Jane Odiwe - Willoughby’s Return

Margaret was left alone with her thoughts and fears. Her hopes for reconciliation between her sister and brother had been dashed for the time being. Even so, her present mood could not be entirely deflated. An evening party with Henry in attendance promised to be an excellent diversion. How she could wait until tomorrow, she hardly knew.

Alone in her room, Marianne lay on her bed but she could not rest. Hot tears stung in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks. Giving in fully to her emotions, she sobbed until there were no tears left, feeling herself injured and indignant. Gradually the sounds of the city subsided, darkness descended, and beams of moonlight crept stealthily through a chink in the blind, sending a shaft of silver to illuminate her ghostly reflection in the glass on her dressing table. Never had she felt so alone. As she lay half hoping that the Colonel would come to her and all would be well, there came a soft knocking at the door. William's voice called her name beseechingly and though she wanted to call to him, something inside prevented her from doing so.

“I will not be so easily persuaded,” she railed. “If he thinks I will forgive him so quickly for making me feel so wretched, he can think again. He can apologise to me tomorrow if he wishes, and perhaps he will act with more forethought in future than to make me feel as if I have wronged him. How dare he!” Brushing her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, she blew her nose once more and snuffed out the last whisper of light from the candle by her bed.

Marianne’s temper was not improved when Margaret suggested over breakfast that she should have made her peace with her husband, forgiving William for his brusque manner, which surely had resulted from a natural jealousy.

“Mama always used to say that you should never go to bed with an argument unresolved. Besides, Marianne, you look awful. You have dark circles under your eyes. Did you sleep at all?”

“I confess I did not sleep at all well, but it is not my fault. And now it appears that William could not have really been serious about wanting to ask my forgiveness, because he has left the house already. I expect he has gone to be with his cronies at the club. Well, we too shall go out, Margaret. You and I are going shopping.”

Whilst Margaret would typically be very happy to accompany her sister on a shopping trip, she did not want to miss Henry and she believed he would call during the morning to take her out. A trip to Hyde Park was a most enticing prospect and Margaret longed to see the spectacle that such an outing would afford. However, Marianne seemed very upset and in any case she was to see Henry later.

“I would love to go shopping, Marianne,” Margaret managed to answer, taking in her sister's stern expression, with her cheeks flaming as they always did when she was upset. “Some air will do you good, and I confess I am looking forward to seeing the delights of London shop windows at closer quarters. I have a little money, which I intend to use. If I can find a treat for Mama too, then I shall be very happy.”

After this exchange, a rapid excursion to the shops was made. A tour of Bond Street was their first port of call and before long the ladies found themselves in Sackville Street, outside Gray's the jeweller. Just as they were on the point of entering the shop, they were surprised to bump into Edward Ferrars's brother Robert, and his wife Lucy.

“Mrs Brandon, I declare, I have not seen you for an age,” Lucy pronounced. “And Miss Dashwood, this is so exciting, for we were just talking of you, were we not, my dear?” she addressed Mr Ferrars, who yawned and managed a nod in their direction before paying his fullest attention to an arrangement of fobs in the window.

“I was just saying we were to have the pleasure of seeing you this evening at my dear cousin, Mrs Jennings's house,” Lucy continued. “We were to call later but now we are saved the bother. There are always so many people to call on. That is just the trouble of having such a large acquaintance and Mr Ferrars is never so happy as when we are in the company of old friends such as yourselves.”

Marianne glanced over to Robert Ferrars, who had moved as far away from them as was possible and was totally ignoring them. His perusal of the jeweller's window was performed with such studied concentration as to entirely negate any idea that he could be interested in their association on any level. “He always was an utter coxcomb,” thought Marianne.

“It will be quite a little party,” Lucy went on, hardly drawing breath. “Mrs Jennings has told me that Mr Lawrence is to attend, Miss Dashwood. Is he as good looking as they say? I daresay you have an opinion on that!” She gave a knowing nod in Marianne's direction and winked at Margaret.

“Henry Lawrence is a very pleasant young man,” remarked Marianne. “We are pleased to have made his acquaintance at last.”

“He is a very rich man, or will be when he comes into his money, I hear,” added Lucy. “And you know, Miss Dashwood, both your sister and I have proved beyond question that it is not necessary to have a fortune of one's own to marry well. Our charms were quite enough, were they not, Mrs Brandon. I daresay, Miss Dashwood, you will be engaged before Easter is upon us!”

Margaret was incensed. Trust Lucy Ferrars to be so tactless.

“Do you remember Charles Carey, Mrs Brandon?” Lucy rattled on. “My sister Anne and I met him at the Middletons’ several years ago, you know, when you first came into Devonshire… Well, perhaps the less said about those days the better. He was just a boy then and went away to sea we heard. Now he is grown to a man, he is raised to a Captain and returned from the wars. My sister Anne is on the lookout for a new beau and she is in high hopes that he will be the man! A woman of more mature years is never a real impediment to true love, and I feel sure she must meet the right man sooner or later.”

Instantly recognising the name of her old friend, Margaret was intrigued. “Is Mr Carey paying his addresses to your sister?”

