Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (4 page)

Lady Violet nodded as she rose from the table. “Yes. You must do just as you like, my dear. There’s a credit card in my desk in the library; use it to buy yourself some suitable clothes.”

Suddenly ashamed of her ungrateful behaviour upon learning she and her family would be living here at Barton Park, Marianne gave the older woman a warm smile. She vowed to remember that she and her mother and Elinor owed Lady Violet a great deal for her generosity. “Thanks. That’s very kind of you.”

“I’ll come and find you and say goodbye before I go.”

Marianne stood as well. “Please do. I’ll be in my room. I haven’t unpacked yet.”

“As little clothing as you brought? Unpacking shouldn’t take you above five minutes.”

“No, I suppose not.” As she followed Lady Violet out of the dining room and across the entrance hall to the staircase, Marianne could barely conceal her excitement.

Soon her chaperone would be gone, and she’d have this entire, ginormous place to herself – well, except for Bertie and Mrs Fenwick, of course.

At the top of the stairs she gave Lady Violet a demure smile and continued on to her room.

You must do just as you wish, my dear.

“Thanks, Lady V,” Marianne murmured, and smiled as she shut her door and leant back against it. “I plan to do just that.”

Chapter 4

The limousine containing Lady Violet and her driver had barely cleared the property two hours later when Marianne, freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, made her way downstairs.

She was halfway across the entrance hall to the front door when Mrs Fenwick appeared.

“And where are you off to, miss?” the housekeeper asked as she dragged an ancient Hoover from the closet and plugged it in.

“I’m borrowing the car –” she held up the key she’d retrieved from the peg by the pantry door “to go have a look at our house. Then I think I’ll go to the village and have a shop and a look round. I should be back in plenty of time for dinner.”

“Does her ladyship know of your plans?”

Marianne felt a flicker of annoyance. “Yes, she does. She said I might use the car – and her credit card, so I can buy myself some clothing. I didn’t bring the proper north country things, apparently.” She shrugged. “Only shorts and T-shirts.”

“And do you know where the cottage is, Miss Holland? Barton Park’s a rather large estate.”

Marianne’s smile faded and she reddened slightly. “No, I don’t. But I expect I can find it.”

“It’s at the north end of the property, where the grazing land adjoins Allenham.”

“Allenham? I don’t know it.”

“Allenham Court,” Mrs Fenwick explained. “It belongs to Eugenia Smyth. Lovely place it is, too, though not half so large – or grand – as Barton Park. Just follow the dirt road behind the stables until it brings you round to the apple orchard. You’ll see the cottage by the stream. Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks. It sounds really…erm, picturesque.” Marianne opened the door. “I have my mobile if I should get lost. I’ll see you later, Mrs F.”

Mrs Fenwick grunted. “Right. No shenanigans, mind, or I’ll call Lady Violet straight away and let her know.
Then
I’ll call your mother.”

“No shenanigans,” she promised. “After all,” she added as she went down the steps, “what sort of trouble could I possibly get into up here in the back of beyond?”

***

Marianne made several wrong turnings in the estate car until, jolted nearly to death by the rutted road, she finally found their new home.

It stood at the top of a gentle rise, surrounded by fields and a stone wall, bordered on one side by a stream and a somewhat neglected apple orchard on the other. Fruit hung heavy on the trees and perfumed the late-August air with the scent of apples. Bees droned and branches snapped underfoot as she got out of the car and approached the former hunting lodge.

It’s perfect
, Marianne thought.
Just like something out of a fairy tale.

She tried the door, but it was locked, and she didn’t have a key. Disappointed, she went to one of the front windows and cupped her hands against the glass to peer inside. She saw a drawing room. The floorboards were dusty, and the furniture – what little there was of it – was draped with sheets.

But such was to be expected. The house was larger than she’d imagined, with spacious rooms and a wide, central staircase in the entrance hall. A chandelier draped in cheesecloth hung from the ceiling; the windows had deep sills, and the fireplace, although empty, was clean and swept clear of ashes.

A mutter of what sounded suspiciously like thunder rumbled off to the south, and Marianne stepped away from the window. The sky had darkened and the wind had picked up, sending leaves scattering. Clouds gathered and skimmed across the sky.

