Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (24 page)

She picked the photo up. This must be Matthew’s gran. She wore a cotton apron, the old-fashioned kind with a bib, and her hair was twisted into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. It was obvious she’d adored her grandson.

Marianne put the picture back and picked up another. In this one, Matthew stood next to a pretty, dark-haired girl with a wide grin, their arms looped around each other’s waists. Lacey. She was plainly younger than him, a kid to his teenager, but the family resemblance was unmistakable.

And no pierced eyebrows or cat’s-eye flick marred the girl’s pretty, open face.

Major Tom chose that moment to jump down from his perch and twined himself around her bare legs, mewling loudly.

“Are you hungry, puss?” Marianne murmured, and bent down to pet him. “Poor Tom. Did that horrible Dr Brandon forget to feed you?”

She straightened and looked around for the ginger cat’s food dish and spotted it by the kitchen’s back door. Sure enough, it was empty. How ironic – a veterinarian who’d forgotten to feed his own cat.

After a quick search she found a bag of kibble in a cupboard nearby and poured a generous amount into his dish, then fetched him a fresh bowl of water.

“There you are.”

Satisfied as he settled down with feline intensity to eat, Marianne returned the bag to the cupboard. As she went to close the door, she glimpsed something lying face down on the shelf above. Curious, she reached up and took it into her hands.

It was another framed photo.

This one, though, she realised as she studied it, was a formal photograph, posed and taken in a studio somewhere. Matthew and a blonde girl, beautiful and composed, looked into each other’s eyes. He held her hand in his, and the ring on her finger was unmistakable.

It’s an engagement photo
, Marianne realised as her eyes widened. This must be Philippa, Willoughby’s sister, and Matthew’s former fiancée. Why hadn’t he married her? Did he break it off, or did she?

More importantly, why do I even care?
Marianne wondered as she reached up to put the photograph back.

“What are you doing?”

Matthew stood just behind her in the kitchen doorway, his expression thunderous.

She gave a violent start and whirled around. “Shit! You startled me. When did you get back?”

“Just now, to check you’re all right.” He looked past her at the cupboard. “I’ll ask you again,” he said evenly. “What are you doing?”

She shut the doors. “I was getting kibble for Major Tom, since you ask. You forgot to feed him,” she retorted.

He glanced over at the cat, lapping now at his water dish. “Oh. So I did.”

“‘Oh. So I did,’” she mimicked. “Is that all you have to say for scaring me half to death?”

“What else should I say?”

“An apology would be nice.”

“An apology, is it?” He snorted. “I’m to apologise for coming in through my own kitchen door? Not to mention,” he added, “catching you red-handed, snooping around in my cabinets. Because I know that’s what you were doing.”

She didn’t bother to protest. It was true and they both knew it.

“You’re right, I was snooping. And I found loads of interesting things,” Marianne said, and shrugged. She turned back to the table, and her now-cold toast. “Bags of kibble. Plates. A nearly empty box of Weetabix…you must
really
like your cereal.” She sat down and bit into the toast with a crunch. “Truly riveting stuff.”

He glared at her and made his way to the coffee maker to pour himself a cup. “Finish your breakfast. And when you’re done, get dressed, and I’ll take you to work.”

“Work?” she echoed, and lowered her toast in dismay. “But you said you’d closed the clinic for the day. And I told you, I’m not up to it. I’m not feeling at all well.”

He glanced at her nearly empty plate and back at her. “It’s plain to see that your appetite’s returned,” he observed. “And your colour’s back, along with your propensity for sarcasm. So I think it’s safe to say that you can handle answering the clinic phones for the rest of the afternoon. Let’s go.”

Marianne opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again. After all, she was in no hurry to return home to be bombarded with a thousand and one questions about Willoughby from her mum and Elinor.

With another glare at him, she stood, picked up her plate, dumped it in the sink, and stalked past him into the bathroom to get dressed.

And she made sure to slam the door.

Chapter 37

“I hope you don’t mind,” Lucy Steele said early the following Tuesday afternoon, and turned away from the window as Elinor came into the drawing room to greet her. “I was visiting Mrs Smyth and thought I’d pop in and say hello.”

Despite her misgivings at the news, Elinor managed a smile. “Not at all. I’m glad you’re here. Please, sit down. Would you like anything? Tea, perhaps?”

