Who Needs Mr Willoughby?

“You won’t believe half the things I’ve been through since I got here,” Marianne told her. “I’ll tell you both all about it over lunch. Why did you take a taxi?”

“Because someone had the car, that’s why,” Mrs Fenwick retorted. “Bertie couldn’t go and fetch them from the train station.”

“Oh.” Marianne turned to her mother in dismay. “I’m sorry. That must’ve cost a fortune.”

“It did, but we managed, and we got here all the same. The housekeeper tells us you had your job interview today?”

“Yes, that’s why I had to borrow the car. It was meant to be yesterday, but Dr Brandon was on an emergency call and couldn’t see me.”

“And did you get the job?” Mrs Holland asked.

“I did.”

Elinor let out a gasp and hugged her sister. “Well done, you. That’s wonderful news.” She drew back and glanced around the entrance hall. “Where’s Lady Violet? Is she not here?”

“She’s gone to Edinburgh to stay with a poorly friend. She won’t be back for at least another week.”

“She’s a trusting woman,” her sister observed with a smirk, “to leave you alone to your own devices in her house.”

“I’ve been the model of good behaviour, I’ll have you know,” Marianne retorted, and glanced over at the housekeeper. “Haven’t I, Mrs Fenwick?”

“I won’t answer that as it might incriminate me,” she said, and turned away. “Now if you’d care to follow Bertie upstairs, ladies, he’ll take your luggage up and show you to your rooms. When you’re settled, you can all come back downstairs and have yourselves a lovely lunch.”

***

The dining room rang with chatter as Marianne and her mother and sister took their places at the table to catch up on all of the latest news.

“So tell us, what have we missed since you arrived here at Barton Park?” Mrs Holland asked.

“Yes, do please bring us up to speed, Mari,” Elinor agreed. “What’s happened since you left Norland?”

“Not much, really,” Marianne said airily as she helped herself to one of Mrs Fenwick’s pasties. “Only, Lady Violet’s car was stolen out from under me, and I met the most rude and impossible man – who turned out to be the local veterinarian, Dr Brandon – oh, and I fell from the top of a tree house behind the cottage during a storm and was rescued by a handsome stranger on horseback.”

“Goodness,” her mother exclaimed, and froze with a forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. “It all sounds like something out of one of Lady Violet’s books. Are you all right?”

“Fine. I twisted my ankle but it’s mended now. Kit –” she blushed and amended “I mean Mr Willoughby, carried me to the car and brought me back, and he made quite sure I was all right before he left.” She paused as the doorbell rang and her mother half rose. “Do sit down, mum – Mrs Fenwick’ll get it.”

“Never mind the door,” Elinor said with a trace of impatience, “tell us more about your rescuer. Kit, did you say his name was? How did he find you?”

“He heard me scream when I fell. Oh, Ellie – it was so romantic. A storm came up out of nowhere, a really bad one, and the wind kicked up, and it got horribly dark. Lightning struck right next to me when I was climbing a rope ladder up to the tree house. I nearly made it to the top, but I was so scared, and the rope was so wet, that I lost my grip, and fell.” She bit into her pasty. “Mr Willoughby came back the next day to visit me, and brought me flowers, and chocolates.”

“That was very considerate of him,” her sister remarked. “Who is he, this mysterious Mr Willoughby?”

“He’s Mrs Smyth’s nephew, Christopher,” Marianne answered, “and he’s visiting her at Allenham Court. Her estate’s just next door, not at all far from our house.”

“And what does this cottage of Lady Violet’s look like?” Mrs Holland asked apprehensively. “I’ve not seen it yet. Is it as poky and small as you feared?”

“Not at all. It’s really quite lovely, and larger than I expected, with fireplaces and a chandelier and a sweeping stairway in the entrance hallway. It’s the grandest cottage I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve been inside the house, then?” Elinor asked.

Marianne shook her head. “No, I hadn’t a key.” She added, “So of course I peeked in through the windows, as you do.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” her sister declared. “I’m consumed with curiosity.”

“What of Harriet?” Marianne asked her mother as she took up her spoon and dipped it into her soup. “Has Robert moved into Norland yet?”

“Oh, yes. We’d barely vacated the place when his removal van turned up,” Mrs Holland said, and pressed her lips together in disapproval. “Awful man.”