It was time she headed back to find the village.

She was nearly to the car when she spied a tree house nestled in the crotch of a great, gnarled oak behind the cottage. Curious, she made her way up the grassy slope to investigate further. A rope ladder dangled from the branch. It looked old, but sturdy.

Marianne eyed it in consideration. She’d love to have a peek inside the tree house. But the clouds were scudding across the sky and the first few drops of rain fell.

She hesitated, undecided.
I really ought to get in the car and go back to Barton Park.
But the temptation to see the tree house’s interior won out over her hesitation, and she decided to climb up and have a look.

Marianne gripped the rope in both hands and thrust her foot on the lowest rung, testing it to see if it would hold her weight. It did. Encouraged, she continued to climb.

She was nearly at the top when one of the ropes groaned, creaked, and gave way with a snap. Marianne let out a gasp and clutched at the remaining rope, hanging on as tightly as possible even though her palms began to burn and her heart pounded so fast she feared it might burst. The ground was now an alarming distance below her dangling feet.

Stay calm
, she told herself, and forced down panic.
You’re nearly to the top.
Just pull yourself up the rest of the way, it’s not that far, climb inside the tree house, and wait out the storm in there.

She’d almost reached the deck when it began to rain in earnest – no spring shower, this, but a driving, cold, relentless rain that left her drenched in seconds. Her hand slipped on the rope, slick now with damp, and as she did her best to hang on, she wondered how much longer before she lost her grip and fell. Her throat constricted.

This storm – or whatever it was – had literally come up out of nowhere.
If I can just focus on holding on
, she thought,
and not panic, I’ll be inside the tree house in no time
–

Just then, lightning struck a tree a few yards away with a terrifying, ear-deafening crack. Marianne screamed, and her grip slackened and she fell, hurtling downwards and landing on her back. The fall knocked the breath from her.

For what was probably a few seconds but seemed much longer, she lay stunned, as thoughts whirled like a flock of panicked birds in her head.

Mrs Fenwick thinks I’ve gone shopping after my visit to the house. She won’t worry or wonder where I am until the sun goes down.

I could lie here for hours – days! –before anyone finds me
.

There are creatures in those woods and fields. Crows…and deer ticks…and adders.

She knew this, because Elinor had read up on Northumberland wildlife once they learned they’d be staying at Barton Park.

Marianne let out a piercing scream as another bolt of lightning seared the sky. She had to get up off of the ground and out of here – she
had
to.

Over the sound of the wind and the growling of thunder, she felt the ground beneath her begin to vibrate, and fresh fear gripped her.

Oh, arsing hell
, she thought wildly,
what is it now, a bloody earthquake
?

But she soon realised that the steady, rhythmic sound she heard drawing ever closer was a horse’s hooves.

Marianne lifted her head just in time to see a horse and rider silhouetted against the sky, and relief swept through her. A man sat astride the horse.

He saw her then, and cried out hoarsely, “Are you all right? What’s happened?”

Without expecting or waiting for an answer, he leapt down from the saddle and ran towards her. Dark hair was plastered to his head and rain dampened the hard line of his jaw. His riding boots were soon muddied as he pelted across the field and knelt on one knee beside her.

“Are you hurt? Can you move?”

She nodded slowly. “I – I think so. I couldn’t for a moment.”

“You’ve had the wind knocked out of you.” He glanced up at the frayed rope ladder and turned back to her in disbelief. “Good God – you didn’t try and climb that old rope, did you? It’s hung from that tree above twenty years.”

“I confess I did. It was stupid of me.”

“Never mind that. Good thing you landed in the grass.” He reached out, and gently touched her leg, her ankle. “Can you feel that?”

“Y-yes.”

“What about your foot? Can you move it?”

Again she nodded, and – feeling a bit silly – complied.

“Good.” He eased off her shoe and took her foot in his hand, rotating it gently. “Any pain?”

She winced. “It hurts a bit, but it’s probably just a sprain.”

“I’m no doctor, but I’d say you’re right. Nothing seems to be broken. Here, let me help you sit up. Slowly, now.”

