#sir john middleton

[bethanydelleman]

I find Sir John and Lady Middleton very interesting:

Sir John was a sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother. He hunted and shot, and she humoured her children; and these were their only resources. Lady Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all the year round, while Sir John’s independent employments were in existence only half the time. Continual engagements at home and abroad, however, supplied all the deficiencies of nature and education; supported the good spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his wife.

This seems to be a rather happy, successful marriage. Sir John happily hunts, hangs out with his mother-in-law, and throws parties for all the young people within his reach. Lady Middleton hangs out with her children, is fancy, and serves good meals. Both of them seem pretty content in their lives despite having opposite personalities and being pretty incompatible.

And you know what, I respect them for it. I'm fed up with Mr. Bennet, who basically hides from his family and treats his wife terribly (by exposing her to the contempt of her own children). He might be more amusing, but he's also irresponsible and a massive jerk. I'll take Sir John and his good natured-teasing any-day over Mr. Bennet's cutting wit.

Even though the narrator sometimes jokes about Sir John's kindness (he only wanted girls in Barton Cottage so he wouldn't have to share his hunting), he has done a genuine good deed in bringing the Dashwoods to Barton. Yes, he benefits from it because he and his wife are incapable of being alone together, but I'm still giving him all the props. Sir John is one of the best characters in this book and one of the best husbands we see in Austen (main couples excluded, as they don't marry during the books).

[ronavorona]

HP&TPOA vs S&S

[demigodofhoolemere]

My dad: *mentioning Sense & Sensibility and trying to remember whether or not he’s ever seen or read it*

Me: I’d be more than happy to show you the movie

Me internally: Please give me an excuse to watch Robert Hardy please give me an excuse to watch Robert Hardy please pretty please give me an excuse to watch Robert Hardy

[hitchell-mope]

Decent movie. I’d probably watch it again.

[leonisandmurex]

Catherine & Art || Self portrait by Sir Anthony van Dyck, The Japanese footbridge by Claude Monet, The evening sun by Oscar Rejlander, The miraculous draught of fishes by Raphael, The Girl with the pearl earring by Johannes Vermeer, Portrait of Omai by Sir Joshua Reynolds

"For me, the power of the images is in the poignant and personal stories that sit behind them" The Princess of Wales

[jeannetterankin]

there are so many to choose from! Truly, a novel with such an exquisite exploration of the many ways to be a huge dick

[catherinetheprincessofwales]

 Baronet -> Coal-miners -> Royalty  

“A time may yet come, perchance, when a descendant of one of these simple artizans may arise, not unworthy of the Conyers' ancient renown; and it will be a gratifying discovery to some future genealogist, when he succeeds in tracing in the quarterings of such a descendant the unsullied bearing of Conyers of Durham." Sir Bernard Burke, 1861.

In 1861 the genealogist and publisher of Burke’s Peerage Sir Bernard Burke, in his book "Vicissitudes of Families", dedicated a chapter to the “The Fall of Conyers" which concludes with the following: "Magni stat nominis umbra! The poor Baronet left three daughters, married in very humble life: Jane, to William Hardy; Elizabeth, to Joseph Hutchinson; and Dorothy, to Joseph Barker, all working men in the little town of Chester-le-Street. A time may yet come, perchance, when a descendant of one of these simple artizans may arise, not unworthy of the Conyers' ancient renown; and it will be a gratifying discovery to some future genealogist, when he succeeds in tracing in the quarterings of such a descendant the unsullied bearing of Conyers of Durham."

Sir Thomas Conyers, was the 9th and last Baronet Conyers of Horden Hall. While a gentleman at birth, he was reduced to poverty and resided at the Durham Workhouse. His pride made him reject financial aid from his distant relatives, among them his second cousin Mary Eleanor Bowes, Countess of Strathmore, whose funeral he attended at Westminster Abbey in 1800. At the time she was one of the wealthiest women in England and is an ancestor of Elizabeth Bowes-Lyons, the late Queen Mother.

His later years were made somewhat more comfortable at the aid of another distant cousin, George Lumley-Saunderson, the 5th Earl of Scarborough who provided him with a small house. Sir Thomas died a pauper on 15 April 1810. His surviving children, three daughters had married working men in the little town of Chester-le-Street, County Durham. As if from a Thomas Hardy novel, his daughter Jane married a man named William Hardy. 

For five generations Sir Thomas Conyers descendants would work as labourers, and often in coal mines once owned by distant ancestors and now owned by the Bowes-Lyon family. By the sixth generation his descendant Robert Harrison, a carpenter left his family still working in the coal mines to seek opportunities in London. There he married and had a daughter, Dorothy who married a builder named Ronald Goldsmith. 

The early years of Dorothy and Ronald’s marriage and their children's upbringing were spent in a comfortable council house, providing the security needed to buy their own home. Their daughter, Carole, became a flight attendant and married a young flight dispatcher, Michael. They settled in Berkshire and spent a few years in Jordan, working for British Airways, before returning to Berkshire, where Carole started her own business at her kitchen table. 

