit both parties involved, easing the burden on your parents while providing Colonel Brandon with the heirs he desired.

Lost in thought, you retreated to the comfort of your study, surrounded by shelves filled with notebooks containing your innermost thoughts and musings. Dressed in your usual attire of men's clothing, a reflection of your unconventional nature, you pondered the implications of Colonel Brandon's proposal.

As you delved deep into contemplation, the weight of your decision pressed heavily upon you. You knew that accepting Colonel Brandon's offer meant relinquishing any hope of a love-filled marriage, resigning yourself to a union of duty and practicality. Yet, the thought of bringing relief to your parents, sparing them the burden of dealing with your unpredictable episodes, tugged at your heartstrings.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of introspection, you made your decision. Stepping out of your study, you faced Colonel Brandon with a mixture of determination and resignation in your eyes.

"I accept your proposal," you announced, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "But under one condition." Colonel Brandon regarded you with curiosity, awaiting your terms with an air of patience and understanding.

"I ask for a cabin of my own on the estate's land," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "Far from the mansion, where I can retreat during my periods of madness. It is my only request."

Brandon considered your condition carefully, weighing the implications of your plea. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded in agreement, a hint of understanding softening his features.

"I see no harm in granting your request," he replied, his voice calm and reassuring. "In fact, it may prove to be beneficial for both of us. A space of your own, away from the confines of the mansion, where you can find solace during difficult times."

A sense of relief washed over you at his understanding, grateful for his willingness to accommodate your needs. With a silent nod of gratitude, you accepted his offer, knowing that it was the best course of action for both you and your family.

Brandon didn't see anything wrong with granting your request for a cabin of your own on the estate's land. In fact, he saw it as a practical solution to ensure both of your well-being. If you were to experience periods of madness, it would be best for you to have a space where you could retreat and find solace without causing disruption to the household.

So, Brandon accepted your condition without hesitation, understanding the importance of accommodating your needs. However, he didn't anticipate just how distant you would be after the wedding. Days turned into weeks, and Brandon found himself growing increasingly impatient with your absence from the main house.

Despite his frustration, Brandon respected your need for space and independence, trusting that you would come to him when you were ready. However, as the days stretched on without any sign of your presence, Brandon's patience began to wear thin.

One night, overcome with loneliness and longing for your company, Brandon made his way to the cabin where you spent most of your time. He approached the door with a sense of trepidation, unsure of what he would find on the other side.

As he entered the cabin unannounced, Brandon was greeted by the sight of you standing by a telescope, your eyes fixed on the starry night sky above. Books and notebooks were scattered around the room, evidence of your scholarly pursuits and intellectual curiosity.

You turned to him with a smile as he walked in, your expression one of genuine warmth and affection. Your nightgown billowed around you, your hair cascading in loose waves down your back, and Brandon couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked in that moment.

But despite the tenderness in your smile, Brandon couldn't shake the frustration that simmered beneath the surface. He had missed you, missed the sound of your voice and the touch of your hand, and he couldn't understand why you chose to spend so much time away from him.

"Good evening, Colonel," you greeted him politely, your tone casual and unaffected by his unexpected visit. "What brings you to my humble abode tonight?"

Brandon struggled to contain his frustration as he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation. "I've come to see you, of course," he replied curtly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of emotion. "I've missed you, [Your Name]. It's been weeks since I last saw you, and I couldn't bear to spend another night alone in our bed."

Your smile faltered slightly at his words, a flash of guilt crossing your features when you met his gaze. You knew you had been neglecting him, consumed by your own thoughts and passions, but you hadn't realized just how much your absence had affected him. Pushing aside your feelings of guilt, you tried to divert the conversation, eager to steer clear of any discussion about your relationship.

"So, Colonel," you began, your voice light and cheerful as you gestured towards the telescope beside you. "Have you ever gazed upon the stars and wondered about the mysteries of the universe? It's truly fascinating how much we have yet to discover out there."

But Brandon wasn't so easily swayed by your attempt to change the subject. He could sense the underlying tension between you, the unspoken questions hanging in the air, and he knew they needed to be addressed.

"Indeed, the stars are a wonder to behold," Brandon replied diplomatically, his tone measured as he studied your expression. "But I believe there are matters closer to home that require our attention."

You paused at that, your smile fading as you met Brandon's earnest gaze. His words hung between you, heavy with unspoken implications, and you knew there was no avoiding the conversation any longer.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" you asked, your voice tinged with apprehension as you braced yourself for his response.

Brandon took a step closer to you, his expression serious as he met your eyes with unwavering determination. "I married you for one reason, and one reason only: to have heirs," he said bluntly, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "And how can we achieve that if the two of us barely see each other?"

You stopped at that, your gaze locking with his as you took in the gravity of his words. For a moment, you felt a pang of guilt at your own negligence, knowing that you had failed to uphold your end of the bargain. But then, a sense of determination washed over you as you realized what Brandon was implying.

Was he demanding that you fulfill your duty as a wife? Did he want... sex?

The thought made Brandon blush slightly, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment as he struggled to articulate his desires. But you weren't embarrassed; you were a 28-year-old woman, well aware of the implications of marital intimacy. Despite never having been intimate with a man before Brandon, you had spent enough time reading and learning from your already married sisters to understand the mechanics of such encounters.

And your first time with Brandon had been surprisingly pleasant. He had been kind and patient with you, guiding you through the experience with a gentle touch and reassuring words. In the aftermath, you had distanced yourself from him, convinced that it was for his own protection. But now, faced with his unspoken request, you realized that you couldn't continue to avoid him indefinitely.

With a resolute nod, you dropped the notebook in your hand and approached Brandon, closing the distance between you with determined steps. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as you reached out to touch his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw with a tender touch.

"Why not start today, then?" you suggested softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "After all, it is our duty as husband and wife to fulfill each other's needs, is it not?"

Brandon's blush deepened at your boldness, but he nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and embarrassment. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed.

You took the initiative, stepping closer to him until there was barely an inch of space between your bodies. Leaning in, you captured his lips in a gentle kiss, your heart racing with anticipation as you felt Brandon respond eagerly, his arms encircling you in a warm embrace.

And as you melted into his embrace, you knew that despite the unconventional nature of your marriage, you were determined to honor your side of the bargain. After all, you were both bound by duty and obligation, and it was time to fulfill the promises you had made to each other, no matter the cost.

As Brandon and you stood in the dimly lit cabin, the air thick with anticipation, he couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation mingled with desire. His heart still belonged to Marianne, his unrequited love for her a constant ache in his chest. But as he looked into your eyes, he saw more than just a means to an end; he saw a woman who deserved his respect and consideration, despite the circumstances of their marriage.

With gentle hands, Brandon began to undress you, his touch tender and reverent as he revealed your delicate form beneath the fabric. He couldn't help but admire the curve of your body, the softness of your skin, as he trailed kisses along your neck and collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You responded eagerly to his touch, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, urging him to explore every inch of your body. Brandon's heart raced with excitement as he felt your arousal building, his own desire growing with each soft moan that escaped your lips.

As Brandon guided you to the bed, he felt a surge of anticipation coursing through him, his body responding instinctively to the intimacy between you. He couldn't deny the pleasure he felt at being so close to you, the warmth of your skin against his own igniting a fire within him that he hadn't felt in years.

With practiced hands, Brandon explored your body with a gentle touch, his fingers tracing patterns of desire along your skin as he elicited soft gasps and moans from your lips. He marveled at the way you responded to his touch, the way your body arched and trembled beneath him, as if seeking more of his affection.

And when he finally entered you, it was with a reverence and tenderness that took your breath away. Brandon moved slowly, savoring each moment as he lost himself in the sensation of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. He felt a sense of connection with you that he hadn't experienced in years, a bond forged in the heat of their shared passion.

But even as Brandon surrendered himself to the pleasure of their union, his thoughts strayed to Marianne, his beloved lost to him forever. He couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to make love to her, to hear her soft moans of pleasure as he brought her to the heights of ecstasy.

But Marianne didn't want him, that much was clear. Despite Brandon's unwavering love and devotion to her, she had chosen another, leaving him with a heart heavy with sorrow and longing. But Brandon was a man of honor, and he knew that he had to be content with what he had, which was you.

You, the woman whose mind was plagued by bouts of madness and unpredictability, yet whose heart was filled with kindness and compassion. And as Brandon lay beside you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of their lovemaking, he couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him. He knew that he should be focusing on fulfilling his duty as a husband, on siring heirs to carry on his legacy, but a part of him couldn't deny the pleasure he found in being with you.