Gently, with the utmost care and concern, he slipped his arm round her shoulders and helped her to sit up.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, and shivered as the rain chilled her skin. “I-I think I’m all right.”

“I’m taking no chances,” he said, his words decided. He eyed his horse. “There’s a stable nearby; I need to secure Jasper. Will you be all right here until I return? I shouldn’t be gone above a few minutes.”

She stared at him, oblivious of the rain running down her face. He was quite the most handsome man she’d ever had the good fortune to meet, with a sweep of thick dark hair and firm, kissable lips –

“Miss –?”

Marianne blinked. “Holland. Marianne Holland,” she said, embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t seem to be myself at the moment. And yes, to answer your question, I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t move,” he instructed. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded and watched as he rose and ran back up the hill to the horse and swung himself up. With an urgent command, her rescuer dug in his heels and pulled at the reins, and the horse galloped off into the rainy darkness.

Marianne shivered and wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to panic. What if he didn’t come back? she wondered. What if he changed his mind? What if she had a concussion and was having one of those hallucinations? It didn’t bear thinking about.

But she’d barely processed the thought when, true to his word, he returned barely five minutes later, breathless and soaked through.

“Now, let’s get you home,” he said, and glanced behind them. “Is that your car over there?”

She nodded. “It’s Lady Violet’s. She’s let me use it while I’m visiting.”

“Oh – you’re staying at Barton Park?” The news pleased him. “Then we’re practically neighbours.” He held out his hand. “Kit Willoughby. My aunt lives at Allenham Court.”

Marianne’s hand was eclipsed in his larger, warmer one. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Willoughby.”

“I’m glad I happened along when I did.” He frowned. “Do you object if I carry you to your car? I don’t think you’ll make it, otherwise. The ground’s a bog at the moment.”

She blushed and shook her head. “Not at all. I don’t think I can stand up without someone to lean on. To tell the truth, I feel a bit…muddled,” she confessed.

“I’m not surprised. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. I’m happy to take you home.”

So saying, Mr Willoughby scooped her gently into his arms and swung her up without effort. Rain dripped from the end of his nose and ran down his jaw, but as he carried her down the slope and across the muddied field to her car, Marianne thought that she’d never known a more handsome or gallant man in all of her life.

Chapter 5

Mrs Fenwick opened the door to let them in a few minutes later. With a great deal of fussing and tutting she led Mr Willoughby into the drawing room, and hovered nearby as he lowered Marianne to the sofa.

“Are you sure you’re all right, miss?” the housekeeper inquired anxiously. “No broken bones? Should I call the doctor, or Lady Violet, perhaps –?”

“No need,” Willoughby assured her. “Miss Holland’s had a fall, and she’s a bit dazed, but otherwise seems fine. At least,” he added, “so far as broken bones are concerned.”

He smiled down at Marianne, and she caught her breath as his blue eyes crinkled attractively.

“Thank you, Mr Willoughby,” she said, and smiled back. “You’ve been really kind.”

“Kit, please. It was my pleasure, I assure you.” He turned to Mrs Fenwick. “Since Lady Valentine isn’t at home, would it be all right if I visit Miss Holland again tomorrow and see how she’s getting on, do you think?”

The housekeeper nodded, charmed. “I see no harm in’t. We’ll see you tomorrow, then, Mr Willoughby.”

“But how will you get back to Allenham, and Jasper?” Marianne asked.

“I’ll walk,” he replied easily. “The stables aren’t above a mile or two from here.”

“You can’t possibly walk all that way in this storm.” She turned to the housekeeper. “Please, Mrs Fenwick,” Marianne implored, “can’t someone drive Mr Willoughby back to the cottage?

“That’s not necessary,” he assured her.

“It most certainly is,” the housekeeper said firmly. “I’ll have my stepson Jack take you back. It’s the least we can do after you brought Miss Holland safely home.” She led the way to the front door. “This way, if you please, sir.”

Mr Willoughby took up Marianne’s hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes, so darkly blue and intense, met hers. “Goodbye, Miss Holland. Until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow,” she whispered, enthralled.

***

The next afternoon, as promised, Kit Willoughby returned to Barton Park with a lavish bouquet of wildflowers in hand.