Read Who Needs Mr Willoughby? Online
Authors: Katie Oliver
“It won’t be easy,” Elinor agreed, “but we’ll manage. I’ll organise a removal van, and call round to the shops in Litchfield to see if they’ll buy our furniture.”
“We can’t take our
furniture
along? But what’ll we sleep on, how will we eat our dinner or have tea with no table, and no silverware, no plates or cups –?”
“The house is already furnished,” Mrs Holland said with a trace of impatience. “As for the plates, of course we’ll pack those up and take them along. I suggest you go upstairs and begin sorting through your things.”
“How can you both be so calm? Life as we know it is ending and we’re losing our
home
.”
“And you’re being a drama queen,” Elinor said, and lifted her brow. “Again.”
“Better a drama queen than a rude cow. You were horrible to Edward just now, for no reason.”
Elinor regarded her in surprise. “I wasn’t. I barely know him. And I was perfectly polite.”
“You didn’t say more than two words to him…even though he looked at you like he was starving and you were the last Galaxy bar in the box.”
Elinor flushed. “He didn’t.”
“He did.” Marianne flung herself into a chair and sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to have a man look at
me
like that…”
“Never mind Edward Ferrars,” Mrs Holland said. “He’s neither here nor there. What matters is that thanks to Lady Valentine’s offer, we’ll have a decent place to live.”
Marianne snorted. “Right. If you consider a poky little cottage in Northumberland to be a decent place to live. The fireplace probably smokes and doesn’t half work, and we’ll freeze to death in the winter –”
“That’s enough, Mari.” Mrs Holland pressed her lips together. “I’ll hear no more complaints. We should all be grateful to her ladyship for offering us a home, no matter if it’s a distance away.”
Marianne pushed herself to her feet. “I’m
not
grateful. I refuse to be grateful for Lady Valentine’s charity. And I’ll never call Northumberland – or her cottage – home.”
So saying, she turned sharply on her heel and stalked out of the room.
Marianne hated to wait.
Other people could stand in queues, absently staring into space or fiddling with their mobiles; they could sit in waiting rooms or airline lounges without a word of complaint. But Marianne could not.
Which was why, as she waited on the front steps for Lady Valentine’s arrival, she switched on her mobile phone and opened the e-reader app. She’d downloaded
His Lordship’s Touch
, the new (and no doubt completely nauseating) book by Lady V last night out of curiosity. She sighed and began to read it now, expecting to be bored senseless inside of a few paragraphs.
But as she read the first chapter, her eyes widened and her brows rose skyward. Cripes – this wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Marianne blushed and hunched over her mobile, glad that no one, particularly not her mother or sister, could see the racy words as she devoured them.
“I want you,” Lord Selkirk growled as he tugged at the fastenings on Annabelle’s bodice. “I mean to make you mine.”
Although her blood raced and every inch of her yearned for his touch, Annabelle refused to yield to Selkirk’s desire. She closed her eyes as his lips moved hotly down her neck. His breath warmed her skin, and his mouth chased every sensible thought from her mind.
“But we’re not married, my lord,” she breathed. Her wits had not entirely gone wanting. “This is wrong.”
His mouth moved to the delicate skin behind her ear. “Tell me to stop, then.”
Annabelle wanted to push him away. She wanted to slap him, and leave, and flounce away in high dudgeon. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Instead she reached for him, and slid her arms around his neck, putting a dark and dangerous glint of desire in Selkirk’s eyes…
“Did you pack your allergy medication?” Mrs Holland asked her youngest daughter as she appeared behind her in the doorway. “And your driving licence?”
With a guilty start, Marianne switched the mobile off and dropped it into the rucksack at her feet. “Yes, I brought my licence. Even though,” she couldn’t help adding, “we no longer have a car.”
“We’ll find another one once we’re settled.” Her mother sighed. “God knows Northumberland is remote, but it’s cheaper than South Devon. And we
must
have a car. I’m sure we’ll find something at auction after we arrive.”
Marianne didn’t share her optimism. With the house now belonging to Harriet, they’d sold everything of value – furniture, paintings, their old Peugeot – to finance the move to Lady Valentine’s cottage.
