Sense and Sensibility (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (3 page)

In one swift move, Fanny stepped out of her dress and shed her undergarments. Completely naked, she knelt before her husband, lowered his breeches, and took him into her mouth.

“Upon my word,” said Mr. Dashwood through his moans of delight, “I believe you are perfectly right. My father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than what you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfill my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you have described. When my — oh,
yes
, Fanny — when my mother removes into another house my services shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little present of furniture too may be acceptable then.”

Fanny gave her husband one last lick, and then stood up. “Certainly,” she returned as she pulled him to standing and removed the remainder of his clothing. “But, however,
one
thing must be considered. When your father and mother moved to Norland, though the furniture of Stanhill was sold, all the china, plate, and linen was saved, and is now left to your mother. Her house will therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon as she takes it.”

“That is a material consideration undoubtedly. A valuable legacy indeed! And yet some of the plate would have been a very pleasant addition to our own stock here.”

Fanny dropped to the floor, lay on her back, and lifted her legs in the air. “Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome as what belongs to this house. A great deal too handsome, in my opinion, for any place
they
can ever afford to live in. But, however, so it is. Your father thought only of
them
And I must say this: that you owe no particular gratitude to him, nor attention to his wishes; for we very well know that if he could, he would have left almost everything in the world to
them.
” She waved one finger, inviting John to join her, and then teasingly put the finger in her mouth, moaning as she sucked.

This argument was irresistible. It gave to his intentions whatever of decision was wanting before; and he finally resolved, that it would be absolutely unnecessary, if not highly indecorous, to do more for the widow and children of his father, than such kind of neighbourly acts as his own wife pointed out.

Unable to hold off any longer, Mr. Dashwood pounced on his ready, waiting wife and thrust himself inside her, thanking God for bringing him such an intelligent, clever woman.

Mrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months; not from any disinclination to move when the sight of every well known spot ceased to raise the violent emotion which it produced for a while; for when her spirits began to revive, and her mind became capable of some other exertion than that of heightening its affliction by melancholy remembrances, she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her inquiries for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland; for to remove far from that beloved spot was impossible. But she could hear of no situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and ease, and suited the prudence of her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment rejected several houses as too large for their income, which her mother would have approved.

Mrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the solemn promise on the part of his son in their favour, which gave comfort to his last earthly reflections. She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no more than he had doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her daughters’ sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was persuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000L would support her in affluence. For their brother’s sake, too, for the sake of his own heart, she rejoiced; and she reproached herself for being unjust to his merit before, in believing him incapable of generosity. His attentive behaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her that their welfare was dear to him, and, for a long time, she firmly relied on the liberality of his intentions.

The contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance, felt for her daughter-in-law, was very much increased by the farther knowledge of her character and her apparently severe aversion to modesty, which half a year’s residence in her family afforded; and perhaps in spite of every consideration of politeness or maternal affection on the side of the former, the two ladies might have found it impossible to have lived together so long, had not a particular circumstance occurred to give still greater eligibility, according to the opinions of Mrs. Dashwood, to her daughters’ continuance at Norland.

This circumstance was a growing attachment between her eldest girl and the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentlemanlike and pleasing young man, who was introduced to their acquaintance soon after his sister’s establishment at Norland, and who had since spent the greatest part of his time there.

Elinor and Edward’s first meeting was rather unremarkable. They greeted each other in the usual way and made their pleasantries, and then Edward was whisked away by Fanny to come see her child.

But as the days went on, Elinor and Edward began to notice one another. When Edward came in from riding, Elinor’s gaze lingered on the way his hair swept across his forehead and fell over one eye, and she felt a sudden inclination to sweep it back with her hand. When Elinor bent down to pick some wildflowers in the front of the house and her bosom spilled slightly more than usual over the top of her dress, Edward could not stop himself from staring at the soft line between her breasts and wondering would it would be like to bury his face there.

Though nothing was said aloud on the matter of their budding romance and though the young couple never crossed the line from intimacy of the emotional kind to that of the physical, it was clear to everyone in the house that the two had eyes for only each other.

Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son of a man who had died very rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence, for, except a trifling sum, the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his mother. But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either consideration. It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable, that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality. It also did not go unnoticed that Edward was the complete opposite of his dreadful sister in every way — where she was crude, he was erudite; where she was ostentatious, he was mild-mannered; where she was selfish, he was kind. Mrs. Dashwood knew that when Mr. Ferrars married, he would never take up the uncouth behaviours that came so easily to his sister. Mrs. Dashwood knew that Edward was the perfect man for her Elinor. It was contrary to every doctrine of her’s that difference of fortune should keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition; and that Elinor’s merit should not be acknowledged by every one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible. Edward Ferrars was not recommended to their good opinion by any peculiar graces of person or address. To most, he was not handsome, and his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing. He was too diffident to do justice to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome, his behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart. His understanding was good, and his education had given it solid improvement. But he was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition to answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed to see him distinguished as — they hardly knew what. They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in some manner or other. His mother wished to interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to see him connected with some of the great men of the day. Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her ambition to see him driving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches. All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and the quiet of private life. Fortunately he had a younger brother who was more promising.

