Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (38 page)

“I’m fine.” Her words left no doubt as she set her cup down. “Willoughby’s nothing more than a bad memory, already forgotten.”

“Are you sure about that? Are you sure you’re really over him?”

“He hurt me,” she admitted, and frowned. “Badly. But even if we’d ended up together, even if Lacey hadn’t done what she did, it wouldn’t have worked out between us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure Willoughby’s aunt would’ve disowned him if he married me. I wasn’t rich enough or educated enough to suit her. Eventually, Kit would’ve begun to resent me.”

Matthew said nothing, but she saw in his eyes that he suspected she was right.

“He didn’t love me enough to come to me and tell me the truth,” she added, and lifted her gaze to his. “He didn’t trust that I’d believe him. He gave up on us, on me, far too easily. And then he left, and never looked back.”

“What if he hadn’t married Sophie? Would you have given him another chance?”

“No.” She spoke firmly. “He didn’t give us a chance. He didn’t value what we had enough to fight for it. There’s no coming back from that.”

The phone rang, shrilling out across the clinic.

Marianne sighed and glanced at her watch. “That’s probably mum, wondering why I’m not home yet.” She glanced at Matthew and smiled. “I’m looking forward to dinner at yours tomorrow night.”

“No expectations,” he assured her. “Just…dinner.”

“No expectations,” she agreed. “Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” He kissed her. “That’s all I need.”

Chapter 53

“Someone’s at the door, Elinor,” her mother called out late on Saturday afternoon.

Elinor’s fingers paused on her needlepoint. She was stitching a crewelwork Christmas pillow for Marianne and decided to take advantage of her sister’s frequent visits to Greensprings to move forward with the project. After all, it was already September, and Christmas would be upon them before they knew it –

Once again, the doorbell went. “Elinor,” Mrs Holland called out again, a trace of annoyance in her voice. “I’m busy. Please do see who’s there.”

With a mutter of irritation, Elinor laid her needlepoint aside and stood up. She made her way down the hallway and flung the door open. “Yes –?”

Edward Ferrars stood on the doorstep before her, even more attractive than she remembered in his black clergy shirt and trousers. He cleared his throat. “Elinor. I’m sorry. Is – have I come at a bad time?”

Never had there been a more unexpected, or more welcome, surprise than Edward. And never had there been a more handsome vicar.

“Not at all,” she said finally, and gathered her wits sufficiently to invite him inside. “I’m just very…surprised to see you.”

“You are?” He waited as she shut the door, and his expression was puzzled. “Why is that?”

Elinor hesitated. “It’s just – we thought…
I
thought, that you were in the Maldives.”

His puzzlement deepened. “The Maldives? Why would I be there?”

She recovered her manners and said, “I’m sorry. Please, come into the drawing room, and we can talk there.”

He nodded, still looking a bit baffled, and followed her as she led the way into the drawing room. She snatched up her canvas and yarn from the sofa and put them aside, and invited him to sit down.

She sat on the sofa; he chose the armchair opposite.

They stared at one another.

He cleared his throat. “Is that a needlework project?” he asked as his glance flickered to the discarded canvas on the coffee table.

“Yes. I’m making a Christmas cushion for Marianne.” She forced a smile. “She loves cushions.”

“Ah, yes. So…so do I. Cushions are…quite nice to have. Especially at Christmas,” he added. “Very festive.”

“Yes. Very.” She hesitated. “Edward –”

“Elinor –”

She let out a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry; where are my manners? Would you like tea, or a coffee, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.”

Having exhausted every topic of polite conversation, Elinor took a steadying breath and forced another bright, false smile. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

He leaned forward slightly. “Congratulations?”

“Yes. Lady Violet tells us that you’re married now.”

“Married?” He paled. “I’m sorry,” he added, “I don’t mean to sound like a parrot, truly, but…I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No need to pretend,” she said lightly. “Your sister’s housekeeper told Lady Violet that you and Lucy Steele got married last Saturday,” she said. “In Carywick. At Christ Church.”

“Oh. Right. Yes, now I think I begin to see.” His face cleared, like the sky after a summer storm.

