Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (14 page)

Edward’s smile was rueful. “I know only too well what that feels like.”

“What do you mean?”

It was his turn to hesitate. “I face the same dilemma constantly with my sister Harriet,” he said after a moment. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that she’s very…shall we say, forthright in her opinions.”

Elinor’s lips curved upwards. “Yes. We’ve all noticed it.”

“My problem, like yours, is how to criticise her behaviour without causing offence at the same time. The answer, of course, is that it’s impossible. Sometimes one must speak one’s mind, and – pardon the cliché – let the chips fall where they may.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Although it’s usually Mari who speaks her mind, not me.”

“Elinor,” he began, and drew his brows together, “while we’re on the subject of speaking frankly, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I must tell you.”

“Oh.” She looked up at him, her expression at once quizzical and guarded. “What is it?”

“It’s to do with me, not you,” he assured her, although he still looked troubled. “There’s a reason I haven’t texted, or called. Several years ago, I –”

The sound of Marianne’s scream pierced the stillness, echoing through the trees, and the two of them exchanged a startled glance before they flung themselves back on their mounts and galloped away to find out what had happened.

Chapter 21

“Marianne!” Elinor cried as their horses pelted through the thicket of beeches and oaks and neared her sister and Edward. She dismounted and flew to her. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

Trembling and white-faced, Marianne pointed to a drift of leaves under an oak tree. “I saw a snake,” she choked out. “There. A v-viper.”

Elinor shuddered and put an arm tightly around her shoulders. “Oh my God! It didn’t strike, did it?”

“No,” Willoughby said. “It slithered off into the woods. It dropped down from a branch right in front of us and disappeared.”

“Perhaps we should head back to Barton Park,” Edward suggested.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Marianne agreed shakily. “Let’s go.”

Willoughby helped her mount the bay mare once more and they returned to Lady Violet’s estate, a far more sombre party than the one that had left the stables an hour before, and sat down in the drawing room.

“What a dreadful, dreadful experience,” Lady Violet fretted as Mrs Fenwick and her stepson brought them tea and coffee and handed a glass of Madeira to Marianne to calm her nerves. “I’m just relieved that no one was hurt.”

“You saw a snake?” Lacey asked as she wandered in, impressed. “Cool."

“It wasn’t ‘cool’,” Marianne said irritably, “it was bloody scary.”

“Still – wish I’d seen it.” She slanted a come-hither glance at Kit. “Then maybe
I’d
have got rescued by a hot bloke, too.”

“Why don’t you go outside and wait for me?” Matthew told his sister shortly as he entered the room. He turned away and approached Marianne with concern on his face. “I just heard what happened. Are you all right?”

She nodded, still shaken from the experience. “It didn’t strike, thank God.”

“Well, then, you’re very lucky.”

“Sometimes snakebites are dry,” Jack pointed out.

“‘Dry?’” Elinor echoed. “I don’t understand.”

“They don’t always inject venom when they bite, or they only inject a bit. You’d know soon enough if they did. Can make you sick, though, all the same.”

“Know a lot about snakes, do you?” Lacey, still loitering by the door, asked. Interest replaced her normal jaded expression as she fiddled with her bracelet.

Jack nodded. “A bit. Have to, livin’ out here.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Mrs Fenwick told her stepson firmly. “Now, if you’d be so good as to take Miss Holland’s wine glass back to the kitchen, I’d appreciate it, and then hadaway wit’ ye.”

He shrugged and picked up Marianne’s emptied glass. “Right, I’m gan,” he said. He glanced at Lacey. “Come along outside with me after I take this to the kitchen, Miss Brandon?”

“Sure,” she said, affecting indifference. “Why not?”

“Don’t go far,” Matthew warned her. “We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

“Why don’t you put a bloody ball and chain on me, then?” she snapped.

With a glare at her brother, she turned on her Doc Martens-ed heel and stalked out behind Jack.

***

“It was quite a day today, wasn’t it?” Elinor said as she let herself into her sister’s room that evening and went to the canopied bed to sit down.

Marianne nodded absently as she slid a nightgown over her head. Her thoughts still lingered on the memory of Willoughby’s ardent kisses. “I had a brill time…except for Lacey, the emo nightmare. And except for the bit with the snake,” she added, and shuddered. “Could’ve done without that.”