And as a result, there wasn’t much money left.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Marianne agreed, having vowed to try and keep her complaints about the move to herself. “I brought plenty of sun cream – not that I expect I’ll need it up there – and my mobile phone, too.”
“Just be sure and call the minute you arrive and let us know how you’re getting on. Your sister and I will be along in a week or so, after all of this –” she gestured vaguely at the front door behind her “is dealt with.”
Marianne looked up at the long black car gliding slowly up the drive and turned back to her mother. “Here’s my ride. I promise I’ll call, mum, and I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Her throat thickened and she thought, for one tiny second, that she might cry. She’d never been gone from her mother or Elinor for more than a few days.
Now she was about to leave Norland, her home –
their
home – for a new and unknown place in the north of England.
“I’ll try.” She held her daughter tightly. “I don’t mean to fuss,” she added as she drew back, “but it’s your first time away from home without us, and I can’t help it. However, I know you’ll have a lovely trip and a wonderful time at Lady Violet’s. Do you have your letter?”
Marianne nodded and felt in the side pouch of her handbag, where the response from Dr Matthew Brandon, Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons, was folded and tucked safely away. “I still can’t believe I have a chance to work in a real veterinary clinic this summer.”
“I know how much it means to you.”
A wave of excitement swooped over her. She’d loved animals from the time she was small. Her room had played host to a number of creatures including a box turtle, a hamster, and a budgie; she’d even had a goat (Billy, of course), kept in a pen near the orchard.
It was a good thing that Lady Valentine had seen the advert for a veterinary assistant in one of the Hadleighshire newspapers and informed Marianne. She didn’t need to take the letter out of her bag to know exactly what it said. She knew it off by heart.
…
pleased to offer an interview for a permanent position…assisting in the daily care and feeding of a variety of small animals…some administrative duties required as well…expect your arrival on or about 22 August.
She wondered what he looked like, this Dr Brandon, RCVS. Probably middle-aged, with bushy brows and a stooped back like Dr Edmund, whose wife manned the reception desk. It was hard to tell, just from a letter.
This job, if she got it, would be the first step in her journey to qualify as a veterinarian.
And more importantly, a paying job meant she could help mum manage the household bills.
“Here comes Lady Valentine now,” Mrs Holland observed, interrupting her thoughts.
Marianne bit back a groan.
At her mother’s suggestion, her ladyship had agreed to escort Marianne to Northumberland. The Holland family would stay under Lady V’s roof at Barton Park until the cottage on her property was readied.
Marianne sighed. That was the problem with having a wealthy benefactor. One had to show unfailing gratitude for the charity offered, even if one did not, in truth, particularly want it.
Still, she
was
grateful. They all were.
“You’re not really making me share a train compartment with Lady V all the way to Hadleighshire, are you?” she complained, even though she already knew the answer.
Mrs Holland’s face set itself in a determined expression. “We’ve talked about this before. I won’t let you travel – and nearly to the Scottish border at that – by yourself, and there’s an end to it.”
Elinor appeared in the doorway. “The removal van’s coming on Tuesday morning to empty out the house and load the rest of our things up.”
Marianne exchanged a glance with her sister. They both knew there’d be precious little left to move once all of the bits and bobs – furniture, paintings, lamps, and rugs – were carried off by the local antiques dealers and junk-shop owners who’d already purchased most of their worldly possessions.
“Good.” Mrs Holland smiled at Elinor. “I was just telling your sister how lucky it is that we’re invited to stay at Barton Park until our cottage is ready.”
“It’s very nice of Lady Valentine,” Elinor agreed.
Her mother beamed. “Yes. It’s a stroke of luck of the very best kind, isn’t it?”
Luck?
Personally, Marianne didn’t think so. Sharing a train compartment with the unknown, and very possibly tiresome, Lady Valentine for hours on end was bad enough; but sharing a house, no matter how ginormous Barton Park might be, with her as well –?
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Mrs Holland turned to greet the plump, generous-bosomed woman as she emerged from the car in a dress patterned with violets and hurried towards them. “Lady Valentine, what a pleasure to see you again after such a long time.”