But even as Brandon reveled in the intimacy between you, he couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at him. He knew that his feelings for you were born out of necessity rather than passion, that he was simply using you to fulfill his own needs. And yet, a part of him couldn't help but enjoy the pleasure you brought him, the warmth of your body against his own.

As the days went by, Brandon found himself spending more and more time in your company, seeking solace and companionship in your presence. He tried to convince himself that it was all in service of their shared goal of starting a family, but deep down, he knew that he enjoyed being with you, in spite of everything.

He admired your resilience and admired your intelligence and creativity, seeing beyond the surface to the kind and compassionate woman beneath. You, in turn, found solace in Brandon's presence, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding. He treated you with kindness and respect, never once judging you for your eccentricities, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him for accepting you as you were.

But as the saying goes, all good things are short-lived, and Brandon saw this firsthand when he witnessed one of your episodes of madness. One night, he woke up to the sound of whispers and found you in the bedroom, talking to yourself and drawing on the wall.

Brandon's heart clenched with concern as he approached you hesitantly, calling out your name in a gentle tone. But when you turned to him, your eyes unfocused and distant, he realized that you didn't recognize him.

"Are you Venus?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper as you regarded him with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the realization dawning on him that you didn't recognize him as your husband. He took a step closer to you, his voice calm and reassuring as he reminded you of his true identity.

"No, my dear, I'm Colonel Christopher Brandon, your husband," he replied softly, his eyes pleading with you to see reason. "Please, come back to me."

But you shook your head stubbornly, dropping the chalk in your hand as you turned away from him, your mind set on a singular purpose. Ignoring Brandon's protests, you left the bedroom, navigating the dark hallways of the mansion with determined strides.

Brandon followed close behind you, his heart pounding with fear and anxiety as he called out to you, hoping to bring you back to your senses. But you paid him no heed, your mind consumed by delusions of Venus coming to take you away.

As you stepped out into the garden, your eyes fixed on the starry sky above, you spotted the bright gleam of Venus shining in the darkness. With a sense of urgency, you called out to the celestial body, your voice filled with longing and desperation.

"Venus, my love, please come get me," you pleaded, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night. "I'm ready to go with you."

Your screams alerted the mansion's employees, who came rushing outside to see what was causing the commotion. Brandon watched helplessly as you shed your nightgown, revealing your naked body to the world as you continued to call out for Venus.

Unable to stand idly by any longer, Brandon sprang into action, moving to cover you. But you pushed him away angrily, refusing to let anyone come between you and your imagined lover.

"Get away from me!" you cried, your voice tinged with frustration as you brushed him aside. "Venus will come for me, you'll see!"

Seeing that you were beyond reason, Brandon turned to the servants, instructing them to fetch a blanket to cover you. The maids obeyed without question, rushing to fulfill his command as Brandon's butler stepped forward to assist in calming you down.

But despite their efforts, you continued to scream and cry out for Venus, your mind lost to the grips of madness. It wasn't until Brandon made a bold declaration that you finally seemed to calm down, your eyes focusing on him with a newfound clarity.

"I am Venus," Brandon announced firmly, his voice filled with conviction as he met your gaze with unwavering determination.

For a moment, you stared at him in confusion, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you seemed to accept his words, your body relaxing as you allowed the maids to cover you with a blanket.

Brandon wrapped the blanket around you protectively, his heart heavy with relief as he gazed down at you with a mix of sadness and concern. Taking your hand in his, he led you toward the cabin, his mind racing with thoughts of how best to care for you in the coming days.

As you walked beside him, your gaze fixed on him with newfound adoration and confusion, you couldn't help but question the reality of the situation. Was Brandon truly Venus, the god of love and desire, come to whisk you away to a world of eternal bliss? Or was he simply a mortal man, doing his best to care for you in your time of need?

"Are you really Venus?" you asked hesitantly, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you looked up at him for answers.

Brandon met your gaze with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion as he squeezed your hand reassuringly. "Yes, my dear," he replied softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "I am Venus, and I'm here to take care of you."

And as you clung to him, expressing your belief that he was Venus and how you had waited so long for him to come for you, Brandon felt a pang of sadness tug at his heart. He did not like the hope he saw in your eyes, the desperate longing for happiness that seemed to radiate from your every word. While he was relieved that you finally seemed content, he could not help but feel conflicted about perpetuating the illusion that he was Venus.

Leading you gently to the cabin, Brandon guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you as you looked at him with such love and adoration, still addressing him as Venus. The realization that the duke and duchess hadn't mentioned this aspect of your condition left Brandon feeling unsettled. He had been led to believe that you were simply isolated in your cabin, dealing with your episodes of madness alone, but he hadn't expected this level of delusion.

Should he continue to play along with your delusions, maintaining the facade of being the god of love in order to keep you calm and prevent any further aggression? Or should he confront the reality of the situation, risking triggering another episode?

Sighing inwardly, Brandon decided to prioritize your well-being above all else. For now, it seemed best to go along with your belief that he was Venus, at least until he could figure out how to help you through this latest episode.

"Of course, my dear," Brandon replied softly, his voice filled with warmth and compassion as he took your hands in his. "I have waited for you just as eagerly. Now that we are together, I am here to take care of you, always."

Gently, Brandon helped you lay down on the bed, tucking the blankets around you to keep you warm. He listened quietly as you spoke, your words filled with a mixture of hope and desperation. You reached out to him, pleading for Venus to take you to the stars, to make you happy and relieve you of the burden you felt you were to others.

"Venus, my love, please take me away with you," you murmured, your voice soft and filled with longing. "I want to love you, and if you love me in return, I won't be a burden to anyone anymore."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to comfort you and reassure you that you were not a burden, but he knew that now was not the time for such revelations. Instead, he remained silent, his gaze filled with compassion and understanding as he listened to your pleas.

"I understand, my dear," Brandon said softly, his voice gentle as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "Venus loves you deeply, and he would never see you as a burden. You bring light and joy to his world, and he cherishes every moment he spends with you."

Your eyes shone with tears as you looked up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite the turmoil in your mind, you found solace in Brandon's words, finding comfort in the belief that Venus was there to guide you to happiness.

"Thank you, Venus," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of sleep. "I love you."

Brandon watched over you as you drifted off to sleep, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was deceiving you, allowing you to believe in a fantasy that could never be true. But for now, all he could do was be there for you, to offer you comfort and support in whatever form you needed.

And as Brandon lay down next to you, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Despite his best efforts to reassure himself that everything would be alright, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach, a silent prayer escaping his lips as he hoped you wouldn't have another episode of madness.

Closing his eyes, Brandon tried to push aside his worries, allowing exhaustion to finally overtake him as he drifted off into a fitful sleep. But even in slumber, his mind remained troubled, haunted by visions of you lost in the throes of delusion, calling out for a love that could never be.

The next morning, Brandon awoke to the soft light filtering through the windows of the cabin, his eyes lingering on your sleeping form beside him. For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the tranquility of the moment, the gentle rise and fall of your chest a reassuring presence in the stillness of the room.

But as the events of the previous night came rushing back to him, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt and sorrow. He knew that he couldn't continue to ignore the reality of your condition, that he needed to take action to ensure your well-being and safety.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon rose from the bed, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. Quietly, he dressed himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead.

Leaving you sleeping in the cabin, Brandon made his way to the main residence, his mind racing with thoughts of how to best care for you in the days to come. As he entered the familiar halls of the mansion, he was greeted by the sight of the butler, who had served his family faithfully for years.

Without preamble, Brandon approached the butler, his expression grave as he relayed the events of the previous night and his concerns about your condition. He instructed the butler to pass on the information to the other servants, emphasizing the importance of treating you with kindness and understanding.

But as Brandon spoke, he couldn't help but notice the disapproving look that crossed the butler's face, a hint of disdain lingering in his gaze. It was clear that the butler harbored reservations about you and your suitability as Brandon's wife, a fact that didn't sit well with Brandon.

"Is something the matter, Jenkins?" Brandon inquired, his voice tinged with a note of concern as he regarded the butler with furrowed brows.

The butler hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "Forgive me, sir, but I cannot help but express my concerns regarding your choice of wife," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze.

Brandon's jaw tightened at the butler's words, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his frustration. He knew that the butler's opinion held weight among the household staff, and he couldn't afford to have any doubts cast upon your character or his decision to marry you.

"I understand your reservations, Jenkins, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from passing judgment on [Your Name]," Brandon replied evenly, his voice laced with a hint of steel. "She is my wife, and I expect her to be treated with the respect and dignity she deserves."

