Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (11 page)

“I should say not,” Mrs Holland retorted. “But you should invite them both to dinner soon, so we can thank them properly for returning the car. I don’t know a man born who wouldn’t welcome a nice roast beef.”

“I’ll invite them tomorrow,” Marianne decided. “How about next Sunday afternoon? And shouldn’t I invite Mr Willoughby as well?”

“Of course you should,” her mother agreed. “He rescued you after your fall, did he not? Yes, it’s a wonderful idea. I’ll make a Sunday roast,” she said, her eyes alight with anticipation, “with Yorkshire pudding, and lashings of gravy, and rhubarb crumble for dessert…”

Chapter 16

To Marianne’s surprise, Dr Brandon accepted her mother’s invitation to Sunday dinner with alacrity.

“I haven’t had a proper roast in – well, in a very long time,” he said as he leaned over the reception counter the next morning and read through his messages.

“Mum’s Sunday dinners are very good. She’ll have plenty of roasties and mashed potatoes –”

“Both?” he cut in, surprised.

“Yes. Mum says you can never have too much starch. And there’ll be Yorkies, and overcooked veg, and plenty of gravy…”

“Overcooked veg, my favourite.” He lifted his brow. “What about pudding?”

“Rhubarb crumble and apple pie, but I can put in a request for something else if you like.”

“No. Rhubarb crumble’s perfect. And you can’t go wrong with apple pie.”

“Mind you, her crust’s not always the flakiest,” Marianne admitted. “It’s sometimes a bit thicker than it should be.”

“Anything tastes better than a ready meal, believe me.”

She grimaced. “I can imagine.”

“Your mother doesn’t need to go to all this trouble, you know.” He gathered up his messages and thrust them in his pocket. “It’s completely unnecessary.”

“She wants to do it. She appreciates your help getting Lady Violet’s car back.” Marianne hesitated. “We both do. After all, if not for you, who knows what might’ve happened last night?”

“You would’ve been fine.” His eyes met hers. “You strike me as a girl who knows how to take care of herself.”

She blushed. “Thanks. Still…I’m glad you were there. And I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Well, then. It’s useless to protest, I suppose. Thank your mother for me and tell her Dr Wilson and I are very pleased to accept her invitation.”

***

When Marianne returned home that afternoon, she saw Lady Violet’s limousine parked in front of Barton Park.

“I see Lady V’s back,” she announced as she entered through the kitchen door and dumped a couple of bags of groceries on the table.

“Yes, she returned late last night, evidently,” Mrs Holland replied. “We’ve been summoned to dinner tomorrow.”

“’Summoned’?” Marianne lifted her brow as she began to pull out tins and jars from the bags. “Don’t you mean ‘invited’?”

“No, ‘summoned’ is precisely what I meant. It seems she has something important to tell us.”

“I wonder what it is. I hope she hasn’t decided to throw us out of Barton cottage.” She thought of Kit.

“Of course she hasn’t,” Elinor said as she wandered into the kitchen and took an apple from the bowl her sister had just filled. She bit into it with a loud crunch. “She probably wants to tell us about Edinburgh and share the latest gossip about her friend, Lady Campbell.”

Mrs Holland nodded as she scrabbled through one of the kitchen drawers. “I’m sure you’re right.
Where
is that pad of paper I keep for the grocery lists? I need to write up next Sunday’s menu.”

“Why? What’s happening next Sunday?” Elinor asked.

“Mum’s invited Dr Brandon and his assistant, Dr Wilson, to dinner,” Marianne answered, “and Kit Willoughby as well.” She paused. “We should ask Edward, too, don’t you think? Then we’ll both have someone to sit with at dinner.”

Elinor lowered her apple, half-eaten. “It’s too far for him to travel, Mari; besides, I’m sure Edward’s much too busy to come all this way for a Sunday roast.”

“It’d be nice if he did, all the same,” Marianne said stubbornly. “I liked him, and you did, too, even if you won’t admit it. I could do without Harriet, though.” She grimaced theatrically.

“Here’s your writing pad, mum,” Elinor said, and turned away to grab it from the top of the flour container.

“Now, why did I leave it there?” Mrs Holland fretted as she took the pad from her daughter. “I declare, I’m getting more absent-minded every day…”

“Well played, Elinor,” Marianne murmured as their mother left and she continued to put the groceries away.

