Willoughby's Return (12 page)

In her room, Marianne fetched the letter out with trembling fingers. She had recognised the handwriting instantly and a whole rosewood box of memories came flooding into her mind, along with the recollection of three tear stained letters and a lock of hair that had once been returned to her.

Southernhay

October 8th

Dear Mrs Brandon
,

It is with great pleasure that I accept your kind invitation to the Delaford Ball. Unfortunately, Mrs Willoughby is indisposed at present and will, therefore, be unable to accompany me, but I shall be attending with the Lawrence party, who I know are also looking forward very much to the evening's entertainment.

I have had the great fortune to reacquaint myself with your mother and youngest sister, for which, I am truly thankful. They have welcomed me into their home most willingly. I have only one wish that remains unfulfilled and that is to be given the opportunity to be on cordial terms with you again. I may ask too much, I know, but I beg we can be at the very least on a most civil footing.

I remain
,

Your obedient servant
,

John Willoughby of Allenham.

In fury, Marianne crushed the paper in her hands and tore it into pieces. She did not know what she should do. How she would be able to conduct herself through the evening's entertainment with this fore knowledge, she could not imagine. And how was she going to tell William that he was to play host to his old adversary and foe this very evening?

DESPITE TELLING HERSELF THAT she did not care a jot about meeting Henry Lawrence, it was with great care and excitement that Margaret prepared for the evening's diversions. She loved staying at Delaford, and it was at William's suggestion that Margaret had been given the Bombay Room as her own, from her very first visit. The luxury of this chamber and dressing room were always hers to enjoy and she delighted in its opulence, from the tester bed brought from Mandalay, inlaid in gilt and mirror mosaic, to the painted chintz that adorned walls and windows, flowering with exotic trees and blooms. Indian craftsmen had carved the ebony chairs, brassware urns, and scented sandal-wood boxes with rosettes and arabesques. Even the silver looking glass and lacquer boxes on her dressing table were from the East as were the perfumed oils smelling of rose and frangipani that she smoothed into her skin after her bath.

Sally came to help dress her hair, button her gown, and exclaim at her beauty. When she had gone, Margaret stood before the long glass and was surprised by her appearance.
Swathed in shimmering gauze and satin from head to foot, she did not recognise the sophisticated young lady who looked back at her. Sally had done her proud, her curls were swept up and caught into a ribbon at the back, through which the silver leaves Mrs Jennings had generously bestowed wreathed and glittered. Margaret's excitement rose. Mr Lawrence had better make his move instantly, she thought, or he might well be disappointed. She felt sure that she would have as many partners with which to dance as she chose tonight. The Courtney and Wilton brothers were all certain of attending. She particularly loved to dance with Anne's brother George and Jane's brother Thomas. There had never been anything more than a wish to dance with them; they were pleasant enough boys, but that was all. Neither had a romantic bone in their body and as far as Margaret was concerned, to be romantic was a prerequisite of a potential beau.

She had found and made friends quickly in Delaford. On her sister's marriage she had been invited almost immediately to stay at the Park and her mother had encouraged the visit in the hope that Margaret would be introduced to a larger society. She had soon met the families in the neighbouring villages, and a firm friendship had been established with their daughters: Anne Courtney from Delaford itself, Jane Wilton from Dalworthy, and Selina Strowbridge from Whitstock. Many a pleasant hour had been spent in these girls’ company, as they confided all their secrets, whilst sitting in the old yew arbour behind the house, watching the carriages pass along. She had danced at the local assemblies with their brothers and she had been invited to their houses. Margaret's particular favourite was Anne, a level-headed yet lively girl who was always thoughtful and kind. She loved poetry as much as Margaret and they would sit together reciting
their favourite passages from Cowper. Anne would never betray a confidence. Jane, however sweet of disposition, was inclined to be rather loose-tongued and spent too much time in Selina's company, of whom Margaret was not so fond. Selina was in the habit of flirting wildly with any young man who showed the smallest interest in Margaret. It seemed to the latter that Selina could not bear to be ignored by anyone, disregarding the young gentlemen who did take notice of her in favour of those who did not. She always wanted what she couldn’t have, and Margaret wondered how Selina might behave this evening.

Margaret smoothed on her long, white kid gloves until there was not a wrinkle to be seen, picked up her fan, and went in search of her mama. Mrs Dashwood was putting the finishing touches to her appearance and the two ladies admired each other on sight. Margaret did think her mother looked very pretty and told her so.

“But the sight of you is so lovely to behold, Margaret,” her mother declared, her voice cracking with emotion, “that it breaks my heart. How I wish your father could have lived to see what a beauty his daughter has turned out to be!”

“Oh, Mama, you are exaggerating, I’m sure, though I thank you for the compliment. Shall we go down now? Marianne wants us to be altogether when the Lawrences arrive. I think she is worried that Mr Willoughby may turn up after all.”

“It is all such a worry to Marianne and the dear Colonel. And I am sure to say the wrong thing. If only your father were here to escort me, I am sure I would be equal to anything.”

Margaret was anxious to divert the conversation away from the subject of her father, whose mention was apt to induce melancholy in her mother, who still mourned him
with great sensibility. Miss Dashwood was in high spirits and knew she could with a little effort cajole her mother into being better humoured too. “Come along, Mama, I expect Admiral Strowbridge will want to claim the first dance. You are always a favourite with Selina's father.”

