Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (25 page)

“What’s wrong?” Marianne asked, and stabbed at a roasted potato. “I’ve lost the only man I’ve ever loved, forever. This might as well be a funeral – a funeral for the death of my future with Kit.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Elinor retorted, and dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter. “We all know your love for him hasn’t changed, whether he’s gone or not, otherwise you wouldn’t drag yourself around with a long face and let out theatrical sighs every five bloody minutes. Do you want to know what I think?”

“Can I stop you?” Marianne snapped.

“I think you like being a martyr. It’s a role that certainly suits you. Ophelia Holland,” she said, and eyed her sister with scorn as she quoted, “‘There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance…’”

“How dare you make fun of my pain?” Marianne cried. “I’ve had my heart broken!”

“You have no idea what pain really is.” Elinor’s words were even. “You play at love like an actor playing a part onstage – milking it for every last bit of pathos and drama. But it’s all an act.”

“How dare you. You hateful, jealous cow –”

“Enough!” Mrs Holland brought her hand crashing down on the table and startled the girls into shocked silence. “Not another word between you two, I warn you, or – or I’ll lock you both away in your rooms until you can behave civilly.”

A log slipped on the fire, sending out a shower of sparks to the hearth.

“I’m sorry, mum,” Marianne murmured. She felt, suddenly, exhausted as she laid her napkin aside and glanced at her sister. “Sorry, Ellie.”

Elinor reached out and laid her hand atop her sister’s. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to make fun of you or belittle your feelings. That wasn’t fair.”

“And I didn’t mean to call you a hateful jealous cow.”

Elinor smiled. “You
did
mean it, I know you did. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“Perhaps my bit of news will cheer us all up,” Mrs Holland said. “And it’s happy news, I think you’ll agree.”

Curious, Elinor and Marianne looked across the table at their mother with expectant faces.

“Lady Violet has informed me that there’s to be a party to celebrate Edward Ferrars’s ordination as Litchfield’s new vicar, and –” she paused for effect, and beamed. “We’re all invited to attend.”

“That’s wonderful,” Marianne exclaimed, and smiled over at her sister. “Isn’t it wonderful, Ellie?”

“Wonderful,” she echoed. She picked up her knife and fork and cut into her lamb chop.

“Where’s the party to be?” Marianne asked. “At Barton Park?”

“No. That’s the most amazing part.” Mrs Holland leaned forward, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Lady Violet has invited us all to London to attend the party as her guests.”

Elinor lifted her head sharply. “To London?”

“London?” Marianne echoed. Her mood, black and hopeless only moments before, brightened. Kit was in London.

“Yes. The party’s to be held in two weeks’ time, at Harriet’s townhouse in St John’s Wood. We can celebrate with Edward and give him our good wishes in person. Isn’t that the most
thrilling
news?”

Elinor dropped her knife and fork and thrust her chair back. Her face had gone ashen as she dropped her napkin to the table and stood. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t go. Please give my regrets to Lady Violet. And to Edward.”

So saying, she left, and ran upstairs.

Chapter 38

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Mrs Holland cried, annoyed, as she rose from the table. “Must every meal in this house be ruined by drama?”

“I’ll go upstairs, mum.” Marianne got up and went to the door. “Something must’ve happened, something to do with Edward. It’s not like Ellie to be so dramatic.” She paused. “I’ll go up and talk to her and see what’s wrong.”

“Yes, do. And perhaps you can change your sister’s mind about going to London,” her mother added. “Lady Violet and Harriet will be put out if Elinor doesn’t go to the party. And Edward will be terribly disappointed.”

***

“Elinor? Elinor, let me in.”

Before Marianne could reach out to knock, or twist her sister’s doorknob, the door swung open. Elinor, with eyes red and swollen with tears, glared at her. “Go away, Mari. Leave me alone, all of you. Please.” She moved to close the door.

Marianne thrust out her hand to stop her. “No. Wait, Ellie…please, talk to me,” she pleaded. “Tell me what’s wrong. I know something’s happened.” She searched her sister’s misery-stamped face. “It’s Edward, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course it’s Edward,” Elinor flung back, and turned away. “He’s lied to me from beginning to end, and I hate him for it.”

Marianne followed her, closing the door behind them, and went to sit on the bed. Elinor sat slumped before her dressing table, and the mirror reflected her unhappiness. “How has he lied?” she asked.

