“My goodness, nay, it cannot be. Mr John Willoughby. Lord, bless me, are we talking of the same Mr Willoughby? He is to come here this evening, to Delaford? Are you quite sure? Does the Colonel know about this?”
Before Sir Edgar had a chance to reply, Marianne, who had been observing this contretemps from a little distance, stepped up. “Excuse me, Mrs Jennings, I am so sorry to butt in, but I have come to claim my dance and I will brook no refusal. Sir Edgar, you will break my heart if you do not keep your promise.” She took his arm immediately and led him off, leaving Mrs Jennings, her jaw slack and her mouth open. Marianne saw her stare after them and watched her turn instantly to her daughter, Lady Middleton. Thankfully, William was there to charm Mrs Jennings into accepting a turn about the dance floor and, having taken in all that had passed between her and Sir Edgar, removed her from her daughter's side. Brandon soon took Mrs Jennings into his confidence, relating the tale of Sir Edgar's house buying and Henry's connection with the Willoughbys, whilst extracting a promise of her silence on the subject. Of course Mrs Jennings could not resist dropping a few hints to Marianne later that she knew all about the episode, adding that she would be confidentiality itself, excepting any occasion where that good-for-nothing fellow might show his true colours. Upon witnessing such a scenario, she would not hold back to give him a piece of her mind. Needless to say, Marianne did not feel consoled by these reassurances.
In the meantime, Margaret enjoyed her two dances with Henry and had passed from feeling a little cross with him for his teasing ways to have elevated him in her mind to the most wildly romantic suitor she had ever known. He insisted on dancing with her again and this time she made no attempt to refuse him. She thought her fondness for dancing with Henry had gone unnoticed, but Elinor was waiting for her with an expression that told her she had observed all three consecutive dances.
“Margaret, I am very pleased to see that you are making Mr Lawrence feel welcome, but I think perhaps you are taking your duties as a hostess a little too enthusiastically. It is not seemly, dear, to dance with a gentleman three times in a row. Besides, there are many young ladies here tonight who I am sure would like to take their turn.”
“Oh, Elinor, I would not have done so but he insisted,” declared Margaret. “I would hate Mr Lawrence to think I am rude and that I did not enjoy his company. What else could a girl do?”
“You could have declined him gracefully,” Elinor admonished. “A gentleman, one worth pursuing, would not put a young girl in such a situation. People will talk, you know.”
“Oh, let them talk,” Margaret declared. “I do not care about the opinions of old ladies with nothing better to do than sit and spread malicious falsehood about others. And understand this; I am not pursuing Mr Lawrence, whatever you might think. I hardly know the man!”
Margaret turned on her heel, leaving Elinor to sigh and wonder at the similarity between her sisters, both hotheads, both determined to have their way in everything and utterly insensible of the devastation they caused around them. Well, there was hope, Elinor thought, when she considered how Marianne had improved since her marriage. Though it was impossible not to feel concerned at this moment. Marianne looked as if she had just seen a ghost. Elinor thought she had never seen her looking so drawn and pale. Perhaps she should talk to her at supper and find out if anything was amiss.
The gong rang out, calling the weary dancers to rest awhile and replenish their energy. All the guests hurried off to the dining room, where tables were set, groaning under the weight of a magnificent spread. The musicians laid aside their instruments and dashed to the servant's hall for a glass of negus and a bowl of soup. Colonel Brandon ushered his guests, Sir Edgar and Henry Lawrence, to his table, where much to her great delight, Margaret already sat, with her mother, the Middletons, and Mrs Jennings. There was such a hubbub and frenzied bustle about the room as people found their chairs and struck up conversation. Every little party was talking nineteen to the dozen, piling plates with cold meat and hot pies, sweets and sorbets, filling glasses with ice cold wine. Everyone had so much to say and wanted to say it all at once. The sound of chattering, braying, prattling, and screeching, punctuated by howling laughter or tittering giggles, added to the delirious atmosphere.
Henry took his seat next to Margaret. “This evening is surpassing all my expectations,” he whispered, smiling into her eyes. “This is so much fun, do you not agree, Miss Dashwood?”
“I do, indeed, Mr Lawrence,” she replied. “I am enjoying myself very much, though I would more so if I felt we were not under so much scrutiny. Do not look now, but we are being observed.”
“Let me guess, Miss Dashwood,” he responded, “Lady Middleton and her sweet mother are watching us and, no doubt, trying to catch the essence of our conversation. Hmm, let me see. I must give them something on which to ponder and discuss.”
He selected a dish of pink, heart-shaped marchpane and, taking one between thumb and forefinger, proffered it toward her, proclaiming in an audible voice for all to hear, “Miss Dashwood, may I offer my heart? Pray, do not leave me in suspense, I beg you. Do not break it, but take it and devour it whole!”
Margaret felt mortified, especially when she saw Lady Middleton exchange knowing glances with Mrs Jennings. Everyone laughed when Margaret refused to take the heart and even more so when Henry begged again and it was only when Mrs Jennings spoke that the table fell silent.
“Colonel Brandon, where is your dear wife? Has she not come in to supper? I cannot think where she can be and for that matter, I cannot recall when I saw her last. I hope she is not ailing; she did look a trifle pale after the last dance. Bless my soul, but I must say it is probably wiser that she sit down more often.”
Margaret looked about the room and, in so doing, caught her sister Elinor's solemn expression. They had each perceived the hints that Mrs Jennings was making and knew their sister would be far from pleased. But apart from that neither of them could see Marianne and both recognised the solicitous mien in the other.
Chapter 13
Just before the supper bell had sounded, sending the throng swarming like hornets to the dining room, Marianne had been waylaid by her butler.
“There is a gentleman asking to speak with you, my lady,” he said in a low voice, “a Mr John Willoughby. He wishes a private interview with you. Shall I send him away or summon the Colonel?”
Marianne had felt very tempted by the offer to send for help but knew that she would have to be the one to grant him an interview. She owed him that much at least, and she was gratified by his conduct. He had not come waltzing through the door expecting to be greeted with open arms.
“No, that will not be necessary, Thompkins, I will come right away,” she answered, smoothing her gown and pushing back a strand of hair that had escaped from her headdress.