“Tea would be lovely,” she agreed, and took a seat on the sofa. “I enjoyed meeting you and your sister at the picnic, and again in Carywick. I hope we’ll all see a good deal more of each other.”

“I’m sure we will.” Elinor, never at her ease in social situations, lowered herself to the sofa, torn between duty and the urge to escape. “Why don’t I run along and fetch the tea –?”

“Did I hear you mention tea, darling?” Mrs Holland said. She came into the drawing room, beaming as she bore a tray set out with a teapot, cups, and a plate of assorted biscuits and set it down on the coffee table. “I’ve taken the liberty of fixing a tray for you girls.”

“How thoughtful,” Lucy said, and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs Holland. I’m glad I happened by. Won’t you join us?” she asked as the woman poured them each a cup of Darjeeling and handed it over.

“No, you two enjoy your chat,” Mrs Holland said, and turned away. “I’ve things to be doing, and no desire to intrude on your girl talk.”

Elinor watched her go with a sinking heart. What on earth was she to talk about with this pleasant but relentlessly nosy girl?

“Have you had any news of Edward Ferrars?” Lucy asked as she picked up the tongs to drop a slice of lemon in her cup. She sat back against the cushions. “Lady Violet mentioned that you two know each other.”

“We do, yes. But I’ve heard nothing from him.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

Elinor offered the plate to her. “Biscuit?”

Lucy leaned forward and reached out to pluck a custard cream from the plate. “Thank you. I’ve known Edward for a good many years. Our friendship is quite firm, quite firm indeed.”

Elinor sipped her tea. “How nice.”

“I heard from Edward only this morning. He arrived in Litchfield yesterday to meet with the bishop and the vicar – goodness, that almost sounds like the opening of a naughty joke, doesn’t it?” Lucy grinned and bit into her biscuit. “And the former vicar was there, as well.”

“Mr Bennet, do you mean?” Elinor inquired.

“Yes, that’s him. Very pleasant fellow, Edward tells me. He’s a bit old-fashioned, but sweet. Mr Bennet, I mean to say,” she added hastily, and reddened. “Not Mr Ferrars! Not to say that Edward isn’t sweet, in his own way, of course. And I suppose he
is
a bit old-fashioned, too…”

“You seem to be on very good terms with Edward.”
Why is that?
Elinor couldn’t help but wonder, and frowned.
Why on earth would he be close with this chatty, vapid girl?

“Yes, well, as I said, we’ve known each other for absolute
yonks
,” Lucy replied, and set her cup down in its saucer with a delicate clink. “We met at my father’s house in Surrey. Edward caught my eye straight away, I assure you.”

“I’m sure,” Elinor murmured, and hid her dismay at the girl’s words behind the rim of her teacup.

“Even then, his sister had great aspirations for him. The law. Politics.”

Elinor heard Edward’s words echoing in her memory.

Harriet wants me to become a barrister, at the very least, or a Member of Parliament, at the very most. She has great plans for me, does my sister. Plans which, unfortunately, I don’t share.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” she said now.

Lucy set her cup and saucer aside and leaned forward. She lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. “Miss Holland – Elinor – I wonder, can you keep a secret?”

“A secret? Oh. I…well, yes. Of course.” Elinor felt trapped and scarcely knew what to say. She truly did
not
want to hear Lucy Steele’s confidences, secret or otherwise, but nor did she wish to be rude.

“I shouldn’t tell anyone,” she admitted, and frowned. “But if I don’t share my news, I swear, I shall burst.”

“We certainly don’t want that.”

Miss Steele giggled again. “You’re so amusing, Elinor, just like your sister, Marianne. Well.” She straightened and smoothed her skirt. “If I have your promise – your absolute
vow
– that you won’t breathe a word of what I’m about to tell you…then I’ll tell you my secret.”

I can hardly wait
, Elinor thought, and suppressed a sigh. “You have my word, Miss Steele. Of course.”

“Lucy, please. We’re practically best friends now, aren’t we?” she said, and beamed. “Sharing secrets, and taking tea together?”

“Yes.” She reached out for the teapot in quiet desperation. “Speaking of which – will you have another cup?”

“Oh, no, thank you. But I
will
take another custard cream,” she said, and reached for one of the plated biscuits. “Although,” she added, and laughed as she glanced down at her trim waist, “I’ll need to stop eating so many sweets or I won’t fit into my wedding gown.”