Jenkins bowed his head slightly, a contrite expression crossing his features as he acknowledged Brandon's reprimand. "Forgive me, sir," he murmured apologetically. "I spoke out of turn. It's just... I never imagined that you would choose to marry someone like her."

Brandon's jaw clenched at Jenkins's words, his anger flaring anew at the implication behind them. "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice tinged with indignation.

Jenkins hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "I had heard rumors about her, sir, but I never thought they were true until last night," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze. "I cannot fathom why you would willingly take on such an unnecessary burden, sir. It would have been far wiser for you to marry Miss Dashwood."

As the butler's words hung in the air, Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him. How dare Jenkins question his choice of wife, especially in such a callous manner? Suppressing his anger, Brandon took a deep breath, his voice measured as he addressed the butler once more.

"Jenkins, I understand that you may have reservations, but it is not your place to pass judgment on my decisions," Brandon stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I married [Your Name] out of necessity, not out of choice. Miss Dashwood made her feelings clear to me, and I must respect her decision. As for [Your Name], she may be a burden, but she is a necessary one. I need a wife to conceive children, and she is the one I have chosen for that purpose."

There was a heavy silence in the room as Brandon's words sank in, his gaze never wavering from Jenkins's face. He could see the butler's discomfort, the conflict evident in his expression as he struggled to come to terms with Brandon's assertion.

But before Jenkins could respond, Brandon felt a shift in the atmosphere behind him. Turning around, he was met with the sight of you standing in the doorway, dressed in men's clothes, your expression unreadable as you listened to the conversation unfolding before you.

For a moment, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt at the thought of you overhearing the disparaging remarks about you. He opened his mouth to call out to you, to explain himself and reassure you of his commitment, but you brushed him off tiredly, expressing your need to retreat to your cabin for a few days.

"If the servants could bring me something to eat, I would be grateful," you added, your tone weary as you turned away from him and made your way towards the cabin. You were tired—tired of the constant struggles with your own mind, tired of being a burden to those around you, and tired of the expectations placed upon you as Colonel Brandon's wife.

Brandon followed closely behind you, his brow furrowed with worry as he tried to catch up to you. "Please, let me explain," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "I didn't mean for you to overhear that conversation. You're not a burden, [Your Name]. You're my wife, and I care about you deeply."

But you kept walking, your steps determined as you refused to meet his gaze. "It's okay, Colonel," you replied softly, your voice tinged with resignation. "We didn't marry for love, that much was always clear. You don't have to explain anything to me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the weight of your resignation heavy on his shoulders. He reached out to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but you shrugged him off gently, your eyes filled with sadness.

"I know I've always been a burden to everyone," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I always will be. But I'll fulfill my role in our agreement, Colonel. And I'll try not to be such a big burden to you."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your tone piercing him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to tell you that you were more than just a burden to him, but he knew that now was not the time for such declarations.

Instead, he watched helplessly as you disappeared into the cabin, the door closing softly behind you with a finality that left him feeling hollow inside. For a moment, he stood there in silence, his mind racing with thoughts of what could have been and what still might be.

But as the days turned into weeks, Brandon found himself growing increasingly restless in your absence. He missed you, deeply, your presence a balm to his weary soul in the midst of life's uncertainties. And so, despite his reservations, he found himself seeking you out, longing to be near you once more.

Every night, he would wait for you to come to him, the anticipation building with each passing hour until he could no longer bear the silence of the empty bed. And when you finally arrived, he would hold you close, cherishing every moment of your fleeting embrace before the morning light came to steal you away once more.

Today was another one of those nights, and you arrived at the agreed time, wasting no time in starting to undress your male clothes, as you always did every night, while Brandon waited for you in bed, watching you undress, revealing your body to him. The routine had become familiar, almost comforting, in its predictability.

As you climbed into bed with him, Brandon couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched into your features. He longed to hold you close, to lose himself in the warmth of your embrace, but he knew that tonight was different. Tonight, he needed to talk to you, to address the elephant in the room that had been looming over their marriage for far too long.

"Are you alright, [Your Name]?" Brandon asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "You seem tired."

You sighed wearily, the weight of the day's events settling heavily on your shoulders. "I'm fine, Colonel," you replied, forcing a smile despite the fatigue evident in your voice. "Just a little tired, that's all."

Brandon studied you intently, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. He wanted you, desperately, but he could see the weariness in your eyes, the toll that their arrangement was taking on you.

"Perhaps we could talk before... before we... make babies," Brandon suggested tentatively, his words carefully chosen as he broached the delicate subject. "I know it wasn't what we originally agreed upon, but I can't help but feel like we should talk to get to know each other better."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to postpone the inevitable for a little while longer. Pulling the covers over yourself to protect yourself from the cold of the night, you settled into the bed beside Brandon, your mind racing with thoughts of what you were going to talk about.

Brandon turned to look at you, his expression softening with affection as he regarded you. "How did you... how did you start to like astronomy?" he asked, his tone gentle as he broached the topic of conversation.

You smiled at the question, a fondness evident in your eyes as you recalled your childhood fascination with the stars. "For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by astronomy," you confessed, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "I found a telescope in my grandfather's things when I was a child, and ever since then, I've been hooked. There's just something about gazing up at the night sky that fills me with wonder and awe."

Brandon nodded, captivated by the passion in your voice as you spoke. He admired your thirst for knowledge, your willingness to pursue your interests despite the constraints placed upon you by society. In that moment, he felt a surge of affection for you, a newfound appreciation for the depth of your character.

"It sounds like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Brandon remarked, his tone laced with admiration. "Your parents must have been quite liberal in letting you learn whatever you wanted."

You nodded in agreement, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you recalled the support and encouragement you had received from your parents throughout the years. "Yes, they were," you replied, a hint of pride evident in your voice. "They always encouraged me to follow my passions, no matter where they led me."

Brandon's heart swelled with affection as he listened to you speak, the warmth of your words washing over him like a soothing balm. He liked how you lit up, the sparkle in your eyes when you talked about astronomy. He found himself captivated by the passion and enthusiasm in your voice, admiring the way you spoke with such fervor about something that brought you joy. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, a glimpse into the depths of your soul that left him feeling strangely drawn to you.

But as the conversation shifted, Brandon hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern as he broached a more sensitive topic. "When did your... episodes of madness start?" he asked tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched your eyes for answers.

The heat in your eyes disappeared as the tiredness returned, and you fell silent, your gaze drifting away from his as you struggled to find the words to explain. It was a painful subject, one that you had long tried to bury deep within yourself, but you knew that Brandon deserved to know the truth.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come as you recounted the events that had changed your life forever. "It all started when I was 15," you began softly, your voice tinged with sadness. "I was out riding with my father and brothers when my horse was startled by a snake. I fell off and... I hit my head on a rock."

You paused, the memories flooding back with painful clarity as you struggled to compose yourself. "I don't remember much after that," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "But my brothers told me that I was in a coma for five days before I woke up."

Brandon listened intently, his heart aching with sympathy as he imagined the pain and confusion you must have felt during that traumatic time. "And then?" he prompted gently, his voice barely above a whisper as he waited for you to continue.

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek as you recalled the horrors that followed. "Things were normal for a few days," you admitted reluctantly. "But then... the first episode of madness began."

Brandon's heart clenched with sorrow at your words, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "What... what kind of treatments did you undergo?" he asked softly, his voice filled with apprehension as he braced himself for your response.

But you shook your head, the pain evident in your eyes as you diverted the conversation. "I... I don't think you want to know," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not something I like to talk about."

Brandon's heart ached with frustration at your reluctance to share, but he knew that now was not the time to press you further. Instead, he reached out to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you tenderly.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with reassurance. "But know that I'm here for you, [Your Name]. Whatever you need, whatever you're going through, I'm here."

You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his words washing over you like a soothing balm. In that moment, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you, a glimmer of light in the darkness that surrounded you.

With a soft sigh of contentment, you pulled Brandon closer, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss as you whispered softly against his mouth. "Don't make me wait any longer, Colonel," you murmured, your voice filled with longing. "Let's just get this over with."

Brandon's heart skipped a beat at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the passion of your embrace. In that moment, there was only you and him, lost in the intensity of their shared desire as they sought solace in each other's arms.

Brandon pulled you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he guided you onto his lap beneath the covers. You followed his lead, straddling him with your hands pressed against his chest, your lips meeting his in a hungry kiss that conveyed all the pent-up desire between you.

The kiss was intense, fueled by a longing that had been building between you for far too long. Your tongues danced together in a passionate tango, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies as you lost yourselves in the heat of the moment.