Almost ten generations and 201 years after Sir Thomas Conyers died a pauper, his descendant Catherine Middleton married Prince William of Wales on 29 April 2011. 

Family Line 

Sir Thomas Conyers 9th Bt. Conyers of Horden (drawing) m. Isabel Lambton

Jane Conyers of Chester Le Street, County Durham m. William Hardy of

Jane Hardy of Biddick, County Durham m. James Liddell

Anthony Liddell of Little Lumley, County Durham m. Martha Stephenson 

Jane Liddell (photo) m. John Harrison 

John Harrison (photo) m. Jane Hill

Robert Harrison (photo) m. Elizabeth Temple 

Dorothy Harrison (photo) m. Ronald Goldsmith 

Carole Goldsmith m. Michael Middleton 

Catherine Middleton m. Prince William of Wales

[snapheart1536]

Imelda Staunton racing in always makes me laugh.

Sense and Sensibility 1995

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

A Dashwood Heart

Word count: 4.8k

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Reader

Summary: The eldest Dashwood daughter, devoted to her younger half-sisters, moves with her family to Barton Cottage after their father's death leaves them with little inheritance. She secretly admires Colonel Brandon, who initially favors her sister Marianne.

______________________________________________________________

The passing of my father, Henry Dashwood, left a weight that settled heavy in the marrow of our bones. His death, unexpected in its swiftness, brought with it the end of comfort and the beginning of uncertainty. I am the eldest daughter of his first marriage, older by only five years than Elinor, the eldest daughter of his second. I had never known my own mother, who died bringing me into this world, and so my father’s second wife was the only mother I had ever known. She was kind and patient, and my sisters and I grew under her gentle guidance.

My older brother John inherited everything when Father passed, as was the law, but with it came his wife, Fanny—a woman whose character was as sharp as her tongue. Fanny Dashwood's arrival at Norland Park was not unlike a frost that comes too early in autumn, turning the leaves brittle and stripping the branches bare. Her presence suffocated any joy that had remained after Father’s passing. It became clear that our new reality, under John's roof, was not one we could endure. Thus, we set our sights on Barton Cottage, a modest home offered by a distant relation, Sir John Middleton.

The cottage was small and plain, lacking the grandeur and refinement of Norland Park. But what it lacked in size, it made up for in charm. We were together, and so it was enough. Elinor, Marianne, Margaret, our mother, and I—all of us settled into this new life with a mixture of trepidation and determination.

I had always been a second mother to my younger sisters, a role that came naturally to me as the eldest girl. I felt a special kinship with Margaret, who, being the youngest, had a particular need for a guiding hand. Elinor, though close in age to me, often bore her own burdens quietly. Marianne, on the other hand, with her romantic ideals and fiery spirit, needed a steadying force. I often thought it was my duty to be that force, even if she did not see it.

As time passed, our days at Barton Cottage grew filled with the warmth of companionship and the quiet joys of a simpler life. I found solace in the small routines—mending, reading, walking along the countryside with Margaret. For a time, I was content, even happy. But then, the company at Barton Park—the home of Sir John Middleton and his mother-in-law, Lady Jennings—brought a new awareness into my life.

It was during one of our frequent visits to Barton Park that I first observed Colonel Brandon. He was a man of quiet composure, with an air of reserve that spoke of unspoken sorrows. He was a gentleman, older than the other men we often met, but with a certain gravity that I found quite compelling. His attentions, however, were firmly fixed on Marianne.

I watched, often from a quiet corner of the room, as his eyes followed her movements, as he listened intently to her musical performances, his expression softening with every note she played. He would sit close enough to speak, yet always waited until she addressed him, his voice low and gentle when he did. It was clear that his admiration for her was genuine, but Marianne, so young and full of romantic ideals, was blind to his feelings.

Instead, she became enchanted by John Willoughby, a young man full of wit and charm. Willoughby, with his easy smiles and impetuous manner, was everything Marianne believed a hero to be. Colonel Brandon, seeing this, withdrew with quiet grace. I admired him for it, though it seemed his heart must surely ache. I began to feel a tug at my own heartstrings—a sense of kinship with him, perhaps, or an unspoken admiration.

One afternoon, as I sat with Elinor on the lawn at Barton Park, I ventured to speak of the Colonel.

"He is a man of remarkable steadiness, is he not?" I said, glancing over to where he stood, a little apart from the others, his gaze fixed on the distant hills.

Elinor nodded, her eyes following mine. "Indeed, he is. I find his company most agreeable, though he speaks but little."

"I have noticed that too," I replied. "Yet, there is much to be discerned in what he does not say. He has a manner that speaks of deep feeling, I think."

Elinor regarded me with a small smile. "Do you think so, sister? I believe you are right."

I could not help but feel a faint blush warm my cheeks. "It is only an observation," I murmured, turning my gaze to the ground. I had grown accustomed to being unnoticed, overshadowed by Marianne's beauty and Elinor's quiet elegance. Yet, I could not help but wonder if anyone had ever truly seen me—noticed me.