“Just like his stepsister,” Marianne agreed. She turned back to Elinor. “What about Edward?”

Elinor cast her a startled glance. “What about him?”

“Have you seen him again? He was so very nice that day he and Harriet came to Norland. So handsome and well mannered…and so obviously taken with you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I understand he’s coming to Barton Park before very long, to see Lady Violet,” Mrs Holland offered. “Her daughter mentioned it to me the last time I chanced to speak with her. It was a week ago. Or was it two –?”

“Here?” Elinor froze. “Edward’s coming here, to Northumberland, to Barton Park?”

“Yes. Isn’t that great news?”

Elinor flushed and gazed down into her soup, and didn’t answer.

They heard voices and footsteps echoing down the hall towards the dining room, and looked up to see a handsome man with dark hair and an engaging smile standing in the doorway just behind Mrs Fenwick.

“Mr Willoughby’s here to see you, Miss Marianne,” the housekeeper said.

“Kit,” Marianne exclaimed as she stood and pushed her chair back. At a quelling glance from her mother she blushed, and a demure smile dimpled her cheeks as she sank back down in her seat. “I mean, Mr Willoughby. What a nice surprise.”

He wore jeans with an open-necked shirt, and his legs were encased in a pair of riding boots. A light sheen of perspiration gilded his forearms.

“Hello, Marianne, everyone. I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch, ladies,” he added as his smiling glance went round the table. He looked down at himself in embarrassment. “Sorry. I’ve been riding, and as you can see, I’m in no fit state for company. I’ll come back another time.” And he turned to go.

“You most certainly will not.” Mrs Holland’s words were pleasant but firm. “We’ve only just heard about your amazing rescue of my daughter. I’m Lydia Holland, Marianne’s mother,” she added, “and this is my eldest daughter, Elinor. We owe you our sincere thanks for helping Marianne. I’d be very pleased if you joined us for lunch.”

He hesitated. “If I’m not intruding –?”

“You’re not.”

His lips curved into a warm smile. “Then I’d love to join you. Thanks.”

“We were just discussing Lady Violet’s cottage,” Mrs Holland told him as he took the empty seat beside her youngest daughter. “I haven’t yet seen it.”

“Then I’ll take you all,” Mr Willoughby said. “This afternoon, if you wish.”

“But you just told us you rode here,” Marianne pointed out. “I doubt we could all fit on your horse.”

He laughed. “No. But the walk’s a good one, not above a mile or so to the cottage. And,” he added, with a glance at Marianne, “this time, the weather’s perfect; there’s not a cloud in the sky or a trace of a storm to be seen.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Holland said, “but we only just arrived this morning, and I’m still a bit tired. I believe I’ll stay behind and take a nap after lunch.” She turned to Elinor. “But you and Marianne must certainly go.”

“And this time,” Marianne said, “I’ll be sure and get the key from Mrs Fenwick first.”

So it was decided, and when lunch was done, Marianne and Elinor accompanied Kit Willoughby across the fields and made their way to Barton Park.

“It isn’t poky at all,” Elinor said a short time later as she caught her first glimpse of their new home. “It’s every bit as big as Norland. Bigger!”

“Wait till you see inside.” Marianne went ahead of them and inserted the old-fashioned key into the lock. It turned easily, and with a creak of the door hinges, they stepped inside the front hall.

“It’s gorgeous,” Elinor breathed, looking around her in surprise. “Much nicer than I expected.”

Willoughby reached up and plucked the cheesecloth covering down from the chandelier. Dozens of prisms of crystal shimmered and tinkled in the afternoon sunlight with the action. A staircase with wide, curved treads stretched up to the second floor, and the oak floorboards, recently polished, gleamed underfoot.

Marianne darted from room to room. The windows were large and spilled plenty of light into the house, and all of them boasted deep sills – perfect places to sit and read and gaze out at the countryside.

“I love it,” Elinor avowed as she followed her sister and Willoughby up the stairs. “It’s absolutely perfect, isn’t it?”

“A perfect house for three perfect ladies,” Kit agreed.

Elinor looked over her shoulder at him. “You’ll spoil us with compliments, Mr Willoughby.”

Marianne saw that the removal men had left their belongings – what little they had – upstairs, in a jumbled pile of boxes and cartons and luggage at one end of the hall. She sighed. “We should stay and unpack, I suppose.”

