A Modern Day Sense and Sensibility: An Adaptation of Jane Austen's Classic (14 page)

His touch on her skin as he examined her ankle caused her heart to flutter. His hands were so large and warm, so capable, that she hardly felt the throbbing pain radiating from her injury. Marianne could hardly look at him though, aware as she was now that he had observed her
Sound of Music
theatrics.

“Well. . .” he said, flashing the sisters a smile which caused both their hearts to somersault, “surprisingly, your ankle’s not broken. However, I wouldn’t recommend walking on it. Mind if I escort you home?” he asked. Marianne could only reply with a half-dazed nod.

To her utter surprise and delight, the stranger proceeded to pick her up. Gasping, Marianne wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight, all the while completely aware of his nicely built chest pressing against her side. As they began to trudge toward the apartment, all Marianne could think about was, not how much her ankle ached (which she would most certainly feel later), but how close his face was next to hers, how wonderful he smelled, and how perfectly handsome he was. He noticed her watching him and she blushed, quickly looking away. Stumbling behind them was Margaret with both baskets in hand, for once completely speechless as she watched
what seemed like a scene from one of her older sister’s favorite movies.

When they eventually arrived at the complex, Margaret finally felt useful as she guided the stranger to their unit. As they approached the door, Diane caught sight of the commotion. Her eyes instantly fell on the sight of Marianne in a man’s arms, with what appeared to be blood covering her chest.

“Oh, dear God!” Diane cried out, running to the door and opening it for them. “What’s wrong?!? What happened?!? Have you been shot?!?”

“She hurt her ankle,” Margaret explained to calm her mother down.

“But the blood. . .” Diane motioned helplessly to Marianne’s dress.

“Mom, that’s just berries!” Margaret appeared exasperated. It was obvious she was trying to seem mature in front of the stranger.

Having heard all the ruckus, Ellie emerged from the other room. She was surprised to find Marianne in the arms of a handsome stranger and watched as he laid her sister down on the couch.

The jogger was muscular and had wonderfully broad shoulders. His dashing brown eyes, which never left Marianne, were nicely accented by his manly chin with its five o’clock shadow. He had dark hair and a tan complexion, evidence that he spent much of his time outdoors.

“Are you in pain?” Diane asked Marianne as she doted on her daughter, making sure she was comfortable.

“She injured her ankle. Luckily I think it’s just a sprain,” the stranger reassured.

“Margaret, get a cold pack out of the freezer,” Diane ordered her youngest child who obediently ran into the kitchen. A moment later, the young man stepped aside to allow the returning Margaret better access to the patient. Following her mother’s direction as to the ice pack’s place
ment, Margaret rested the compress on her sister’s swollen ankle. Marianne winced when the pressure was applied.

Standing up again, Diane turned her full attention to that of the stranger. “Thank you so much! How can we ever repay you?” her voice chimed sweetly.

“It was my pleasure. I just happened to be on my run and saw that they needed help.” He said this, of course, just so he could watch Marianne’s cheeks swell pink again. Chuckling to himself as he backed away toward the door, he stopped short of leaving. “If it’s okay, I’d like to check on the patient—say tomorrow afternoon?”

Diane glanced at Marianne and smiled. She didn’t bother asking her daughter, already knowing what her answer would be. Marianne’s eager smile said it all. “Certainly,” Diane agreed with a beaming face.

“Until tomorrow then,” the stranger smiled at Marianne, his movie star eyes making her heart flutter. Flashing one more mega-white smile to the rest of the ladies, he turned and exited.

“Mom, his name!” exclaimed Marianne once he had closed the door behind himself.

Realizing her mistake, Diane gasped in horror before hurrying after him. She left the door open on purpose so the girls inside would hopefully be able to hear his response. “Excuse me!” Diane caught his attention and he stopped to turn and smile at her. “I’m sorry—I don’t even know your name.” The girls, now stationed at the window watching, waited for his answer with anticipation.