Days turned into weeks, and I continued to observe Colonel Brandon from a distance. I knew more about him than he would ever know of me, gleaned from quiet conversations with Elinor and overheard remarks from Lady Jennings, who was forever trying to marry off everyone in her sight.

"He is a good man, but so very serious," Lady Jennings had said one day. "A little dull for my tastes, but a fortune and a fine estate at Delaford. That is something, is it not?"

It was one evening, while we were all gathered at Barton Park, that I saw a change in him. Marianne was at the piano, playing one of her lively sonatas, and Willoughby was near, his admiration evident in every glance. Colonel Brandon, standing by the window, watched them, his face a study in quiet resignation. I saw, in that moment, the precise second his gaze shifted—away from Marianne and, for the first time, toward me.

I looked away quickly, my heart unexpectedly fluttering. Did he see me? Did he see something in me that he had not seen before? But no, it could not be. A man like him, so full of dignity and experience, would never turn his attention toward someone as inconsequential as myself.

The next time we met, it was at Barton Cottage. I was sitting with Margaret, helping her with her stitching, when there came a knock at the door. I opened it to find Colonel Brandon standing there, his expression as grave as ever, yet his eyes—his eyes were softer somehow.

"Miss Dashwood," he said, inclining his head. "I hope I am not intruding. Sir John mentioned that Miss Marianne had been unwell, and I thought to bring some books she might enjoy."

I invited him in, my voice trembling slightly, though I hoped he would not notice. He handed me the books, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest of moments. There was a warmth in his touch that startled me, and I quickly withdrew my hand.

"Thank you, Colonel," I said, mustering a smile. "I am sure Marianne will appreciate your thoughtfulness."

He nodded, his eyes searching mine. "And you, Miss Dashwood—are you well?"

The question took me by surprise, and I hesitated. "I am quite well, thank you, Colonel."

He seemed to want to say more, but just then, Marianne entered the room, and his attention shifted back to her. I could not help but feel a small pang of disappointment, but I knew better than to hope for anything more.

The days passed, and Colonel Brandon continued to visit, sometimes bringing books, sometimes just to call. Each time, he was polite and reserved, his conversations directed more often to my sisters than to me. Yet, there were moments—small, fleeting moments—when his eyes would linger on mine, and I would feel a warmth spread through my chest that I could not quite name.

It was a slow realization, like a bud slowly unfurling in spring, that perhaps, just perhaps, he saw something in me. And yet, I dared not hope, for I had never known what it was to be truly seen or wanted by anyone.

One afternoon, as we walked along the hills near Barton, I found myself walking beside him, a little apart from the others. There was a comfortable silence between us, the kind that comes from a shared understanding. I dared to speak.

"Do you think, Colonel," I began, my voice barely above a whisper, "that it is possible for someone to be overlooked all their life, and yet still hold hope for something more?"

He looked at me then, truly looked at me, and I felt the weight of his gaze settle upon my heart.

"I believe," he said slowly, "that there are those who go unnoticed because they are waiting for someone who sees them for who they truly are. And when that person comes, they will see them more clearly than anyone ever has."

I could hardly breathe. "Do you believe you have found such a person, Colonel?"

His eyes softened, and for the first time, I saw a hint of a smile touch his lips. "I think, Miss Dashwood, that I am beginning to see more than I ever expected."

As we walked on, my heart felt lighter than it had in years. Colonel Brandon’s words lingered in my mind, an echo of a possibility that had never before seemed within reach. I stole a glance at him beside me—his face turned toward the rolling hills, his expression contemplative. What did he see when he looked at me? Could he truly have meant that he was beginning to see me in a new light?

But no—doubts crept in as swiftly as the hope had formed. Perhaps he was merely being kind. Perhaps I had read too much into his words, a desperate grasping for something that was never there. I chastised myself inwardly and forced my thoughts back to the present.

Marianne, who had been ahead with Margaret, suddenly paused on the path. She turned back to us, her curls catching the light of the afternoon sun. “Colonel! Miss Dashwood! You must join us,” she called. “The view from here is quite extraordinary.”

Colonel Brandon’s gaze shifted from the hills to me. “Shall we?” he asked.

I nodded, and we walked the short distance to where Marianne and Margaret stood. As we reached them, I noticed the way Colonel Brandon’s eyes softened as he looked at Marianne. She was his first love here, I reminded myself, and my hopes began to wane again.

The four of us stood together, looking out over the valley, where the sunlight bathed the fields in a warm, golden hue. It was breathtaking, and for a moment, all my worries faded away.

Marianne, however, could never be quiet for long. “Colonel Brandon,” she began with a teasing smile, “you have been in a most serious mood all day. Come, share with us what weighs so heavily on your mind. Or is it that you have a secret you wish to keep hidden?”

He chuckled softly, a rare sound that drew my attention back to him. “I assure you, Miss Marianne, I am quite content at present,” he replied. “Though, perhaps I am simply in awe of the company I find myself in.”

