Willoughby's Return (8 page)

Anne Courtney and Jane Wilton are to come, with all their brothers and sisters. I have not seen them since the summer and there will be so much to catch up on.”

Sir John could be as teasing as his mother-in-law. “I know when you young girls protest so much against such a thing that it usually means quite the reverse. I expect you’ll be setting your cap at a certain Mr Lawrence before the evening is out.”

“Oh, indeed,” cried Mrs Jennings, joining in, “it would not do to let Miss Wilton and Miss Courtney get in first. And it will be most fitting as the sister of the hostess, that you will first be engaged to stand up with the guest of honour.”

Margaret submitted quietly to all these abuses. Marianne flashed a smile toward her in recognition of the sacrifice her sister was making on her behalf. The evening continued in much the same vein, though Marianne was relieved that the subject of Allenham and the Willoughbys was not raised again.

MARIANNE THREW HERSELF INTO the preparations for the Delaford Ball as soon as she returned home next day. There was a noisy reunion with James and a tender hug from William who declared his love, telling her how much he had missed her before promptly disappearing for the rest of the day. After a joyful hour or two of play with James, it was time for the work to begin. Invitation lists were checked against a tottering pile of replies that had come in since she had been from home. A hundred people had replied already with letters of acceptance and that number again was expected to attend. There were menus to discuss with Mrs Spencer the housekeeper; arrangements made for musicians to play, and instructions given for seeing that the room for dancing was emptied of all unnecessary chairs and tables.

She was ready to put her feet up by the close of the afternoon and was on her way to her room to accomplish this very act when she was handed a note from her maid, who looked at her with a smirk, as though she were party to a huge joke. “Colonel
Brandon asked me to pass on this note to you, my lady,” she said, dropping a curtsey as she spoke. “I am to wait for an answer.”

Marianne frowned and tried to catch Sally's eye, but her maid instantly looked up to the ceiling where she appeared to take great interest in the mouldings above. Marianne undid the seal and read.

My dearest Marianne
,

It will be my pleasure if you could meet me in the dining room at five. Come alone.

Your loving husband,
William Brandon

The maid looked at her mistress enquiringly.

“What is going on, Sally?” Mrs Brandon asked.

“I am not at liberty to say, ma’am. I must await your answer only.”

Marianne smiled in secret anticipation. She was quite used to the Colonel arranging little treats for her and she was certain that his hasty removal after breakfast confirmed that he had been up to mischief. “In that case,” she replied, “tell Colonel Brandon it will be my pleasure to do as he instructs and, Sally, could you please attend me when you are finished? You may help me to choose a suitable gown.”

With little time left before her assignation, she hastened to her room to change, grabbing armfuls of dresses from the closet and throwing them across the chaise longue, to form a veritable rainbow of rich fabric. She wanted to look her best. More than anything in the world, Marianne loved the adoration of her husband; her greatest pleasure was to feel him succumb wholly to her charms.

Sally appeared not ten minutes later, just as Marianne was despairing over her final choice between blue silk or diaphanous muslin. Sally proposed that she should wear the latter, saying that the sheer, white muslin would complement Mrs Brandon's dark complexion to greatest advantage. She was soon dressed and sat before the looking glass adjusting the last-minute touches to her appearance. She fixed on a pair of long diamond earrings to set off her new ring, as Sally tied a length of white silk ribbon around her dark hair. It was caught up at the front and sides but tumbled down her neck at the back in luxuriant, glossy curls. “You look a picture, Mrs Brandon,” Sally declared in admiration, stepping back.

Marianne studied her reflection and saw a young woman who glowed with vitality and beauty. Would William think she was beautiful? Marianne hoped that she would be all he desired. “Thank you, Sally,” she answered, “and if you will not confide what I am sure you must know, I shall leave you.” But an indulgent hug communicated Mrs Brandon's pleasure in the whole joke, along with the laughter that echoed from the corridor as she rushed away.

The doors of the dining room were very firmly shut as she approached, and she was hesitant as to what to do next. Should she wait for William or should she just walk in? Marianne placed her ear to the door. There were sounds coming from within but she could not hear Brandon's voice. A light step from behind alerted her to the recognisable footfall of her husband. But before she had a chance to turn, however, she felt her eyes being covered by his long fingers, which blotted out everything but the sense of him being very close. She felt the warmth of his breath and his lips pressing against the scented skin of her soft, white neck.

“You must promise to keep your eyes shut,” he implored.

Marianne giggled, nodding her head and shutting her eyes tight. Leading her into the room, William's guiding hand directed her till she was asked to stay quite still. Only when he was persuaded that all seemed satisfactory was she allowed to look. What a sight met her eyes! The table in the middle of the room was garlanded with greenery, looped through with wild Michaelmas daisies and lilac ribbons. A centrepiece of the same was graced on either side by ivory candles in silver candlesticks. William had thought of everything: the cook had produced a menu fit for a queen with half a dozen dishes of delectable variety all placed with decorative precision. The musicians having been in residence for the best part of the afternoon, all smartly attired in elegant dress for the occasion, had set themselves up in a corner of the room, where they were close enough to be heard but not so much as to be intrusive. At a nod from the Colonel, they started to play a favourite melody of Marianne's, a country dance which had been played at their wedding. The violins, horns, and pianoforte were united in perfect harmony to her ears and tears sprang to her eyes.

“I missed you so much!” she cried, turning to him and taking his arm as they stood together listening to the music. “Oh, thank you, my darling!”

William raised her hand to his lips and had no need to reply. Every gesture, all that lay before them said everything she needed to know. At that moment she felt secure in his love. He escorted her to the table and with a mock bow, proceeded to wait on her every want, her every command.

