Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (21 page)

She felt, suddenly, like crying. Who knew that shopping for a wedding dress would be so difficult?

They’d just settled at a table and opened the menus a harried waitress had left with them when someone called their names.

“Elinor and Marianne! And Mrs Holland. What a lovely surprise!”

At the sound of Lucy Steele’s voice, Elinor bit back a groan. “Oh, lord,” she muttered as Mrs Smyth’s goddaughter hurried down the sidewalk towards them, “of all people to run into…”

“I think she’s very nice,” their mother said, surprised. “Miss Steele,” she called back, and waved at the girl, “do please come and join us.”

“Mum, what are you doing?” Marianne hissed. “She’ll ask a lot of nosy questions, wanting to know why we’re here, until she drags the truth out of us –”

“Oh, Mari, you’re overreacting. Lucy’s not like that, not at all.”

“Right.” Mari snorted and returned her attention to the menu.

“Gorgeous day, isn’t it?” Lucy beamed as she joined them at the table and sat down.

They all agreed that it was, indeed, gorgeous.

“What brings you ladies to Carywick?” Lucy inquired. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, we’re shopping.” Mrs Holland handed over a menu. “Go ahead, Miss Steele, I’ve already decided on the salad.”

“Call me Lucy, please! Thank you, but I’m afraid I can’t stay long. I just popped over to say hello.” She set the menu aside and glanced around quizzically. “I don’t see any shopping bags anywhere. Haven’t you had any luck?”

“No.” Marianne cleared her throat. “We couldn’t find what we wanted in Hadleighshire or Endwhistle, so here we are.”

“That’s a shame,” Lucy sympathised. “What are you looking for, exactly?”

“Elinor needs to find the perfect dress.”

“A dress? How nice! What’s the occasion?”

“A party,” Elinor said quickly.

“A wedding,” Mrs Holland said at the same time.

Confusion flickered over Lucy’s face. “A party? Or a wedding?”

“Both,” Marianne told her, before either her mother or Elinor could open their mouths. “Elinor’s in a wedding party. She’s agreed to be a – a bridesmaid at her best friend’s wedding, haven’t you, Ells?”

She reddened. “Erm…yes. Yes, I have.”

Lucy frowned, puzzled. “But doesn’t the bride usually choose the bridesmaids’ dresses?”

Marianne forced out a laugh. “Oh – did I say ‘bridesmaid?’” she asked. “I meant ‘matron of honour’, of course. How silly of me.”

“A matron of honour! I see,” Lucy remarked, and turned to Elinor. “Congratulations. Whereabouts is the wedding to be?”

“London,” Elinor said.

“Litchfield,” Marianne blurted at the same time.

Lucy tittered and laid a hand against her chest. “
Two
weddings? One for each set of parents, then? How extravagant!”

“Well, you see, my friend really wanted to get married in London,” Elinor explained, casting a black look at her sister, “but her family all live in Litchfield, and her granny can’t possibly travel, and so they – they’ve decided to have the wedding in Litchfield instead.”

“The weather’s nicer there, too,” Marianne added, and bit back a smile. She’d no idea her sister was such a good liar.

“Well, wherever it takes place, I’m sure the wedding will be absolutely perfect,” Lucy said, and stood up as their waitress returned. “And I’m sure you’ll find the perfect dress, Elinor. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I really do have to run. It was lovely to see you again!”

“Lovely,” Elinor and her sister and mother echoed, and waited until Miss Steele – and her thousand and one questions – had disappeared around the corner.

“God, that was painful!” Marianne hissed as she let out the breath she didn’t even realise she’d been holding and sank back in her chair.

“Excruciating,” Elinor agreed. “Do you think she believed us?”

“Not for a minute. We’ll have to be careful what we say around her in future, or she’ll figure out that I’m engaged to Kit, and tell everyone, and ruin our secret.”

“Oh, I’m sure you exaggerate,” Mrs Holland admonished her. “Really, you girls are terrible. Lucy means no harm.” She turned to the waitress. “Now, on to more important matters. What will we all have for lunch?”

***

As Marianne parked the Fiat in front of the clinic on Monday morning, a dark green Land Rover turned in and parked beside her. She didn’t recognise it. Curious, she waited, her hand on the ignition, until the driver’s door swung open.