Marianne laughed, a light and melodic sound. “You always know just what to say, Colonel. But I still believe there is something you are not telling us.”

“I assure you, my secrets are few,” he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly before he turned his gaze back to Marianne. “Though I do think some things are best left to be discovered in time.”

Marianne, in her spirited way, rolled her eyes and turned back to the view. Margaret, on the other hand, looked between us with a knowing grin, her youthful mind ever so quick to notice things others might overlook. I gave her a soft nudge, and she giggled, running ahead to explore a small cluster of wildflowers.

That evening, back at Barton Cottage, I found myself lost in thought. I could hardly focus on the book in my lap, my mind drifting back to the Colonel’s words on the hillside. Elinor, ever perceptive, noticed my distraction.

“Are you quite well, sister?” she asked, closing her own book and setting it aside. “You seem troubled.”

I hesitated for a moment. Elinor was always so sensible, so grounded in reality. “I am merely… contemplative, I suppose,” I replied. “I have been thinking about Colonel Brandon.”

Elinor raised an eyebrow, but her expression was gentle. “He is a thoughtful man, and I believe he holds you in high regard. It is only natural to think of him, given how often he is in our company these days.”

“Do you truly think so?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “That he holds me in high regard, I mean?”

Elinor smiled softly. “Yes, I do. I see the way he looks at you sometimes when he believes no one is watching. There is a certain tenderness there.”

My heart fluttered at her words, but I still felt uncertain. “I do not wish to be foolish,” I said quietly. “He is older and has known his share of heartbreak. I wonder if he could ever see me as… anything more.”

Elinor reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “You are kind and steady, and you see people as they truly are. If he does not see that, then he is a fool, which I do not believe he is.”

Her words offered some comfort, and I decided then to wait and see. I had no great expectations—only the smallest glimmer of hope that perhaps, in time, things might become clearer.

The weeks passed, and Colonel Brandon’s visits became more frequent. He brought with him a sense of calm that I found increasingly soothing. Sometimes, he would stay to read with us in the parlor, his low, steady voice filling the room with a quiet intimacy that made my heart ache in the loveliest of ways. At other times, he would invite us to walk, and though his steps often fell beside Marianne’s, his gaze would drift to me more often than not.

One evening, as we sat together after supper, he asked me a question that took me by surprise.

“Miss Dashwood, I have observed that you have a particular fondness for poetry,” he said, his voice low but clear. “Do you have a favorite poet?”

I looked up, startled that he had noticed something so personal about me. “I—I do, Colonel. I have always been drawn to Wordsworth. His verses speak of nature and the human spirit in a way that resonates deeply with me.”

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Wordsworth is indeed a master of capturing the beauty and complexity of life. Perhaps, one day, you would do me the honor of sharing some of your favorite passages.”

“I would be delighted,” I replied softly, my cheeks warming under his gaze.

Marianne, who had been listening, smiled broadly. “Oh, Colonel, you must hear my sister recite! She has a way with words, truly. You would be enraptured.”

I blushed deeply, but Colonel Brandon’s smile widened ever so slightly. “I have no doubt that I would be,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

As the days grew warmer, so too did my feelings for Colonel Brandon. I could no longer deny that my heart had grown quite attached to him, even if I could not be sure of his feelings in return. There were moments when I believed he saw me as more than just another Miss Dashwood, but I dared not hope too much.

One afternoon, as we walked back from Barton Park, Colonel Brandon lingered behind with me while the others walked ahead. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers, and the soft rustle of leaves filled the silence between us. I could feel the weight of something unsaid hanging in the air, and I found myself wanting to fill it.

“Colonel Brandon,” I began cautiously, “I have been thinking much on our conversations lately.”

He turned to me, his expression attentive. “And what conclusions have you come to, Miss Dashwood?”

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. “Only that… I value them greatly. More than I had expected to.”

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something there—something warm and sincere. “I value them as well,” he said softly. “You have a quiet strength, Miss Dashwood. It is… a quality I have come to admire greatly.”

My breath caught in my throat. “You honor me with your words, Colonel,” I murmured. “Though I have done nothing to earn such praise.”

He shook his head. “On the contrary. You have earned far more than I can express. There is a grace in your manner, a kindness in your heart that speaks volumes.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Could it be that he truly saw me? That he valued me not just as a friend, but as something more?

Before I could find the courage to speak, Marianne called back to us, her voice breaking the moment. “Come along, you two! You are falling behind!”

We resumed our pace, but the silence that followed was no longer uncomfortable. It was filled with a new understanding, a new possibility.

It was a few days later when the opportunity for another conversation presented itself. Colonel Brandon arrived at Barton Cottage early, before any of the others were up and about. I was in the garden, tending to some of the late-blooming flowers, when I saw him approach.

“Good morning, Miss Dashwood,” he greeted me, a softness in his tone that sent a thrill through me.

“Good morning, Colonel,” I replied, brushing the dirt from my hands. “You are early today.”

