When your name is Lizzy Bennet and Mr Darcy lives next door, romance is anything but simple…

Especially since a film crew has just arrived to shoot Pride and Prejudice at the Darcy estate! And when Hugh Darcy, the one who got away, arrives home after 8 years absence, Lizzy can’t help but think it’s fate. Until, that is, he introduces her to Holly – his fiancée…

What can Lizzy do but try not to feel too prejudiced against Hugh’s new woman – a city girl who knows nothing about country life, and seems more concerned with her film star ex than her current fiancé?

There’s no denying that there’s something suspicious about Holly’s interest in Hugh…and when he begins to have doubts about his high-maintenance fiancée, it seems a break up is on the cards. But is it too late for Lizzy to swallow her pride and get her Austen ending after all?

Also by Katie Oliver:

The ‘Dating Mr Darcy’ trilogy:

Prada and Prejudice

Love and Liability

Mansfield Lark

The ‘Marrying Mr Darcy’ series:

And the Bride Wore Prada

Love, Lies and Louboutins

Manolos in Manhattan

What Would Lizzy Bennet Do?

The Jane Austen Factor

Katie Oliver

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © Katie Oliver 2016

Katie Oliver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9781474047425

Version date: 2018-07-23

KATIE OLIVER

loves romantic comedies, characters who ‘meet cute’, Richard Curtis films, and Prosecco (not necessarily in that order). She currently resides in South Florida with her husband, two parakeets, and a dog.

Katie has been writing since she was eight, and has a box crammed with (mostly unfinished) novels to prove it. With her sons grown and gone, she decided to get serious and write more (and hopefully better) stories. She even finishes most of them.

So if you like a bit of comedy with your romance, please visit Katie’s website, www.katieoliver.com, and have a look.

Here’s to love and all its complications…

Thank you to the wonderful team at Carina UK for giving me the courage – and the audacity – to attempt to put a fresh spin on Jane Austen’s beloved novel, Pride and Prejudice. Warm thanks to my editor, Clio Cornish, for turning my rough draft into a polished book – you’re always, always right, about everything. Thanks as well to Anne Hudson, my tireless and eagle-eyed copy editor. And to my fabulous agent, Nikki Terpilowski – thank you for being the first to believe in me, and for helping me realise my long-held dream of becoming a writer.

And lastly, a special thank you to my husband Mark for making it possible for me to write. You gave me the gift of time, and quiet, and your unstinting (and unending) love and encouragement.

Thank you, one and all.

This book is for all of my wonderful readers - those who’ve read my books before, and those who’ve only just found me. Thank you!

And for all of the dedicated Jane Austen fans out there…this one is for you, as well. I do hope you like it.

“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”

—Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Extract

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

‘You have bewitched and bewildered me, Miss Bennet. From the moment we met I’ve thought of nothing, of no one, but you. Only say you’ll put an end to my very great unhappiness and marry me.’

Elizabeth stood motionless on the terrace as rain fell on her face, and regarded Fitzwilliam Darcy with luminous eyes. ‘I scarcely know what to say in reply, Mr Darcy.’

‘Of course you must say “yes”,’ he said quietly, ‘only “yes”, Miss Bennet, which single word shall make me the happiest man in all of Derbyshire.’

She lifted her face to his and reached out to touch his cheek. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, laughing as she flung herself into his arms. ‘Yes, a thousand times, yes! Of course I shall marry you, Mr Darcy.’

‘And… CUT!’ the director called out. ‘Thank you, everyone. Ten minutes, please.’

‘Someone bring me a towel!’ Cara Winslow, the actress portraying Miss Bennet, bellowed. ‘I’m bloody freezing.’ As if to underscore the point, she shivered in her thin muslin gown – hand-stitched by the costume designer, and plastered now by the fake rain to her body – and crossed her arms against her chest.

As the rain machine was switched off and the actors drifted from the set to dry off, Lizzy caught the arm of the young man beside her and turned to him in excitement. ‘Thanks for letting me come and watch the filming, Harry. It’s brilliant, isn’t it?’ Her eyes swept over the rose-bordered terrace to the cables and lights and sound booms cluttering the surrounding lawn.

‘Brill,’ he agreed, his words dry. ‘If you don’t mind tripping over cables and living with this lot every day for months on end.’

‘Well, you can’t have everything,’ she pointed out. Unlike his more serious older brother, Hugh Darcy, Harry – with his reddish-blond, almost-but-not-quite-ginger hair and wide smile – loved a good time more than anything and always managed to make her snort with laughter, usually at the most inopportune times.

Of course, without the worry of inheriting Cleremont, his family’s ginormous 150-room estate, Harry Darcy could afford to be carefree.

‘They’ve taken a few liberties with the dialogue,’ she observed. She lowered her voice. ‘And Cara Winslow’s a bit of a diva, isn’t she?’

‘A diva?’ Harry snorted. ‘That’s not what the cast and crew call her.’

‘Oh? What do they call her?’

‘Never mind. I wouldn’t want to sully your delicate ears. Suffice it to say, this is Cara’s first starring role, and it’s gone straight to her head.’

Lizzy returned her attention to the set. ‘Still – it’s amazing to watch, isn’t it? Like seeing Elizabeth and Mr Darcy from Pride and Prejudice come to life before your very eyes.’

‘Too right,’ Harry agreed. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it – you’re a Bennet, and I’m a Darcy.’ He grinned. ‘No Fitzwilliam Darcy tendencies here, though. Sorry.’

‘That’s probably a good thing,’ Lizzy said. ‘After all, that Mr Darcy was a bit of an ass, at least in the beginning.’

‘Well, if it’s judginess and snobbery you’re after, my brother’s your man.’

‘Hugh’s not a snob,’ she protested. ‘He’s… refined, and expects a certain type of behaviour. He sets the bar very high.’

‘Too high, if you ask me.’ Harry shrugged. ‘No one can live up to his impossible standards. Although mum’s even worse,’ he admitted. ‘Still – for all of his good points, Hugh can be a real tight-arse sometimes.’

‘It’s hard to believe you’re brothers,’ Lizzy agreed, and grinned. ‘You’re much more fun.’

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Hugh Darcy. Like his namesake, Hugh wasn’t an easy man to know. His aloof manner and reserve marked him – unfairly – as a snob. The fact that he was also a barrister, and in line to be the Twelfth Earl of Darcy, did little to mitigate the rather forbidding first impression he made.

Now, with the filming of Pride and Prejudice at Cleremont, and costumed actors bringing Elizabeth and Darcy’s story to life, Lizzy couldn’t help but get caught up in excitement.

Her fingers tightened on Harry’s arm. ‘Look… over there! Isn’t it… it is! It’s Ciaran Duncan.’

He followed her gaze to a man in breeches and boots who lounged back in a canvas chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles before him, studying a script.

‘Yes.’ Disapproval was plain on Harry’s face. ‘He’s playing Wickham. Perfect casting, that.’

‘What do you mean?’

Before he could elaborate, his mother approached, a mobile phone in her hand.

‘Harry, darling, you’ll never guess the news I’ve just had.’

‘In that case,’ he said with a slight smile, ‘there’s no use my guessing, is there?’

‘None at all.’ She turned to Lizzy with a polite smile. ‘Hello, Elizabeth. How is your father getting on?’

‘Very well, thank you, Lady Darcy. I brought some scones he baked this morning. Blueberry,’ she added.

‘Lovely,’ Harry’s mother murmured. ‘The vicar’s baked goods are always such a welcome… surprise.’

Lizzy suppressed a smile. That was Lady D’s polite way of saying that the lumpy, misshapen creations her father termed ‘muffins’, ‘breads’, ‘scones’ and ‘cakes’ – well intentioned though they might be – were usually inedible.

She turned back to her youngest son. ‘I’ve just had a text. Your brother’s coming home next week for a visit.’

‘What? Hugh’s coming home?’ Surprise flickered on his face. ‘I thought he was stuck in Hare Court, locked away in chambers for the entire summer.’

‘Not this time,’ his mother said with satisfaction. ‘He says he’ll be home for at least a month, and…’ – she paused for effect – ‘… he has an announcement to make.’

Lizzy scarcely heard another word Lady Darcy said; her happiness was too great.

Hugh Darcy was coming home.

She remembered how kind he’d been in the aftermath of her mother’s death. Although Mrs Bennet’s demise was not unexpected, after the cancer claimed her it nevertheless left her husband and daughters desolate and all but inconsolable with grief.

‘You must always think of Cleremont as your home,’ Hugh had told Lizzy as he took her, numb and reeling with anguish, into his arms. ‘We’ll always be here for you.’

Her sixteen-year-old heart had been comforted by his arms around her and the knowledge that, so long as the Darcy family lived next door, she need never feel alone. And somehow, mixed up in his words of reassurance and comfort, Lizzy found something more than solace…

…she found a deep and abiding love for Hugh.

Like Elizabeth Bennet, Lizzy had lost her heart to the Darcy heir. She’d harboured a secret hope that her own life would follow the fiction, and that someday she might become Hugh’s wife.

Hard to believe eight years had gone by since then.

In that time, she’d finished school and gone on to university; lost her virginity to a boy she thought she loved who, unfortunately (or luckily, perhaps) didn’t return her feelings; and got herself a job as a slush pile reader with a publishing house in Clerkenwell.

And although Lizzy and Hugh kept in sporadic touch through email and texts, life too often got in the way. She loved her job at Aphrodite Books. The company was laughably small, publishing mostly out-of-print and forgotten material, but it acquired a certain bijoux cachet, and it became Lizzy’s job to sort through the unsolicited manuscripts to find the ‘jewels in the slush’.

That was how she had met Mark Knightley, whose novel landed in her reading pile. Lizzy was captivated by the story. Aphrodite’s owner, Willa Candlish, readily agreed, and acquired the book on Lizzy’s recommendation.

It was a heady time. There were editorial meetings, lunches with Willa and Mark, and, best of all, the friendship that had grown between Lizzy and Mark, her first (and, as it happened, only) literary discovery. More amazing still was discovering that Mark was the son of one of her father’s closest friends at seminary.

Soon the editorial lunches were shared à deux with Mark in out-of-the-way cafes or quiet hotel restaurants. And late one afternoon, as the rain pelted down outside, he and Lizzy finished their lunches at a hotel bar and ended in a room upstairs, where they’d spent the rest of the afternoon in bed…

‘Places, everyone. Places!’

Lizzy looked up with a guilty start. The director stood once again below the terrace, and the actors had drifted back, ready to resume filming.

‘I’d better get back home,’ she said, and touched Harry’s arm. ‘Will you come to Daddy’s garden party next Sunday? He’d love to see you; it’s been ages.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘He’s making strawberry scones especially for the occasion.’

Harry pretend-groaned. ‘Thanks for the warning. Your father’s scones are legendary here in South Devon.’

‘Yes, they are,’ Lizzy agreed, ‘and for all the wrong reasons. But I won’t tell him if you won’t.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘See you on Sunday, then? I’ll send an invitation so you don’t forget.’

‘Oh, I expect I’ll see you before that. I’ve asked Emma to the Longbourne regatta next Saturday.’

‘Oh? And did she say yes?’

‘She did. I may actually succeed in prying her away from your father for an entire day.’

Emma, the elder of Lizzy’s two sisters, managed the Bennet household and prepared most of the family’s meals.

Although Mr Bennet had no real need of a housekeeper, he had resigned himself to Emma’s superior will, hiding himself away at every opportunity in his study, and leaving his firstborn daughter to manage the day-to-day running of the household.

‘Good,’ Lizzy said. ‘Perhaps you’ll stay to dinner afterwards? And don’t worry,’ she hastened to add, ‘I’m cooking, not Daddy.’

‘In that case,’ Harry assured her with a grin, ‘I’ll be there.’

Chapter 2

‘It’s like something out of a film,’ Holly James breathed as the hire car proceeded down a lengthy, tree-lined drive and emerged from the shade and into the sunshine.

Cleremont sprawled before them on a knoll overlooking gently rolling hills, lush now with early summer greenery. Holly lowered her window and thrust her head out to get a better look, breathing in the scent of roses and honeysuckle and listening to the sound of silence, and felt as if the heat and traffic of London they’d so recently left behind was nothing more than a bad memory.

Slightly below and to the left of the house she glimpsed a folly, and a lake with swans gliding serenely on the surface. Cleremont was enormous and had doubtless seen a thousand sunrises and as many sunsets; the late afternoon sun now warmed and softened the Jacobean façade.

‘It’s let out to film companies on a regular basis,’ Hugh Darcy remarked as he negotiated a rut in the drive. ‘My parents and brother live in a small section of the house during production. The rest is taken over by shouty directors and cables and lights, and actors with overinflated egos.’

‘Oh, you mean like Ciaran?’ she joked. Instantly she wished she hadn’t, when she saw his jaw tighten and his smile fade at the mention of the film star. Hugh’s was such a handsome, serious, noble face that she couldn’t bear him to mar it with a frown.

‘Yes, exactly.’ As the Mercedes drew closer to the house, he nodded in the direction of sound and equipment trucks parked on a gravelled side lot. ‘There’s a production on now. My mother abhors having them here. She throws a huge cocktail party the instant they leave and invites everyone in South Devon over to celebrate.’

‘And when the filming ends… what then? Do your family rattle around in this ginormous place by themselves?’ Holly asked as Hugh brought the car to a stop before a sweep of stone steps that led to the entrance.

‘No.’ He opened his door. ‘There’s an estate cottage adjoining the property, the dower house. They stay there.’

‘Dower house?’ Holly echoed, staring up at the enormous stone façade before her with a sinking sensation. What, exactly, she wondered, had she got herself into?

‘It’s where the lady of the house goes to live when her son – the heir – marries and brings his bride home to Cleremont. As I’ll do with you, eventually,’ he added, and leaned across the seat to kiss her.

Holly kissed him back and threaded her fingers into his thick, dark hair, then drew reluctantly away. ‘Do you mean to say that we’ll live here, you and I, after we’re married?’

‘Not straight away, no. We’ll live in London, I expect, until…’ He paused. ‘Until such time as my father passes on, at which point I inherit the title, and then this great pile of stone becomes my responsibility.’

She eyed him. ‘You don’t sound too happy about that.’

‘Of course it’s not something I like to dwell on, my father’s death,’ he said, ‘nor am I enamoured with the idea of taking on ownership of this place.’ He frowned. ‘Owning a house like Cleremont is a huge responsibility. It’s like having a relative with an outstretched hand and an unrelenting need for cash. You want to say “no, enough”, but you can’t. Duty compels you to find a way forward, to keep the roof repaired and the salaries paid and the gardens maintained, as well as keeping the money coming in to pay for it all.’

‘What about location fees?’ Holly asked. ‘For films.’