“Willoughby. Jim Willoughby,” he replied, sending a wink to Marianne through the window. Startled, Marianne blushed and lowered herself back down onto the couch so he couldn’t see her anymore.

“Well, then, see you tomorrow, Jim!” Diane said goodbye, heading back inside as Jim nodded and continued on his way. Closing the door behind her, Diane leaned against it with a delighted smile.

“Marianne!” Ellie taunted cheekily as she sat down next to her sister and playfully pushed her.

“He’s like a knight in shining armor!” Margaret exclaimed. She made an exaggerated swooning motion and fell back onto one of the chairs, causing cascades of laughter.

The next day, the apartment was in an uproar. A single, good-looking, eligible hunk of a man was coming over, and their home was in no condition to host such a highly esteemed guest! True, he had seen it in its normal state the day before, but that was in a moment of emergency and surely he hadn’t been viewing their place with a critical eye—not that he’d be looking with a critical eye—but nonetheless, Diane wanted it spotless. She instructed Ellie and Margaret to help clean the apartment from top to bottom while Marianne soaked in a jasmine bath before undergoing several beauty treatments including a facial mask. Diane, a hopeless romantic, was eager to promote any love connection for her daughters and wanted Marianne to look her best. The Dashwood ladies were at it all morning, but made sure to be finished by eleven o’clock sharp in case Willoughby decided to come before lunch.

By two o’clock, they were sprawled out in the living room, twiddling their thumbs, waiting—and it didn’t help that Mr. Middleton decided to stop by for a surprise visit. Even so, Diane did not let his interruption go to waste. She had uncovered that Mr. Middleton knew Willoughby, and the girls had been drilling the poor man about the stranger ever since.

Stationed on the couch with her foot elevated, Marianne led the way in this inquisition. “But can you tell us anything else about him?” she asked. “What are his hobbies? What
does he like to do?” Her questions overwhelmed the elderly man.

Returning from the kitchen, Ellie handed Mr. Middleton a glass of ice water and sent Marianne a pleading glance to curtail this activity. She empathized with her mother’s cousin as he squirmed in his seat.

“Well,” Mr. Middleton began pensively, “Besides knowing that he’s a well-liked guy, I don’t really know what else to tell you. He hails from Colorado; owns a pretty nice place over there, left to him by his parents after they died. I imagine he’s twenty-five or twenty-six—and he comes in to Portland occasionally to visit his aunt, our retired mayor. She owns a grand house in the country that he’s to inherit,” he finished, hoping this information was enough to keep the ladies at bay.

Margaret, who had been stationed at the window as lookout, had neglected her position while listening intently to Mr. Middleton’s description. But luckily, their new pet Rover had not forgotten his job and when he barked from outside, everyone’s eyes turned eagerly out the window to see who had arrived.

“It’s only Brandon,” Margaret declared glumly. A round of disappointed sighs could be heard around the room.

Mr. Middleton shook his head as he observed them. “Poor Brandon,” he lamented, “None of you will think of him now! Marianne, why I tell you he is as good a man as Willoughby, or better! I wouldn’t be pinning your hopes on—”

“Mr. Middleton,” Marianne interrupted with a blush, “I don’t intend on pinning my hopes on anyone just yet.”

A knock at the door laid this awkward subject to rest and Ellie got up to receive their next guest.

“Brandon!” Mr. Middleton stood to shake his friend’s hand as Brandon joined them inside.

Yet Brandon didn’t seem to notice this hospitable gesture from the welcoming Mr. Middleton. Rather, he had eyes only for the radiant Marianne. “For the invalid,” Brandon
said, holding out the exquisite bouquet of flowers he had purchased at the local florist shop.

“Thank you, Brandon,” Marianne smiled hesitantly as she accepted the gift. But it was with reluctance she received the flowers, knowing it would only lend more fodder to Mrs. Jennings’s speculation of a future love match. Even still, Marianne did not want to injure Brandon’s feelings and forced herself to enjoy the bouquet’s fragrant scent to show her appreciation. “Ellie, do you mind?” she asked a moment later, holding out the flowers for her sister to take. Ellie complied and took the gift into the kitchen in search of a suitable container.

