Once in the library, Christopher placed his cup down on his desk and held out a chair in front of it, indicating that he wished Marianne to sit there. After seating his wife, Christopher reclaimed his cup and sat behind the desk, facing his wife.
“My love, here is all the information you need to manage Delaford in my absence—ledger, chart of accounts, book of contracts, an address book with the names of the solicitor, banker, agent, contacts at the War Department—everything. The steward, Mr. McIntosh, has been in my service for a dozen years. He is hardworking and honest.”
He held up an envelope. “Here is my will, and here,”—he handed Marianne another envelope—“are my instructions naming you as my agent, giving you full power of attorney. This means you speak with my voice, and all decisions you make are final.”
Marianne could hardly mark what her husband was saying—her attention was riveted on those evil papers he referred to as his will. Christopher caught what had attracted his wife’s notice. He held up the will again.
“This states that I leave everything to Joy, that you are trustee of Delaford lands and mistress of Delaford Manor for the rest of your life, and you shall receive half the income. The house in London is yours, free and clear. There is also a bequest to my ward, Eliza.” At Marianne’s distressed look he continued. “We must speak of such things, my dear. To know that you, Joy, and Eliza are well provided for is a comfort to me.
“Now here is a letter explaining all to Mr. McIntosh—oh, blast! I meant to add something,” he mumbled. “I forgot to leave instructions for McIntosh to reverse the ratio of barley to wheat this year. Oh, where is paper —”
“Christopher, I want to have another baby!” cried out Marianne.
Christopher looked up. “Pardon me?”
“These legal and business matters give you comfort. But I wish for something, too. I want to have another baby—a son,” she said to him seriously.
“But… but these things are unpredictable—”
“I know that, you silly man, but I wish to try before you leave in the morning.”
Christopher looked into the earnest eyes of his wife. Leaving her pregnant was not comforting to
“Are you certain, my Marianne?” he said in the love code only the two of them understood.
She nodded.
Christopher reached out a hand to his now beaming wife. Hand in hand, they left the library just as Sergeant Masters came downstairs.
“Beggin’ the colonel’s pardon. All the cases are checked and locked tight.” His eyes drifted to the couple’s clenched hands.
“Very good, Masters. I shall see you in the morning,” said Colonel Brandon.
To Marianne’s amusement, the sergeant flushed profusely as he turned and left them. Marianne then left instructions with the housekeeper that the master and mistress would take their evening meal upstairs in the mistress’s rooms. The old woman did not blink but simply nodded.
Marianne and Christopher then ascended the stairs, still hand in hand.
A crowd had gathered about the coach that was to take Colonel Brandon to Portsmouth. All the staff from Delaford was there, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Ferrars, Mrs. and Miss Dashwood, and Sir John and Lady Middleton from Barton Park. It was kindly suggested to the baronet that since the colonel wanted no ceremony for his departure, Sir John and Lady Middleton might take their leave of their friend as he passed on the road.
Sir John Middleton responded to the suggestion with an amused snort. “Nonsense, nonsense! Lady Middleton shall be very pleased to see the colonel off properly, as should I. It is no bother. Why, Delaford is no distance at all from Barton Park—no distance at all!”
Colonel Brandon was taken aback by the size of his audience, but he bore it in good humor, taking time personally to take his leave of everyone there. He spent no little time with his extended family.
Edward Ferrars said, “I shall keep an eye on Marianne and Joy for you, never fear.”
“I shall depend upon that,” Christopher answered, before turning to his sister. “And you keep an eye on him, Elinor!”
“Take care, my son,” cried Mrs. Dashwood as she hugged him.
Christopher saluted Margaret. “I take my leave of you, Captain!” Margaret Dashwood, now a lovely young lady nearing eighteen, old enough for a sweetheart in the navy, blushed and hugged him as well.
Christopher took his ward, Eliza, into his arms and kissed her on the forehead. “No tears, my dear, no tears. Marianne is depending on you.” Eliza only cried harder.
Finally, he turned to Marianne, who was holding a squirming Joy in her arms. He simply embraced them; with all that had passed in the night, there were no words left. To Joy he whispered, “Who is my love?” He then looked Marianne in the eye.
“As God is my witness, I shall come back to you, though Hell itself bars the door,” he said in a voice just for her ears.
“Go, my Odysseus,” she said, eyes gleaming, “and like Penelope, I shall faithfully await your return.”
Colonel Brandon turned to Sergeant Masters. “Come, it is time we were off.”
As he climbed into the carriage, he said to Marianne, “My dear, I forgot! Tell McIntosh to switch the ratio between the barley and the wheat.”
Marianne nodded. “Switch the ratio between the barley and the wheat. I shall tell Mr. McIntosh.”
A quick kiss. “Good-bye, my Marianne.” The door shut and the carriage jerked into motion.
“Give Boney what-for, Colonel!” shouted Sir John Middleton.
Christopher leaned out the carriage window, holding up his hat. The crowd waved until the coach was no longer in sight. Princess, restrained by the butler, barked for a very long time.
Several days later, Mr. McIntosh knocked on the door to Delaford Manor. “The missus sent for me,” he announced to the footman in a thick Scottish burr. The footman showed the steward in and left to alert the butler.
Marianne awaited her first interview with the steward. She had intended to receive him in the library but thought better of it. She believed that meeting with the man might be less formal in the bright and sunny parlor. Besides, she found it difficult to enter Christopher’s favorite room.
“Mr. McIntosh,” the butler announced. A slight man of about five and forty came into the room nervously, holding his hat in his hands, mustache twitching.
Marianne had to restrain a giggle. “Mr. McIntosh, come in. Please take a seat.”
The steward’s expression clearly indicated he doubted the fine thing would hold his weight. It was with reluctance and trepidation he carefully sat down upon it. No disaster occurred, and the man looked expectantly at the mistress of Delaford.
“Thank you very much for coming. As you know, Colonel Brandon has been called away on military business. We do not know when he will be back. I know you will join me in praying for his swift return.”
“God willin’,” was all the man said.
Apparently, Mr. McIntosh was a man of few words; Marianne found that infuriating. “Colonel Brandon left this for you.” She handed him his letter. “I know we shall muddle through in his absence, but I shall rely on you to advise me.”
The steward looked at her curiously as he opened the letter. He began to read it.
“As you can see, Colonel Brandon left the management of Delaford to my care. He has full faith in you, as do I. The only instructions he gave me that are not in that letter were to change around the barley and the wheat