“You two go ahead.” Elinor went to one of the boxes and pulled back the flaps. “I’ll get started on this lot.”

“I’m more than happy to help,” Willoughby offered. He lifted his brow. “And I’ll try to keep my compliments to a minimum.”

“Thank you, but it won’t take me above an hour or so to get this sorted. Go on, both of you, and have fun. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure –?” Marianne said, even as her heart leapt as she caught Kit’s eye. “I’d love to take another look around outside.” The thought of spending the rest of the afternoon with him was too, too delicious.

“Go,” Elinor ordered. “I’ll find my own way home.”

Without further argument, Marianne and Willoughby made their way back downstairs, out of the front door and into the drowsy warmth of the late August afternoon.

Chapter 11

“I’ve brought you something, Marianne.” Willoughby took her hand and led her behind the cottage and pointed at the tree she’d fallen from on the night of the storm.

“For me?” She looked at him in surprise. “What?”

He indicated a coiled length of rope in the grass.

“What do you think?” he asked as he bent down and held it up, obviously well pleased with himself.

Marianne stared at it. “Well – it’s…a rope.”

“Not just a rope,” he corrected her. “It’s a new ladder for your tree house. I’ll take the old one down and install this one before I go. Then you can climb up whenever you like in perfect safety, and I won’t need to worry about you getting hurt.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s…that’s really nice of you… Not to mention incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.”

“I don’t want you falling again. I might not be here to rescue you the next time.”

He turned and made his way up the slope to the base of the gnarled old oak.

“But…how will you get up there?” Marianne inquired. “That old rope’s not safe, it won’t hold your weight.”

Willoughby pointed to a ladder lying in the grass nearby. “With that. I noticed it the other day. Should do the trick, I think, and very nicely.”

He rested the ladder against the trunk. In minutes, it was done – he’d secured the new rope ladder several times around a thick, low branch – and after climbing to the deck of the tree house, he stood and kicked the ladder aside.

Marianne shaded her eyes. “Are you coming back down, Mr Willoughby? Do you trust your own handiwork enough to put the new ladder to the test?”

“Completely.” He swung his leg over the edge of the deck and climbed nimbly down the rope ladder. After reaching the ground he turned and gave her a half smile. “There; safe as houses. If it’ll hold my weight, there’s no chance it won’t hold yours.” He held out his hand. “Let’s try it out.”

She smiled and took his hand. “Why not?”

Marianne stood there for a moment, with her hand clasped in his, and felt a wash of pure happiness like she’d never known before. His blue eyes met hers, and she thought – for the tiniest, teeniest second – that he might lean in and kiss her.

But he stepped back and let her hand go. “I believe we’re being watched,” he said to her, his voice low and warm with amusement. “I’d best behave myself.”

Startled, Marianne followed his gaze up to the second floor of their new house. Sure enough, Elinor stood at her bedroom window looking down at her and Kit Willoughby with undisguised curiosity.

“Oh, honestly,” Marianne exclaimed, irritated. “I can see I’ll have no privacy now that mum and Elinor are living here at Barton Park.”

He smiled. “None at all.”

On impulse, Marianne lifted her gaze to the window and waved at Elinor. With a flush of embarrassment at being caught out, the curtains twitched, and her sister left the window altogether.

***

As Marianne climbed up the rope ladder a few minutes later, she was all too aware of Mr Willoughby just behind her.

“Almost there,” he called out behind her. “And try not to fall. I don’t want a repeat of the other day.”

“I won’t fall,” she retorted. “I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place, if that crack of lightning hadn’t scared me half to death.”

She reached the top and clambered up onto the deck, her breath coming quick after the climb. She bent down and glanced inside the tree house. The room was just large enough for two people, with small windows on three sides and barely space enough to stand up in.

“I love it,” she called back over her shoulder as she climbed inside and sat down. “It’s perfect.”

Willoughby’s head and shoulders appeared at the top of the ladder. “I’m glad you approve.” In a moment, he climbed in beside her, smiling and out of breath, and stretched his long, boot-clad legs out before him.

“Was it yours, this tree house?” she asked, surprised. “You never said.”

“My uncle built it for me, years ago. I was never so excited as the day he finished it.”

“I can imagine. I would’ve been over the moon to have a tree house like this tucked up under the leaves,” Marianne said, and drew her knees up to her chest. “I wouldn’t have let anyone in, not even Elinor.”

