Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (26 page)

“I did. One of my father’s mares went into foal.”

“He has property hereabouts, doesn’t he?”

He nodded. “Delaford. It borders Barton Park on the east and Cum Magna on the west.”

“Cum Magna?” she echoed, and frowned. “I’m not familiar with it.”

“It’s Willoughby’s estate.” His jaw tightened as though he might speak again; but he offered nothing more.

“Oh! I had no idea. I thought he was staying at his aunt’s –?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. He visits her from time to time. But he resides at Cum Magna.”

She paused, conscious of the curt response, and added, “I hope your father’s mare is recovered?”

The taut lines of his face relaxed into a smile. “I’m happy to report that both mare and foal are doing fine as of this morning.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She sighed. “A happy ending…we get so few of those in life, usually.” Her smile faded as she thought of Kit and Marianne.

“Miss Holland –”

“Elinor,” she prompted.

“Elinor, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“You can tell me to mind my business if you like. I won’t take offence, but…I believe in being direct, and I wondered…how is Marianne coping with Willoughby’s departure?”

She hesitated. “Not well. She says she doesn’t care, but I know my sister, and she’s devastated. How much did she tell you?”

“Only that after Willoughby asked her to marry him, and took her to meet his aunt, he showed up here and said he was leaving, and going back to London.”

“And he’s not coming back.”

“Well, I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic; but Marianne should count herself lucky he’s gone.” His expression once again grew grim. “Very lucky.”

“Lucky? How can you say such a thing?” Taken aback by Brandon’s remark and shocked by his callousness, Elinor pressed her lips together. “Kit’s departure hurt my sister very deeply.”

“He could’ve done much worse to her than break an engagement and leave, believe me.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press him. “I promise you, Marianne doesn’t consider herself ‘lucky’ in any of this. She’s well and truly gutted.”

“Understandably so. I came here tonight to make sure she’s all right. And to tell her – and you – that she’s had a lucky escape. She’s well rid of him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I spoke with Max Roderick recently. He and Willoughby are good friends. He knows Kit better than anyone.” He paused. “I dislike gossip, but in this case, I think you and Marianne have a right to know what he said.”

Elinor frowned. “Know what, exactly? What did Mr Roderick say?”

He met her eyes. “Willoughby’s deeply in debt,” he said. “Bad investments…placing bets on the wrong horses…a string of extravagant purchases, and all of it based on money he’s yet to receive.”

“I don’t understand. Do you mean to say he’s borrowing against his inheritance?”

“Yes.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say any more than that.”

Elinor stood up as well. “Won’t you wait for Mari? She should return any moment.”

“I need to get back. Please tell her I stopped by,” he added. “If you…or she,” he added, “should need me, don’t hesitate to call.” He withdrew his card and handed it to her. “Here’s my mobile number. You can reach me any time, day or night.”

She took it and nodded. “I hope I’ll never need to trouble you. But I’ll keep it, and thank you.”

“Goodnight.” With a brief nod, he made his way across the drawing room to the doorway.

“Goodnight, Dr Brandon. And thank you again.”

He didn’t answer, and with a few long-legged strides he left, and shut front door firmly behind him.

Chapter 39

A whirlwind of packing, planning, and shopping occupied the weeks before the Hollands’ trip to London.

There were clothes to buy – from the sale racks in the local shops, of course – and outfits to plan; hair to be cut and styled at the Endwhistle beauty salon; and suitcases to be stuffed with as many of their clothes as Marianne and her sister and mother could cram inside.

Lady Violet offered to take all three Holland ladies shopping when they arrived in London, ‘for proper evening gowns,’ as she thought their already purchased sale-rack ones unworthy of the upcoming event.

“That’s kind of you, Lady Violet,” Mrs Holland assured her firmly as they had tea in the cottage drawing room. “But we can’t possibly take further advantage of your generosity. We’re already as grateful as we can be.”

“I don’t want your gratitude, Lydia,” Lady Violet said. “I want you and your girls to look as fashionable and beautiful as you deserve, not as if you’d thrown on the first thing you found at a charity shop. We’re attending a cocktail party in St John’s Wood, after all, not a knees-up in Endwhistle.”

“Thank you, Lady Violet. You’re gracious in the extreme. We look forward to the trip, and to shopping with you.”

