sometime.”
Miss Steele put out her arm to arrest Margaret's progress across the room. “Was not Charles Carey a particular friend of yours at one time, Miss Dashwood? Mrs Jennings said he only went to sea so he could forget you. He reminds me very much of the doctor who came to court, but he was so much teased about me, it quite put him out of countenance. I’ve always liked a uniform and the Navy men look so dapper, very clean cut. He’d make a lovely beau. Perhaps you’ll regret giving him a wide berth when you see him again now. If he should ask about me, you will tell him I am your oldest unmarried friend, now won’t you? Oh no, that does not sound quite right—I only meant that we have been acquainted for such a long time, not that I am aged in any way. He does keep looking over here but I think he must be afraid to start up a conversation. I did try to engage him in some talk earlier. Would you say he is shy?”
Margaret excused herself again and made her way over to Charles, who was standing with his friend. Thoughts of Henry and his present conduct were gone for the moment, as Mr Carey stepped up to introduce his friend and take her hand.
“Miss Dashwood, it has been too long,” he smiled with a short bow. “May I present my friend, Mr James Mortimer.”
Margaret thought how dashing Charles looked, his black hair still as wavy and his dark eyes twinkling with merriment in a tanned skin, weathered by the elements and exposure to the sun in foreign climes, no doubt. His profession certainly seemed to be suiting him. James was of a similar age and appeared to be just as cordial. He had an open face, with light brown hair and eyes to match the October sky outside.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Margaret began, holding out her hand before turning to address Charles. “It is lovely to see you again, Mr Carey. What are you doing in London?”
“I am staying with James's family in Wimpole Street and making the most of peaceful times, though how long it will remain so is anyone's guess. We are enjoying seeing the sights of London, but I will be going back to Devonshire for a while, to see them all at home.”
“If I know Charles Carey, he won’t be content to sit about in the Devonshire countryside for long,” interrupted James. “He’ll be moping about until he gets back on board ship, won’t you, my friend. Miss Dashwood, he may talk of enjoying peace, but between you and me, he is as anxious as I am to be back in the thick of it.”
“I like to be occupied, that's all, can’t bear to be idle,” interrupted Charles. “Give me a ship and men to command, that's all I ask. What can a naval man do at home but think of the day when he can be afloat again, sailing the rolling waves? I was born to be a sailor, that is all there is to say.”
Margaret could only admire this fine speech. As she listened to their exploits in the war, she was struck by the fact that these brave men had only been too willing, not only to fight for their country but also prepared to die in battle. They were eager to be of service again and she felt quite humbled in their presence. How wonderful it would have been to join them and see the world.
“I have to admit there are times I wish I had been born a boy. To be a sailor, a Captain in the Navy, is the most noble of professions. I envy your lot.”
Mrs Jennings appeared at that moment to whisk James away in order to encourage him to make up a table at whist. Charles and Margaret were left alone.
“I, for one, am most grateful that you were not born to be a man, Miss Dashwood,” Charles spoke softly. “It is so good to see you again. You look very well.”
“I am very well, thank you.” Margaret did not know what else to say. Charles was looking at her with the same intensity he had always shown, an expression of adoration that was so difficult to bear. Charles Carey had always been a good friend and she loved him like a brother, but that was all. All the old feelings came flooding back, she felt as trapped as if she were a small caged animal. It was time to join one of the other parties that were forming, she felt. Where was Henry? Why was he not here to rescue her?
Just at that moment, the drawing room doors were flung open to admit Mr Lawrence and a young girl, who appeared to be about Margaret's age. Possessing all the gentility and elegance of her mother, she was blessed with good looks also. Mademoiselle de Fontenay was petite, immaculately dressed in the softest, sheerest muslin that Margaret had ever seen. Her strongest features were her ebony eyes, like polished black orbs of onyx, framed by dark lashes, fluttering against olive skin. Everyone in the room turned to marvel at the beauty before them. Indeed, she was the sort of girl who commanded attention; that everybody felt attracted to and wanted to know. Her natural grace and elegance made Margaret instantly decide that the battle was already lost. How on earth could she possibly compete for Henry's heart with such a stunning opponent? It was obvious that Henry was as drawn to her as she was to him; Margaret observed the way their eyes locked in mutual admiration. “I must not show them that I care,” she thought. “Henry must not see the despair on my countenance. Even now, Mrs Ferrars and Miss Steele are watching me; I must be strong!”
The introductions were performed all round. Henry apologised for their lateness, blaming the extraordinary number of carriages on Oxford Street that had impeded their progress, before promptly seating himself next to Mademoiselle de Fontenay on a velvet sofa, on which there were so many pads and bolsters, that it would not admit more than two.
Margaret looked across at Henry, who seemed to be unaware of her existence at first.
“Are you very much acquainted with Mr Lawrence and his mademoiselle?” asked Charles earnestly, studying her expression.
“I do know Mr Lawrence quite well,” she answered, blushing crimson at the recollection of all that he meant to her, and could hardly look Mr Carey in the eye. What must he think of her? Margaret managed to stammer that she was unacquainted with Mademoiselle de Fontenay, before she became aware that she was being observed from across the room.
Henry was staring at her. As she looked over to give him her fullest attention with a smile, his eyes moved to that of her partner. He looked him up and down, looked back at Margaret, and nodded. Margaret smiled again but Henry made no such effort to do the same, returning to his partner and resuming their conversation.
Everyone was being encouraged to join or re-form new tables for cards. Margaret did not particularly enjoy cards but she hoped there might be some opportunity for her to join Henry in a game. There they might be able to be converse more easily and she hoped to distract his attention from a certain quarter. Mrs Jennings was doing her best to make sure all her guests were accommodated, steering Sir Edgar and the Comtesse onto a table with Marianne and Robert Ferrars and asking Lucy to join her with Lady Lawrence and Colonel Brandon. Margaret was delighted. Henry had still not sat down, but then it occurred to Mrs Jennings that her evening party had not been formed with due consideration.
“Dear me, we are fourteen and we have only enough tables to play three games. Never mind, we’ll soon amend that.”
“Do not worry, Mrs Jennings,” Henry spoke up. “I never was much of a card player myself; I would sooner sit out.”
Margaret's heart swelled. Here was a chance to sit with Henry. She opened her mouth to speak.
“I will keep you company, Monsieur Lawrence,” Mademoiselle de Fontenay declared, before Margaret had a chance to utter a word. “Perhaps I could play the pianoforte for our general amusement. If you could turn the pages for me, I would be most grateful.”
Mademoiselle de Fontenay took her seat, made her selection of music, and started to play. Showing no hesitation, Henry soon joined her. His studied contemplation of the manuscript and his full concentration on his companion was evident to all.
“How lovely,” cried Mrs Jennings, “we shall have a musical accompaniment to our games. Now then, Miss Dashwood, Miss Steele, it would seem there are only these two young men left. I’m sure you will not mind entertaining Mr Carey and Mr Mortimer. Indeed, Miss Dashwood, you have already been most helpful in making Mr Carey feel at home here amongst us. Let the games begin!”
At that precise moment, Margaret became aware of Henry's scrutiny again. She tried to give him the benefit of her most winning smile but he simply turned to his partner, speaking so closely into her hair that Margaret could not watch. Charles led her to the table. Sitting down, she perceived the misfortune of placing herself opposite the pianoforte. Mademoiselle Antoinette was stifling a laugh and giving Henry the benefit of her large sweeping lashes.
“Is anything the matter, Miss Dashwood?” asked Anne Steele. “You look awfully pale and your eyes have turned red.”