‘They don’t pay as much as you might think,’ he said as he got out of the car. ‘As the film companies like to point out, the publicity Cleremont receives in return is invaluable.’

‘Yes, I suppose people come here in droves after seeing Cleremont on the screen,’ she agreed as her gaze swept over the imposing Jacobean façade. ‘Where is the dower house, exactly?’

‘Behind those trees, over there.’ He waved an arm to the left. ‘Grandmother lived there until she died.’ He opened the boot and began unloading their luggage. ‘Now my family stay there, unless they’re entertaining guests or hosting a hunt, so they can live normally, without the worry of tour groups or film crews or journalists seeing the reality behind the “stately home” façade.’ His smile was wry.

‘How strange it all is,’ she mused. ‘When I first met you, working at my father’s department store, I thought you were the most pompous ass I’d ever met, and you thought I was a fashion-obsessed bird-brain. Now, here we are… about to get married. Isn’t life funny?’

Before he could reply, the front doors opened and a man and woman emerged. The first thing Holly noticed was their perfect posture.

The second thing she noticed was a young man, hands thrust in his jeans pockets, standing behind them. He had ginger hair and, unlike the others, a wide and welcoming smile on his face.

‘Hugh,’ the woman exclaimed, and drew her son forward. ‘I’m so glad you decided to come home.’

Her hair was cropped into a stylish mid-length bob, and was a rich, maple syrup colour, and Holly realised where the young man behind her had got his own more gingery shade. She wore a navy voile shirt tucked into a twill skirt, and low-heeled but fashionable shoes.

Hugh’s father – for Holly assumed the elegant, lanky gentleman with grey hair in khakis and a pale pink polo shirt was Lord Darcy – clapped his son on the shoulder. ‘Welcome home, Hugh,’ he said gruffly.

‘Thank you.’ Hugh turned to Holly and slipped his arm around her shoulder. ‘Father, mother – I’d like you both to meet my…’ He stopped. ‘I’d like you to meet Holly James.’

She glanced at him in surprise. Why hadn’t he told his parents they were engaged?

‘Welcome, Holly,’ Lord Darcy said as he took her hand in his. ‘A pleasure.’

‘Thank you. I’m pleased to be here. What a lovely home.’

Hugh’s mother extended her hand. ‘Lady Sarah Darcy. Welcome to Cleremont, Miss James.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Lady Darcy. Call me Holly, please.’

But Hugh’s mother had already turned away to introduce the ginger-haired young man. ‘This is my youngest son, Harry. Harry, Miss James.’

‘Holly, please,’ Holly said again, with just a tiny trace of pique.

‘Welcome, Holly. It’s a pleasure.’ Harry took her hand in his and leaned forward to peck her cheek. ‘Bit of advice?’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t fight mum. She always wins.’

‘Thanks for the warning,’ she murmured, and returned his smile.

‘Had you any trouble driving down?’ Hugh’s father enquired when the introductions were complete and they trooped inside. ‘The tourists are out in full force, I regret to say.’ He glanced at Holly. ‘Makes going anywhere round here in summer a nightmare.’

‘Traffic wasn’t bad until we reached Torquay Road,’ Hugh replied. ‘Evidently the circus is setting up in town for a couple of weeks.’ He turned to Holly. ‘The coastline here in South Devon draws a lot of day trippers and tourists, especially this time of year.’

‘It does indeed,’ his father observed as he led the way across a cavernous entrance hall and into a drawing room. ‘They call this area the “English Riviera” for good reason – we have warm weather, beaches; even palm trees. Unfortunately, commercialism has invaded Longbourne, our local seaside village, as well. It’s become nothing but wall-to-wall chip shops and supermarkets. Sun cream and Chupa Chups. Rubbish.’

Holly trailed behind the others, scarcely aware of the conversation or Hugh’s hand resting at the small of her back as she took in her surroundings.

The drawing room was immense, larger than the entire first floor of her parents’ house in Chipping Norton.

And it was stunningly, breathtakingly… gorgeous. Muted sunlight came in through tall mullioned windows and illuminated the rich velvets and faded chintz of the various settees, cushioned club chairs, and tables with clawed feet arranged throughout the room; a pair of King Charles spaniels lay on the rug, sleeping near the hearth. The walls were covered with portraits.

‘That,’ Lady Darcy said, following Holly’s gaze to one of the largest and most striking of the paintings on display, ‘is a van Dyck. It’s a portrait of the first earl.’

Holly nodded. ‘It’s lovely. I’ve only seen photographs of paintings like this. And what a beautiful room,’ she added. ‘How very lucky you all are to live in such a place.’

‘Lucky?’ Lady Sarah’s eyebrow rose skyward as she sat down on the edge of a sofa angled near the fireplace. ‘Believe me, my dear girl, luck has nothing to do with it. It’s a privilege to live here at Cleremont.’

Holly paled. ‘Oh – of course it is. I didn’t mean –’

‘Would you care for refreshment?’ Her ladyship turned to Hugh and patted the cushion next to her. ‘Sit, darling,’ she commanded. ‘You must be famished after that long drive down from London.’ She glanced at Holly. ‘Both of you.’

As Hugh and Holly assented that they could definitely do with something, Harry took a tray of drinks from a servant who appeared at the door and came forward to hand them out.

‘Pimm’s Cup,’ he said in a low voice as he handed a glass, adorned with a slice of lemon and a wedge of cucumber, to Holly. ‘Drink up,’ he added with a wink and a quick glance at his mother. ‘I’ve a feeling you’ll be needing it.’

Chapter 3

‘I’m back,’ Lizzy called out as she sailed through the front door of Litchfield Manor, shutting it behind her.

There was no reply.

‘Emma? Charlotte? Is anyone home?’ Still receiving no answer, she paused by the half-moon table in the front hall and picked up the morning’s post, riffling absently through it. Bills and more bills, she noted, including one from Charlotte’s sixth-form college, as well as the latest issues of Town & Country (Emma), the Church Times (Daddy), and the Literary Review (hers).

Lizzy sighed and set the post aside. Of her family – and, more importantly, of lunch – there was no sign. She knew her father at least was home, however, as she’d seen his bicycle propped against the garden shed outside.

She wandered into the kitchen, her favourite room in the house, with its cheery yellow paint and Welsh cupboard crowded with blue-and-white-patterned china, and saw a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses on the counter.

The pitcher was half-empty, and the glasses contained only melting ice and a bit of watery pale-yellow liquid. A jar of maraschino cherries sat next to the pitcher. She fetched a clean glass and some ice, threw in a couple of cherries, and filled it with lemonade.

Glass in hand, she wandered down the hall and out the back door.

She found Emma and her father on the terrace overlooking what passed for a garden, its profusion of wild roses and blackthorn bushes bounded by a low, stone wall. An oak, older than Litchfield Manor itself, shaded one side of the house and part of the terrace from the midday sun.

‘I thought I’d find you here,’ Lizzy announced, and dropped into a chair across from them. Unfortunately, her seat bore the full brunt of the sun. She wished she’d thought to grab one of the sunhats hanging on pegs by the back door. Oh, well…

Emma barely looked up from her book. ‘Where’ve you been?’ she enquired, although it was plain from her focus on the page that she didn’t really care.

‘I’ve just come back from Cleremont. Harry invited me over to watch the filming of the last scene of Pride and Prejudice.’

‘The last scene?’ Emma deigned to lift her head and look at her younger sister in surprise. ‘Do you mean to say the film crew are finished already? I thought they were meant to stay on until at least July.’

‘They are. But they filmed the last scene just now. They don’t film things in sequence, you know.’ She said the last bit just a trace smugly, proud of her inside knowledge.

‘Lady Darcy despises production companies. All of them,’ Emma said, and returned to her book. ‘She told me so.’

‘I don’t imagine she despises the money they bring to Cleremont,’ Mr Bennet observed mildly from behind his newspaper.

‘Harry isn’t bothered.’ Lizzy took a sip of lemonade and savoured the tart-sweet taste. ‘He likes watching them film.’

‘He likes flirting with the actresses,’ Emma said, and sniffed. ‘They’re like a flock of gaudy butterflies flitting around. Someone like Harry can hardly resist.’

‘What do you mean, “someone like Harry”?’ Lizzy demanded, and set her glass down to frown at her sister.

‘I mean that he’s an incorrigible flirt, of course,’ she retorted. ‘It’s no secret. And don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.’

Lizzy knew the entire female population of South Devon fancied Harry Darcy – and not only for his charm and rakish good looks.

While it was true that, unlike his elder brother, he wouldn’t inherit Cleremont, he’d eventually come into a fortune – and the combination of his handsome face along with a healthy bank balance made him catnip to the ladies of Litchfield and Longbourne.

‘Isn’t that actress, Cara Winslow, playing Elizabeth Bennet?’ their father asked.

Lizzy nodded. ‘Yes, and she’s very pretty.’ She made no mention of her demanding behaviour on set. ‘It sounds like a cliché, but her skin really is like porcelain. Although,’ she mused, ‘the make-up lady put rather a lot of foundation on her left cheek. I think she might’ve had a blemish or something.’

‘I imagine those cameras are unforgiving,’ Mr Bennet murmured.

Emma set her book aside and stood. ‘Well, with all of this chatter, it’s quite impossible to read. I might as well go and start lunch. I’m making egg and cress sandwiches and a fruit salad if anyone’s interested.’

‘Shall I come along and help?’ Lizzy asked.

‘No, the salad’s already done. Besides, I can manage the rest quite well on my own.’

And with that, Emma took up her book and left.

Lizzy dropped into the chair she’d vacated. ‘Why is Em always so moody? I can’t put a foot right with her lately.’

Mr Bennet folded his newspaper and put it aside. ‘It’s all to do with her breakup with Jeremy. To use another cliché – it took the wind out of her sails. It hit your sister hard, I’m afraid, and rightly so. So you must try and find a bit of understanding and compassion for her situation.’

With a sigh, Lizzy slumped back in her chair. Emma and Jeremy North had planned to be married last summer. The wedding gown, the flowers, the music, even the sit-down dinner menu for their guests – all had been chosen (mostly by Emma), arranged, and paid for. Mr Bennet was to come out of retirement and officiate at the wedding in the village church.

The night before the wedding, Jeremy came to Litchfield Manor and, after spending time with Emma behind the closed doors of the library, emerged with a grim face, and left.

Emma followed, her own face equally grim, and informed them that the wedding was cancelled. Mr North had changed his mind. Then she retreated to her room and did not come out for a week.

It fell to Lizzy and her father to call everyone on Emma’s list to explain that the wedding was cancelled. The caterers were called, the organist, the florist, and the photographer.

The profusion of elegantly wrapped wedding gifts piled on the dining room table had to be removed and returned. Mr Bennet took delivery of the wedding cake that morning (it being too late to cancel) and whisked it away to a local hospital before Emma might see it.

It had been a horrible, trying time.

‘I have plenty of compassion. But right now, I’m tired of being understanding,’ Lizzy grumbled. ‘I was in a good mood when I came home, and now it’s ruined. Why must we always jolly Emma up? It’s been almost a year. She needs to move on.’

‘There isn’t a timetable for these things, Elizabeth,’ her father reproached her. He smiled. ‘I know it isn’t your strong suit, but you must try and be patient.’

Lizzy leaned forward. ‘Bother being patient. She’s miserable, and wants everyone else around her to be miserable, too. Well,’ she added as she got up, ‘I refuse to coddle my sister any longer. I’m done being nice to Emma. She isn’t the only person who’s ever had her heart broken, after all.’

And she got up and stalked back into the house.

***

Hugh adjusted his tie and regarded himself critically in the mirror. ‘Will I do?’ he asked as he turned to Holly.

She smiled, her gaze taking in his dinner jacket and his dark, uncertain gaze, and slid her arms around his neck. ‘You’ll do, Mr Darcy.’ She kissed him and, after a few, blissful moments, sighed against his lips. ‘Let’s stay here and you can ravish me. We’ll start on your bed, then we’ll move to the rug, and then that nice, cushioned window seat over there…’

‘You sound like a choreographer.’

‘Come on, Hugh,’ she coaxed. ‘Let’s skip dinner with your family and stay here. We’ll tell them we’re tired after the trip down from London.’ She began to nibble his earlobe.

‘Stop it, Holly,’ he warned, only half joking as he pulled away, ‘or we’ll be late to dinner.’

‘And we can’t have that, can we?’

If he noticed the trace of irritation in her voice, he gave no sign. ‘I’m sure my mother’s had the servants pull out all the stops for you tonight.’

‘I’m sure,’ Holly agreed, and toyed with his lapel. ‘Twelve courses, finger bowls and ice sculptures, no doubt. Only…’

He caught her hand in his and regarded her with a questioning expression. ‘Only what?’

‘Why can’t we share a room?’ she asked. ‘It’s barbaric that you’re here in the east wing, and I’m stuck in the west.’

He kissed her on the cheek and turned back to the mirror to adjust his tie once again. ‘It’s a matter of propriety, I suppose, and keeping my mother happy, that’s all. I don’t think my father cares a jot what we get up to.’ He raised his brow at her reflection behind him in the mirror. ‘And it’s not like you can’t sneak out and slip into my room in the middle of the night, you know.’

‘Ha! Like I’d ever find my way from there to here, and in the dark,’ she grumbled. ‘I’d end up in the scullery, or something.’

‘Then I’d go and find you.’

Holly came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. ‘Your mother hates me,’ she sighed, and rested her chin on his shoulder. ‘She put me in the west wing deliberately, to keep us apart. And she still calls me “Miss James”.’

‘These things take time. Wait until I make the announcement that we’re engaged; then she’ll warm up to you. Besides…’ He paused and turned around to take her back into his arms. ‘It might do us good to be separated for the duration of our visit.’ He leaned closer and nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear. ‘When we do finally manage to get together, it’ll make things that much more exciting. Incendiary, even.’

‘Hmmph.’ Holly wasn’t convinced. ‘Fifty Shades of Longing, you mean?’

He rested his forehead against hers. ‘Exactly,’ he murmured. ‘Although I don’t know if I can stand the wait.’

‘I know I can’t.’ The scent of his aftershave – something rare and expensive by Creed, no doubt – was making her long to tear his clothes off, right now.

‘I love you, Holly,’ Darcy said, his eyes serious on hers. ‘I want my family to fall in love with you, too. And they will do.’

‘Come on, then,’ Holly sighed, resigned to their imposed celibacy and the long evening ahead. ‘It’s time we went downstairs and joined the others.’

***

The dining room table at Cleremont was so long that it could’ve easily doubled as an airplane runway, Holly reflected as she took a seat in the eighteenth-century chair Hugh held out for her.

