Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (8 page)

“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.”