hissing kettle on a low flame, depending on how she was handled. Margaret was determined to keep her on an even keel if she could.
“You must not mention a word about what happened this afternoon,” Marianne burst out. “News of their arrival in Exeter will be certain to reach Barton Park sooner or later, and for my own part, I would wish it to be a lot later. Let us hope it is a fleeting visit, though I am sure this cannot be the case. They would not have taken a house in Southernhay if they were only here for a day or two. I cannot bear to think what Mrs Jennings will have to say when their proximity is discovered. Thank heaven I shall be gone back to Delaford tomorrow. If only this carriage had wings and could fly, I should give my excuses and be gone this very evening. How I dread going up to the Park and being scrutinised by them all.”
“Oh, it is not so very bad, I am quite used to it,” Margaret answered, a little put out that Marianne had no feelings for her situation. Going to dine at the Park was a trial she had to endure several times a week. “All the attention will be on me, I suspect, with all the talk of Henry Lawrence and the Delaford Ball. I do not see why you are so worried. I shall be the butt of all Mrs Jennings's jokes and merciless teasing. Lady Middleton will comment on how I have grown and say how much I have improved, glancing in my direction once I suspect, as she does not have time for anyone but her children. Sir John will be as jovial as ever and force us all to be lively. You do not consider anyone's feelings but your own, Marianne. You forget; I am forced to rely on these very people for most of my entertainment. You are let off very lightly, I think. I wish I could hide away with a husband and a child who love me.”
“I am sorry, Margaret, please forgive me,” Marianne begged. “I do not suppose that I have ever considered what your daily life must be. But I have known Mrs Jennings longer than you, and if you think I shall be let off her inquisitions, you are deluding yourself. However, I promise I shall steer our conversation round to that of muslins and fripperies and away from young men.”
“If you really think you shall succeed with that line of talk, then you are very much mistaken, my dear sister,” Margaret retorted. “Have you really forgotten her passion for gossip? I cannot believe it!”
Marianne sighed with resignation. They were passing the signpost for Allenham, the narrow, winding valley a mile and a half from Barton Cottage. Seeing Willoughby again had disturbed her mind, and now she was travelling through countryside she could only ever associate with him. Pulling down the window to breathe the cool air, she could not help being reminded of a time, five years ago, of a season just like this one. She tried to dismiss her thoughts, but they crowded in on her until she was forced to remember a particularly golden, autumnal day, when she had first been taken to see Allenham Court, which John Willoughby would inherit one day. The dwelling he had hinted would also be her future home was the place where he had first stolen more than a lock of her hair.
It was at his suggestion that he show her over the house. They travelled alone in an open carriage, bowling at speed down the green lanes, so fast that Marianne was forced to cling to his arm for fear of being thrown abroad.
He was so pleased and proud to show it off. “Do you like the house?” he asked, taking her hand and helping her down from the carriage. “Would it suit Miss Dashwood to live in a house like this?”
Marianne's excitement knew no bounds. “This house would suit anyone, Mr Willoughby,” came her fervent response, gazing up at the charming edifice.
He took her into the garden first. They strolled away from the house and into a leafy walkway. The fragrance of damp earth and the musk scent of leaves like amber jewels above her head in the arbour were smells she would associate forevermore with those feelings of longing and love. He crooked her arm in his and they wandered through thorned archways, gleaming scarlet with rose hips, embroidered with the lace of jewelled spider's webs. It seemed like a dream come true to Marianne, and the thought that this might be her retreat some day brought on such ecstasies of happiness that she was lost for words. They walked in silence. All she heard were the leaves rustling under her feet, the birds in the trees calling out to one another. Her only desire was to link his arm in hers, and to feel the nearness of his face, his breath so close as to stir her curls. She could not have imagined greater felicity.
After going all round the grounds, he took her inside. They crept about for fear of disturbing Mrs Smith, who slumbered in her chair in the drawing room, quite unaware of their presence. He took her hand as they crept up the stairs with stifled giggles. The ancient oak door opened with a creak into a darkened room, the heavy, old-fashioned drapes drawn against the morning sun to protect the furniture.
