Jane Odiwe - Willoughby’s Return

“Mother! How could you do such a thing,” Marianne shouted. “I cannot believe you could be so thoughtless. Have you forgotten William in all of this, and the other business of Brandon's ward?” Marianne could not bring herself to say Eliza's name out loud. “You know how William detests Willoughby. He would have killed him when they met to duel if he had been able. Have you forgotten Eliza Williams and her child?”

“Mr Willoughby is keen to make amends to his natural child. He told me as much.”

“And William will never allow it,” Marianne cried, standing up and pacing to the window. “It is as well that we are going to Delaford in the morning.” She stared out at the landscape, the rolling hills and green valleys undulating before them. “Oh, goodness,” she started, “whatever will I do if he presents himself at the ball?”

“That is highly unlikely, Marianne. Why on earth should Willoughby do that?” Mrs Dashwood walked over to her daughter and put out her hand to stroke her arm in an affectionate gesture.

“I haven’t said a word on the matter, sister,” cried Margaret, observing her mother's expression of puzzlement and alarm at these words.

“Because he is an acquaintance of Henry Lawrence,” Marianne announced, turning to look her mother in the eye, “and because I have invited him!”

The whole story came out, about how she had unwittingly invited Willoughby to the ball, about how Sir Edgar Lawrence was interested in buying a property for Henry that Willoughby had to sell. “I was certain that he would not come once he found out that the ball was at Delaford, but now you have given him so much encouragement, Mama, I cannot be sure. There will be trouble, I know it.”

“There is no point worrying about it now, Marianne,” her mother soothed, taking her arm in her own and leading her back to the sofa. “We must hope for the best. And if he does come, we will deal with that too, if and when it happens. Now, come along, let us have no more on such a distressing subject. You must calm yourself or you will be ill.”

But Marianne could not be calmed, she would not eat any dinner and excused herself as soon as she could, saying that she had a headache from the journey and that she wanted an early night. “We will set off as soon as we rise, Mama,” she said. “James is so looking forward to seeing you both and William will be anxious until we reach home. I will feel better in the morning, but I must rest now. Good night.” She did not add that she wished to be as far away from Barton as soon as she could be, for fear of running into a certain gentleman who had promised would call again before long.

A merry party, caught up in the mood of the celebrations to come, were sat in the dining room at Delaford Park over breakfast, early on Saturday morning. Colonel Brandon presided over the company, eager to see that his guests had every comfort at his disposal. The Middletons and Mrs Jennings had arrived the day before, accompanied by all six Middleton children in two carriages. The ladies from Barton Cottage had arrived just before them and greeted the other Devonshire family, as though they had not seen them for a month at least. Elinor and Edward Ferrars had arrived early in the morning from the parsonage with their little ones; Anna now sat with her Brandon cousin. Marianne smiled at the noisy scene; it was impossible to feel anything but pleasure at such conviviality. Everyone was talking at once as vast quantities of bread rolls, cake, and chocolate disappeared into hungry mouths.

“My dear, Mrs Ferrars,” said Mrs Jennings, breaking a soft white roll and buttering it liberally, “it is such a delight to meet with you again, your dear husband and the little F's. It still tickles me to think of the time when I used to joke you about Mr F. Oh, I knew how it would be, even when it was discovered that my cousin Lucy was secretly engaged to him. I did not say so at the time but I was never convinced that Lucy and Mr F would make a match. You two were such a perfect couple. And here you are now, as proof to that testament, with a growing family and more to come, I daresay.”

Elinor smiled but did not quite know how to answer. If her memory served her well, Mrs Jennings had been convinced that Elinor had been all set to marry Colonel Brandon. However, Mrs Jennings always meant well and had a kind heart, but it was imperative that she should divert the lady's conversation away from herself. Elinor did not want to be drawn into answering her impertinent questions and so encouraged her companion to talk of herself, a favourite subject with that lady. “How are you, Mrs Jennings? How is your daughter Charlotte?”

