Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (36 page)

Without thought, knowing only that he had to get her back to Delaford, Matthew ran to her and knelt down and drew her into his arms. “Marianne,” he said again, his words low and ragged as he straightened. “Can you hear me?”

But the wind tore his words away.

With a last, grim glance at Cum Magna, blazing with light below them, he turned away, and carried Marianne back down the hill to his truck, and home.

***

Matthew returned to Delaford thirty minutes later with Marianne cradled, still unconscious, in his arms. His father flung the front door wide and stood back as he strode inside.

“Take her to your old room,” the colonel instructed him. “She’ll be comfortable there. None of the guest rooms are ready.”

“Is she all right?” Mrs Holland cried, and reached out to touch her daughter’s damp, unresponsive face. She gasped. “She’s burning up.”

Matthew nodded. “She’s running a fever. The sooner we get her upstairs to bed, the better.”

“Of course.” She stood by, fretting and twisting her hands together, as Colonel Brandon’s son carried her daughter upstairs. She and Elinor and the colonel followed, their faces anxious, and Mrs Deane preceded them and went ahead of Matthew into his boyhood room and flung back the covers of his old twin bed.

He eased Marianne down on the cushioned window seat as carefully as possible. “She’s soaked through. She’ll need a change of clothing before you put her to bed.”

“I’ll fetch some towels and clothes from your mum’s old room,” the cook said. “I’m sure there’s a nightgown in the dresser. You and your father run along. Mrs Holland and Elinor and I will take good care of the young lady, I promise you.”

“I’ll go and call Dr Palmer,” Colonel Brandon said, and left to return downstairs. “Come along, Matthew.”

Matthew, his hair plastered to his forehead and his face etched with both exhaustion and concern, tore his gaze away from Marianne and nodded. “Right. I’ll clean myself up and change my clothes, and then I’ll fix us both a drink. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a whisky.”

***

In a matter of minutes the three women removed Marianne’s sodden clothing, dried her off, and dressed her in one of Mrs Brandon’s old flannel nightgowns. She remained limp and unresponsive as they drew the blankets over her.

“My poor, darling girl,” Mrs Holland muttered, distraught.

“I’ll go downstairs and make a pot of tea,” Mrs Deane said. “Try not to worry. The doctor’s on his way,” and she patted the woman’s hand before she took her leave.

Elinor sank onto a chair near the bed. “I hate Kit Willoughby,” she said, her words low but tight with fury. “He’s brought my sister nothing but misery and pain. To make her think he loved her – to ask her to
marry
him – and then, to marry someone else, without a word of explanation or apology…it’s beyond cruel. It’s heartless.”

“Marianne’s far better off without him,” her mother agreed. Her expression grew troubled. “But I doubt she sees it that way, even after all he’s put her through. She can’t seem to let Willoughby – or his memory – go.”

“Perhaps I can help with that.”

Elinor looked up to see Matthew, a glass of whisky in hand, standing in the doorway.

“Dr Brandon,” she said, and half rose from her chair. “Please, come in.”

“No, don’t get up; I won’t stay. I only wanted to tell you both that the doctor’s on his way. He should be here shortly.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Holland said. “You and your father have been very kind and understanding through all of this.”

“What happened to Marianne was unfortunate.” He came into the room and stood at the foot of his childhood bed and gazed down at the youngest Holland girl. “But at least she knows the truth. She would’ve found out about Willoughby’s wedding eventually. And at least we’re all here to help her recover when she wakes up.”

“What did you mean just now,” Elinor asked, turning to him with a curious expression, “when you said you might be able to help my sister let Kit’s memory go?”

“My father had a visitor after I brought Marianne upstairs. He just left. He told us something that should help lessen any…” he paused. “Anguish that Marianne might have over Willoughby.”

“Oh. Well, what is it?” Mrs Holland asked, and leaned forward with anxiety etched on her face. “Please tell us.”

He set his drink aside. “You know that Lacey and Jack stole Willoughby’s car recently and took it for a joyride.”

“Yes, we know,” Elinor said. “The police found it abandoned on the Rodericks’ property a couple of days later.”

“Right. Kit came to Delaford while my father was gone,” Matthew went on, “to confront my sister and tell her he was on his way to the police. They’d found her bracelet in the car and he knew straight away it belonged to her.”

