Margaret took her leave soon after. “I wish you would come, too,” she begged Elinor. “You never go to town and I am sure you would love to go shopping and see the sights.”

“Oh, Margaret,” Elinor cried, “believe me, I have all the sights I could wish to see here at Delaford. Why should I wish to go to London with all its noise and dirty streets? I have only to look out of the window to satisfy any longing for variety. Besides, Edward prefers to stay here and where he is happy, so am I.”

Margaret looked back with envy at her sister as she set off down the lane, waving until the house and the sight of Elinor standing at the gate was out of view. Elinor and Edward had the perfect marriage to her mind. “And that is just how it shall be for Henry and I,” thought she.

Elinor tied on her apron and walked out into the herb garden. So that was why Marianne had not called. Something must be quite wrong. If either sister were to go away, they never left without first saying goodbye. “And if I know my sister,” Elinor thought to herself, “the fact that she has not been to see me for three days must mean that there is something she feels uncomfortable discussing with me. She knows I will see through her straight away; even when she was a little girl she could never hide her feelings from me.”

Cutting sprigs of thyme from the herb garden for a tisane, Elinor gathered the leaves into her large apron pocket before heading for the kitchen door where she was sure of a warm welcome from the cook and the kitchen maid. Standing on the threshold, she paused to look back at the vista. From here, she could see the mellow brick and the smoking chimneys of Delaford House itself. “Perhaps Marianne will come this evening,” Elinor thought with the hopeless certainty that she wished in vain.

Chapter 21

After travelling for three days with two nights spent in comfortable inns, Margaret felt tired but elated to find that they were entering London and being driven down Oxford Street at last, moments from their destination. Fascinated by everything she saw, marvelling at the shops on every side, Margaret exclaimed at all she witnessed. Watchmakers, silk stores, and silversmiths displayed their wares behind sparkling glass, illuminated by the amber glow of oil lamps. Exotic fruit and towering desserts in the fruiterers and confectioners formed a dazzling spectacle; pyramids of pineapples, figs, and grapes cascaded from porcelain epergne. Marchpane castles, rosewater creams, and fruited cake vied for attention on platters of every shape and size. And the crowds of people stretching across the wide pavements, the ladies gathered outside in admiration of the linen shops, draped with silks, chintzes, and muslins were a sight to behold; such fashionably dressed gentility as Margaret had never seen before. Turning onto the relative quiet of Duke Street after the busy thoroughfare, they pulled up at last outside a substantial house where an army of staff awaited their master and mistress. Sharing a carriage with her sister and brother had not turned out to be the daunting task she had feared. Much to her relief, she was pleased to find that Elinor had been correct. William and Marianne were restored to their former good humour, the latter appearing to be almost girlish and flirtatious with her husband.

“Perhaps coming away with an opportunity to leave all their responsibilities behind will give them a chance to spend more time with one another,” Margaret decided, stepping down from the carriage. “With only themselves to think about, surely any rift will be healed quickly.”

“Margaret, how do you like your new home?” Marianne asked, taking her sister's arm and leading her under the fanlight into the house. “I will show you to your room and you can settle in. Dinner will be at five, so take your time.”

“Marianne, I love it!” Margaret declared, her eyes everywhere at once. “Thank you so much for bringing me. I am sorry to leave Mama behind, but I am so happy to be here.”

“Do not worry about Mama, I know she is delighted to be staying behind to help look after James. And he will have Elinor, Edward, and his cousins to spoil him. Mama could not wait for us to be gone!” cried Marianne.

“I wonder if Henry has arrived in town yet and when he will call. Oh, Marianne, to think he is just around the corner. I hope we will meet very soon.”

“I think you may depend on that,” smiled Marianne, “and I declare you shall be quite sick to death of one another's company before the month is out.”

“I’m not sure that will be possible. I could never tire of Henry's company. Do you really think we shall see much of the Lawrences? I will just die if we do not meet soon.”

“No one ever really died of longing, you know, Margaret. And I am certain that we shall see quite enough of the Lawrences. I wonder that you are so keen to see his mother as you surely will if you insist on seeing Henry.”

“I can endure anything, so long as I can spend a whole month with Henry,” Margaret laughed.

