Who Needs Mr Willoughby?. Katie Oliver

books. Are you all right?”

      “Fine. I twisted my ankle but it’s mended now. Kit –” she blushed and amended “I mean Mr Willoughby, carried me to the car and brought me back, and he made quite sure I was all right before he left.” She paused as the doorbell rang and her mother half rose. “Do sit down, mum – Mrs Fenwick’ll get it.”

      “Never mind the door,” Elinor said with a trace of impatience, “tell us more about your rescuer. Kit, did you say his name was? How did he find you?”

      “He heard me scream when I fell. Oh, Ellie – it was so romantic. A storm came up out of nowhere, a really bad one, and the wind kicked up, and it got horribly dark. Lightning struck right next to me when I was climbing a rope ladder up to the tree house. I nearly made it to the top, but I was so scared, and the rope was so wet, that I lost my grip, and fell.” She bit into her pasty. “Mr Willoughby came back the next day to visit me, and brought me flowers, and chocolates.”

      “That was very considerate of him,” her sister remarked. “Who is he, this mysterious Mr Willoughby?”

      “He’s Mrs Smyth’s nephew, Christopher,” Marianne answered, “and he’s visiting her at Allenham Court. Her estate’s just next door, not at all far from our house.”

      “And what does this cottage of Lady Violet’s look like?” Mrs Holland asked apprehensively. “I’ve not seen it yet. Is it as poky and small as you feared?”

      “Not at all. It’s really quite lovely, and larger than I expected, with fireplaces and a chandelier and a sweeping stairway in the entrance hallway. It’s the grandest cottage I’ve ever seen.”

      “You’ve been inside the house, then?” Elinor asked.

      Marianne shook her head. “No, I hadn’t a key.” She added, “So of course I peeked in through the windows, as you do.”

      “I can’t wait to see it,” her sister declared. “I’m consumed with curiosity.”

      “What of Harriet?” Marianne asked her mother as she took up her spoon and dipped it into her soup. “Has Robert moved into Norland yet?”

      “Oh, yes. We’d barely vacated the place when his removal van turned up,” Mrs Holland said, and pressed her lips together in disapproval. “Awful man.”

      “Just like his stepsister,” Marianne agreed. She turned back to Elinor. “What about Edward?”

      Elinor cast her a startled glance. “What about him?”

      “Have you seen him again? He was so very nice that day he and Harriet came to Norland. So handsome and well mannered…and so obviously taken with you.”

      “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

      “I understand he’s coming to Barton Park before very long, to see Lady Violet,” Mrs Holland offered. “Her daughter mentioned it to me the last time I chanced to speak with her. It was a week ago. Or was it two –?”

      “Here?” Elinor froze. “Edward’s coming here, to Northumberland, to Barton Park?”

      “Yes. Isn’t that great news?”

      Elinor flushed and gazed down into her soup, and didn’t answer.

      They heard voices and footsteps echoing down the hall towards the dining room, and looked up to see a handsome man with dark hair and an engaging smile standing in the doorway just behind Mrs Fenwick.

      “Mr Willoughby’s here to see you, Miss Marianne,” the housekeeper said.

      “Kit,” Marianne exclaimed as she stood and pushed her chair back. At a quelling glance from her mother she blushed, and a demure smile dimpled her cheeks as she sank back down in her seat. “I mean, Mr Willoughby. What a nice surprise.”

      He wore jeans with an open-necked shirt, and his legs were encased in a pair of riding boots. A light sheen of perspiration gilded his forearms.

      “Hello, Marianne, everyone. I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch, ladies,” he added as his smiling glance went round the table. He looked down at himself in embarrassment. “Sorry. I’ve been riding, and as you can see, I’m in no fit state for company. I’ll come back another time.” And he turned to go.

      “You most certainly will not.” Mrs Holland’s words were pleasant but firm. “We’ve only just heard about your amazing rescue of my daughter. I’m Lydia Holland, Marianne’s mother,” she added, “and this is my eldest daughter, Elinor. We owe you our sincere thanks for helping Marianne. I’d be very pleased if you joined us for lunch.”

      He hesitated. “If I’m not intruding –?”

      “You’re not.”

      His lips curved into a warm smile. “Then I’d love to join you. Thanks.”

      “We were just discussing Lady Violet’s cottage,” Mrs Holland told him as he took the empty seat beside her youngest daughter. “I haven’t yet seen it.”

      “Then I’ll take you all,” Mr Willoughby said. “This afternoon, if you wish.”

      “But you just told us you rode here,” Marianne pointed out. “I doubt we could all fit on your horse.”

      He laughed. “No. But the walk’s a good one, not above a mile or so to the cottage. And,” he added, with a glance at Marianne, “this time, the weather’s perfect; there’s not a cloud in the sky or a trace of a storm to be seen.”

      “Thank you,” Mrs Holland said, “but we only just arrived this morning, and I’m still a bit tired. I believe I’ll stay behind and take a nap after lunch.” She turned to Elinor. “But you and Marianne must certainly go.”

      “And this time,” Marianne said, “I’ll be sure and get the key from Mrs Fenwick first.”

      So it was decided, and when lunch was done, Marianne and Elinor accompanied Kit Willoughby across the fields and made their way to Barton Park.

      “It isn’t poky at all,” Elinor said a short time later as she caught her first glimpse of their new home. “It’s every bit as big as Norland. Bigger!”

      “Wait till you see inside.” Marianne went ahead of them and inserted the old-fashioned key into the lock. It turned easily, and with a creak of the door hinges, they stepped inside the front hall.

      “It’s gorgeous,” Elinor breathed, looking around her in surprise. “Much nicer than I expected.”

      Willoughby reached up and plucked the cheesecloth covering down from the chandelier. Dozens of prisms of crystal shimmered and tinkled in the afternoon sunlight with the action. A staircase with wide, curved treads stretched up to the second floor, and the oak floorboards, recently polished, gleamed underfoot.

      Marianne darted from room to room. The windows were large and spilled plenty of light into the house, and all of them boasted deep sills – perfect places to sit and read and gaze out at the countryside.

      “I love it,” Elinor avowed as she followed her sister and Willoughby up the stairs. “It’s absolutely perfect, isn’t it?”

      “A perfect house for three perfect ladies,” Kit agreed.

      Elinor looked over her shoulder at him. “You’ll spoil us with compliments, Mr Willoughby.”

      Marianne saw that the removal men had left their belongings – what little they had – upstairs, in a jumbled pile of boxes and cartons and luggage at one end of the hall. She sighed. “We should stay and unpack, I suppose.”

      “You two go ahead.” Elinor went to one of the boxes and pulled back the flaps. “I’ll get started on this lot.”

      “I’m more than happy to help,” Willoughby offered. He lifted his brow. “And I’ll try to keep my compliments to a minimum.”