Henry swept past and was swallowed up out of sight by the giant arms of the dark yews. Margaret looked about her. What should she do? To follow him would be most inappropriate. She heard Henry call her name. “Miss Dashwood, look here,” he called.

Hesitantly, she entered the space. Henry was sat upon the seat but rose when she stepped forward. The trees dripped over their heads and a magpie chattered above, breaking the silence that ensued.

“Look here, upon the trunk,” Henry said, pointing to a mark at waist height.

Margaret bent down to peer closer and saw the carving in the bark. The initials H. A. L. were hewn into the old tree. “Are they your initials?” she asked.

Henry nodded. “Uncle William gave me the knife. It was just before we left for France and I was sad to be leaving England. He said that a part of me would always remain here, not only in the hearts and minds of my family but here at Delaford, in the very soul of the place. He was very kind.”

“He is one of the kindest people I know,” Margaret agreed. She stood up to become conscious of their close proximity. That he was staring at her, she was acutely sensible.

“Thank you for dancing with me last night, Miss Dashwood,” he said in a low voice.

“It was my pleasure, Mr Lawrence,” she answered. She still could not bring herself to meet his eyes.

“Come,” he entreated, taking her hand with one of his and reaching into his pocket with the other. “Make Delaford part of your history, too.”

Before she had a chance to snatch back her hand, she realised she had completely misconstrued his actions. He had a small knife in his other hand, which he pressed into the one he was holding, with a plea to do as he had done in the past and carve her name. She grinned up at him before cutting into the bark, whittling away at the wood until her initials were carved next to his.

“M. E. D., Margaret Elizabeth Dashwood,” Henry guessed.

“I suppose you think you are very clever,” she retorted, “but you are quite wrong. I do not think you will guess my middle name in a month of Sundays. However, whilst you contemplate the possibilities, I have something to say. It is my turn to guess your name. Let me think, a letter A has many possibilities…” Margaret paused and was bold enough to look him up and down, with her head on one side and her hands on her hips.

Henry laughed.

“I do not know what you find so amusing, sir, because I am never wrong in these matters. Hmm… Alexander, I think. Yes, you look like a Henry Alexander to my mind!” she announced with a chuckle.

Henry laughed again and shook his head. “You are entirely mistaken, Miss Dashwood. I shall give you a clue. My name has a starring role in Paradise Lost, to name but one book in which it can be found.”

“Oh, that is too easy, you must be Adam!” Margaret cried.

“Then perhaps you are my Eve. Am I not correct?”

“Nothing like, the E stands for Evelina,” Margaret admitted, blushing as she spoke.

“Precisely, just as I said, you are my Eve. Have you come here to tempt me, pretty girl?”

Margaret could not hide her confusion. She was utterly aghast at his bold manner and flirtatious words. “Mr Lawrence, I think it is time for me to go back to the house. Marianne will be wondering where I am.”

“I do not think your sister will mind you talking to me,” he declared, taking a step nearer.

Margaret knew this was probably true, but even so she knew it was wrong to spend so much time alone with Mr Lawrence. If she were found out there would be trouble.

Henry turned toward the trunk of the tree once more to busy himself with the knife, carving fresh marks into the bark.

“I really must go, Mr Lawrence, it has been good to see you again,” Margaret faltered, holding out her hand to say goodbye.

“You would not accept my heart when I offered it to you yesterday,” he said. “But you see it carved here on this tree, right next to your name.” He took her hand, holding it firmly within his grasp, and Margaret wondered whether he would ever let it go. She knew she must depart soon before someone came looking for her, despite the fact that she was enjoying the sensation of her hand clasped in Henry's. At last she managed to look up at him to meet his steady contemplation. His countenance bore such an expression that she could not tell whether he was laughing at her or whether he was completely serious. He raised her hand to his lips and then Margaret knew she must leave. Without a glance behind her, she snatched her hand away and ran. She ran as fast as her legs would take her and it was only when she reached the safety of her bedchamber that she dared to look out of the window. The outlook onto the garden gave a tantalising glimpse of the arbour, but she could not see nearly enough of it to be able to ascertain whether Henry was still there. She watched for half an hour and decided at last that he must have gone in search of the groom moments after she had left. She would be very careful in future, she thought, not to be left alone with him again. But, however hard Margaret tried to be cross with him, she found it to be impossible and found herself caressing the spot where his lips had brushed her skin with tender care.

