10
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 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
“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
“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 –?”
