Jane Odiwe - Willoughby’s Return

Margaret and Mrs Dashwood took their seats with Elinor and Edward. The Lawrences were not to be seen anywhere yet, though most of the other guests had arrived. Margaret and her mother had been of the party that had greeted the guests in the hall. Marianne had seemed more than usually concerned when the Lawrences had not appeared, but Margaret guessed that her agitation was probably as a result of Mr Willoughby's impending arrival. Margaret wondered what could be keeping them and she was most curious to see that certain gentleman and how he might behave. The Middletons and Mrs Jennings were working through the crowds, finding old friends and relating all their news and gossip from Barton. Margaret was bewitched by all that she saw: the splendour of the men in black, the gaiety of the women like hothouse flowers with ivory petals or as brightly painted as exotic blossoms. She had not attended a ball of this magnitude at Delaford before. A little way off, she could see her sister Marianne, arm in arm with William, engaged in conversation with two gentlemen just arrived, one young and the other, who bore such a strong resemblance to the former that she quickly judged them to be father and son. The young man had an air of great confidence about him and a striking figure. She craned her neck to get a better view but it was so difficult, there were so many people threading their way across the room. A gap in the crowd presented her at last with a glimpse of his face; he seemed to be looking straight in her direction. Even from a distance she could see what an incredibly handsome young man he was, with a shock of very light, fair hair which waved back from his strong features. His eyes smiled at her though his mouth barely curved at the corners. The attraction was instant and Margaret was determined that she should be introduced before very much longer. Her heart began to hammer just a second later as she noted that her sister was urging the gentlemen in their direction. Both men had certainly had an effect on Marianne, who was chattering away and laughing in a very animated fashion. Margaret thought she had not seen her sister look quite so carefree for a while. She was more determined than ever to discover who these handsome men could be.

“Oh, look,” said Mrs Dashwood, sitting up in her chair as she saw them approach. “I believe this must be Sir Edgar and his son, Henry.”

“The Lawrences, Mama? No, it cannot be,” declared Margaret, “they were to bring a large party with them. Besides, there is no lady with them; they would hardly have forgotten to bring Lady Lawrence. You are quite mistaken.”

“Well, in that case, I cannot think who they must be,” answered her mother. “Friends of Marianne's, I don’t doubt. A rather handsome couple, do you not think, Margaret?”

Margaret remained silent on the matter. She did not want to divulge the fact that she had never seen anyone quite so worthy of her attention at a Delaford ball or any other, for that matter. She was quite intrigued.

 The Colonel and Marianne were all beaming smiles as they presented their guests. “Sir Edgar Lawrence, may I introduce Mrs Dashwood and her daughter, Miss Margaret Dashwood,” said William.

“I am delighted to meet you, my dears,” Sir Edgar pronounced, taking their hands warmly, “I have heard so much about you. Please allow me to present my son, Henry, who has come home to Whitwell.”

Margaret could not have been more surprised. Henry was not the coxcomb she was expecting. He took her hand and bowed, a ready smile on his lips. “I am delighted to meet you at last, Miss Dashwood,” he said softly.

“I was just apologising to Mrs Brandon for the lateness of our appearance,” cried Sir Edgar, “but I am afraid that my wife's constitution is not as strong as it should be and this afternoon, quite without any warning, she was taken with one of her dreadful attacks.”

“Dear me,” cried Mrs Dashwood, “I do hope Lady Lawrence is not ill.”

“Poor Hannah is suffering, I am afraid, but she is used to these bouts which occur every now and then. The apothecary is with her now and so she is at ease. She insisted that Henry and I should come over to Delaford and as Mrs Willoughby suggested that she should keep her company, we decided that she could not be in better hands. Mrs Willoughby, you understand, is the wife of Henry's friend, Mr John Willoughby of Allenham. They have come to stay with us for a few days.”

“Yes, Mrs Willoughby's name is known to me and I am acquainted with Mr Willoughby,” stammered Mrs Dashwood, whose flustered manner betrayed her feelings. “His estate is not but two miles from Barton Cottage, where we live.”

Sir Edgar turned to the Brandons. “Well, that is a surprise, fancy Mrs Dashwood being acquainted with Henry's friend. You have never met him yourself, William?”