Chapter 15

On the eve of the Goose Fair, Colonel Brandon returned from an excellent morning of shooting to discover that he was the recipient of bad news, a letter, which demanded his immediate attention. Miss Williams had written to tell him that little Lizzy was unwell again, but assured him that it was no more than one of the hundreds of childhood ailments that small people were apt to contract. There were hints of fever and infections, and though Miss Williams had stated that there was no reason for alarm, that very insistence gave the Colonel cause for concern. Not more than a few weeks had lapsed since little Lizzy had suffered the last bout, a sore throat and fever, which had brought her very low indeed. She was a frail child at the best of times, and her recovery had been slow. Brandon knew that Miss Williams was quite capable of nursing her daughter back to health, but he wanted to ensure Lizzy had the best care, the attention of the apothecary from Lyme, and the most suitable medicines. There was nothing else to do; he would make a visit and secure all that was necessary to aid Lizzy's return to good health. Telling Marianne of his plans, however, was a task he was not going to enjoy. His wife seemed to resent the trips away from home that he had been forced to make lately, and he was certain that this one would be no exception. But what could he do? If anything happened to Lizzy, he would never forgive himself; her welfare and that of her mother were as important to him as that of his own wife and children. It could not be helped, and Marianne would have to understand that he had no choice but to go and ensure the well-being of his dependants.

Marianne's reaction was as exactly as he had feared. “Miss Williams assures you it is no more than a common cold; how can you think of leaving us? A letter from you to the apothecary at Lyme will more than suffice; there is no need to go gallivanting across the country because Lizzy has sneezed once or twice. And what of our guests? You cannot abandon me to their sole entertainment. However shall I manage on my own?”

“You forget, Marianne, that I have certain obligations and duties. I cannot leave Eliza and her daughter to their fate. You cannot know the anxiety I will suffer until I have seen Lizzy with my own eyes and know that she is well.”

Marianne knew this to be true. Her husband would not rest easy until he knew the truth of the situation. He had never recovered from the fact that he had been too late to save Lizzy's grandmother, and Marianne realised that to persuade him from doing other than rushing to their side was fruitless. But she was not happy and felt herself hard done by. It always seemed that William was too eager to spend time with his ward and her daughter. Marianne was jealous of every occasion, every period that was spent in the company of Miss Williams. She tried once more.

“We have our invitation from Sir Edgar to attend the fair tomorrow. Surely you have not forgotten? It will not be possible for us to attend if you do not come, and Margaret is so looking forward to spending the day with Henry.”

“I do not see why you cannot honour the invitation,” the Colonel replied. “Sir John will accompany you with Mrs Jennings and Lady Middleton. Margaret will not have to be disappointed. And nobody will care much whether I am there or not, I am sure.”

“I will care, very much!” Marianne protested. “I will miss you so much, it is never the same when you are away. Please do not go.”

“I have no choice, Marianne, you know that. But I promise that as soon as I am satisfied that my presence is no longer needed, I shall return. We have our trip to London to look forward to, and that will be upon us before we know where we are. In the meantime, do not imagine that your suffering will be your own. I will miss you too, more than I can say.”

“Will you, will you miss me?” begged Marianne. Suddenly, more than anything, she did not want Brandon to go. She felt quite afraid, though of what she could not say. She clung to him and looked up beseechingly into his eyes. “I love you so much, my darling.”

William Brandon looked down at his beautiful wife and not for the first time did he wonder how he had managed to engage the heart of one so utterly divine to his way of thinking. It tore his heart to see her look at him so, pleading desperately not to leave her, but his duty to all those who needed him was so strong that nothing would have diverted him from what he believed was the correct course. “I think it best if I leave immediately. As you will be engaged for Colystone tomorrow, there will be plenty to occupy you, my dear. I know how much it will amuse you to see how just you were in fancying a love match between Henry and Margaret.”