Which wasn’t entirely true
, Marianne thought as she and Elinor followed their mother’s example and thanked Lady V. While she yearned to go to London in hopes that she might see Kit, and while she loved a shop as much as anyone, she had no wish to do it in Lady Violet’s sweet but talkative company.

Matthew Brandon, as she’d expected, was put out by the news that she’d be away from the clinic for a week.

“A week?” he’d echoed. “And what am I to do without you for a week? Who’ll answer the phones, who’ll coddle Mrs Dawson when she calls seventeen times a day about her damned dog, Bingo? Who’ll make coffee just the way I like it, and look after Emily?”

“You’ll call in a temp,” Marianne said calmly. “Mackenzie already knows the clinic’s routine and she knows most of the animals.” She smiled. “See? Wasn’t that easy?”

His only answer had been a scowl.

“Are you even
listening
to me, Marianne?” Mrs Holland said now. “I swear, you never hear above half of what I say!”

That’s because half of what you say isn’t worth hearing
, she nearly retorted, but didn’t. “I’m listening now, mum. Sorry.”

“This is a very generous offer on Lady Violet’s part,” her mother said. “I want both of you girls to make the most of this opportunity…and to show the proper gratitude, of course.”

“But Lady Violet doesn’t
want
our gratitude,” Marianne couldn’t resist reminding her. “She said so.”

“We’ll be sure to thank her,” Elinor promised as she took her sister by the arm, “won’t we, Mari?”

And before Marianne could reply, Elinor pulled her upstairs to finish packing.

***

“We’re here,” Marianne said the following Sunday as they arrived at King’s Cross station. Her gaze darted this way and that, trying – greedily – to take it all in. “We’re in London.”

Lady Violet had bought their train tickets to the city, where a car waited now to pick them up and drive them to her townhouse in Belgravia.

As she got in next to her sister and mother and the car glided away from the station, Marianne craned her neck to take it all in – the British Library, the London Planetarium and Madame Tussauds waxworks in Marylebone, and a few minutes later, the famous celebrity haunt, Chiltern Firehouse – and she could barely contain her excitement.

There was a chance, however slight, that she might see Kit Willoughby while they were here, and the possibility made her light-headed with excitement.

“Isn’t this fun?” Elinor asked, and squeezed her hand.

“Yes,” Marianne agreed, her eyes drinking in the passing scenery along the Victoria embankment. “I feel as if anything’s possible.”

***

Lady Violet’s townhouse in Belgravia was elegant yet welcoming, Marianne noted as they arrived and went upstairs to their bedrooms, not unlike Lady V herself.

“I want you all to make yourselves at home while you’re here.” Lady Violet informed them as they gathered for breakfast in the dining room the following morning. “We’ll go shopping after breakfast, if that suits you.”

“Can we go to Selfridges?” Marianne asked. “And Harrods?”

“Yes, of course. Although I’d recommend a bespoke dress shop, especially if you wish to avoid the crowds.”

“I don’t! I want the crowds, and the traffic, and all of it.”

Lady Violet lifted her brow. “Well. A couple of hours in London, my dear, will soon cure you of
that
.”

***

Elinor found the perfect gown for Edward’s party in Selfridges. She held it up to admire the dress, simple but stunning in black silk, with a modest neckline but a plunging back. “What do you think, Mari? Should I wear this to the party?”

Marianne glanced up from the fuchsia satin cocktail dress in her own hands. “I like it,” she approved. “It’s elegant – very
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
. All you need are a pair of sunglasses and a tiara.”

She could still hear Matthew’s derisive words the day he’d found her walking in her kitten heels beside the road.

“You can’t walk all the way to Hadleighshire in those faffy little Audrey Hepburn shoes.”

“What’s got you so distracted?” Elinor asked in a low voice as she glanced at their mother and Lady Violet as they debated the merits of a royal blue sheath in Selfridges.

“Distracted? I’m not distracted. What a thing to say.” Marianne held the fuchsia dress aloft. “What do you think of this?”

“Sorry, but it’s a bit ‘Vegas showgirl’ in my opinion,” Elinor said. “Back to the rack.”

“You don’t like it? I thought it was glam.”

“It’s tacky.”