“I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.” Elinor drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “Edward was about to tell me something when you screamed. Something important, he said.”

Marianne whirled around from the dressing table. “Really? Oh, crap –you don’t suppose he meant to ask you to
marry
him? I hope my screeching didn’t stop him from making you a marriage proposal –”

“I doubt it,” Elinor said. “It was something much more mundane, I’m sure.”

“Maybe…maybe not. But it’s plain to see he likes you. He means to propose, mark my words.”

“What about Kit?” Elinor asked. “It’s plain to see he’s crazy about
you
.”

“Do you think so?” Marianne didn’t wait for an answer, but flopped down on the bed beside her sister and gazed up at the silk gathers of the canopy. “Perhaps he’ll ask me to marry him before too much longer.”

“And how would you feel if he did? Would you say yes?”

“Are you
serious
? Of course I would. Kit’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a husband. More.”

“Mari,” Elinor ventured, her expression guarded, “about that…there’s something I want to ask you. You can tell me to mind my business if you like, but…there’s something I need to know.”

“You can ask me anything. But,” she added lightly, “I mightn’t answer.”

“Fair enough.” She hesitated. “Have you – have you and Kit slept together yet?”

Marianne flew up. Her eyes flashed with anger and her face was flushed as she retorted, “God – what a thing to ask! No, as it happens, we haven’t. But I love him with all my heart; why shouldn’t I give him my body, too?”

“Because I’m not sure he’ll value either one.”

There was a small, shocked silence as Marianne took in her sister’s words. “How can you say that?” she demanded, her face flushed with anger.

“Don’t be cross with me, Mari, please.” Elinor leaned forward and took her hands. “But even you have to admit…it’s way too soon! You know I’m right. You’ve known each other for less than three weeks. And while it’s true he seems crazy about you, I…”

“You what?” Marianne challenged her. “You think he only wants to have sex with me, is that it? Get me into bed, and then dump me?”

Elinor let go of her sister’s hands and sat back. “I don’t know. I hope not. I hope I’m wrong, but honestly? I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Do you want to know what I think, Elinor?” Marianne said evenly. “Do you?”

Elinor was silent.

“I think you’re jealous.”

Her sister went pale. “What? That’s not true –”

“It is. You’re
jealous
,” she went on, flinging herself away from the bed, “because you haven’t got a job to occupy your time –”

“And how am I supposed to get a job,” Elinor demanded, “stuck out here in the back of beyond, and you using our car – our
only
car! –every day of the week?”

“– or a proper boyfriend to hang out with. Oh, you have Edward, but only for the next few days – nice, boring, perfectly mannered Edward – who never bothered once to call you, or text, or anything, because he’s incapable of sharing his true feelings for you. If, that is, he even
has
any feelings for you.”

The minute the words flew from her mouth, Marianne regretted them, and longed to take them back. She wished it even more when Elinor’s face suddenly crumpled, and she slid from the bed and ran, tears welling in her eyes, to the door.

Marianne groaned. Why had she said such a hurtful, hateful thing, and to her sister, of all people?

“Ellie,” she called out, and ran after her. “I’m sorry, truly. I didn’t mean it – I swear I didn’t. It was a stupid thing to say. Please, wait–”

But the resounding slam of Elinor’s bedroom door echoing down the upstairs hallway was her only answer.

Chapter 22

Marianne looked up from the reception desk as the veterinarian strode into the clinic on Monday morning. “Good morning, Dr Brandon.”

He glanced at her. “Morning.”

“You’ve brought Emily,” she said, and got up from her chair to admire the little Blackface lamb tucked under his arm. “Is she all right?” she asked as she came round the desk and bent forward to rub Emily gently between the ears. “She’s not sick, is she?”

“She’s fine. Just bringing her with me on the way out to Martin’s farm. They’ve a cow in breech and their vet’s away, so I’m off to take care of it. Clear all of my appointments, please.”

“Okay. Oh – what about Mrs Clark? She had a question –”

“I should be back later this afternoon. I’ll call her then. Bring me a coffee before I go, please. Black.”

And he disappeared into the surgery without further conversation.

