A Free Book for My Birthday!

So, tomorrow is my  birthday! As I approach the ripe old age of 48, I have come to believe that birthday gifts are just as fun to give as to receive. Therefore, on September 2, please accept my gift: The Year in Between: A Sense and Sensibility Variation, for free!

Though I am trying to pass myself off as generous and magnanimous, the truth is, I was thinking of my birthday (thinking of myself) and then thinking of a character I love who (like me) tends to tangle her sincere love of others with her occasional but inescapable tendency towards self-absorption: Marianne Dashwood! 

The Year in Between chronicles Marianne’s journey from heartbroken to heart-whole — and her journey towards becoming a more thoughtful (but never quite selfless) person. If you’d like to get a taste of the book before picking it up, here’s an excerpt from Chapter Four: Aprons and Elephants. Told from Elinor’s point of view, the chapter takes place when Colonel Brandon meets Elinor and Edward on the path to Delaford parsonage (where they now reside), asking for advice about bringing his ward, Eliza Williams, and her son, John, to the village. This day also happens to be Marianne’s birthday…

Enjoy! You can find the link to the free book (on September 2) at the end of this post. 

Excerpt from Chapter Four of The Year in Between

When the parsonage at last came into view, Edward asked, “What is troubling you, Brandon? You speak of our neighbors, and yet it seems this is in fact a matter of personal importance.”

“Indeed it is. I believe you know of my ward’s current living situation?”

“Miss Williams?” Elinor asked, her voice cracking slightly on the name. Whatever topic she had expected him to raise—truth be told, she had wondered if he might finally ask them if he had any hope of winning Marianne’s love—Eliza Williams had not been it. “She is living in a cottage near your brother-in-law’s estate, I believe? Are she and her child both in health, sir?”

“The boy grows strong, and Eliza is as well as can be expected. Motherhood, I am told, takes its toll on even those well-suited for the task; for Eliza…well, she is young and uncertain, but she is healthy and she will learn.”

Elinor met Edward’s eyes. What she had hoped to communicate with her gaze, or what she had hoped to find in his, she could not be certain, but the many tangled threads of this conversation—motherhood, Willoughby’s natural son, the colonel’s sad past—led her to look for comfort where she could find it.

“However,” continued the colonel, “she is quite dependent on the company of my sister’s housekeeper at Whitwell. There I settled Eliza, in the hopes that she and the child might find a quiet life in the country. That arrangement, however, must come to an end.”

He fell silent for some time, and Elinor, in hopes of both soothing and encouraging him, said quietly, “Your sister and her husband live abroad, I believe?”

“Yes. They have been forced to live in Avignon with my brother-in-law’s family these many years, trapped in France when the treaty of Amiens crumbled in ’03. Mrs. Camden, an old matron who has overseen Whitwell for as long as I can remember, maintains the house in their absence. With little to do except brush the cobwebs from the sheeted furniture, she has spent her time of late assisting Eliza and her son, much to their profit. With her own children long grown, Mrs. Camden has taken Eliza as one of her own.”

“She sounds a kindly woman,” said Edward.

“Indeed. There are not many who would treat Eliza with such consideration, given her circumstances. However, Mrs. Camden has been called to Kent to aid her own daughter, who has many children of her own. Whitwell will be closed up completely this winter, there being little likelihood that my sister and her husband will return, and Eliza, poor child, has lost even this adopted mother figure.”

“You wish to bring her to Delaford,” Elinor ventured.

The colonel’s smile was wan. “You have guessed my reason for relaying yet another sad tale as regards Eliza Williams.” He closed his eyes briefly. “She is very unhappy. I might ask you, Ferrars, why your God would place yet another burden on one who has suffered so much in her young life.”

Edward shot Elinor a panicked glance. Despite the several sorrows he had already witnessed in Delaford—the death of one of the parish’s most beloved matrons, the crippling of a boy whose leg was crushed by his father’s toppled wagon, a fire that destroyed one of the farmers’ stable, supplies, and crops—none of his parishioners had yet asked this troubling question. Yet Elinor knew it was the one question he feared most, for he doubted his own ability to answer it. Indeed, he himself had voiced this very inquiry aloud after seeing young Charlie Thorn’s crushed leg: “How can a merciful God allow such suffering in the world, Elinor?”

That Edward sometimes lacked faith in the very God he had been ordained to represent was not so much of a shock to Elinor; she had seen already how little faith he had in himself. Was it any wonder that he might lack faith in his creator, as well?

When it became clear, by the colonel’s pointed silence, that his was no rhetorical question, Elinor reached for her husband’s arm in show of silent sympathy.