It was Elinor’s turn to look perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“Elinor,” Edward said, and fixed her with a steady gaze, “I regret to say that I’m not married. That is,” he added quickly, “I hope to change that circumstance, before very much more time has passed.” He cleared his throat once again. “But at the moment I assure you, I’m definitely…single.”

She blinked. “So you – you’re not married? To Lucy Steele?”

“No.”

Her brows drew together in a frown. “Then how –? Why would Harriet’s housekeeper say such a thing to Lady Violet?”

“I’m sure what she
meant
to say,” he said, and gave her a tentative smile, “is that my stepbrother, Robert, is married to Lucy. Not me.”

“
Robert
,” she echoed, stunned. Hope, shock, disbelief all played across her face. “I see. But…what about the engagement? What about your promise to Miss Steele, four years ago?”

“Well, as it happened, Lucy and Robert spent a lot of time together in London. They met at my party, and hit it off, so much so, that…” he paused. “They fell in love, and Lucy asked if she might break our engagement. Of course I pretended to be disappointed,” he added, “but I agreed, and promised to do my best to get over losing her, and soldier on.” He gave her a wry smile.

“So you’re not engaged,” Elinor whispered.

“No.”

“And…you’re not married. To Lucy.”

“No. I’m not married. To anyone,” he said solemnly.

To her embarrassment, a welter of emotions overtook her; relief, joy, and shock all coalesced and overwhelmed her. She began, noisily, to cry. Not quiet sobs or pretty, glistening tears; she gasped and sobbed and wept copiously as Edward looked on, startled and alarmed and at a complete loss as to what to do as he felt in his pocket for a tissue or handkerchief.

“I’m so s-sorry,” she hiccupped, and took the wodge of tissues he found and handed her, and blew her nose. “I don’t know – w-what’s – the m-matter – with me.”

A flood of emotions, emotions she’d bottled up so tightly inside her, and for so long, had swamped her, astonishing her with their strength.

“I think I’m partly to blame,” Edward said, his words quietly apologetic. He stood and came to sit on the sofa beside her and angled himself towards her. “I should’ve told you much sooner, Elinor, that I’m –” he stopped, embarrassed.

She blew her nose again and looked at him expectantly.

“That I’m in love with you. I have been since the moment I met you, that day I came to Norland with my sister Harriet. But I never thought – I didn’t dare to hope – that you might actually return my feelings. I thought you considered me to be nothing more than a…friend.”

“A friend?” She stared at him through a haze of tears and began, helplessly, to laugh. “Oh, lord. What a pair we’ve been, Edward.”

“Then do you – do you feel the same way I do?” A cautious hope lit his face.

She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand and met his eyes. “Yes,” she said simply. “I love you. I adore you. I can’t possibly imagine my life without you.”

“Nor can I.” He reached out tentatively and clasped both her hands in his. “Elinor, I know this must all seem very sudden to you, but I wonder, would you –”

“Yes,” she breathed, and flung herself into his arms. “I’ll marry you, Edward, and be your wife, and help you run the vicarage, and give you as many children as you like.”

He kissed her, shyly at first, then with increasing fervour as he matched her enthusiasm with his own. When at last they drew apart, their faces flushed and their lips tingling, Edward leaned back.

“You didn’t let me finish my question,” he said.

“Oh.
Oh
.” Crestfallen, she stared at him in dismay. “Don’t tell me you…you
didn’t
intend to ask me to marry you? Have I just made a complete fool of myself?”

He laughed. “Of course not. I did intend to ask you to marry me. But I also wondered,” he added, hesitantly, “if that cup of tea might still be on offer –?”

“Oh, honestly, Edward! Haven’t you learned by now,” Elinor said, and laughed as he took her in his arms once again, “that you have only to ask?”

Chapter 54

On Saturday evening, after they finished their plates of steak and salad and jacket potatoes, Marianne followed Matthew into the lounge. As the fire snapped and danced before them, they settled on the sofa and talked of everything and nothing – where they’d gone to school, their favourite sweets, which books they’d read.

