Jane Odiwe - Willoughby’s Return

Margaret felt most disturbed by her comments. How it would appear to Henry, she did not want to guess. Mr Carey was being too particular, especially when she caught his returning gaze by accident. She struggled to sit upright, saying that she was sure her eye was feeling much better.

“My dear, I will have some water and linens brought to you,” Mrs Jennings began. “Lord! But your eyes look very sore. Now, come along, Miss Dashwood, I think it best to take you to my chamber and we will see what can be done. I insist!”

There was nothing to do but follow Mrs Jennings out of the room and upstairs. Margaret felt so stupid. Why had she let herself become so upset? For heaven's sake, she scolded; after all, Henry was just being polite. Was she going to react in such a manner every time a young woman spoke to him?

“I have a little ointment which will just do the trick, my dear, sit down there and let me see.”

“My eyes feel much better now, Mrs Jennings, I think whatever it was has washed itself out.”

“I’ll be just a moment, do not fret, I’ll soon have you back at Mr Carey's side, not to worry.” She manoeuvred Margaret along to the chaise longue at the end of her bed and busied herself with a basin of water, all the time talking without a pause. “I am pleased to see that you and he have made friends again. And, from what he's been telling me, he's made a little fortune in the war. He’d make someone a very good husband.”

Margaret held her breath to stop herself from sighing. All she needed was Mrs Jennings to interfere. Her fingers clenched the fabric of her gown and it was all she could do not to say that she couldn’t care less how much money Charles had and that she was in love with Henry.

“I know you have a soft spot for Mr Lawrence,” Mrs Jennings said quietly, as she bathed Margaret's eyes, “but I would hate to see you have your heart broken.”

Margaret was all attention. Her instinct was to sit up, yet she managed to will herself to stay put. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, my dear, perhaps I have said too much already, but I think his family's hopes lie in another direction. It's no good to pretend, I’ve seen the look in your eyes as I once did in your sister's, and I would do anything to spare you the hurt she endured.”

Margaret had heard enough. “Thank you, Mrs Jennings, but you are quite wrong. I do not know where you can have gleaned any ideas about my feelings for any gentleman, let alone those for Mr Lawrence. Thank you very much; my eyes are quite restored. I will return to the drawing room now, I beg you.”

Mrs Jennings had hardly turned to dry her hands, when Margaret excused herself and disappeared. The old lady shook her head. One thing was absolutely certain. Miss Margaret Dashwood was head over heels in love with Mr Henry Lawrence.

As she entered the room, Margaret saw she was responsible for the card parties having broken up altogether. Everyone expressed their concern and asked how she did; all except the very person she was longing to hear from. Mr Carey soon commandeered her again and before she knew it, she was sharing the sofa previously occupied by Henry and his friend.

Mrs Jennings came rushing through the door, begging forgiveness from them all. “I wonder if we might continue with the delightful musical diversion,” she exclaimed. “Mademoiselle de Fontenay, would you do the honour of leading the young ladies?”

Once more, Margaret was forced to watch Henry attend his friend. The young lady gave a faultless performance to resounding applause.

“How about a duet, Mademoiselle Antoinette? Would you join me in a song for two?” Henry asked, placing the music and clearing his throat.

Antoinette looked up at him adoringly, Margaret noticed, their eyes never leaving the others for a moment as they trilled in perfect harmony. There was rapturous applause at the end.

Colonel Brandon rose to his feet. “May I compliment you, Mademoiselle de Fontenay, on an exquisite recital? I declare I’ve not heard such delightful singing since I was last at Covent Garden.”

“Hear, hear,” all the gentlemen cried with one voice, rising to their feet, as everyone clapped again enthusiastically.

“What a delightful picture you both make, sitting together at the pianoforte,” cried Lady Lawrence, turning for approval to all who looked in her direction. “They played together as babes, you know, Mrs Brandon, and have scarcely ever been apart.”

Margaret saw Marianne glance over, her expression almost enough to have Margaret in tears again. She knew exactly what her sister was thinking. It would not have escaped her notice how Margaret had been ignored by Henry.

“Miss Dashwood,” Mrs Jennings pronounced above the subsiding applause, “shall we hear from you next?”

How she wished the floor would open and swallow her up. The whole room had silenced, as if awaiting her answer. Margaret stood up but she felt quite unsteady on her feet. Taking a deep breath, she ventured a step toward the pianoforte but had to hold onto a chair. Her head felt light and her ears were buzzing. “I’m sorry, Mrs Jennings, but I have a headache and am feeling a little unwell.”

Hardly were her words uttered, when she fell. Charles Carey, anticipating her distress, leapt to his feet and caught her in his arms. Holding her aloft, he carefully laid her on the sofa.

Marianne rushed to her sister's side with smelling salts and decided that now would be a good time to leave. Whilst Mrs Jennings fussed over Margaret once more, with Mrs Ferrars and Anne Steele proffering their advice in the background, Marianne was able to have a word with her husband.

“Dear me, Miss Margaret seems to be of a very sickly constitution,” announced Lady Lawrence. “In one so young, it does not bode well. I remember my school friend, Miss Thackeray, a large girl like Miss Dashwood. She looked as strong as an ox, but went to bed one night and didn’t wake up again.”

“I hope it's nothing serious, perhaps you should take her home, Mrs Brandon,” said Sir Edgar kindly. “I will have the carriage sent round immediately.”

