Who Needs Mr Willoughby?
Read Who Needs Mr Willoughby? Online
Authors: Katie Oliver
Who should rule – your head or your heart?
When sisters Marianne and Elinor Dashwood are forced to leave their family home to live in a rural Northumberland cottage, Marianne is convinced her social life is over. Somehow, she can’t see kitten heels coping well in the countryside – and being stuck in the middle of nowhere, miles from London, sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry. Not to mention her arrogant new boss, Dr Brandon, who doesn’t seem to think much of her city ways.
When she meets the gallant, charming and handsome Mr Willoughby, Marianne begins to think that country life might not be so bad after all…especially when he suggests that marriage might be on the cards. But the countryside still has a few tricks up its sleeve for Marianne…after all, love rarely blooms in convenient places!
The ‘Dating Mr Darcy’ trilogy:
Prada and Prejudice
Love and Liability
Mansfield Lark
The ‘Marrying Mr Darcy’ series:
And the Bride Wore Prada
Love, Lies and Louboutins
Manolos in Manhattan
The ‘Jane Austen Factor’ series:
What Would Lizzy Bennet Do?
The Trouble With Emma
Who Needs
Mr Willoughby?
The Jane Austen Factor
Katie Oliver
KATIE OLIVER
loves romantic comedies, characters who ‘meet cute’, Richard Curtis films, and Prosecco (not necessarily in that order). She currently resides in South Florida with her husband, two parakeets, and a dog.
Katie has been writing since she was eight, and has a box crammed with (mostly unfinished) novels to prove it. With her sons grown and gone, she decided to get serious and write more (and hopefully better) stories. She even finishes most of them.
So if you like a bit of comedy with your romance, please visit Katie’s website, www.katieoliver.com, and have a look.
Here’s to love and all its complications…
Special thanks to the Jane Austen community for your generous support – specifically, The Jane Austen Society of North America (New York); The Austen in Boston book club; Jane Austen Variations; Leslie L. Diamond; Maria Grace; and Maria Grazia of The Jane Austen Book Club.
Thanks also to the many wonderful bloggers and reviewers who hosted me, particularly Elle Uecker at The Review From Saturday; Holly at Bookaholic Confessions; Petra at Sparkly Word; Writers and Artists UK; Teresa at TCakes; Jody at A Spoonful of Happy Endings; Kerry-Ann McDade at A Bookish Redhead; Vicky Oliver at Lit Buzz; the fabulous Blossom Twins at Sweet is Always in Style; Kameron Brook at Kam’s Place; Jade Craddock at We Heart Writing; and Aimee at Hello Chick Lit.
And of course, many thanks to my agent, Nikki Terpilowski, my editor, Clio Cornish, and everyone at Carina UK/Harper Collins.
My sincere gratitude.
To you, the readers…I hope you enjoy my little Northumberland tale as much as I enjoyed writing it.
And to Miss Jane Austen, who remains a source of inspiration to us all.
Contents
“I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.”
—Jane Austen,
Sense and Sensibility
“The kitchen’s not very large.”
So saying, Harriet Ferrars-Holland glanced with disdain at the worn linoleum and the plain oak cupboards, at the wallpaper that had seen better days, and frowned. “It’s actually very poky. And disappointing.”
“But there’s a garden view,” her brother Edward pointed out. “And the bay window in the breakfast nook lets in plenty of light. You can sit and watch the sunrise while you drink your morning coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee, I prefer tea,” Harriet replied, “and I have very little use for sunrises. You know I seldom get up before nine.”
Her statement made Marianne Holland, seated nearby with her mother and her sister Elinor at the dining room table, bristle.
“What bollocks! She sleeps until
noon
because she stays up every night binge-watching
The Real Housewives of Cheshire
and knocking back a half bottle of wine. Thomas told me so.”
“You shouldn’t say such things about our sister-in-law, even if they’re true,” Elinor whispered back. “Harriet might hear you.”
“I wish she would. Then she’d know exactly how much I despise her.”
Mrs Holland cast her daughter a glance of warning, and Marianne crossed her arms against her chest and subsided into silence.
With their eldest – and only – half-brother Thomas’s recent death, Norland, the house in Litchfield he’d let out to them at a reasonable rent for the past eighteen years (and their home for all of Marianne’s life) was now to be taken away and given over to his widow, Harriet.
As he passed by the dining room to follow his sister upstairs, Edward Ferrars paused in the doorway and raked his hand through the thick brown hair that fell across his forehead. “I apologise for the intrusion, ladies. We won’t inconvenience you much longer, I promise.”
To his credit, Marianne noted, he seemed as uncomfortable with the present situation as they were.
