by Jane Odiwe
“Oh, it is not so very bad, I am quite used to it,” Margaret answered, a little put out that Marianne had no feelings for her situation. Going to dine at the Park was a trial she had to endure several times a week. “All the attention will be on me, I suspect, with all the talk of Henry Lawrence and the Delaford Ball. I do not see why you are so worried. I shall be the butt of all Mrs Jennings's jokes and merciless teasing. Lady Middleton will comment on how I have grown and say how much I have improved, glancing in my direction once I suspect, as she does not have time for anyone but her children. Sir John will be as jovial as ever and force us all to be lively. You do not consider anyone's feelings but your own, Marianne. You forget; I am forced to rely on these very people for most of my entertainment. You are let off very lightly, I think. I wish I could hide away with a husband and a child who love me.”
“I am sorry, Margaret, please forgive me,” Marianne begged. “I do not suppose that I have ever considered what your daily life must be. But I have known Mrs Jennings longer than you, and if you think I shall be let off her inquisitions, you are deluding yourself. However, I promise I shall steer our conversation round to that of muslins and fripperies and away from young men.”
“If you really think you shall succeed with that line of talk, then you are very much mistaken, my dear sister,” Margaret retorted. “Have you really forgotten her passion for gossip? I cannot believe it!”
Marianne sighed with resignation. They were passing the signpost for Allenham, the narrow, winding valley a mile and a half from Barton Cottage. Seeing Willoughby again had disturbed her mind, and now she was travelling through countryside she could only ever associate with him. Pulling down the window to breathe the cool air, she could not help being reminded of a time, five years ago, of a season just like this one. She tried to dismiss her thoughts, but they crowded in on her until she was forced to remember a particularly golden, autumnal day, when she had first been taken to see Allenham Court, which John Willoughby would inherit one day. The dwelling he had hinted would also be her future home was the place where he had first stolen more than a lock of her hair.
It was at his suggestion that he show her over the house. They travelled alone in an open carriage, bowling at speed down the green lanes, so fast that Marianne was forced to cling to his arm for fear of being thrown abroad.
He was so pleased and proud to show it off. “Do you like the house?” he asked, taking her hand and helping her down from the carriage. “Would it suit Miss Dashwood to live in a house like this?”
Marianne's excitement knew no bounds. “This house would suit anyone, Mr Willoughby,” came her fervent response, gazing up at the charming edifice.
He took her into the garden first. They strolled away from the house and into a leafy walkway. The fragrance of damp earth and the musk scent of leaves like amber jewels above her head in the arbour were smells she would associate forevermore with those feelings of longing and love. He crooked her arm in his and they wandered through thorned archways, gleaming scarlet with rose hips, embroidered with the lace of jewelled spider's webs. It seemed like a dream come true to Marianne, and the thought that this might be her retreat some day brought on such ecstasies of happiness that she was lost for words. They walked in silence. All she heard were the leaves rustling under her feet, the birds in the trees calling out to one another. Her only desire was to link his arm in hers, and to feel the nearness of his face, his breath so close as to stir her curls. She could not have imagined greater felicity.
After going all round the grounds, he took her inside. They crept about for fear of disturbing Mrs Smith, who slumbered in her chair in the drawing room, quite unaware of their presence. He took her hand as they crept up the stairs with stifled giggles. The ancient oak door opened with a creak into a darkened room, the heavy, old-fashioned drapes drawn against the morning sun to protect the furniture.
Marianne's eyes were not able to adjust to the gloom after the brightness outside. “I cannot see,” she whispered.
He caught both of her hands in his and whispered in reply, “Let me be your guide, Miss Marianne.” He pulled her to him, draping her arms about his neck, before he bent to kiss her lips. She made no attempt to stop him; it all seemed so fitting, the perfect end to a wonderful morning. “I think the sofa will be your favourite spot, I see you in my mind's eye, on that day when you can claim it as your own. I will sit beside you and steal as many kisses as I wish. But for now, I wish to see you reclining there in all your beauty.” He picked her up and deposited her there, before drawing back the curtains and opening the shutters, to flood the room in sunshine, returning to her side where he claimed her heart once and for all.