Willoughby turned to her, his blue eyes steady on hers. “Not even me?”

Her heart quickened. “That’s a ridiculous question,” she said lightly, and smiled. “I didn’t know you then. And besides, you were just a boy.”

“But you know me now. And I’m not a boy any longer.”

“No, you’re not.” She looked at him, at his face so near to hers, and blushed. “But your question is still irrelevant.”

He laughed. “Is it? And why is that?”

“Because…” She stopped. “Because you’re here now.”

“Yes. And very glad to be, too,” he said. “So I suppose,” he added, his smile softening and all traces of teasing gone, “that answers my question.”

“Obviously,” she agreed, and made no protest as his hand came out to cup her face and his lips found hers.

It started out as the briefest of kisses; tentative and gentle, searching and sweet. His lips brushed hers for the merest, most tantalising moment before he drew back.

“Do you mind if I kiss you, Marianne?” he asked, his brow creased and his forehead warm against hers. “Only say the word if you do, and I’ll stop.”

In answer, she took his face in her hands and stroked the thick whorl of dark hair back from his forehead. “Please kiss me again, Willoughby,” she breathed. “I think I might die if you don’t.”

Without another word of conversation between them, he pulled her closer and slanted his mouth once again over hers.

His kiss was all Marianne had imagined it would be – assured, tentative, gentle and impassioned, all at once. Her thoughts whirled and scattered as he deepened their embrace, and with a sigh, she parted her lips under his.

Unlike other men she’d kissed (although, admittedly, the number was few), Kit Willoughby’s mouth on hers was neither crude, nor demanding. He asked nothing of her; he did not thrust his tongue rudely down her throat, or let his hands wander where they shouldn’t. All the ardency and tenderness of his affections was contained in his kiss.

“Marianne,” he said as he dragged his mouth reluctantly from hers a moment later, “I’m sorry. We should stop. It’s no use me wanting what I can’t have, what I have no right to even wish for.”

“Bollocks,” she murmured, her eyes luminous with desire for him. “Kiss me again. Please.”

After a moment’s hesitation he complied, and tightened his arms around her as he pressed her hard against him and covered her mouth with his.

Marianne was soon lost once more in the warm enticement of Willoughby’s lips when she heard the sound of a branch cracking below.

She stiffened and drew back. “Did you hear that?” she whispered, stricken. “Someone’s down there.” She met his eyes, her heart knocking against her chest. “Someone’s spying on us.”

Chapter 12

“Marianne?” Elinor called out. “Marianne, are you up there?”

Sagging back against Kit in relief, Marianne kissed him once more. “Back to reality, I suppose,” she whispered against his lips, and sighed.

“No. Not yet.” He caught her face in his hands once more and kissed her lingeringly.

“Marianne? I know you’re up there.”

She let out a breath of irritation and scrambled to her feet. “Yes, Ellie,” she called back. “We’re here.” There was no point in trying to hide the fact that Willoughby was in the tree house with her; Elinor had seen them earlier, after all, and she’d never believe he’d left.

Willoughby sighed and stood up as well.

“You’ve had a telephone call from Dr Brandon’s office. Mrs Fenwick just sent me a text. They want to know if you can start work tomorrow.”

Marianne stepped outside onto the deck that surrounded the tree house and looked down at her sister in dismay. “Tomorrow? But I wasn’t supposed to start until next week.”

“Evidently the receptionist’s sister is having her baby a bit early. They need you to come in for training straight away.”

“Oh. All right.” Her heartbeat quickened. “Then I suppose that’s what I’ll have to do.”

***

At dinner that evening, Marianne was quiet. Her thoughts were preoccupied with Kit Willoughby, and with her new job at the veterinary clinic. She hoped that she and Matthew Brandon would find a way to rub along. He was such a prickly, hard-to-read sort of man –

“You’ve barely touched your lamb,” Mrs Holland observed. “What’s wrong? Your thoughts are obviously elsewhere tonight.”

“Sorry.” Marianne laid her fork aside. “Just thinking about starting my new job tomorrow. I’m feeling a bit nervous,” she confessed. “I hate starting new things.”

“Not all new things, apparently,” Elinor remarked, and tucked in to her lamb.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Only, you’ve had no trouble making a new friend of Kit Willoughby.”