He nodded, looking almost hesitant. “I hoped to speak with you alone, if I might.”

My heart began to race. “Of course,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he seemed to gather his thoughts. “Miss Dashwood,” he began, “I have found great comfort in your company these past weeks. You have shown me a kindness that I had thought lost to me. And I find myself… drawn to you in a way I had not expected.”

I could hardly breathe. “Colonel, I—”

He held up a hand, his expression earnest. “Please, allow me to finish. I know I am not a young man. I have lived through much, and I do not offer my heart lightly. But if you could ever see it in your own heart to care for me even a fraction of how I have come to care for you, I would be the most fortunate man.”

Tears filled my eyes as I listened to his words—words I had never dared to hope for. “Oh, Colonel,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You have seen me when I thought no one ever would. And I… I have come to care for you deeply, more than I ever thought possible.”

His face broke into a smile, the kind of smile that transformed his entire countenance, and he took a step closer. “Then, may I hope, Miss Dashwood, that we might find happiness together?”

As the days passed, I found myself growing closer to Colonel Brandon. Our conversations were filled with a warmth and understanding that I had never known before. He would visit Barton Cottage frequently, bringing with him a quiet sense of comfort and constancy that I had come to cherish. When we were alone or with Elinor, his attention was always on me—his gaze gentle, his words thoughtful. I could feel the beginnings of a deep bond forming between us, a connection that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

But there was a change in Marianne—a shift in her demeanor that was impossible to ignore. She had always been the center of attention, the bright star that drew everyone’s gaze. Colonel Brandon had once been enthralled by her every word, her every movement. Yet now, his attentions had turned toward me, and though Marianne had been enamored with John Willoughby, I could see the flicker of jealousy in her eyes.

One afternoon, as we all sat in the small parlor at Barton Cottage, Marianne decided to play the piano. She chose a lively piece, one that she knew Colonel Brandon favored. She glanced at him often as she played, her eyes bright with a mixture of mischief and expectation. But though he listened politely, his attention kept drifting back to me, where I sat beside Elinor, quietly observing the scene unfold.

Marianne finished the piece with a flourish and turned to the Colonel, her smile wide. “What do you think, Colonel? Is it not a fine composition?”

He nodded, offering her a small smile. “Indeed, Miss Marianne, you play it with great spirit.”

She seemed dissatisfied with his restrained praise. “But you seem distracted, Colonel. Tell me, where are your thoughts this afternoon? Have they wandered far from this room?”

Colonel Brandon’s eyes flicked briefly to mine, and I felt my breath catch. “I assure you, Miss Marianne, I am very much present,” he replied. “But there is much to contemplate in such company.”

Marianne’s smile faltered slightly. She looked between the Colonel and me, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “You have been most attentive to my sister lately, Colonel,” she said with a forced lightness. “I had thought your admiration was reserved for more… romantic sensibilities.”

Elinor, sensing the tension, interjected quickly. “Marianne, the Colonel has been a good friend to us all. There is no need to assign motives where there are none.”

But Marianne was not to be deterred. “Oh, I only jest, of course. It is all in good fun.”

I could feel my cheeks warming under her scrutiny. Colonel Brandon, however, remained calm and composed. “I assure you, Miss Marianne,” he said, his voice steady, “my admiration extends to all those whose company I enjoy.”

Marianne seemed unsatisfied with this answer, but she forced a smile nonetheless. I could see the hint of something sharp behind her eyes—a flicker of resentment that she tried to mask with a laugh.

From that moment on, her demeanor toward the Colonel changed subtly. She became more flirtatious, more eager to draw his attention back to herself. She would seek him out in conversation, touch his arm lightly when speaking to him, and laugh brightly at his every comment. It was as if she could not bear the thought of his gaze resting anywhere but on her.

One evening, as we prepared to walk back from Barton Park, Marianne pulled Colonel Brandon aside, leaving me standing with Elinor and Margaret. I watched them from a distance, trying to quell the rising tide of insecurity within me. Elinor, ever perceptive, noticed my unease.

“She does not mean to be cruel,” Elinor said quietly. “She is simply unused to sharing attention. It will pass.”

I nodded, trying to smile, but my heart felt heavy. “I only hope she understands that I would never wish to come between her and someone she cares for.”

Elinor squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Colonel Brandon is not Willoughby, nor is he someone to be swayed by fleeting affections. Trust in his character, sister.”

I tried to take comfort in her words, but the doubt lingered.

It was not long after this that an unexpected letter arrived at Barton Cottage, bearing the unmistakable seal of my brother, John Dashwood. The contents were brief and to the point: he and Fanny would be visiting in a week’s time, bringing with them “important news” regarding my future.

Elinor read the letter aloud to our mother, who immediately grew anxious. “What could they possibly want now?” she murmured, her brow furrowed with concern.

“I can hardly imagine it is anything good,” I replied quietly, already feeling a sense of foreboding.

