Prompt 2: A Christmas Wish - Audiomachine (B1)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader & Third, Brandon
Setting: Barton Park Estate, Luncheon with Mrs Jennings and company.
A/N: The first Brandon fic of the year! Let’s gooooooo! I’m super stoked for this and also very glad I’m able to post today as we’re switching internet provider today so a physical installation of some converter box for the fibre and everything is underway and I only have my phones internet - I'm actually scared as last time we switched provider we were without internet for three days 😭 BUT NOT THIS TIME I HOPE! Rickmas waits for nobody, not even the creator, so I am hoping with all hope it'll be a smooth switch 👀👍
Tags/TW’s: Loneliness, Sadness of the Heart, Abrupt Meeting, Mutual Instant Infatuation, Slightly Grave Brandon, Societal/Station/Wealth Differences, Teased by Friends (in jest).
Word Count: 1.8k
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
⩤• BRANDON •⩥
“Christmas wish?” Christopher asked, the company around the table suddenly far too fixated upon him. "Yes, a Christmas wish for this year’s holiday, perhaps something to be had in the new year?” Mrs Jennings prompted; her beady little eyes always hungered for information — or gossip. “My only wish is for a companion,” he let slip in a drab drawl not matching the flutter within his chest the slightest. A stiff silence fell for a moment too long.
“Brandon, dear man, wishing for a wife is no manner of incurring one,” said Mrs Jennings, shaking her head before buttering another slice of bread while tutting with rosy cheeks from the warmth of the room and drink on offer. He smiled at her, a soft but somewhat forced expression, saying nothing. “You know, Colonel, it is not as if a wife shall simply appear from the sky to be swept away.” “Indeed, Mrs Jennings.” He said no more than that, yet the woman insisted on continuing the conversation for many more long minutes, wishing to make connections with single women he was already aware of, and not at the slightest interested in or fond of.
“Oh, come away, Mrs Jennings, my boy Brandon will find a wife when fate allows it,” Sir John said, endeavouring to steer the woman away in thought and conversation, it appeared. “Yes, but she will not be falling from the sky—” she flicked the butterknife about “—by simply being wished upon to appear. It would be grand, for sure, but it simply isn’t the way of the world.” Sir John smiled with mirth at the woman. “You mean it is not the way you shall find him a wife.” They both laughed, continuing their jesting regarding finding him a wife. He saw no joy in the conversation, nor did he engage in their civil mockery.
“Oh, such a grave man you are today, Colonel,” said Mrs Jennings when he did not take a turn in the conversation. “Indeed,” he admitted, and Mrs Jennings laughed so deeply her bosom shook to the extent he wondered if the dress would hold up to her voluptuous curves when in such a laughing mood. “And he admits it himself, oh my dear, what a man you are, Colonel.”
“I shall excuse myself; I must return to Delaford before the storm turns worse.” At that, the whole company looked out the windows. “Have a pleasant evening,” he continued while rising and bowing to the room. “Ride safe, we shall await your Christmas Lunch invitation, Colonel,” Mrs Jennings called after him with a tutting he knew all too well before he had the chance to escape without such a demand being laid upon his shoulders.
Stepping down two flights of stairs, moving through the halls of the grand estate of Barton Park, his heart remained burdened by the void within it. He was not to find a wife, it appeared, and no matter his thoughts on the matter, there was not much for him to do about the situation.
Most found him grave, found him stiff, or even dreary despite his gentlemanly ways. Perhaps it is so, perhaps I have become enclosed and resolved to a life of loneliness, much like in the words of many great poets as they wrote of vast seas and endless skies. Perhaps, such loneliness is to be my life. He did not enjoy the thought, but there was a certain cold solace to be found within the kindred words of poetry from great men and women. Yet, a Christmas wish of true companionship is perhaps not too much of a childish thought to have, when kept private, of course.
A servant pushed the large oak doors open as he reached them, stepping out into the howling wind with fluttering snow obscuring much of the landscape, he drew a steadying breath while the stable boy came jogging with his black steed. “Good lad—” “Waaah!” came the shriek of a woman, and he had but one moment to look up and stretch out his arms before a flurry of fabric came hurling toward him; as if she had fallen from the sky itself.
⩤• YOU •⩥
You had not expected to die before Christmas. But, there you were, falling helplessly toward doom from one simple, meagre, tiny slip of the foot. You shrieked like a ghoul. The snow swished by your face. Your arms flailed out and your dress fluttered between your legs for two endless seconds of free-fall.
The air was knocked out of you the third second. Terror came first, then the force had you losing your breath. You were caught, yet had still plummeted to the snow-covered ground below with double exhales and impacts. “Miss— Miss, are you alright?” came the deepest of voices and your heart — already in complete disarray — decided to skip several beats and nearly end you right there atop the gentleman who had broken your deadly fall with his own body it appeared. “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh, dear lord,” you whimpered between sharp inhales and quick exhales as you attempted to rise in a scramble from atop the man you had surely crushed. I’m alive. Heavens. I’m alive.