Elinor set the teapot aside with a clatter and eyed her in surprise. “Are you getting married, Miss – I’m sorry, Lucy? I’d no idea. How lovely. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She tittered and blushed. “Yes, I am, but not just yet. It all goes back to my secret, you see. I’m
engaged
. To be married.”

Yes, one usually gets engaged for the purpose of getting married
, Elinor thought irritably, but turned her lips up in a polite smile.

“And who’s the lucky man?” she asked, even as she wondered how much longer this social torture must last.

Lucy sighed. “I’m the lucky one, Elinor,” she confided, and leaned forward once again to lay her hand atop Elinor’s. “Because out of all the men in the world who might have asked me to marry them, I caught Edward’s fancy.”

There was a beat of silence as Elinor digested her words.

“Edward…Ferrars?” she stammered.

“Yes. We plan to be married sometime next year,” Miss Steele rattled on, seemingly oblivious to Elinor’s pale, astonished face or her lack of response. “In London, most likely, before we settle in Litchfield and move into the vicarage. I’m looking forward to my new life, I can assure you, even though we shan’t have a lot of money…at least, not right away.”

Elinor clasped her hands together in her lap, as if doing so would prevent her from falling completely apart. “How…how did the two of you meet?”

“Oh, it was
terribly
romantic,” Miss Steele said. “My father tutored Edward the summer before he left for university, so he was often at our house in Surrey. Of course daddy didn’t know that the two of us saw each other at every opportunity whenever Edward was there. He said he was in love with me, and asked me to marry him once his education was complete. I was only too happy to accept, and to wait for him.”

She could certainly believe
that
, Elinor thought numbly. Miss Steele was nothing if not determined. “I’m sorry,” she ventured after a moment, “but why have you and Edward kept your engagement a secret, and for so long? I don’t understand.”

A guarded look shadowed Lucy’s eyes. “It’s because of Edward’s sister, you see. Harriet doesn’t much like me. Edward and I suspected from the first that she wouldn’t approve of me; she’s always had
such
high aspirations for her brother, you know, in marriage as well as in his career.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.”

“My own family is not nearly wealthy or well-connected enough to suit her. So we must wait until Edward establishes himself, or comes into his inheritance – whichever happens first.” She let out a light arpeggio of laughter.

“Well, I’m very pleased for you.” Elinor rose on stiff legs. “I wish you both every happiness.”

Lucy rose as well. “Thank you, Elinor, so much. Your good wishes mean everything to me, as they will to Edward, too, I’m sure.”

Somehow Elinor managed to keep her smile fixed in place, and murmured the expected pleasantries as she showed her guest out of the front door.

“I’ll call on you again soon,” Lucy promised, and touched her hand. “We really
must
spend more time together. Perhaps we can go shopping –?”

Elinor nodded mutely.

Lucy paused at the door and turned back. “Speaking of which, did you ever find a dress?”

“A dress?” Elinor looked at her blankly.

“Don’t you remember? For your friend’s wedding?”

“Oh. Yes.” Flustered, Elinor clasped her hands together. “No, not yet. I’m…still looking.”

Lucy smiled and patted her on the hand in reassurance. “Don’t give up. I’m sure the right dress is out there somewhere. You just need to find it.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Thank you. Goodbye, Lucy.”

The moment the door was shut, Elinor turned, shaken by Miss Steele’s unwelcome news, and fled upstairs to the sanctuary of her room to cry.

***

Dinner at Barton Park that evening was a tense, silent affair. There was little to be heard in the dining room, Marianne noted as she cut into her lamb, only the clinking of silverware against plates, the sputter of flames in the fireplace, and her own chewing as she tried to swallow a few bites of her dinner.

“How was work, darling?” her mother asked.

“Fine.”

She’d at least had the presence of mind to call home that morning to say she’d be going straight in to work from her ‘friend’s’ house.

“Good.” Mrs Holland turned to Elinor. “You’re quiet this evening, dearest. Something on your mind?”

“Nothing, mum.” She took up her glass and sipped at her wine. “Nothing at all.”

The silence continued for some moments longer, until Mrs Holland laid her napkin aside and stared in exasperation at each of her daughters in turn. “My goodness! One would think we were sat at a funeral tonight, rather than the dinner table. What on earth is
wrong
with you girls?”