“As I am sure you all know,” his wife went on, “I suffer quite dreadfully myself, but I never knew a single malady in my youth. I do not remember you ever knowing a day's illness, Mademoiselle Antoinette. You are such a delicate-looking girl, yet like myself, you come from good, stalwart stock.”

“’Tis a good thing you were there to catch her, Mr Carey, I saw there wasn’t a minute's hesitation,” murmured Anne, looking on with envy, “and you picked her up as though she were a little doll. If ever I were to faint, I hope I should be caught by some gentleman half as gallant as you. What say you, Mr Mortimer? Are you a valiant catcher of ladies?”

Mr Mortimer seemed somewhat taken aback by Miss Steele's forthrightness and blushed crimson to the roots of his hair. It was apparent he could not think of a ready answer, so surprised was he by Miss Steele's openly coquettish manner.

Colonel Brandon made his apologies, saying how sorry he was to be breaking up the party so early. “We will all meet again soon, I am sure.”

“Oh, yes, William, it will not be too long,” exclaimed Lady Lawrence. “I shall call on you tomorrow.”

Marianne received this news with dread. Why was it that she looked forward so much to coming to London, she wondered? When they had first been married, everything had seemed so exciting about the London season. But they had not had to share their experiences with anyone but themselves, if they so wished. The Colonel had shown her all the historical attractions, taken her to the best shops, as well as the theatre and they had chosen only the soirées and balls they wished to attend. Marianne had to admit that the absence of William's sister had probably also contributed to her sense of freedom and happiness.

The disappointment felt by them all was expressed with much reiteration on the subject of seeing one another again soon. Henry and Mademoiselle Antoinette came to shake Margaret's hand and wish her well.

“I am so sorry, Miss Dashwood, that we have not had a chance to form a more intimate acquaintance, especially as Henry has told me so much about you,” said Mademoiselle de Fontenay. “He is so grateful to you for keeping him company; it is so very kind of you to put yourself out.”

Margaret looked toward Henry, who smiled, but she could detect no real warmth in his eyes. He said he hoped she would feel better soon.

“I hope you will keep your promise and take me to Hyde Park,” she said before she knew she had done it.

Henry cast his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry, Miss Dashwood, but I am unsure of my engagements at present. Unfortunately, my life is not my own when in London; my mother makes many demands. Besides, I am sure Mr Carey will be more than willing to oblige.”

Margaret could not believe her ears. This was not her Henry speaking. This Henry could barely look at her; his eyes and expression were cold. What could have happened to produce such a change in him? Reluctantly she turned away, looking to her sister, who on seeing her distress, immediately took charge and escorted her out of the room.

With enormous relief, Margaret settled into the coach. Her symptoms were real enough; she was feeling most ill. Tears threatened once again; she could not remember ever feeling so miserable in her life before. To go home was her greatest desire.

Colonel Brandon broke the silence first. “Mademoiselle de Fontenay is a very charming and beautiful young woman, is she not?”

Neither of the sisters spoke. Marianne made a gesture of a half smile but she could do no more. William's sister had treated Margaret abominably, she felt, in order to make the mademoiselle appear to advantage.

“Charles Carey seems to be as much your admirer as he ever was, Margaret,” the Colonel continued. “He would make an excellent husband for you. Fifteen thousand pounds, Mrs Jennings told me he has won in the war. Besides, he is clearly a very caring and thoughtful gentleman, apart from all his naval honours.”

“But you must know that Margaret's hopes lie in another direction,” Marianne blurted out before she could stop herself. “And I think if it were not so obvious that your sister has been plotting against those expectations, then Margaret might have been congratulating herself on an engagement this very evening.”

“Marianne, I know my sister can be trying at times but I am sure she would have no such schemes as you describe. You are being a little fanciful, you know. In any case, I must admit that I am not altogether surprised by Henry's attendance on Mademoiselle Antoinette this evening. She is an old friend; the families have known one another since the old days in France. Henry is a responsible boy, brought up to do his duty.”

“Well, if that is the case and he is inclined to do everything his mother tells him, perhaps you would be better off with Charles Carey, Margaret.”

“Marianne, that is unfair. My sister has done an excellent job of bringing up Henry; he is a most delightful boy.”

“Fortunately, he takes after his father,” Marianne retorted, her dark eyes flashing wildly. “I thought Hannah was unforgivably rude about my sister, who is an angel and far superior in looks and accomplishments to that French madam!”

Margaret sank back in her seat. More than anything she did not want her sister to argue with her husband again. “Marianne, please, it does not matter. Lady Lawrence did not mean to be rude, I am sure. I am sorry to have caused such a fuss. As for Henry, do not worry, I could never tolerate knowing that I was considered second best. If he prefers Mademoiselle de Fontenay, then so be it.”

Marianne turned her head to look out of the window. If the Colonel was to defend the behaviour of both his sister and his nephew, she could not continue the conversation without revealing her true feelings. Time had helped Marianne learn the necessity of curbing her strongest emotions, but at this moment she felt in great danger of exposing herself.

Part of the following morning was taken up with callers, Mrs Jennings in the first instance and Lady Lawrence in the second. Mrs Jennings called on an errand of sincere concern for Margaret, who did not make an appearance due to her further indisposition. Lady Lawrence had no enquiries to make after Miss Dashwood's health and came only to gratify her vanity, expecting to be congratulated on having such fine friends as the Comtesse and her daughter. Marianne was not in a mood to receive either of her callers, was civil with Mrs Jennings, but was as blunt with Lady Lawrence as she felt it possible to be without being overtly rude.