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.
“Forgive me,” interrupted Mr Willoughby, “but I am inclined to agree with Lady Lawrence. A man should school his mind thoroughly before he marries; one is a very long time married. If I had a son I should encourage him to see a little of life first, whatever his opinions on love.”
Marianne stared at him in contempt. How dare he agree with that old dragon of a woman?
“Not all men make correct decisions at a tender age, Mrs Brandon,” Willoughby added, looking directly into her eyes. “An older, wiser gentleman with more qualification to understand the world might make more informed decisions.”
Picking up her fan in an attempt to cool her pink cheeks, she felt more agitated than ever, yet she believed that he had meant her to understand that he wished his circumstances had been different before he had married, she was sure of that. Mrs Dashwood's eyes were upon her. Marianne blushed deeper than ever.
“A Grand Tour,” declared Lady Lawrence with a huge smile. “A few years visiting the spectacular sights of Europe are the ideal finale to an Englishman's education, and now we have peace again it is possible once more. What do you say, Henry?”
Henry looked as if he would be very pleased to be anywhere else at this moment as he gazed through the long windows into a distant vista. Was he imagining himself floating down a Venetian lagoon, Margaret wondered, with titian-haired handmaidens calling to him from their Byzantine towers? But he turned from the view to catch Margaret's eye, merely laughed and looked to his father as if in quest for help.
“Grand Tours and education are all very well in themselves, but I fancy that if a young couple know their own mind then they should be allowed to get on with it,” Sir Edgar smirked, with a nod and a wink in Margaret's direction.
The latter was mortified, and determining to change the subject, endeavoured to introduce any topic that came into her head. “Shall you all be going to London for the season, Lady Lawrence?”
“Yes, indeed, we are travelling the week after Christmas as a matter of fact,” Sir Edgar butted in. “I hope we shall be seeing you there too, Miss Margaret.”
“Colonel Brandon has promised to take me with Marianne,” Margaret pronounced, her joyful exuberance betraying her enthusiasm for the scheme.
“Then we shall all meet by and bye,” chuckled Sir Edgar.
“When is Brandon to return?” his sister enquired. “He is there on business did you say, Mrs Brandon? Has he been gone long?”
Marianne felt everyone must be aware of her perturbation so she spoke quickly to cover her discomfort. “He is to return on the morrow,” she said, not really knowing whether this was true or not. She fiddled with the tassel
