Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (20 page)

“Bye, darling. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

As he closed his umbrella and ducked inside the car, Marianne waved once more and flung the front door open. She’d got drenched to the skin in seconds flat, but she didn’t care.

Kit Willoughby had asked her to marry him.

***

“Why can’t we tell anyone you’re engaged, Mari?” her mother demanded as her daughter drifted into the kitchen. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve told you,” Marianne said, tamping down her irritation as Elinor got up and poured her a cup of tea, “Kit wants to keep it quiet, just for a little while.”

“But it makes no sense, no sense at all. What’s the real reason?”

“Oh, mum, stop badgering her,” Elinor scolded. “Why can’t you just let it go and respect their wishes?”

“I have no problem respecting anyone’s wishes. I simply don’t understand why I can’t share the news of my daughter’s engagement with everyone I know –”

“Because Willoughby’s aunt doesn’t approve.” Marianne spoke more sharply than she intended. She looked up from her tea and regarded her mother with a level gaze.

Mrs Holland drew in a sharp breath. “She doesn’t approve of what? The marriage? Or she doesn’t approve of you?”

“Either. Both. She has someone else in mind for Kit, and it – it isn’t me.”

Elinor sank back into her seat and laid a hand across Marianne’s. “But that’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard Willoughby mention anyone else. Who could she possibly be referring to? Can’t he stand up to the old dragon and marry whomever he wants?”

“Not really. His aunt’s very wealthy, and Kit stands to inherit her estate. She wants to ensure he marries someone more…suitable, I suppose.”

“Someone rich, you mean? Someone with a title.”

Marianne met her sister’s eyes. “Yes.”

Elinor thrust her chair back. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. What a snob! What an old-fashioned, arrogant, close-minded snob!”

“It’s all right.” Marianne managed a half-hearted but not very convincing smile. “Kit says he’ll make sure Mrs Smyth and I spend time together so she might get to know me better. He says it only needs a little effort to win her over, and everything will be fine. This is just a – a bump in the road.” She glanced at Elinor and her mother. “But you can’t tell anyone in the meantime. Not even Lady Violet or Mrs Fenwick. Promise me.”

“Of course we won’t tell anyone,” Mrs Holland agreed, plainly put out. “But it’s a sad day when a mother can’t share the news of her daughter’s engagement.”

So saying, she set her teacup down with a crack and strode out of the kitchen, and went upstairs to bed.

Chapter 31

On Sunday morning, promptly at nine-thirty, Kit Willoughby arrived to collect Marianne. He’d arranged for the two of them to have tea with his aunt at Allenham.

She came to a stop as she caught sight of the grey Mercedes sedan parked in the drive. “What’s this? That’s not your car! Where’s the Jag?”

“You won’t believe it, but it was stolen yesterday.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “
Stolen
? But you only just got it! How? What happened?”

“When the show-jumping competition ended yesterday, I came outside afterwards to find my car gone.” He sighed. “It was my own fault. I got distracted, and left the keys in the ignition. Bloody stupid.”

She looked at him in dismay. “Oh, Kit…I’m so sorry. Have the police found it yet? Have they got any leads, or any idea who might’ve taken it?”

“Not a clue. In the meantime, I’m driving this hire car until the insurance paperwork’s sorted.”

“Poor Kit,” Marianne murmured, and slid her arms around his neck in a show of sympathy, “reduced to driving a boring old sedan…”

He kissed her once more and his lips curved into a smile. “At least I’ll have a gorgeous fiancée to ride with me in my boring old sedan.” He held the door open and waited for her to get in. “Are you ready to meet my aunt?”

She groaned and leaned her head back against the seat. “No. I’ll never be ready.”

He laughed and closed the door. “You’ll be fine. You’ll charm her within five minutes, I promise you.”

And as he went around the bonnet and got in behind the wheel and drove them to Allenham, Marianne only wished she shared his conviction.

***

“Come in, please. Your Aunt Eugenia is expecting you.”

Marianne exchanged a nervous glance with Kit as the butler ushered them through Allenham’s massive front door. She had a vague impression of marble, echoing silence, and portraits painted with pale sunlight as they followed him across the entrance hall to the drawing room.

Kit squeezed her hand reassuringly and smiled. “Buck up,” he murmured. “You’ll be fine.”

Before she could do more than give him a fleeting smile in return, the butler opened the double doors, stepped inside, and intoned, “The Honourable Christopher Willoughby and his guest, Miss Marianne Holland.”

