Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (13 page)

“I do apologise,” Mrs Fenwick said as she set the tureen down on the sideboard. Her face was flushed with heat and a trace of embarrassment. “My stepson’s helping to serve the beef and mash, and he’s not accustomed to it. He’s been conscripted, you might say.”

They laughed.

“Being a footman’s obviously not his thing,” Dr Brandon agreed.

“Maybe he’s made for better things,” Lacey said, toying idly with the stretchy black-beaded bracelet on her wrist.

“Maybe you should keep your comments to yourself,” Matthew told her. “Mind your manners.”

She shrugged, unperturbed, and slouched back in her chair. “Sorry. Thought it was a free country.”

“What an interesting bracelet, Lacey,” Marianne said in an effort to ease the tension. “I’ve not seen one quite like it.”

“It’s just a worry bracelet, is all.” She shrugged. “I got it at a market stall last time we were in London.” She held up her wrist to display a tiny skull charm dangling from the middle of the bracelet. “I added this.”

Marianne eyed it. “For good luck?”

“No.” Lacey hid a yawn behind her black finger-nailed hands. “Because I fancy skulls.”

“How do you find Northumberland so far?” Lady Violet asked hurriedly as she turned her attention to Harriet and Edward.

“Excellent,” Edward enthused.

“Disappointing,” Harriet retorted. “It’s so
very
much colder up here. I need to buy new clothes, but decent dressmaker’s shops are scarce on the ground hereabouts.”

“You’ll need to go into Newcastle or Gateshead for such things,” Lady Violet replied. “You won’t find anything much in the way of high fashion here in Hadleighshire.”

Lacey rolled her eyes and muttered, “Obvi.”

“But you
will
find excellent riding.” Lady Violet ignored the girl and turned to Edward. “Do you ride, Mr Ferrars?”

He took a sip of his wine. “I do. Have you any horses stabled here, Lady Valentine?”

She nodded. “I only keep four, since I’m so seldom in residence here. You and the young ladies – and your sister Harriet, of course – are more than welcome to go riding whenever you like.”

“Thank you.” He glanced at Elinor. “I’d like that, very much.”

She blushed.

Jack returned and began pouring their wine. He stood beside Lacey’s chair and leaned forward to tip a little of the red liquid into her glass. Although he said nothing as he drew back, Marianne saw him drop a folded piece of paper into the girl’s lap.

Had Matthew noticed? She glanced at him, but he was talking to her mother.

“Perhaps we should go riding after dinner,” Marianne suggested. She glanced at her sister and Edward in turn. “We can take it in turns. You can go out first, Elinor, and Edward, and Harriet and Matthew can go, too –”

Brandon turned away from Mrs Holland and shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m not much of a horseman, I’m afraid.”

“But…you’re a vet. I should think you’d like riding – and I imagine you’re very good at it, too.”

“I enjoy a hack across the fields now and again as much as anyone,” he agreed, and took a sip of his wine. He glanced at Kit. “But I’m not an equestrian, unlike Mr Willoughby, here.”

Marianne turned to her dinner companion in surprise. “Is that true, Kit? Do you compete in dressage competitions?”

He hesitated, and gave Brandon a hard look. “I do, on occasion.”

“I had no idea,” Marianne exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say?”

“I didn’t think it worth mentioning.” He looked, for some reason, uncomfortable.

“Willoughby’s a riding instructor, Miss Holland,” Brandon said, and glanced at Kit. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Marianne sensed tension, subtle but strong, between the two men. “No, he didn’t. But I’m not surprised,” she added, and smiled at Kit before turning back to the others. “I was never so glad to see anyone as I was when Mr Willoughby showed up on his horse and rescued me during our last thunderstorm.”

“He rescued you? On horseback?” Lacey echoed, and lifted her brow, impressed. “Lucky you.” She eyed Kit with a considering smirk. “I bet he
rides
very well.”

Lady Violet tittered, then reddened, coughed, and reached for her wine.

“Please tell us about your rescue, Miss Holland.” Matthew regarded Marianne with an unreadable expression. “What happened?”

Ignoring the amused challenge in his eyes, she proceeded to tell everyone – most particularly Matthew – about her fall from the tree house during the storm, and Willoughby’s rescue, in the most dramatic words possible.

“It was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me,” she finished, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining as she smiled and met Kit’s eyes. “But it ended well, thanks to Willoughby. He was wonderful. It was like something out of a fairy story.”

