Willoughby's Return_ A Tale of Almost Irresistible Temptation - Jane Odiwe [105]
Then her eyes alighted on the stick at Marianne's side. “My dear, what on earth has happened? Are you lame?”
Up until that point the offending foot had been hidden underneath Marianne's skirts, but it was impossible not to give some account of her accident. Margaret filled in most of the details, but Marianne noticed that she gave no hint of Mr Willoughby's implication in the whole affair, for which she was really grateful. After expressing much commiseration and recommending ice for the swelling, both girls were relieved when Mrs Jennings called for her carriage.
No sooner had Mrs Jennings left than Henry Lawrence called. He stood at the door looking almost bashful, Margaret thought. He came in at Marianne's invitation and sat down.
“I expect you have heard the news by now that Mademoiselle de Fontenay has left town,” he said.
Margaret could not speak. She stared at Henry, who looked so handsome in his blue coat, she decided. Almost overcome by her feelings, she could not think how to answer him and sat staring, quite mute.
“Mrs Jennings called not ten minutes ago,” Marianne said eventually.
There was silence for a minute after this last statement, broken at last by Henry, who appealed to Marianne and Margaret at once.
“I wondered if I might persuade you to accompany me to Gunter's once more, Miss Dashwood. That is, if I may gain your permission, Mrs Brandon. Of course, Miss Dashwood, I will quite understand if you do not wish to come. Perhaps you are engaged elsewhere. You might have other plans and be expecting other callers this morning who may wish to take you out.” He stood up as if he could not decide whether he should stay or go. “But I should like it above all things if you should come. I must speak to you and explain everything.”
Margaret could hardly contain herself; she didn’t know whether to feel pleased or be cross with Henry. But she knew she was quite prepared to hear him out and if necessary was ready to give him a piece of her mind. “I should like to come with you, Mr Lawrence,” she answered, taking the arm he proffered.
Marianne was unsure whether she was doing the right thing by allowing her sister to go off with Henry. It was indeed a puzzling affair, but she hoped everything might soon be settled one way or another between them so that they could both go home to Delaford. Wanting to leave London was her priority, but she wanted to depart from town with her husband. Where was he? Would he ever come home? There was still no news from Brandon, but she reasoned that the weather had no doubt made delays in the post. In her thoughts the Colonel seemed such a remote figure. Whenever she tried to think of him, the image in her head depicted scenes that she did not want to acknowledge. Haunted by the idea that he was happier in Lyme with Eliza and Lizzy, she imagined him with the child on his knee, kissing her ebony curls. How did he occupy himself in the evenings? Did he read poetry to Eliza as he had once read it to her, sitting by the fire in a cosy inglenook with the curtains drawn against the storms outside? Did he sit in the parlour watching her nimble fingers and swift needle weave their magic? How did Eliza look in candlelight? Like her mother, Marianne had no doubt. Her dreams entwined the pair, Eliza and Brandon joined by the passion of love lost long ago. Marianne, jealous and resentful, felt her solitude and loneliness increasing. She faced the future with dread.
MARGARET COULD NOT HELP feeling a mixture of emotions as she stepped into Sir Edgar's coach. She did not know what to think; anger, excitement, and fear trembled over her in waves. Henry seemed like a stranger; she could not think when last they had really spoken to one another and as yet, Henry had not uttered a word.