“They have never met, I confess, but Anne is ever hopeful. No, he is to attend Mrs Jennings's party with his friend, another sailor, I believe. My cousin mentioned some French émigrés also, a particular friend of Henry Lawrence, at least that is how Lady Lawrence described the young lady. Such an exotic name, Antoinette de Fontenay, don’t you think? Mrs Jennings said that Lady Lawrence told her how she and her mother escaped during the terror, just missing having their heads chopped off by a mere hair. How droll!”

Margaret looked enquiringly at her sister. “Do you know anything of these people, Marianne?”

“I confess I cannot tell you anything other than that information which Mrs Ferrars has so obligingly conveyed. I do remember having heard their name and something of their plight. I believe they are settled in London and have been for some years.”

“We shall be a merry party,” Lucy enthused. “I am dying to see Mademoiselle de Fontenay; the French are so sophisticated and I am longing to see her style and how she dresses her hair. I wonder if our French friends will be travelling back home now we have peace again.”

“I shouldn’t think anyone who has endured what they must will be in any hurry to go back to a land where their own countrymen saw fit to put their fellows to the guillotine,” Marianne instantly retorted, looking aghast at Lucy, whom she had always considered to be more than a little silly. “Besides, that is precisely how the Comte de Fontenay lost his life.”

“How terrible!” Lucy exclaimed with a look of genuine horror on her countenance. For the first time she was considering why it had been really necessary for the family to flee from France.

Margaret was only half listening to the exchange. She was contemplating the fact that she had heard Lucy declare that this mademoiselle was a particular friend of Henry. This idea was not one Margaret was keen to acknowledge. The thought of Henry paying attention to anyone other than herself gave rise to feelings so strong that she could think of nothing else. When Lucy spoke to her again, she was so lost in contemplation on the matter that she had to pretend she hadn’t heard because of a passing carriage. At length, Lucy gave her adieus with many exclamations on the prospect of the pleasure it was to give her husband to see them later. Robert Ferrars paid no heed to his wife, nor to the sisters, turning after the slightest hint of a bow and marching off down the street as his wife tripped after him.

“What did she mean about Mademoiselle What's-her-name being a particular friend of Henry's?” asked Margaret as soon as Lucy was out of earshot.

“Oh, you know Lucy, she can’t resist an intrigue. It's probably nothing at all. I expect Lady Lawrence is trying to create mischief and spreading this gossip about because she knows how ‘particular’ Henry is about someone else. Don’t worry, Margaret,” soothed Marianne, taking her sister's arm in hers to lead her into the shop, “I certainly have never heard anything. And, in any case, you only have to see the way that Henry looks at you to see how much he admires you. Now, let us see if we can find a trinket for you to wear this evening. If Henry does not give you some sign of an understanding tonight, then my name is not Mrs Brandon.”

Margaret could not resist telling Marianne about the conversation that had been interrupted as she and Henry ate ices in Berkeley Square and felt quite mollified again, when Marianne's reaction was everything she had hoped it would be.

The entire morning was taken up with purchases of jewellery, hair ornaments, shoe roses, and ribbons, besides considerations of new muslins and lace. Margaret was thrilled with her purchases, secretly deciding that she could not be better prepared to do battle with a French miss, if that was required. After all, she had the advantage of knowing that Henry was to call on her later and surely after their time together he would be keener than ever to keep her company this evening.

Marianne had not mentioned Colonel Brandon all morning, despite Margaret's efforts to persuade her to talk. However, as they had gone about their business Mrs Brandon's thoughts had never been far away from the situation. Now she was beginning to think that she had been in the wrong despite what she deemed as her honourable motives, and she was determined to set things right. They had never quarrelled like this before, and she recognised it was her own fault that they were at odds with one another now. As soon as they reached home she would do all she could to make amends.

On their return, Marianne hurried away to find the Colonel, whilst Margaret made enquiries of the servants as to whether they had received any calls during the course of the morning. Relieved to discover that she had not missed Henry, she went off to her room, to occupy herself happily with decisions about what to wear and how to dress her hair for the evening. It was impossible, however, not to be diverted from her activities by every carriage that rolled around the square and stopped outside. Margaret could not help looking out of the window anxiously to see if Henry might be down below, but was disappointed every time. Once or twice, there was a knock on the front door, but it turned out only to be old army friends of the Colonel, calling to see the Brandons, now news was spread abroad of their being in town.

Once more, Marianne found little opportunity to actually speak to her husband. He was a very popular man, and those that had missed him at his club were now calling on him. To her great comfort, however, William caught her eye several times during the afternoon, even in the midst of conversation with others. His eyes held her gaze and he smiled warmly. Returning his looks of love, Marianne felt quite reassured that all would be well with the world again. When everyone had gone, they sat together by the fire in the stillness and quiet of the darkening afternoon. William put out his hand to cover Marianne's, neither of them wanting to return to the subject of their quarrel. She spoke first.

“William, I cannot decide what I am to wear this evening.” Inclining her head to give him the benefit of an expression, which only he could understand fully, she added, “We have a couple of hours before we go out. Sally has her afternoon off, so I wondered if you could assist me.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” answered Colonel Brandon and without uttering another word he escorted his wife as swiftly as was seemly to her chamber.