“But he didn’t go,” Mrs Holland said.

“No, because Lacey went to see him on her own later that night, to try and convince him not to press charges. She claimed he agreed, on one condition – that she had sex with him.”

“I still can’t believe Kit could do such a thing,” Elinor said quietly. “It seems so unlike him.”

“He didn’t.”

“He
didn’t
?” Mrs Holland exclaimed, her face ashen. “But I don’t understand. That’s not what your sister said!”

“My sister lied.” Matthew sank down on the edge of the window seat. “I suspected as much, but I couldn’t be sure. Now someone’s come forward, someone who overheard what really happened that night.”

Elinor’s eyes widened. “Who?”

“Eugenia Smyth’s chauffeur. He said he couldn’t keep silent any longer.”

“What did he say? Please, tell us!” Marianne’s mother entreated.

“He was having a smoke around the corner from the guesthouse – where Kit was staying – when Lacey showed up.” He pressed his lips together. “She came on to Kit, not the other way round. He turned her down flat and sent her away. She was furious, and went to his Aunt Eugenia the very next morning, and made up the whole, ugly story to get back at him.” He looked at Elinor and her mother in turn, and his expression was grim. “Kit Willoughby,” he finished quietly, “did nothing wrong.”

Chapter 51

“I knew it,” Mrs Holland said fervently. “I always
knew
he’d never do such a despicable thing to Lacey, or hurt my daughter so completely.”

“But if Kit’s done nothing wrong, as this chauffeur says,” Elinor pointed out, “then why did he run away? Why did he go to London, and end things with Marianne?”

“Because he knew it was his word against Lacey’s,” Matthew replied, “and he was afraid no one would believe him. His own aunt didn’t believe him.” He fixed his gaze on Elinor and her mother in turn. “Willoughby’s Aunt Eugenia sent him away from Allenham Court.”

“Sent him away?” Mrs Holland drew in a sharp breath.

“She’s disinherited him. He has nothing. I ran into his sister Philippa yesterday, and she told me that when Eugenia learned what he’d done, she was so incensed she ordered him to go and told him she wanted nothing further to do with him.”

“That must’ve been the night he came to see Marianne,” Elinor said slowly. “He was upset, not himself; he told Marianne he was leaving for London, but didn’t say why.” She looked at her mother. “And no wonder! After his aunt threw him out, he must’ve thought Marianne wouldn’t believe him, either.”

“Yes, he left that same night for London,” Matthew confirmed. “Where he soon crossed paths with Miss Grey. With no money, and mounting debts, he needed an income, and fast. His estate belonged to his late father and he was about to lose it. With no inheritance to count on any longer, he found himself in a real fix.”

“So he asked Sophia Grey to marry him,” Elinor said.

“I’m sure the fact she’s worth six hundred thousand pounds heavily influenced his decision to propose to her,” Matthew said shortly.

“But Willoughby can’t possibly love the girl,” Mrs Holland said, and shook her head slowly. “Not if he’s only marrying her for money.”

“Exactly my point.” Matthew gazed down at Marianne, still pale but sleeping deeply. “There’s nothing between them; it’s a business arrangement, nothing more. He gets access to her money; she gets an honorary title and becomes the mistress of Cum Magna.”

“But why should any of this help my sister feel any better, or forget Willoughby?” Elinor asked him, perplexed. “If anything, it’ll make things worse, knowing she lost him for no good reason – and all because of Lacey.”

“Because…” Matthew stopped and raked a hand through his hair. “Eugenia’s chauffeur said Kit pushed Lacey away and told her he wanted no part of her…because he loved Marianne.”

She stared at him. “What? Do you mean to say –”

“Willoughby knew his disinheritance, along with Lacey’s lies, put paid to any chance he and your sister might have had to make a life together. He’s marrying Sophia Grey for money. But it’s Marianne he loves.”

***

Dr Palmer arrived a short time later. After examining Marianne, he pronounced she had a fever due to internal infection and wrote out a prescription for antibiotics.

“Give her aspirin in the meantime,” he instructed, “and keep a cold compress on her forehead to get that fever down.”

“What if the fever doesn’t break?” Elinor asked, her eyes anxious on Marianne as she muttered and moved her head restlessly against the pillow.

