to the ballroom, she was able to commandeer her sisters, who listened with much sympathy. As she came to the conclusion of her story, who should appear before them but Henry Lawrence, eager to dance with Margaret once again. As Margaret accepted readily and skipped off to the dance floor, Marianne could not help but notice Elinor's countenance.
“What is the matter, Elinor? I know that expression of old, you do not look at all happy. Do you think that I should have said more to Mr Willoughby?”
“No, Marianne, it is our sister I have my concerns about,” Elinor replied, watching Margaret and Henry eagerly taking their places in the set. “She has danced too many times with that young man. He is rather too enthusiastic for my liking. And I cannot say that I am at all happy about Mr Lawrence's connection with Mr Willoughby, whatever might be said on the latter now being a respectable character.”
“Henry is utterly charming, Elinor. He is just like his father. And his connection with Willoughby is not really based in friendship but in business. I am sure that Henry's desire for a house of his own is at the heart of their association.”
“Nevertheless, Margaret should not be throwing herself at him like that!” Elinor gestured toward the floor where the happy couple danced, apparently with eyes and ears for no one else. Margaret was gazing up at Henry with a face shining with adoration. Marianne observed the picture they made with feelings of pleasure. Margaret's animated dancing, her sparkling eyes, and vivacity told her all she needed to know. Her sister might deny it in the morning, but Marianne was convinced that Margaret was falling in love. Everything was working out exactly as she had planned. “Elinor, you are being too silly for words. It is clear he is as smitten as she. What a match it will be!”
Elinor opened her mouth to respond once again, when the sisters were both joined by Sir Edgar, beaming from ear to ear. “Why, it does my old heart good to see such splendid dancing. What a handsome couple they make.”
“They do indeed, Sir Edgar,” Marianne heartily agreed, nudging her sister to make a response. Elinor smiled and nodded her assent, though Marianne knew that her warm acknowledgement belied her true feelings.
“I think Mr Willoughby must have run into problems at Allenham. What a pity, he was looking forward to joining our party. I expect he is most upset,” said Sir Edgar. “But Henry has been so occupied that I do not think he has even noticed his absence,” he went on. “He certainly seems to be enjoying Miss Margaret's company.”
“Indeed, I would venture to say that the delight appears to be on both sides,” Marianne replied with a laugh.
“I have been forming a little plan,” Sir Edgar continued, “a little scheme which I hope will be to all our liking. The Goose Fair at Colystone is to be held next Saturday and I wonder if it is the sort of amusement that you might both enjoy, Mrs Brandon, Mrs Ferrars. I would be honoured if you would join us to make a party to attend the Fair, with the Colonel, Mr Ferrars, and all your other guests, of course. I am sure Henry would like it above all things if Miss Margaret were to come, too.”
“I should love that, Sir Edgar,” declared Marianne with excitement. “And I can speak for the Colonel, too. I know he will love to come. I’m sure such an outing will be more than agreeable to Margaret, also. I cannot speak for my mother, the Middletons, or Mrs Jennings of course, but we will be delighted to come!”
“Unfortunately, Mr Ferrars and I are otherwise engaged,” answered Elinor in a serious tone. “We have our visiting to do on Saturday and one of our parishioners, Mrs Thomas, is quite unwell at present. She looks forward to our calling on her so much that I would hate to disappoint the poor old lady.”
“Surely you could miss Mrs Thomas's visit just once, Elinor. We will have such fun!” Marianne entreated.
“No, I could not upset the dear lady, and she is not the only one who relies on us, you know. There are many in the village that look forward to seeing Edward. He would not miss his duties, Marianne.”
“Well, my dear,” Sir Edgar butted in, “I hope you shall visit us up at Whitwell on another occasion. Bring your children too, I always love to hear the sound of laughter in the house, and now Henry is grown it is not the same. Still, we can always hope that the place will be filled with grandchildren, one of these days. Let us hope it will not be too long before that happy event, eh, Mrs Brandon?” Sir Edgar winked at Marianne, who could not help smirking also. He excused himself with a bow, saying he would mention his thoughts and ideas to Henry, and then left them.
“See, Sir Edgar thinks they are as smitten as I do,” Marianne announced with triumph.
“Oh, Marianne, it is too soon to be making such judgements. They have only just met and we know nothing of his character. His family may be good but that is not enough for a suitable marriage in my opinion. I do not understand how you can be marrying off our sister before you know anything about Henry Lawrence.”
“I have seen enough to make my judgement and if Margaret loves him, that is good enough for me,” Marianne retorted. “And now, if it is not too late, I shall go and claim the last dance of the evening with my dear husband. Come, Elinor, where is Edward? Let us make merry!”
Chapter 14
Everyone declared the ball had been a great success. All were merry at breakfast, none more so than Margaret, who seemed to take great enjoyment in dropping Henry's name into the conversation at every opportunity. She didn’t even appear to mind when teased by Mrs Jennings, who pronounced that she was sure Henry would call before the day was out.
Marianne was subdued and lost in her own thoughts. She had been going to tell William what had passed with Mr Willoughby when they had at last gone to bed in the small hours, but the time for confession had never seemed to be quite right. In the morning, there had been so much to think about and organise for all their guests, that again the moment for relating the exchange between her and Willoughby did not take place. Marianne began to think that there was little point in upsetting William unnecessarily. Perhaps it would be wise not to mention the fact that he had called; after all, there was nothing to be gained by troubling her husband. And it was certain that the knowledge of his wife being privy to a private interview with that gentleman would, without doubt, distress Colonel Brandon. Marianne decided she would not mention it.
The menfolk took themselves off to go shooting after breakfast, and the ladies were left to amuse themselves with a variety of diversions. Mrs Jennings and Lady Middleton sat with Marianne and her mother in the drawing room to have over the events of the previous evening. Margaret escaped as soon as she could into the gardens outside. She made her way to the yew arbour with a favourite book, although she suspected before she had even reached the seat that she would not find time for much reading. Margaret sought solitude in order to daydream and spend her time in reverie without being disturbed from her pursuit or having to answer impertinent questions. From her vantage point, on rising ground behind the house, she could see the road below, but there was nothing much to interest her there; not even a carriage rumbling by to take her notice. Opening her book, she began to read, but the printed words soon swam before her eyes in a muddle. All she could see was an image of Henry in her head. Henry's handsome face was before her, smiling with that expression, half tender, half mocking. “I wish Mrs Jennings were right for once,” she thought, “how lovely it would be if Henry were to call.” She twisted sideways, pulling her feet up onto the bench, and wrapped her cloak around her legs against the cold seeping up from the ground. Just as she was wishing that Henry were there by her side, her attention was caught by the sight of a horse being led by its master along the roadside. The man was talking to the horse, which appeared to be in some pain, limping along. Margaret watched with her heart in her mouth as it became apparent that the young gentleman was none other than the very person she most wished to see.
From her seat, concealed amongst the yew boughs, she was quite hidden from the road. She observed him walk the length of the thoroughfare until he came opposite her viewpoint. Margaret could sit no longer and watch. Jumping up, she ran out from her hiding place and down the slope of the lawn, past the sundial, through the yew avenue and along the narrow path, to an ivy-covered door set within the garden wall. Trying to turn the rusty key in the lock gave her difficulty and she feared she would not be able to accomplish this task before he had long passed by. At last the key turned and the door opened with a creak. She glimpsed his retreating figure and called out his name. “Mr Lawrence, Mr Lawrence, good morning!”
Margaret saw him stop and look around in surprise. “Why, good morning to you, Miss Dashwood,” he answered with a bow. “What a pleasant surprise. However, I am dashed if I know how you discovered my
