Willoughby's Return (25 page)

Mr Mortimer seemed somewhat taken aback by Miss Steele's forthrightness and blushed crimson to the roots of his hair. It was apparent he could not think of a ready answer, so surprised was he by Miss Steele's openly coquettish manner.

Colonel Brandon made his apologies, saying how sorry he was to be breaking up the party so early. “We will all meet again soon, I am sure.”

“Oh, yes, William, it will not be too long,” exclaimed Lady Lawrence. “I shall call on you tomorrow.”

Marianne received this news with dread. Why was it that she looked forward so much to coming to London, she wondered?
When they had first been married, everything had seemed so exciting about the London season. But they had not had to share their experiences with anyone but themselves, if they so wished. The Colonel had shown her all the historical attractions, taken her to the best shops, as well as the theatre and they had chosen only the soirées and balls they wished to attend. Marianne had to admit that the absence of William's sister had probably also contributed to her sense of freedom and happiness.

The disappointment felt by them all was expressed with much reiteration on the subject of seeing one another again soon. Henry and Mademoiselle Antoinette came to shake Margaret's hand and wish her well.

“I am so sorry, Miss Dashwood, that we have not had a chance to form a more intimate acquaintance, especially as Henry has told me so much about you,” said Mademoiselle de Fontenay. “He is so grateful to you for keeping him company; it is so very kind of you to put yourself out.”

Margaret looked toward Henry, who smiled, but she could detect no real warmth in his eyes. He said he hoped she would feel better soon.

“I hope you will keep your promise and take me to Hyde Park,” she said before she knew she had done it.

Henry cast his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry, Miss Dashwood, but I am unsure of my engagements at present. Unfortunately, my life is not my own when in London; my mother makes many demands. Besides, I am sure Mr Carey will be more than willing to oblige.”

Margaret could not believe her ears. This was not her Henry speaking. This Henry could barely look at her; his eyes and expression were cold. What could have happened to produce
such a change in him? Reluctantly she turned away, looking to her sister, who on seeing her distress, immediately took charge and escorted her out of the room.

With enormous relief, Margaret settled into the coach. Her symptoms were real enough; she was feeling most ill. Tears threatened once again; she could not remember ever feeling so miserable in her life before. To go home was her greatest desire.

Colonel Brandon broke the silence first. “Mademoiselle de Fontenay is a very charming and beautiful young woman, is she not?”

Neither of the sisters spoke. Marianne made a gesture of a half smile but she could do no more. William's sister had treated Margaret abominably, she felt, in order to make the mademoiselle appear to advantage.

“Charles Carey seems to be as much your admirer as he ever was, Margaret,” the Colonel continued. “He would make an excellent husband for you. Fifteen thousand pounds, Mrs Jennings told me he has won in the war. Besides, he is clearly a very caring and thoughtful gentleman, apart from all his naval honours.”

“But you must know that Margaret's hopes lie in another direction,” Marianne blurted out before she could stop herself. “And I think if it were not so obvious that your sister has been plotting against those expectations, then Margaret might have been congratulating herself on an engagement this very evening.”

“Marianne, I know my sister can be trying at times but I am sure she would have no such schemes as you describe. You are being a little fanciful, you know. In any case, I must admit that I am not altogether surprised by Henry's attendance on Mademoiselle Antoinette this evening. She is an old friend; the
families have known one another since the old days in France. Henry is a responsible boy, brought up to do his duty.”

“Well, if that is the case and he is inclined to do everything his mother tells him, perhaps you would be better off with Charles Carey, Margaret.”

“Marianne, that is unfair. My sister has done an excellent job of bringing up Henry; he is a most delightful boy.”

“Fortunately, he takes after his father,” Marianne retorted, her dark eyes flashing wildly. “I thought Hannah was unforgivably rude about my sister, who is an angel and far superior in looks and accomplishments to that French madam!”

Margaret sank back in her seat. More than anything she did not want her sister to argue with her husband again. “Marianne, please, it does not matter. Lady Lawrence did not mean to be rude, I am sure. I am sorry to have caused such a fuss. As for Henry, do not worry, I could never tolerate knowing that I was considered second best. If he prefers Mademoiselle de Fontenay, then so be it.”

Marianne turned her head to look out of the window. If the Colonel was to defend the behaviour of both his sister and his nephew, she could not continue the conversation without revealing her true feelings. Time had helped Marianne learn the necessity of curbing her strongest emotions, but at this moment she felt in great danger of exposing herself.

PART OF THE FOLLOWING morning was taken up with callers, Mrs Jennings in the first instance and Lady Lawrence in the second. Mrs Jennings called on an errand of sincere concern for Margaret, who did not make an appearance due to her further indisposition. Lady Lawrence had no enquiries to make after Miss Dashwood's health and came only to gratify her vanity, expecting to be congratulated on having such fine friends as the Comtesse and her daughter. Marianne was not in a mood to receive either of her callers, was civil with Mrs Jennings, but was as blunt with Lady Lawrence as she felt it possible to be without being overtly rude.

As soon as they had gone, she went to find Margaret. It was very clear that her sister had spent most of the night awake and upset. Her eyes were swollen with crying and her nose red.

“Oh, Margaret, do not despair,” Marianne cried, sitting on the bed and taking her sister's hands in her own. “Something is not quite right about this whole affair and I think I know who is to blame.”

“There is no mystery, Marianne,” whimpered Margaret, blowing her nose and dabbing at her eyes. “It is perfectly plain what has happened. Henry has not seen Mademoiselle Antoinette for a long while and now that he has, all sorts of feelings, long buried, have come to the fore!”