“It’s no inconvenience,” Elinor assured him. Her words were polite but cool. “After all, Norland belongs to your sister now.” She took a deep breath. “She has every right to inspect her new home.”
Edward regarded her in surprise. “Oh, Harriet won’t be
living
here, believe me.” He smiled and lowered his voice. “It’s not centrally located in London, for one thing, and it’s not nearly impressive enough to suit my sister’s lofty standards.”
“No,” Elinor agreed after a small, frigid silence, and pressed her lips together. She did not return his smile. “I’m sure it isn’t.”
Dismay flickered over his face. “Oh, damn. Sorry…but I meant no insult. It was a joke. A rather lame joke, I suppose. I certainly didn’t mean to dismiss your home, which is really nice, by the way –”
“No insult taken, Mr Ferrars,” Mrs Holland hastened to assure him. “It’s a – difficult situation all round.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, it certainly is.”
“Edward,” Harriet called out, her voice ringing down the stairs. “Where are you? I’m waiting.”
His face reddened. “I’m sorry, ladies. If you’ll excuse me –?”
“Of course, Mr Ferrars,” Mrs Holland murmured.
He left and made his way upstairs, trailing after his older sister as she assessed the rest of the house, complaining and finding fault all the while.
“I can’t stand that woman,” Marianne muttered. “I never could. But Edward’s nice.” She glanced at her sister. “And really nice looking, too. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Elinor retorted, but blushed. “He barely noticed me.”
“Why didn’t you talk to him?” Marianne asked. “And why were you so rude? He was only poking fun at his cow of a sister, he wasn’t insulting Norland –”
“Please don’t refer to Harriet as a ‘cow’ again, Marianne,” her mother admonished. “She’s your half-brother’s widow and as such, she deserves our sympathy, and our respect. But I do agree that her brother Edward is very nice. And quite nice looking.”
A few minutes later, Harriet and her brother returned downstairs.
“Would you like to see the back garden?” Edward inquired of his sister as he followed behind her. “The roses are in bloom, and there’s a terrace –”
“I’ve seen quite enough, thank you.” Harriet took out her car keys and dangled the Mercedes key fob from one finger as if to be sure they all saw it. “Your stepbrother Robert might be interested in living out here in the back of beyond; God knows,
I
am not.”
She turned to Mrs Holland and her daughters as they rose to follow her into the entrance hall, and inclined her head in a brief nod. “Thank you, and good day to you all.”
“Good day,” everyone but Marianne echoed.
Edward hesitated, obviously embarrassed by his sister’s abrupt departure. “Thank you, ladies, very much.” His gaze lingered, just for a moment, on Elinor. “I apologise for the intrusion and thank you for letting us have a quick look round.”
Then he, too, fled.
The minute the front door closed Marianne whirled on her mother. “‘Thank you, and good day to you all’? That’s all Harriet had to say, after taking away our home?”
“It belongs to her now,” Mrs Holland said. “There’s nothing we can do.” She looked, suddenly, very tired. “We’ll need to begin packing our things right away. Elinor, can you try and locate a reasonably priced removal van?”
Elinor nodded. “I’ll start making inquiries right away.”
“But – where will we go?” Marianne demanded. “Where will we live?”
“It’s all been arranged,” Mrs Holland said. “Come into the sitting room, girls, while we may still call it our own, and we’ll discuss it.”
Elinor and Marianne exchanged puzzled glances, but followed their mother into the small but comfortable sitting room and sat beside each other on the worn sofa.
“I’ve spoken with Lady Valentine,” Mrs Holland began as she settled herself in the armchair across from them. “She’s offered a very generous solution to our problem.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. Lady Violet Valentine was a writer of romance novels of the most revolting, flowery kind, and an acquaintance on their dead father’s side; he’d always spoken highly of her, and of her great kindness. But Marianne suspected it was the lady’s great wealth that had most impressed her father.
“There’s a house standing empty on her property in Northumberland,” their mother went on. “A cottage. The late baron often hosted hunts on the estate; the cottage was used as a guesthouse. It all belongs to Lady Valentine now.”
“Northumberland?” Marianne echoed. “But that’s practically in Scotland.”
Elinor shushed her. “Has Lady Valentine made the house available to us? That’s very kind.”
“She has, and it is,” Mrs Holland said, and nodded emphatically. “Very kind indeed. She’s agreed to let it out to us at such a low cost that she’s practically letting us live there for free. If not for her offer, I don’t know what we’d do. We’ll need to sell what we can, pack what we can’t, and prepare to move house very soon.”
“How soon?” Marianne asked.
“We have until the end of the month.”
“But…that’s barely three weeks.” She stood up and began to pace the confines of the room in outraged agitation. “How can we possibly pack, and move house, and leave our home behind, in such a ridiculously short amount of time?”