The title has been derived (or, perhaps one might say, taken out of context) from Romeo's speech to Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. Therefore, not only are the characters in story not mine, the title as well belongs to another. The content alone I can decalre my own. I am, however, a lowly writer who needs help in order to improve, and thus I would be quite grateful for any suggestions one can give.
He was watching her. From the moment he had entered the room and laid eyes on her, he had watched. He hardly had the presence of mind to listen as Sir John introduced her and the ladies beside her as "Mrs. Dashwood, Miss Dashwood, Miss Marianne, and Miss Margaret." Two words alone stood out clearly in his mind – "Miss Marianne."
Marianne. A fitting name for such a beautiful girl. How he longed to stroke the curls that were restrained by pins on the back of her head, to see if the delicate and cream-colored skin of her face was as soft as it appeared. In just one glance, he had fallen desperately in love with this young girl of but seventeen years. Knowing, as he did, however, that young and lovely ladies such as she hardly ever fell in love with men such as he, he contented himself with merely watching her.
He watched her as she spoke to her elder sister, a few delicate curls falling lose from her pins as she shook her head eagerly. He watched as she pretended to laugh at Mrs. Jennings' rather vulgar humour.
But most of all, he watched her eyes. Large and innocent (reminding him uncannily of the eyes of a doe), framed by thick lashes, they were enough to make him feel that, if she would just look at him with kindness, he would be content for the remainder of his life. The color of her eyes seemed to change with her emotions, as they seemed almost black as she spoke to Mrs. Jennings (with concealed irritation, he was sure), but a light, contented blue as she spoke to her mother and sisters. Deep green seemed to swell into their depths as she gazed with envy upon the impressive pianoforte, but the color was quickly replaced by a pale blue (almost grey) when she was invited to play it.
And as she played, her beautiful eyes closed. Her fingers alone moved. He feared for a moment that she would merely play, not sing, but then her eyes opened and her lips moved. And from this small and beautiful lady, there issued the most lovely voice he had ever heard. No note was too high or too strong – her voice trilled and fluttered with ease. When the music gradually came to an end, he felt almost pained that it was ending.
To his relief, another song began, and then another, but the enjoyment of these songs was lessened by the continuous and unceasing voice of Sir John who, at the end of the songs, exclaimed that they were lovely and enjoyable, and then proceeded to converse with the others as she began another.
Never before had he been so angry with his friend, but, in this moment, he felt that he could very well have set his hunting dogs upon Sir John if it meant he could listen to Miss Marianne's lark-like voice in peace.
When she insisted upon stepping down from her place at the instrument, loud protests and arguments filled the room. He alone did not open his mouth. His eyes alone conveyed his regret at the end of her performance. He knew Miss Marianne noticed; she smiled ever so slightly at him before turning to address the cries of Sir John and the others.
It was only as she was leaving that he dared to speak to her for the first time.
"You must allow me to thank you for your performance tonight, Miss Marianne," he said, so quietly and hesitantly that she alone could hear. "You are indeed very talented."
"You are too kind, Colonel Brandon," she said, not even glancing at him, as he handed her into the carriage. "Good night, sir."
The were the first words she had spoken to him, and all he wished was that she might speak to him again – in anger or in love, in hatred or in kindness. After but one glance, he was at her mercy, though she knew it not (he suspected she never would).
The carriage door shut and the horses quickly pulled it from sight. Sir John, Lady Middleton, and Mrs. Jennings reentered the house, but he remained outside until he could no longer hear the sound of the carriage moving along the ground.
"Good night, Miss Marianne," he whispered.