“Hannah Lawrence is at the root of Henry's apparent doting on that girl. She wishes him to make a wealthy alliance,” Marianne insisted, shaking her head, “and if I am wrong I will jump off London Bridge!”

The idea of Marianne uncharacteristically leaping off the well-known landmark into the freezing Thames water brought a smile to Margaret's countenance.

“But, Marianne, whatever the case, I do not have the power to change anything. What is more, I am so sorry to be causing further trouble between you and William. You have not fallen out with him on my account, I hope.”

Marianne pretended she had not heard this, smoothing the cover on Margaret's bed before looking into her sister's eyes with a smile on her face. “I thought if you were feeling a little better that we might take the air this afternoon. Walking is so good for the soul and the spirits. And when we have done with fresh air, I will take you to Hookham's and you can choose a book and then perhaps we shall take a stroll to Burlington House to look at the paintings. William is out and about on some business or other and we have no one to entertain but ourselves. What do you say?”

“I fear I look an awful fright, but I should like to go out. I have been thinking. Henry has never really professed any particular partiality for my company. It was wrong of me to think that his friendship was leading somewhere else.”

“No, I will not have that, Margaret. I think it was obvious when the two of you were together that he was singling you out for more than mere friendship. Consider all the hints he made to you about his feelings. Well, I don’t know how his mother has turned him against you, but I am determined to find out.”

Just then, there came a knock at the bedchamber door. It was Sally, Marianne's maid, with a card in her hand. “Forgive me, my lady,” she said, “but are you at home to the Comtesse de Fontenay and her daughter? They are waiting downstairs in the hall, ma’am.”

“Indeed, we are not,” came Marianne's emphatic reply. “Be so good as to tell them that we are out and you are uncertain when we will return. As quickly as you can, Sally.”

“Thank you, Marianne,” Margaret said, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as Sally left the room. “I am in no mood for being pleasant to Mademoiselle Antoinette! I daresay she has called with the intention of rubbing my nose in her triumph.”

“Come along, get up now. Let's have no more talk of conquests and victories, especially since we do not know which campaign will win the day. You are looking brighter already and a frosty day will put a blush to those pale cheeks.”

“Not to mention my nose,” laughed Margaret, who was feeling ready to face the day at last.

Bond Street was teeming with the London crowd. Marianne made one or two purchases along the way, treating Margaret to some wildly expensive faux cherries for her bonnet, which the latter declared made her feel better just to look at them.

They soon turned into Hookham's to spend a quiet hour in search of a novel or two, but on entering the library, immediately ran into Lucy Ferrars and her sister Anne.

Margaret was particularly ill-disposed, from the state of her spirits, to be pleased with either sister, especially in light of their behaviour the previous evening. She had not been amused by their thorough want of delicacy and had no wish to spend time in the company of a pair who joined insincerity with ignorance and whose conduct she felt was particularly thoughtless. But there was nothing to be done; a conversation must be endured.

Miss Steele began by enquiring particularly after Margaret's health, but managed within the same sentence to divert the subject onto that of the gentlemen with whom they had conversed at Mrs Jennings's house.

“There now,” said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, “I have endured such teasing from Lucy this very morning. Everybody is laughing at me about Mr Mortimer, and I cannot think why. My sister says I have made a conquest; but why she should say so, I do not understand. ‘Lord! Here comes your beau, Nancy,’ Lucy said when she saw him approaching the house to pay us a call. Said I, ‘I cannot think who you mean.’ ‘Why,’ she answered, ‘it is he who played you a pretty hand last night.’ ‘I am sure Mr Mortimer is no beau of mine,’ I declared as he knocked upon our door. And, I beg you will tell me if you ever hear such a thing talked about.”

“Mr Mortimer stayed for a full fifteen minutes,” added Lucy. “If that is not the behaviour of an ardent beau, then I am an actress on the Drury Lane stage.”

Marianne considered that this last proclamation was not very far from the truth; acting was an occupation that seemed to come far too easily to Mrs Ferrars.

“I daresay she’d have me secretly engaged to Mr Lawrence as well,” Anne went on, “but if you ask me, it's far more likely
that's done already. He and the Mademoiselle de Fontenay called not five minutes later. We were quite a merry set, until they left for an outing to Hyde Park. You never saw such looks between them; smouldering hardly covers it!”

“Mr Carey singled you out for a lot of attention, Miss Dashwood,” Lucy interrupted, talking almost before her sister had finished. “I think he's still holding the torch for you and if I’m not mistaken we’ll have a wedding in London before summer. Mrs Jennings says that your beau has ever been constant and that he has waited years for this chance to be reconciled. It is so romantic!”

“Why does everyone think I have the slightest inclination for getting married to anyone, when nothing could be further from the truth!” Margaret was seething with indignation. “I have no wish to be married by summer or even by next Christmas, so I would be very grateful if you would inform your friends and relations of this fact forthwith. If you will excuse me, I have come to select a novel or two, and as yet, have not opened a single book for perusal.”

Margaret turned on her heel, cross that she had lost her temper in front of the sisters, but glad to have escaped their company. She soon lost herself amongst the bookshelves, striding up and down, convincing herself that she was engaged in a purposeful mission for some reading matter.

“Goodness me, Mrs Brandon, is your sister quite well? That was quite an outburst.”

Marianne had also had enough of the sisters’ company. “Excuse me, Mrs Ferrars, Miss Steele, I must go to my sister. Goodbye.”

Without a backward glance, Marianne set off in pursuit of Margaret, only to find her distractedly pulling one novel after
another from the shelves. Her face was pale and wan, wearing an expression that showed a determination not to give in to her real feelings. It was obvious to Marianne that Margaret was not reading a single word of any of the books she picked up, despite her studied contemplation of every one.