She had imagined herself living there many times, seated in the corner of that pretty upstairs sitting room, between two windows, unable to decide whether the view of the bowling green and hanging wood were preferable to that of the church and village with the hills beyond. Both views were indelibly etched on her mind, along with every emotion and feeling that would be forever married with every stick of furniture, every object in that quaint, old-fashioned room. No detail of that room or of any of the others she had glimpsed that morning had ever been forgotten. She had made plans for them all in her daydreams, having been so sure that she was to be mistress of Allenham. Indeed, she surely had been mistress, if only for one day, as she had lain in her lover's arms. But time and fate had been cruel in their treatment of Marianne; the days passed by and with them any possibility of those first dreams becoming a reality. Such was the wicked pain of memories she thought were buried forever. They had a habit of returning to haunt her mind as vividly as ever.
Marianne wondered what schemes Mrs Willoughby might one day entertain for its refurbishment with her fifty thousand pounds.
“I bet she will be spending considerably more than the two hundred pounds John Willoughby had suggested might be enough to cheer up the place,” she thought. “I would never confess that despite my situation, living in what anyone would call a superior abode, I am secretly filled with jealousy at the prospect of anyone else undertaking the job I once thought rightfully mine. How foolish I am,” she thought. Marianne removed her gloves and delved into the reticule beside her on the buttoned seat for her handkerchief. A spear of sunlight caught the ring upon her finger, and flashes of diamond sparkles spotted the interior of the carriage. Colonel Brandon's face, his admiring eyes and sweet expression, were immediately brought to mind. “My beloved William; how lost I would be without him.” Yet, the battle she fought within herself seemed impossible to resolve. If only she could be certain that he loved her alone, she would conquer her feelings, she was sure.
Mrs Dashwood was waiting for them at the gate, waving with relief as they arrived. Dusk was giving way to the dark of the evening as they stepped down from the carriage. A weary Marianne gave orders to the coachman, who was staying in the village that evening, to collect her first thing in the morning. Her thoughts turned to home. She wished that William were here with all her heart. She missed him and longed to feel his reassuring presence.
With a heavy heart did Marianne dress herself for the evening's entertainment. She did not wish to admit to herself that she was quite shaken by the episode of the afternoon, but she did acknowledge that the last occupation she needed was to spend any length of time with Lady Middleton's inquisitive mother, Mrs Jennings. She heard Sir John's carriage draw to a standstill outside in the lane, the horses whinnying with impatience to be off again. Marianne adjusted the pearls at her throat and stroked the diamond on her finger as though touching it would bring William nearer to her. If only he were to accompany her to the Park. She knew he would have steered the conversation away from any subject that Marianne did not care to discuss. One look from her was usually enough and he would come to her rescue, but he was not here and she would have to make the best of it. Mrs Dashwood's voice calling her to come down broke her reverie; she picked up her gloves and slowly descended the staircase.
The reception that greeted them all was as welcoming as it could be. Sir John Middleton, a gentleman in his mid forties, was as good looking and as congenial as ever, apologising for the lack of bodies to divert them, saying that had there been more notice of Mrs Brandon's visit he would have secured a much larger party to dine with them. Lady Middleton, an elegant woman of two and thirty, was as reserved as her husband was frank and as cold in her manner as she had ever been on former visits. If she spoke more than a dozen words together for the entire evening, Marianne decided she would have been surprised. In complete contrast to this lady, her elderly mother was affable and merry, talking nonstop, never pausing to take a breath before she ran on to some other subject. She was a tease, full of jokes, and to Marianne's mind was still rather vulgar. However, this aspect of Mrs Jennings's character Marianne was prepared to forgive for the most part, for she had never forgotten the old lady's kindness. Mrs Jennings dominated the conversation from the start and was convinced that Margaret must have a secret beau because of the way she had dressed her hair. She pretended that she had prior knowledge of his name, even when it was quite apparent to everyone else that this could not possibly be the case.