“And you, Mrs Holland. A very great pleasure.” Ignoring the woman’s outstretched hand, she held out her arms and enveloped her in a violet-scented embrace. “I was so
very
sorry to hear of your dear husband’s passing. I regret I was unable to attend Mr Holland’s funeral; but I had a number of pressing business matters to attend to, unfortunately.”
“I quite understand.”
Lady Valentine settled her shrewd but kind brown gaze on Marianne and held out her hand. “Hello, my dear. And you must be Marianne, all grown up, and as pretty as a candy box!”
“Thank you.” Marianne blushed as she was swept forward and all but smothered against the woman’s shelf-like bosom.
“But where’s the rest of your luggage, Miss Holland?” Lady Valentine asked as Marianne extricated herself. The baron’s widow frowned down at the single, worn rucksack at the bottom of the steps. “Surely you have more than that –?”
Marianne didn’t like to admit that she didn’t; she really hadn’t anything else to bring along. “This is it, I’m afraid. I, erm…I like to travel light.”
“Light?” the woman echoed. “You’ve barely packed enough for an overnight stay, much less a permanent residence in the uplands. You’ll need a jacket, at the very least, and trousers…a jumper, and a cardigan, and proper walking shoes. Not to mention a cocktail dress or two, should some nice young man invite you out to dinner.” She beamed.
“Sorry, but I won’t be going out to dinner, Lady Valentine,” Marianne said firmly. “I’m interviewing for a position at the veterinary clinic – the position you found for me – and I have an interview next week. That’s why I’m going with you to Barton Park ahead of mum and Elinor.”
“Quite right, my dear, yes, quite right. And do call me Lady Violet, please. No need to stand on ceremony here. But you’ll still need more than one bag.”
“But it’s summer. All I need are a few pairs of shorts, some jeans, and a couple of T-shirts, surely?”
“It’s not nearly so warm up there as it is here,” Elinor pointed out, ever the practical one.
Mrs Holland turned to Marianne. “I’m afraid she’s right, darling. Perhaps you should run back inside and throw a few more
appropriate
items in a suitcase –”
“No need, we’ll go shopping for more suitable attire once we arrive and settle in,” Lady Violet announced as she consulted her wristwatch. “We’ll miss our train if we don’t leave straight away.” She nodded at the driver. “Take Miss Holland’s bag, please.”
“Yes, my lady.” He picked up the rucksack and stowed it in the boot next to his employer’s jumble of Vuitton suitcases, then opened the rear passenger door and waited.
Marianne turned to her mother and sister and took it in turns to hug them goodbye. “I guess this is it. I’ll see you both soon.”
“Bye,” Elinor said, and squeezed her hands in reassurance as they drew apart. “Don’t worry,” she added in a low voice. “You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.” She cast her sister a quick, grateful smile. Ellie might be irritating sometimes, with her calm efficiency and Zen demeanour, but she knew Marianne better than anyone.
Mrs Holland took her youngest daughter in her arms once again and held her tightly. “Have a safe trip, dearest,” she murmured into her daughter’s tangle of dark blonde hair. “I know I can trust you to stay out of trouble.”
Marianne drew back. “What sort of trouble could I possibly get into in the wilds of Northumberland? Catch a cold? Turn my ankle on a stone? Step in a pile of sheep poo?”
“I expect I’m being overprotective,” her mother agreed, and sighed. “I know you’ll be fine. Go and enjoy yourself, then, and don’t give me or your sister another thought.”
“I’ll try. But I
will
miss you, both of you. Goodbye.”
“You’ll see so many new things, and meet so many new people, you won’t have time to miss us,” Elinor assured her. “Safe journey.”
With a tremulous smile, Marianne turned and made her way to the limousine. She slid onto the back seat, scooting over to make room for Lady Violet, and settled herself beside the window.
Her journey – to Northumberland, and eventually, to a new life, and a new job as a veterinary assistant – was finally underway.
At some point past midnight the car glided to a stop at the end of a long, twisting drive, and Marianne woke from a half-doze to realise that she and Lady Violet had arrived at Barton Park.
The train had stopped several times during their journey northward to pick up and disgorge passengers before they finally reached their destination. After driving for miles through the darkness, past thickets of trees that lined the hilly upland roads, Marianne saw no sign of a house, nor any indication of a town or village – only trees, and rocks, and swathes of impenetrable blackness.