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“I see that I have little choice in the matter,” he sighed.

“Well, now you have come to that conclusion, I will leave you to make your decision,” Marianne declared, feeling quite strong and concluding that she had the better of him, despite the violence of her heart beating in her chest. “You must decide whether it would be prudent to stay, to join your friends and face my husband, or whether it might be an altogether better idea to go back to Exeter or wherever you are residing at present.”

“Why did you come to Allenham that day?” he said, fixing her with his dark eyes.

Marianne looked away. She could not tell him the truth and she knew if she allowed him to look too closely, he would know her innermost sensations. “I thought your house was on fire, I could see plumes of smoke,” she lied, picking up a book from the table and examining its cover closely. She breathed deeply and met his eyes. “I came out of curiosity.”

“And were you curious to see what had become of Allenham?” he begged.

“I do not know why you are asking these questions, Mr Willoughby,” Marianne cried with exasperation, slamming the book down again on the table. “You should know that Allenham holds no interest whatsoever, as far as I am concerned. Now, tell me, Mr Willoughby, what is your decision?”

“Please answer my questions, Mrs Brandon. Would you have me stay? Do you wish me to go? I will do as you bid. I do not want to cause undue suffering. If my presence will be an embarrassment, and I fear it must, I am ready to depart. But I will not go until I have heard it from your lips.”

Marianne hesitated for only a second before she heard her voice proclaiming her wishes, with clarity and determination. “Then go, Mr Willoughby. I wish you to leave Delaford immediately.”

He stood, his head bent in contemplation before he looked up at her. Marianne could barely witness the sorrow in his eyes. He looked as though he had been struck and his expression was like that of a wounded animal, whose eyes begged compassion. Wanting to tell him that he could stay, that she wished to offer him her hand in friendship, she remained silent and bit her lip. Staying, she knew, was not an option she could place at his disposal.

“If it pleases you, madam, I shall take my leave,” Mr Willoughby cried, making a low sweep and walking out without a backward glance.

Marianne returned to the dining room as soon as she was able. Telling William about their visitor was a priority, but if she could avoid doing so just yet, she would. She was relieved that there had been no scene and most of all, that Willoughby had desired no confrontation with William. Her spirits rose. Moving about the supper tables, she chatted and laughed as though she hadn’t a care and by the time she came under Mrs Jennings's scrutiny, she gaily dismissed her enquiries with a pretty tale about having to speak to the housekeeper on important matters. But she had to tell someone of her ordeal and as supper came to an end and the whole room flocked back to the ballroom, she was able to commandeer her sisters, who listened with much sympathy. As she came to the conclusion of her story, who should appear before them but Henry Lawrence, eager to dance with Margaret once again. As Margaret accepted readily and skipped off to the dance floor, Marianne could not help but notice Elinor's countenance.

“What is the matter, Elinor? I know that expression of old, you do not look at all happy. Do you think that I should have said more to Mr Willoughby?”

“No, Marianne, it is our sister I have my concerns about,” Elinor replied, watching Margaret and Henry eagerly taking their places in the set. “She has danced too many times with that young man. He is rather too enthusiastic for my liking. And I cannot say that I am at all happy about Mr Lawrence's connection with Mr Willoughby, whatever might be said on the latter now being a respectable character.”

“Henry is utterly charming, Elinor. He is just like his father. And his connection