“Perhaps,” said Edward, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, “some good may come of her situation, Brandon. Though she has lost the companionship of Mrs. Camden, she may profit more from your attention.”

The colonel grimaced. “I have brought nothing except sorrow to the girl. If I bring her to Delaford, it will be for lack of any other way to help her. Do you suppose your parishioners would object to her residence here?”

“I hardly see how they could.”

Brandon managed a humorless laugh. “I am fully aware of how little power they have to object, and yet I would not want to offend or distress them. They are on the whole good people and have done much to help revive this land, which thanks to the neglect of my father and brother, was encumbered by debt and disease when I inherited it.”

It struck her then how much Colonel Brandon considered himself an outsider even here, in the country where he was born and raised.

“Her stay here would be temporary, while I search for another situation. Perhaps I ought to have brought her here immediately after the birth, but she has never found Delaford to her liking. I sometimes think she understands, even without knowing the details, how her mother suffered in that house.”

“Did she visit often—that is, before…” Elinor stopped, unwilling to speak Willoughby’s name aloud; if the colonel was anything like Marianne (and she suspected, despite their differences in age and situation, that he was; they shared a temperament that was at once steely and sensitive), he would not welcome the sound of a name that had brought pain to those he loved.

“Eliza visited twice a year during her youth,” he said, as if the birth of the babe had launched this seventeen-year-old into adulthood.

And no doubt it had. Elinor resisted the urge to touch her belly, which had begun, ever so slightly to round out in an unfamiliar way. Even she, a matron at twenty-one, would find her entire life changed by such an event.

“Her last visit here, though, was spent in such a state of dejection that I knew she had reached an age when she wished to see the world. I supposed sending her to Bath,” the colonel continued, “to be a service to her, for I believed she would have the opportunity to enjoy a society much wider and more refined than her establishment in the country provided. I placed too much trust, however, in the capabilities of the family with whom she stayed.” He shook his head. “Do not suppose I blame them. She was—is—my responsibility.”

“You must not place undue blame on yourself either,” said Edward. “You are not her father, and could not be expected—”

“I am not her father,” agreed the colonel, “and yet my promise to her mother felt as solemn as the marriage vow that might have made her my daughter, had circumstances been otherwise.” Again, he shook his head. “Forgive me, Mrs. Ferrars. I ought not speak of such things before you.”

“You cannot offend me, Colonel,” said Elinor.

This brought a hint of a smile to his face. “A month of marriage, and you are ready to take on all the cares of the world, are you?”

“Six weeks of marriage, to be precise,” said Edward, “and I always supposed her capable of this when she was a mere young lady.”

This brought forth a rare laugh from Colonel Brandon, and Elinor wished she had the worldliness credited to her so that she might kiss her husband, never mind the audience.

She did, however, possess the courage to ask, “Might you call me Elinor now, Colonel?” When he looked at her with surprise, she added, “All my family do.”

This she supposed was too much for him, for his face colored deeply. But then he said, in a voice hoarse with emotion, “If it offends neither of you, I would be honored.”

Edward laughed. “I am as impervious to offense as my wife.”

“Then you must call me Brandon,” he said, smiling at Elinor. “No one uses my first name.”

Elinor only just checked her laugh, for she remembered something Marianne had once said to her: “I doubt very much, Elinor, that he has a first name.”

Having reached the parsonage, Edward invited Brandon inside.

“I will not impose, particularly as I am to dine with you this evening.”

“Nonsense,” said Edward. “I feel we have not helped you come to a decision regarding your ward, and it would hardly be an imposition. In fact, because our maid is sick, we will take you with us to the kitchen to work. No doubt Mrs. Carter would be pleased to see you.”

This was said in the spirit of jest, but Elinor saw Brandon’s frown and offered one of her own to her husband. If the colonel was reluctant to dine before knowing they lacked Tilly to aid in the preparations, he would surely refuse now.

Yet before he could give voice to the reservations so evident on his countenance, Edward had taken the reins of Brandon’s horse, while Elinor took the colonel by the arm and led him toward the door. They were met there by none other than Tilly. Though pale and wan, she offered a brave smile and asked, “May I take your hats, sirs?”

“Tilly, dear, are you well enough to work?” Elinor asked as they all made their way into the house.

“Oh, yes, Mrs. F., I feel almost as good as new! Just needed a bit of sleep, I think. I wasn’t nearly as bad off as you were this morning. Perhaps it was something we both ate, ma’am? Oh, I don’t mean to say anything about Mrs. Carter’s cooking, Mrs. F.! Don’t tell her I said that, will you? She’ll give me the worst cuts of the meat tonight!”

