Chapter Nine #2
Marianne moved away from Mr. Willoughby and linked her arm through Mary’s, as Mary continued to wonder why her friend could look so unhappy to see such a man as this seeking them out.
He was on the wrong side of five-and-thirty, perhaps an ill thing for a girl so young, and yet he wore his silvery hair so well.
His stride was graceful, the curl of his lips almost outrageously sensual, his attire very fine but not ostentatious, and his voice, when he spoke, was deep and sonorous.
“Miss Marianne, I hope you are well.”
“I am.” Marianne forced a smile. “I have just been getting better acquainted with my new friend, Miss Mary Crawford. She and her brother accompanied my Bertram cousins to Norland.”
“And what a lovely destination,” said the colonel.
He bowed to Mary, and she dropped into a curtsey, keeping her head low enough to conceal her blush.
She suddenly recollected the sheet music scattered about her, and dropped to the floor to gather it back up.
Colonel Brandon must have seen her acting quite the fool, and she was heartily embarrassed for it.
The colonel instantly mirrored her gesture, and began to assist her, but this only heightened Mary’s mortification.
She focused on not letting her hands tremble, and wondered what had come over her to be so affected by this great pillar of masculinity.
“I am afraid I took you all by surprise,” he said softly.
“Indeed, I had grown rather lost in the music, and was not thinking at all—what a silly mess I have made.” Mary gathered the last of the sheet music and stood. She handed the pages off to Marianne as the colonel did the same; Marianne received the rumpled sheets with a nervous laugh.
“Yes, I saw,” Colonel Brandon replied. “That is, I came in at the end of your performance—I did not wish to interrupt what was so delightful to so many, including myself. I hope to hear you play with Miss Marianne, if that is your intention.”
Seeming to recall Marianne, the colonel returned his attention to her with an odd look about him.
“I happened to be in the area—I have been in Sussex since leaving you all last week. When I realized Norland was so near, I thought it right to pay my respects, and I have heard such praise from all your family of the place.”
“Pray, what brings you to the area?” Mr. Willoughby smiled at the colonel, but Mary sensed something hollow in it—something strange indeed.
They were to receive no answer, for Mrs. Jennings was bustling over to them. “Well, Colonel Brandon, what a to-do! Are we not a large and cozy party here? But what a perfect addition you make! I hope you mean to stay amongst us!”
The colonel looked uneasy, though Mary supposed such a reaction must be perfectly rational. “Mr. Dashwood has invited me to stay the night and dine with you all.”
“Very good, very good,” Mrs. Jennings cried, even as Marianne and Mr. Willoughby exchanged a look betraying the opposite sentiment entirely.
“It is the finest house I have ever seen, I am sure—but you must stay more than a night! We are all snug and easy here, and you will not want to be going away so soon.”
The colonel smiled wistfully, and Mary was intrigued by what dolorous sentiments might engender such an expression.
“I have no doubt you get on very well. The house is most impressive—Mr. Dashwood was so kind as to show me about the public rooms. You were all out of the house when I arrived, and I had no wish to interrupt your excursion. But one night must be enough, for urgent business calls me away again tomorrow.”
“Impossible,” Mrs. Jennings cried. “Surely not the same great matter that drew you from Delaford the day of our poor picnic!”
The colonel’s lips tightened. “It is a matter that requires my immediate attention,” he said firmly. “Indeed, Mr. Willoughby, as it involves a mutual acquaintance of ours, perhaps I might speak privately with you. At once.”
Mr. Willoughby grew very pale indeed, but had not time to reply before Mrs. Jennings cut him off. “What mutual acquaintance? Oh, dear me—not Lady Allen! La, but she is so very old—I do hope she is quite well!”
He bowed again. “Mrs. Jennings, Miss Crawford. Miss Marianne. I hope we shall speak later.” Mary was inclined to agree as she watched him lead Mr. Willoughby from the room, but had little time to ruminate on the matter before Marianne latched onto her.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Jennings, but I think my cousin Maria is calling for a game of whist. I do not mean to play myself, though I know you favor the game. Mary, might we take a turn about the room?”
Mrs. Jennings laughed and fixed them with a knowing look. “Well, keep your secrets—I am sure I know them all already, or very soon shall!” At that she turned her attention to the card party that was forming, and Marianne hastened to draw Mary in the opposite direction.
