Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (27 page)

She shut the laptop with a quick motion and glared at her sister. “I’m busy. What do you want?”

“It’s late. You should try and get some sleep. Harriet’s party is tomorrow night; you need your rest.”

“Oh, yes, Harriet’s party,” she mimicked. “Does no one in this house ever talk of anything but Harriet’s party?” Her glance went to the rose silk dress hanging in a zippered bag from the back of her door, and she scowled.

Elinor eyed her in surprise. “I thought you were looking forward to the party.”

“I was, until I realised there’s no point. Willoughby won’t be there. Why should he? He can’t even be bothered to answer my texts.” She felt her throat thicken. “I’ll never see him again, Ellie.”

“Even if you don’t see him again,” Elinor said, and sat down next to her and slipped a reassuring arm around her sister’s shoulders, “you’ll manage. You’re strong. You’ll hurt for a bit, but you’ll meet someone else. Someone better, who truly loves you. And eventually –”

“Don’t tell me I’ll forget about him.” Marianne pushed herself to her feet. “I won’t.” She began, helplessly, to cry. “He did love me. He did! I’ll never forget Willoughby, never.”

She pelted from the room and ran into the en suite bathroom, and slammed the door.

Chapter 40

“Miss Holland. How
lovely
to
see
you.”

With a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, Elinor paused in the entrance hall of the townhouse in St John’s Wood on Saturday evening and surrendered her wrap to a footman. Her mother, sister, and Lady Violet had already been swallowed up in the thicket of elegantly clad people.

She glanced towards the ballroom doorway and affixed a smile to her lips as Lucy Steele, dressed in an unbecoming gown of chartreuse chiffon, surged forward to greet her.

“Look at you,” Miss Steele exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “You look so glamorous – like a film star.”

“Thanks.” Elinor managed a smile. “I’m glad to be here for Edward’s celebration. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really ought to go and catch up with my sister –”

“I’m sure she’s having a
lovely
time and has no need of a mother hen,” Lucy mock-scolded as she took Elinor’s arm. “Now, will you come with me? I want to introduce you to my newest friend, Lady Middleton…”

Unable to think of a polite way to escape the girl’s clutches, Elinor allowed herself to be drawn into the swirl of guests crowding the ballroom, and followed in Lucy’s floaty chiffon wake until they came to a stop near the fireplace.

“Lady Middleton,” Lucy said as she drew Elinor forward, “allow me to introduce Miss Elinor Holland, Harriet Ferrars-Holland’s sister-in-law.”

A tall woman clad in a dropped-waist, vintage Chanel dress of black silk chiffon turned away from the man beside her and eyed Elinor up and down without expression. “You’re Thomas’s sister, I presume?”

“Half-sister,” she corrected politely, and held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Middleton.”

That lady took her hand and released it after the briefest of grips. “A pleasure,” she murmured, and gave Elinor a brittle smile before she turned back to her companion.

After an exchange of less than a dozen words, I’ve been dismissed
, Elinor realised, and the knowledge rankled.

“Isn’t Lady Middleton’s frock
gorgeous
?” Lucy simpered beside her. “It’s Chanel, you know, and vintage. She has such
excellent
taste.”

Elinor was spared a reply when Marianne, her face flushed with excitement, appeared and took her by the arm. “Ellie,” she whispered as she drew her sister aside, “have you spoken with Edward yet?”

“How could I?” she retorted. “I’ve had no chance. Lucy pounced on me the moment I arrived, and I haven’t even seen Edward yet.”

Marianne took a sip of her champagne cocktail. “Well, you need to find him, and ask him about…you know.” She glanced at Miss Steele and lowered her voice. “About Lucy. And the secret engagement.”

“I really don’t think this is the proper place or time, Mari, and it’s not at all appropriate –”

“Ah, the Holland ladies. What a pleasure it is to see two such lovely and familiar faces.”

Elinor looked up, startled, to see Edward Ferrars, his handsome face sporting a shy smile as he came to a stop before them. The sight of him in black tie was a shock to her system. She’d forgotten how his hair fell in a dark wave over his forehead, and how kind his brown eyes, at once shy and searching, were as they met hers. She blushed and stammered out a hello.