Finally breaking away from the kiss, you reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around Brandon's hard length as you positioned yourself above him. With a breathy sigh, you guided him to your entrance, the anticipation of being filled by him sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

Brandon groaned softly as he felt you take him in hand, his desire for you reaching a fever pitch as he watched you sink down onto him. He was big and you weren't quite wet enough to receive him fully. But the sensation of being stretched by him was exhilarating, and you couldn't help but moan in pleasure as you sank down onto his cock.

As you sat down completely on him, a low, guttural moan escaped Brandon's lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he relished the feeling of being buried deep inside you. And when you moaned his name in a breathy whisper—Christopher—Brandon's heart skipped a beat, his desire for you reaching new heights at the sound of his name on your lips.

"God, [Your Name]," Brandon breathed, his voice thick with desire as he savored the sensation of you surrounding him. "You feel so good, so tight around me."

You whimpered in response, the pleasure of having him inside you overwhelming as you began to move your hips in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, the pleasure building with each passing moment as you surrendered yourself to the intensity of your union.

Brandon matched your movements with his own, his hands guiding you as you rode him with increasing urgency. He could feel the tension building within you, the need for release growing more urgent by the second as you chased the elusive peak of pleasure together.

And as you continued bouncing on Brandon's dick, you experimented with new movements, gyrating your hips and watching the pleasure written all over his face. It was a sight that books and stories of your married sisters' experiences could never fully describe—the indescribable pleasure of seeing Brandon lost in ecstasy, his features contorted with pleasure as you rode him with abandon.

He was absolutely beautiful, his handsome face twisted in pleasure as he surrendered himself to the pleasure you were providing him. But despite his beauty and kindness, you pushed aside any thoughts of unworthiness, focusing only on the here and now with Brandon, on the pleasure you both felt.

Taking his hands that were on your waist, you guided them closer together, intertwining your fingers with his as you held his hands above his head. The feeling of his strong hands in yours only fueled your desire further, adding an element of intimacy to your passionate encounter.

And as you continued to ride him, lost in the sensation of being filled by him, you couldn't help but let out a torrent of praise and moans, your voice echoing through the room in a symphony of pleasure. And Brandon loved every moment of it, reveling in the sound of your moans and the sweet compliments you bestowed upon him.

"You feel so good, Christopher," you gasped, your voice filled with longing as you rocked your hips against his. "I never want this to end."

Brandon's heart swelled with pride at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. "You're amazing, [Your Name]," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he watched you move above him.

You smiled at his words, your heart overflowing with love for him as you continued to ride him with increasing urgency. You let go of Brandon's hands, your fingers curling into his chest as you rode him harder, your movements fueled by a desperate need for release. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, the tension building with each passing moment as you chased the elusive peak of ecstasy.

Brandon watched you with rapt attention, his eyes filled with desire as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. He groaned softly as he felt you tighten around him, the sensation driving him closer to the edge with each passing moment.

At the sight of you throwing your head back in ecstasy, Brandon felt his own climax approaching rapidly. With a guttural moan of pleasure, he let go of all restraint, surrendering himself completely to the overwhelming sensation of release. As you reached climax, your body shuddering with the intensity of your pleasure, Brandon held you close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he supported your weight. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he rode out the waves of his orgasm with you.

And as he came deep inside you, filling you with his seed, you felt a surge of contentment wash over you, knowing that you had given him everything he desired. You melted into his embrace, your bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs as you basked in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

As you both calmed down, Brandon pulled you to lie down next to him, his arms wrapped around you protectively as he held you close. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. But as Brandon fell asleep beside you, a wave of sadness washed over you, threatening to engulf you in its depths. You knew that your relationship with Brandon was built on a foundation of duty and obligation, not love. He had made it clear that you were here just to give him children, nothing more.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling empty and hollow inside. You didn't deserve him, you didn't deserve Brandon's love. He was kind and compassionate, everything you could ever want in a partner, but you knew that he would never love you the way you longed to be loved.

And as you stood up to get dressed, ignoring the sticky remnants of his cum running down your thighs, you couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over you. You cast one last look at Brandon's sleeping form, the ache in your heart growing more unbearable with each passing moment.

But as you turned away, tears streaming down your cheeks, you made a silent vow to yourself. You would bury your feelings deep within yourself, locking them away where no one could find them. You would continue to fulfill your duty as Brandon's wife, even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness in the process.

With a heavy heart, you slipped into your clothes and made your way back to your cabin, back to your books, and your stars. It was the only solace you had left, the only thing that could distract you from the pain of knowing that you would never have the love you so desperately craved.

Brandon woke up the next morning with a satisfied sigh, his body still tingling with the lingering sensations of their passionate encounter from the night before. He reached out instinctively, his arm seeking the warmth of your body as he pulled you close, his heart swelling with affection at the thought of waking up beside you.

But to his dismay, Brandon's hand met only empty space, his fingers brushing against the cool fabric of the pillow beneath him. Confusion clouded his mind for a moment as he blinked away the remnants of sleep, his eyes scanning the room in search of you.

And then, with a sinking feeling in his chest, Brandon realized the truth—you were gone. Once again, you had left him alone in the marital bed, slipping away in the darkness of the night without so much as a goodbye.

Disappointment washed over Brandon like a tidal wave, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence. He had hoped that last night's passionate encounter would bring you closer together, that it would be a step towards building a deeper connection between you.

But as he lay there in the empty bed, Brandon couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness that settled over him like a shroud. He longed for your presence, for the warmth of your body pressed against his, but he knew that you were gone, leaving him to face another day alone.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a sense of resignation. He was tired of this—tired of the constant cycle of intimacy followed by solitude, tired of feeling like he was always left wanting more.

Rubbing his face tiredly, Brandon knew that he couldn't continue like this. He had to talk to you, to address the underlying issues that were driving you apart. He couldn't keep ignoring the elephant in the room, pretending that everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

And so, with a sense of determination, Brandon promised himself that he would broach the subject with you when you came over again that night. He couldn't let things continue like this, couldn't let the distance between you grow any further.

But for now, Brandon pushed aside his worries, forcing himself to focus on the tasks at hand. There were duties to attend to, responsibilities to fulfill, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles interfere with his professional life.

With a deep breath, Brandon pushed himself out of bed, steeling himself for the day ahead. He didn't know what the future held for him and you, but he knew that he couldn't keep living like this, trapped in a cycle of longing and disappointment.

Brandon longed for more than just stolen moments in the dead of night; he wanted to be with you, truly and completely, in every sense of the word. And so, he resolved to confront you, to lay bare his heart and soul in the hopes of finding solace in your arms once more.

And so, on that fateful night, as the hours stretched on without any sign of your arrival, Brandon found himself growing increasingly anxious. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that you needed him now more than ever.

With a sense of urgency, Brandon made his way to the cabin, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared himself for what he might find inside. And when he entered, he was met with the sight of you lost in another one of your episodes, drawing intricate constellations on the wooden floor as you mumbled to yourself.

"[Your Name], it's me, Christopher," he called out softly, his voice filled with concern as he approached you cautiously. "Can you hear me? It's going to be alright, I'm here."

You looked at him and smiled, beckoning him closer. Brandon realized that you weren't in one of your manic episodes, at least it didn't seem like it. He approached cautiously, a mix of relief and confusion flooding his senses. "What are you doing?" he asked gently, his concern evident in his voice.

You glanced up at him, your eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm drawing my favorite constellations," you replied, a hint of excitement in your tone. "The sky is beautiful tonight, don't you think?"

Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him, his worry dissipating into annoyance. "That's it?" he exclaimed, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "You didn't come to me because you were drawing constellations?"

You looked at him, confusion clouding your features as you processed his words. "I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to dishonor our agreement, but I just... I lost track of time."

But your words only seemed to frustrate Brandon even more, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to comprehend your actions. "Is that all this is to you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Just a deal?"

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you struggled to find the right words. "How should I see it then?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper.

Brandon looked away, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "Maybe... maybe I want something more," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I... I think I'm in love with you."

You interrupted him, shaking your head in disbelief as you backed away from him. "No," you whispered, your voice tinged with sadness. "You barely talk to me, Colonel. How could you possibly love me?"

But Brandon insisted, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes with determination. "I see you, [Your Name]," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "I see you helping the servants when you're not alone in the cabin. I see how you light up when you talk about astronomy, how passionate you are about the stars. And those nighttime conversations we have... they mean more to me than you'll ever know."