“I’m very well, my dear. Charlotte is nursing baby number four at Cleveland at present and hoping to be fit enough to come to London a little later on. I shall be going to my house too and will see them all there.”

“You have a fine set of grandchildren, Mrs Jennings. Lady Middleton has six children now, does she not?” Elinor politely stated.

“What a number of grandchildren I have, Mrs Ferrars, I cannot for the life of me remember all their names, I assure you. Ten of them, Lord bless me, though between you and me Mary seems to have slowed down a little at last. Good thing for her too, I say, this child rearing is a tiring business.”

“Yes, indeed, ma’am,” Elinor nodded in agreement.

“Will we be seeing you in town this winter, Mrs Ferrars?” Mrs Jennings went on. “Mr Palmer has to be in town of course for the opening of Parliament, so we will all be going. Being an M.P. takes up so much time, you cannot imagine. Charlotte says she hardly sees her husband from one week's end to the next, when they go to town, though between you and me, I think Mr Palmer spends as much time sitting in his club as he does in the House! We would be very pleased to see you there. I expect your sister will be going, will she not? The Colonel never misses a trip to town, and I daresay young Margaret would be keen to go too, especially when the Lawrences are likely to take a house. I hear young Henry Lawrence may be the very young man Miss Margaret has been waiting for!” Mrs Jennings chuckled at this last retort and as Margaret's ears caught the mention of her name, her expression betrayed the anxiety she felt at having it bandied about by the former in such a jocular fashion.

Edward Ferrars came to the rescue by asking Mrs Jennings when she intended to travel. She soon glossed over that subject to make her enquiries after his brother, Robert, who was married to the Lucy with whom Edward had once been secretly engaged. It had been an engagement made when they were both very young. Edward had consequently fallen in love with Elinor but had been prepared to honour his promise to Lucy. Luckily for them both, Lucy had turned her affections toward Robert when she discovered the latter had been favoured with Edward's inheritance. Fortunately for Edward and Elinor, as their visits to London were very infrequent, they did not have to meet Robert and Lucy very often.

“My brother and sister are very well, I believe,” Edward replied. “They will be expecting to see you when you are in London, Mrs Jennings. Lucy begged me to apologise for not having written lately but she has had much to do with their removal to Russell Square.”

“Aye, I expect she has, though it has to be said that she has become a very poor letter writer since she married and has no need to beg my company. Well, well, youth was ever thus, unthinking and plaguing in the extreme. Old folks like me lose their attractions with every passing year. I daresay she is spending all her time fitting up her new establishment and looking after that brood of naughty children. Lord, bless my soul, three children and another on the way, even quicker than my Charlotte or Mary.”

“I believe the children do take up a lot of her time,” Edward agreed.

A knock at the door interrupted the flow of conversation around that end of the table. The servant came in and proffered the salver toward Marianne, who took the letter and stared at the handwritten direction with a frown. She had barely opened the missive when it was hurriedly folded again. Marianne did not seem at ease as she looked around the table, but she could see the Colonel deep in conversation with Sir John Middleton at the other end and her expression lightened temporarily. Her discomposure was noted not only by Elinor, who guessed immediately from whence the letter came, but also by Mrs Jennings, who asked about it without hesitation.

“It is just an old acquaintance,” Marianne stammered, colouring as she spoke and placing the letter in her pocket, pulled the strings firmly together. “If you will all excuse me, I need to speak to Mrs Spencer about some arrangements for this evening.” Marianne rose from her chair abruptly and left the room without a backward glance.

“Well, that was all rather mysterious,” cried Mrs Jennings, “I do hope it wasn’t bad news. Mrs Brandon looked quite as if she had read something unpleasant. I wonder what it can have been about.”

Edward responded to Elinor's gentle nudge under the table and proceeded to engage Mrs Jennings in a conversation about his mother, which he knew would divert the interests of his companion with little effort on his behalf. Elinor tried to look as though she was listening with concentration, but felt most concerned. She would have to wait to speak to Marianne later, but in any case, Mrs Ferrars had a suspicion that she knew to what subject the letter pertained.

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.