Marianne's eyes were not able to adjust to the gloom after the brightness outside. “I cannot see,” she whispered.
He caught both of her hands in his and whispered in reply, “Let me be your guide, Miss Marianne.” He pulled her to him, draping her arms about his neck, before he bent to kiss her lips. She made no attempt to stop him; it all seemed so fitting, the perfect end to a wonderful morning. “I think the sofa will be your favourite spot, I see you in my mind's eye, on that day when you can claim it as your own. I will sit beside you and steal as many kisses as I wish. But for now, I wish to see you reclining there in all your beauty.” He picked her up and deposited her there, before drawing back the curtains and opening the shutters, to flood the room in sunshine, returning to her side where he claimed her heart once and for all.
She had imagined herself living there many times, seated in the corner of that pretty upstairs sitting room, between two windows, unable to decide whether the view of the bowling green and hanging wood were preferable to that of the church and village with the hills beyond. Both views were indelibly etched on her mind, along with every emotion and feeling that would be forever married with every stick of furniture, every object in that quaint, old-fashioned room. No detail of that room or of any of the others she had glimpsed that morning had ever been forgotten. She had made plans for them all in her daydreams, having been so sure that she was to be mistress of Allenham. Indeed, she surely had been mistress, if only for one day, as she had lain in her lover's arms. But time and fate had been cruel in their treatment of Marianne; the days passed by and with them any possibility of those first dreams becoming a reality. Such was the wicked pain of memories she thought were buried forever. They had a habit of returning to haunt her mind as vividly as ever.
Marianne wondered what schemes Mrs Willoughby might one day entertain for its refurbishment with her fifty thousand pounds.
“I bet she will be spending considerably more than the two hundred pounds John Willoughby had suggested might be enough to cheer up the place,” she thought. “I would never confess that despite my situation, living in what anyone would call a superior abode, I am secretly filled with jealousy at the prospect of anyone else undertaking the job I once thought rightfully mine. How foolish I am,” she thought. Marianne removed her gloves and delved into the reticule beside her on the buttoned seat for her handkerchief. A spear of sunlight caught the ring upon her finger, and flashes of diamond sparkles spotted the interior of the carriage. Colonel Brandon's face, his admiring eyes and sweet expression, were immediately brought to mind. “My beloved William; how lost I would be without him.” Yet, the battle she fought within herself seemed impossible to resolve. If only she could be certain that he loved her alone, she would conquer her feelings, she was sure.
Mrs Dashwood was waiting for them at the gate, waving with relief as they arrived. Dusk was giving way to the dark of the evening as they stepped down from the carriage. A weary Marianne gave orders to the coachman, who was staying in the village that evening, to collect her first thing in the morning. Her thoughts turned to home. She wished that William were here with all her heart. She missed him and longed to feel his reassuring presence.
With a heavy heart did Marianne dress herself for the evening's entertainment. She did not wish to admit to herself that she was quite shaken by the episode of the afternoon, but she did acknowledge that the last occupation she needed was to spend any length of time with Lady Middleton's inquisitive mother, Mrs Jennings. She heard Sir John's carriage draw to a standstill outside in the lane, the horses whinnying with impatience to be off again. Marianne adjusted the pearls at her throat and stroked the diamond on her finger as though touching it would bring William nearer to her. If only he were to accompany her to the Park. She knew he would have steered the conversation away from any subject that Marianne did not care to discuss. One look from her was usually enough and he would come to her rescue, but he was not here and she would have to make the best of it. Mrs Dashwood's voice calling her to come down broke her reverie; she picked up her gloves and slowly descended the staircase.
The reception that greeted them all was as welcoming as it could be. Sir John Middleton, a gentleman in his mid forties, was as good looking and as congenial as ever, apologising for the lack of bodies to divert them, saying that had there been more notice of Mrs Brandon's visit he would have secured a much larger party to dine with