“He hasn’t lied, exactly.” Elinor’s words were bitter. “It’s more a – a sin of omission.”

“Right, now you’re being cryptic. What’s Edward done – or not done,” she amended, “that’s got you so upset?”

Elinor reached for a tissue and blew her nose. “Lucy came to visit me this afternoon. We had tea.”

“Lucy? Lucy Steele?” Marianne rolled her eyes. “Glad I missed her. I swear, a meringue has more substance – and intelligence – than she does.” She paused, and frowned at her sister’s reflection. “Why did she come here? Don’t tell me the two of you are friends –?”

“God, no,” Elinor retorted. “She’s a silly, annoying girl, with the most
irritating
way of
italicising
everything she says for
emphasis
.”

Marianne let out a snort of laughter. “Exactly. I made it a point to avoid her at the picnic.” She sighed. “But since she’s Mrs Smyth’s goddaughter, and since Mrs Smyth is Kit Willoughby’s aunt, I couldn’t completely avoid either of them.”

“I’m sorry about Kit,” Elinor said, and turned around on the chair to face Marianne. “Maybe you’ll see him again, in London. Maybe the two of you can patch it up.”

“I doubt it. He made our breakup sound very…final.” She fidgeted with one of the throw pillows on the bed, turning it round and round in her hands. “I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

A tear leaked out, and she dashed it away.

“Where’d you go last night, by the way?” Elinor asked, and got up from the dressing table to sit beside her on the bed. “Mum said you left a note saying you went out to talk to a friend.”

Marianne nodded but offered nothing more.

“Mari,” Elinor chided, “mum might not have noticed, but I know very well that you haven’t any friends here in Hadleighshire – at least, none that I know of. Unless, perhaps, you went to see Lucy –?”

“As if!” Marianne exclaimed, and scowled. “Give me
some
credit. I told you, I can’t abide that girl.”

“Then who was it?” her sister prodded gently. “Who did you talk to last night, and where did you go? You didn’t come home.”

She fidgeted with the pillow. “I was at Matthew Brandon’s house. His farm, to be exact.”

Elinor’s eyes widened. “What? How did you end up there?”

“I called the clinic after Willoughby left the cottage,” Marianne said, “and left a message on the answer machine to tell Matthew I wouldn’t be in the next day. And – wouldn’t you know it? – he was there, working late. He called back straight away to check on me.”

“Oh. Well, that was thoughtful of him. He must’ve been worried about you.”

“Worried?” She snorted. “He was only worried that my bum wouldn’t be sat in my chair at work the next morning.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you ended up at his place.”

Marianne shrugged. “I was upset. He offered to come and get me so I could talk. We went back to Greensprings – that’s his farm – and we…well,
I
– talked. I told him about Kit.”

“And what did he say?”

“That I had a lucky escape, basically.” She sighed. “Matthew doesn’t much like him.”

“I think the feeling’s mutual,” Elinor murmured. She frowned. “But you were gone
all night
, Mari. Were you with him the entire time?”

“I was. But we didn’t sleep together, if that’s what you’re getting at,” she added quickly. “I talked; he listened. I drank some wine. A bit too
much
wine, actually, and on an empty stomach. I got drunk, and then I got sick, and ran to the loo, and afterwards I fell asleep on the sofa.” She leaned forward. “But you can’t tell mum any of this,” she implored. “Please.”

“No. No, of course I won’t.” Marianne eyed her doubtfully. “So nothing actually…happened, between the two of you? He didn’t ply you with drink, or try to –?”

“No,” Marianne cut in crossly. “He’s my
boss
, Ellie! We’re friends. Not even that, really. We did
not
sleep together.”

Not for lack of trying on my part
, she thought guiltily, as she remembered how she’d come on to him.
But I’ll blame it on the wine
…

“I’m glad to hear it,” Elinor said, relieved. “Not that Matthew isn’t perfectly nice – he is. In fact, from what I’ve seen of him at dinner and at Lady Violet’s picnic, I quite like him. But another relationship just now is the last thing you need.”

“Then for once, we’re agreed,” Marianne said tartly, and tossed the pillow in her hands aside. “I’m done with Kit Willoughby, and he’s done with me. I honestly don’t care a fig for him any more,” she added, and met her sister’s eyes with a defiant gaze. “Maybe I’ll meet someone in London. Maybe we
both
will. Now –” she reached out and took her sister’s hand in hers. “Stop avoiding the subject, and tell me what Edward’s done to upset you so much.”

