“To explore Italy, Switzerland, and to see France again would be my delight,” Henry enthused.
“I’m sure now we have peace again, it will be a matter of time for you. Thousands are flocking over to the continent, you would never think we had been at war five minutes ago,” answered Margaret, noting how excited Henry had become at the mention of adventure overseas.
“Well, ordinarily perhaps, I might be keen to be away seeing the world but I have enough to do at home for the present,” Henry admitted. “If all goes to plan, my new house and estate will take up all my time, and travels abroad will have to be delayed until much later. Besides, there are other reasons why I wish to stay on home ground.” He raised his eyes to hers with a look so intense Margaret felt they were the only two people in the square. Everything and everyone else faded away as she gazed at him, lost in the moment.
“I have not yet come into my money, nor could offer any young woman a furnished home, but I hope that day will soon be at hand,” Henry said at last, never once taking his eyes from hers. He paused, a frown furrowing his brow as he looked away into the distance. Margaret noted his troubled expression, wanting to smooth away the creases and make him smile again, or at the very least have him stare into the depths of her being once more. “However,” he continued, “such dreams are not always within our imminent grasp.”
“I am sure you are capable of making any dream come true, Mr Lawrence,” Margaret declared, unable to stop herself. She sat forward in her seat, her hand reaching out to touch Henry's arm in reassurance.
“I truly hope so, Margaret,” Henry said softly, covering her hand with his own.
Margaret looked down as they both observed the spontaneous gesture for a moment, only to break apart just as quickly. The touch of Henry's strong fingers clasped over her own had been enough to send a thrill of pleasure through every nerve in her body. There was that feeling again, of time standing still, the noise and bustle of city life seeming to be distant. However, somewhere, not far away, church bells were striking the hour. Five chimes, five o’clock, the dinner hour was striking, telling them they were late.
“Goodness,” shouted Henry, “I hope your sister won’t be too cross with me for not having got you home sooner. The time has run away with us.”
All Margaret could do was laugh as they hurriedly left Gunter's, Henry helping her up before leaping onto his phaeton to crack the whip and frighten the horses into a gallop as they careered round the square and headed home.
Chapter 22
Giving her excuses as she sat down to dinner, Margaret was well aware that she must look a fright, having had no time to change, dress her hair, or even run a comb through it. Still, neither William nor her sister seemed to mind; they didn’t even scold her for being late. Marianne was in good spirits, asking Margaret to tell her all about her expedition around London. Margaret soon learned that Marianne had received a visitor that afternoon and could guess why the caller had presented herself so quickly.
“Mrs Jennings came whilst you were out,” Marianne informed her sister with a smile and then paused as she witnessed Margaret's expression, a mixture of resignation and good humour. “Yes,” she added, “she informed us that she had seen you and Henry in Berkeley Square. I hope you and he are of a strong constitution, for she has invited us all to an evening party tomorrow. I think the lady is expecting an announcement any day.”
“Oh, Marianne, must we go? I know she will never leave us alone if we so much as look at one another.”
“If we do not go, you will not see Henry,” Marianne informed her. “The Lawrences are invited and I am sure as it will be their first diversion in London that they will attend.” Marianne nodded in William's direction, adding, “Besides, Lady Lawrence has not seen her brother for a while and I am certain she will not pass up on an occasion to see him.”
Margaret longed to confide in Marianne, but it was impossible with Brandon looking on. He adored his sister and eagerly dismissed any suggestion that she was less than amenable by excusing her irritability as poor health. Marianne would understand Margaret's fears about Henry's mother, she was sure. Besides, she wished to tell her sister about the hints he had made about offering a young woman a home. Waiting would not be easy, but she would just have to speak to Marianne later. At least Henry would be there tomorrow and they would be able to spend some time together. Hadn’t he promised they might have an outing also?
Marianne looked on Margaret's countenance with satisfaction. “My sister has a glow about her,” she thought, “a radiance that seems to effuse from every pore. Despite her untidy appearance, her skin is flushed to a rosy luminosity, her lustrous curls tumbling and escaping in gleaming profusion from the ribbons in her hair. There is a girl in love.”
Marianne had spent a quiet afternoon pottering about as she saw to all the arrangements necessary to their arrival in town. Meetings with the household staff, the discussion of menus with the cook, and the particulars of the daily routine with the housekeeper had taken up much of her time. Mrs Jennings had called, staying far longer than was the usual calling time. Brandon had gone out again all afternoon, and so they had not had the opportunity of speaking more than two words together.
Although to any casual observer Marianne was convinced that as a pair they appeared to be perfectly amicable, she recognised that this was not an entirely true reflection of reality. Even if there had been an opportunity to share more time together, she was sure they would not have spent it in conversation. Brandon had withdrawn from her, she felt, and, though as civil and polite as ever in company, when on their own they were not truly communicating with ease. It had not escaped her notice that William's valet had organised her husband's belongings, directing them to be placed in the rooms adjacent to her own. Ordinarily, that might have been completely acceptable behaviour for most husbands and wives, but not for them. William always slept in Marianne's room, they always shared her bed, a vast canopied Queen Anne four-poster that Marianne had had transported from Delaford on their marriage, to remind them both of their home. Knowing that William's valet would not have acted without his instruction, she could not help but feel alarm and worry at his actions. The time to question him had not arisen. Brandon was stiff and awkward in her company, answering any enquiry with words of one syllable. Trying to be light-hearted and jovial had given way to a certain gravity in her own manner, relieved only by the timely arrival of her sister to force them into conversation once more.
After dinner, Marianne was feeling tired by the journey, brought on by the fretful anticipation of being in town and worn down by her general feelings of anxiety. Margaret chattered away animatedly enough about her hopes for a tour of all the sights during the coming week and Marianne was happy to sit back, letting her make all the conversation.
Colonel Brandon was sitting at a desk with a sheet of paper before him, dipping his pen into the ink and staring thoughtfully into the distance before committing it to his letter. He wrote rapidly, filling two sides in as many minutes, before taking another sheet and beginning again. Marianne did not ask about the recipient of his letter, as she was certain she knew to whom he was writing. That Eliza and Lizzy Williams filled his every waking thought, she was certain.
He soon finished, sprinkling the wet ink with sand before folding the letter with precision and sealing it with red wax. Marianne observed his profile, the candlelight illuminating his furrowed brow and highlighting his dark waves of hair with glints of gold. “He looks so worried, his mind full of concerns and yet I cannot speak with him. I wish I could run to his side to caress his hair and drop a playful kiss upon his lips, but I am convinced that my desires would be unwelcome to him. Everything about his posture suggests a man feeling ill at ease. He looks lost in thought, yet his agitation bristles in waves of tense brooding.”
Sitting in silence, the stillness was broken only by the soft, repetitive tapping of the letter upon the table, a sound that further alerted Marianne to the impression that her husband had something on his mind.
“I saw Sir Edgar at my club this afternoon,” he remarked, turning in his chair to face them, his expression impassive. “He complimented me on my charming wife, as he always does, but there was an enthusiasm and eager passion in his tones that I must confess excited my interest. He was kind enough to elaborate on his reasons for his present fervour, saying how delightfully you entertained Mr Willoughby in my absence at their family dinner at Whitwell.”
Marianne experienced the sensations of extreme heat and cold in one, feeling instantly nauseous as she realised how it was that Brandon's irritability could be explained.
