Sense and Sensibility (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (29 page)

They arrived in due time at the place of destination, and as soon as the string of carriages before them would allow, alighted, ascended the stairs, heard their names announced from one landing-place to another in an audible voice, and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full of company, and insufferably hot. When they had paid their tribute of politeness by curtsying to the lady of the house, they were permitted to mingle in the crowd, and take their share of the heat and inconvenience, to which their arrival must necessarily add. After some time spent in saying little or doing less, Lady Middleton sat down to Cassino, and as Marianne was not in spirits for moving about, she and Elinor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves at no great distance from the table.

They had not remained in this manner long, before Elinor perceived Willoughby, standing within a few yards of them, in earnest conversation with a very fashionable looking young woman. She soon caught his eye, and he immediately bowed, but without attempting to speak to her, or to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her; and then continued his discourse with the same lady. Elinor turned involuntarily to Marianne, to see whether it could be unobserved by her. At that moment she first perceived him, and her whole countenance glowing with sudden delight, she would have moved towards him instantly, had not her sister caught hold of her.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “he is there — he is there — Oh! why does he not look at me? why cannot I speak to him?”

“Pray, pray be composed,” cried Elinor, “and do not betray what you feel to every body present. Perhaps he has not observed you yet.”

This however was more than she could believe herself; and to be composed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach of Marianne, it was beyond her wish. She sat in an agony of impatience which affected every feature.

At last he turned round again, and regarded them both; she started up, and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held out her hand to him. He approached, and addressing himself rather to Elinor than Marianne, as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to observe her attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dashwood, and asked how long they had been in town. Elinor was robbed of all presence of mind by such an address, and was unable to say a word. But the feelings of her sister were instantly expressed. Her face was crimsoned over, and she exclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion, “Good God! Willoughby, what is the meaning of this? Have you not received my letters? Will you not shake hands with me?”

He could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful to him, and he held her hand only for a moment. During all this time he was evidently struggling for composure. Elinor watched his countenance and saw its expression becoming more tranquil. After a moment’s pause, he spoke with calmness.

“I did myself the honour of calling in Berkeley Street last Tuesday, and very much regretted that I was not fortunate enough to find yourselves and Mrs. Jennings at home. My card was not lost, I hope.”

“But have you not received my notes?” cried Marianne in the wildest anxiety. “Here is some mistake I am sure — some dreadful mistake. What can be the meaning of it? Tell me, Willoughby; for heaven’s sake tell me, what is the matter?”

He made no reply; his complexion changed and all his embarrassment returned; but as if, on catching the eye of the young lady with whom he had been previously talking, he felt the necessity of instant exertion, he recovered himself again, and after saying, “Yes, I had the pleasure of receiving the information of your arrival in town, which you were so good as to send me,” turned hastily away with a slight bow and joined his friend.

Marianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable to stand, sunk into her chair, and Elinor, expecting every moment to see her faint, tried to screen her from the observation of others, while reviving her with lavender water.

“Go to him, Elinor,” she cried, as soon as she could speak, “and force him to come to me. Tell him I must see him again — must speak to him instantly. I cannot rest — I shall not have a moment’s peace till this is explained — some dreadful misapprehension or other. Oh, go to him this moment.”

“How can that be done? No, my dearest Marianne, you must wait. This is not the place for explanations. Wait only till to-morrow.”

With difficulty however could she prevent her from following him herself; and to persuade her to check her agitation, to wait, at least, with the appearance of composure, till she might speak to him with more privacy and more effect, was impossible; for Marianne continued incessantly to give way in a low voice to the misery of her feelings, by exclamations of wretchedness. In a short time Elinor saw Willoughby quit the room by the door towards the staircase, and telling Marianne that he was gone, urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that evening, as a fresh argument for her to be calm.

But Marianne had been
calm
since that day some months ago when Willoughby had quit Barton so suddenly. She could not tolerate his absence from her life — and her bed — any longer. She knew she must find him at once. “Which way did he go?” she asked her sister.

Elinor pointed the direction, and Marianne took off without another word. She heard the pleas of her sister to halt, to come back, but they soon faded away, as Elinor would never raise her voice above what was proper in the company of others, no matter the circumstances. Why should Elinor wish Marianne to stay behind, anyway? Surely her sister, of all people, knew the severity of her need for Willoughby; Marianne was quite sure that Elinor was in quite a similar place after the hasty, inexplicable retreat of her Mr. Ferrars from Devonshire.

Marianne ran as fast as she could, uncaring of who was watching. She passed through the door and out into the brisk night, stopping just long enough to get her bearings and spot Mr. Willoughby walking away about ten yards from where Marianne stood, quickly retreating into the darkness. Even in the dark, and even after all this time, Marianne would recognise that back, that walk, anywhere.

“Willoughby!” she cried out!

He stopped in his tracks and turned. The expression on his face grew clearer as she ran towards him, though it was such an unlikely combination — surprise, pain, joy, regret — that she hardly knew what to make of it. It didn’t matter, though — all that mattered was that she and Willoughby were finally reunited at long last!

Marianne leaped up and attached herself to him, wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He responded immediately, and held her to him tightly. Their lips met with the fire of their pent up desire over these last months, and soon they couldn’t keep their hands off one another.

“Oh, Marianne,” Willoughby growled in between kisses along her soft white jaw. “These past months have been torture without you.”

“I could hardly bear it,” she told him, gasping and he ground his arousal against her thigh. “Why have you not come to see me earlier? Why were you behaving so strangely in the party?”

“There shall be plenty of time to discuss everything, my darling. For now — ” he took her mouth with his once more “ — I need you — all of you.”