Her sister tossed the apple core into the bin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do,” she retorted. “That was a pretty impressive change of subject just now. It worked on mum, but it didn’t work on me.” She paused. “Why don’t you want to invite Edward to dinner? You can tell me.”

But Elinor refused to rise to the bait. “Don’t forget to close the kitchen door. You’ve left it hanging open. Again.”

And with that, she turned and left the kitchen.

***

“How was your visit, Lady Violet?” Mrs Holland asked at dinner next evening, all of them seated around one end of the enormous Barton Park dining table. “Is your poorly friend recovered?”

“She’s much improved, thank you. She’d had bouts of dizziness and megrims and feared it might be her heart; but after a battery of tests, the doctor’s reassured her that she’s fine.”

“That’s good news,” Elinor said. “I’m glad.”

“Yes,” Marianne echoed. “Very good news.”

Lady Violet glanced at her with a shrewd eye. “And what, Miss Holland, have you been up to in my absence? Did you land that veterinary position you wanted?”

“She did,” Mrs Holland piped up, and beamed. “And she’s landed herself a boyfriend, as well.”

Marianne flushed with annoyance. “Mum, really. He’s not my
boyfriend
. Aren’t I entitled to any privacy?”

“Not living here with us,” Elinor said.

“But how intriguing,” Lady Violet exclaimed, her jowls quivering. “And who is this young man, Marianne, if I might be so bold as to ask?”

“His name is Willoughby. Kit Willoughby,” she replied, and blushed. “He’s staying at Allenham Court with his aunt, Mrs Smyth.”

“He rescued Marianne when she had a fall, and brought her home in the middle of a truly awful storm,” Mrs Holland added. “It was – well it was quite heroic of him! And very romantic.”

Lady Violet considered the younger Holland girl with a quizzical expression. “So it sounds. It only goes to show that one misses all of the excitement when one is not at home.”

“Do you know Mr Willoughby, Lady Violet?” Marianne ventured.

“Not well, no. Christopher was Lady Huntington’s only son. She died quite young and he and his sister Philippa were sent away to boarding school. I understand he expects to inherit Allenham, and I daresay he will. His aunt has no other nephews and no son of her own to make him doubt her intentions to do so.”

“We’ve invited Mr Willoughby,” Elinor said, “and Dr Brandon – the veterinarian my sister works for – and his assistant to dinner on Sunday.” She smiled politely. “Would you like to come?”

Surprise flickered over the lady’s face. “I would indeed.” She turned to Marianne’s mother and leaned forward. “But you should hold your dinner here at Barton Park. Surely such a large group would be better accommodated here than in the – forgive me – charming, but more cramped environs of the cottage.”

“Oh.” It was Mrs Holland’s turn to register surprise. “Well. I suppose you have a point. But…I wanted to cook dinner myself.”

“And so you shall. I’ll give Mrs Fenwick the day off and you can have full use of her kitchen.”

“Well…thank you. Yes. That’ll do very nicely.”

Lady Violet took a sip of her wine, beamed, and set the glass down. “Now that’s settled – I have news of my own to announce. News that I hope you girls…” her glance strayed to Elinor, and her eyes twinkled “
both
of you girls, will find most welcome.”

“Do tell us, please,” Mrs Holland exclaimed. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Very well.” The baron’s widow leaned forward with a gleam in her eye. “I intend to throw a picnic here at Barton Park to welcome you all to Hadleighshire.”

“A picnic?” Marianne said. “That sounds brilliant.”

“I plan to invite Mrs Smyth, and Mr Willoughby too, now that I know he’s at Allenham; and my neighbours, who’ll want very much to meet you all. And,” she added, her words deliberate as her glance went once again to Elinor, “I’ve taken the liberty of inviting another certain someone to join us.”

Marianne laid her fork aside and leaned forward. “Ooh, do tell, Lady V!”

Lady Violet glanced at Elinor and smiled. “Well. I’ve invited Harriet Ferrars-Holland and her brother Edward. Robert can’t make it, but Harriet and Edward will be here on Saturday.”

There was a small, startled silence at this last news.

“Edward?” Elinor said, her face pale. “You’ve invited him…here?”

“Yes. He’s coming to the picnic, and he and I have a matter of business to talk about, as well.”

“I…see,” Elinor said faintly. She stood and pushed her chair back. “May I be excused, please?”

“Of course, darling.” Mrs Holland – and, indeed, everyone – stared after her in bewilderment as she turned and fled from the room.

