Willoughby's Return (16 page)

“You forget, Marianne, that I have certain obligations and duties. I cannot leave Eliza and her daughter to their fate. You cannot know the anxiety I will suffer until I have seen Lizzy with my own eyes and know that she is well.”

Marianne knew this to be true. Her husband would not rest easy until he knew the truth of the situation. He had never recovered from the fact that he had been too late to save Lizzy's grandmother, and Marianne realised that to persuade him from doing other than rushing to their side was fruitless. But she was not happy and felt herself hard done by. It always seemed that William was too eager to spend time with his ward and her daughter. Marianne was jealous of every occasion, every period that was spent in the company of Miss Williams. She tried once more.

“We have our invitation from Sir Edgar to attend the fair tomorrow. Surely you have not forgotten? It will not be possible for us to attend if you do not come, and Margaret is so looking forward to spending the day with Henry.”

“I do not see why you cannot honour the invitation,” the Colonel replied. “Sir John will accompany you with Mrs Jennings and Lady Middleton. Margaret will not have to be disappointed. And nobody will care much whether I am there or not, I am sure.”

“I will care, very much!” Marianne protested. “I will miss you so much, it is never the same when you are away. Please do not go.”

“I have no choice, Marianne, you know that. But I promise that as soon as I am satisfied that my presence is no longer needed, I shall return. We have our trip to London to look forward to, and that will be upon us before we know where we are. In the meantime, do not imagine that your suffering will be your own. I will miss you too, more than I can say.”

“Will you, will you miss me?” begged Marianne. Suddenly, more than anything, she did not want Brandon to go. She felt quite afraid, though of what she could not say. She clung to him and looked up beseechingly into his eyes. “I love you so much, my darling.”

William Brandon looked down at his beautiful wife and not for the first time did he wonder how he had managed to engage the heart of one so utterly divine to his way of thinking. It tore his heart to see her look at him so, pleading desperately not to leave her, but his duty to all those who needed him was so strong that nothing would have diverted him from what he believed was the correct course. “I think it best if I leave immediately. As
you will be engaged for Colystone tomorrow, there will be plenty to occupy you, my dear. I know how much it will amuse you to see how just you were in fancying a love match between Henry and Margaret.”

“Then you think as I do!” Marianne exclaimed. “I was right, was I not? Oh, William, I am so happy for Margaret. It is early days, I know, but I have never felt more certain of anything in my life than an attraction between them. And I am sure Sir Edgar is keen on the match, too.”

“Write and tell me all about it; indeed, it is my fervent wish that you will write to me every day, Marianne. I hope I shall be able to return in a few days, not more than three or four with good fortune on my side. The sooner I am gone, the quicker I will return.”

Marianne knew it was useless to try to persuade her husband to anything different. “Please do not be long, William. We will all await your safe journey home.”

“Come closer, my love,” whispered William, pulling her with a force that took his wife almost off her feet to wrap her up in his arms. His kisses came with such passion that Marianne was left breathless and wanting more. But for all her responding affection and keen demonstration, it appeared to her that the Colonel was keen to be gone. With a final, dismissive peck on her forehead and a last goodbye, he took his leave, shouting for his servant to come quickly. “Let us make haste, Johnson, we have a road to travel and we have wasted time enough. If the carriage is ready, let us go!”

Marianne followed her husband from the room, saw him snatch up his travelling cloak, and run the length of the great hall to the waiting carriage outside. With a heavy heart she
turned to make her way to the drawing room where their guests were sitting, more than likely wondering why their hosts had deserted them. She fixed her best smile on her countenance before entering the room to offer her explanations, telling them all that her husband was called away on business.

Entertaining her guests for the remainder of the day and evening was not as difficult as Marianne had contemplated, despite Mrs Jennings's constant enquiries on the habits of her husband. However, she was glad when the time came to lie down in her bed. She tried not to think about Brandon but could not help wondering what sort of a picture the Williams family made in their snug cottage. When they had first been married, the Colonel had invited Marianne to go with him on his visits, but she had declined, divided as she was by strong emotion. On the one hand, she did not want her husband to feel that she did not trust him or that she wished to interfere in his concerns in any way. After all, Eliza had been a part of his life before Marianne had even met him. She was certainly curious about Miss Williams and knew about the great love her husband had enjoyed with Eliza's mother. On the other hand, she did not wish to meet Willoughby's daughter. Marianne had feared that her own feelings would have been betrayed if she had set eyes on the baby, as she was then. Hardly had she admitted it to herself, but Marianne knew deep inside that holding his child would have stirred passions she had learned to hide and suppress. Although William never really discussed his visits in great detail and appeared to regard them as offices of duty, Marianne still speculated on his real feelings about his other family. To see him rush off to their side with such eagerness prompted deep resentment, even if she told herself that she was
being silly. And when she contemplated the matter, tossing and turning until the pearly dawn light stole a pale finger through the curtains, she began to muse on the possibility that he may prefer to spend more of his time with those others that loved and depended on him.

MARIANNE HAD DRIFTED INTO sleep eventually, but the hour for waking came much too soon. Sally came to announce that the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, with an early mist rising about the Park, promising a heavenly day for the Goose Fair. Marianne allowed herself to be dressed, trying to ignore Sally's probing questions about the dark circles under her eyes.

Margaret had no difficulty in rising. She had slept well and awoken to the feeling of immense well-being and happiness. Dressing with very great care, she would not admit her careful ministrations to be for any particular purpose, other than to please herself. But as she stood before the looking glass to consider her reflection, Margaret did hope that Henry would be delighted by her appearance.

