Willoughby's Return (18 page)

“Now that I have your attention and the power to talk to you at last, I find it difficult to express my most sincere feelings,” said Mr Willoughby, looking into her eyes, with his own dark pupils like pools of black ink fixed on hers. “But I will come to the point, Mrs Brandon.” He paused and Marianne saw him swallow hard. “I have never had the opportunity to offer my most heartfelt apology to you for my past conduct and…”

Marianne could not bear for him to go on. “Mr Willoughby, this is neither the time nor the place. There is nothing to be gained by bringing back the past and I, for one, would prefer that it remains that way. Please forgive me, but I must return to my mother, who will be worrying about what has happened to Margaret and me.”

All his quiet reserve slipped away. He snatched her hand, pleading with her to listen a moment longer. “I cannot live in this world knowing that you despise me. All I ask is your forgiveness; I want nothing else and I promise I will never bother you again. Only, please tell me there is a chance that you might in your heart acquit me of my crimes, my follies, the greatest mistake I ever made!”

Marianne could not listen without compassion. His expressions, his sentiments seemed sincere. All that he had ever been to her and all the feelings she had ever possessed in his favour came rushing forth in a wave of nostalgia. He had meant the sun and the moon to her, he had been her reason for being, and though such feelings had been replaced with something deeper, the great love she bore for her husband, she could not deny all that he had once been.

“Mr Willoughby, please do not worry that I feel injured or have been made unhappy enough by you to bear a grudge.” Marianne returned his beseeching expression with a weak smile. “I am very happy with my husband and my child who love me. My life is complete. You have had my forgiveness since the night you saw my sister Elinor and there is an end on it. I thank you for your apology, I mean that most sincerely, but I must go now. Excuse me, sir.”

Marianne curtseyed and left before he had a chance to stop her again, hoping that perhaps finally, this nonsense, the unfinished business with Mr Willoughby was over for good. Her spirits felt crushed, her nerves brittle as broken glass, but she forced herself to rally. Elinor would have been proud of her.

Joining the rest of the party, she managed to communicate to her mother that she had seen both Henry and Margaret, and that they were quite well, assuring her that they would be joining them in a little while. Marianne did not want to acknowledge the reason why she told such a lie, though in her heart she recognised the truth, recalling past memories and those precious, snatched moments between lovers who are otherwise closely chaperoned.

Thankfully, within the half hour Margaret and Henry were returned and reunited with the party. Although they had managed to escape being found out, they did not manage to evade Mrs Jennings's tongue. She teased and taunted till Margaret thought she might lose all her resolve by being downright rude to the old lady.

Marianne took her to one side. “I see what you are thinking, Margaret, but you will suffer your punishment unless you want me to tell her what you have been up to with Mr Lawrence. I saw you.”

Margaret's eyes were round. “I did not think anyone had seen us and we were only gone for a few minutes. It was such fun, though Henry drives like a madman, but perhaps I should not be telling you that! Do not look like that at me, Marianne, I remember when you were considerably younger than I am now how you liked nothing better than riding about the countryside for hours on end with a certain beau!”

Off she flounced before Marianne had chance to utter another word. “But in any case,” she pondered, “what on earth could I have said?”

MARGARET DID NOT HAVE to suffer Mrs Jennings's teasing for much longer, however. By the Friday of the following week both that lady and the Middletons had returned to Barton, Mrs Jennings bent on making preparations to make a long visit to her London home. Marianne and Margaret both felt immense relief in equal measures.

The Colonel's expected letter to tell Marianne of his safe arrival in Lyme had been there on her return from the Goose Fair, but Mrs Brandon had felt it sorely wanting. It was a mere scribble, clearly written in haste, and since then there had been no other. Several times Marianne had sat down to compose a letter and abandoned it, feeling the impossibility of writing about their day out without revealing the presence of Mr Willoughby. William would not approve of his being in company with Henry or Margaret, and she felt it might be prudent to tell him when she could see him face to face. At least, that was what she told herself. “In any case,” she thought, “I am sure of William's return home soon. After all, didn’t he say he would not be away for long?”

However, Marianne started to feel more anxious when she had received no further communication by Wednesday. An express letter would do the trick she felt certain, so she wrote immediately begging for an answer. At last the letter came.

Three Cups Inn

Friday, October 29th

My dear Marianne
,

Please forgive me for not writing sooner but we have all had a great deal of worry here these last few days. Indeed, I wish it were in my power to send you good news but sadly the situation is grave and little Lizzy's health is not safe. She is not yet over the worst, though I hope and pray that all our efforts are not in vain. Eliza is worn out with caring for her daughter, and I know you will understand when I tell you that I think it best if I stay with them to help as much as I can. I have returned briefly to the inn to collect my belongings but will remain at Wolfeton for the time being. Keeping a vigil at Lizzy's bedside is all I can do now, and with the help of Mrs Eldon from the village who has been kindness itself, I hope I shall soon be able to send more fortuitous tidings. I have the best help and medicine; please ask God in your prayers to supply the rest.

I know that our separation is hard to bear but I also am assured, my dearest Marianne, that you have the strength and fortitude to endure all that life throws in our path. Until we can be together again, I remain
,

Your affectionate husband
,

William Brandon.

Marianne received this missive with mixed feelings. On the one hand she was genuinely sorry to hear about the child, empathising completely with the anxiety of her mother and that of William also. On the other, she did not like to think of her husband taking what she considered to be such an unnecessary step. She felt there were already enough people in the vicinity that would only be too glad to help the family and she wanted her husband home.