Chapter 17

“I must say,” Lady Violet observed with a frown, “that wasn’t precisely the reaction I’d hoped for.”

“Let me go and talk to her,” Marianne offered as she tossed her napkin aside. “I’ll see what’s wrong.”

Marianne guessed her sister would be in the library, and so it proved. She knocked tentatively on the door and tried the doorknob. It was locked.

“Ellie,” Marianne called out softly as she knocked, “can I come in?”

“‘
May
I.’” Her sister’s voice was muffled but firm. “And no, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Ells, please – I only want to talk to you. Come on, let me in.”

There was a silence, and the creak of a floorboard; with a rattle of the key in the lock, the door opened, and Elinor stood there a moment before she turned away. “Come in, then.”

“What on earth’s the matter?” Marianne asked as she shut the door and followed her to the sofa. “I thought you
liked
Edward. Why’d you run out of the dining room like that? And you call
me
a drama queen –”

Elinor unearthed a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I do like Edward. I like him a lot.”

“Then…what’s the problem? Why aren’t you glad he’s coming here, to Barton Park?”

“I
am
glad. I just…” her words trailed away. “Edward came to see me in Litchfield before mum and I left,” she admitted, “and we talked. He promised he’d call me. He seemed very keen on the idea.” She flushed. “He seemed very keen on…me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Her sister shrugged. “Because it had nothing to do with you. And I knew you’d tease me.”

“I wouldn’t have teased you,” Marianne protested.

“You would. Or you’d have told mum, or Lady Violet, which would’ve been even worse. Which is why,” she added, “I keep most things to myself.”

“Oh, all right – you’re forgiven for not sharing. And?” Marianne prodded as she sank down beside her sister on the sofa.

“And he’s not called once since we arrived. Not one voice message, or text, not even a letter. Not one word.” Her expression was bereft. “It’s obvious I mistook his feelings for me. And now,” she added, and looked up at Marianne in distress, “we’ll be forced to make polite conversation, and spend the duration of this awful picnic of Lady Violet’s avoiding each another.”

She let out a small, choked sob.

“Oh, Ellie…sometimes you’re such a numpty,” Marianne said in exasperation as she reached out and slid her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “It’s plain to me – to anyone – that Edward likes you. I couldn’t help but notice it the day he came to Norland with Harriet.”

“Then why hasn’t he called?” she sniffled. “Why hasn’t he texted, or written?”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. He’s probably been busy, or something came up to keep him from writing or calling you. And, really, he’s not all that different from you – I think it’s hard for him to express his feelings.”

“Do you think so? Perhaps…perhaps you’re right.” Elinor managed a watery smile. “What a pair we are. I keep everything to myself; you can’t keep anything to yourself.”

“Are you sure one of us isn’t the milkman’s daughter?”

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe we’re sisters.”

“But we are,” Marianne assured Elinor firmly, and hugged her again, “like it or not. And I’ll always be here for you, you know that.”

“Same here.” She sniffled. “Always.”

“Good. Now that
that’s
settled,” Marianne announced as she stood up, “let’s go back to the dining room. I don’t know about you, but I have absolutely no intention of missing out on Mrs Fenwick’s lemon drizzle.”

***

Marianne’s workweek passed quickly. She rose at seven each day, dressed, and let herself into the veterinary clinic by eight-fifteen; but her evenings were reserved for Kit Willoughby.

He was loads of fun to hang out with, and he never missed an opportunity to compliment her or surprise her with a hand-picked bouquet of wild flowers or an unexpected gift – a paperback she’d been wanting to read, a bookmark, her favourite candy bar. He often inquired after her mother and Elinor and sometimes brought them small presents as well.

And his kisses…his kisses were to die for.

“Don’t forget, you and your aunt are invited to Lady Violet’s for Sunday dinner,” she reminded him on Friday night, her lips still tingling from his kisses as they sat, shoulder to shoulder with their knees drawn up, alone in the tree house.

“I’ll definitely be there, but my aunt can’t make it…she has another commitment. I’m surprised I’ve been invited to dinner at Barton Park, to be honest,” he admitted. “I hardly know Lady Valentine. She’s an acquaintance of my aunt’s, not mine.”

“She wants to thank you for rescuing me when I fell from the tree house. And she wants to thank Dr Brandon for helping me get her car returned.”

He glanced at her, surprised. “Oh. Was it stolen? I’d no idea.”