After breakfast they were to set off in a great procession of carriages to meet the Lawrences on the turnpike road, at a suitable distance between Delaford and Whitwell for the journey to Colystone. James, whom his mother felt was not old enough for such frivolity, was to be tended at home by his nurse, though
his protestations at being left behind were heard by everyone. Marianne kissed and petted him, drying his tears with her kerchief, promising him sugarplums and a juggler on a stick, which seemed to do the trick. When all was quiet again and her guests gathered in the hall, Marianne gave the signal to make their way out to the carriages and they were off, bowling down the driveway in a flurry of high expectation. Within the half hour they arrived at the agreed spot to find Sir Edgar and Henry Lawrence beaming from ear to ear and hallooing at the sight of the entourage, from their high perch phaeton. They both leapt down from their seats as the carriages came to a standstill. Everyone stretched their legs and reintroduced themselves with great merriment.

Margaret was relieved to see that Henry immediately singled her out. She had been rather worried that he might have been cross with her after she had abandoned him in the garden. He asked her how she did and when she held out her hand to shake his, he took it and held it, for all the world as if he would never let it go, before swiftly kissing her fingertips.

“I saw you, Miss Margaret, with your beau,” said Mrs Jennings, wagging a knowing finger in Margaret's direction as they started to scramble back into the coaches with as much fervour as they had got out of them. “He can scarcely take his eyes off you! I know how it will be at the Fair, neither of you shall look nor talk to another soul, but at one another. Well, I was young once, you know, and I have not forgotten what it is to be head over heels. And he is quite worth the trouble of catching. It is as well to fall in love with a young man of wealth and good looks as any other!”

Margaret's expression left no doubt of her feelings once they set off and were out of earshot, raising her eyes heavenwards at
her sister. “How long am I to endure this nonsense from Mrs Jennings?” she pleaded.

“Well, I should like to say you might be spared once you are married, my dear sister,” returned Marianne, “but unfortunately you will find Mrs Jennings has only just begun. I hardly have to suppress a yawn or refuse a glass of wine to discover I am accused of being about to give birth to triplets.”

Margaret laughed until her mother rebuked them both. “Marianne, you are too unkind. Mrs Jennings may be rather inquisitive but she means well, I know,” interrupted her mama. “She adores you and your wonderful family and has always expressed her delight in your marriage to the Colonel.” Mrs Dashwood sighed at the mention of Brandon. “What a pity it is that William could not be with us today.”

Marianne nodded and as she watched the landscape flying by, the sun warming her face as she peered out of the window, she fell into a silent reverie. Had William arrived safely in Lyme? She had had no word yet but she hoped there would be a letter waiting for her when she got home. In her mind's eye she could see him setting up at the Three Cups Inn, being shown to his room where after the briefest inspection, he would be mounting his horse and riding the short distance to the village where Eliza would welcome him with open arms. She could picture the cosy, intimate family picture they would make, William rushing to Lizzy's side. Perhaps she was wrapped in blankets on a sofa by the fire. He would kneel at her side, tenderly brushing the hair from her temples, and see to every small need. Marianne wondered about the conversations they would all exchange, knew how pleased they would be to see and talk to him, from what William had divulged in the past. “It is not that I wish to be resentful but
I cannot help feeling that William has run off to see them rather more quickly than I would like. To be a man, in command of one's life, to do exactly as he pleases must be a delightful state of being. I cannot just leave whenever I wish, I would not dream of abandoning my child on a whim to go gallivanting tens of miles to see to people who are not even my blood relations.” But Marianne knew in her heart that she was being peevish. What their lives must be like, she could not really imagine. To live as an outcast from true society as Eliza did would be a fate she could not endure. Although the villagers in their own community treated the little family with kindness, they were not really completely a part of it. Eliza's education placed her far above her neighbours and yet because of her circumstances, she was not considered their equal. How it must be to know that they could never be a part of the life that Marianne enjoyed, able to move freely in the best circles in the West Country and in London, received by some of the noblest families in the land was a misfortune that she knew she would never have to contemplate. Compassion she could feel, but she admitted privately that it was mixed with emotions of envy and displeasure.

The first sight of Colystone afforded as much pleasure as Marianne had anticipated. Even before they reached the village green the sounds of excited crowds chattering and hallooing, musicians strumming, beating, or blowing their instruments could be heard above the fervent din. People surged along the byway, making the carriages’ progress rather slow down the narrow lane. In the distance Margaret could make out flags waving atop the bright awnings of the stalls set about the green. As soon as they could alight, the entire party eagerly stepped down and looked to Sir Edgar for direction.

“Well, my dears, my suggestion is that we roam about the place at leisure over the next few hours and that as soon as the church clock has rung its bells at three, we should all meet at the inn for dinner, if we are not all too full of sugarplums and gingerbread by then.” He laughed at his own good humour. “I should be delighted if anyone wishes to accompany me. I will be attending the auction of the geese a little later on but I think for now we should make haste to watch the procession.”

Forming a little parade of their own with Sir Edgar, Marianne, and Mrs Dashwood in front, followed closely by Mrs Jennings and all of the Middletons, they progressed alongside the tumultuous swarm of bodies. As might be expected, it was not long before such a large group began to break apart and form smaller parties. Henry and Margaret soon found that due to their complete inattention to the others they swiftly became detached from the company.