Marianne quailed. Crikey… Was this a meet-and-greet with Kit’s aunt, or a formal presentation at Buckingham Palace? She glanced down at her outfit with misgivings. She hoped she wasn’t underdressed in the pencil skirt and twinset she’d borrowed from Elinor.

Willoughby took her elbow and guided her through the door to his aunt, who presided over a table set with tea and an assortment of tiny sandwiches and miniature cakes. She stood as they came closer, dressed conservatively in a tweed skirt and silk blouse, and eyed Marianne with an inscrutable expression.

She allowed Kit to draw her into a brief embrace and turned her attention to Marianne. “Miss Holland. How nice to see you again. We met – very briefly – at Lady Violet’s picnic, did we not?”

You know very well we did
, Marianne thought, but “Yes, Mrs Smyth, we did. I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend much time together.”

“Then we must make amends for it today. I’d like you and my nephew to join me for luncheon.”

“We’d enjoy that,” Kit said, and smiled at Marianne. “Wouldn’t we, Mari?”

Although she couldn’t think of anything she’d like less, except perhaps being hit by a bus, she nodded. “Yes, of course.” Her glance went to the table with its lavish display of sandwiches and cake. “I’m afraid I won’t have any appetite left after this. Not with so much on offer.”

“Oh, those.” Eugenia’s words were dismissive. “The cook provides them, I seldom eat them. They could be plastic for all I know. I’ve no idea what happens once I send it all back. Ends up in the bin, or cook’s purse, I expect. Please, Miss Holland – sit down. Tea?”

Marianne sank down on the edge of the Queen Anne sofa and pressed her trembling knees together. She nodded. “Yes, please. Lemon and sugar, no milk.”

“Christopher tells me you work at the veterinary clinic in Endwhistle,” Mrs Smyth said as she poured her guest a cup of tea and handed it over.

“Yes.” Marianne took the cup and saucer and rested it carefully on her knees. “I hope to attend veterinary college and get my degree eventually.”

“Do you? How very…industrious.”

Marianne stiffened. It was not meant as a compliment.

“And what do you do at the clinic?” Mrs Smyth questioned. “Do you assist Dr Brandon with the animals?”

“No. I…I answer the phones and file insurance paperwork.”

“I see. So you work the reception desk.” Kit’s aunt lifted her cup to her lips. “Well. What else do you do at the clinic, Miss Holland?”

“I greet our clients and manage appointments, and I…” her voice trailed off. “I mop up dog wee.”

“It’s the first step on her way to a brilliant veterinary career,” Kit interjected. “Everyone has to start somewhere, right? Marianne has a real way with the animals. With just a few words, she calms them right down. It’s impressive to see.”

She smiled at him, grateful for his attempt to shore up her rapidly diminishing ‘wow factor’ with his imperious aunt.

“So you’re a female Dr Dolittle, Miss Holland?” Eugenia’s lips formed into a tight smile. “How very extraordinary.”

The remainder of the visit went no better.

At luncheon, overwhelmed by the protocol of which fork, knife, and wine glass to use as the three of them sat at one end of the enormous Jacobean dining table, Marianne could barely focus on the talk swirling around her. Her smile felt frozen in place. Acutely aware of Eugenia Smyth’s gimlet eyes on her, and of her poor showing under the woman’s relentless scrutiny, her conversational skills all but deserted her.

“It was horrible,” Marianne admitted in Kit’s car as they drove back to Barton Park late that afternoon. She choked out a small, strangled sob. “
I
was horrible. Complete rubbish. Your aunt hated me, and I don’t blame her.”

“She didn’t,” he said, but without much conviction. He groped in the dash compartment until he found a clean but crumpled tissue and held it out to her. “These things take time.”

“I could have all eternity,” she hiccupped as she blew her nose, “and she’d still hate me.”

“You’re wrong. We’ll meet again on more…neutral ground, next time,” he promised. “We’ll have dinner at a nice restaurant. Or something.”

And although Marianne managed a wan smile, his words filled her with dread.

Because if Eugenia Smyth was the only thing standing between her and Kit Willoughby and their future together, they were seriously screwed.

Chapter 32

On Monday, caving in to her mother’s insistence that they needed to spend a day looking at wedding gowns as soon as possible, Marianne arrived early at the veterinary clinic, tossed her handbag in the file cabinet, and went straight into Matthew’s office.

