Willoughby's Return (9 page)

She stared at him, forcing him to look at her, and when she was sure that she held his permanent regard, she laughed in her most endearing way, before promptly blowing out the candles. Rising deftly, she went to stand before him, so that she could be
admired with greater ease. Marianne bent toward him to whisper in his ear. “I have a present for you, my love,” she whispered, “but, alas, I am very remiss. I have forgotten to bring it with me. Do you think you could bear the inconvenience of accompanying me to my chamber to receive it?” She stroked his face with her slender fingers and caressed the curls at the nape of his neck. “Would you oblige me, my darling?”

Colonel Brandon did not answer. He was as captivated and ready to comply as a soul bewitched. He rose, enfolded her in his arms, and felt the pleasure of his wife submit to his sweetest kisses.

AFTER BREAKFAST NEXT MORNING, the Brandon family made ready to travel the short journey to Whitwell. Marianne did not really wish to go despite her curiosity to see Henry and meet him at last. Hannah Lawrence always did her best to discompose Marianne, and no matter how hard she tried her sister-in-law rebuffed any attempts to be congenial. At least Sir Edgar was kind and always appeared to be glad to see her. So it was that just over half an hour later they were bowling up the drive of Sir Edgar Lawrence's country estate, to come to a standstill before the grand Palladian mansion known as Whitwell House.

James's behaviour had been reasonably subdued during the journey, but once out of the coach he found his energy and liveliness once more. Between Marianne and the nursemaid they managed to ascend the many steps with some semblance of order. The Brandons were shown into a large salon, filled with the most beautiful fittings and furniture. The style was French, the room ornate with gilded chairs, pier glasses, and chandeliers of the finest crystal. The silk-covered walls glowed with coral
shades and iridescent hues of shell pink, further illuminating the room in flowing drapes at the floor-length windows, in the decorative ceiling, and in the Aubusson rug, which burgeoned with fat summer roses and green leaf garlands.

Lady Lawrence sat upon a velvet sofa, bolstered with pads and rolls, guarded by golden lion heads on either arm, which seemed ready to spring into life and leap out at anyone who might come to disturb her apparent idle repose. Despite the warmth of the day, she was covered to her waist by a heavy coverlet fringed with gold braid. She did not get up when they entered but excused herself, claiming that the damp of the day was responsible for her inability to stand.

William marched quickly to his sister's side, all concern, expressing his pleasure in seeing her again. “My dear Hannah, it has been too long. I am sorry to see you so indisposed. It is not your old trouble again, I hope?”

Hannah Lawrence, Marianne decided, was a woman of faded beauty. She imagined that at one time she would have been considered extremely attractive, but that a combination of ill temper and indolence had taken their toll. Lady Lawrence stretched out her hand to Marianne but did not meet her eyes when she took it. The lady ignored her and continued to address William as if she was not even in the room.

“Oh, William, you always understand. You are such a comfort to me, that I know I shall feel quite enlivened and ready to face whatever may befall me by the close of the day. Come, sit with me and tell me your news.”

James, who had become very quiet in the presence of his aunt, now left the nurse's side and came to stand by his mother, as though he were quite aware of the unspoken rebuke.
He was soon noticed, however much he tried to hide behind Marianne's skirts.

“James, come here and let me look at you,” commanded Lady Lawrence. “There is no need to be so shy. Dear me, I never saw such timidity in a child. Come forward, I say. Mrs Brandon, how do you countenance such behaviour?”

Marianne noted the embarrassed expression on William's face as he also failed to cajole James into greeting his aunt. Marianne whispered encouragingly into James's ear and the child stepped forward.

Fortunately, at that precise moment, Sir Edgar walked in and Marianne's spirits were lifted. His attitude and manner were as far from his wife's as it was possible to be. He was an athletic man of five and forty, with a figure and disposition that would convince the majority of those who met him on first acquaintance, of being at least ten years younger than his real age and at least half that of his spouse. He had the talent, which his wife did not possess, of making Marianne feel instantly at home.

“My dear Mrs Brandon, how charming it is to see you again. But where is your baby? For this young man cannot be the bairn I met last time!”

James beamed, running instantly to Sir Edgar's side and holding up his hand to him. He had not forgotten this kind gentleman, though it must be several months or more since he had seen him last. Before long the little boy was sat on his uncle's knee, pulling at his whiskers, emptying his pockets, and making such a commotion that Marianne was forced to intercede and call Kitty over. Disapproving clucks were heard from Lady Lawrence, and Marianne wished she could be anywhere else but under the scrutiny of that forbidding lady. A coin produced from
Sir Edgar's pockets and a pat on the head was a clear signal as far as nurse Kitty was concerned. James was taken away for a walk round the grounds, but not before a promise was extracted from Sir Edgar that he should play with him again later.

Marianne was very pleased that he urged her to sit next to him. “Now then, my dear sister,” he said, turning to her after he had made his enquiries to the Colonel, “I expect you are wondering where young Henry has got to and why he is not here to introduce himself as was promised. He will be along in just a little while but he has been delayed. We have had a visitor this morning. He arrived quite unexpectedly, a cousin of an old school fellow of Henry's, I believe. They’ve been out shooting, but I’m expecting them back at any moment. He appears to be a capital fellow, and a very respectable gentleman by Henry's account. I am pleased he has some acquaintance in these parts.”

“All young men love to have a little sport,” cried Marianne. “And on such a day as this I am sure Henry can find no better employment. It will be pleasant for him to have the company of another young fellow.”

“Aye, you are quite right and that very idea brings me to something else. I’ve a mind to ask our guest to stay on for a while. It seems he might be able to put a decent property in Henry's way, and you know what young men are for increasing their fortunes, Mrs Brandon. I’ve a mind he wants to mess about on an estate of his own; I am keen to help him for he will not wish to wait until I am in my grave before he has a home of his own.” He chuckled at this idea.