“I cannot bear to think of Brandon and Eliza spending so much time together, of sitting alone with one another,” thought she. “I know Lizzy is ill and I can imagine how concerned everyone must be, but William does not need to be there in the same house all day and all night. I need him to be here with me, and James misses him, too. And as much as he expresses his affection for me on paper, it is not the same as having him here, loving me in the way I need and want to be loved. Does he not ache for me in the same way as I do for him? He cannot or he would be here.”

Once again an image of the first Eliza, William's first love, rose up like a spectre, separating her from Brandon, keeping them apart. But in truth, her fear had little to do with a ghost; this apparition in her head was all flesh, young and beautiful, a girl who was a desirable creature. “Surely Brandon cannot look upon Eliza Williams without seeing her mother and the idea that they are moving to an understanding of another kind looms with intensity. Although I try to tell myself that my fears are unfounded, I am unable to extinguish the visions that creep stealthily into my imagination. There is more at stake here than the frail child who lies ill. How I will cope until he returns to tell me that he loves me alone, I cannot think. I feel my sympathy
for the Williams's predicament slowly turning to resentment however much I tell myself that I am being merciless. Brandon has chosen his other family over ours—it angers me. But there is nothing I can do; I am powerless to change the actions of my husband. My only option is to wait for him to come home and in the meantime I must send messages of comfort and condolence to Eliza and her child.”

November brought sparkling frosts and freezing rain but as the cold weather hardened so did Marianne's heart, even if her husband's letters were as affectionate as ever with promises to return as soon as Lizzy showed signs of real improvement. As she recalled that the child's birthday was at the end of the month, she suspected that Brandon would not yet return even if the child were recalled to full health. At least she had Margaret, her mother, and little James for company. They were a sombre party enlivened only by visits from the parsonage.

Margaret despaired at the weather, which prevented little society from attending them. When she would see Henry again she could not imagine, so she was delighted when an invitation came for them all to dine at Whitwell. Sir Edgar hoped very much that they would join them for a small family dinner. Marianne was pleased to have the opportunity to get out of the house; she was in poor spirits. As each day passed her anxiety increased. An evening out would do her good, even if she had to suffer Hannah's company. At least Margaret would be able to see Henry and with luck, her mother might be prevailed upon to entertain Lady Lawrence. A quiet dinner would be perfect, Sir Edgar always cheered her up, and what was more, he also seemed as keen as she to promote his offspring's growing attachment to her sister.

On arriving at Whitwell, the news that Henry met them with gave rise to sudden feelings of trepidation and alarm. He bounded down the front steps like an exuberant puppy with warmth and affection, greeting them all with great affability.

“Welcome once more to Whitwell,” he declared with a flourish and a scraping bow. “I could not wait for you to come; we have been so dull here since the Goose Fair. Come in, Mother and Father are waiting within and relying on you all to enliven the party and amuse our guest.”

“But I thought it was only to be a quiet, family dinner,” said Marianne, who did not think she could cope with any well-meaning neighbour to talk to and entertain at present.

“Oh, it is only Willoughby,” Henry cried, “his wife has left him to visit friends, so I took pity on him.” He took Margaret's arm and marched her up the steps at speed, disappearing through the great front doors. He suddenly reappeared to shout and wave his arms at Marianne and Mrs Dashwood, who were exchanging looks of great misgiving. “Come along, Aunt Brandon, I know you will be able to divert my friend and stop him yawning. Poor thing, he has spent too much time in the company of my mother!”

Marianne could not have been met with worse news than if she had learned that there were to be an entire neighbourhood present. Her only desire was to turn tail and run home with or without the carriage that had conveyed them.

“My love, it will not be so very bad,” whispered Mrs Dashwood. “And we do not have to stay long; I will complain of a headache after dinner and we may go home.”

“Oh, Mama, this day will finish me off, I am sure. If only William would come home. What can he be doing to leave me for so long, completely at the mercy of his relatives?”

There was no more time for Mrs Dashwood to answer. Henry escorted them all to the drawing room, where Marianne soon perceived that after her mother was seated beside Sir Edgar with her sister on the other side of Henry and his mother, that the only empty seat in the room was next to the one occupied by Mr John Willoughby.

Thankfully, there was no immediate need for conversation as Lady Lawrence held sway for the first ten minutes. She barely acknowledged Marianne, completely ignoring her attempts to enquire after her health. Hannah Lawrence was too busy launching into an impassioned speech on the folly of marrying too soon and the benefits of a gentleman's education, assuming that the whole room was rapt by her discourse.

“Of course it was another matter in my day, especially if a suitable alliance had been made. But I am apt to think quite differently on the subject nowadays. Our young men must see something of the world before embarking on matrimony, I feel. I do not consider a gentleman ready for wedlock until he is at least thirty years old. His education is paramount. Do you not agree, Mrs Dashwood?”

“I do believe that a good education is desirable,” answered Mrs Dashwood, pausing to smooth her gown, “but I think it might take many forms. Marriage can be an education in itself; I believe I learned far more in my marriage about the world and life in general than I ever did before it.”

“For the weaker sex, I think you are quite correct, Mrs Dashwood, but a young man needs so much more in order to become fully informed, enlightened, and polished.” Lady Lawrence put her hand out to rest her long jewelled fingers on Henry's arm.

“I am sure there is no other young man so informed or cultivated as Henry,” Marianne interjected. She was certain Lady Lawrence was trying to make the point that he was not ready to marry Margaret.