You remained skeptical, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. "You can't love me," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away from him. "It would be better if you extinguished that love now, before it consumes you. Fall in love with another woman, but not with me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. "No," he protested, reaching out to you desperately. "I don't want to be in love with anyone else. I want to be with you, [Your Name]. Please, let me show you how much you mean to me."

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. "I heard rumors that Marianne Dashwood will no longer marry John Willoughby," you explained, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Maybe you can ask for an annulment of our marriage, claiming that I am crazy, so you are free to go after Marianne."

Brandon's eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "How do you know about Marianne?" he questioned, his tone laced with disbelief. "And why would you suggest such a thing?"

You smiled sadly at him, the weight of your words heavy on your heart. "I heard Jenkins happily commenting on this with other employees," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "He seemed eager to see you away from me."

Brandon's expression darkened at the mention of Jenkins, his frustration mounting as he struggled to come to terms with the implications of your words. "Jenkins has no right to meddle in our affairs," he muttered, his voice tinged with anger. "And Marianne... Marianne is not the solution to our problems."

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you processed his words. "But you love her, don't you?" you questioned softly, a hint of sadness in your tone.

Brandon's gaze softened as he met your eyes, his voice filled with sincerity. "I thought I did, once," he admitted quietly. "But that was before I met you."

You looked at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But how can that be?" you questioned, confusion evident in your voice. "I'm nothing like Marianne. I'm not beautiful, or charming, or witty."

Brandon reached out to you, gently cupping your face in his hands as he met your gaze with unwavering determination. "You may not be Marianne, but you are everything to me," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You are kind, compassionate, and brave. And who says you're not beautiful? You are simply stunning."

You push Brandon's hand away, your heart heavy with disbelief and self-doubt. "You don't know what you're talking about," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just a crazy woman, Colonel. You shouldn't waste your time on me."

But Brandon refuses to back down, his eyes filled with sincerity as he reaches out to you once more. "It doesn't matter if you're crazy or not," he insists, his voice unwavering. "You're my wife, don't you see? I want you, all of you."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to comprehend his words. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "Why would you want someone like me?"

Brandon's expression softens as he looks at you, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with conviction. "You're kind, and compassionate, and brave. And I... I think I'm falling in love with you."

You stare at him in shock, unable to believe what you're hearing. "But Marianne..." you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words.

Brandon interrupts you gently, his voice filled with understanding. "Marianne sent me letters, asking me to visit her," he admits quietly. "But I refused, because... because of you. I want to explore this love, this connection that I feel with you. Marianne is not the solution to our problems. You are. Give me an occupation, [Your Name], or I shall run mad.”

Tears fill your eyes as you look at him, the weight of his words sinking in. "I don't deserve you," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you turn away from him.

But Brandon refuses to let you retreat into your self-doubt, reaching out to you and gently turning you back to face him. "It doesn't matter," he insists, his voice filled with determination. "It doesn't matter if you think you're not worthy of love. Because to me, you're everything."

You meet his gaze, your heart aching with longing and uncertainty. "But what if I have another episode?" you question hesitantly, your voice tinged with fear.

Brandon's expression softens, his hand reaching out to gently caress your cheek. "Then we'll face it together," he replies softly. "I'll be by your side, every step of the way. Because you're not alone, [Your Name]. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

You look away, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The weight of Brandon's words hangs heavy in the air, his vulnerability laid bare before you. You want to say something, to reassure him of your feelings, but the words catch in your throat, choked by the fear and uncertainty that have plagued you for so long.

Brandon waits patiently for you to speak, his gaze searching yours for any sign of understanding. But when you remain silent, a defeated look crosses his features, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

"Maybe... maybe it's you who doesn't love me," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

You feel a pang of guilt at his words, a surge of emotion welling up inside you as you struggle to find the courage to speak. But then, before you can stop yourself, the words spill from your lips in a rush of emotion.

"No, Christopher, it's not that," you interject, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love you. How could I not, after all the kindness you've shown me? There aren't enough stars in the sky to quantify how deeply I've fallen for you."

You pause, taking a shaky breath as you gather your thoughts. Weeks ago, when you overheard Brandon referring to you as a necessary burden, it had shattered your heart. You had never wanted to be seen as a burden to him, but your madness seemed to make it unavoidable.

"But I know that I can't make you happy," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "But Marianne... she's young and beautiful. She'll have a much better chance of giving you children and making you happy. And the employees will like her. It will be better that way. I will no longer be a burden to you."

Tears fill your eyes as you speak, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. You know that this is your destiny, to fade into the background, with only the stars for company.

Brandon listens to you in silence, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. When you finish speaking, he reaches out to you, gently wiping away your tears with his thumb.

"You are not a burden, [Your Name]," he whispers softly, his voice filled with conviction. "And I don't want anyone else. I want you, just as you are. Marianne may have her charms, but she's not you. And I love you."

You look up at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Brandon smiles tenderly at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "And that's all I need."

[snowblossomreads]

🌸- Denotes Smut

December Moon - Sinclair Bryant

Secret Watching - Severus Snape x OC (Celestine Faye)

A Treat - Sinclair Bryant x Fem!Reader

Darkest Night - David Friedman

Open Doors - Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

Wrapped Tightly - Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Quiet Wishing - Judge Turpin x OC (Mary Taylor)🌸

Never-ending Consequences- David Friedman x Fem!Reader

Unwanted Solitude - David Friedman x Fem!Reader🌸

Lingering Touch - Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Out Of Reach - Lionel Shabandar x Fem!Reader

Missing Mirth - Jamie and The Metatron

To Belong - George Sheriff of Nottingham

Deceptive Kindness - The Interrogator x Fem!Reader

Decorative Obsession - Eli Michaelson x Fem!Reader 🌸

Thoughtful Gifts - Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Truthful Longing - Sinclair Bryant x Fem!Reader, Lionel Shabandar & Fem!Reader

Secret Visitor - Severus Snape x Fem!Reader

A Helping Hand - Lionel Shabandar x Fem!Reader, Lionel Shabandar & OC (Angie Huang)

Wrongful Perceptions - Judge Turpin x OC (Caroline Bell)

Heartfelt Confessions - Lionel Shabandar x Fem!Reader, Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Shivering Certainty

Eve Of Revelations

Christmas Party

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

omg those AI images of Alan and your OC are so cool! How do you create them? Is there a particular AI image generator you recommend and do you have any tips?

Hey, first of all thank you. I just found it today too. It’s called bing image creator. I had to sign up with my Microsoft account and then had like 15 Lightning bolts which apparently generates your images faster. But after you have used all of them you can still generate some it only takes longer. Your “boosts” reset after a week.

This ai is powered by Dall e 3. I don’t know about you guys but when I use open AI to generate pictures I only can use Dall e 1 so I’m really happy that I found this today.

So for the prompts for Snape I just said that it should give me an image of Alan rickman as Severus Snape and it worked. Bevor I just said Snape and it looked nothing like Alan so maybe it used the book as reference. After that I described the oc and the background. I found the more in detail you say what you want to see the better the images.

For the one with Alan and the girl in the field I tried using Alan rickman as colonel Brandon (that’s how I imagine him in my fic “The new lady at Downton Abbey”) but it did not work quite as right after that I put Alan rickman in the style of 1915 and that worked better. So basically trial and error.

Sometimes when I put a prompt with many celebrities it said that I am violating the guidelines. Haven’t read them so I’m a bit confused there but after deleting some of my sentence it worked fine again. Also I tried to do some Pedro pascal images it didn’t work.

That’s what I found out today. Have fun trying it yourself;)

For those that would like to read the fic:

[ten-cent-sleuth]

4, 5, and 30? For the fic writers ask?

Yayay, thank you so much for the ask!

4. A story idea you haven’t written yet?

Well. Most of them. xD But I’ll talk about the third WIP on my roster: my post-“Grace” angsty fic, as I call it in my pinned post. (The first and second WIPs in line I’ve technically started writing for!)

I don’t want to go into specifics since I am really excited to hear people’s reactions to The Reveal, but basically the story will explore my take on who the little girl is / what she symbolises to Carter in “Grace”. Because of course I’ve read the common perspective that Grace represents Carter’s wish for a child and stands in for her future daughter with Jack—but it’s never sit perfectly right with me, so this fic will be my alternative two cents.

And also an excuse to have Sam and Jack meet another mirror version of themselves! (This is what I was referring to in my tags on this post, actually!)

Ngl, this just might be the WIP I’m most excited about right now. But ah! I have my “48 Hours” fic and my “Moebius” fic to finish first. xD

5. First sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP?

This is from Old Thorns, a canon divergence AU for Sense and Sensibility that I will never give up on.