“Call me straight away, and I’ll come back.” The doctor’s smile was tired but kind. “She’ll be fine, Miss Holland, I assure you. Stay with her now and keep her comfortable. That’s really all you can do.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Holland told him, and walked with him to the door. “I’ll show you out.”

As they left, Elinor eyed Matthew. “You’re exhausted,” she said, and stood up from her chair. “Why don’t you sit down, and rest?”

“Only if you promise to go downstairs with your mother and give my father a chance to try and salvage dinner,” he said, and smiled. “He feels badly about all of this. I’m sure he’ll be relieved to hear that Marianne’s all right.”

“I’m sure he will,” she agreed. “If you’re sure, and you don’t mind staying here with Marianne –?”

“I’m sure. Go. I’ll let you know at once if anything changes.”

She thanked him, and after a moment’s hesitation, she left.

Matthew sat on the edge of the armchair and leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, and studied the feverish girl. Perspiration dampened her hairline; she muttered unintelligible things under her breath and thrashed her head now and then against the pillow.

He drew the bowl of cool water Mrs Deane had brought earlier and set on the bedside table towards him and wrung out the cloth, then laid it gently across her forehead.

She murmured something as the damp cloth touched her heated skin, but it made no sense. After that she didn’t stir, and fell into a restless sleep. Her breathing finally settled and became deep and even.

“Get well, Marianne,” Matthew urged in a low voice. “Willoughby isn’t worth all this. He might love you, after a fashion. But he didn’t fight for you. He doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t care about you like I do,” he added, his words rough and barely audible. “He never will.”

Then, overcome by a bone-deep tiredness from an early start and a long and eventful day, Matthew sank back in the chair, and within minutes he gave in to exhaustion, and slept.

***

Her mouth was dry, and like a ship, she felt unmoored.

Disconcerted, Marianne opened her eyes. She didn’t know where she was. Why was she lying in a narrow twin bed in what looked like a – a boy’s room? Her glanced skimmed over the posters of Doctor Who and various Northumberland rugby pennants displayed on the walls with growing confusion.

She parted her lips to speak, but no sound emerged.

“Marianne? Are you awake?”

The voice belonged to Elinor.

She turned her head on the pillow and saw her sister, leaning close, her face stamped with a mixture of relief and concern.

“Yes,” she whispered, and blinked. “What am I doing here? Where am I? It’s all a muddle.” She turned and saw Matthew, slumped back and sprawled in an armchair by the bed, sleeping. “What’s Matthew doing here?”

“Don’t you remember?” Elinor took her hand and held it. “You ran outside just before the storm came, and you climbed the hill overlooking Willoughby’s estate, and then you must’ve fainted.”

With a sharp intake of breath, it all came rushing back.

Marianne remembered overhearing the gossip about Kit Willoughby in the kitchen, she remembered running outside, desperate to get away – as if by leaving the house she could leave behind the unbearable pain the news of his impending marriage to someone else had caused her. She remembered stumbling across the fields in the wind and rain until, muddy and weeping, she reached the crest of the hill that overlooked Cum Magna.

Willoughby’s estate was lit up, all of its dozens of windows shining brightly as marriage preparations took place for the bride and groom. The sight of it was her undoing; like a knife-twist in her stomach, Kit’s house, such a hive of activity as his wedding day loomed, left her doubled over in pain and desolate with grief.

“I’ve lost him,” Marianne said now, her voice barely audible. “He’s marrying someone else today.” She glanced at the windows and saw by the faint wash of light that the night, and the storm, had passed.

“Hush, don’t upset yourself,” Elinor said, and squeezed her hand. Briefly, and as kindly as she could, she told her sister what Matthew had relayed to them the night before. “Willoughby didn’t do any of the things Lacey accused him of,” she finished.

“I knew he didn’t.” Marianne’s voice was barely audible, but firm. “I never believed it, never.”

“It was his word against Lacey’s,” Elinor said. “When his own aunt didn’t believe him, he must’ve thought you wouldn’t believe him, either, and so he left.” She paused. “But he
did
love you, Mari. He told Lacey he loved you, and only you, and always would.”

“Then why didn’t he fight for me?” Marianne whispered. “Why didn’t he fight for
us
? He should’ve told me what happened, the night he came to see me, instead of running off to London in a cloud of mystery, leaving me behind.” Tears slid down her flushed cheeks.