London,” Willoughby cried. “Would that I had the chance to do them over again! But you must remember that I was not at fault.”
“Not at fault!”
“Surely your sister told you all? That letter, that terrible letter, was all my wife’s doing! She, in her jealous insensibility, could not bear that I possessed even the smallest remembrance of you. The ball, where I was unfortunate to meet you under her observation, was to her character intolerable. She demanded of me that letter.
“I had no choice! My finances were in a wretched state, and I had been dismissed from my aunt’s favor. Had any other opportunity offered itself, I swear to you I would have grasped it like a drowning man. But to live, I had to give you up.” Willoughby wore his most pitiful expression. “No, Mrs. Brandon, you need no protection from me!”
Marianne did not care if he was in earnest or not. “I am glad to hear it. However, there are those under our protection who have suffered at your hands, and your presence here is a hardship to them.”
“What? Who do you mean?” His eyebrows shot up. “You speak of Brandon’s chit?”
“Willoughby! That innocent you ridicule is my husband’s ward and the mother of
The gardener started to move closer, obviously alarmed at the tone of the conversation, but Marianne gestured that he stay where he was.
Meanwhile, Willoughby attempted to defend himself. “Innocent! You declare she had nothing to do with her situation. I assure you, madam, that was certainly not the case.”
Marianne grew livid. “For shame, Willoughby! You took advantage of a mere child! I believe my husband schooled you better in manners than that?”
Willoughby’s color rose. “He told you of the duel, did he? I should have known!”
“Of course, he did. There are no secrets between us.”
“Oh, yes, I am sure he told you everything! Tell me, were you impressed with his skill with a blade? Did that make you see him in a more favorable light? For there was a time when you thought as little of him as did I.”
Willoughby blanched, and for a moment, Marianne thought he was going to be ill. Just then they were joined by Elinor, who held a small bundle in her arms. Right behind her was an irate, cudgel-bearing Mr. McIntosh.
With a thankful smile, Marianne took her daughter Joy from Elinor. “Have you met Miss Joy Brandon, Willoughby?” She stroked the child lovingly about the head, cooing at her for a moment before turning her disdainful eyes to her former suitor. “Look, my love. This is Mr. Willoughby. Mark him well. He is just the sort of man with whom your dear papa and mama do
“I see I have wasted my time here,” growled a humiliated Willoughby. “I had thought, I had hoped… but it is no use. Is it possible I might see my child before I leave?”
“Why? You have never requested it before.”
“She is mine, as you say.”
Marianne shook her head. “Only if you formally acknowledge her as your daughter, sir.”
“You know I cannot do that. Mrs. Willoughby would never allow—” Willoughby bit his lip. “Forgive me for taking up so much of your time, Mrs. Brandon, Mrs. Ferrars. I meant no harm, no infamy, I assure you.”
“Why
Gone from Willoughby’s face was the facade of
Marianne sighed sadly. “Oh, Willoughby, you only came because Brandon was not here. You are such a coward. Truly, I do not wish you ill. Look to your own marriage for happiness; you shall find none here.
“Good-bye, Willoughby. I trust we shall not meet again.” With that, she turned and walked towards the house with Joy in her arms and Elinor by her side.
Mr. McIntosh stepped closer to the visitor, his club twisting in his large and rough hands. The gardener joined him, brandishing his trowel. Neither looked the least friendly.
A nervous Willoughby took a reflexive step back. “Here now, none of that.”
McIntosh’s eyebrows twitched. “My mistress bade ye leave, sir. We’re makin’ sure ye do.”
“No need for that,” he said, eyeing the club. “I am leaving directly.”
The steward pointed towards the stable with the cudgel. “You’ll find your horse right where ye left ’im. But a wee bit of a word first. My master, Colonel Brandon, charged me to watch out for th’ missus, an’ that’s my sworn duty, afore God. I’ve marked ye, sir, an’ I mean to let th’ whole of Delaford know of ye. You’re not welcome here, and ye best remember that. Be on your way an’ don’t come back.”
Mrs. Rebecca Buford was walking from the parlor to the music room when she heard a cry come from the library. Rebecca did not hesitate to open the door to see to the matter. She discovered Caroline, staring at a letter in obvious distress.
“What on earth is the matter?”
Caroline looked up wide-eyed at her sister-in-law. For a moment, she struggled with the thought of fleeing to her room without a word. Instead, she did the bravest thing she had yet done in her young life—she handed the letter to Rebecca.
“I do not understand!” cried Rebecca. “This cannot be! You write constantly!” She saw that her sister’s distress had increased. Rebecca instantly realized that she must do what she could to help Caroline, lest the babe be endangered. She tossed the offending letter upon the table and pulled a chair near Caroline to take her hands in hers. “There has been some sort of misunderstanding.”
“He… he thinks I have forgotten him!” Caroline cried. “He feels so betrayed! What shall I do? What has happened to my letters?” She grew even more agitated. “Someone is stealing them! I know it! Who would do such a monstrous thing?”
“No one is stealing them.” Rebecca strove to soothe her sister. “There has been a mistake, that is all.” She picked up the letter again.
“Perhaps the French are sinking our ships on the way to Antwerp!”
“I do not think so. It would have been in the papers—did you say Antwerp?”