Mrs Jennings's conversation took a turn for the worse, being made up of impertinent questions that more than hinted at her idea of Marianne being in a particular situation on account of the fact that she had detected a want of appetite at dinner. “I daresay I am correct, Mrs Brandon, am I not? I see you blush. Tell me, James is over two years old now, that's right, isn’t it? And I am sure it is about time for him to look forward to having another baby to play with.”
Marianne was as cross as she could be and could not think how to divert the course of the old lady's banter. She soon formed a plan to amuse the whole company and give her an excuse to leave Mrs Jennings's side. She would offer to play the pianoforte. But before she had the chance to speak or remove herself, she heard Lady Middleton suggest that her mother relate the news that she had heard in Barton village that very afternoon.
“Why, yes, I was coming to that, only I have not seen Mrs Brandon for a twelve month and we had important intelligence to divulge to one another first. Now, having got that out of the way, I must tell you I happened to see Mrs Whitaker this afternoon in the village. Poor soul, she is plagued with such ailments, it is a wonder she can walk at all. Her eldest daughter, Elizabeth, who by the bye was at school with my daughter Charlotte, was never expected to marry, what with her being such a plain sort of girl and always so very shy, but is confined and expecting her ninth child as I speak. By all accounts she is not so very timid now…” Mrs Jennings paused to laugh out loud, nudging Marianne with her elbow followed by a theatrical wink. “Do not mind me, Miss Margaret,” she added with a nod towards her direction, “but I daresay we married ladies know to what I surmise…”
Marianne winced with embarrassment and glowered at her mother. She desperately wanted to go back to the cottage and retire to bed. Mrs Dashwood averted her eyes. Mrs Jennings's voice droned on in the background and Marianne hardly attended to a word she said. Her thoughts turned to Delaford. She wondered what William was doing. James would, no doubt, be tucked up in bed now; his dark curls tumbling over the pillow, his cherubic face flushed with sleep. It was hateful not to have said good night to him and she was missing him terribly. William would be in his study, reading his favourite poems, perhaps. She was quite lost in thought.
“…And Mrs Whitaker said that she is very dangerously ill, with only her faithful servants to nurse her,” Mrs Jennings continued. “Poor lady, no children of her own and no sign of the one who is to inherit. He who shall be nameless! You know to whom I refer, Mrs Dashwood.”
Marianne's ears pricked up at the last declaration and guessed that the lady she spoke of was none other than Mrs Smith of Allenham Court, Mr Willoughby's benefactor. Now Mrs Jennings was running through the list of Mrs Smith's ailments and announcing, as if she were the apothecary herself, that it was certain she would be dead before the week was out. Allenham would be empty, a very sad business, or so she had thought at first. “Then I bumped into Mrs Carey, whose cousin had been shopping in Exeter this afternoon. Mary Carey had seen them with her own eyes!”
“I wish you would explain with a little more comprehension, mother. Whom did Mary Carey see in Exeter this afternoon?” begged Lady Middleton, who despite affecting disinterest was clearly anxious to hear a full report.
“Mr and Mrs John Willoughby, of course!”
Mrs Dashwood coloured on hearing this information and cast a glance at her daughter. Marianne was clearly mortified and her mother grieved for her. How could Mrs Jennings be so insensitive?
“Did you not happen to see them yourselves?” the old lady enquired, directing her attention at Marianne, whose blushes were now visible to even the most unobservant of the party. Mrs Jennings looked searchingly into Marianne's countenance, which betrayed every emotion she was feeling, though her voice spoke her hot denial. Margaret was scrutinised next but the latter was unable to speak at all, so afraid was she of betraying the truth of the matter and upsetting her sister further.
“Well, what I want to know is why they are not up at the Court attending their cousin, said I, to Mrs Carey,” Mrs Jennings blundered on, “though I intimated that he had always been somewhat of a character not to be trusted and a very cold fish to boot. And this is not all, Lord bless me. Mrs Carey said that her cousin had been in the linen draper's just half an hour later when she not only heard the reason why the Willoughbys are refusing to be put up at Allenham, but also received the most shocking news of all!”