But though by most people’s standards Edward Ferrars was nothing exceptional, to Elinor, he was perfect. The handsomest, kindest, most wonderful man she had ever known.

The two began spending more and more time together, going on walks alone and taking their tea together in the garden, away from prying eyes and ears. They discussed everything — politics, literature, religion, dreams for the future — and found they were alike in nearly every way. Elinor drew for him, and he admired and complimented her work with such fervor it was as if she were Leonardo da Vinci himself.

Elinor lay awake in bed at night, listening to the nightly antics of her brother and his wife (who, since Edward’s arrival, had taken to entertaining themselves only in the evenings), and found herself wondering less about what it would be like to have a husband to do those sorts of things with and dreaming more about doing those things with Edward — with or without a marriage proposal. He made her feel differently than she’d ever felt before, made her consider doing things she’d never before considered. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, to have him touch and taste her in all her most intimate places, to graze her own mouth and fingers against his muscled torso.

The desire to all of these things — and more — grew each day that she walked along side him and with each night that she felt the house shake with John and Fanny’s lovemaking. Her need for Edward became so great that one evening, under the warmth and protection of her bedclothes, she succumbed to the aching want and began to explore her own body. Cautiously at first, Elinor brushed one finger across her fine hairs, shivering from the tickle her touch caused. Then, as Fanny loudly and unabashedly directed her husband from a few rooms away, Elinor grew bolder.

She pressed deeper and found that she was wet, wet with a moisture that allowed her fingers to glide up and down easily. As Fanny called out, “Higher!” Elinor focused her touch on the highest point between her legs, at the tiny spot where all her desire was collecting. She rubbed herself there experimentally and found that the more she touched herself, the more she wished it was Edward there in bed with her, that it was
his
hands moving across her wetness.

“Faster, John!” Fanny cried, and Elinor responded in kind, moving her fingertips more rapidly across herself. She closed her eyes and arched her back, her fingers working madly. Edward’s face appeared in her mind, his eyes burning with the very need she felt within herself.

“Yes, John! Right there, do not stop!”

This time Elinor didn’t need Fanny’s help. She already knew she was not going to stop. “Edward,” she whispered, her breath short and raspy, her voice revealing the unbearable need within her.

Yes, Elinor
, Edward said in her vision.
I’m here
.

His voice was so real, the heat from his lips and the sweat on his brow so lifelike, that Elinor almost believed he was really there with her, touching her, making her feel this pleasure. That she wasn’t doing it herself.

Her fingers slid back and forth, her legs spread wide, and suddenly she couldn’t hold back any longer — her entire body exploded in a rainstorm of heat and passion and bliss. “Oh, Edward!” she cried out as her body rocked with delectable tremors.

When the sensation subsided, Elinor lay spent, panting, staring into the darkness in wonder. Was
this
what Fanny and John experienced every single day? Was
this
what it was like to bed your husband?

If this was what it was like every time, Elinor knew that she could not wait to be married. She needed Edward like she needed air. And she vowed to have him.

• • •

Edward yearned for Elinor, yearned to cover her body with his own and feel her quiver with ecstasy around him. He had never experienced such a reaction to a woman before, and he scarcely knew what to do with himself. She was a lady — a beautiful, lovely lady — and she did not deserve to be thought of in such a way by anyone except her husband. She should not be kissed, touched, even looked at with impure thoughts, until she was married to a man who loved and respected her and who could give her the world. Edward wished he could be that man, but his mother and sister had made it perfectly clear that he was not, and could never be, the type of man he knew Elinor deserved.

But still his desire for her burned on, though he did everything he could to keep it at bay. His sister’s nightly exploits with Mr. Dashwood did nothing to keep his thoughts clean, however, and he found himself relieving the exquisite pain that his attraction to Elinor caused the only way he knew how — in private moments alone in his bedchamber.

If Elinor knew he thought of her while doing such acts — if she even knew he did such acts at all — he was certain that she would never look at him again. So he did his best to keep a calm, unaffected demeanour whilst in her presence. He read aloud without inflection and he pretended to be ambivalent during discussions about music — anything to keep from exposing the true passion that simmered just beneath his skin whenever Elinor was near.

Edward had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged much of Mrs. Dashwood’s attention; for she was, at that time, in such affliction as rendered her careless of surrounding objects. She saw only that he was quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it. He did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind by ill-timed conversation. She was first called to observe and approve him farther, by a reflection which Elinor chanced one day to make on the difference between him and his sister. It was a contrast which recommended him most forcibly to her mother.

“It is enough,” said Mrs. Dashwood; “to say that he is unlike Fanny is enough. It implies everything amiable. I love him already.”

“I think you will like him,” said Elinor, “when you know more of him.”

“Like him!” replied her mother with a smile. “I feel no sentiment of approbation inferior to love.”

“You may esteem him.”

“I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love.”

Mrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him. Her manners were attaching, and soon banished his reserve. She speedily comprehended all his merits; the persuasion of his regard for Elinor perhaps assisted her penetration; but she really felt assured of his worth: and even that quietness of manner, which militated against all her established ideas of what a young man’s address ought to be, was no longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm and his temper affectionate.