Elinor laughed, though quite against her will, for when she realized just how much information her maid had shared with Brandon—if he had been able to decipher the girl’s rambling speech—she had sense enough to be embarrassed on behalf of all present.

Brandon, discreet as ever, pretended to be engrossed by the painting on the wall of the corridor.

“You will have my silence, Tilly, if only I may have yours,” responded Elinor with a dry smile.

The maid laughed, curtsied, and made her way below stairs.

Though Brandon allowed himself to be ushered into the parlor, he did not sit. “I will only thank you for your time this afternoon and add that I am looking forward to dinner this evening.”

“Yes, now that Tilly has returned to us, we are certain to have a talkative dinner—at least while the dishes are being served,” said Edward, laughing.

“You are patient with her,” Brandon said, “for which Mrs. Richardson is no doubt grateful.” After Elinor and Edward exchanged a glance, he added, “Did you not realize she was my housekeeper’s grand-niece when you took her into your household?”

“No, indeed!” said Elinor. “It was in fact Mrs. Carter who recommended her, though the way they quarrel, at times, I have often wondered what inspired Mrs. Carter’s suggestion.”

“Ah, well, I believe Mrs. Carter is the girl’s distant cousin, as well as Mrs. Richardson’s. The community here is a small one.”

“Which brings us back to the topic of Miss Williams and whether she might be accepted into our society without distress to her or our neighbors,” said Edward. “I do not feel we helped you come to any resolution on that point.”

“I doubt there is any true resolution to be had,” said Brandon. “There is simply a decision to be made, and truth be told, I had made it already, whether I realized it or not. I was, perhaps, looking only for someone to support my decision.”

“Delaford’s population is small and unvaried, but the people are welcoming, if our experience is to be any guide,” said Edward. “It is, I know, a different thing entirely to welcome a rector and his wife, but I have faith in the goodwill of our neighbors, Brandon.”

“That is just what you ought to say,” he replied.

“Perhaps so, but I am no less sincere for all my insipidity.”

“I would hardly call you insipid!” said Elinor.

“And that, my dear, is just what a good rector’s wife ought to say,” said Edward, laughing.

“Indeed it is,” said Brandon. “You, Ferrars, are a fortunate man.”

The colonel’s compliment checked Edward’s laughter.

“Undeservedly fortunate,” Edward muttered, blushing.

Elinor could not forget how her husband had once believed Brandon to be a rival. There was no jealousy now, only the memory of it, and yet that was enough to cause embarrassment for Edward, particularly given his dependence on Brandon for his livelihood. Elinor supposed that, having grown up under the tyranny of Mrs. Ferrars, Edward must feel burdened by obligation to even so kind a benefactor as Colonel Brandon.

“For all my concerns about our neighbors,” continued Brandon, “I must own to feeling equally anxious about distressing the residents—and guests—of the parsonage.”

Edward looked baffled by this comment, but Elinor understood immediately. As she met the colonel’s gaze, she could almost hear him thinking her sister’s name.

“There are none who reside in or visit the parsonage,” said Elinor, “who would hold any ill will toward a young lady wrongly used and in need of assistance. None.”

“Do not believe I doubt the goodwill of you or any of your family, Elinor,” said Brandon, his use of her name doing nothing to soften the edge that had come into his voice. “I only wish to avoid causing more suffering.”

“We are all of us stronger than you suppose, Brandon.”

He considered her for a long moment before nodding.

This might have been the end of the call, aside from the farewells, had they not heard Tilly exclaim, from the entrance hall, “And just where did you come from, Miss?”

Elinor hurried into the hall to find her sister standing in the open front doorway, smiling in such a way that Elinor could not help but laugh. “Marianne!”

Her sister hurried across the threshold, stopping only to give Elinor a peck on the cheek. She looked like a child, or perhaps a woodland fairy; bits of leaves clung to her dress, and her hair was loose and flowing beneath her bonnet.

“Where are Mama and Margaret?” Elinor asked as Edward and Brandon joined them in the hall. “Where is the carriage?”

“Oh, they are on their way,” Marianne replied, waving a hand toward the window as if they might all—carriage, horse, and driver too—come charging through the glass at any moment. “When we reached Delaford, I asked to be let out so that I might take the path near the stream.” Elinor bit her lip, thinking of Marianne’s declaration to keep off the colonel’s property; either she no longer found trespassing to be such a sin, or she had decided she was too well known to Brandon to be considered a trespasser after all.