She glimpsed more tall windows, more claw-footed chairs and sideboards, more enormous (and no doubt priceless) paintings hung on walls that were painted a deep Chinese red.

‘Do the film crew stay here in the house while they’re filming?’ she asked, and reached out for her water glass.

‘Oh, dear me, no.’ Sarah let out a shocked little laugh. ‘They stay in trailers behind the estate office, or at the local hotel. They aren’t allowed to move so much as a stick of furniture when they film here, not without permission. And certainly, no eating,’ she added with a shudder. ‘Too many antiquities, you understand.’

She smiled at Holly in polite condescension, making it plain that she didn’t expect someone as middle class as the James girl to understand, at all.

‘Do you remember the Sheraton table?’ Lord Darcy said to his wife. He glanced at Holly. ‘Several years ago, when they were here at Cleremont filming Tess of the d’Urbervilles, a costume assistant decided to iron a maid’s apron… and used an eighteenth-century gaming table built by Thomas Sheraton to do it. The surface was ruined.’

‘No, Richard,’ his wife corrected, ‘you’re mistaken. I’m sure it was Far from the Madding Crowd, and you’re thinking of the demi-lune Hepplewhite card table.’

He folded his napkin across his lap with deliberate motions. ‘I’m not mistaken. I may be getting on a bit but I’m hardly senile. It was Tess and it was the bloody Sheraton.’

A frosty silence descended on the table. Holly glanced across at Hugh in mild alarm.

‘I’d like to make an announcement, if I may,’ Hugh said quickly, and reached out for his glass of wine.

‘Oh, yes, your announcement,’ Harry said, and leaned forward in anticipation. ‘Wait, don’t tell us! You’ve decided you don’t want the title when Dad pops his clogs after all, and instead plan to hunt big game. And so you’ve come home to announce that you’re giving Cleremont over to me and you’re leaving for Africa,’ he joked. ‘With Holly, of course.’

‘Harry, really,’ his mother reproved. ‘This isn’t the time or the place for your little jokes.’

‘Sorry, but I’ve no plans for big game hunting in my future.’ Hugh smiled at Holly, seated next to him, and lifted his glass. ‘I’ve already landed the most spectacular prize any man could possibly want,’ he added.

Holly could have pointed out that perhaps referring to her as a ‘prize’ in this day and age was a bit – well, sexist – but she remained silent as Hugh went on with his announcement.

‘I met Holly last summer while I was working at Dashwood and James – the department stores her father, Alastair, owns,’ he added. He glanced at Holly with a wry smile. ‘It wasn’t exactly love at first sight, was it, darling?’

‘No,’ she agreed, and smiled back at him. ‘At first I thought Hugh was a bit stuffy. Not to mention incredibly opinionated. I was engaged – briefly – to Ciaran Duncan, the film star. Hugh tried to warn me away from him,’ she added, and took a fortifying sip of wine. ‘More than once, in fact. But of course I didn’t listen, until it was nearly too late.’

‘Oh. How extraordinary,’ his mother remarked, and flicked a glance at Holly, then back at her eldest son. ‘You never mentioned that Miss James was engaged.’

‘She isn’t, any more,’ Hugh said. ‘At least,’ he added quietly, ‘not to Ciaran.’

‘And thank God for that,’ Holly muttered, and suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t forget how the handsome actor had tried to blackmail her into marrying him, all so he could get his hands on her father’s money. Tosser.

‘Still – as you said, Miss James, Ciaran’s a film star, and quite a famous one,’ Lady Darcy observed. Her smile was patronising. ‘I’m surprised you let him go. You do know he’s here, filming at Cleremont, do you not?’ she added. ‘Perhaps you two can renew your acquaintance.’

‘Ciaran and I are over,’ Holly said, her words polite but firm. ‘Finished. Through.’

‘It’s all in the past,’ Hugh agreed. ‘Love prevailed, and now…’ He paused. ‘I’d like to raise a toast to my fiancée and bride-to-be, Holly James.’

There was a moment of surprised silence.

Then, ‘Here, here,’ Lord Darcy exclaimed, and lifted his glass.

‘Here, here,’ Harry echoed, and grinned. ‘Congratulations, you two! Well done, you sly dog,’ he added as he glanced at his brother. ‘I thought you’d be a bachelor well into your dotage. Didn’t think you’d ever get married.’

Holly realised that Lady Darcy had said nothing. She glanced at Hugh’s mother, seated at the head of the table beside her husband, and her smile faltered.

Sarah’s hand gripped the stem of her wine glass with white-tipped knuckles…

…and her expression could only be called grim.

Chapter 4

‘Congratulations,’ Hugh’s mother said after a moment, and managed to produce a small, tight smile. ‘What very exciting news.’

‘Yes,’ Hugh agreed, his eyes lingering on Holly as they all drank to the couple’s heath. ‘Very exciting. However, I must ask that you all refrain from telling anyone else the news, at least just yet.’

‘What on earth for?’ his mother asked, and frowned. She cast Holly a scandalised glance. ‘You’re not…?’

Holly coloured. ‘No, I’m not,’ she retorted, and laid a hand atop her perfectly flat stomach. To be honest, she was getting just a bit annoyed with her ladyship’s poor opinion of her. She doesn’t even know me, Holly thought. It was all très unfair.

‘It’s just that…’ Hugh stopped.

He looked a bit uncomfortable, Holly noticed, and she wondered why he didn’t want to relay word of their engagement far and wide.

‘Just what?’ Holly prodded.

‘I want to tell Elizabeth the news first,’ he said, his words measured as he returned to his seat.

‘Who’s Elizabeth?’ she wondered. Although she kept her voice neutral as she asked the question, she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of disquiet.

‘Elizabeth Bennet,’ Harry supplied. He paused as a servant brought the soup tureen round, and he served himself a generous measure of the pale pink crab bisque.

Holly stared at him. ‘Elizabeth Bennet?’ she echoed. ‘Like the character in Pride and Prejudice?’

‘No, of course not. She’s our neighbour. Lizzy Bennet. She and her sisters live next door, at Litchfield Manor.’

‘Their father, Mr Bennet, was our vicar,’ Sarah explained. ‘He’s retired now.’ She sipped her wine. ‘The girls were a rather… late arrival, as he was unmarried for quite a few years. I must introduce you to the family at church on Sunday, Miss James.’

‘Forgive me, Hugh,’ Holly said, choosing for the moment to ignore her ladyship, ‘but why, exactly, don’t you want this Elizabeth Bennet to know that we’re engaged?’

‘It’s not that I don’t want her to know we’re engaged,’ he hedged. ‘It’s just… I need to break the news to her myself, first, because…’

‘Because Elizabeth fancies herself in love with my brother,’ Harry cut in. ‘Or at least, she used to do. I imagine she still does.’

‘Is that true?’ Holly asked. She met Hugh’s eyes. ‘Is she in love with you?’

‘Once upon a time, perhaps,’ he admitted, and picked up his spoon. ‘But it was ages ago, and it was gratitude, not love, only because I helped Miss Bennet through a difficult time after her mother died. She was sixteen.’ He laid his spoon back down and cleared his throat. ‘I mean to say, Miss Bennet was sixteen. Not her mother. Obviously.’

‘That’s not how I remember it,’ Harry said, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. ‘The pair of you were inseparable, as I recall.’

‘Enough, Harry.’ Lady Darcy spoke quietly, but her words were firm. ‘Of course we’ll keep the engagement to ourselves, darling, if that’s what you wish,’ she assured Hugh. ‘Until such time as you tell Elizabeth…’ She gave Holly a pained smile. ‘Until you can share your happy news with her.’

***

The next morning dawned clear and warm, and as Lizzy let herself outside, her hands cupping a mug of tea, she breathed in the scent of hydrangeas and honeysuckle that hung on the air.

The terrace flagstones were warm and smooth beneath her bare feet as she joined the others and sat down, oblivious to the sounds of birdsong from the nearby woods. ‘Good morning.’

As she’d expected, her father and sisters were sprawled – well, only Charlotte was actually sprawled – in chairs, sipping coffee or tea and reading the newspapers.

‘Good morning, my dear.’ Mr Bennet stood and bent down to brush his lips briefly atop her head. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I’m off to the village for my morning ride.’

‘Must you ride that old bicycle through the village every day?’ Emma complained. ‘You look like Father Brown.’

‘I can think of worse things,’ he replied, unperturbed. ‘Although Father Brown really should wear a helmet when he rides. Safety,’ he tutted, then left.

Emma rustled her paper in annoyance but didn’t bother to respond.

‘What are your plans today, Charli?’ Lizzy asked her youngest sister as their father trudged off. ‘Are you going to the circus in Torquay?’

‘Dunno.’ She didn’t look up from her perusal of Hello! ‘Ooh, look at this! It says here that Ciaran Duncan’s right next door at Cleremont, filming Pride and Prejudice.’

‘Yes. I saw him yesterday.’

Charli gasped and flung her magazine aside. ‘What? You saw him and you didn’t tell me? Did you talk to him? What did he look like? Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on screen?’

‘I didn’t think it was worthy of mention,’ she said, and lifted her brow. ‘We didn’t speak; he was studying a script. And he looked exactly like Mr Wickham, in his breeches and boots and regimentals. And yes, he’s very handsome.’ She frowned. ‘Wasn’t he engaged to that department store heiress last year? The blonde one, what was her name…?’

‘Holly James.’ Charlotte retrieved her Hello! magazine and began flicking once again through the pages. ‘Yes, they were engaged for about ten minutes. I often wonder why they broke up after only a week. I bet there’s a story there.’

‘Who knows?’ Lizzy said, and shrugged. ‘Actors are odd ducks. From what I’ve heard, Ciaran is the perfect choice to play Mr Wickham. He’s a player, and not just onstage.’

‘Well, of course he is,’ Charli said, and smirked. ‘I wouldn’t mind playing with him.’

Lizzy frowned. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s far too old for you, and he has a very bad reputation. Besides, he wouldn’t give you a second glance, not with Cara Winslow and all those other pretty actresses in his orbit.’

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. ‘I bet he would. I bet he’d give me a second glance, and perhaps even a third.’

‘Well, you won’t be finding out,’ Lizzy retorted, ‘at least, not today. We’re all going to the circus.’

‘What fun,’ Emma said, deadpan.

‘It will be fun.’ Lizzy, her mind made up that she and her sisters were going to the circus, glanced at Emma. ‘We can all go, you and me and Charli, and spend the day together. It’ll be like old times.’

Like it was before their mother died, she meant. When they used to do things together as a family.

‘Sorry, but I’m going out to lunch with Harry later,’ Emma said, not sorry at all. ‘Which reminds me – I need to start getting ready.’ She picked up her tea and newspapers and departed without another word.

‘Cow,’ Lizzy said, but without much feeling, and glanced at her sister. ‘What about you, Charli? You and I can still go, make a day of it. Stuff our faces with chips and Chupa Chups.’

Charlotte laid her magazine aside with a sigh. ‘I suppose we could. I don’t much like the circus, but I can’t bear the thought of sitting here like a saddo all day.’

The two girls got dressed and left a note on the kitchen table for Mr Bennet to say they’d borrowed his Mini, and drove themselves into the bustling seaside town of Torquay to spend their day at the circus.

***

It was late afternoon when Lizzy and Charlotte, sunburnt and feeling faintly nauseated from too much sugar and not nearly enough sun cream, returned home with peeling noses and aching feet. The stuffed giraffe and hedgehog they’d won were tossed on the back seat, and their faces were sheened with perspiration.

‘I’m going upstairs to have a lie down,’ Charli said. ‘I feel awful.’ She eyed Lizzy in pity. ‘Ugh! You’re as pink as a lobster.’

Lizzy groaned. Why did she never remember to wear a sunhat?

‘Had fun, did you?’ Mr Bennet asked as he glided up on his bicycle and dismounted.

‘We did. And don’t tell me you’ve been out riding this entire time,’ Lizzy said in surprise.

‘No. I rode over to say hello to Araminta Hornsby. And to take her some scones I made this morning.’

Poor woman. ‘And who is Araminta Hornsby?’ she asked, curious. ‘I’ve never heard you mention her.’ She fell into step beside him as he headed for the front steps.

‘She’s the new church organist. She has a real flair with those foot pedals and stops.’

‘Elizabeth!’

She turned around, startled. Only one person ever called her Elizabeth.

‘Hugh,’ she breathed, and stood rooted to the spot as he approached.

Chapter 5

Hugh Darcy wore khaki trousers and a white polo shirt, and his feet were thrust into a pair of dock shoes. He was alone.

‘I apologise for my appearance,’ he said, almost as though he’d read her thoughts. His face, unlike her pinkish one, was lightly tanned. ‘I just got back from Longbourne. We… I went down to check on the Pemberley.’

The Pemberley, Lizzy knew, was the Darcy family’s yacht.

‘Oh.’ Surprise crossed her face. ‘Did you plan to enter the regatta this year?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I haven’t the time. Harry’s keen, though. He and my father have signed up for the yacht races, and I wanted to make sure the Pemberley’s up to the task.’ He stretched out his hand to Mr Bennet and smiled. ‘It’s good to see you again, Father.’

‘And you, Mr Darcy, and you.’ He clasped Hugh’s hand and beamed. ‘But it’s “Mr Bennet” now, you know. I’ve retired. I’ve been put out to pasture and now my flock has a new shepherd.’

‘I’m sure everyone in the village misses your sermons a great deal,’ Hugh said. He glanced at Lizzy. ‘And your scones.’

She bit back a smile.

‘Well, just between you and me,’ Mr Bennet said, and leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile, ‘I quite enjoy being retired. More time to bake.’ He straightened. ‘Ah, where are my manners? Might I offer you refreshment? A blueberry scone, perhaps?’

‘Oh, no, thank you,’ Hugh said quickly. ‘I admit,’ he added, and cast Lizzy an uncertain smile, ‘that I’d hoped to borrow Elizabeth for a few moments, if I might.’

Her heart leapt. Hugh had come here to Litchfield Manor to see her.

‘Well, Lizzy’s a grown woman,’ Mr Bennet said. ‘No need for my permission, unless perhaps you plan to ask her to marry you!’ He chuckled.

‘Daddy!’ Lizzy muttered, horrified.

As he registered their twin expressions of embarrassment, her father cleared his throat. ‘Well, then. Perhaps I’ll just leave you two to talk.’

Mortified, Lizzy watched him go. Why on earth had he brought up the subject of marriage, and in front of Hugh, of all people?

‘I’m sorry,’ she began, and grimaced in apology. ‘I dearly love my father, but he often doesn’t think…’

‘It’s fine.’ His eyes crinkled as his smile deepened. ‘His tact is second only to his scone-baking skills.’

Lizzy laughed. ‘That’s very diplomatic of you, Mr Darcy.’