“I cannot tell you what a trial I endured at Barton Park,” she admitted as they sat contentedly over their meal. She spoke
without thinking, regretting the words as soon as she uttered them, knowing that she would have to explain or at least expand on what she had just said.

William looked at her impassively, waiting for her to continue. Marianne did not want to relate all that had passed during her trip, and frantic thoughts raced through her mind as to how she could carry on without revealing the fact that she had encountered Mr Willoughby and his wife in Exeter. Mr Willoughby was a name that was never mentioned at Delaford Park. If it were ever repeated by anyone, the Colonel would retreat into himself and become taciturn. He was not a man to suffer moods, but on these rare occasions his character seemed quite altered to his wife's ideas, his disposition changeable and his spirits low. She did not want to upset him now, especially when they were having such a lovely time. However, Marianne was certain that sooner or later the Willoughbys’ arrival in Exeter would be discovered and the likelihood of further avoidance on that topic would be impossible.

Colonel Brandon broke the silence. “How is my dear friend, Sir John?” he asked. “I’ve not seen him for a fortnight at least, not since our last shoot together. I daresay he enlivened your party and made the visit more bearable.”

“Oh yes, Sir John is as affable as ever,” Marianne agreed, pausing to choose for a moment between a dish of chicken fricasée and a platter of beef steaks. “If only the same could be said of his lady and mother-in-law.”

“I suspect from your tone that Lady Middleton was as preoccupied as ever and that Mrs Jennings spent the evening in a teasing mood,” said William, taking a steak from the plate his wife held out to him.

Marianne could not help but smile from his astute summation. “Mrs Jennings is as impertinent as ever, hinting at confinements and babies and I know not what. Poor Margaret suffered just as much. The old lady is such a gossip that no one for twenty miles around can escape her inquisitive nose.”

“But she means no harm, I am sure,” stressed Brandon, “and if there is anything of great import to discover in the neighbourhood, she is sure to know of it.” He paused as if waiting for her to speak and when she did not, he continued to defend Mrs Jennings. “You are a little harsh, Marianne. She has a kind heart and makes it her business to act on her discoveries, most often to one's advantage.”

“Mrs Smith of Allenham is dying,” Marianne blurted out, before he had quite finished, feeling that the sooner the subject was aired and begun, the sooner it would be over.

William's face clouded, his plate was pushed aside, as he looked searchingly into Marianne's countenance. “Mrs Jennings informed you of this fact, I suppose,” he added, avoiding her eye and staring into his glass, the colour of its contents matching the flaming cheeks of Marianne. “I suppose she told you that the Willoughbys are in Exeter, too. It is a wonder that you did not bump into them.”

Marianne felt his eyes on her again but this time she could not meet his gaze. She felt her face flush deeper and grow warm. Why could she not admit that she had seen the Willoughbys, that she had not only encountered John Willoughby but that she had acknowledged him? She could not speak it out loud and turned her head, pretending to be fascinated by the music. Why did she suspect that William knew she had met him? But he could not have known, she was sure, although by whose
intelligence his prior knowledge had come about, she could not immediately guess.

“Mrs Jennings wrote to me this morning,” he admitted, as if reading her thoughts.

Marianne caught her breath. “What does Mrs Jennings mean by writing to you? This news about the Willoughbys being in Exeter should not concern us particularly. Why is she bothering you with it?” Marianne was angry. How could Mrs Jennings interfere so?

William Brandon looked at his wife and knew with certainty that she had seen Willoughby after all. He had not surmised for a moment that there was anything suspicious about her activities in Exeter, but he had only to witness her agitation to have their meeting confirmed. The Colonel believed that Mrs Jennings's letter had been sent out of concern for them both. She had thought that Brandon should be informed, anticipating that Marianne might find the subject difficult to communicate. For all her provoking ways, she did indeed have a generous heart; the Brandons were especial favourites of hers and she wished to spare them unnecessary anxiety. Mrs Jennings had filled her letter with news about her family and her plans whilst visiting in the vicinity, expressing a hope that the Colonel would be able to call on them all at Barton soon. Allenham and the Willoughbys were only mentioned at the last, as an aside, written in such a way as an old acquaintance might send to another of long standing. But William knew very well the intentions behind it. Marianne had been upset by her trip to Exeter, that was clear, and he must now find a way to restore the equilibrium. Hopefully, the coming ball would be enough to divert Marianne's attention and it would be some time before either of them needed to go as near as Barton
or Exeter. There would be no opportunity for meeting the Willoughbys, for which Colonel Brandon felt much relieved.

“We are to drive over to Whitwell tomorrow, at Hannah's invitation,” he began, glad for an opportunity of a new subject for discussion and one he thought would intrigue his wife enough to divert her attention entirely. “She would like us to be introduced to Henry before the ball. I have accepted on our behalf.”

Marianne was pleased that the conversation had moved on. She smiled her assent far more readily than she would have done in normal circumstances, feeling quite mollified towards her sister-in-law, and was almost generous in her praise of that lady, proclaiming she was most desirous to see her again.

They were coming to the end of their meal; the musicians performed their last song to rapturous applause from their audience and retired from the scene, leaving Marianne and her Colonel in the soft gloom of the evening. They sat in silence. The candles on the table cast their golden haloes over Marianne's creamy skin, lighting up her eyes to twinkle like nuggets of black jet. Marianne studied William's countenance. He still looked grave and appeared to be somewhere else, lost in thought.

“He looks so sad,” she thought, “but he has always had a melancholy air about him. Mrs Jennings used to say it was because of his broken heart, though at one time I really believed that I had mended the break. Perhaps he regrets not running a sword through Willoughby when he had the chance. I do not know, but I wish he would come back to me.”