Major General Ashby subscribed to that rare but forcible conviction that all good things are worth not waiting for.

I cheated—this isn’t quiiiiiite the fifth paragraph—but oh well, the real fifth paragraph’s first sentence was not very intriguing. Ashby is an OC who is a friend of Colonel Brandon’s. He facilitates Brandon’s spending time with the Dashwood sisters while they’re all in Town, a plan by Marianne to surreptitiously console Elinor.

Because the canon divergence I mentioned? Yeah, it’s that Marianne finds out about Edward’s engagement much earlier but believes Elinor is unaware and thus takes it upon herself to protect and prepare her. If this sounds convoluted and contrived, trust me, my outline Doc is way worse.

But I love this WIP. I love it so, so much, and I really hope it won’t be an “unpublished” one next year.

30. Share a fic you’re especially proud of.

Sometimes I feel like “Inextricably” is when I peaked and everything I write from now on will pale and tremble in comparison, but I’m not going to share that one here. (Although you’re free to check it out on my AO3, ofc. xD) Instead, here is my one and only—as of now—X-Files fanfic since @agent-troi recently made me think about it so I just reread it last night.

I am proud of how many threads I pulled through various episodes, scenes, and themes to weave together this fic. And still there was one major parallel I didn’t get to include because it didn’t end up fitting into the flow of Mulder and Scully’s conversation. (It was about Scully’s grief about her father.) I also didn’t get to include several scenes near the start because they were dragging me down while the deadline was approaching, but I’m proud of all the now-unused research I made into cross-species influenza and immunisation science for those scenes, lol.

Some of the emotionally wrought lines (in particular I think of “See? You knew what to say to her after all” and “like he was holding his own beating, bleeding heart” – quoted from memory so might not be exact) took me by surprise. Like they came out of me without planning, without preconception, and whenever I revisit the fic, I genuinely still cannot believe I came up with them. In general I just think this is one of my most emotionally charged fics, and I’m proud to know I’m capable of it!

And of course, I am forever proud of my courage in signing up for my first gift exchange and in vanquishing my anxiety about a) posting in such an intimidatingly big fandom as TXF and b) writing for one of my favourite authors in the fandom who also happened to be quite well known?? Ig ultimately “Nature’s Impossibilities” is just very special to me, although I definitely don’t think it’s perfect. (Some of the aforementioned weaving is kind of forced-sounding in the text, agh!) But yeah, quite proud of it. :P

Keep the fic writer asks a-comin’! 👻

Thank you again for the questions. :)

[authorsmortuary]

It Was Doomed From The Start

Chapter 1

Vivienne is invited to Barton Park by Mrs Jennings and meets the Dashwoods. She gets thrown into their affairs while trying to hide her own relationship with Colonel Christopher Brandon.

[mrsseverussnape]

🐚Moodboards🐚

🎓New Hogwarts staff🎓

•part 1   •part 2   •part 3   •part 4   •part 5    •part 6

🎊Yule Ball🎊

•Scarlett (OC) • Fleur • Pansy •Narcissa  •Bellatrix •Minerva •Hermione •Luna •Ginny •Severus

Hogwarts Classes

Care of Magical Creatures   Divination   Flying   Astronomy   Herbology   DADA   History of Magic   Potions   Charms   Transfiguration

»»——————　 ♡　 ——————««

Alan Rickman:  •part-1    •part-2    •part-3

Sinclair

The Interrogator

Eloise Bridgerton

The Darkling

•Slytherin   •Ravenclaw   • Hufflepuff   •Gryffindor

Newt Scamender

Severus Snape Snape x reader

Colonel Brandon

Severus Snape

Famous Slytherins

Lavender

Dalmatian dogs

[joesbrownusa]

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The Vivian, Midway, GA

Price: $160000

Dryden Enterprises introducing theVivian Floor Plan. This home has beautiful laminate plank flooring in the foyer and throughout the living areas. The Kitchen is equipped with stainless steel appliances. Other great features include a large kitchen island, pantry, and a split bedroom layout. TRADE IN your current home or lease AND receive CASH REBATE with our Builder Trade In Program. For more information contact the Milan AIRE Group “New Homes Specialists” 912-877-1262 (office), 912-495-8234 (direct).rrThe Villages of Limerick community offers a walking trail, pool, playground, and t he escape from the city traffic and noise. Located about half way between Fort Stewart and Savannah, and only a few minutes away from I-95. Enjoy Fully sodded yards, and No CITY TAXES!!! You will enjoy the homes of the area’s most experienced builder. With over 35 years of building in Southeast, GA, Dryden Enterprises is a family-owned company that offers professionally crafted homes and a big dose of southern hospitality!r Brokered And Advertised By: Milan AIRE Group Listing Agent: Sharie-Ann Milan

Lots 88 89 Main St, Midway, GA

Price: $299000

An Awesome piece of land, close to deep water. Unique opportunity to build a custom built home on The Georgia Coast. Enjoy the drive to I-95 to access convenient Historical Savannah or South to Jacksonville. Quiet Coastal living & still close to city life. Build your dream home with your own plan. rrTRADE IN your current home or lease AND receive CASH REBATE with our Builder Trade In Program. rFor more information contact the Milan AIRE Group “New Homes Specialists” 912-877-1262 (office), 912-495-8234 (direct).r Brokered And Advertised By: Milan AIRE Group Listing Agent: Sharie-Ann Milan

134 Paradise Ln, Midway, GA

Price: $213995

Introducing The Maxwell II At Colonial Oaks. Tremendously Spacious 2,618 sq. ft., 4 bed/2.5 bath. Huge Family Room. Formal Dining Room. Formal Living Room Extra Large Master Suite. Huge bedrooms with tons of closet space. Granite Countertops. Gas Fireplace. Iron Spindles.Laminate- Foyer, Dining, Kitchen, Breakfast, Living & Great! 10 X 12 Deck

from Houses For Sale – The OC Home Search http://www.theochomesearch.com/houses-for-sale-in-midway-ga/ from OC Home Search https://theochomesearch.tumblr.com/post/158181746410

[snowblossomreads]

"but I do not believe he will find it out there in the world any longer" YEP CAUSE SHE IN THE ROOM RN BINCH WAHHHH GORL WHAT ARE U DOING TO THESE BABIES! GET THEM TOGETHER!!!! Also the way u write the Colonel's speech is so SWOOONNNNNNN 💕🥰🥰😍 such poetry and gentlness ugh please we cant wound his heart any longer 🥺!

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?

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @dontwanttobeanamercanidiot @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @snapesno1thighrider @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @goldenglowwoman @sunset90 @meliabrandon @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @thatlittlefangirl @sanji-simp @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos

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[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.

[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.

[snowblossomreads]

WAHHHH IM SO HAPPY FOR THESE TWO 😭😭😭 BRANDON IS SO ABSOLUTELY GOOD AND PERFECT AND FINALY HE HAS SOME HAPPINESS. A WIFE WHO LOVES HIM AND THINKS OF HIM AS EVERYTHING FROM DAY ONNNNNNNEEE 😭😭😭

And the smuuuut so freaking soff so brandon 😭 thank u for giving these babies their happy ending!!

Prompt 21: Heartfelt Confessions [A6]

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], Prompt 20. Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

A/N: WE HAVE OUR FIRST BIG ENDING! Today, we’re wrapping up Colonel Brandon’s story and I am so happy for this man, and for Calliope of course. They are so good together and I hope you’ll absolutely love this!

We've been hosting the first of two Christmas celebrations today and I'm here with about 30 minutes left of today - I MADE IT 😂😂😂

Tags/TW’s: Declarations Of Love, JUSTICE FOR BRANDON, Marriage, Christmas Wedding, Love Wins, Explicit Smut, WE GET OUR FIRST HEA OF RICKMAS2024

Word Count: 3.8k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Heartfelt Confessions

Once again I was bolting out of a room — only this time, I did not come far. Christopher stood right by the stairs, a few steps from me. His eyes were alight with warmth and the depth of them seemed endless.

“Christopher, please,” I whispered as my throat got snagged by the beauty he was in the shimmering light of candles and lanterns granting a warm glow to the hallway and landing.

He smiled softly, his shoulders relaxed. “You find me wonderful and kind?” he asked.

I nodded. “I do…”

“And you are falling in love with me?” he continued, the rumble of his voice a caress to my senses.

“I am…” My voice was weak compared to his, yet it held the same volume.

“And you will marry only me?” he asked quietly, gently, softly, while taking a step toward me.