His smile faded, and a serious expression took its place. ‘I wonder if we might, perhaps, take a walk? I’ve something to tell you, Elizabeth, something that’s rather important.’

‘Of course.’

They began walking across the field that led to the apple orchard, silent as their feet followed the dirt track. The field was bordered on one side by a stone wall choked with brambles and wild carrot. The drone of bees and the distant rumble of a tractor were the only sounds.

‘Are you home to stay?’ Lizzy asked after a moment, as the silence stretched and lengthened.

‘No. I’m on holiday. I’ll be leaving again at the end of the month.’

‘Oh.’ Only one syllable, Lizzy reflected, yet it carried a world of disappointment.

‘And what of you?’ he asked. ‘Are you back from London to stay? The last I remember, you were working for a publisher in…’ he frowned. ‘Clerkenwell, I believe.’

She smiled. ‘You have a very good memory. Yes, I was with Aphrodite Books for five years, but…’ She shrugged. ‘I was made redundant and couldn’t seem to land another job, so I decided to let my flat go and come back home.’

Of Mark Knightley, and her pleasant but short-lived relationship with him, she said nothing.

‘I’m sorry.’ He glanced over at her. ‘But I’m glad you’re back.’

‘Me, too. Glad you’re back, too, I mean.’

‘Will you stay, do you think?’

She considered. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. There’s nothing here for me, really, unless I want to manage a hotel or sell 99s and Magnums from a refurbished ice cream van.’ Her smile was wry. ‘And my sister Emma has things well in hand at home.’

‘She’s very organised, isn’t she?’ he agreed, and returned her smile. ‘I’ll put out some queries when I get back to London if you like,’ he offered. ‘See what I can find.’

‘That’s very kind. I’d like that. Thank you.’

They walked for several more minutes before Hugh cleared his throat and stopped. He took her hands in his. ‘Lizzy, before we go any further, there’s something important I need to tell you. There’s a reason I’ve come back to Cleremont.’

She looked up at him expectantly, and although she kept her expression unremarkable, her heart gave a little lurch. After all these years, could it be…?

Lizzy allowed herself a moment of blissful fantasy. She imagined that Hugh had realised, after nearly eight years, that bachelorhood wasn’t quite what it was cracked up to be, and so had come back to Litchfield to ask her to be his wife. She’d become the mistress of Cleremont eventually, with Hugh Darcy by her side, and the first thing she’d do was redecorate that godawful private sitting room upstairs…

‘Lizzy?’

With a blink, she came back to the present. ‘Sorry.’ She smiled in apology. ‘You know me, always gathering wool.’

‘The thing is, Lizzy,’ Hugh said now, his fingers tightening in hers, ‘I’ve always cared deeply for you. And I always will.’

She managed to nod, her heart racing. ‘I feel the same.’

‘I want you to understand that nothing will ever change that.’

‘Yes.’ She was giddy, positively giddy with anticipation. Could it be that her one, constant hope for the last eight years – that Hugh Darcy would realise and admit his love for her – was finally about to come true?

‘But life, as you know, brings change, and challenges, and when the unexpected happens, one must respond.’

Lizzy nodded, her heart beating so quickly with excitement she feared she might implode.

‘I never planned for this to happen.’ His eyes searched hers. ‘It came completely out of the blue.’

Well, not exactly out of the blue, surely, Lizzy thought with a trace of surprise. They’d known each other since they were children, after all.

‘But honesty compels me to tell you, before you hear the news from someone else.’

She blinked, momentarily nonplussed. Hear what news from someone else, exactly? Surely a marriage proposal should come from one’s husband-to-be, not from someone else…?

‘And so it pains me to tell you this, Lizzy, but the fact is, I…’ He stopped. ‘I’m engaged. I’ve asked Holly James to marry me.’

Lizzy stared at him.

All of the blood, the life, the joy, drained away from her with his words. She stared at him, not comprehending. What he said made no sense.

‘You – you’re getting married?’ she said. ‘To the department store heiress?’

‘Yes, I am.’ He looked, not happy, but subdued.

All of Lizzy’s imaginings – Hugh’s proposal on bended knee, her blushing acceptance, the engagement ring they’d pick out, living together in Cleremont, raising their children and maintaining his family’s legacy – all of it vanished, gone in a moment with the utterance of one devastating sentence.

‘I see.’ She took her hands, carefully, from his. ‘Well, then, congratulations! I’m very happy for you… both.’

She turned away and began to walk, slowly at first, and then more quickly, back to Litchfield Manor.

‘Lizzy – wait.’

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She kept walking, because to stop meant he’d catch up to her, and if he did, he’d see her crying. And that would never do.

‘Lizzy, please!’ He pelted up behind her and caught her by the shoulder and turned her around. ‘I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I just – I wanted to tell you myself, before you heard it from someone else.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘And please don’t apologise. I’m happy for you, really. I’m fine.’

She managed another smile and turned away, away from the anguished confusion on his face, and fled.

Chapter 6

Hugh had disappeared.

Holly closed his bedroom door behind her with an irritated frown. They’d got back from Longbourne twenty minutes ago, where they’d boarded the Darcy family’s docked yacht, the Pemberley, so Hugh could ensure everything was in good nick for next Saturday’s regatta race.

After he’d checked the boat’s lines and ensured the fuel tanks were full, after he’d battened the hatches and lowered the boom – or whatever it was one did to ready a yacht for sea; she had no idea – they’d had a lovely lunch of South Devon crab and oysters and slaw salad in a little restaurant overlooking the bay.

Holly sighed. Who could have guessed that her fiancé was a skilled sailor? Not her. Hugh Darcy was a man of many talents – and more than a few surprises.

He’d gone missing the moment they returned to Cleremont. Now, she faced the daunting prospect of finding her wayward husband-to-be in a house that was three times larger than the average football pitch and filled with more nooks and crannies than a crumpet.

She came down the main staircase, trailing her hand down the balustrade as she wondered where to go next to find her fiancé. Perhaps one of the servants might know where he’d gone.

The front door opened, and Lady Darcy’s spaniels scampered, barking, out of the drawing room, toenails clicking and sliding as they greeted Harry and an attractive young woman with dark hair.

‘Hey, boys,’ Harry exclaimed, and knelt down to scratch behind the dogs’ ears. They rolled on their backs, exposing their bellies as they squirmed in ecstasy. He glanced up at Holly. ‘Oh, hello, Holly.’

‘Hi.’ She glanced at his companion with a polite smile and extended her hand. ‘Hello, I’m Holly James. It’s nice to meet you…?’

‘Emma,’ she supplied, and clasped Holly’s hand briefly. ‘Emma Bennet. It’s nice to meet you as well. I live next door,’ she added.

‘Sorry,’ Harry apologised as he stood up, ‘I was about to introduce you two, but Holly’s got there ahead of me. The Bennets are neighbours of ours.’

‘Bennet,’ Holly said, and studied Emma with new interest. ‘You have a sister named Elizabeth, I believe?’

‘I do.’ Surprise skimmed over her face. ‘Have you met?’

‘No. Hugh mentioned her at dinner last night.’

‘Oh? How extraordinary that he should mention my sister. They haven’t seen each other for yonks. Ten years at least, wouldn’t you say, Harry?’

He nodded and cast a glance at Holly. ‘Eight. And yes, a lot’s happened since then.’

In his glance Holly saw a warning not to mention her and Hugh’s engagement to Emma. Before the Bennet girl could question her any further, Holly said, ‘Speaking of Hugh, he’s gone missing since we got back from Longbourne. If you’ll both excuse me, I’m off to try and track him down.’

‘I can help you with that,’ Emma said. ‘We just saw him coming up the drive in a silver Mercedes. He must’ve gone out somewhere.’

‘Thank you,’ Holly said. How odd. Where on earth had Hugh gone off to in the hire car? And why hadn’t he mentioned it to her? ‘It was nice to meet you, Emma.’

‘Yes, lovely,’ Emma murmured as Holly hurried across the hall with a waggle of her fingers and let herself out the front door.

***

The Mercedes was parked at the bottom of the front steps, keys in the ignition. But there was no sign of Hugh.

By the time she’d rounded the house and made her way towards fields and pastures that sloped away as far as her eyes could see, perspiration began to dampen Holly’s shirt. The late afternoon sun beat down and she wished she’d thought to bring a hat.

She stopped and shaded her eyes to scan the horizon. ‘Hugh!’ she called out, relieved as she spotted him coming towards her. ‘Where’ve you been? I was looking for you.’

He kissed her briefly and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Sorry, I should’ve told you before I left. I only drove next door.’

‘Next door? You mean, to the Bennets’ house?’

Hugh nodded. ‘I wanted to have a word with Elizabeth, and tell her that you and I are engaged.’

‘Oh.’ Holly was silent.

‘I wanted her to hear it from me, before someone in the village blindsided her with the news.’

‘Blindsided her?’ she echoed. ‘You make it sound as if she’s in love with you, or something. But you said she’s not.’ Her smile was uncertain. ‘She’s not, is she?’

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘No, of course not. It’s just that we’ve known each other a long time, since we were children, and I wanted to tell her myself.’

Holly fell into step beside him as they walked, in no hurry, back towards the house. ‘And how did she take it?’

‘Not well.’ He sighed, his expression glum. ‘I know it’s not love on her part,’ he added, ‘because we’ve only ever been friends. I left for London years ago, and so did she. But we grew closer after her mother died. Ovarian cancer.’

‘Oh, how awful,’ Holly sympathised. ‘I’m sorry. Poor Elizabeth, losing her mother like that.’ She reached out and took his hand and squeezed it. ‘And you were there to help her through it, weren’t you?’

‘I tried. Not that there’s much one can do, other than listen, and offer a shoulder or a kind word.’

‘But that’s a lot, Hugh,’ Holly said, and stopped. ‘A shoulder or a kind word when you’re really hurting means the world.’

She remembered how he’d comforted her after she learned the awful truth about Ciaran Duncan. From the very beginning he’d warned her about the actor and told her to stay away from him, but she hadn’t listened.

‘Perhaps.’ He paused and added, ‘I think, for a time after that, Lizzy fancied herself in love with me. But I returned to London, and she got a job at a publisher’s, and we haven’t seen one another since, only exchanged a few emails and texts, until today.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips tenderly. ‘So you see? You have nothing to worry about.’

And although she smiled and murmured, ‘I’m so glad to hear it,’ and although she wanted desperately to believe him, as Holly walked back to Cleremont with Hugh, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny niggle of doubt.

Chapter 7

‘Are you well acquainted with Mr Darcy, Miss Bennet?’ Wickham asked.

‘As much as ever I wish to be,’ Elizabeth retorted. ‘After four days spent in the same house with him, I must admit I find him most disagreeable. His pride precedes him. You won’t find him mentioned with favour by anyone.’

‘I’m not surprised. The world sees only his fortune and consequence, or is so impressed by his imposing manners, as to see him only as he chooses to be seen.’

‘Cut,’ the director called out wearily. ‘Ciaran, you forgot the “I cannot pretend to be sorry” bit again.’

‘Oh, bloody arsing hell,’ Ciaran Duncan grumbled, and let out a short breath of frustration. ‘Sorry,’ he called back. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.’

Cara Winslow smiled sweetly. ‘Too much champagne and too many underage girls last night, perhaps?’

He glared at her. ‘Fuck off.’

‘Temper, temper,’ she tutted.

‘Let’s all take ten minutes, shall we?’ the director said. He cast Ciaran a meaningful glance. ‘And let’s make sure we know our lines. All of them.’

Charli Bennet watched the exchange from her vantage point on the edge of the set, and suppressed a giggle. She and Harry sat perched on a wardrobe trunk, watching the filming of Pride and Prejudice. ‘It sounds as if Mr Duncan’s a bit of a player, doesn’t it?’

Harry glanced at the actor with an inscrutable expression. ‘You have no idea.’

‘Goodness. I’ll have to remember to watch my heart around him, then,’ she murmured. ‘At least, while he’s in costume.’

Her avid grey gaze devoured the handsome actor, from his long, breeches-and-boots-clad legs to the dark mop of hair on his head, and a yearning came over her, sudden and strong.

He was quite the best-looking man she’d ever seen. She covertly admired his firm, kissable lips… his fine, high forehead… and his tantalisingly tight breeches.

How jealous her friends would be if she got to meet Ciaran Duncan!

She leaned closer to Harry and whispered, ‘Introduce me.’

‘Are you mad?’ He looked at her in surprise. ‘I can’t do that!’

‘Why not? You live here. Surely you can introduce me to Ciaran.’

‘Number one, I don’t know him, and number two, he’s way out of your league.’

She glared at him. ‘What do you mean? I’m not a child. And I happen to like older men,’ she added, and tilted her head back slightly so that her long, blonde hair – partially covered by a black, floppy-brimmed hat – spilled down her back.

‘Older men?’ he echoed, and snorted. ‘You mean older, as in upper sixth form? Get real, Charli. You’re still a kid as far as Ciaran’s concerned. Besides, your father would kill you – not to mention me – if I introduced you to that tosser.’

‘But what makes you say such a thing?’ she demanded. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Do you know something about Ciaran I don’t?’

‘I know he’s no good,’ Harry said shortly. ‘More than that I really can’t say.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You’re protecting someone! Who? A girlfriend? An ex-girlfriend?’

‘Never mind. Just know that it’s a truth universally acknowledged,’ he retorted, ‘that Ciaran Duncan, like Mr Wickham, is a shit. Just pick up any tabloid on the newsstand on any given day, and you’ll see for yourself how he ploughs his way through an endless swathe of actresses.’

‘Tabloids print a load of rubbish,’ Charli said stubbornly. ‘Everyone knows that.’

Harry made an impatient gesture. ‘Listen to me. You like all of that Austen stuff, don’t you?’

‘I can’t get into the books,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve tried, more than once. But I adore the films.’

‘Then you know that Wickham’s no good. And knowing that Ciaran’s exactly like his namesake should be enough to make you hoick up your petticoats and send you running.’

‘I’m not like that silly Lydia Bennet,’ Charli scoffed. ‘I know better than to fall for his… his…’

‘Bullshit?’ he finished.

‘Please, Harry, just introduce me,’ she pleaded. ‘That’s all I want, just to meet him.’

But an introduction proved unnecessary when the actor returned from a brief discussion with the script consultant and spotted the two of them. His gaze locked on Charli.

Her eyes widened, and she clutched at Harry’s arm. ‘Oh, my God. He’s coming this way!’

Before Harry could respond, Ciaran was upon them, with a smile on his face and his hand extended. ‘Hello. Harry Darcy, I believe, isn’t it?’ he said, his words polite. ‘Hugh’s little brother. I’m Ciaran Duncan.’

