Willoughby's Return_ A Tale of Almost Irresistible Temptation - Jane Odiwe [16]
Margaret thought it might be wise to change the subject. Her sister was becoming most cross, and Margaret surmised that Marianne's perceived indifference to the subject of the Williams's household was not as impartial as she professed. She was clearly envious of any favour bestowed in Eliza's direction.
Marianne did not like being reminded of Miss Williams's existence. There were times when she was totally convinced of her husband's love, when at last she thought she had triumphed over Eliza, but having since witnessed his expression as he fondly doted upon the painting hanging above the stairwell, she had no doubt that he still harboured longings for his lost love.
“Come, if you have finished your coffee we will go back to the shop and select the finest embroidered muslin, spangled with tinsel and I know not what,” Marianne announced brightly, determined not to linger on such thoughts. They gathered their belongings, wrapped themselves up against the weather and made for the door.
As Marianne reached for the handle, the bell clanged and the door was opened with full force, making her leap nimbly back to avoid being knocked over and injured in the process. Aware that whosoever was standing within the doorway was making no attempt to step forward or back to let her pass, Marianne quickly recovered herself to acknowledge the person. However, her composure was lost the instant she recognised the tall and imposing gentleman who stood before her.
IT WAS JOHN WILLOUGHBY! A thousand feelings rushed upon Marianne, who acknowledged his bowing form and met his earnest gaze with as little hesitation as she was able. The years had not changed him for the worse in her eyes. He was, if possible, more handsome than ever and he made a striking figure. Everything about him suggested and reflected easy wealth, from the styling of his hair to the cut of his blue coat.
He was the first to speak. “Mrs Brandon, how do you do?” His elegant appearance matched his cool manner; he spoke as if they were used to meeting every day in just this way, and Marianne hoped that her troubled feelings would not betray her. He bowed toward Margaret. “Miss Dashwood.”
Margaret became tongue-tied and hoped Marianne would find the strength to speak for them both.
“How do you do, Mr Willoughby?” Marianne answered at last. Her voice remained steady and though she wanted to run away that very moment, she knew she could not. This was a meeting she had always known would eventually transpire, and one that she had half suspected might take place before the day was out.
He stepped aside and raised his hat in a gesture that dismissed them both. Marianne, eager to leave, took Margaret's arm in hers and swept through the doorway without another word or look. She wanted to look back, to see if he observed them still, though she was sure she could feel his eyes burning into her back as they forged ahead. They walked back up the road towards the linen draper's in shocked silence. Marianne hardly knew what she was feeling.
“The worst is over,” she said to herself. “We have met and should we do so again, I shall be able to bear all with feelings of equanimity.”
“Oh, let us go home now,” Margaret begged. “I have no more desire to look at muslins than I wish to tramp about Exeter bumping into personages from the past. We will bump into Mrs Jennings next and the day will be complete.”
This last made Marianne smile. “Do not worry on my account, Margaret, I could not care if I should collide with a murderer along the High Street. I am perfectly able to conduct myself; I am not perturbed by