“Ah, Mr Willoughby of Allenham,” uttered the Colonel, as though recollecting a name he had forgotten. “I had not thought your Mr Willoughby was the same man.”

“Then you do know him! Capital fellow. He's selling a property belonging to his wife, you know, Mrs Dashwood. She inherited it lately from an uncle and it seems they have enough to do with the upkeep of Combe Magna in Somerset and his place at Allenham to be much bothered with it. And my son Henry here is keen on it, very keen. He wants to be setting up his own place.”

“And has Mr Willoughby stayed behind to keep company with Lady Lawrence, too?” asked Margaret who realised as soon as she had spoken that Marianne was glaring in her direction.

“Oh, no,” cried Henry, “unfortunately, he was called away this morning to attend to some urgent matter over at Allenham where he is having a lot of work done to his house. There had been some dispute between the craftsmen working there, and he rode over after breakfast, assuring me that he would return later. A note arrived just before we left to say that he would be late but would come directly here as soon as he was able.”

A look of sheer panic flashed across Marianne's face as it became clear that this information was completely new to her. Margaret guessed immediately that Marianne had assumed that Mr Willoughby would be too afraid to show his face and have no intention of coming to the ball. Now it was clear that she was not so sure.

Just at that moment, Mrs Jennings, accompanied by Sir John and Lady Middleton, joined the party and introductions were made all round. After this, the general lull in the conversation, coupled with the thoughtful silence of the Brandons, caused Mrs Jennings to speak out.

“Well, upon my soul, when is the dancing to start, Colonel? I expect young folk like these cannot wait to be on the floor, now can you?” she cried with a nod and a wink towards Margaret and Henry.

As if the conductor had heard her very words, the musicians started to play and with no time to feel further embarrassed by Mrs Jennings's insinuations, Margaret allowed herself to be swept off for the first dance of the evening, a rather stately minuet. The Brandons walked out to lead the dancing with the entire ballroom following suit. Indeed, there was hardly space to turn.

Margaret realised very quickly that all eyes were upon her and her ravishing partner. He, in his turn, seemed to delight in furthering her blushes by gazing far too often into her eyes. She did not know how he could see where he was going, so steady was his scrutiny. Margaret began to feel that perhaps there was something wrong with her face, had she a spot or a blemish she had not noticed? She was relieved when he started to speak.

“I do not think we shall disappoint the chaperones, Mrs Jennings in particular,” he whispered into her hair.

Margaret looked at Henry with astonishment. “I’m sure I do not know what you mean, sir,” she answered, stepping away from him, perfectly aware of his meaning.

“A handsome pair,” he laughed, raising one eyebrow and speaking in imitation of the old lady, “he cannot take his eyes off her. How soon will they dance again and when can they be married?”

“Mr Lawrence, you are truly shocking!” Margaret exclaimed, but could not help laughing too.

“Come, Miss Dashwood, do you imagine they are discussing anything else, or for that matter is anyone discoursing on any other subject in the room? For instance, the two young ladies standing opposite us now with their respective partners have not uttered a word to them in the last five minutes. Would I be correct in assuming that they are friends of yours?”

Margaret saw, as she nodded her reply with great amusement, that Jane Wilton and Selina Strowbridge had been caught in mid conversation, talking over their respective partners, their eyes and mouths engaged on one subject. Margaret knew with certainty that the topic of their gossip was without any doubt that of she and her dancing partner.

“Let us give them something to talk about, Miss Dashwood,” Henry continued, fixing her with earnest regard. “Look now into my eyes with feeling. Let us see how they react.”

Margaret could not help but be amused by Henry; he was so charming, artless, and funny. She readily did as he asked. The outcome was as desired. Jane and Selina, not to mention half of the ladies who sat at the edges of the dance floor, were instantly animated in their speeches to one another.

“You will get me into trouble, Mr Lawrence. However shall I look my friends in the eye again?”

“I sincerely hope to make as much trouble as possible,” he smirked as the dance came to an end, “and I hope and beg, Miss Dashwood, that you will partner me again before this evening is over. If we are to keep tongues wagging, I insist on at least the promise of two more turns, if not three.”