You managed to roll over, your back only mildly protesting, and your breathing had no chance to even out as shame flooded in while you knelt in the snow with your head bowed. Your glove-clad hands dug into the snow as your arms shook uncontrollably. I almost died, almost died, oh, my lord, I almost died. “Sir, I ap-apolo-apologise,” you stuttered out, endeavouring to stop yourself from the threat of crying. “Miss, are you well? Unharmed?” he asked, the sound of crunching snow telling you he moved. “Y-yes, sir. You broke my fall. Oh, dear lord, are you hurt, sir?” you asked quietly while finally tilting your head back, only to lose your breath all over.
Squatting before you was a gorgeous man with not a single fault to his appearance or posture. His warm eyes claimed yours fully, and the warmth spreading across your cheeks and neck had your lips parting as you drew a deeper breath. “Are you hurt, miss?” he asked while you lost yourself in his shadow. “No. No, sir, I’m-, I’m alright.” You were not truly alright, but more alright than you ought to have been.
“Did my fall c-cause you harm, sir?” you asked, feeling a dread creep along your spine at the thought. He smiled softly as you straightened, sitting back on your heels a your legs trembled too much to stand upon them that second, as he looked down on you. “No. I am well, miss.” “Oh, thank goodness, whatever should I have done had I harmed you,” you whispered with relief. “Surely, that is not a concern as of now? You were near a painful death.” “I— Yes, I apologise, sir.” “It is not every day women fall from the sky,” he said, nearly wishfully so, while his head tilted and his warmth seemed to reach within your ribs by mere proximity. “Tell me, are you well enough to stand?” “Oh, why yes, yes of course, sir,” you blubbered out, rushing to get on your feet when the man’s voice had you so wholly enamoured it made thinking a struggle. “Ahh—”
He grabbed you firmly when your knees buckled. Pain was not the cause of it as much as shock and the remnants of fear; there was some pain in your back, of course, but not to the extent it swayed you. “Gently, miss. Gently,” he encouraged, keeping you up and stable with a firm but gentle hold of your arm. “Do not make haste after such an ordeal. Come, allow me to escort you inside.” Inside? Through the front door? Mrs Raventire will flay me! “Oh, no, sir, please, I can manage on my own. I have already burdened you, in all manners,” you rushed to say as your heels dug into the snow-covered stone stairs.
The man stood tall and straight, his black winter coat made of the finest material and the large hat atop his head with its wide brim kept much of his face protected from the snow, while you had to avert your gaze to wipe snowflakes out of your eyes. Perhaps I did die, and this is some strange form of heaven? Surely, a man such as this does not simply appear out of thin air like a Christmas wish come true? That is absurd. But just the day before, you had stupidly spent the evening wishing — with all your heart — for a warm love to one day find you. But it was nonsensical wishing. It was a way of softening the pain of the dark winter. It was a childish manner of thinking to get through yet another harsh day of servitude and poverty.
He stood in the fluttering snow, backdropped by a magnificent black steed, and he had just saved your life. He was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes upon, and the voice he spoke with had chills travelling down the inside of your spine as it was beyond perfection. Your imagination had already installed him on a picnic blanket during sunset with a book of poems in his large hand, with the golden light of dusk making that hair of his shimmer. Such a dream…
“Miss? Are you well?” he asked, a flare of worry enlarging his eyes as he stepped closer when your cheeks began to burn. “Yes, yes, sir, I’m so well,” you blubbered, not truly speaking correctly, but he captivated your mind and had you struggling for coherent thoughts when he looked at you so gently, so warmly, and there was not an ounce of disgust or annoyance despite your apparent state of being in servitude and not one of status. “I shall lead you in—” “Oh, no, sir.” Your hands shot out as you took a swaying step back from the kind gentleman.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out slowly toward you as if wanting to steady you further. “I-, I-, I shall walk myself, sir. I will not take up any more of your time.” You backed up, nearly tripping over some snow before your foot took one step down on the stairs hiding below. “I shall take greater care when removing snow off the windowsills from now on, too,” you continued, not that you hadn’t been taking the greatest care to not fall when leaning over earlier. “You will put yourself in danger once more?” he asked, his eyes widening and his back stiffening as his eyes flicked toward the sky for a second, it appeared. “Why, yes, sir. It is my duty to clear the estate of overhang, sir. I am but hired as a temporary worker for such tasks during this winter season. So as not to put the original staffing in danger, sir.” Your smile was surface-level only, for the value of your life had just been uttered to the man who had your heart in a twist by simply existing — and doing so in a grand part of society. “Goodbye, sir.” You did not allow yourself to linger in the warmth of the stiff, nearly grave appearing gentleman’s eyes for another second…
TO BE CONTINUED
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
A/N: FIRST BRANDON FIC OF THE YEAR! Oh my gosh, I’m already so in love with these two - I can’t wait to continue their story as soon as possible! 😍👏
NEXT PART >
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