“Matthew,” she called out in surprise as he emerged. She pocketed her keys and got out of the car. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Is it new?” She looked the vehicle over doubtfully. It was covered with dust and looked a bit the worse for wear. “It doesn’t look it, to be honest.”

“It’s not. It belongs to my father.” He slammed the door with rather more force than was necessary. “I’ve had to borrow it.”

“Why? Is something wrong with your truck?”

“You could say that.” His face was grim as he led her inside and unlocked the front door. He held it open and waited for her to go through. “There’s a puncture in the radiator – small, but the engine’s ruined. It’ll either have to be rebuilt, or I’ll need to buy another truck. Either way, it’s a cost I can’t afford right now.”

“Oh, no.” Marianne turned to him in dismay. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“A stone,” he replied. “It must’ve flown up from the road when I was driving and hit the radiator. By the time I noticed the temperature gauge was running high, it was too late. The damage was done.”

“Well…at least you’ve got the Land Rover to use in the meantime.”

“I do. But I don’t like asking favours of my father.”

“Why? I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

“He doesn’t. But I do. Now, if you don’t mind, Miss Holland–” he brushed past her and strode towards the surgery with his medical bag and briefcase in hand “I’d like us both to get on with it, and get to work.”

Chapter 33

Despite the fact that she hadn’t yet found the wedding dress she hoped to find, Marianne floated through each day on a cloud of anticipation and happiness.

At the veterinary clinic she learned everything she could from Aidan and Matthew and accompanied them on after-hours calls whenever they’d allow. In the evenings she flipped through stacks of bridal magazines, or looked at wedding websites online, dreaming and sighing and saving the sites she liked.

There were a
lot
of decisions to make.

Of course, she and Kit hadn’t discussed their wedding plans yet. There was his Aunt Eugenia still to win over…not that Marianne had any hope she’d ever make friends with the woman. It was plain Eugenia Smyth hadn’t an ounce of use for her.

She frowned and sipped at her tea, wincing as she realised it had gone cold. She and Kit hadn’t seen each other since last Thursday, and already another week had flown by. He’d called once, and texted a few times; but since his last text on Sunday –?

Nothing.

Should I be worried
? Marianne wondered, as doubts crept in. Was Jack Fenwick right? Was Kit so busy fending off advances from his female equestrian students at the training ring that he didn’t have time for her any longer –?

Her mobile vibrated.

She grabbed it up. “Kit! I was just this minute thinking about you.”

There was a small silence. “I’ve been thinking of you too. I’ve thought of nothing else.”

Thrilled to finally hear from him, she got up and paced the confines of her room. “I’ve missed you, so much! It’s been nearly a week since I saw you, but it seems like much longer. I think I’m having withdrawal symptoms.” She laughed.

“I miss you too.” He let out a sharp breath. “More than you know.”

Marianne smiled, warmed by his words. How silly she’d been to doubt him. She was ashamed for questioning – even for one tiny second – his love for her.

“We
do
need to start talking about the wedding, though,” she pointed out. “I know I haven’t won your aunt over yet, but like you said, I’m sure I will; and so we need to make some decisions about things like the invitations and the wedding venue, as soon as we can –”

“I need to see you, Mari,” he cut in. “Tonight, if possible.”

“Of course,” Marianne said, taken aback by his urgency. She hesitated. “Kit, you sound…different. Is everything – is everything all right?”

She waited for him to reassure her, to say,
don’t be ridiculous; everything’s fine
. But he didn’t.

“I’ve a lot on my mind at the moment,” he said finally. “I’m sorry.”

“But – what do you mean?” Alarm sang through her body. “Kit, tell me, please…what is it? What’s going on?”

“I can’t discuss it over the phone. We’ll talk when I get there.”

“But Kit –”

“I’ll see you soon.”

And he rang off.

***

“Kit!”

As the clock on the drawing room mantel struck seven, Marianne paused just inside the doorway. Her fiancé turned away from one of the tall windows, away from the sight of the rain-soaked Northumberland countryside, and met her eyes.

“Marianne.”

His voice was steady and his gaze was direct; but he didn’t smile when he saw her, like he usually did.

As he came towards her, she thought he meant to take her in his arms. But he didn’t; instead, he took her hands in his and gripped them tightly but briefly.