Margaret was delighted with her room. Wall hangings of violet silk, capped with a buff pelmet edged in gold, swathed the room, giving her the impression of being wrapped in spring blooms. An elaborate day bed adorned with garlands and veiled by a coverlet of fine gauze over painted satin was set against one wall, draped in spangled muslin curtains that hung from gold chains from the ceiling. Empire style was in profusion. There were candle stands of marble, cameo medallions, and an ornate pier was hung between the windows, which to Margaret's mind were the best features of the room, giving splendid views across and down onto the square. She stood at the window and was just admiring a very smart curricle just pulling up outside when she recognised its owner with a quickening of her heart. Down jumped Henry, dressed for town in a navy blue coat and looking smarter than Margaret had ever seen him. It was all she could do to stop from running downstairs to open the door herself. Telling her heart to stop beating so wildly, she took a deep breath and walked out of her chamber as calmly as she could. She found Marianne in the drawing room.

“He is come, Marianne. He is come!” Margaret shouted with excitement, unable to contain her emotions any longer.

Marianne could not fail to catch her sister's enthusiasm. “Oh, Margaret, you remind me so much of myself at your age. You are in love, that is clear, and Henry is as keen as I think a young man ever can be when besotted by another. I am so pleased for you, Margaret. To find someone who returns your affection is truly all I could wish for you. Will you say yes when he asks you?”

“Marianne, I dare not think that he should ask me to marry him but I think we both know what my answer would be if he ever should.”

They were interrupted by Henry's arrival. He greeted them both with great cordiality and immediately applied to Marianne for permission to take Margaret out in his curricle.

“I hope you will grant this small wish, my dear Aunt Brandon,” he beseeched her, “We have a little time before the dinner hour and I promised Margaret I would take her to Gunter's on our very first afternoon. There may not be another chance. My mother has gone to see her dressmaker and my father set off for his club as soon as he arrived, so you see, I would be left all alone and feeling very miserable if not for this opportunity to sample London's supreme ices and your sister's finest company.”

Marianne recognised the look in Margaret's eyes, which begged her agreement to the scheme. Nodding her approval, she was amused to see them hasten out of the room with hardly a nod or a backward glance. As Margaret wrested her pelisse and bonnet from the arms of the waiting servant, giving no time to fastenings or ribbons, the front door opened as if conspiring to let them out as quickly as possible.

“Good day, Uncle Brandon,” shouted Henry, taking Margaret's arm with a movement toward the iron railings and white steps as the Colonel passed through into the hallway. “Please forgive me for not stopping, but Miss Margaret and I have an appointment to keep.”

With barely a nod of his head or a curtsey from his friend, the pair escaped as Colonel Brandon started to open his mouth to acknowledge them. With a bemused expression he watched them mount Henry's vehicle and drive away at a trot.

Henry's route was not the most direct but all the more colourful for riding down New Bond Street so that Margaret should be able to see the very best of the shops from her wonderful vantage point. After the relative quiet of life in Devon and Dorset, she could not believe how noisy London was to her ears; not only the sound of rumbling carriages and carts, but the clatter of pattens on pavements and the distinctive cries of street sellers rang everywhere about. Henry pointed out the landmarks and shops, not failing to direct Margaret's attention to any sight, which he thought might amuse or entertain. They were in high spirits as they trotted into Bruton Street.

“I’ll take you to Piccadilly and Hyde Park next time,” Henry announced, reining in his horse as they rapidly approached their destination. “Here we are arrived at Berkeley Square for your pleasure and there under the sign of the pineapple is Mr Gunter's celebrated tea shop. Now, which is your favourite ice?”

“I have no idea,” Margaret admitted, “I really have little experience of exotic flavours such as I have heard Marianne describe.”

Helping her down from his equipage and taking her across the road to see the window of the shop with every variety of ice imaginable, Margaret was stunned into silence by the display. Glasses of fruit ice decorated with crystallised rose and violet petals, sugar baskets filled with painted paste flowers and artificial gardens with parterres of mousseline and gravel walks of sugar sand occupied every tier in the window. Pastilles de chocolat, curled wafers, and candied jonquils overflowed from bonbonnieres onto snowy cloths. But the centrepiece, a sugar turban on a tasselled cushion complete with flowers, crescents, and a tall, waving feather, made Margaret catch her breath with pleasure.