“Rescued by the handsome prince,” Matthew observed, and took another sip of his wine. “How very…Disney of him.”

Marianne felt her cheeks warm, not with pleasure, but irritation. “Do Kit’s riding skills make you jealous, Dr Brandon?”

“Not at all,” he said easily, and set his glass down. “It was lucky that Willoughby happened by. Very lucky, indeed.”

Lacey fluttered her thickly-mascared lashes at Kit. “Too right it was.”

“Miss Holland,” Kit interjected, obviously embarrassed by the girl’s attention as he turned to Marianne, “I think a ride across Barton Park is a great idea. We can work off some of your mother’s delicious food.” He smiled at Mrs Holland and Marianne in turn. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.” She blushed and glanced over at the veterinarian. “Will you go with us next time, Dr Brandon?” she inquired.

“I will,” he agreed. “At any rate, I can’t linger after dinner; Lacey has school tomorrow, and I have sheep to tend to.”

“Sheep?” Harriet echoed. “Oh! Are you a farmer, Brandon?”

“I am. I’m also the local veterinarian.”

“If you’ve a sick animal, Dr Brandon’s your man,” Willoughby drawled.

Marianne glanced at him. Somehow – perhaps because of the distinct edge in his voice – Kit’s comment came across as dismissive.

“It seems to me,” Harriet remarked, “that you farmers like to complain – about poor prices on milk, poor harvests, a low return at market for your lambs and fleeces – yet the prices at the grocer’s and butcher’s continue to rise.”

“Farmers don’t set supermarket prices,” he replied.

“No. But everyone knows that most farms are subsidised by the government.”

“Some are, yes,” Matthew replied. “But for those that are, there’s a load of red tape and bureaucracy to deal with. And every month, subsidised or not, farmers face a thousand questions – will the lambs survive the next blizzard? Will the generator last through the winter? Should the corn be sold this month or next? Will the supermarkets pay a fair price? And if not, will there be money enough to cover the rent, or the mortgage?”

“Most farms are worth millions of pounds.” Edward’s sister shrugged. “They can well afford to weather the ups and downs of the agricultural market, I should think.”

“You mistake the average farmer for a wealthy landowner. There’s a world of difference.”

“But aren’t all farmers wealthy landowners?” Harriet persisted.

“Generally speaking, no,” Brandon retorted, and laid his napkin aside. “Most are hard done by. They work their arses off, yet most are lucky to make ends meet.”

“I think your idea for a horseback ride is lovely, Marianne,” Mrs Holland said quickly, plainly desiring to change the subject and ease the tension between Harriet and Matthew. “What a pity we can’t all go.”

“A pity, indeed,” Aidan Wilson agreed with an amiable smile, and lifted his glass. “To next time.”

“To next time,” everyone echoed, and took up their glasses to drink.

Lacey rolled her eyes. “May I be excused?”

Matthew glanced at Lady Violet and Mrs Holland in turn before eyeing his sister. “Only if these two ladies say you might.”

“Of course, Miss Brandon,” Lady Violet assured her. “There’s nothing so dull as a table full of adults, is there?”

“Too right.” Lacey scraped back her chair and sauntered to the door. “Thanks, Lady V, Mrs H. Dinner was brill. Bye, Kit.” And with another flirtatious glance at Willoughby and a wave of her black-painted fingernails, she left.

A dull flush darkened Matthew’s face as he turned to his hostess. “I’m sorry, everyone. I apologise for my sister’s behaviour. She’s been a – handful lately.”

“No need for apologies, Dr Brandon,” the baron’s widow assured him, and reached out to pat his hand. “She’s a teenager. And we all know how moody and unpredictable teens can be, don’t we?”

“Girls her age often get crushes,” Mrs Holland said. She glanced at Kit and Matthew and smiled. “And it’s plain that Lacey has a crush on Mr Willoughby. But I wouldn’t let it bother you, Kit. By tomorrow, she’ll have moved on to someone else. One of those overpaid pop stars, no doubt.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sure you’re right.”

The conversation moved on to other topics, and Kit and Marianne and Edward engaged in a spirited debate about the pros and cons of English versus Western saddles.

But as she listened to Willoughby vigorously defend the merits of English riding, Marianne noticed that Matthew didn’t take part, and his expression remained set in hard and unyielding lines throughout the remainder of dinner.