“And why shouldn’t I? After all, if not for him, I’d still be lying on the ground under that tree, waiting for help.”

“That’s true,” their mother interjected. “You have a very good point, darling. It’s lucky he found you.”

“Lucky for him, and for me.” Somewhat mollified, Marianne picked up her knife and fork. “He’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met – kind, and thoughtful…”

“And handsome,” Mrs Holland added with a smile. “Don’t forget that.”

“What does he do, your Mr Willoughby?” Elinor asked.

“Do?” Marianne echoed. “I don’t know. He’s never said, and I’ve never asked. And he’s not ‘my’ Mr Willoughby.” Although she wished he was…

“If I remember rightly,” their mother offered as she took a roll from the basket and buttered it, “Lady Violet said he expects to inherit his aunt’s estate.” She frowned. “Oh, now – what was the name of the place –?”

“Allenham Court,” Marianne supplied.

“Then we’ve established he’s not only handsome, but rich, too – or will be, one day,” Elinor said.

“So does that satisfy your curiosity and lessen your doubts?” Marianne asked tartly.

“It’s not that I have doubts, exactly,” her sister replied. “I’m just saying we don’t know Mr Willoughby very well. Although he seems nice, and agreeable enough, we – you – really don’t know him. Maybe you should keep that in mind, and get to know him a bit better before you go on.”

“I’m not planning to run off to Gretna Green and elope with him,” Marianne snapped. “We only just met.”

“And that’s exactly my point.”

Silence descended over the table.

“I must say,” Mrs Holland offered in an effort to ease the tension, “Mrs Fenwick’s rack of lamb is the best I’ve ever tasted. And her mint sauce is nothing short of superb.”

“Yes,” Marianne agreed, her glance shooting daggers at her sister. “Her mint sauce is very nice, and agreeable enough, too. Isn’t it, Elinor?”

And although Elinor pressed her lips together and glared back at her, she made no comment, and they finished their dinner without further conversation.

***

Marianne’s fingers trembled the next morning as she gripped the wheel of the Fiat Bertie Fenwick had found for them the day before at the Endwhistle auction.

“She’s old,” he’d admitted as he showed the car to Mrs Holland and the girls, “with a bit of rust on the back fender, and she won’t go above seventy-five kilometres an hour, but the price was right and within your budget. Got a clean bill of health from Malcolm, too.”

“Who’s Malcolm?” Elinor asked, puzzled.

“A mechanic,” Marianne informed her. “He works at the petrol station in Endwhistle – the only petrol station in Endwhistle,” she added, remembering her frantic call to the station when the estate car broke down on the way to her interview.

“…and if you call the Endwhistle station, you need to hang on the line for at least seventeen rings before old Malcolm’ll hear and answer the phone.”

What a place Hadleighshire is, Marianne thought now, crossly. But it wasn’t the possibility of mum’s Fiat breaking down that worried her. No, her hands shook this morning because it was her first day working at the veterinary clinic with Dr Brandon…and she was more than a little nervous.

Not that answering phones or scheduling appointments was difficult; it was nothing she hadn’t done before, after all. It was Matthew Brandon himself who unsettled her. The man was a puzzle. At first she’d supposed him to be a farmer, one of the many local men who raised sheep or cattle for a living, and he’d done nothing to disabuse her of the notion.

But he was a doctor of veterinary medicine. He was educated and, according to Lynn, an excellent veterinarian. He’d saved the life of a dog who’d consumed rat poison, a dog who, without his help, might have died.

And for whatever reason, he’d decided to give her a chance in his clinic. And she had no illusions that he wouldn’t sack her in a heartbeat if she cocked up.

So…she couldn’t cock it up. She wouldn’t.

Nothing like a bit of pressure, Marianne thought grimly as she shifted into gear and headed the Fiat down the driveway to the road. Although it was true that Dr Brandon was infuriating – Why should I go so far out of my way for you? – and insulting, as well – You can’t walk all the way to Hadleighshire in those faffy little Audrey Hepburn shoes – there was no denying that, in the end, he’d helped her.

He’d come back and picked her up, and he’d driven her home…even if he’d charged her twenty-five pounds for the privilege.

Which was why, Marianne decided as she turned onto the road that led to Endwhistle, she owed it to herself – and to Matthew sodding Brandon – to be the best damned receptionist the Endwhistle Small Animal Veterinary Clinic had ever seen.