The two men shook hands, and Harry turned, grim-faced, to Charli. ‘This is my neighbour, Charlotte Bennet.’

‘And a very lovely neighbour she is, indeed.’ Ciaran took up her hand and brought it, in true Regency fashion, to his lips. ‘Equally as lovely,’ he added as he released her hand and turned back to Harry, ‘as Cleremont. I’d forgotten what a stunning house this is. It’s a privilege to film here.’

‘Thanks,’ Harry replied, and glared at him. ‘We like it.’

The actor’s gaze lingered on Miss Bennet. ‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Charlotte.’

‘Oh, please call me Charli,’ she told him airily, and smiled. ‘Everyone else does.’

‘No,’ Ciaran decided, his eyes studying hers. ‘No, I I shall call you Charlotte. I much prefer it.’

‘O-okay,’ she stammered, starstruck.

‘Places, you lot,’ the director shouted. ‘Chop, chop.’

‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to go.’ He turned to leave, then paused. ‘I wonder…’

Charli held her breath. ‘Yes?’

‘I don’t have my mobile phone with me; it’s not allowed on set,’ he explained. ‘Might I give you my personal number? If you ring me tomorrow – I’m not on the call sheet – perhaps we might arrange to have a coffee together, or do a bit of sightseeing.’

Her eyes widened and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Had an international film star really just offered to give her his private number and asked her out on a date? Oh. My. God. ‘I’d like that,’ she said, as if getting asked out by a film actor was an ordinary occurrence and she wasn’t about to burst with excitement.

‘Tomorrow’s Sunday,’ Harry pointed out. He frowned as he glanced at Ciaran and back at Charlotte. ‘Church, remember?’

‘Oh, bother, you’re right. I’d forgotten.’ She sighed. Her father allowed the girls to miss a Sunday service only if they were extremely ill, dying, or dead. Afterwards, the family ate lunch, either in the dining room or on the terrace, with whomever Mr Bennet had invited to join them.

Only then were the girls free to go their own way.

‘Call me when you get home,’ Ciaran suggested, and smiled. ‘Perhaps we can arrange to do a bit of sightseeing. Or… something.’

‘Yes.’ Despite the mad pumping of blood through her veins and the light-headedness that threated to swamp her, Charli withdrew her mobile with trembling fingers and handed it over, watching in excited disbelief as the actor tapped his private number into her phone.

‘We have to go, Charli.’ Harry’s words were implacable.

‘Just a minute,’ she murmured, starstruck. ‘Please.’

‘Places, everyone.’ The director and crew were ready to resume filming the scene. ‘Let’s go.’

Ciaran handed her phone back and met her eyes. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, his voice low and intimate.

She nodded. She couldn’t speak, could barely think. Ciaran Duncan’s proximity, and the delicious, sexy scent of his aftershave made forming a response or even a thought all but impossible. He smiled, offered a polite ‘goodbye-and-nice-to-meet-you’ to Harry – who looked ready to implode – and left.

Charlotte stared after him, admiring his trim physique and erect posture (not to mention his tight buttocks), and let out a small, dreamy sigh.

It wasn’t so much the prospect of having lunch with Ciaran that dazzled her, she reflected as she watched him take his place next to Cara on the set, or the fact that the film star had just given her his private number.

No, what left her knees weak and filled her mind with impure thoughts was the promise of those two, tantalising words, ‘or… something.’

She imagined what it must be like to make love with someone like Ciaran. Her own experience of sex was limited to hurried gropings in the passenger seat of various boyfriends’ cars, stolen kisses in the back of the movie theatre, and avidly reading well-thumbed copies of books like Fifty Shades of Grey and Fear of Flying that she found in the used-book stalls or the pound shop.

Most of the local boys refused to go too far with her, not because they didn’t (literally) fancy the pants off her, but because her father was the former vicar and they feared his wrath (not to mention the wrath of God) if they should get his youngest daughter in the family way.

And she was really tired of being a virgin.

Harry tugged at her hand. ‘As soon as they’re done with this scene,’ he hissed in her ear, his words steely with determination, ‘we’re out of here.’

Charli scowled. ‘But I don’t want to leave,’ she sulked. ‘I want to stay, and watch Ciaran.’

‘If you don’t come with me the minute this scene is over,’ Harry promised, his expression grim, ‘I promise I’ll tell your father exactly what you’re getting up to with Ciaran Duncan. He won’t approve. And he’ll never let you come here to Cleremont and watch the filming again.’

‘Oh, very well,’ she retorted, and crossed her arms against her chest in irritation. ‘Honestly, Harry – you’re no bloody fun at all.’

Chapter 8

Sunday morning, for the Darcy family, meant church.

After a light breakfast of eggs, toast and tea, Lord and Lady Darcy rose from the table and made their way to the dining room door.

‘Don’t be long, darling,’ his mother reminded Hugh. ‘You know Father Crowley frowns on latecomers.’

‘We’ll be along shortly.’ He glanced at Holly, who looked at him with a trace of apprehension, and reached out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Harry pushed himself away from the table as well. ‘Gotta go. See you later.’

‘You’re welcome to ride with us to St Mark’s if you like,’ Hugh offered.

‘Thanks, but I need to get to church a few minutes early. I promised Father C I’d help with the Offertory this morning.’

‘I never pegged you for the church-going type.’ Holly set her coffee cup down.

‘I’m full of surprises.’

‘So I’m learning.’

‘Come along, then, darling,’ Lady Darcy urged. Harry followed them into the entrance hall and out the front door.

Holly couldn’t help but notice, as she laid her napkin aside and pushed her own chair back to leave, that Harry, normally so quick with a joke or a clever comment, hadn’t said above a dozen words during breakfast.

‘What’s up with Harry?’ she asked as she followed Hugh out to the hire car. ‘He didn’t say much beyond “good morning”, “please pass the butter”, and “see you later”.’

Hugh held the door open and waited as she slid inside, then went round and got behind the wheel. ‘I’ve no idea. He seemed fine to me, just quiet.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s probably nothing. Never mind.’

They arrived at St Mark’s a short time later, and Holly studied the gothic stone edifice as she emerged from the car and waited for Hugh to park the Mercedes. Ancient trees shaded a cemetery on the far side of the church, its gravestones enclosed within an iron fence; the car park where she stood took up the opposite side.

Hugh appeared beside her a few minutes later and held out his arm. ‘Ready?’

She nodded as she took it, and confessed, ‘I haven’t been to church in a very long time, I’m afraid.’

He laid his hand atop hers. ‘Nor have I,’ he admitted. ‘Not since the last time I was at Cleremont.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Promise you won’t tell my parents.’

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

Hugh led Holly down the aisle to the Darcy family pew in the front of the church, and as she took her place at the far end with her fiancé and his family, she studied her surroundings.

Tall windows lined the length of the nave, leading up to an altar fronted by fresh-cut flowers and bracketed on either side by a pair of candles on tall candlesticks. A pulpit of Devon marble stood to the left, with the chancel and choir on the right. The scent of incense from an earlier service lingered on the air.

Over the rustling of pages and the clearing of throats, Holly heard footsteps advancing down the aisle. She glanced back to see the Bennet family as they filed in – she knew, because she recognised Emma – each kneeling briefly in turn before they entered the pew across the aisle from the Darcys.

She studied them with covert curiosity. Mr Bennet was stout, with reading spectacles perched on the end of his nose and a pleasant if unremarkable face; his daughters, however, were another matter. They sat alongside him on the pew like three beautiful swans.

Emma, the girl with the dark hair whom she’d met only yesterday, sat next to her father. As if sensing Holly’s eyes on her, the eldest Bennet girl met her gaze and nodded slightly, then turned her attention back to the Book of Common Prayer in her hands.

A blonde, fidgety girl in trendy clothes, who Holly judged to be the youngest daughter, sat beside Emma. Her face was partly hidden beneath the brim of a stylish navy blue hat, and she made no secret of her boredom or of her desire to be elsewhere.

But it was the middle Bennet girl, the one sitting furthest from her father on the end of the aisle, who caught Holly’s attention.

This, she realised, must be Elizabeth Bennet.

Unlike her sisters, who whispered and giggled behind their hands at something amusing they’d just seen, Elizabeth stared straight ahead, looking neither to the left or the right. Her hair was neither dark nor light, but an indeterminate shade of brown. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap.

And her expression, Holly realised, was desolate.

She felt a surge of sympathy for the girl. She must’ve taken the news of Holly’s engagement to Hugh very hard. Guilt assailed her.

After all, it was because of her that Elizabeth had lost Hugh Darcy; if the two of them hadn’t met at her father’s department store and fallen in love last summer, Elizabeth might very well have ended up as Hugh’s fiancée, not her.

And that, Holly suspected as she saw Lady Darcy’s attention focused on Elizabeth, was the outcome Hugh’s mother would probably much prefer.

As if she, too, felt Holly’s eyes upon her, Elizabeth looked up and their gazes met. Unlike Emma, she didn’t smile, or nod.

Instead, just for a moment, she levelled a cold stare at Holly, leaving no doubt as to the direction of her feelings or the depth of her dislike for Hugh Darcy’s new fiancée.

Then she turned away, and the service began.

***

Afterwards, as service ended and everyone stopped to greet Father Crowley on the church steps, Holly left Hugh talking to a knot of parishioners and paused in the vestry as Lady Darcy called out to her.

‘Miss James, before you leave, there’s someone here I’d very much like you to meet.’

She turned, and found herself face to face with Mr Bennet and his trio of daughters.

‘It’s a very great pleasure, Miss James,’ their beaming father said, and took Holly’s hand in his. ‘I’m William Bennet and these young ladies are my daughters, Emma, Elizabeth and Charlotte.’

They smiled and greeted her in turn, except for Elizabeth, who gave Holly a curt nod and regarded her coolly.

‘I adore your outfit,’ Charlotte piped up, eyeing Holly’s black-and-white-striped dress and rope-soled espadrilles in envy. ‘Those shoes are Topshop, aren’t they?’

‘Yes. You have a very good eye.’

‘She ought to,’ Emma said, and rolled her eyes. ‘She’s always got her face stuck in a fashion magazine.’

‘Better that,’ Charlotte retorted, ‘than moping around the house like Anna bloody Karenina all the time.’

‘Girls, girls,’ Mr Bennet chided. He turned his attention to Holly. ‘Miss James, if you and Mr Darcy are free next Sunday, and if you’re so inclined, we’re having a small garden party at Litchfield Manor. I’d be honoured if you could attend.’

Hugh joined them and reached out to clasp Mr Bennet’s hand. ‘We’d be delighted, wouldn’t we, Holly?’

She glanced at Hugh, and then at Elizabeth, who turned pointedly away to greet a neighbour.

‘Yes, of course we would,’ Holly said, and managed a smile. She took a deep breath. ‘We’d love to come to your garden party next Sunday, Mr Bennet. I can’t think of anything I’d like better.’

Chapter 9

The minute she and her sisters finished lunch, Charli asked to be excused and hurried into her room to change. It was time to get ready for her meeting – because it wasn’t a date, exactly – with Ciaran Duncan.

They’d agreed, via several texts, to meet in Longbourne at the Carefree Cruises marina, where Ciaran said he had a surprise in store for her.

I love a mystery! Charli texted. What shld I wear?

Whatevr u like… but heels NOT recommended.

No heels? she thought in dismay as she rummaged through her closet for a pair of sandals. She didn’t own a pair of shoes that weren’t platforms or wedges or teetering semi-stilettos (changed into once out of Daddy’s sight). She hoped Ciaran wasn’t one of those blokes who liked to hike, or ride bicycles, or something equally sporty and tiresome.

Eventually she unearthed a pair of gladiator sandals she’d bought with her babysitting money and laced them up. The leather ties went half the way up her calves and looked very on trend with her bright yellow sundress.

And Charli loved to be on trend.

Next, she sat at her dressing table and applied pink lip gloss, feathered on a trace of blush and a flick of mascara, and sat back to survey the result.

She looked, she decided, sort of like Brigitte Bardot, and practised a sexy pout. Perfect. Ciaran would be bowled over by her sexy, girl-next-door outfit and her innocent, schoolgirl look.

Although she still actually was a schoolgirl, she thrust that thought firmly aside.

Charli felt a thrill of anticipation. Today would be brilliant, absolutely brilliant, because she’d be spending the afternoon with Ciaran Duncan, and she couldn’t wait.

She rubbed plenty of factor fifty sun cream onto her shoulders and chest, and dabbed a bit on her face for good measure – no pink lobster look for her, thank you very much – and stood up to go. Next on was a floppy-brimmed hat that looked very seventies boho and made her feel like a film star going incognito.

Finally, she chucked her mobile, a tube of sun cream, lip gloss, and sunglasses into a straw tote, and left for her first-ever almost-date with a major international film star.

***

When luncheon ended, Lord and Lady Darcy took their glasses of wine and went to sit outside and enjoy the sun. ‘Will you and Holly join us?’ Sarah Darcy asked Hugh as she paused beside the French doors that led to the terrace.

‘Thanks, but I think we’ll go into town and do a bit of sightseeing.’ He turned to her now. ‘How does that sound, darling?’

‘Perfect,’ she agreed, relieved at the thought of escaping Cleremont – and Hugh’s polite but frankly intimidating parents – at least for an afternoon. She took his arm. ‘It’s such a nice day, it’d be a shame to waste this gorgeous weather.’

‘Perhaps I should go along,’ Lady Sarah mused. ‘I know the village like the back of my hand. I could show you round.’

Holly felt her smile slip. Oh, dear God, no…

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ her husband said shortly. ‘Leave the two young lovebirds to it, Sarah. Nothing worse than a third bloody wheel. Besides, you know the sun gives you brown spots.’

She glared at him and, glass in hand, turned and stalked out through the French doors.

‘That was a close call,’ Hugh said, his voice low but amused as they crossed the hall to the front door. ‘Mum’s idea of sightseeing is visiting historical churches – unfortunately, they’re a dime a dozen round here – and reading the inscriptions on tombstones.’

‘Not exactly my idea of a rousing good time,’ Holly agreed with a grimace. ‘Where shall we go? Any ideas?’

‘I took the liberty of asking the cook to pack us a hamper with some wine and cheese – and chocolate – for later. I thought we might drive down to Longbourne and see the sights, perhaps have a picnic on the beach.’

‘Oh, you perfect, wonderful man!’ she cried, pleased. ‘You remembered – I do love my chocolate. Did you get the salted kind?’

‘I did.’

Holly rose up on her toes to kiss him. ‘That’s sweet… and incredibly romantic. I’ll just go upstairs and get my handbag.’

‘Be sure to bring plenty of sun cream,’ he pointed out as she hurried up the stairs. ‘And perhaps a hat.’

‘I will,’ she promised. ‘You be sure and bring that picnic hamper.’