Tears blurred my vision as I nodded. I could not stand the distance between us and in a flurry of red fabric, I ran toward him. He caught me in those strong arms and held me tightly against his wide chest. His heart beat harshly under my cheek, in tune with my rapid pulse. Flashes of Delaford mingled with flashes of him in my head. The bookcases, the soothing energy, the welcoming colours and the warmth that seemed to permeate all who lived and worked at the estate under him — all things told of how wonderful he was.

A man who was kind to those below him was a good man. A man with bookcases filled with arts of the heart and soul was a warm man. A man who would care for a stranger and ride through the harsh winter for one was a caring man. A man, like Christopher, was always what my heart had desired — that he was grander and warmer, kinder and more caring than any man I could ever dream up had made my heart his without my saying being needed.

He kissed the top of my head, dragging a deep breath through that hooked nose of his I wished to trail my finger along the ridge of. I shivered, goosebumps travelling along my spine, and he chuckled against my scalp.

“I have travelled the world, yet the one I have searched for was but a horse ride away. How… poetic.”

“You ought to have listened to Mrs Hatchfield,” I commented while leaning my head back to find him arching a brow at me. “She said as much this morning.”

“To you, I assume. I do not listen in on private conversations.”

“You did just now.”

“No, my dear. You screamed the words for all to hear, had I been at the end of the stairs I would still have been privy to them,” he said with a smile as his hand came up to stroke away a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Calliope!” Father called and the sound of footsteps came after. I turned but refused to part from Christopher even as he made to step back out of decency — or propriety, perhaps.

“Calli—” Father halted in the doorway “—is this what you truly want?” he asked while his eyes went all over us. From the hands at my waist to my own atop Christopher’s shoulders.

“Yes. This is the man, the only man that shall ever be prevailed upon me to marry.”

Father sighed and then smiled. “Well, I shall see to it happening, then.” I smiled at that. Seeing my father’s eyes turn happy while feeling Christopher's hands tighten around my waist had me suffocating a squeal of joy. I would marry, but I would marry the man my heart had been captured by — not out of necessity, not to a man seeking only my looks, not to a man without depth, and not to a man who would leave me loveless.

I would marry out of love. I would marry one whom I loved and was loved by in return.

“Well, I better start preparations, a Christmas wedding…” Father mused. “You hear that, my love? Just like us,” he continued quietly while looking toward the sky beyond the ceiling above. I followed and thought of my mother, her smile and kindness ever-present in my mind. Just as you wished, I will live a life of love and poetry, Mother.

⁛•⁛

It had been sixteen days since we declared our wedding to be impending. Sixteen hectic, bustling, manic days with not a spare moment for thought or calmness. I had not thought Father serious when he had declared we would have a Christmas wedding, but I was quickly proven wrong.

Waking up on my wedding day with nothing but longing in my heart and warmth in my gut must have been a miracle of some sort. Wedding jitters did not rear their head, doubt did not spread its wings, and no wish for time to slow down presented itself. I only wished for it to move quicker, so I could be with the man who had captured me so fully.

The door glided open, and Mrs Marble along with Miss Abel strolled in while wishing me a good morning — their faces were bright with smiles as I had confessed to them how my heart pounded for the colonel they had worried was forced upon me.

“Good morning,” I replied and flung the cover of myself. “Is he here?” I asked, dragging on my robe.

“Oh, look at you, miss. A bundle of joy today,” Mrs Marble said happily while opening up the drapes. “We shall have breakfast and then it is time to prepare for the ceremony. Oh, to think, in a few hours you shall be a colonel’s wife.”

“Mrs Brandon… It has a nice ring, miss,” Miss Abel said brightly.

“It does, doesn’t it?” I smiled and tied the sash around my waist while Mrs Marble went through my closet for a dress to wear during the morning.

It did not take long before I was dressed, prepared, and seated by the table with freshly baked bread on my plate and a soothing tea in my cup.

“Ah, Calliope, good morning!” Father positively beamed as he entered the breakfast room.

“Good morning, Father.”

“Wonderful day, wonderful day,” he said while sitting down and grabbing the morning paper. “Now, let us hope nothing goes amiss today. My daughter, getting married, to a colonel whom she loves. Ah, wonderful day indeed!” he exclaimed and I smiled at him.

It had been a long time since I saw him so happy, not since Mother lived had he beamed in such a manner during the morning hours — or any hours of the day for that matter. I was perhaps too occupied with my own thoughts and feelings at that moment to truly appreciate it, but I did enjoy the warmth it filled the air with as I ate and drank despite wanting nothing but to get ready to become Christopher’s wife.

⁛•⁛

I held the white flowers wrapped in a green silky string along the stems. My enormous dress flared all around me, it was not exactly my choice, but a pre-made dress that had been fitted to me. There had not been enough time for the traditional planning, or shopping, or anything of the sort with just above two weeks of time. I did not mind. It was beautiful, despite not being perfect. The only thing that needed to be perfect was the man at the end of the aisle beyond the chapel's doors — and that he was.

I drew a deep breath as Miss Abel fluffed my dress and then flipped the veil over my face. My hands shook with excitement.

“Ready, miss?” she asked and I nodded. “I’ll tell them.” With that, I was left alone to wait for the music to play and the doors to open. Hurry up, my mind whined as I felt as if I had waited an eternity for this day. I had waited all my life, I just never really knew it before this moment came.

The music began and the doors swung open. The crowd gathered rose from the benches as I began my walk down the aisle. None of the decorations or faces around me mattered when my heart soared at the sight of Christopher. He wore his colonel attire — complete with gleaming sword and all the extra decorations in gold attached to the coat — and I swooned. He was perfect, proud and strong, but with a kind heart and gentle soul I would spend the rest of my life finding harmony with.

He smiled as I took my place next to him, taking my free hand in his before we turned toward the pastor who indicated for all to sit. I barely heard a word the old man droned out. My pulse raced, my heart hammered, my fingers were squeezed by Christopher’s and through it all I had to force myself not to giggle with jubilant glee at the luck I had found — or, rode into perhaps.

One minute I was Miss Haymnick, and the next, I was Mrs Brandon. Mrs Brandon. Mrs Brandon, wife of Colonel Christopher Brandon… I may have to pinch myself at some point. And then the veil was lifted, stopping my thoughts and arresting my breath as the man who was now my husband leaned in to seal our commitment with a kiss before all who witnessed our union.

I kissed him, leaning into him and stalling the departure of our lips as the crowd broke out in shouts and claps. Warmth swirled in my gut, heat pooled in indecent places and a flush crept along my cheeks like a warm summer breeze.

“Mrs Brandon,” he whispered against my lips and I finally allowed the giggle to escape. It made him smile in the warmest, most adoring of ways — I giggled again as he took my hand and then I beamed at him. A smile so wide my cheeks hurt bloomed, but the joy was too great to diminish even when I attempted it.

We walked, hand in hand, down the aisle and out to the waiting sleigh pulled by two white horses. The sleigh and animals were adorned by green ribbons and golden bells — in the white landscape, it could not have been more Christmas-like. As Christopher helped me into the sleigh with a sturdy grip on my hand, snow began to fall in a soft sprinkle. I laughed and he smiled as he elegantly climbed up and sat down next to me, drawing a fur across our legs before I looked back at the crowd.

Father had tears in his eyes and a great smile across his lips, he seemed younger at that moment and more relaxed than I’d seen him in the past six months. You worried about me, my future…

“Toss it!” came the shout of Miss Able, whose smile was another great one. I laughed, looked ahead, and flung the bouquet up in the air to a chorus of female shouts of excitement. When I looked back as the sleigh pulled forward, it had landed in the hands of Mr Hilliard — who looked frightened as the women glared at him. I laughed again and cuddled up to Christopher, his wide biceps nice to wrap my hands and arms around.

“Let us head home, Mrs Brandon,” he murmured, kissing the top of my head.

“Home,” I whispered. Our home.

It only took a few minutes for the sleigh to arrive at the gates, and when we came to a halt the doors opened wide and smiling faces met us as Christopher climbed out of the sleigh and offered his hand. As soon as my feet hit the ground he swept me up in his arms. I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck as he marched us up the steps and inside the estate.

The servants all said their congratulations, but he did not stop to allow me to greet each of them. No, he headed up two flights of stairs and eventually stepped into what I could only assume to be the master bedroom.

My throat worked on a swallow, my nerves entangled themselves at the sight of the massive bed dressed in white linens. The room was beautiful, the bed an incredible piece of craftsmanship and the man it belonged to the picture of perfection for me. Yet, now, it frightened me to know what this room would become. I was innocent. I had kissed none but my husband, had been with none until he came into my life and now this masterpiece of a man would be the one I’d share everything with — body and mind. At the moment, the body part worried me.

