Willoughby's Return_ A Tale of Almost Irresistible Temptation - Jane Odiwe [90]
With most of the eating accomplished, tables were breaking up and new groups forming. Margaret observed Henry greeting Mr Willoughby and his wife, introducing Mademoiselle de Fontenay, who curtsied prettily. Looking at Henry made her feel more miserable than ever. How soon could they go home? Looking across at Marianne, their eyes met. It was clear that she was thinking the same.
“Where has your beau gone off to, Miss Dashwood?” came Anne's irritating voice to break her reverie. “Mr Mortimer promised me the first dance after supper and now I can’t see either of them. Mind you, we were behaving a little particularly after having danced two together. Maybe he doesn’t want to set tongues wagging against us. If you are about to tease me about him, Miss Dashwood, I do not know what I shall say in return!”
“I have no intention of doing anything of the sort,” retorted Margaret, who could not bear Anne's company any longer. “Excuse me.”
She got up, leaving the room immediately in search of quiet and solitude. Out in the corridor she did not know which way to go. In such a large house it was easy to lose oneself. Heading off the main corridor, she turned, mounting a few steps into a smaller walkway. On spying a door left slightly ajar with a glimpse of bookshelves and an easy chair, she slipped into the room. Flopping down on the seat, she gave in to her feelings at last. Having tried so hard to rein in her emotions, they got the better of Margaret now. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over her cheeks at the recollection of images too painful to recall, her small frame convulsing with racking sobs, which nothing could prevent. After a few minutes, willing herself to stop, she brushed at her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. This would never do. The last thing she wanted was to give Henry the satisfaction of seeing that she was upset. Any feelings of concern and affection for him were rapidly giving way to other sentiments. “He is no better than a libertine,” she thought, “dallying with my heart.” Fetching out her kerchief from her reticule, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
With a determination to triumph over her emotions, she opened the door to set off back to the ballroom. As she turned the corner into the main corridor, she was arrested by the sight of Mademoiselle de Fontenay engaged in conversation with a young man whom Margaret did not recognise. They neither of them appeared to notice her, so engrossed were they in animated dialogue. Margaret managed to pass them undetected; only the agitation in the young man's voice was discernible. A good-looking gentleman, but with the appearance of one who had known better times, Margaret could not distinguish enough of what he said to make sense of his speech. His voice was low and his French dialect so strong that she could not make out a single word, although it was very clear that he was greatly upset. She was most curious, wondering who he could be. Mademoiselle Antoinette was clearly disturbed by what he was saying. Margaret looked about but could see no sign of Henry. As she reached the end of the corridor, she looked back. Antoinette turned to regard her but as Margaret lifted her arm to salute in recognition, the other young lady turned her back as if she did not see her. Margaret was sure that she had been observed. Mademoiselle Antoinette's behaviour was more than a little puzzling.
IN THE BALLROOM, MARIANNE had sat out the first three dances after supper, sitting between Mrs Jennings on one side and Lady Lawrence on the other, who for the most part talked across her and at length on the merits and disadvantages of every match in the room. William had abandoned her to their care,