Such formality
.

“Let me just close the doors,” Marianne said, and turned away to shut them, even as she wondered at his impersonal behaviour. What was going on? “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

Although she and he were alone in the room, Marianne suspected that her sister and mother hovered somewhere just out of sight – at the top of the stairs or in the kitchen doorway – straining to hear her conversation with Kit.

“You look…” His gaze met hers, and an expression akin to pain flickered over his face. “Lovely. As always.”

“Thank you,” she said, and the words caught in her throat. “You needn’t stop there,” she added, and smiled in an effort to lighten the mood.

He didn’t answer her smile, and instead turned to stand before the fireplace with his hands held loosely behind his back.

“It’s horrible out there tonight,” Marianne offered, when the silence between them had stretched to an awkward length. “It always seems to rain whenever you come to Barton Park.”

“It does.” He didn’t turn around. “The rain’s expected to last for several days.”

What the hell is the matter with us?
she wondered, dismayed as her former happiness to see him deflated in the face of his formality.
Are we reduced, like Elinor and Edward, to banal conversation about the state of the weather?

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I came here tonight.” He turned back to her, one hand resting on the fireplace mantel. His expression was impassive.

Marianne nodded but said nothing, only waited.

“I’d intended…” his words trailed away, and he cleared his throat. “I have news. News that won’t prove any more welcome to you than it has to me. But I have to tell you. I owe you that much.”

Her heart sank. “Tell me
what
? What news? Kit, please tell me what you’re talking about!”

“I’m leaving Allenham Court, straight away. In fact,” he added, and pushed away from the fireplace mantel, “I’m leaving Hadleighshire altogether, and going back to London.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending. “You’re leaving? Tonight? And why are you going to London? Will you be back? You
will
be back, won’t you?”

“I don’t know.” He met her eyes and his expression was bleak. “But I don’t – I don’t think so.”

“But…why?” Marianne cried. “Is something wrong? Have I done something to upset you –? If I have, I’m sorry –”

“No.” His dark blue gaze was fierce. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Marianne. Not a thing. It’s nothing to do with you.”

“Then…what is it? Is there a family emergency? Is your sister all right? Your aunt’s not ill –?” She stopped, and pressed her lips together. “It’s her, isn’t it? Your Aunt Eugenia. This is all to do with
her
!”

“I can’t explain now. Perhaps one day.” Willoughby reached out to grip her hands in his. His eyes, so blue and troubled, searched hers. “One day, I hope you’ll understand, and know how much – how very much – I love you.”

Pressing a hard, but all too brief, kiss on her lips, he drew back and gazed at her as if committing her face to memory, let go of her, and strode from the room, out of the house…

…and out of her life.

***

The slamming of Marianne’s bedroom door resounded throughout the house.

“Poor Mari,” Elinor said, and met her mother’s eyes in distress. “To tell her he’s leaving, and so suddenly…” She stared at the front door that Willoughby had so recently quitted.

“I can’t believe it,” Mrs Holland fretted. “Such a handsome, pleasant young man! This is most upsetting – and most unlike him. Still – there must be a good reason for Kit’s behaviour. There simply
must
be.”

“I’m not so sure.” Elinor made her way down the hall to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

“What do you mean?” her mother asked as she went to the cupboard and took down a pair of mugs. “Are you suggesting he deliberately set out to break Marianne’s heart?”

“No, of course not. I believe he loves Mari. He’s crazy about her.” She frowned. “I just don’t understand why he made us all think of him as – as some kind of hero out of one of Lady Violet’s paperback novels, romancing my sister to the hilt, bringing her presents and flowers and all the rest, even proposing marriage on his bended knee – only to leave so suddenly, and with no explanation.”

“There’s obviously been a family emergency of some sort.” Mrs Holland sat down at the table.

“Then why didn’t he say so? Why didn’t he explain before he left poor Marianne behind in such a state?” Elinor plunked tea bags in their mugs and poured hot water into her mother’s cup. “I hate to say it, but I find it all more than a little suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Mrs Holland paused with her mug halfway to her lips. “Honestly, Elinor – you’re always thinking the worst of poor Mr Willoughby. What’s he ever done to you to give you such a low opinion of him?”