Marianne must have remembered their conversation at almost the same moment as Elinor, for she laughed and said to Brandon, “I hope you do not mind, sir, that I went traipsing through your woods? Oh, and I have forgotten myself again, of course.” She curtsied and said, “How do you do, Colonel?” before throwing her arms about Elinor and kissing her again. “How good it is to see you! And you, Edward!” She spoke as if she had not seen them in years. “And Colonel Brandon, I have a gift for you.”

He looked startled. “Is it not your day to receive well wishes and presents, Miss Dashwood?” He offered a bow. “Many happy returns of the day to you.”

“Thank you! Now that I have reached the advanced age of nineteen, I have decided on a plan of self-reform: I will give, rather than take, presents today.”

“Oh, well, that is good to know,” said Edward, “for I rather fancied reading that book of poetry we purchased on your behalf.”

Marianne crossed her arms in an attempt to look stern, but then ruined the effect by laughing again.

“Perhaps we may find a compromise,” suggested Elinor. “We will keep the book, but Edward must read it aloud to you by the fire, as I know how well you enjoy Edward’s reading voice, Marianne.”

“Oh, I shall not allow either of you to tease me so mercilessly today. Wait, Colonel, must you go now?”

While they had been bantering, Brandon had moved toward the door. Marianne hurried over to him and reached for his arm, stopping just before touching his sleeve.

Elinor watched as Brandon looked down at his arm, and then at Marianne. As one, they took two hasty steps away from each other.

“The carriage will be here soon,” said Marianne in a voice that (had it been anyone but Marianne’s) Elinor might have described as anxious. “Though I raced to make it here first, I am sure I could not have run so fast. Surely they will arrive momentarily, and then I may give you my gift.”

“The colonel will join us for dinner tonight,” said Elinor. “Perhaps we ought to allow him some time to himself today.”

“Oh, but I would much rather give the gift to you now, Colonel. Look, they are coming!”

Marianne swept through the doorway, bonnet half off as she went to meet her mother and sister. Elinor glanced at Brandon, but his eyes were fixed firmly on Marianne’s retreating form.

When all three Dashwood ladies had been settled in the parlor, Marianne turned to the colonel (who had once again made his way reluctantly back inside that increasingly cramped room) and held forth her reticule.

He stared at it, and then at her, for a long moment.

“The gift is inside,” said Marianne, smiling. “I did not want it to break, you see.”

He reached for it slowly, his countenance taking on that faint flush Elinor had seen on his cheeks whenever he was near Marianne. Elinor glanced at her sister, wondering how she, the girl who noticed each new bud on a tree and understood every shade of meaning in an obscure poem, remained oblivious to the devotion she inspired in Colonel Brandon.

But then Elinor realized that she had, by thinking of her sister as a girl, answered her own question. For Marianne Dashwood, even at nineteen, retained the heart of a girl. She was not a child, not by any means. Her mind and body had both taken on all the capabilities of womanhood, but her soul—well, perhaps it would always hold on to that youthful capacity for experiencing every sensation, every emotion as deeply as if she had never experienced them before. At least, Elinor hoped so. Though this quality sometimes hampered Marianne’s capability for recognizing how she affected the people around her, it also made her eventual compassion for others all the more sincere.

Brandon stared down at the reticule in his hands as if it were an artifact so ancient, so foreign, that he had no hope of understanding its purpose.

“Open it,” urged Marianne, leaning forward on tiptoes, as if she could barely restrain herself from snatching the bag and opening it for him.

All eyes were on him as he slowly undid the purse strings and withdrew a delicate, brightly-colored figurine.

He said nothing, and so everyone else remained silent, watching as he turned the porcelain figurine over and over again in his hands.

Finally, Marianne exclaimed, “It is an elephant!”

This they could plainly see; it was Brandon’s silence that mystified them.

Indeed, he looked quite grave—so much so that Marianne’s ebullient expression dimmed.

“I thought, after our conversation about the East Indies…”

“Thank you.” His voice was quiet, and yet so full of feeling—at least to Elinor’s ears. Marianne, however, spun away, blinking. Then, just as quickly, she looked back at him, her chin lifted in challenge. “Do forgive me for keeping you, Colonel, over such a trivial matter.”

Marianne turned toward her mother and said something or another in a too-bright tone. She was perhaps the only one who did not see the shadow of hurt that passed across Brandon’s face as he bowed and departed.

© 2021 Christina Morland

Hope you enjoyed that excerpt, and if you pick up the book, hope you enjoy that, too! It will be free from midnight to midnight (Pacific Time) on September 2. Happy reading!