How typically Hugh, Holly reflected, smiling as she turned away – always thinking of the practicalities.

***

‘Ah, Miss Bennet, you’re here. You look lovely.’

Charli looked up to see Ciaran standing before her on the dock, and any response she might have made froze in her throat.

From the top of his dark, windblown hair to the tip of his deck shoes, Ciaran Duncan was so gorgeous as to make her all but incapable of speech. He wore white jeans with a blue polo shirt, open at the neck and displaying his lightly tanned throat and defined abs to advantage. In his hand was a leather weekend bag.

Hermès, she couldn’t help but notice.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, eyeing the bag with a frown. ‘I can’t – erm, that is, I… have school tomorrow.’ Which was a total lie, but there was no way she could actually spend the night with Ciaran Duncan – no matter how much she might want just such an outcome.

Besides, her father would kill her.

He glanced down at the bag. ‘This? Filming resumes at Cleremont tomorrow. I have a change of clothing in here. I plan to stash it on that…’ – he indicated a yacht moored at the pier behind them, all gleaming brass and furled sails and polished teak decks – ‘until Saturday, when I’m taking part in the local Challenge Cup regatta. I intend to place… and win.’

‘Oh.’ Charli flushed with embarrassment at her unintended faux pas. ‘The regatta races, of course! I thought… that is, I saw your bag, and I just assumed…’

‘You thought I intended to behave like the cad you’ve no doubt heard I am,’ he finished, ‘and wine and dine you, and tempt you to stay the night with me, so I could have my wicked way with you.’ He regarded her without expression. ‘Am I right?’

Her blush deepened. ‘Y-yes,’ she confessed, thrilled and alarmed in equal measure by his words. ‘I suppose that’s exactly what I thought.’

‘Well, we will be boarding my yacht,’ he told her, and took her by the elbow to guide her around the cleats and uneven boards of the dock, ‘but I promise I’ll be on my very best behaviour. I merely thought to take you for an afternoon sail.’ He paused. ‘But if you have the slightest of doubts or hesitations…’

‘Oh, no, none at all,’ she assured him, hastily. ‘I’m really looking forward to it. Although I don’t know the first thing about sailing.’

‘Nor do I.’ He tucked her arm through his as they proceeded towards the gangplank that led to his yacht. ‘That’s why I’ve hired a very able-bodied and capable crew to handle the Meryton for me.’

‘How clever. Then all you have to do is sit back and enjoy yourself.’

‘Precisely,’ he said, and paused once again to bring her hand up to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘And I plan to enjoy myself very much this afternoon.’

As she allowed him to assist her up onto the gangplank, Charli smiled, and felt a thrill of excitement at his words.

What a pity that she couldn’t actually spend the night…

Chapter 10

With its palm trees and harbour bristling with boats of every description, and its warm, gentle breezes, Longbourne offered a tranquil and picturesque beauty that Holly found impossible to resist.

‘We might be anywhere along the Mediterranean,’ she mused as she strolled with Hugh along the pier. ‘It’s amazing.’ She stopped and let go of his hand and went to lean against the white iron railing to study the marina. ‘Just look at all of those expensive yachts,’ she added. ‘Where’s yours, by the way? I don’t see it.’

He shaded his eyes and looked out over the marina with an intent expression. ‘Sorry, you can’t see it from here.’ He pointed to the left. ‘The Pemberley’s over there, just out of view.’

She turned to him impulsively. ‘Do you think we might ride along with your father and Harry in the races on Saturday?’

Darcy shook his head. ‘They’ve already crewed the boat. They’ll want to run her as light and fast as possible, so passengers won’t be allowed, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh. How disappointing.’ Holly sighed. ‘I would’ve liked to go.’

‘Sorry, darling.’ He came to stand beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders. ‘We’ll go for a cruise soon, I promise. Just the two of us.’

‘I’ll hold you to that.’ She rested her head against his shoulder, enjoying the sun warming her face, breathing in the sea air and listening to the gentle slap of waves against the pier and the crying of gulls over the bay.

‘I love all of these gorgeous palm trees,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d swear we were on the Riviera.’

Hugh nodded, his attention focused on one of the yachts moored nearby. ‘They’re cabbage trees, brought over from New Zealand in the 1820s, I believe…’ He broke off in mid sentence and frowned.

‘What?’ Holly asked, and lifted her head. ‘What is it?’

‘Isn’t that Charlotte down on the dock?’ Hugh said, and pointed.

‘Charlotte Bennet, do you mean?’

‘Yes, down there, the girl in the yellow dress. I’m certain it’s her.’

She followed his finger and saw a pretty blonde girl in a sundress and floppy hat, eyes obscured by sunglasses, talking earnestly to someone on the dock. ‘She’s probably spending the afternoon with her sisters,’ Holly ventured, ‘larking around after church. You know how girls are…’

‘No.’ The word was firm, and terse. ‘She’s not with her sisters, or her father. She’s with Ciaran Duncan.’

‘What? You must be mistaken,’ Holly said. But just then the man she’d been talking to turned, and she saw that it was, indeed, Ciaran.

‘But… she’s barely eighteen! What could he possibly want with Charlotte?’ she wondered.

‘That,’ Hugh said grimly as he reached for his mobile, ‘is a very good question.’

***

It was late afternoon when the Meryton, its sails once again furled and its lines secured, cruised back into the harbour to dock.

‘Oh, Ciaran,’ Charli breathed as she raised her arms languidly above her head and leaned back, sated. ‘That was beyond amazing. Truly.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ He eyed the linen-draped table on the shaded upper aft deck where they sat, its surface laden with the remnants of a substantial afternoon tea. ‘Sorry we had to stick to tea and orange squash, but if I offered you anything stronger and you returned home inebriated, I daresay your father would not have approved.’

‘Oh, he likes a sherry now and again, and we’re each allowed a glass or two of wine at Christmas, but that’s all,’ she agreed, and sighed. ‘It’s tiresome, really.’

‘What is?’ He canted his brow upwards. ‘Not being able to drink yourself silly every day?’

‘No, of course not.’ She giggled. ‘I meant it’s tiresome being the former vicar’s daughter sometimes. After all, Daddy’s not the vicar any longer, and hasn’t been for two years; but all the local boys are afraid to do anything that might annoy him, like…’

She stopped, embarrassed, and her voice trailed away.

Ciaran leaned closer to her on the banquette. ‘Like… this?’ he murmured, and lowered his face beneath the brim of her hat to press his lips to hers.

It didn’t last long, as kisses went, and it involved only the merest touch of his firm, perfectly sculpted lips to hers; but it left Charli as dazzled as the sun dancing on the waves.

‘I won’t tell him if you won’t,’ she whispered, and sighed in pleasure as he leaned in for another kiss.

With a gentle thump, the yacht docked in its berth, and Charlotte was vaguely aware of the sound of feet running below and voices calling out as the Meryton was tied and secured. Beyond that, there was only Ciaran’s deliciously warm, sexy mouth on hers.

There was a shout somewhere below them on the pier, followed by the pounding of feet; Charli heard raised voices and felt the vibration of those same feet coming closer.

Ciaran drew away, annoyed. ‘What on earth…’

‘Get your bloody hands off her.’

Charlotte shaded her eyes against the sun as she looked up and gasped. ‘Harry! What are you doing here?’

Hugh’s younger brother, his fair face pink with sun and temper, glared at her. ‘Hugh told me you were hanging out on this tosser’s boat.’ He cast Ciaran a murderous glance. ‘I didn’t believe it until I saw it for myself.’

‘Sorry, Harry, but I don’t need your permission,’ Charli retorted, ‘or Hugh’s, to spend time with Ciaran. I’m an adult.’

‘No you’re not,’ he said grimly as he reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist. ‘Your little rendezvous – or date, or whatever it is – with Ciaran is over, as of right now. I’m taking you home.’

He pulled her up and out of her seat, and Charli let out a cry of outrage. ‘How dare you,’ she snapped, and struggled to free herself from his grip. ‘Let me go!’

‘Now, wait just a minute!’ Ciaran protested, and thrust back his deck chair as he confronted Harry. ‘I won’t have you coming aboard this yacht – without permission, I might add – and manhandling my guest.’

‘Your “guest” is my friend, Mr Duncan,’ he returned, his chest rising and falling beneath his striped polo shirt, ‘and I’ve known her a good deal longer than you. It’s time she came home.’ He turned to Charlotte, still struggling to wrench herself free. ‘Does your father know you’re here?’

‘No,’ she admitted, and glared at him. ‘He thinks I’m spending the afternoon with my friends.’ Her hand went lax in his. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

‘I thought as much.’ He turned and regarded Ciaran with contempt. ‘Stay away from her,’ he warned, ‘or I’ll take care of you myself.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Ciaran asked with equal parts amusement and disbelief.

‘No,’ Harry retorted, and shoved him in the chest, ‘it’s a promise.’

‘Stop it, both of you,’ Charli cried as Ciaran shoved him back. ‘What about me? I’m the one who gets to decide if I spend time with Ciaran, not either of you!’

‘It isn’t proper, you hanging out with him,’ Harry told her, his ginger brows drawn together in a scowl. ‘He’s bad news.’

‘Who are you to tell me what’s proper, or who to “hang out” with?’ she demanded. ‘What about Alice Mannerly, and Sarah Afton-Crimsbury? Oh, yes, I know all about them, and all of the other girls you’ve dated and discarded, Harry, because I read the tabs. That’s quite a double standard you’ve got going.’

‘Call it whatever you like,’ Harry gritted, ‘but I’m an adult, you’re not, and you’re coming home.’ He took her arm and pulled her forward. ‘Now.’

‘I’m not leaving! I’m not a child! Let go of me!’ she cried.

‘You heard her,’ Ciaran snapped, and stepped between Harry and Charlotte. ‘She doesn’t wish to leave.’

‘I’m warning you,’ Harry breathed. ‘Stay out of this, Duncan, and stay away from Charli as well, or…’

‘Or what?’ Ciaran challenged, his eyes narrowed.

Harry hurled himself at the actor, and Ciaran drew his arm back and punched him in the face with a resounding crack, sending him staggering back against the deck railing.

Charlotte let out a small scream as Harry straightened and launched himself straight at Ciaran.

‘Harry, no!’ she wailed. ‘Both of you, please, please stop!’

But as the two men grappled and exchanged punches, she realised they weren’t listening, and she knew she had to do something – anything – to stop them. Spying the pitcher of iced water on the table, she grabbed it and flung it on them, vaguely aware as she did so of the rapid click and whirr of a camera somewhere nearby.

She glanced up to see a man with darkish blond hair crouched on a neighbouring yacht, his face half hidden behind a Nikon with a telephoto lens. It was trained on the Meryton as he snapped a series of rapid-fire photos.

‘Stop,’ Charli shouted again, and levelled a glare at the man on the yacht. ‘Stop taking those pictures this instant!’

Chapter 11

As he drove them back to Cleremont, Hugh subsided into a frowning, broody silence.

‘What’s wrong?’ Holly asked him, and laid a hand on his arm. ‘It’s Charlotte, isn’t it?’ she added.

‘Yes. I’m worried about her, getting involved with that scoundrel Ciaran. I don’t like it. I’m only sorry we didn’t reach the dock in time for me to have a word with her.’

‘It wouldn’t have done any good,’ Holly pointed out. ‘You’d only have made Charlotte angry… at you. Not to mention more determined than ever to see Ciaran.’

She spoke from experience. Was it only last summer that the film star had worked his charm on her, convincing her he was madly in love and desperate to marry her?

Thank God she’d learned what he was really up to before it was too late.

Hugh let out a short breath. ‘Of course you’re right. At least I got hold of Harry and he promised to bring her home. But I do wonder if I shouldn’t tell Mr Bennet as well. He ought to know what his daughter’s up to.’

‘Well, she’s of age,’ Holly said, ‘and her father may already know that she’s seeing Ciaran, and may not mind.’

‘I doubt that.’ Hugh’s words were firm.

‘He hurt your sister very badly, didn’t he?’ she said after a moment.

His hands tightened on the wheel. ‘Phoebe was young and trusting, just like Charlotte, and Ciaran used her and discarded her like a – a toy he no longer wanted. Never mind that she was expecting his child.’

Holly laid a comforting hand on his arm. ‘I know. He even had the audacity to tell me that you’d treated his sister Jane in exactly the same way.’

‘Yes, of course, you know the story… most of it. He demanded she get rid of it. She did, but the guilt nearly destroyed her, and she tried to kill herself. She took a handful of sleeping pills,’ he added matter-of-factly. ‘Thank God she was found before it was too late.’

Her hand tightened on his arm. ‘Where’s your sister now?’

‘Happily married and living in Pembrokeshire,’ he answered, and smiled slightly. ‘With two rambunctious children and a husband who dotes on her.’ His smile faded. ‘And Ciaran Duncan, thank God, is nothing more than a bad memory.’

***

‘I don’t mean to pry, my dear, but what on earth is the matter?’

Lizzy Bennet looked up as her father, his face creased in concern, sat down across from her at the kitchen table.

The house was mercifully quiet; Charlotte and Emma had gone out to spend Sunday afternoon with their friends. The cat slept on the cushioned settle, and the only sound was the tick of the wall clock over the Aga.

Lizzy was glad of the lull; it meant there was no one to overhear her conversation with her father, no one to tease her or question her about things she didn’t wish to discuss.

She looked at Mr Bennet now and managed a wan smile. ‘Is it so obvious?’

‘Something’s bothering you, and has been since yesterday afternoon. What is it?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just feeling a bit sorry for myself, I suppose, that’s all.’

‘No.’ He shook his head gently but firmly. ‘There’s more to it than that, or I very much miss my guess. Something’s happened to upset you.’

She regarded him in exasperation. ‘There’s no fooling you, is there?’ She sighed. ‘It’s Hugh. Hugh Darcy.’

He blinked. ‘I should have thought his return would make you happy, not the opposite. The two of you were so close when you were younger, after all; inseparable, really…’ He stopped. ‘Ah,’ he murmured as understanding dawned, ‘I think, perhaps, I begin to see.’

‘I was so excited to hear that he was coming back home to Cleremont,’ she admitted, and laid her hands on the table. ‘It’s been eight years since we last saw each other.’ She frowned. ‘I suppose I hoped Hugh might… feel the same as he once did. I wasn’t at all prepared for the news that he’s engaged to Holly.’

Mr Bennet looked at her in dismay. ‘Oh, Lizzy, you can’t mean to say that you honestly expected a proposal from him…?’

‘Why not? Like you said, we’ve known each other for yonks, practically since we were in nappies. No one’s ever understood me the way Hugh does. No one ever will.’

‘The Darcys move in different circles than us, Lizzy,’ he said gently. ‘Surely you see that.’