“Oh, Mary,” Marianne whispered as soon as they had walked some distance.
“I am sure I should have fainted dead away!” Mary arched an eyebrow and smiled—no little resemblance to her own feelings indeed!
And yet she was, more than anything else, recovered enough from the oddly flustering encounter as to be intensely curious.
“Why should you do such a thing? Surely you prefer your Mr. Willoughby to the colonel, even if he is so very handsome.”
“Colonel Brandon, handsome?” Marianne laughed. “Surely you mean to tease me worse than Mrs. Jennings.”
“Certainly not! If I ever did such a thing as that you should be obliged to lock me up.”
Marianne’s eyes went wide. “But can you really think such a thing? What an idea! The colonel is very tiresome indeed—and so old that I am sure I have heard him complain of rheumatism and speak of flannel waistcoats! But I nearly fainted from surprise because I cannot account for him coming at all,” she whispered.
“You must certainly own him to be very mysterious,” Mary replied.
“Mysterious? Vexing, I should call it! But what can he want with Willoughby?”
“Intimate as you are, I am sure you shall soon know the answer.”
“Yes, well, I cannot think it anything good,” Marianne huffed, seating herself on a little bench away from the rest of their companions.
She gestured for Mary to sit beside her.
“There is Elinor looking cross with me for not being kinder to Colonel Brandon. But why should I be happy to see him here, when I have never given him any encouragement, and everybody knows of my love for Willoughby! Good Lord, but what if he means to call him out?”
Mary suppressed a giddy laugh. “What, challenge him to a duel?”
“Well, perhaps not—I could never imagine Colonel Brandon being so bold, even if he was in the army!”
Mary thought very much otherwise, and indulged a moment in just such a flight of fancy—his fine form was soldierly indeed, yet he had all the bearing and appearance of a gentleman, and such a tempestuous way about him…
. She gave a shake of her head to dispel these provocative musings, wondering at her new young friend’s whimsical influence.
“Let me understand you rightly,” she whispered.
“Colonel Brandon has come to Norland as your suitor?”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “You see how preposterous a notion it is!”
“Poor Colonel Brandon.”
“No indeed, Mary. Poor Willoughby—and poor Marianne.”
“Two handsome men on the verge of a duel for your hand—yes, poor Marianne,” Mary laughed.
“Take heart, my dear, for he is only to stay one night, and I am sure it shall be endured.” Mary offered her friend a reassuring smile, and yet she felt a pang of disappointment for her own sake.
Aside from Marianne, the colonel was the first person at Norland she felt a wish to know better.
Marianne chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Yes, it is only one night, and then he shall be gone again, and all as it should be. I am sure I shall speak to Willoughby about it, and it will all be nothing. Oh, but what if it is something dreadfully horrid?”
Willoughby followed Colonel Brandon down the corridor to the library, and the two men took a seat in a pair of leather arm chairs at the end of the room.
The fireplace was thankfully kept lit all the time, and Willoughby drew his chair a little nearer to it, for he felt chilled to the bone.
He had already imagined what must inevitably come next.
The colonel cleared his throat before looking sternly at Willoughby.
“I believe I must drop all pretense of explanation, and begin directly. I was called away from Delaford eight days ago, as you know. I have spent the interval here in Sussex, for the communication I received that day indicated that my ward, Miss Eliza Williams, was sighted in the area; she has been missing for months. She was last seen staying with friends near Loxwood—but this much I believe you know already. The innkeeper recalls your staying there in the spring.”
Willoughby stiffened, every muscle in his body tense. “I travel a great deal.”
“My ward does not. But she, too, spoke to the innkeeper lately, with the intention of discovering your whereabouts. As her guardian, I have the right to know why that might be.”
Willoughby averted his eyes and shrugged. “You shall have to ask her. Perhaps I left some article behind, and she wished to see it returned to me.”
“You will have to do better than that, Willoughby,” the colonel snarled. “Her asking after you, and her sudden disappearance—they must be connected, and I want answers. If you have harmed her in any way….”
“That, I can assure you, I most certainly have not,” Willoughby cried, thinking with disgust of the encounter he could not begin to confess to his rival.
“Just what does that mean, you cur?” The colonel stood and sneered down at him. “I know what you really are, a vain seducer and a blackguard. You may think you are bestowing a great honor, rather than villainy and ruination!”