Marianne faltered. She felt faint and thought she might pass out at any moment.
“Apparently, Sophia Willoughby was talking to an acquaintance as she was going out of the shop, someone whom it appeared must be a near relation. She heard Mrs Willoughby saying that it was insupportable that they should stay at the Court, that the place needed completely fitting up from top to bottom and that she would not step inside it, let alone stay in the place, until all was done to her satisfaction. She finished by saying that with luck, they would be able to start work within a fortnight. Now, what do you think to that? The house is to be occupied by the Willoughbys, who will no doubt make it their family home. Not that there is yet any issue from that marriage to date!”
Marianne knew this to be true. The Willoughbys had not been blessed with any children in the four years they had been married. She wondered what John felt about it all, if he ever thought about the daughter he had never seen. She knew she would never have been able to bear the idea of a child of hers being brought up in the world without any acknowledgement of her existence. Perhaps John Willoughby was the cold fish Mrs Jennings described, though in her heart she protested at such an idea. She did not think him completely reprehensible. After all, he had once tried to explain his past actions to Elinor, for which he had seemed truly sorry.
Sir John broke in immediately, striking up an animated discourse on the weather, declaring that the excellence of such fine days always produced the very best sport. He was well aware of Marianne's discomfort; though not a gentleman to be described as intuitive, he had known the sufferings of both parties, witnessing Marianne and Willoughby's romance from its earliest beginnings to its miserable end. It was entirely due to him that Mr Willoughby had ridden in haste to Cleveland, Charlotte Palmer's home, where Marianne had lain in a grave state. She had become extremely ill not long after discovering Willoughby's engagement to Miss Grey. Elinor had waited until she was out of danger before she had related the gist of what he had confessed. Marianne was told that he had loved her after all, and that he had proclaimed that his heart had never been inconstant. However, it appeared all his motives had been selfish ones. When Mrs Smith had discovered the truth about Eliza Williams, Willoughby, and the resulting child, she had disinherited him on the very day he was to have asked Marianne to marry him. As a consequence, he had secured Sophia Grey's hand for her fifty thousand poun
ds, knowing that he was more attached to Marianne than ever. John Willoughby had admitted to Elinor that he was sure he would never find domestic happiness. Marianne could not but help wonder if this was still the case.
Lady Middleton was heard to murmur something in response to her husband, but their combined efforts were not enough to dissuade Mrs Jennings from speaking.
“Mrs Brandon,” she pronounced, “we are all looking forward to your ball at Delaford. And Miss Margaret, I expect you will be very interested to meet a certain person who by all accounts is described as a prodigiously handsome young man.”
Margaret could not hide her confusion.
“Come now, Miss Dashwood,” the old lady teased, “do not pretend that you do not know of whom I am talking. I daresay you have set your heart on Mr Lawrence, having heard he likes a poem as well as you do.”
Margaret tried her best to smile and think of something to say. She was anxious to steer the conversation away from the Willoughbys and felt compassion for Marianne, who was looking quite mortified. “I am looking forward to the ball very much, Mrs Jennings,” she replied brightly, “and I am hoping to see many of my acquaintances at Delaford. Mr Lawrence will be lucky if I find five minutes to be introduced to him, you know.
Anne Courtney and Jane Wilton are to come, with all their brothers and sisters. I have not seen them since the summer and there will be so much to catch up on.”
Sir John could be as teasing as his mother-in-law. “I know when you young girls protest so much against such a thing that it usually means quite the reverse. I expect you’ll be setting your cap at a certain Mr Lawrence before the evening is out.”
“Oh, indeed,” cried Mrs Jennings, joining in, “it would not do to let Miss Wilton and Miss Courtney get in first. And it will be most fitting as the sister of the hostess, that you will first be engaged to stand up with the guest of honour.”