“I wonder,” she asked him, her voice steady despite her quickened heartbeat, “if I might have Saturday off? It’s only a half day, after all,” she added in a rush. “And Dr Wilson will be in to help you.”

He glanced up from his paperwork. “And who’ll answer the phones?”

Marianne had already anticipated his question. “Mackenzie.” Mackenzie Reeves worked at the local temporary agency and filled in at the clinic’s front desk whenever someone was on vacation or off sick. “I spoke to her and she’s said she’s available.”

He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Well. It seems you’ve thought of everything.”

She bit her lip and waited.

“All right then, go on.” He let out a breath and sat up. “If Miss Reeves is willing to cover for you, then I suppose I can spare you.”

“Thanks.” Relief flooded her.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked as he laid his pen aside. “Is it your birthday? Your sister’s birthday?”

She shook her head. “Nothing like that. Just a day shopping with mum and Elinor, that’s all.”

“Good. You deserve a day off – you’ve done a great job. You handled your first lambing very well.”

Marianne flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. I loved it. It was an amazing experience. But I really didn’t do anything…you did it all.”

“You didn’t faint,” he said dryly. “That’s something to be proud of in my book, believe me.”

***

The week passed quickly. On Wednesday evening, Kit Willoughby arrived at Barton cottage to take Marianne to dinner.

“You’ve got the Jaguar back,” she said as he led her out to the car and opened the passenger door.

“The police recovered it yesterday.” He waited until she was settled inside and shut the door, then got in the driver’s seat.

“Where was it?” she asked as he slid behind the wheel. “Who took it? Was there any damage?”

“It was abandoned near Roundtrees, the Rodericks’ place. We don’t know who took it; and no, there wasn’t any damage. Only a small scratch on the back left fender.”

“Well, that’s good, at least. Sorry for bombarding you with questions. Are there any suspects yet?”

Kit laughed and leaned over the gearshift to kiss her. “You sound like Miss Marple.”

“At least I don’t look like her,” Marianne pointed out as she settled back in her seat.

“True.” He eyed her silk dress in approval and shifted into gear, and manoeuvred the car carefully down the bumpy, rut-riddled drive that led to the main road.

“So.” Marianne laid her silk clutch across her lap. “They found your car at Roundtrees, you said?”

“Yes, abandoned by the lake. Whoever stole it must’ve taken it on a joyride. Kids, probably.”

“Kids? More than one?”

He nodded. “There were beer cans in the back seat, candy wrappers, wadded-up trash, and a bracelet on the floor –” he broke off, and his hand tensed on the gear knob.

Marianne eyed him. “What? What is it?”

Kit signalled and turned onto the main road. His expression was distracted.

“Kit –? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Sorry.” He glanced at her. “I just remembered something, that’s all. Something I need to take care of.” He raised his eyebrow. “Now then, tell me, Miss Marple – where would you like to go for dinner tonight?”

***

“Maybe I’ll have better luck finding a dress online. Or maybe I’ll just give up.”

So saying, Marianne finished flicking through the rack of reduced-price wedding gowns and turned away with a sigh of frustration. It was Saturday afternoon, and she and her mother and sister had visited every dress shop and department store in Endwhistle, Lambert, and now, Carywick. They’d avoided Hadleighshire so as not to run into anyone they knew and risk having to field any nosy questions about the engagement.

She let out a deep sigh. So far, nothing had caught her fancy. Either the dresses were too frilly, too plain, or far too expensive.

Marianne’s heart sank. Who was she kidding?
All
of them were too expensive.

Discouraged, she trailed after Elinor and Mrs Holland until they emerged back on the street. “Why don’t we have lunch?” their mother suggested. She indicated a little café on the corner. “We can sit at one of those lovely tables outside.”

The day was unusually mild, and although it was still chilly by South Devon standards, the sun warmed their faces.

“Why not?” Marianne said, disgruntled. “Shopping’s not getting me anywhere.”

“Don’t give up yet.” Elinor reached into her handbag and thrust on a pair of sunglasses. “There’re still a few dress shops left. We’ll try again after lunch.”

“Try again?” Marianne retorted. “Why bother? As I see it, I have two choices. I can either settle for a dress with more frills than a bloody flamenco dancer’s, or one so plain that I might as well wear a slip when I walk down the aisle. And the dresses I
do
like are way too expensive.”