Some time later, Marianne lifted her head from his shoulder and yawned. “Sorry,” she apologised.

“Am I boring you?” he asked, and regarded her with a quizzical expression.

“No, of course not.” She glanced at the clock hanging over the mantel and gasped. “Oh, shit – is that the time? We must’ve sat here talking for
hours
.”

She reached for her mobile and quickly texted her mum a message, and shut it off.

“Right,” Matthew sighed. “I’ll take you home.”

But despite his words, he made no move to get up. Like Marianne, he’d relaxed back into the cushions and was reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire…or the company of his dinner guest.

She curled up beside him. “Who said anything about going home?” she asked as she reached out to toy with one of his shirt buttons.

“Your mum’ll be worried.”

“No, she won’t.”

He glanced at her in surprise. “She won’t?”

“No.” She smiled. “I just texted and told her I wouldn’t be back home tonight.”

“You did?”

“I did.” She leaned forward and kissed him, brushing her lips gently against his. “You’re stuck with me for the entire night, Dr Brandon.”

“Is that right?” he said, and a slow smile unfurled on his lips as he drew her up and onto his lap. He pretended to consider the idea. “I don’t know if I should allow it, Miss Holland. After all – it wouldn’t be proper.”

“No,” she agreed softly, and nibbled his lower lip. “It wouldn’t.”

“People might talk.”

“Yes,” she murmured, and rained kisses along his jawline. “They very well might.”

“I…” He drew in a breath as she began, slowly, to unbutton his shirt. “I have my reputation to think of, you know.”

“I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone,” Marianne assured him, and slid off his lap. “It’ll be our…” she kissed him “little…” she caught up both of his hands in hers “secret.” She stood and pulled him up, unresisting, onto his feet.

As his arms came around her his grey eyes searched hers doubtfully. “Are you sure about this, lass? Really sure this is what you want? That I’m what you want?”

“I’m sure,” she whispered, and stood on tiptoe to slant her mouth over his.

He caught her face in his hands. “Well, then,” he said raggedly against her lips, “if you’re sure, and if you insist…”

“I do,” Marianne breathed. “I absolutely insist.”

He lifted her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom.

And there, in the old four-post bed that creaked with their every movement, Matthew undressed her, and kissed her, and made her, once and for always, his own.

***

The bells of Christ Church rang out joyously over the little village of Carywick as the newlywed couples – for the Holland girls’ double wedding was the talk of Hadleighshire and Endwhistle – emerged from the church and made their way to a pair of waiting limousines.

Elinor, holding a simple bouquet of white carnations and roses that trembled slightly in her hands, laid the flowers aside on the seat and gave Edward a shy smile as he settled into the back of the limousine beside her.

“I can hardly believe you’re my husband,” she said. “We’re married. How lucky I am.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. “I’m the lucky one. I can hardly believe you’re my wife.” He took up her hand and pressed his lips tenderly against her skin. “I only hope you don’t mind being a vicar’s wife. We won’t have a lot of money.”

“No,” she agreed.

“No trips to the Maldives for our honeymoon,” he added contritely. “I can only manage a few days on the Cornish coast before I have to get back to my parish in Litchfield.”

“Anywhere suits me, anywhere at all,” Elinor said softly, “as long as I’m with you.”

“That’s amazing.” He looked at her with mingled surprise and amusement. “Because I was just now thinking
exactly
the same thing.”

And, oblivious to the uniformed driver or to anything or anyone else around him, Edward took Elinor in his arms and kissed her with a fervour and passion that left her with no doubt as to how very deeply he loved and adored her.

***

As the pair of limousines drew away from the church in a flurry of birdseed and smiles and shouted good wishes, a lone figure stood in the shadows of a doorway across the street and watched them go, hands thrust loosely in his pockets.

His expression was sombre and his eyes, a deep blue normally filled with laughter, were dark with pain as the cars departed.

“I wish you well, Marianne,” Willoughby murmured. “You deserve every happiness.”

He turned and made his way across the street, and with a last, regretful glance at the church, he walked away.

THE END