Well
, Marianne thought as she made her way back around the desk and resumed her seat in irritation,
and a good morning to you, too
…

***

Monday – and the rest of her week – passed quickly. Marianne and Elinor were civil to one another, nothing more. If their mother noticed their behaviour she gave no sign, being preoccupied with the preparations for Lady Violet’s upcoming picnic.

“Will one marquee do?” Mrs Holland fretted one evening after dinner. “Or should we have two? It’s rather a large party, now that Harriet and Edward are here, and if it should rain –”

“Doesn’t matter.” Marianne didn’t look up from the book she was reading. “Lady V can certainly afford any number of marquees.”

“Everything isn’t always about money, you know,” Elinor pointed out as she sat down and picked up her needlepoint. “There are other considerations.”

“Such as?” Marianne challenged, and lowered her book.

“Such as…safety. We don’t want everyone crowded together under one marquee if we can avoid it. What if it collapsed? We’ll need at least two.”

“Right,” she retorted. “And although that’s exactly what I just said, I defer to your superior judgment.”

“Someone round here needs to get off her high horse,” Elinor muttered, and jabbed the needle into her canvas. “Or stallion, as the case may be.”

Marianne flung her book aside. “And what’s
that
supposed to mean –?”

“Girls,” Mrs Holland snapped. “Do stop sniping at each another, please! I declare, you’ll both be the death of me yet.”

As her daughters subsided into a frosty silence, she tapped the end of her pencil against her lips and added, “Now, what do you think for the picnic menu? Scotch eggs, of course,” she decided, and jotted down a note, “we must have those; and cucumber sandwiches. Oh – and perhaps a nice Battenberg cake, don’t you both agree –?”

***

The Saturday before Lady Violet’s picnic, after a relatively quiet morning at the clinic, Dr Brandon emerged from the surgery just as Marianne locked the front door and flipped the sign to ‘closed’.

“What a week.” He tossed his clipboard down on the reception counter. “A misdirected calf, a poisoning, back to back surgeries, and then having to put down Mrs Mason’s old spaniel, Riley…” His voice trailed away.

He looked, Marianne realised suddenly, exhausted. Defeated. “What you need,” she said briskly as she made her way back to the desk, “is lunch. A nice ploughman’s and a pint at the local and you’ll feel much better.”

“And is everything made right with food?” he retorted, and leaned against the counter. “Dinner parties, picnics, lunch – apple pie, and overcooked veg – is that the Holland prescription for whatever ails you?”

“Don’t scoff, it works.” Although her words were tart, Marianne smiled at him, pleased when she saw his face relax into an answering smile.

“Very well.” He pushed himself away from the counter and turned back to the surgery. “Let me wash up, and we’ll go.”

The Endwhistle pub was small but doing a brisk business when they arrived twenty minutes later. They found seats in the back, on high-backed benches – ‘former church pews,’ Matthew informed her dryly as they sat down – and ordered cheese and pickle sandwiches and two pints.

“Tell me about Emily,” Marianne said as she rested her elbows on the table. “She’s adorable. I can certainly understand why you’re so fond of her. But…why her, in particular?”

He looked at her, and his expression closed, and she feared he wouldn’t answer.

“She’d been left for dead,” he said a moment later. “I found her at the start of the last lambing season. Her mother went out to the edge of the paddock to birth twins, and the first lamb was fine. But this one –” His expression was grim as he stopped to take a long draught of his beer. “The crows were already waiting on the fence, the scavenging bastards. I was debating whether to skin her or not when she let out a tiny bleat and I realised she was still alive.”

Marianne’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. “
Skin
her? You don’t mean –?”

He shrugged. “It happens sometimes that a lamb’s rejected. Might be the runt, or it’s left for dead after birth, like Emily was. The only way to save an orphan is to skin a dead lamb’s fleece and wrap it around the newborn, and hope the scent will trick the ewe into accepting it as her own. It’s called grafting.”

“I’d no idea,” she said. “And does it work?”

“Mostly, it does. A newborn lamb needs its mother. Can’t survive otherwise,” he said. “Colostrum’s only produced for a few days after a ewe gives birth; her lambs need it to survive.”

“What did you do when you realised Emily was still breathing?”

“I carried her back to the house and put her in a warming box. Then I injected her abdomen with glucose and gave her a couple more jabs of antibiotics and painkillers. And then…I waited.”