Marianne sighed but returned the dress to the rack and had a further look at the gowns on offer.

In the end, she decided on a rose silk dress with a black lace overlay, nude heels, and a black silk clutch.

“You look beautiful,” Elinor said as she stood behind her sister at the dressing room’s three-way mirror. “And very grown up.”

The retro, almost fifties style of the dress had transformed her usual slapdash self – flats, jeans or trousers topped with a T-shirt or jumper – into someone she barely recognised. Someone, she realised in surprise, almost…glamorous.

“We’ll do your hair up in a French braid,” Elinor decided as she studied Marianne’s reflection. “You’ll be the most stunning girl at the party.”

Marianne, so pleased just the moment before, felt her smile slip. “Stunning? Oh, well, it hardly matters now, does it? Willoughby’s lost to me, and me to him, forever.”

“Mari – can I be honest?”

“Can I stop you?” Marianne retorted.

“It’s a good thing you two broke up, I think. I know you don’t see it now, but you’re well rid of him.” Elinor undid her sister’s zipper with a brisk motion. “He obviously wasn’t the right man for you. He didn’t even give you an explanation before he left. Who
does
that?”

Marianne said nothing as she stepped out of the dress and returned it to its hanger. What was there to say? Elinor was right.

“And he’s in debt, too. Serious debt.”

She looked up sharply. “Who told you that?”

Elinor hesitated. “Matthew heard it from Willoughby’s friend, Max Roderick.”

“I don’t believe it. It’s only gossip, after all.”

“Maybe. But Matthew wouldn’t mention it if he didn’t believe it was true.” She looked at her sister with barely concealed pity. “You know he wouldn’t.”

“He would. He hates Kit.”

“Mari –”

“I don’t want to hear it, Elinor.” Marianne took her mobile from her handbag with shaking hands and checked her texts. Nothing. With a frown, she put the phone away. Why hadn’t Kit returned any of her messages or texts? She’d told him she was in London, and offered to meet somewhere for coffee, to talk…so she might understand why he’d run out on her so abruptly. She wanted – desperately
needed
– to understand, and to see him.

Why the silence?

As if sensing that her sister’s mood was volatile, Elinor changed the subject. “I think I’ll get the black dress. If Lady Violet approves, that is.”

“Why wouldn’t she? It suits you perfectly.”

Elinor hesitated. “It’s expensive. I should put it back and try to find something cheaper, I suppose.”

“Ellie, there’s nothing cheaper in the entire store. And if even if there was, it wouldn’t look half so nice on you as that dress does. It’s perfect.”

“I don’t know.” Her sister’s face remained doubtful. “It’s not our money, Mari; let’s face it – it’s only because of Lady Violet’s generosity that we’re here in London at all –”

“Oh, bugger LadyV’s generosity,” Marianne snapped. “I’m beyond sick of hearing those words, ‘Lady Violet’s generosity.’ Just buy the bloody dress and be done with it.”

Elinor stared at her, her mouth open in astonishment.

“And don’t look at me like that,” her sister added irritably. “I’m sick to death of you always being so
noble
about everything, so self-sacrificing, like the heroine of one of those Russian novels. It’s nauseating, and I can’t stand it any more.”

So saying, Marianne snatched up the dress and shoes and clutch and stalked out of the dressing room, leaving Elinor gazing after her in bewilderment.

***

TO: [email protected]

SUBJ: Me Again…

FROM: [email protected]

Marianne began to type, her face set in concentration as her fingers flew over her laptop in her room at Lady Violet’s that Friday evening.

It’s been nearly three weeks since you left Barton Park, and not a word from you. Not a single text or email or call. We parted so abruptly, and so strangely, and I still can’t understand why, or what happened between us.

My thoughts are always in a muddle and I can’t sleep. I torture myself imaging what I might have done or said to bring you to this.

I don’t expect you’ll change your mind, although I wish you would; but I beg you to at least give me an explanation, a reason for your leaving that night. You owe me that much, surely? You haven’t answered a single email or text since I arrived in London; my letters to you go unanswered, and your silence is more than I can bear.

Please, Kit, if I meant anything to you – anything at all – please tell me what I’ve done –

“Marianne,” Elinor called to her from her bedroom doorway, “what are you doing?”