‘I can’t believe you just said that,’ she exclaimed. ‘What a snob you are, Daddy.’

‘Not a snob, Lizzy, just a realist. Holly’s much more suited to marry into the Darcy family… with all that entails.’

‘Meaning that I’m not?’ Her eyes snapped.

‘Meaning that Holly comes from a wealthy family herself.’

Lizzy sniffed. ‘Department store wealth,’ she said in dismissal. ‘Trade, as they would’ve said in the old days. It’s not inherited.’

‘Now who’s the snob?’ he chided her. ‘Listen to yourself.’

After a moment, she relented, and gave him a grudging smile. ‘You’re right, of course. You’re always right.’

‘Not always. I was wrong about the last Premier Cup.’ He frowned. ‘Ah, well.’ He reached out to take her hands in his. ‘Eight years is a long time. People change. Their feelings change. Darcy never made you any promises, did he?’

She sighed. ‘No. I’m afraid his feelings for me exist only in my head.’

‘Give Holly a chance, Lizzy. You’ve taken a dislike to her and you don’t even know the girl. She seems like a nice enough person, and she’s obviously in love with Hugh. Make an effort to be pleasant to her at the garden party on Sunday, that’s all I’m suggesting.’

Lizzy grimaced but squeezed his hands in reassurance. ‘I make no promises that the two of us will ever become friends,’ she said, her words decided, ‘but I’ll make an honest effort to welcome her to Litchfield Manor, and be the perfect hostess.’

Mr Bennet shoved back his chair and beamed. ‘More than that, my darling Lizzy, I cannot ask.’

***

The next morning, the thump of the newspapers landing on the doorstep distracted Mr Bennet from the preparation of his tea.

He paused and glanced up at the ceiling. The girls were still upstairs sleeping and the house was blissfully quiet; with any luck, it would stay that way for a time. He looked forward to enjoying his tea and papers outside on the terrace in luxurious and uninterrupted solitude.

Humming the Te Deum absently under his breath, he went down the hallway and past the stairs to the front door, and opened it to survey the doorstep.

Was there any better moment, he thought happily as he bent down to retrieve the newspapers, than settling down with a cup of lemon tea and a pile of the latest newsprint to read?

But as he shut the door behind him and glanced down at the front page of the topmost paper, the Longbourne Tattler, his smile abruptly vanished, and his eyes widened behind his spectacles.

It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be.

Yet there it was, right before his eyes in grainy black and white. His youngest daughter, Charlotte – who, for some inexplicable reason, was on Ciaran Duncan’s private yacht, the Meryton – stood by in wide-eyed shock as the film star reared back and punched Harry Darcy squarely in the jaw.

But worse than that – if such a thing were possible – was a second, smaller photograph, of the film star kissing his youngest daughter…

…for the Tattler’s readers, not to mention all of South Devon, to see.

Chapter 12

‘”WICKHAM CLOCKS DARCY”,’ Mr Bennet muttered, retracing his steps back down the hallway to the kitchen as he read the headline aloud. ‘”BENNET BEAUTY TO BLAME?”’

All thoughts of a cup of tea and a quiet perusal of the day’s news vanished in the wake of the 36-point tabloid headline. This was as unexpected – and every bit as unwelcome – as the crack of Ciaran’s fist into young Harry’s jaw must have been.

He picked up his tea and tossed the paper on the kitchen table, and with a grim expression he sat down and began to read.

***

On Monday morning the sun woke Holly, penetrating a gap in the brocade drapes, and turned the blue toile that papered her bedroom a warm, golden hue.

She yawned and opened her eyes. Everything in the room was white and blue and very feminine, with a shabby chic sensibility. The only difference being that nothing in Cleremont was remotely ‘shabby’ – every stick of furniture, every candlestick and cushion, was an authentic (and undoubtedly priceless) antique.

She had to hand it to Lady Darcy – the woman knew how to decorate a room.

Holly stretched her arms over her head, luxuriating in the ridiculously high thread count of the Egyptian cotton sheets, the broderie anglaise coverlet and matelassé blanket piled on her bed. Nights in these old English houses, even in summer, could get chilly.

How much nicer it would be, she thought grumpily as she sat up and swung her legs out of bed, to spend those chilly nights wrapped up in Hugh’s arms…

Oh, well. Lady D had put paid to that notion.

It wouldn’t be proper for her and Hugh to sleep together (at least, not at Cleremont) before marriage, after all; the proprieties must be observed. At least, that’s what Hugh said. Personally, Holly thought it was all a lot of old-fashioned nonsense and wished the proprieties would go straight to hell.

Today Hugh had told her they were going horseback riding on the property with Lizzy. She stood now in front of the wardrobe and flung open the doors to survey her clothes in an effort to find something suitable to wear.

How on earth did one dress to go riding when one hadn’t the proper clothing for it?

Holly frowned. She didn’t have a pair of breeches, or boots, or even a proper hacking jacket… unless you counted that Barbour jacket she’d once borrowed from her sister, and accidentally torn the lining.

Five years on, and Hannah still mentioned it every year at Christmas dinner.

There was a discreet knock on the door. ‘Miss James? Are you awake?’

Holly froze. It was Hugh’s mother. She hurried to the door and opened it. ‘Good morning, Lady Darcy. Yes. Please, come in.’

‘Hugh mentioned late yesterday that the two of you are going riding today.’ She strode in, and Holly noticed she had several items of clothing draped over her arm. She eyed her future daughter-in-law expectantly.

‘Erm, yes. That’s the plan.’ Dear God, Holly thought, I hope Lady D doesn’t decide to come along with us as a bloody chaperone, or something.

‘It occurred to me that you might not have the proper riding attire. So I brought these’ – she held out her arm – ‘in hopes they might prove useful. There’s a pair of Phoebe’s old jodhpurs, and a hacking jacket. I think you’re both about the same size. If you need boots,’ she added before Holly could open her mouth to thank her, ‘there’s an assortment of wellies and riding boots by the back kitchen door. Help yourself.’

‘Oh, thank you! I was just wondering what to wear-’

‘Don’t mention it. I’ll see you both at breakfast?’

Holly nodded, and without another word Hugh’s mother deposited the clothes on the bed and took her leave.

‘Well,’ Holly muttered as she picked up the discarded jodhpurs and eyed them in relief, ‘at least that’s one problem sorted.’

With a bit more enthusiasm, she began to get dressed.

***

The dining room was empty when Hugh and Holly entered for breakfast.

‘Looks like we’re the first ones down this morning,’ he observed as he went to the sideboard and picked up a plate. ‘More eggs for me.’

‘Not if I get there first. I’m starving.’ Holly lifted the silver-domed chafing dish of scrambled eggs and piled her plate high.

‘You’d best tuck in, then,’ he agreed. ‘You’ll burn it off riding. I plan to give you and your mount a good workout.’ He leaned over to kiss her.

She couldn’t help but notice that he looked utterly yummy in his breeches and boots and white polo shirt.

‘Perhaps we should go back upstairs,’ she said, and waggled her brows suggestively, ‘and you can mount me.’

‘Holly,’ Hugh said, frowning as he cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder at the door, ‘careful what you say. Anyone might walk in.’

‘Wouldn’t that give your mother a turn,’ she teased, ‘hearing me talk about sex right in front of the eggs and soldiers?’

He did not share her amusement. ‘Holly, really.’

Her smile faded. ‘You’re annoyed with me! Hugh, I’m only joking.’

‘There’s a time and a place.’ He turned away and speared a sausage with a grim expression.

Holly felt a flicker of irritation. ‘Well. I’m sorry. That’s me put in my place, then.’ She reached for a piece of toast with the silver tongs and dropped it on her plate.

He let out a short breath and turned back to her. ‘No, I’m sorry.’ He sighed. ‘Whenever I’m here I revert back to the perfectly behaved specimen I was expected to be, growing up – “Master Darcy”.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘He had excellent manners but no sense of humour, I’m afraid.’

Instantly, her anger fled. ‘Poor you. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, growing up in a place like this.’

‘It had its perks. It was an easy matter to disappear when I didn’t want to be found, for example.’

Holly laughed. ‘There is that. Do you like my outfit?’ she asked as she carried her plate to the table. ‘Do I look suitably horsey?’

Hugh leaned over and gave her a quick kiss before he sat down next to her. ‘You look beautiful, as always.’

‘Very good answer.’

‘Good morning, everyone.’ Hugh’s father strode into the dining room with his wife following behind. ‘I trust you slept well, Miss James?’

‘Holly, please,’ Holly replied, ‘and yes, very well, Lord Darcy. Thank you.’ How could she do anything but sleep well, she thought irritably, with Hugh in the east wing and herself stuck in the west?

‘Going riding, are you?’ Hugh’s father asked as he went to the silver coffee urn and reached for a cup.

‘Yes. Lizzy’s invited us for a hack across the property later this morning,’ Hugh answered.

‘I’ve loaned Holly a few of Phoebe’s old things so she has the proper riding attire,’ Lady Darcy added, and glanced at Holly. ‘I realise, living in London, you likely don’t have the right sort of clothes for the country.’

Honestly, Holly thought with a flicker of irritation, how did Hugh’s mother always manage to make her feel like Eliza Doolittle, trying – and failing – to pass herself off as a lady?

‘My family actually do own a country place, in Chipping Norton,’ she pointed out. ‘I even had a horse when I was younger, for a time.’

There, Holly thought. Take that, you smug cow.

‘Where’s Harry this morning?’ Lord Darcy enquired as he sat down. ‘Haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.’

‘I’m here.’

They all looked up from their plates then as Harry, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and sockless loafers, appeared in the doorway.

‘Harry,’ his mother cried, and half rose in her seat, one hand pressed to her throat. ‘My God! What’s happened to you?’

Holly let out a gasp.

Harry, his handsome face usually so open and friendly, was scowling.

And no wonder, Holly realised in dismay, as she took in the twin purple bruises that marred his jaw and surrounded his blackened left eye.

Chapter 13

‘Harry!’ his father exclaimed, and flung down his napkin in astonishment. ‘What the devil happened? You look hideous.’

‘You should see the other bloke,’ Harry said, in a weak attempt at humour.

No one laughed.

‘Don’t tell me you got into a fight,’ Lady Darcy said in dismay. ‘Harry, honestly! Fighting is terribly déclassé.’

‘I think I know what happened,’ Hugh said as he set his cup down. ‘You got into an altercation with Ciaran Duncan yesterday, didn’t you?’

With a sigh, Harry dragged out a chair and sat slumped at the table. ‘Yeah. I did.’

‘What? You got into a fistfight with that… that awful man?’ his mother gasped. ‘How could you?’

‘I went to the Longbourne marina yesterday to get the Pemberley ready for the race on Saturday.’

‘I told you I already did that,’ Hugh pointed out.

‘I know, but I had to make sure everything was in order, didn’t I? Hugh was there, too,’ he told his mother, ‘and he saw Charli. She was on Ciaran’s yacht.’

Lady Darcy’s eyes widened. ‘Do you mean to say that Charlotte Bennet was on Ciaran’s private yacht? Oh, dear. I wonder if her father knew?’

‘No,’ Harry said grimly, ‘he didn’t. Which I already suspected, so I went aboard the second the Meryton docked and demanded to know what Ciaran was up to.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said it was none of my business. I told him it was my business, and Charli was my friend and she was coming with me, and that I was taking her home. She refused, and Ciaran got in the middle, and, well…’ he shrugged. ‘Punches were thrown.’

‘Oh, no.’ Lady Sarah paled and reached for her orange juice. ‘I need something stronger,’ she muttered. ‘Orange juice alone just won’t do.’ She picked up a silver bell and rang it. ‘Someone bring me some vodka.’

‘It gets worse.’

Harry’s father glowered down the table at him. ‘How could it possibly get any worse?’

With a grimace, Harry met his eyes. ‘The Longbourne Tattler got wind of it somehow, and there’s a photograph, and it’s on the front page of this morning’s paper. And,’ he added glumly, ‘Ciaran’s threatening to file a lawsuit against me. For assault.’

Hugh leaned back in his chair in disgust. ‘I’ve no doubt he’s already filed it, knowing Ciaran. This is just the sort of thing he lives for.’

‘It just gets better and better,’ Lord Darcy snapped. ‘It’s not enough Duncan dragged our family through the mud once before! What on earth were you thinking, Harry? You young idiot!’

‘I suppose I shouldn’t have got involved,’ Harry admitted, and sighed. ‘It was incredibly stupid.’

‘Yes,’ his father agreed curtly, ‘it was.’

‘No, it wasn’t.’ Holly spoke up in Harry’s defence. She turned to him. ‘You did a brave thing, standing up to Ciaran Duncan.’

Harry’s eye – the one that wasn’t purple and nearly swollen shut – met hers. ‘Thanks.’ He gave her a crooked, but very grateful, smile.

‘He’s a womaniser and a nasty piece of work, and I know it only too well,’ Holly said. ‘Charlotte’s far too young to resist the attention of someone like him, and if she falls for his lies, he’ll use her and toss her aside like the – the paper in the bottom of a bird cage.’

‘You sound as if you speak from experience, Holly,’ Lady Darcy said, and lifted her brow quizzically.

‘No need to go into all of that,’ Hugh interjected, and laid a hand protectively atop Holly’s. ‘It’s in the past now.’

‘No.’ Holly regarded her fiancé, and then Lady Sarah, without expression. ‘No, it’s all right. Your family deserves to know. And I’ve nothing to be ashamed of, except for my own stupidity.’

In as few words as possible, she told them all how Ciaran had romanced her in Manhattan the previous summer, how he’d dazzled her with expensive dinners, private box seats at the theatre, a cruise in New York Harbour on a hired yacht, and repeated declarations of love, until she agreed to his proposal of marriage and wore his engagement ring on her finger.

‘It was a beautiful ring,’ Holly finished. ‘I was deliriously happy. But then I found out he didn’t really love me,’ she added, and fidgeted with the stem of her water glass. ‘Not one jot. It was all to do with money.’ She looked up. ‘My family’s money.’

‘God, I’m sorry,’ Harry said, and scowled. ‘He’s an arse. It seems some things never change. Take what he did to Phoebe, for instance…’

‘It’s most distressing,’ Lady Darcy cut in quickly. ‘All of it.’ She gave her youngest son a quelling glance. ‘But there’s no need to go into personal family matters at the dinner table, Harry.’ She turned back to Holly. ‘I’m just relieved that you realised your fiancé’s true intentions before you actually married him.’

‘Yes. I count myself very lucky.’ Holly smiled at Hugh’s brother. ‘That’s why I’m glad Harry confronted Ciaran. You prevented her making a very big mistake.’

‘That’s me,’ he said wryly, ‘defender of virtue. Champion of teenage girls everywhere.’