With that, he placed her on her feet, entwined her hand with his, and pulled her farther into the darkness. They ran together, the crisp wind in their hair, Marianne giggling with glee, and stopped at the bottom of a steep hill, out of view and hearing range of the house. Then they were all over each other once again, hands, lips, tongues everywhere, buckles being undone and laces untied like their very lives depended on getting to each other as quickly as possible.

Willoughby ran his hands under Marianne’s dress the way he had during their first encounter that day on the hill, but this time he did not ask and he did not hesitate. He knew exactly what she wanted. He thrust a finger inside her and found her so wet and ready for him that he immediately added two more. She moaned in response and moved her hips in encouragement. As he worked her from the inside, she leaned down and took him in her mouth, just as she’d yearned to do since their perfect afternoon at his aunt’s house. He was rock hard and smooth, and she covered him in a coating of her saliva before teasing him with feather-light brushes of her fingertips, tiny little nips with her teeth, and the cool breeze of her breath as she lightly blew across his shimmering skin.

“Dear Lord, Marianne,” he groaned, his eyes very nearly rolling back in his head but his fingers not pausing in their massaging of her plush, wet warmth. “Where did you learn to do that? You have not been unfaithful to me, I hope?”

She ran her tongue across his head, lapping up the tiny bead of salty moisture that had collected there, and then replied, “Of course not, my love. I have just had a lot of time on my hands to let my imagination run wild and plan what I would do with you when you returned to me.” With no warning, she took the length of him in her mouth and began pumping him forcefully.

“What … else … did you … come … up with?” he asked between the bobs of her head and the moans they elicited.

She pulled away and looked up at him shyly. “Well, since you’ve asked … I was wondering if … ” She paused, suddenly shy. “If you could use your mouth on me the way I do on you.”

Willoughby smiled down at her and guided her mouth back to him. “My dear, what an imagination you have!” he said as she giggled and went back to work. “I’m sorry to say that that is something that men simply cannot do to women. The way our bodies are formed, it is much better for men to please women with this — “ he pointed to his manhood “ — or this — ” he wiggled his fingers “ — than this.” He gestured to his mouth.

Marianne was disappointed for a moment, and confused for a moment more — she could have sworn she’s heard John and Fanny doing something along those lines — but the feeling didn’t last long. The joy she felt at being with Willoughby again was enough to wash away any feelings of sadness or disappointment she’d felt in the entirety of her life. After a few more moments, Willoughby withdrew his hand from between her legs, eased his arousal away from her mouth, and asked her if she wanted to try something new.

“Oh, yes!” she cried. “Anything!”

He kissed her hard on the mouth, gazed into her eyes with sheer love and admiration, and then positioned her so she was on her hands and knees, facing away from him. Then he entered her from behind, hitting a completely different spot inside her than she was used to. She let out a long moan, and immediately began pulsing her hips backward to meet his thrusts forward. “Yes,” she moaned. “Oh, Willoughby, please, more!”

Willoughby thrust within Marianne in perfect rhythm, half expecting a spark to ignite between them each time his hips collided with her gorgeous, round backside. He could live inside of this woman for the rest of his life and it would not be long enough. But he now knew he wouldn’t get anywhere close to the rest of his life to spend with Marianne. After she found out the truth about everything, she would be lost to him forever. The thought caused him to feel a sudden urgency, as if he feared someone would find them here and tear them apart before they were done, and so he pumped harder and faster and soon exploded inside her.

They collapsed together on the cool ground, righted their clothing, and then kissed, wrapped in each other’s arms, for what felt like hours.

“I want you to know, Marianne,” Willoughby said sadly as he brushed her hair out of her beautiful eyes, knowing that the moment had come to do what he must, for things had changed severely in the time since he saw Marianne last, “that no matter what happens after this moment, I have treasured every moment I have spent in your company.”

Marianne smiled. “As have I. Have you quite finished your business in town? Will we finally get to be together now? Shall we announce our engagement?” She kissed the palm of his hand sweetly, gently.

Willoughby took a deep breath and forced himself to say what he could not avoid any longer. “Marianne … I’m afraid … you have been operating under a misapprehension.”

She sat up then, and he did the same. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

He swallowed. “I must make it clear that I am not now, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be, in a position to offer you … what you ask.”

Though his words were ambiguous enough that her mind barely even understood what he was telling her, something deep within Marianne knew that this was all wrong, and thus her heart began to break. The pain soon found its way throughout her body and up into her eyes, where it came out in the form of unbridled tears.

Suddenly, Marianne’s knew she could not stay in this place a moment longer. Willoughby had clearly not yet finished his speech, and she did not dare wait around for the words to be uttered that would destroy the last reserve of hope left within her. Ignorance was far preferable to the alternative. Before Willoughby could stop her, she pushed to her feet and ran back across the grounds and into the party.

She found her sister right away and instantly begged her to entreat Lady Middleton to take them home, as she was too miserable to stay a minute longer. Elinor saw the tears in her sister’s eyes, and noted — though she hoped she was the only one who did — the haphazard lilt of her clothing, and knew that something was very wrong, and that Willoughby was at the centre of it all. She went in search of Lady Middleton immediately.

Lady Middleton, though in the middle of a rubber, on being informed that Marianne was unwell, was too polite to object for a moment to her wish of going away, and making over her cards to a friend, they departed as soon as the carriage could be found. Scarcely a word was spoken during their return to Berkeley Street. Marianne was in a silent agony, too much oppressed for any more tears; but as Mrs. Jennings was luckily not come home, they could go directly to their own room, where hartshorn restored her a little to herself. She was soon undressed and in bed, and as she seemed desirous of being alone, her sister then left her, and while she waited the return of Mrs. Jennings, had leisure enough for thinking over the past.