Who Needs Mr Willoughby?. Katie Oliver

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      Midway through her eggs scrambled with salmon and a piece of toasted granary bread, Marianne paused to sip her orange juice and studied the dining room in amazement.

      She and Lady Violet were the only two sitting at one end of the runway-length table. A hunt board against one wall was laid out with a lavish buffet of eggs, smoked haddock, porridge and fresh berries, as well as locally made honey and sausages and stacks of oatcakes and toasted bread.

      It was enough food to feed twenty people.

      “Won’t you have some fried mushrooms and tomatoes?” Lady Violet inquired. She eyed her guest’s plate with a frown. “You ought to eat more than that. You could stand to gain a bit of weight.”

      “No thank you,” Marianne demurred as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “It’s berries and Greek yoghurt for me most days. Now, if you’ll excuse me –” She pushed her chair back and grabbed her mobile. “I think I’ll take some snaps of the breakfast buffet to share on my InstaPost feed before Mrs Fenwick takes everything away.”

      And she began, with great care and intensity, to frame photos of the silver loving cup arranged with red and yellow roses, the stacked linen napkins, the antique silverware and the perfectly poached haddock on its Limoges platter. To get a better angle, she dragged one of the side chairs forward and knelt on it.

      “What on earth are you doing?” her ladyship asked, one hand resting against her chest in surprise.

      Marianne didn’t look up. “Taking photos. I’m documenting my time in Northumberland and posting pictures online.”

      “I never heard the like, taking photos of one’s breakfast to post online to a bunch of – of strangers! Is that a common thing these days?”

      “Oh yes, it’s a thing,” Marianne assured her as she returned the chair to the table and resumed her seat. “Actually, I’m surprised you’re not on InstaPost yourself. Since you’re a famous romance writer, and all. It’s a great way to promote yourself.”

      “Oh – do you know about my books?” Lady Violet flushed with pleasure.

      “I’ve got His Lordship’s Touch on my mobile right now. I started reading it yesterday.” Marianne grinned. “Phwoar! And that Lord Selkirk –?” She fanned herself. “He’s hot.”

      The woman’s flush deepened and she let out a trill of laughter. “You put me to the blush, Miss Holland.”

      “Marianne, please. No – it’s brill. I can’t wait to finish it and read all the rest. I admit, though,” she admitted, and leaned forward over her plate, “I expected one of those flowery, old-school books. You know – all blushing virgins and brooding heroes and things that go bump in the night.”

      Lady Violet tittered. “Well, I can assure you – the only things that go bump in the night in my books, my dear, are the hero and heroine!”

      Marianne grinned. “I doubt mum would approve.”

      “Well, I certainly don’t condone such behaviour in real life, mind,” the baron’s widow hastened to point out. “A young lady should always behave with decorum.”

      “Of course.” Marianne took a sip of her tea to hide the smile that still curved her lips.

      Lady Violet set her coffee cup back down in its bone china saucer and eyed her houseguest with interest. “What are your plans today, Marianne?”

      “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I thought I might explore, maybe take a walk around the grounds after breakfast…”

      “Of course you must make yourself at home.” Lady Violet nodded. “I regret to say that I, however, won’t be here this afternoon. I’m off to Edinburgh to visit my dear friend, Lady Campbell. I don’t expect to return for a week or two.”

      Marianne eyed her in surprise. A week or two? She’d have seven to fourteen entire days of freedom before her mother, sister, or Lady Violet returned. Perhaps she could venture to the local pub for lunch today, she decided, and perhaps she might even meet someone promising.

      Of course, most of the males hereabouts were probably rural types who split logs for fun and entered their dogs in sheepherding contests. Still – all of that axe wielding and log-chopping must surely lead to some seriously ripped abs and muscled biceps.

      Maybe with a bit of luck, Marianne thought with a quickening of her pulse, she’d lose her virginity to a handsome, strapping north-country bloke who looked just like Jamie Fraser –

      “Are you listening to me, Miss Holland?”

      Guiltily, Marianne returned to the present, and her place at the dining room table across from the older woman. “Yes. Sorry.”

      “Mrs Fenwick and Bertie will be here to see to your needs. You won’t have use of the car, as George is driving me up to Draemar,” Lady Valentine went on. “But there’s an estate car in the garage if you absolutely must go out. The keys are on a peg by the pantry door. It doesn’t go very fast but it’ll get you where you need to go.”

      “Thanks. Although I doubt I’ll need it, except to go into Endwhistle for my interview at the veterinary clinic.”

      “And when is that, again?”

      “Tuesday morning.”

      “Very good. Now, you must excuse me.” The older woman removed her napkin from her lap and laid it down on the table. “I need to go and pack a suitcase.” She studied Marianne with a twinkle in her eye. “I know I can trust you to behave yourself and stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

      “I should hope so,” Marianne said. “I’m not Annabelle, after all.”

      “No, but like Annabelle you’re a young woman, and a pretty one, at that,” Lady Violet remarked. “Which proves a much more dangerous state of affairs when it comes to things like temptation and the opposite sex, you know.”

      “I very much doubt I’ll encounter either one during my walk,” Marianne said, and pushed her own chair back. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll have a look round, and drive into the village later. And I promised I’d give mum a call this afternoon.”

      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, СКАЧАТЬ