Who Needs Mr Willoughby?. Katie Oliver

22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Chapter 27

       Chapter 28

       Chapter 29

       Chapter 30

       Chapter 31

       Chapter 32

       Chapter 33

       Chapter 34

       Chapter 35

       Chapter 36

       Chapter 37

       Chapter 38

       Chapter 39

       Chapter 40

       Chapter 41

       Chapter 42

       Chapter 43

       Chapter 44

       Chapter 45

       Chapter 46

       Chapter 47

       Chapter 48

       Chapter 49

       Chapter 50

       Chapter 51

       Chapter 52

       Chapter 53

       Chapter 54

       Endpages

       About the Publisher

      “I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.”

      —Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

Chapter 1

      “The kitchen’s not very large.”

      So saying, Harriet Ferrars-Holland glanced with disdain at the worn linoleum and the plain oak cupboards, at the wallpaper that had seen better days, and frowned. “It’s actually very poky. And disappointing.”

      “But there’s a garden view,” her brother Edward pointed out. “And the bay window in the breakfast nook lets in plenty of light. You can sit and watch the sunrise while you drink your morning coffee.”

      “I don’t drink coffee, I prefer tea,” Harriet replied, “and I have very little use for sunrises. You know I seldom get up before nine.”

      Her statement made Marianne Holland, seated nearby with her mother and her sister Elinor at the dining room table, bristle.

      “What bollocks! She sleeps until noon because she stays up every night binge-watching The Real Housewives of Cheshire and knocking back a half bottle of wine. Thomas told me so.”

      “You shouldn’t say such things about our sister-in-law, even if they’re true,” Elinor whispered back. “Harriet might hear you.”

      “I wish she would. Then she’d know exactly how much I despise her.”

      Mrs Holland cast her daughter a glance of warning, and Marianne crossed her arms against her chest and subsided into silence.

      With their eldest – and only – half-brother Thomas’s recent death, Norland, the house in Litchfield he’d let out to them at a reasonable rent for the past eighteen years (and their home for all of Marianne’s life) was now to be taken away and given over to his widow, Harriet.

      As he passed by the dining room to follow his sister upstairs, Edward Ferrars paused in the doorway and raked his hand through the thick brown hair that fell across his forehead. “I apologise for the intrusion, ladies. We won’t inconvenience you much longer, I promise.”

      To his credit, Marianne noted, he seemed as uncomfortable with the present situation as they were.

      “It’s no inconvenience,” Elinor assured him. Her words were polite but cool. “After all, Norland belongs to your sister now.” She took a deep breath. “She has every right to inspect her new home.”

      Edward regarded her in surprise. “Oh, Harriet won’t be living here, believe me.” He smiled and lowered his voice. “It’s not centrally located in London, for one thing, and it’s not nearly impressive enough to suit my sister’s lofty standards.”

      “No,” Elinor agreed after a small, frigid silence, and pressed her lips together. She did not return his smile. “I’m sure it isn’t.”

      Dismay flickered over his face. “Oh, damn. Sorry…but I meant no insult. It was a joke. A rather lame joke, I suppose. I certainly didn’t mean to dismiss your home, which is really nice, by the way –”

      “No insult taken, Mr Ferrars,” Mrs Holland hastened to assure him. “It’s a – difficult situation all round.”

      “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, it certainly is.”

      “Edward,” Harriet called out, her voice ringing down the stairs. “Where are you? I’m waiting.”

      His face reddened. “I’m sorry, ladies. If you’ll excuse me –?”

      “Of course, Mr Ferrars,” Mrs Holland murmured.

      He left and made his way upstairs, trailing after his older sister as she assessed the rest of the house, complaining and finding fault all the while.

      “I can’t stand that woman,” Marianne muttered. “I never could. But Edward’s nice.” She glanced at her sister. “And really nice looking, too. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

      “That’s ridiculous,” Elinor retorted, but blushed. “He barely noticed me.”

      “Why didn’t you talk to him?” Marianne asked. “And why were you so rude? He was only poking fun at his cow of a sister, he wasn’t insulting Norland –”

      “Please don’t refer to Harriet as a ‘cow’ again, Marianne,” her mother admonished. “She’s your half-brother’s widow and as such, she deserves our sympathy, and our respect. But I do agree that her brother Edward is very nice. And quite nice looking.”

      A few minutes later, Harriet and her brother returned downstairs.

      “Would you like to see the back garden?” Edward inquired of his sister as he followed behind her. “The roses are in bloom, and there’s a terrace –”

      “I’ve seen quite enough, thank you.” Harriet took out her car keys and dangled the Mercedes key fob from one finger as if to be sure they all saw it. “Your stepbrother Robert might be interested in living out here in the back of beyond; God knows, I am not.”

      She turned to Mrs Holland and her daughters as they rose to follow her into the entrance hall, and inclined her head in a brief nod. “Thank you, and good day to you all.”

      “Good day,” everyone but Marianne echoed.

      Edward hesitated, obviously embarrassed by his sister’s abrupt departure. “Thank you, ladies, very much.” His gaze lingered, just for a moment, on Elinor. “I apologise for the intrusion and thank you for letting us have a quick look round.”

      Then he, too, fled.

      The minute the front door closed Marianne whirled on her mother. “‘Thank you, and