Chapter 20

The foursome – Marianne, Elinor, Edward and Kit – made their way to the stables after dinner.

“I think it’s very sensible to have pudding after we get back from our ride, don’t you agree?” Elinor asked Edward as he handed her up into the saddle.

“I do.” He swung his booted leg over the sorrel and gripped the reins lightly in hand. “I can’t imagine anything worse than cantering off across the fields with a Victoria sponge sloshing around in one’s stomach.”

She laughed. “Exactly.”

“Let’s ride out to Allenham,” Willoughby suggested.

“I’m in,” Marianne agreed. “What about you two?” she asked Elinor and Edward. “Are you coming?”

“You go ahead,” Elinor said. “We’ll be along in a bit.”

Willoughby gathered up the reins and dug his heels into his stallion’s flanks. “Race you there,” he called out over his shoulder to Marianne.

“Not fair,” she cried, and urged the bay mare into a gallop. “You’ve had a head start.”

Laughing and calling good-natured insults to one another, Marianne and Kit shot off across the fields as Edward and Elinor followed at a more sedate pace.

“It’s a shame Lady Violet doesn’t have more horses to hand,” Edward said. His lifted a hand to the dark-haired veterinarian who stood leaning against the paddock fence. “I think Dr Brandon regrets turning us down.”

Elinor saw that Brandon’s attention, even as he lifted a hand in return, was indeed focused on the riders, specifically on Marianne and Willoughby. He watched them with an expression that could only be called brooding.

She wondered with surprise why that should be. Was his apparent dislike of Kit the reason? What did he have against Willoughby? Or had Brandon, possibly, taken more than a passing interest in her sister?

“I think you’re right,” she agreed thoughtfully. With a gleam in her eye she added, “Maybe I should dismount and give my horse over to Matthew, and go back inside. What do you think?”

“I think I’d prefer it,” Edward said firmly, “if you ignore the impulse to be considerate and decide instead to be selfish, and continue your ride with me.”

Elinor smiled. “Then that’s just what I’ll do. Let’s go.”

***

Willoughby and Marianne guided their mounts across the stream that separated the two properties. Both of them were flush-faced and gasping for breath from the combined effects of laughing and galloping over the fields.

“I vote we stop here and rest,” Willoughby said as he dismounted in the shade of a copse of trees and tied the reins to a fence rail. “Give your sister and her friend some time to catch up.”

Marianne nodded. “We had an unfair advantage, after all.” She took his proffered hand as he helped her dismount.

Her hands came out to rest on his shoulders, and as her chest slid slowly down against his and her feet touched the ground, she felt a wave of desire so intense it left her legs trembling and weak. Willoughby’s arms came around her as she tilted her face up to his; she was desperate for the slant of his lips over hers and the feel of his hands skimming her body.

“The only thing that’s unfair,” he said raggedly against her mouth, “is how much I want you, Marianne, knowing I can’t possibly have you.”

She caught his face up in her hands. “Not now, maybe,” she agreed, her lips swollen from his kisses. “And not here. But soon, I think. When the time’s right…”

He groaned and pressed her against him. His hands tangled themselves in her hair as he plundered her mouth, and she could feel his hardness against her thigh.

The rumble of horses’ hooves alerted them that Edward and Elinor were fast approaching, and with a last, lingering kiss, they broke apart.

***

Elinor knew at once that Marianne and Kit had been kissing, and recently. It was all too apparent in her sister’s swollen lips and the flush on her cheeks, and in Kit Willoughby’s averted eyes.

The knowledge troubled her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Kit; she did. He was pleasant, and very easy on the eyes, to boot. But he and Marianne had barely known each another for two weeks. The relationship was new, yet it moved forward much too quickly for two people who were still learning their way around each other.

She ought to have a word with Marianne. Yet doing so would infuriate her sister, or worse – it might send her running straight into Willoughby’s arms and off to elope in the middle of the night, or something equally disastrous.

“What’s wrong?” Edward asked her as they dismounted a short distance away and allowed their horses a well-deserved drink from the stream.

Elinor hesitated. “It’s my sister. She’s fallen really hard for Kit, and while I like him, and I’m happy for them both, I’m afraid she might end up getting hurt.”

“And you think she won’t listen to your advice.”

“Yes, exactly. But I can’t just stand by and say nothing, either.”