you.”
“Let us not talk of the past but look to our future. We have a wonderful life ahead of us, my darling. I must admit, though Lyme has had a tremendous effect on my spirits, I am looking forward to going home to Delaford. We will return to London tomorrow to collect Margaret on the way.”
“I must confess I am a little worried about Margaret,” admitted Marianne. “I haven’t had a letter from her since I came away. Well, I expect she has been busy with Mrs Jennings. I do hope she is having a better time of it.”
“We must send a letter,” said the Colonel, “and thank Mrs Jennings for her pains. Why did you not tell me of this before?”
“I did not wish to worry you, and I imagined it was just thoughtlessness on Margaret's part,” said Marianne, wishing she had spoken earlier.
As the Colonel called to the servant to bring him writing materials, the landlady approached, two letters in her hand. “These have just come by express, ma’am, I hope it's not bad news.”
Marianne scrutinised the handwriting on the first but could not distinguish its owner. She eagerly undid the seal with impatient fingers.
Passing the letter to William, she hesitated, waiting for the curious landlady to leave before opening the second. “Oh, William, I should not have left Margaret on her own. What can it mean?”
Marianne could not imagine that the latest letter contained any better news, but it was worse than she could possibly have imagined.
“We must leave for London immediately,” Marianne cried, unable to remain calm. “What on earth can have happened? Oh, William, I knew Margaret was not in her right mind when I left, but I can hardly credit this behaviour.”
“I can credit Willoughby with almost any behaviour,” Brandon said grimly. “Come, we must leave now. I only hope we are not too late.”
Marianne could not voice her fears. It all seemed to make perfect sense. The balance of Margaret's mind had not been right. When Marianne thought about the outings that Margaret had been making on her own, everything suddenly seemed clear. Henry Lawrence was to blame, she thought. If he had not broken her sister's heart, none of this would have happened. Margaret had always been in love with Willoughby, an infatuation that had now brought her to ruin. But what had been his motives? What did he want with a young girl? That he might wish to take his revenge in some dreadful way for having been spurned by Marianne was a thought which immediately crossed her mind. She shuddered to think of the possibilities.
Their journey went off well. Colonel Brandon decided it would be quicker if they travelled through the night, only stopping for refreshment at a roadside inn and for the purpose of changing the horses. On the second day they arrived in town at five o’clock and travelled straight to Berkeley Street to find Mrs Jennings. However, they were dismayed to discover that she was not at home and, not knowing what else they could do for the moment but see if there were any more news in Manchester Square, they directed the coachman to return to their home. As the carriage came to a standstill, Marianne looked up at the house with a sinking heart. How they were to find Margaret and discover what had happened to her she had no idea. What was she to tell her mother? How would Mrs Dashwood react when she heard the news?
As they entered the hallway, Marianne was stunned and surprised to see Margaret running down the stairs toward her, followed not far behind by Henry and Mrs Jennings.
“Margaret, you are safe! Thank goodness! We were so worried about you,” Marianne cried, throwing her arms about her sister with a mixture of relief and genuine affection at seeing her. She looked toward Mrs Jennings, who smiled conspiratorially.
“Miss Margaret was in safe hands after all,” the old lady said.
“Yes, I am safe and it is all thanks to Mr Willoughby. Look, Marianne, I am engaged to be married and with the blessing of Lady Lawrence, too. We are to be married next week!”
Neither Marianne nor the Colonel could understand what Margaret was talking about, but there on Margaret's wedding finger sparkled an emerald and diamond ring for everyone to see.
“Speak up, Henry, what is the meaning of this?” William Brandon declared in a stern voice.
“It is true, Uncle William. Margaret and I have been secretly engaged for some time now.”
“But what has Mr Willoughby to do with it?” asked Marianne, who could make neither head nor tail of any of their story.
“Henry was leaving for the continent, but he wanted me to go with him, as we could not bear to be apart for a year as Lady Lawrence wished. We were to run away. Mr Willoughby pretended that he would help us when all the time he was plotting against our elopement,” cried Margaret.
“Mr Willoughby persuaded my mother that we should be allowed to marry,” Henry interrupted. “He has quite a way with the ladies, you know, and especially with my mother. He told her that he had once loved someone that he should have married, though he was comforted by the fact that she is married now to a better man than he. Mr Willoughby even extracted a letter out of my mother giving her consent. He was determined to do what he could before he went away.”
“Where has Mr Willoughby gone, Henry?” asked Brandon.
“He has taken his wife abroad to the continent. Willoughby had a hankering to see Switzerland and the Alps. He gave me this letter to be entrusted to you, Uncle Brandon.”
Marianne could not believe what she was hearing. She was so relieved to find Margaret so happy and glad to