“He’s here!” Margaret’s excited voice exclaimed from the window just as Rover began to bark loudly again.

The apartment was instantly filled with animation. Willoughby had finally arrived! While Ellie absent-mindedly set Brandon’s flowers onto the counter (without a vase) and returned to her seat, Diane ran over to Marianne and helped her primp before pinching her daughter’s cheeks to give them extra color.

“Well, Brandon,” Mr. Middleton sighed as he and Brandon observed the chaotic scene, “I can see that we’re not wanted here anymore.” He then proceeded to direct the confused Brandon toward the front door.

“Who’s here?” Brandon asked, unaware that anyone else was expected.

“Oh, Jim Willoughby,” Mr. Middleton replied, waving his hand in exasperation.

Brandon turned to Marianne, struggling to disguise his jealousy. He despised the thought of such a treasure being snatched up by someone he deemed unworthy of her. The possibility depressed him. Yet no one but Ellie caught sight of the grief that momentarily clouded Brandon’s eyes before he redirected his attention to Mr. Middleton.

Just as the elderly man opened the front door for them to exit, Willoughby was at the doorstep poised to knock. The
men acknowledged each other as they exchanged places. As they did so, Brandon caught sight of the flowers in Willoughby’s hand. Brandon thought his floral selection much better compared to the wild flowers the “Casanova” had probably vandalized from someone’s yard on his way to the apartment.

“Welcome, Jim!” Diane sweetly greeted the handsome visitor as he entered and cockily walked toward Marianne. “Come, sit,” she motioned to the chair closest to the couch.

But before Diane could close the front door, Rover ran in behind Willoughby and made a bee-line for Marianne, threatening to jump on her and ruin everything.

“Margaret, get that dog out of here!” commanded Diane in a state of horror.

Willoughby immediately took charge, acting as a barrier which prevented the dog from gaining access to Marianne, and in doing so, provided the patient with a very pleasant view of his nicely toned backside. Margaret, finally getting a hold of Rover after an exhausting chase, escorted their pet outside like a prisoner. The young girl proceeded to walk Rover over to Mrs. Jennings’s to be doggie sat.

With the troublesome animal now out of the way, Willoughby returned his attention to the receptive Marianne. “And how are you, Marianne?” he asked, choosing to remain standing for the time being.

“You found out my name!” Marianne exclaimed with pleasant surprise. Truth be told, Marianne had tossed and turned the night before, chiding herself for not having shared her name—yet Willoughby had discovered it on his own!

“These are for you,” Willoughby said, offering her the arrangement of wild flowers he brought with him.

“Oh, how lovely!” Marianne declared, accepting the gift with delight. She breathed in their fragrance, and although Brandon’s bouquet had smelled twice as good, Marianne never would have admitted it. “They smell wonderful! Ellie, can you put these in that crystal vase?”

Ellie nodded, knowing exactly which vase Marianne was referring to. It had been a gift from their father in celebration of Marianne’s high school graduation, and had been filled with a bouquet of white roses. Marianne treasured it, especially since it was the last gift she ever received from her dad.

Momentarily distracted, Willoughby’s eyes caught sight of the beautiful painting above Marianne and he moved to get a closer look. It was a piece Marianne had completed several years before, depicting an angel watching over a praying child. Examining it, Willoughby turned to them with fascination. “This artwork is exquisite! Who’s the artist?” he inquired, “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Marianne,” and “It’s mine,” both mother and daughter answered all at once. Embarrassed, they blushed and Marianne stated again, “I painted that.” Willoughby seemed genuinely impressed and turned to gaze at it again with even greater interest.

“Do you study art?” Marianne asked him with interest.

“Religiously,” Willoughby replied, finally sitting down on the open chair next to Marianne. “Actually, that’s why I’m in town. I’m an art critic at the
New Yorker
, and aside from sneaking in a visit to my aunt, I’m here to review the Dondolesia Exhibition at Strummers Gallery downtown.”