He sat me down, not having broken a sweat carrying me so far, and turned me to stand face-to-face with him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered and the compliment had never before sounded so wonderful.

“Christopher,” I whispered.

“I cannot wait to wake up each day to you,” he confessed, his ears taking on a reddish hue to my complete enjoyment.

“And I you,” I replied, placing a hand atop his chest where his heart thumped steadily for me. “You are a dream come true, darling,” I continued in earnest.

“My summer sky,” he whispered, grabbing my hand and lifting it so he could kiss my warm palm.

“The wedding party shall commence in a mere hour. The crowd will begin to arrive soon, yet…” he began, his voice darker than ever and deeper than I could remember as he watched my eyes intently.

“And yet..?”

“I cannot stand the thought of not having you fully, before I take another breath I wish to have you, my Calliope…”

I blinked, heat coursing through my veins and muting me. I could feel his longing, his want, his love and it was reflected in my own core. I nodded, unable to say a word when the tension rose and my fear of the unknown mingled with the desperation to know him in every manner possible.

He kissed me. Softly, at first, and then ardently as his hands moved to grasp each side of my head. I moaned into his mouth, surprised by my own sounds and desperate move to grasp at his coat. Something inside me pushed and prodded, had me wanting something I couldn’t term.

“Christopher,” I whispered against his lips and he groaned, and he deepened the kiss.

“You—” kiss “—are—” kiss “—everything,” he said as my body seemed to catch fire in my thick dress.

“Too warm,” I murmured before whimpering as his lips abandoned me.

“Say yes to me,” he urged. “Please, Calliope, I cannot hold off a minute longer, my dearest,” he pleaded with honesty in his voice and eyes.

“Yes, please, please, yes,” I said, almost begging myself.

We clashed. He turned quick and rushed, turned desperate. Strings were tugged, buttons jerked free, fabric ripped off, and skin revealed. I gasped as he tore off my last remaining garment, I was bared for him as he was bared to me. In the early afternoon light and only the fire sparkling in its hearth the light cast a wondrous glow on our bodies.

My mouth watered while my throat dried. His wide shoulders that tapered off to a narrowed waist connected by a chest dusted with soft-looking hair had me gulping. My legs shook as my body refused to bend my neck to look further down. I found his eyes roaming all over my body with a yearning so visceral it stole my remaining breath.

He took a steady step toward me and I took half a step back, I wanted him yet I was frightened of the overload of emotions and sensations coursing through me at the sight of him — at the sight of his yearning for me in those deep eyes.

“My summer sky,” he murmured as he stepped up to me. “You are more than I ever dreamt of.

“C-Christopher,” I whispered. “I…”

“Allow me to adore you,” he said, kissing me once more and my worry dwindled.

He moved me to the bed, laying me down gently. The soft linen beneath and the warmth of his flesh above had me pinned in an influx of sensations. Then I felt his manhood against my pelvis. I gasped at the heat it emitted.

“I will not harm you,” he whispered into my mouth. “Discomfort may arise at first, but I beg of you to trust in me, my wife…” His words were softly spoken, a caress to my ears much like the caress his hand offered my ribs and then my hip before he grabbed my thigh and moved my leg to the side.

I gasped as he repeated the movement on the other side and suddenly he lay snuggled between my legs, his cock pressed against my core — I pulsed and warmed, tension strung itself through my body while an unknown need flowed through my veins.

“Please, I-, I-, please,” I whimpered as he kissed my throat and caressed my side with one hand — holding his weight with the other next to my head.

“Slowly, I will not take you too swiftly,” he said before his hand slipped up and toward my breast. I gasped as his thumb smoothly flicked over my hardened nipple only to return and circle the bud most gently. His lips never left my skin and my legs folded around him instinctively.

He moved his hips, my back arched as his cock pressed against a most sensitive spot at my core.

“That’s it, my darling wife. Soften for me, warm for me,” he murmured in a rumble that vibrated from his chest to mine. “I need you soft and pliable, so I may be gentle with you.”

“Christopher, p-please…” I gasped and grabbed at his back when his lips stroked along my neck, his cock sliding along my slicked core, and his thumb kept rolling my nipple in the most sensational manner.

I hissed a moan as he pressed himself harder against me, forcing my legs wider and the contact against that spot to be heightened. Moisture pooled inside of me, I could feel it lubricate him as he moved back and forth at a measured pace. His grunts and breaths turned harder by my ear and he whispered of his love for me as I ached for him.

“You are beautiful, my wonder of a wife,” he praised with a deep groan as I moaned his name. “I will be gentle, I beg of you to trust me in this,” he said before rising and kissing me deeply. The hand at my breast disappeared and I savoured the taste of him.

Then I felt him prod at my entrance and I stiffened. He broke the kiss only long enough to ask me to relax and trust in him. I did. I did trust him, with my heart and body. He kissed me again while the head of his cock pressed against my entrance. I moaned as my body pulsed, wanting the connection he offered yet still feeling trepidation about the unknown.

He pushed, and I whimpered against his lips. He began slipping inside and my body both wanted and fought the intrusion.

“Breathe with me,” he urged. “Breathe with me, my dearest.”

I looked up at him hovering above. “I— Christopher, love, please,” I moaned, nearly whining as he pushed further into me.

“I love you,” he said and my breath faltered. “I will only ever love and care for you,” he continued and our eyes locked. Our breaths mingled and he jerked forward. I gasped and tensed as he slipped all the way in.

“Calliope,” he groaned and stilled. Then his hand kneaded my breast and his thumb flicked my nipple as his mouth found mine.

I whimpered and he groaned before he began to move. Each pull and push had my body yielding a bit more to the intrusion and he offered soft encouragement and gentle compliments as he slowly upped the pace and my body fully caved to him. I felt full and warm, the sting had lessened and my insides shaped themselves to accommodate him.

“Oh, god,” I whimpered as he rose a little and upped the pace. Our bodies made sounds I’d never heard before.

“You are perfection,” he groaned, panting hard as his hips jerked forward and I was melting beneath him.

My eyes sought his and were met with an intensity incomparable to any I had seen before. It was the look spoken of in poems, in heartfelt romances, in fairytales and songs of love. He viewed me with all the love in the world, and I felt it well in me in return.

He strained, a vein popping in his neck and his muscles stiffening all around me. I moaned as he kept the pace and steadied himself on only one hand. The other slipped down my ribs, over my hipbone and found its way to my core where his thumb had me shrieking out a call of his name. Bolts shot through me as he circled the bud there, eliciting the most core-tensing and desperation-fuelled sensations through my entire body.

“I shall have you fully,” he groaned, switching his motions until I whimpered and tensed beneath him. “I need you,” he continued and the need to cry out overwhelmed me into silence with my mouth open as my back arched. Something was happening to me, I desperately climbed toward something and it terrified me. My body was rendered out of control under his ministrations.

“Let go, my darling,” he ground between clenched teeth. “Let go, let go, darling,” he urged and as my eyes closed stars flecked the blackened view. Something coiled inside me and as he flicked his thumb and upped the pace of his hips I spiralled.

I called his name in abandon as he groaned mine and praised the heavens. I convulsed, I shook, my body was shattering and mending all at the same time while I felt him still and pulse between my trembling legs. My hands had gripped his forearms, my nails embedding themselves in his skin as I cried out during the final wave of ecstasy.

I sank into the mattress, a heaving mess of uncoordinated limbs and sweat-misted skin. Then he lowered himself, leaning over me, and kissed me deeply while his nose had his breaths fanning over my cheek in harsh rushes.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “You are perfect, and I love you, Calliope.”

“I… I love you, Christopher,” I whispered as my heaving chest made it hard to speak. “You’ve stolen my breath, literally…”

He smiled cheekily. “I shall endeavour to do so every evening for the remainder of our lives, my darling.”

I cannot wait to live such a life with you… “Please do, my love,” I whispered as the sound of my own heart rejoicing filled me from within.

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: I LOVE THEM AND THEY ARE HAPPY!!! 😭👏

Oh I hope you loved the first ending of our long serials for this Rickmas, darlings 🥰 These two have been such a roller-coaster to write and I just adore how perfect they are together, how they value each other and are equally in love with one another ❤❤❤

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @dontwanttobeanamercanidiot @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @snapesno1thighrider @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @goldenglowwoman @sunset90 @meliabrandon @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @thatlittlefangirl @sanji-simp @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos

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[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 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

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

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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