“Oh, Sir Edgar,” cried Marianne, “do not talk of such a dreadful event!”

“Nay, my dear, well it will come to us all, sooner or later.” He fiddled with the fob at his waistcoat and pulled at his stock with some agitation. He looked as if he might be going to stand, then changed his mind and turning to face her, beamed with all his usual cordiality. “May I ask a great favour, Mrs Brandon?” he said at last.

“Why, of course, Sir Edgar, it would be my pleasure to bestow upon you any favour you desire,” Marianne declared.

“It is a favour I ask on Henry's behalf. He is most anxious that the sale of the property I mentioned will be seen to completion. Would it be too much to ask that if this young man could be persuaded to stay on, that he be included in our small circle? I do not know that he has many friends in the area, and an invitation to your ball at Delaford would make Henry happy, I know.”

“Well, of course, I should be delighted to invite Henry's friend. Indeed, invite whosoever you like, the more the merrier,” laughed Marianne. “I am sure we would all enjoy the society of a pleasant young man and though the young ladies will hate me for saying so, I am certain every one under the age of twenty-five will be anxious to meet him.”

“Well, that's settled then. Thank you, my dear, I knew you would understand.”

“What are you discussing, my dear?” Lady Lawrence was heard to say from across the room. She was sitting up with more animation, clearly anxious to hear all that was being said on any subject that she was not a party to.

“I was just telling Mrs Brandon about Henry's plans,” admitted the jovial gentleman, “and have just extracted an invitation to attend the ball for his young friend. I do hope that is acceptable to you, Brandon, old chap.”

Colonel Brandon nodded. “Of course, we would welcome any friends of yours, Sir Edgar.”

“Just what your wife said, only more prettily,” chuckled Sir Edgar. “The thing is, Brandon, Henry is after a pretty property of his own and this young man has one to sell. Dash it all, what's his name, Hannah? I should forget my own name if it wasn’t scribed in the family bible!”

“Why, it's Willoughby,” his wife answered, “Mr John Willoughby. I could not forget the name of such a gallant and handsome young man.” She laughed and patted her curls in a girlish manner.

Marianne caught her husband's expression and their eyes met across the room. There could not be two John Willoughbys in this part of the world. Brandon looked most uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

His sister continued. “Henry wishes to increase his prospects, you understand, and such an opportunity could not be turned down. I believe the property needs a little attention but I am sure if Henry and Edgar can secure it, he will enjoy making the improvements.”

Marianne's heart was beating so fast she was sure it could be heard. Was Willoughby to sell Allenham Court? This did not fit with the intelligence from Mrs Jennings, who had intimated that the Willoughbys themselves were to live there and that plans had already been drawn up for major works to be started. One thing was certain. It was very clear to Marianne that Hannah Lawrence had no prior knowledge about John Willoughby and that her brother's shared history with that gentleman, or indeed her own, were quite unknown. Relief of a kind washed over her, only to be replaced by the thought that
Sir Edgar had informed them that Henry and his friend would soon be making an appearance.

As if her thoughts were transpired into reality, there came sounds from without the salon doors. Voices, talking loudly, were soon followed by the doors being flung wide open, to reveal a tall, handsome, fair-haired man whom Marianne had never seen before, waving the servant away. A younger version of Sir Edgar stood before them, bowing and smiling, but there was no sign of his companion, for which Marianne felt grateful.

“Henry! You are come at last,” cried his mother. “Come in and say how do you do to your uncle. He is most anxious to see you again. William, here is my dearest son, Henry.”

Marianne was sensible of the slight made against her for a second time that morning and did not know where to look. Henry Lawrence, however, as charming as he seemed, nodded towards Brandon but then presented himself before her. He bowed and held out his hand in greeting. “No one told me I had such a beautiful aunt, Mrs Brandon. It is an honour to meet you.”

Marianne was enchanted and could not help smiling at this rather forward gentleman. She guessed they were of a similar age to one another, and it amused her to think that he was indeed her nephew.

He crossed the room next, to shake Brandon's hand. “It is good to see you, Uncle William; it is some time since I saw you last. I have not forgotten the wonderful times we had, how you taught me to ride and to fish.”

“Of course, the summer before you left for France, I remember it well. You were determined you should be able to ride before you got to Avignon and if I recall, you succeeded, too,” William answered.

“I was determined I should show those French boys how to ride the fiercest stallion with panache,” he cried. “And I did, too, thanks to you.”

“Is Mr Willoughby with you?” asked Lady Lawrence, cutting in with no regard for anyone else.

“Oh, he begged to leave his apologies, Mama, but he had business to attend to in Exeter this afternoon,” Henry replied. “He said he had put us out quite enough already and did not want to disturb us further. I told him my Uncle William was here for a visit, so he did not expect to be included.”

“I was hoping we might persuade him to stay,” Sir Edgar added.

“Oh no, his wife is in Exeter waiting for him. They have taken a house in Southernhay, I believe.”

“I did not realise that Mr Willoughby is a married gentleman,” Sir Edgar went on. “Well, Mrs Brandon here has invited your friend to the ball at Delaford, and I daresay his wife will be most welcome too. Isn’t that capital?”

“Have you really, Mrs Brandon?” Henry cried, turning and bowing with a full flourish. “You really are the kindest aunt any nephew ever had!”

Marianne could not decide whether he was teasing her until she caught him winking at her surreptitiously a moment later. She tried to be cross with him but his ways were so endearing it was not possible. She wondered how Henry had been introduced to his friend and could not resist making enquiries. “Have you known Mr Willoughby long?” she asked, knowing her husband was observing her and listening to every word, despite the fact that his sister kept talking over the top of anyone who chose to start a conversation.