When John and Fanny arrived, it was as though a cold wind had blown through the cottage. Fanny swept into the room with her usual air of superiority, her eyes scanning the modest furnishings with thinly veiled disdain. John, though more subdued, still carried himself with a certain aloofness that made it clear he considered himself above our current situation.

“Ah, dear sister,” John said with a strained smile, “how… quaint it is here.”

I forced a smile in return. “We have made it quite comfortable, thank you.”

Fanny wasted no time in getting to the point. “My dear, we have come to bring you some wonderful news,” she said, her voice dripping with false cheer. “John has taken it upon himself to find a suitable match for you, as it is his duty as your brother. And you shall be leaving with us for London in a week’s time to meet your future husband.”

The words hit me like a blow. “A suitable match?” I echoed, struggling to keep my voice steady. “But I have not—”

“Of course, you have not met him yet,” Fanny interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “But he is a most respectable gentleman, with a fine income and a comfortable estate. You shall be well provided for, and we have already made the necessary arrangements.”

Elinor’s eyes flashed with anger. “And what if my sister does not wish to marry this man?”

Fanny’s smile was tight and condescending. “Elinor, dear, it is not a matter of what she wishes. It is a matter of what is best for her. And John, as her guardian, has decided this is best.”

I felt a wave of helplessness wash over me. I had no say in this decision, and they knew it.

Colonel Brandon, who had come to call just as the conversation took a darker turn, stood in the doorway, his face a mask of quiet concern. He had clearly heard enough to understand the gravity of the situation. His eyes met mine, and I saw the turmoil there—the unspoken question of what he should do.

That evening, as we sat by the fire, Colonel Brandon pulled John aside for a private word. I watched them from a distance, my heart in my throat, as the Colonel spoke with my brother in low, earnest tones.

“Mr. Dashwood,” I heard him say, “I understand your intentions toward your sister are, perhaps, well-meaning, but I must speak on her behalf.”

John looked startled. “On her behalf? And who are you to speak for her, Colonel?”

“A friend,” he replied, his voice steady. “A friend who believes she deserves the right to choose her own future.”

John’s expression shifted, growing defensive. “I am her brother, her guardian. It is my duty to see her well settled. And the match I have found for her is more than adequate.”

Colonel Brandon’s eyes darkened. “With all due respect, a match is more than adequate when it is chosen with the heart in mind. Your sister deserves more than an arrangement; she deserves happiness.”

John scoffed. “And you believe you know what will make her happy?”

There was a long pause. “I would hope to know her well enough to understand what she needs,” Colonel Brandon said quietly. “And I would ask that you allow her the choice to stay.”

John’s face hardened. “Colonel, I appreciate your concern, but this is a family matter. She will come with us to London, and that is final.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Colonel Brandon standing there, his expression troubled. I watched him, my heart aching with gratitude and frustration. He had tried—tried to speak for me, to stand against the forces that sought to control my fate. But it seemed all for naught.

Later that night, as the household settled into uneasy silence, Colonel Brandon asked to speak with me alone. We stepped out into the moonlit garden, the cool night air brushing against my skin.

“I am sorry,” he began, his voice low and filled with regret. “I tried to reason with your brother, but he is determined. I fear I have only made matters worse.”

“You have done more than anyone else would have,” I replied, my voice trembling. “You have shown me a kindness I did not think possible, and for that, I am grateful.”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. “If you wish it, I would go to London myself. I would speak with this gentleman your brother has chosen and make it clear that your heart is not free to be given.”

My breath caught in my throat. “You would do that for me?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “I would do anything to see you happy, even if it means letting you go.”

Tears filled my eyes, and I reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I do not wish to go to London. I do not wish to meet this man. I wish to stay here, with you… and with my family.”

[bethanydelleman]

Sir John Middleton is DELIGHTFUL!

[Sir John: Tomas is a mediocre servant at best. I'm sure he won't be missed.]

Love him already.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Inspired by @kajaono's post the other day about Victoria Hamilton, JLM and Austen adaptations, have a list of the actors that have been in at least 2 Austen adaptations:

Hat trickers:

Victoria Hamilton played Henrietta Musgrove in Persuasion (1995), Julia Bertram in Mansfield Park (1999), and Mrs. Foster in Pride and Prejudice (1995)

Johnny Lee Miller played one of Fanny's brothers in Mansfield Park (1983), Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park (1999), and Mr. Knightley in Emma (2009).