She squeezed Marianne’s hand and let it go, then collapsed back against the pillows. “He’s engaged,” she said, her words dull and hopeless. “He’s engaged to be married –” She sat back up in an abrupt motion. “To Lucy Steele.”

“No.” Marianne stared at her in horror. “He’s engaged to that – that human meringue? Oh, Lord, no…you must be mistaken.”

“Lucy told me so herself, Mari. There’s no mistake.”

“She’s obviously lying.” Marianne spoke with certainty. “If Lucy and Edward are truly engaged, don’t you think he’d mention it? Don’t you think Harriet would trumpet the news to one and all, and don’t you think that Mrs Smyth would do the very same?”

“They’re keeping it a secret.”

Marianne blinked. “Why? Why on earth would they do that? It makes no sense.”

“Why did you and Kit keep your engagement a secret? Because his aunt didn’t approve,” she pointed out. “Lucy said that Edward’s sister would never let the two of them get married. She expects better for her brother.”

“Well, I can certainly understand
that
.” Marianne paused and shuddered. “Ugh! I can’t believe I actually agree with Harriet.”

“Besides which,” Elinor went on, “Harriet holds the purse strings. Until Edward comes into his inheritance, he’s beholden to her.”

“Do you mean to say she’d
disinherit
him? Can she do that?”

“I don’t understand the legalities, but yes,” Elinor said, and sighed. “I believe she can.”

“Poor Edward,” Marianne exclaimed. “How completely unfair on him. Still…I can’t believe he actually loves Lucy Steele. How could he? She’s not his type.”

Elinor sighed. “No, she isn’t. But he loves her enough to go along with a secret engagement, one that’s lasted for several years.”

“You only have
her
word on that,” Marianne pointed out. “I still think she’s lying.”

“It doesn’t matter now, at any rate. There’s nothing to be done.”

“Bollocks!” Marianne’s eyes flashed with temper. “You can’t just roll over and let Lucy win, Ellie. You have to fight back. You know what you need to do, don’t you?” she added, and took her sister’s hands once again in hers.

“Do? What is there to do, Mari?” Elinor said in barely veiled despair. “Edward’s already spoken for, and there’s an end to it.”

“I don’t believe that, and neither should you.” She leaned forward. “You have to talk to Edward, Mari, and ask him yourself if it’s true. Ask him straight out if he loves Lucy Steele, ask him if he really intends to marry her.”

She stared at her sister in horror. “I couldn’t possibly ask him that. I’m not supposed to know about their engagement – it’s a secret Lucy entrusted me with. And I could never be so direct – or so bold – as to ask Edward such a – a personal question.”

“You can,” Marianne said firmly as she slid down from the bed, “and you will. You’re going to London with me and mum, and we’re having a wonderful time, and while we’re there, you’ll confront Edward about his fiancée, Lucy Steele, and get some answers.”

***

On Tuesday evening, the doorbell rang.

Elinor put her needlepoint aside and went to answer it. They rarely got visitors at Barton cottage, living so remotely and quietly as they did, so curiosity overcame her as she made her way across the entrance hall. She swung the door open and eyed the man standing on the doorstep in surprise. “Dr Brandon! What a nice surprise.”

“Hello, Miss Holland. I was on my way home from the clinic and thought I’d stop by and look in on Marianne.”

He wore jeans and a black windcheater. Despite the shadow of tiredness on his face and his windblown hair, he was attractive in a way completely opposite to Mr Willoughby. Although Willoughby was more conventionally handsome, Matthew Brandon had a visceral, down-to-earth directness that, in spite of his gruff manner, she found very appealing.

“That’s thoughtful of you,” she said now. “Please, come in. Marianne’s not here at the moment. She’s gone for a walk.”

“Oh. Well, I won’t trouble you, then. I just wanted to check she was all right.” He turned to go.

“No, don’t go, please.” She held the door wide. “You’re welcome to come in and wait, if you like. She should be back soon.”

He seemed about to decline, then shrugged. “Thanks. I’ll wait for a few minutes, then.”

She led him into the drawing room, where a fire burned invitingly behind the grate. “Would you like a coffee, Dr Brandon? It’s chilly tonight.”

“Matthew, please. No coffee – I’ve drunk my weight in the stuff since last night.”

“Oh?” She indicated that he should sit down on the sofa and lowered herself to an armchair opposite. “Did you have an after-hours call?”