“No more than with any of the other widowers in this county,” Mrs Dashwood commented. “I daresay if I had a few more pounds to my name I should have had several offers by now, but as it is I have to content myself with being a favourite on the dance floor. In any case, I would not wish to marry again; I am perfectly content in my cottage.”

“You should be careful, Mama, you never know where love might strike next!” cried Margaret with a laugh, taking her mother's arm and escorting her downstairs where the family was gathering.

The ballroom glittered with candlelight and jewels. The hum of chattering voices, the footfall of soft kid shoes pattering across the polished floor, sounds punctuated by merry peals of laughter, announced the expectation of the evening's entertainment. The musicians tuned their instruments to the swish of muslin and the waving of tall ivory feathers. Powdered and perfumed, poised and pretty, satins and silks shimmered on slender forms, admired by bucks, beaux, and brothers alike. Mamas and chaperones steered their offspring and charges into the paths of their unsuspecting targets with the graceful precision of an arrow fired from a crossbow. Every gleaming eye pursued its consort with the relentless vigour of a hound scenting a likely trail. The sport of husband hunting began.

Margaret and Mrs Dashwood took their seats with Elinor and Edward. The Lawrences were not to be seen anywhere yet,
though most of the other guests had arrived. Margaret and her mother had been of the party that had greeted the guests in the hall. Marianne had seemed more than usually concerned when the Lawrences had not appeared, but Margaret guessed that her agitation was probably as a result of Mr Willoughby's impending arrival. Margaret wondered what could be keeping them and she was most curious to see that certain gentleman and how he might behave. The Middletons and Mrs Jennings were working through the crowds, finding old friends and relating all their news and gossip from Barton. Margaret was bewitched by all that she saw: the splendour of the men in black, the gaiety of the women like hothouse flowers with ivory petals or as brightly painted as exotic blossoms. She had not attended a ball of this magnitude at Delaford before. A little way off, she could see her sister Marianne, arm in arm with William, engaged in conversation with two gentlemen just arrived, one young and the other, who bore such a strong resemblance to the former that she quickly judged them to be father and son. The young man had an air of great confidence about him and a striking figure. She craned her neck to get a better view but it was so difficult, there were so many people threading their way across the room. A gap in the crowd presented her at last with a glimpse of his face; he seemed to be looking straight in her direction. Even from a distance she could see what an incredibly handsome young man he was, with a shock of very light, fair hair which waved back from his strong features. His eyes smiled at her though his mouth barely curved at the corners. The attraction was instant and Margaret was determined that she should be introduced before very much longer. Her heart began to hammer just a second later as she noted that her sister was urging the gentlemen in their
direction. Both men had certainly had an effect on Marianne, who was chattering away and laughing in a very animated fashion. Margaret thought she had not seen her sister look quite so carefree for a while. She was more determined than ever to discover who these handsome men could be.

“Oh, look,” said Mrs Dashwood, sitting up in her chair as she saw them approach. “I believe this must be Sir Edgar and his son, Henry.”

“The Lawrences, Mama? No, it cannot be,” declared Margaret, “they were to bring a large party with them. Besides, there is no lady with them; they would hardly have forgotten to bring Lady Lawrence. You are quite mistaken.”

“Well, in that case, I cannot think who they must be,” answered her mother. “Friends of Marianne's, I don’t doubt. A rather handsome couple, do you not think, Margaret?”

Margaret remained silent on the matter. She did not want to divulge the fact that she had never seen anyone quite so worthy of her attention at a Delaford ball or any other, for that matter. She was quite intrigued.

THE COLONEL AND MARIANNE were all beaming smiles as they presented their guests. “Sir Edgar Lawrence, may I introduce Mrs Dashwood and her daughter, Miss Margaret Dashwood,” said William.

“I am delighted to meet you, my dears,” Sir Edgar pronounced, taking their hands warmly, “I have heard so much about you. Please allow me to present my son, Henry, who has come home to Whitwell.”

Margaret could not have been more surprised. Henry was not the coxcomb she was expecting. He took her hand and bowed, a ready smile on his lips. “I am delighted to meet you at last, Miss Dashwood,” he said softly.

“I was just apologising to Mrs Brandon for the lateness of our appearance,” cried Sir Edgar, “but I am afraid that my wife's constitution is not as strong as it should be and this afternoon, quite without any warning, she was taken with one of her dreadful attacks.”

“Dear me,” cried Mrs Dashwood, “I do hope Lady Lawrence is not ill.”

“Poor Hannah is suffering, I am afraid, but she is used to these bouts which occur every now and then. The apothecary is with her now and so she is at ease. She insisted that Henry and I should come over to Delaford and as Mrs Willoughby suggested that she should keep her company, we decided that she could not be in better hands. Mrs Willoughby, you understand, is the wife of Henry's friend, Mr John Willoughby of Allenham. They have come to stay with us for a few days.”

“Yes, Mrs Willoughby's name is known to me and I am acquainted with Mr Willoughby,” stammered Mrs Dashwood, whose flustered manner betrayed her feelings. “His estate is not but two miles from Barton Cottage, where we live.”

Sir Edgar turned to the Brandons. “Well, that is a surprise, fancy Mrs Dashwood being acquainted with Henry's friend. You have never met him yourself, William?”