Who Needs Mr Willoughby?. Katie Oliver

“But we’re not married, my lord,” she breathed. Her wits had not entirely gone wanting. “This is wrong.”

       His mouth moved to the delicate skin behind her ear. “Tell me to stop, then.”

       Annabelle wanted to push him away. She wanted to slap him, and leave, and flounce away in high dudgeon. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Instead she reached for him, and slid her arms around his neck, putting a dark and dangerous glint of desire in Selkirk’s eyes…

      “Did you pack your allergy medication?” Mrs Holland asked her youngest daughter as she appeared behind her in the doorway. “And your driving licence?”

      With a guilty start, Marianne switched the mobile off and dropped it into the rucksack at her feet. “Yes, I brought my licence. Even though,” she couldn’t help adding, “we no longer have a car.”

      “We’ll find another one once we’re settled.” Her mother sighed. “God knows Northumberland is remote, but it’s cheaper than South Devon. And we must have a car. I’m sure we’ll find something at auction after we arrive.”

      Marianne didn’t share her optimism. With the house now belonging to Harriet, they’d sold everything of value – furniture, paintings, their old Peugeot – to finance the move to Lady Valentine’s cottage.

      And as a result, there wasn’t much money left.

      “I’m sure you’re right,” Marianne agreed, having vowed to try and keep her complaints about the move to herself. “I brought plenty of sun cream – not that I expect I’ll need it up there – and my mobile phone, too.”

      “Just be sure and call the minute you arrive and let us know how you’re getting on. Your sister and I will be along in a week or so, after all of this –” she gestured vaguely at the front door behind her “is dealt with.”

      Marianne looked up at the long black car gliding slowly up the drive and turned back to her mother. “Here’s my ride. I promise I’ll call, mum, and I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

      Her throat thickened and she thought, for one tiny second, that she might cry. She’d never been gone from her mother or Elinor for more than a few days.

      Now she was about to leave Norland, her home – their home – for a new and unknown place in the north of England.

      “I’ll try.” She held her daughter tightly. “I don’t mean to fuss,” she added as she drew back, “but it’s your first time away from home without us, and I can’t help it. However, I know you’ll have a lovely trip and a wonderful time at Lady Violet’s. Do you have your letter?”

      Marianne nodded and felt in the side pouch of her handbag, where the response from Dr Matthew Brandon, Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons, was folded and tucked safely away. “I still can’t believe I have a chance to work in a real veterinary clinic this summer.”

      “I know how much it means to you.”

      A wave of excitement swooped over her. She’d loved animals from the time she was small. Her room had played host to a number of creatures including a box turtle, a hamster, and a budgie; she’d even had a goat (Billy, of course), kept in a pen near the orchard.

      It was a good thing that Lady Valentine had seen the advert for a veterinary assistant in one of the Hadleighshire newspapers and informed Marianne. She didn’t need to take the letter out of her bag to know exactly what it said. She knew it off by heart.

      …pleased to offer an interview for a permanent position…assisting in the daily care and feeding of a variety of small animals…some administrative duties required as well…expect your arrival on or about 22 August.

      She wondered what he looked like, this Dr Brandon, RCVS. Probably middle-aged, with bushy brows and a stooped back like Dr Edmund, whose wife manned the reception desk. It was hard to tell, just from a letter.

      This job, if she got it, would be the first step in her journey to qualify as a veterinarian.

      And more importantly, a paying job meant she could help mum manage the household bills.

      “Here comes Lady Valentine now,” Mrs Holland observed, interrupting her thoughts.

      Marianne bit back a groan.

      At her mother’s suggestion, her ladyship had agreed to escort Marianne to Northumberland. The Holland family would stay under Lady V’s roof at Barton Park until the cottage on her property was readied.

      Marianne sighed. That was the problem with having a wealthy benefactor. One had to show unfailing gratitude for the charity offered, even if one did not, in truth, particularly want it.

      Still, she was grateful. They all were.

      “You’re not really making me share a train compartment with Lady V all the way to Hadleighshire, are you?” she complained, even though she already knew the answer.

      Mrs Holland’s face set itself in a determined expression. “We’ve talked about this before. I won’t let you travel – and nearly to the Scottish border at that – by yourself, and there’s an end to it.”

      Elinor appeared in the doorway. “The removal van’s coming on Tuesday morning to empty out the house and load the rest of our things up.”

      Marianne exchanged a glance with her sister. They both knew there’d be precious little left to move once all of the bits and bobs – furniture, paintings, lamps, and rugs – were carried off by the local antiques dealers and junk-shop owners who’d already purchased most of their worldly possessions.

      “Good.” Mrs Holland smiled at Elinor. “I was just telling your sister how lucky it is that we’re invited to stay at Barton Park until our cottage is ready.”

      “It’s very nice of Lady Valentine,” Elinor agreed.

      Her mother beamed. “Yes. It’s a stroke of luck of the very best kind, isn’t it?”

      Luck? Personally, Marianne didn’t think so. Sharing a train compartment with the unknown, and very possibly tiresome, Lady Valentine for hours on end was bad enough; but sharing a house, no matter how ginormous Barton Park might be, with her as well –?

      It didn’t bear thinking about.

      Mrs Holland turned to greet the plump, generous-bosomed woman as she emerged from the car in a dress patterned with violets and hurried towards them. “Lady Valentine, what a pleasure to see you again after such a long time.”

      “And you, Mrs Holland. A very great pleasure.” Ignoring the woman’s outstretched hand, she held out her arms and enveloped her in a violet-scented embrace. “I was so very sorry to hear of your dear husband’s passing. I regret I was unable to attend Mr Holland’s funeral; but I had a number of pressing business matters to attend to, unfortunately.”

      “I quite understand.”

      Lady Valentine settled her shrewd but kind brown gaze on Marianne and held out her hand. “Hello, my dear. And you must be Marianne, all grown up, and as pretty as a candy box!”

      “Thank you.” Marianne blushed as she was swept forward and all but smothered against the woman’s shelf-like bosom.

      “But where’s the rest of your luggage, Miss Holland?” Lady Valentine asked as Marianne extricated herself. The baron’s widow frowned down at the single, worn rucksack at the bottom of the steps. “Surely you have more than that –?”

      Marianne didn’t like to admit that she didn’t; she really hadn’t anything else to bring along. “This is it, I’m afraid. I, erm…I like to travel light.”

      “Light?” the woman echoed. “You’ve barely packed enough for an overnight stay, much less a permanent residence in the uplands. You’ll need a jacket, at the very least, and trousers…a jumper, and a cardigan, and proper