Doubles:

Joanna David played Elinor Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility 1972; she also played Mrs. Gardiner in Pride and Prejudice (1995)

Samantha Bond played Maria Bertram in Mansfield Park (1983); she later on played Mrs. Weston in Emma (ITV, 1996)

Bernard Hepton played Sir Thomas Bertram in Mansfield Park (1983); he later on played Mr. Woodhouse in Emma (ITV, 1996)

Sylvestra Latouzel played Fanny Price in Mansfield Park (1983); she later on played Mrs. Allen in Northanger Abbey (2007)

Nicholas Farrell played Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park (1983); he later on played Mr. Musgrove in Persuasion (2007)

Irene Richard played Charlotte Lucas in Pride and Prejudice (1980); she then played Elinor Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility (1981)

Robert Hardy played General Tilney in Northanger Abbey (1987); he later on played Sir John Middleton in Sense and Sensibility (1995)

Sophie Thompson played Mary Musgrove in Persuasion (1995), and then the following year she played Miss Bates in Emma (Miramax, 1996)

Kate Beckinsale played Emma Woodhouse in Emma (1996); later on she played Lady Susan in Love and Friendship (2016)

Blake Ritson played Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park (2007) and later on Mr. Elton in Emma (2009)

Jemma Redgrave played Lady Bertram in Mansfield Park (2007); she later on played Mrs. DeCourcy in Love and Friendship (2016)

Lucy Robinson played Mrs. Hurst in Pride and Prejudice (1995); the following year she played Mrs. Elton in Emma (ITV, 1996)

Carey Mulligan played Kitty Bennet in Pride & Prejudice (2005) and then Isabella Thorpe in Northanger Abbey (2007)

Lucy Briers played Mary Bennet in Pride and Prejudice (1995); she also played a minor role as Mrs. Reynolds in Emma (2020)

If we include Austen-adjacent pieces:

Hat tricks:

Hugh Bonneville played Mr. Rushworth in Mansfield Park (1999) and later on played Rev. Brook Bridges in Miss Austen Regrets (2007) and then Mr. Bennet in Lost in Austen (2008)

Doubles:

Olivia Williams played Jane Fairfax in Emma (ITV, 1996); she later on played Jane Austen in Miss Austen Regrets (2007)

Also, Greta Scacchi played Mrs. Weston in Emma (Miramax, 1996) and went on to play Cassandra Austen in Miss Austen Regrets (2007)

Guy Henry played John Knightley in Emma (ITV, 1996), and later on played Mr. Collins in Lost in Austen (2008)

Christina Cole played Caroline Bingley in Lost in Austen (2008) and then Mrs. Elton in Emma (2009)

Anna Maxwell Martin played Cassandra Austen in Becoming Jane (2009), and then went on to play Elizabeth Bennet in Death Comes to Pemberley (2014)

JJ Feild played Mr. Tilney in Northanger Abbey (2007) and later on played Mr. Nobley in Austenland (2014)

If we include radiodramas/radioplays:

Hat tricks:

Blake Ritson gets it as he played Colonel Brandon in the 2010 S&S radio drama

Doubles:

Amanda Root played Anne Elliot in Persuasion (1995); she also played Fanny Price in the 1997 radio drama for Mansfield Park

Felicity Jones also played Fanny in the 2003 radio drama for Mansfield Park, and later on played Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey (2007)

Robert Glenister played Captain Harville in Persuasion (1995); he also played Edmund Bertram in the 1997 radio drama for Mansfield Park

Amanda Hale played Mary Musgrove in Persuasion (2007) and later on Elinor Dashwood in the 2010 radio drama for Sense and Sensibility.

David Bamber played Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice (1995); he later on played Mr. Elton in the 2000 radio drama for Emma

Robert Bathurst played Mr. Knightley in the same adaptation of Emma; later on he played Mr. Weston in Emma (2009)

Also in that adaptation, Tom Hollander played Frank Churchill; he later on played Mr. Collins in Pride & Prejudice (2005)

Juliet Stevenson played Anne Elliot in the 1986 radio drama for Persuasion; later on she played Mrs. Elton in Emma (Miramax, 1996)

And I'm very likely still forgetting someone.

[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.

[hitchell-mope]

He lives in his own little world doesn’t he?

[firawren]

Jane Austen crack poll: Halloween edition

Halloween is my favorite holiday. Which Austen characters do you think would also love Halloween? I'm excluding Catherine Morland and Henry Tilney from this poll because it's boring when there's a correct answer.

If you like, reblog and share what their favorite Halloween activity is.

[world-of-wales]

─ •✧ CATHERINE'S YEAR IN REVIEW : FEBRUARY ✧• ─

1 FEBRUARY - Catherine appeared in a video for Shaping Us Campaign.

2 FEBRUARY - Catherine appeared in a video with Roman Kemp as part of the Shaping Us Campaign.

4 FEBRUARY - Kensington Palace released a childhood photo of Catherine with Michael Middleton for the Shaping Us Campaign.

5 FEBRUARY - She visited St. John's Primary School to mark the start of Children's Mental Health Week 2023.

8 FEBRUARY - Catherine was received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Derbyshire (Mrs. Elizabeth Fothergill) as she visited Landau Forte College along with Captain Harpreet Chandi.

9 FEBRUARY - Catherine and William were received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Cornwall (Colonel Edward Bolitho) at the National Maritime Museum Falmouth in Discovery Quay. Afterwards, they visited the Dracaena Centre.

19 FEBRUARY - Catherine and William attended the British Academy Film Awards at the Royal Festival Hall where and were received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Greater London (Sir Kenneth Olisa).