“Congratulations, Edward.” Marianne offered her hand, and looked askance at her sister. “We’re very glad to be here and take part in the celebration tonight. Aren’t we, Elinor?”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course we are.”

“Well, I’m happy you could come. I know London’s a ways from Northumberland; I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“We wouldn’t dream of missing it,” Marianne assured him. She scanned the crowd and pretended to see someone she knew. “Oh – I need to go and say hello to a friend of mine over there.” She reached out with her free hand and squeezed her sister’s arm. “If you’ll excuse me, Ellie, I’ll see you and Mr Ferrars later. I’m sure you both have
lots
to talk about.”

Elinor quailed, her pulse accelerating as her sister darted away into the crowd.
Come back
, she longed to plead as nervousness took her over.
Don’t leave me to face Edward all on my own, please…

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked her now. He eyed her dress with approval. “You look lovely, by the way. Absolutely stunning.”

She blushed again. “Thank you, that’s very kind. We just arrived a few minutes ago, but so far it’s been very…nice. I – I met Lady Middleton.”

His expression registered distaste. “Ah yes, Lady Middleton. She may be a good friend of my sister’s, but I must admit, I can’t stand the woman.”

She regarded him in surprise. “Really? I’m surprised to hear you say that. It’s not like you to speak so plainly. Has she given you a reason to dislike her?”

“Not really, no,” he confessed. “But I have little use for people who think their birth sets them above anyone else. It’s an outdated and tiresome notion.”

“I agree completely,” Elinor said.

“May I fetch you a drink?” he inquired, and held out his arm.

“I’d like that.”

He smiled down at her. “I highly recommend the champagne cocktail.”

She smiled back and slipped her hand through his arm, warmed by his attention, and together they turned towards the bar at the far end of the ballroom. But Lucy Steele appeared and blocked their way.

Edward’s expression froze. “Miss Steele,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I – I didn’t realise you were here tonight.”

Her smile flickered from Elinor’s hand on his arm to Edward’s face. “No, I see you didn’t. My sister Anne and I came along with Lady Middleton at Harriet’s invitation. I’m surprised she didn’t mention it to you.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy lately, as you can imagine,” he replied. “I haven’t talked to Harriet much lately.”

“That’s understandable,” she agreed. “You have other, more important things to deal with now. How
gracious
of Miss Holland to keep you company here at your sister’s party.”

There was an awkward silence.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Elinor murmured, and withdrew her hand from Edward’s arm, “I see Harriet over there. I should go and say hello, and thank her for inviting us.”

And before either Edward or Lucy could object, she managed a bright, false smile, and fled.

***

Marianne paused in the crush of guests to sip her champagne and scanned the room in search of a familiar face. There was no sign of Lady Violet – nor, thankfully, was Lucy Steele anywhere to be seen.

Thank God for small favours.

She spotted her mother in the crowd, deep in conversation with a tall man with the direct gaze and erect bearing of a military officer. His hair, once dark, was threaded now with grey; but he was nonetheless an attractive and commanding presence.

Curious, and determined to wangle an introduction, Marianne edged her way through the crowd.

“Hello, mum,” she said a moment later, and smiled at her mother’s companion as she joined them. “Are you having a nice time?”

Mrs Holland, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright with excitement, bestowed a warm smile on her daughter. “Marianne! There you are, at last – I lost track of you in this crush of people. Yes, I’m having a lovely time.” She turned to her companion. “Colonel Brandon, I’d like to introduce my youngest daughter, Marianne.”

“Brandon?” Marianne echoed in surprise as she took his outstretched hand. “You don’t mean –?”

“Yes, guilty as charged. I’m Matthew’s father,” he confirmed, and glanced at Mrs Holland. “Your mother informs me that you work with my son at the veterinary clinic.”

She nodded. “I haven’t been there very long, and it’s only for a month or so, but so far, I quite like it.”

“Despite Matthew, or because of him?” he joked.

“A bit of both.” She lifted her brow. “He’s not shy about speaking his mind, is he?”

“Indeed not. It’s a good thing his patients are sheep and dogs and goats, for he has no bedside manner whatsoever with us two-legged creatures.”

“None at all,” she agreed. “Are you a friend of Harriet’s?” she asked.

