Free Who Needs Mr Willoughby? by Katie Oliver

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.”
    “Thank you, but it won’t take me above an hour or so to get this sorted. Go on, both of you, and have fun. I’ll be fine.”
    “If you’re sure –?” Marianne said, even as her heart leapt as she caught Kit’s eye. “I’d love to take another look around outside.” The thought of spending the rest of the afternoon with him was too, too delicious.
    “Go,” Elinor ordered. “I’ll find my own way home.”
    Without further argument, Marianne and Willoughby made their way back downstairs, out of the front door and into the drowsy warmth of the late August afternoon.

Chapter 11
    “I’ve brought you something, Marianne.” Willoughby took her hand and led her behind the cottage and pointed at the tree she’d fallen from on the night of the storm.
    “For me?” She looked at him in surprise. “What?”
    He indicated a coiled length of rope in the grass.
    “What do you think?” he asked as he bent down and held it up, obviously well pleased with himself.
    Marianne stared at it. “Well – it’s…a rope.”
    “Not just a rope,” he corrected her. “It’s a new ladder for your tree house. I’ll take the old one down and install this one before I go. Then you can climb up whenever you like in perfect safety, and I won’t need to worry about you getting hurt.”
    Her eyes widened. “That’s…that’s really nice of you… Not to mention incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.”
    “I don’t want you falling again. I might not be here to rescue you the next time.”
    He turned and made his way up the slope to the base of the gnarled old oak.
    “But…how will you get up there?” Marianne inquired. “That old rope’s not safe, it won’t hold your weight.”
    Willoughby pointed to a ladder lying in the grass nearby. “With that. I noticed it the other day. Should do the trick, I think, and very nicely.”
    He rested the ladder against the trunk. In minutes, it was done – he’d secured the new rope ladder several times around a thick, low branch – and after climbing to the deck of the tree house, he stood and kicked the ladder aside.
    Marianne shaded her eyes. “Are you coming back down, Mr Willoughby? Do you trust your own handiwork enough to put the new ladder to the test?”
    “Completely.” He swung his leg over the edge of the deck and climbed nimbly down the rope ladder. After reaching the ground he turned and gave her a half smile. “There; safe as houses. If it’ll hold my weight, there’s no chance it won’t hold yours.” He held out his hand. “Let’s try it out.”
    She smiled and took his hand. “Why not?”
    Marianne stood there for a moment, with her hand clasped in his, and felt a wash of pure happiness like she’d never known before. His blue eyes met hers, and she thought – for the tiniest, teeniest second – that he might lean in and kiss her.
    But he stepped back and let her hand go. “I believe we’re being watched,” he said to her, his voice low and warm with amusement. “I’d best behave myself.”
    Startled, Marianne followed his gaze up to the second floor of their