21 FEBRUARY - She was received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of the Royal County of Berkshire (Mr. James Puxley) at the Oxford House Nursing Home in Slough.

22 FEBRUARY - Catherine held an Early Years Meeting.

23 FEBRUARY - Catherine received Mr. Ian Hewitt (Chairman, AELTCC ) at Windsor Castle. Subsequently, she received Major General Christopher Ghika and Lieutenant Colonel James Aldridge (Regimental Lieutenant Colonel & Commanding Officer) of the Irish Guards.

25 FEBRUARY - Catherine and William met the volunteers and staff of the Welsh Rugby Charitable Trust and attended the Six Nations Rugby Match between Wales and England at the Principality Stadium in Cardiff. They were received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of South Glamorgan (Mrs. Morfudd Meredith).

28 FEBRUARY - Catherine and William were received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of West Glamorgan (Mrs. Louise Fleet) at Brynawel House Alcohol and Drug Rehabilitation Centre in Pontyclun. Afterwards, they visited Aberavon Celtic Leisure Centre, where His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Mid Glamorgan (Mr. Peter Vaughan) received them. Subsequently, they were received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Dyfed (Miss Sara Edwards) as they opened the new patient room at Wales Air Ambulance in Dafen.

[lizzy-bonnet]

Austenian Dads

A recent post about mothers-in-law by @bethanydelleman had me thinking about the dads in Jane Austen. We get a lot of discourse about mothers and mother figures, who have big, important roles in the stores, but her depictions of fatherhood are interesting too. Here, in my opinion, are the dads and dad-like figures in her novels, ranked from best to worst.

(note: I've left out deceased and barely-there dads, but I will note that Mr. Dashwood's attempt to look out for his daughters, and the amount of grief occasioned by his death, indicate that he is a Top Dad.)

Mr. Musgrove - Notwithstanding "poor Richard", Mr. Musgrove has three reasonably well-adjusted adult children, seems to love his younger children, and goes to his daughter's bedside when she is injured. His children all make Sensible Matches, and he likes kids enough to permit the little Harvilles to be brought back to Uppercross to increase its noise. He folds my beloved Anne into his family and treats her affectionately whenever she is with them. By the standards of the day, he seems pretty solid. 8/10 Least Bad Dad.

Sir John Middleton - Like Mr. Musgrove, Sir John is a people person. His immediate and unreserved adoption of the Dashwoods in their hour of need tells us that he is an unambiguously good-hearted person, which usually leads to loving parenting. His kids are young so we don't see him interacting much with them, but his desire to give everyone a nice time bodes well. He doesn't notice when his teasing goes to far. 7/10 definitely tells the same dad joke over and over.

Mr. Bennet - As a reader I love him because he's pithy, but he's honestly not a great dad, and is not modeling a happy marriage for his daughters. He shows favouritism to Lizzy, lets Lydia run wild, is hurtful towards Mary and Kitty, and fails to save up any money to bribe worthless young men to marry his daughters. 5/10 for putting all his eggs in the "having a son" basket and then doing nothing when the handle on the basket breaks.

Lt. Price - Loud, embarrassing, shiftless. Ignores his daughters but seems to maybe do OK with his sons? 3.5/10, tops.

Sir Walter Elliot - This fucking guy, am I right? He's vain, he's self-obsessed, he's a spendthrift, and he's a dreadful parent. His eldest daughter is his favourite and he basically forgets Anne and Mary exist when they're not directly in front of him (and sometimes doesn't notice them even when they are). His favouritism has damaged Anne and Mary in different ways to Mr. Bennet's to his younger daughters, but the source is the same: he has one child who is like him and others that he doesn't click with, so he basically lets them shift for themselves. In the Elliot household I'm certain this means that sensitive Anne was left to grieve her mother without any comfort from her father. It's no wonder she was ready to marry the first loving man she saw. When he sees her looking well, he thinks it's down to her skin care regimen. 3/10 merely Gowland's.

Sir Thomas Bertram - Poor Fanny, her father figures are both the pits. Sir Thomas knows absolutely zero about what any of his kids are like and can't see how bad Aunt Norris's influence is on all of them. He swings wildly between neglectful and overbearing, and then tries to pressure Fanny into marrying Henry Crawford despite his attentions making her visibly miserable. He also knows perfectly well that Fanny is shy, and yet does not give her any warning that he's throwing a ball for her coming out, plus he sends her home to Portsmouth as a sort of weirdo punishment to make her see what she's missing by not marrying Henry. 2/10 points and he really only gets these for 1. offering to free Maria from her engagement and 2. getting a fire in Fanny's grate, even if he left it until WAY too late to do her much good.

General Tilney - the closest Austen gives us to a villainous parent. The General is dictatorial to his children, oppressive around the house and occasionally creepy towards Catherine. This is made apparent by the fact that the Abbey suddenly becomes much more fun when he goes off to London. He shows himself the ultimate Bad Dad by tossing his daughter's friend out of the house without explanation and hardly the resources to get herself home. 0/10 Gothic Tyrant Dad.