“She was a friend of my late wife’s.” He turned to her mother. “Mrs Holland tells me that we’re neighbours. You and your mother and sisters must come to Delaford for dinner, and soon.”

Marianne nodded. “We’d like that, wouldn’t we, mum?”

“Indeed we would.” She smiled at Brandon. “We’d be delighted to come, Colonel.”

“Trevor, please. I’ll set a day and time that works for us all. I’ll look forward to it.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Colonel.” Marianne gave him her most winning smile. “But it’s time I found my sister-in-law and do my social duty, and thank her for inviting us here tonight.”

He inclined his head. “It’s been a distinct pleasure, Miss Holland. I look forward to seeing you and your sister and mother again, and soon.”

She left, and decided she liked Matthew’s father. He was certainly easy to talk to and much more affable than his mood-challenged son.

As her gaze swept over the ballroom from one end to the other, she was disappointed that Elinor and Edward were nowhere to be seen…but relieved that Lucy Steele wasn’t in evidence, either.

A burst of male laughter, deep and resonant, echoed across the ballroom and caught her attention. She came to an abrupt stop, only half aware of the man who ran into her and muttered an aggrieved ‘pardon’. She glanced at the faces around her, her expression fixed in hopeful excitement.

Marianne knew – beyond a doubt – whose laughter she’d just heard.

She saw him then, halfway across the room, standing by the fireplace within a small group of people. She stood rooted to the spot, and a flush rose on her cheeks as a wave of purest joy swooped over her.

“Kit,” she cried out. “You’re here!”

Immediately she spoke, a hush descended on the crowd. The sounds of conversation, the murmurs and guffaws, the titters and laughter and exclamations, all stopped. Faces turned to glance at her as lips pursed and eyebrows rose skyward.

But Marianne didn’t notice, or care. She had eyes for nothing, for no one, but Kit Willoughby.

He regarded her, a glass of champagne in his hand, without expression. His hair fell across his forehead – his beautiful, perfect forehead – as it always did, and she longed to reach out the way she used to do, and brush it tenderly back from his face. His eyes, so blue and intense, met hers.

Willoughby, in his black tie and white shirtfront, was so handsome that she was struck anew by the depth of her feelings for him. She barely registered the fact that he hadn’t spoken or moved towards her. Nor did she pay any mind to the slender, elegantly dressed young woman standing beside him or her hand resting possessively on his arm.

Nothing mattered. Not the strange, covert looks she received, or the silence that had fallen over the gathering. The only thing that mattered was her deep and abiding love for Kit, a love she knew would never change.

Marianne approached him, her face lit with a mingling of hope and joy. She made no secret of her feelings for him; it shone plain on her face for the world – and him – to see, and she didn’t care.

“Kit,” she said again as she stopped before him, breathless and giddy with anticipation at seeing him. “What’s wrong?” she teased. “Has the cat got your tongue? Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

He stared at her. His face, so handsome, and as familiar to her as her own, registered nothing. No answering smile curved his lips; no teasing light danced in his blue eyes. Where once there was affection, even devotion, there was now only wariness.

“Hello, Miss Holland.”

Her smile remained fixed in place. “‘Hello, Miss Holland?’” she echoed. “Is that all you have to say to me, Kit, seriously? After all we’ve meant – still mean – to each another?”

“Excuse me,” he murmured to the woman beside him. “Let me take care of this. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He took Marianne’s arm in a firm grip and drew her aside, as far away from the avid glances and whispering tongues as he could manage. In a far corner of the ballroom they stopped, the guests’ stares and whispers following in their wake, and he turned to face her.

“What are you doing?” he demanded in a low, barely audible voice. “You’re embarrassing yourself. And me.”

She stared at him in bewilderment. “I don’t understand. Kit, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you introduce me to your friends? Why did you drag me over here, and why are you acting like this?”

“Marianne, if I’ve given you reason to believe there was anything between us, then I apologise. It wasn’t my intention.”

Her smile faltered. “What – what do you mean, there’s nothing between us? But you asked me to
marry
you! You asked me to be your wife.”

“Whatever we had is over now.” His words were polite but glacial. “Please don’t send me any more letters. If you do, I’ll return them unopened. I don’t want them.”