DANDELIONS [ colonel brandon ]

CHAPTER IV

❝ and i see forever in your eyes, i feel okay when i see you smile. ❞

[ this chapter is dedicated to rickmania- who helped me plan this chapter, kudos to you luv! ]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Colonel Christopher Brandon stared out the window, leaning against the windowsill, the sun setting behind the trees of Sir John's estate, he'd arrived early; earlier than the Dashwood's, and a friend of Mrs. Jennings' — the Watson's, who had just moved into the duchy in the next town, Marquess  Watson had inherited the title of Duke from his older brother — who was very much a recluse and had no family of his own — that passed a couple of weeks ago due to illness.

Mrs. Jennings and John finally ceased trying to make him confess to having — very nonexistent — feelings for Miss Marianne upon seeing how he'd merely raised an eyebrow at the mention of the girl's new beau, he was confused when John first brought up the subject and frowned at the very presumptuous words that had come from the man's mouth.

Good Lord, he thought, had they really thought I held romantic feelings for Marianne? He'd responded as he would, thinking that John wouldn't think of his reply too deeply and attach a romantic touch to it.

He was wrong, of course, and grimaced inwardly at Mrs. Jennings and John's callous words, hoping everything would blow over if he continued to deny every claim and steer the discussion away from the assumption. The side of his mouth quirked up into a smirk, pleased that they hadn't managed to winkle the true subject of his affections, however, he felt that, soon, they would manage to uncover that little titbit of information.

The room began to darken as the sun disappeared, he frowned and lighted a candle, heaving a sigh, in just a few minutes he would be forced to interact with everyone else, the only upside is seeing the delightful but puzzling Miss (Y/N), his hand hovered over the bulge in his breeches, a small rectangular box that held the finest drawing pencils he could find.

Chuckling to himself, Christopher remembered how long he'd spent roaming around town in search of drawing materials, he wandered into a grocer and spent half an hour examining the shelves, with little to no success, afterwards, Christopher decided to try the bookshop, thinking that the shop had to have a pencil or something there he could gift Miss (Y/N), he'd stayed in the shop for an hour, getting distracted by a book.

Christopher decided to look in one more shop before going to lunch, to his luck — he found a quaint little shop hidden right by a bakery, upon entering the shop, his victory was shortlived for no idea what to get Miss (Y/N), when he'd first arrived in the busy centre he had decided on getting her pencils, he had seen that her pencils were short and only had a few left. Christopher was suddenly rethinking his decision, there must be plenty of things that Miss (Y/N) wanted, but he wasn't so sure as to what.

Every available space was packed to the brim with materials, he browsed through rows of paints, passing through a stack of wooden boxes of all sorts, briefcases, canvases, quills, tubes of paint, large notepads that had rough paper, he raised an eyebrow at a bunch of heavy-looking luggage stacked to the side and at a box of stick with hair — ah, those are paintbrushes, and, curiously, there were thin oddly shaped cutting boards like the ones he'd seen the maids use in the kitchen when he was seven and rows upon rows of bottles that were filled with oil?