‘Hardly that,’ Hugh retorted.

Holly pushed her chair back. ‘I think it’s wonderful, what Harry did. Now, if you’ll all excuse us, I’m taking him into the kitchen to have that eye looked after.’

‘The kitchen?’ he echoed, surprised. ‘Don’t you mean the local A&E?’

‘No. That eye needs an ice pack on it, and straight away,’ Holly said firmly. ‘A bag of frozen peas will do nicely. Come along, you can show me where the kitchen is.’

Harry grinned, then winced. He glanced at Hugh as he stood to follow her. ‘Your fiancée is a bit bossy, isn’t she?’

‘What about our plans to ride?’ Hugh called out as Holly headed towards the door. ‘Elizabeth’s arranged to meet us at the stables later this morning.’

‘And we’ll be there,’ she informed her fiancé firmly, ‘after I take care of poor Harry’s eye.’

***

‘Good morning, Daddy,’ Charlotte said, and leaned down to kiss his cheek as she entered the kitchen. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Mr Bennet looked up from the table, where he was sitting with a cup of tea – which had gone cold now – and the newspapers.

‘I slept very well, thank you,’ he replied evenly.

‘Fab. I slept like a top,’ she confided as she reached into a cupboard for a mug and switched on the kettle. ‘What does that mean, anyway, to “sleep like a top”? Tops don’t sleep, after all; they spin.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know.’

If his daughter noticed his lack of enthusiasm for the topic at hand, she gave no sign.

‘I’m surprised Lizzy and Emma aren’t up yet. I’m usually the last one out of bed.’ She plunked a tea bag in her mug. ‘I thought I’d go to Longbourne again today,’ she added, her words casual, ‘and hang out with the girls. We had such a good time yesterday.’

‘Evidently. It seems you had such a very good time,’ Mr Bennet went on, and lifted up one of the newspapers on the table, ‘that it made the front page of the Tattler.’

‘What…?’ Charlotte turned, mug in hand and surprise on her face. ‘What are you talking about?’

But as her gaze came to rest on the photograph of her, and Ciaran, and Harry, and a smaller one of her and Ciaran snogging on the aft deck, her words trailed away and her eyes widened in horror.

She suddenly remembered the sandy-haired bloke with the Nikon, madly snapping photos of Ciaran and Harry fighting from another yacht docked nearby.

‘I think I can safely say,’ Mr Bennet pronounced as he tossed the offending paper down and regarded her balefully over the top of his spectacles, ‘that you’re not going anywhere today, Charlotte, nor for the remainder of the month – because you’re not leaving this house.’

Chapter 14

‘What?’ Charlotte cried in outrage. ‘You can’t do that!’

‘I most certainly can. What were you thinking,’ he snapped, his face dark with anger, ‘visiting that film star on his private yacht… alone?’

‘He invited me out for an afternoon cruise, that’s all! It was nothing.’

‘Nothing? Then why didn’t you tell me about it?’ her father demanded. ‘Why did you not ask my permission before you went gallivanting off to Longbourne to spend the day with that womanising scoundrel?’

‘I – I didn’t think you’d mind.’ Which was nonsense, of course. She had known Daddy would mind horribly, so much so that he’d never have let her go off to meet Ciaran.

‘Of course I mind!’ Mr Bennet scraped his chair back and stood. ‘I very much mind. I’m disappointed in you, Charlotte. Not least because you snuck off to meet that lying Lothario; now you’re dissembling in an effort to absolve yourself of any wrongdoing. Well, it won’t do.’

‘What’s going on?’

Charlotte looked up to see Lizzy and Emma, still in their T-shirts and pyjama bottoms, crowded together at the kitchen door with startled faces.

‘Nothing,’ she snapped. ‘Daddy and I are having a… disagreement, that’s all.’

‘We’ll say no more about it,’ Mr Bennet said, his face grim as he gathered up the papers and made his way to the back door. ‘I shall be on the terrace, reading the rest of the newspapers in pursuit of the peace and tranquillity I’m so rarely afforded. Kindly do not disturb me, any of you.’

And with that he left, slamming the door behind him, leaving his daughters staring after him in astonishment.

***

Lizzy Bennet hurried across the field and climbed over the stile that separated her father’s property from Cleremont. She was nearly as anxious to put distance between herself and the tension she’d left behind at Litchfield Manor as she was to see Hugh Darcy…

…and Holly, too, of course.

As she strode towards the house, her battered Dublin tall boots making quick work of the trip, Lizzy smirked. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth today as she furthered her acquaintance with Darcy’s fiancée.

She planned to keep her promise to her father and be all that was agreeable to Holly – and then some.

And if, in the process, she happened to show Miss James up in the saddle – which, given the fact that the girl was a Londoner, shouldn’t be difficult – then so much the better.

Good thing she’d had free use of the Cleremont stables since she was a girl. It afforded her plenty of opportunity to ride, and their father had even plumped up for riding lessons for a couple of years. She could soar over a jump, post a trot with ease, and canter and gallop with the best of them.

Holly and Hugh might be engaged, she thought now as she neared the kitchen entrance where they’d all agreed to meet. Holly might be more fashionable, and more adept at making conversation and clever remarks.

But I, Lizzy thought smugly, can ride like a dream, and I have a bedroom full of ribbons and trophies to prove it. Hugh loved nothing more than a good bracing gallop across the fields.

She smiled as she brushed a bit of grass from her breeches. She might not have Holly’s money or connections. She might not have her fashion sense or even, at the moment, a job.

But she had determination in spades. And she intended to do everything she could to unseat Miss Holly James, and make Darcy see that he’d chosen the wrong girl.

***

As the morning sun inched higher in the sky outside her window, Charlotte rested her elbows on the sill and gazed down into the garden below, chin in hand, and scowled.

It wasn’t fair.

Look at them down there now, she thought resentfully, Emma and Daddy, sipping their coffee and tea and reading the newspapers in companionable silence. As if everything were wonderful and right in the world. As if her own world wasn’t ruined, thanks to the unreasonable and unjust actions of her father.

And now, thanks to his ridiculous edict, she couldn’t even see Ciaran. It was beyond unfair – it was cruel.

She flounced away from the window. The thought of spending the rest of the day – not to mention the rest of the summer – in this room, charming as it was, with its dressing table littered with cosmetics and its garden view and its walls plastered with posters of boy bands and sexy footballers – well, it drove her mad with frustration.

What on earth would she do with all of that time on her hands?

I’ll be filming at Cleremont on Monday, Ciaran had said yesterday while they were cruising on the Meryton. I hope to see you again.

Not if Daddy has anything to say about it, she thought now. She sat before her dressing table mirror and regarded herself disconsolately. Ciaran had told her to drop by to watch the filming anytime she liked, that he’d put in a word with the set manager.

Fat lot of good it was going to do her now.

Her resentful gaze went to the far window, the one with the deep sill that Emma had fashioned into a window seat with a comfy cushion. Kneeling on the cushion and looking out now, Charli saw the apple orchard, its blossoms already fallen and carpeting the ground in pink and white. An oak tree grew nearby, its branches reaching up to her window, and she smiled.

She’d often shimmied down those branches as a child, sneaking out of her room to go and play when she was grounded for some infraction or other…

Her eyes narrowed. She suddenly had a wonderful, crazy, brilliant idea.

She might be grounded. And she might not be able to leave the house in the normal way, via the front or back doors.

But her window – and the thick branches of the oak tree just outside – waited, ready to help her leave the dull environs of her bedroom behind, and go to Cleremont to visit Ciaran Duncan.

***

The horses were ready, tacked up and waiting in the stable yard, tails twitching. Holly eyed them uneasily. There was a chestnut, a dapple-grey mare, and a beautiful seventeen-hand bay hunter named Thor.

Just the sight of him made her legs turn to jelly.

‘Nice,’ Lizzy offered as she caught sight of Holly in her breeches, boots and hacking jacket. She tossed her a helmet. ‘But you’ll need this.’

‘Thank you.’ She put the helmet on and adjusted the strap snugly under her chin.

‘Have you ridden before, Holly?’ Lizzy enquired as she did a quick safety check of the bay’s tack.

‘Not for ages, since I was twelve. I grew up in London, so horses weren’t a big part of my life. But I’ve had a few lessons. I’ve even been in a couple of gymkhanas.’ She managed a smile. ‘Of course, I hope we won’t be doing anything too… erm, challenging today, will we?’ she asked with a trace of nervousness.

‘No, of course not!’ Lizzy assured her. ‘Hugh and I might jump a hedge or two along the way, but we won’t expect you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.’ She paused, her hand resting lightly on the bay’s girth. ‘If you don’t want to go, we completely understand.’ She glanced over at Hugh. ‘Don’t we, Darcy?’

He mounted his chestnut in a single, fluid motion and nodded. ‘Of course. You mustn’t feel pressured to go along with us, darling. If you’d rather stay here…?’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Holly spoke with far more confidence than she felt. ‘I’m looking forward to it. A nice, relaxing hack across the fields is just what I need.’

And as she followed Lizzy’s lead and mounted the dapple grey, Holly was glad of the lessons her mother had insisted on, and the gymkhanas she’d taken part in, even if she’d never actually won anything, even if (for that matter) she’d never even placed.

At least she wasn’t a complete wally when it came to horses.

But as they left the stable yard and went through the gate and into the fields, and Hugh and Lizzy urged their mounts from a canter to a gallop, it was all Holly could do to remember those long-ago lessons as she gripped the reins and gritted her teeth and did her level best to keep up.

Chapter 15

After forty-five minutes of riding, Holly’s legs quivered and her face had gone red as a beetroot.

But to her surprise, she was enjoying herself.

How much more pleasant it was, she marvelled, to ride across Cleremont’s property, with its hedges and open fields and the scent of honeysuckle adrift on the air, than to circle round and round posting trots in a boring old riding ring.

It was brilliant.

And although she knew she’d be tired tonight, and her muscles would scream in protest at what she was currently putting them through, it was all worth it just to see Hugh smiling over at her from his seat atop the chestnut stallion.

‘Time to head back, I think,’ Lizzy called out, reining the bay in closer as they dropped back into a canter. ‘We don’t want to miss elevenses.’

‘I’m for that,’ Holly said fervently, and groaned. ‘My backside’s gone numb and I’m hungrier than I’ve ever been in my life.’

They returned to the stable yard twenty minutes later, and after handing the horses over to be groomed and watered, they trooped to the terrace and tucked in to platters of cookies, granola bars, and a pitcher of pomegranate juice with gusto.

‘You did really well,’ Lizzy said approvingly, regarding Holly across the glass-topped wrought-iron table in admiration. ‘You handled Lady beautifully.’

‘She did the work, I just left her to it,’ Holly said modestly. But a part of her was thrilled by Elizabeth Bennet’s words. After all, Lizzy was an excellent horsewoman.

‘Yes, you were amazing, darling,’ he agreed, and leaned over to kiss her. ‘One would never know you hadn’t sat a horse in twelve years.’

‘If you like,’ Lizzy offered, ‘we can practise your jumping when we’re done here.’ She looked at Hugh. ‘Are those jumps still set up in the training ring?’

He nodded. ‘I believe so.’

‘Good. Are you game, Miss James?’ Lizzy asked, and raised a quizzical brow.

Holly toyed with the stem of her glass. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Lizzy was throwing down a challenge.

‘Certainly,’ she agreed. Her heart kicked up a notch as she added, ‘I could do with a little practice. Thanks.’

‘Oh, no thanks necessary,’ Lizzy assured her as she drained her juice and stood up. ‘We’ll put you through your paces, never fear. By tomorrow, when we ride again, you’ll be bounding over hedges and stiles right along with the two of us.’ She smiled over at Hugh.

Holly stood as well. ‘Okay. No time like the present,’ she said gamely. ‘Although…’ she rested a hand gingerly on her rump. ‘I’m feeling the effects already.’

‘Wait until tonight,’ Lizzy said, and grinned. ‘You’ll think you’re dying, you’ll be so sore. A bit of stretching and a long, hot bath, and you’ll be as right as rain by tomorrow. Come on, then,’ she added briskly, ‘let’s go get in a few practice jumps before I leave.’

***

When Lizzy returned to Litchfield Manor later that afternoon, her father was in the kitchen, humming along to Radio 3 as he prepared a fresh batch of scones.

‘Rosemary and thyme,’ he informed his daughter as she trooped in and sank onto a chair at the kitchen table. ‘I thought I’d try my hand at a savoury scone for a change.’

Flour, salt, sticks of butter and baking powder cluttered the counter; a rolling pin and a floury dishcloth lay abandoned on the table. The scent of rosemary filled the air as the first batch of scones baked in the oven.

‘They smell good,’ Lizzy said. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Well, Emma’s gone off to the village to fetch a few things I needed from the grocery,’ he said as the oven timer dinged and he thrust a potholder over his hand, ‘and your sister Charlotte’ – he bent down to open the oven and retrieved the tray of scones – ‘is upstairs in her room, sulking, no doubt.’

‘Yes, about that,’ Lizzy ventured, and frowned. ‘What on earth happened this morning? Em and I woke up to the sound of you and Charli shouting at each other.’

Mr Bennet deposited the tray of scones on top of the stove. ‘My apologies. I’m normally a fairly calm person, you know,’ he added as he removed the potholder and sat down across from her. ‘But I have to admit that Charlotte’s antics yesterday pushed me beyond the limits.’

‘Why?’ Lizzy asked, alarmed. ‘What did she do?’

He levelled a glance at her and sighed. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard. It was in this morning’s Tattler, on the front page. That’s one of the reasons why I was so… irate.’

‘No, I was out riding all morning with Hugh and Holly. How did Charli end up in the newspapers?’

Briefly he explained that her sister had snuck off to spend the afternoon with the film star next door, Ciaran Duncan, on his private yacht. ‘And I never would’ve known, either, if Harry Darcy hadn’t seen her and gone aboard to fetch her home. Mr Duncan punched him in the face for his trouble.’

‘Oh, Lord.’ Lizzy subsided into silence, overcome with chagrin both at her sister’s actions, and her stupidity.

‘It’s at times like these,’ Mr Bennet admitted, ‘that I miss your mother the most. She would’ve known what to do, how to handle the situation.’

She stretched out her hand and laid it gently atop his floury one. ‘You’re doing a brill job, Daddy. Mum would’ve got into a screaming match with Charli and probably would’ve slapped her for being such an idiot.’ She let out a breath of frustration. ‘Honestly, what’s wrong with that girl? She hasn’t an ounce of sense.’

‘I suppose it’s just the fact that she’s young and reckless, with raging hormones thrown in for good measure. At any rate,’ he added as he scraped his chair back, ‘I’ve grounded her for the remainder of the summer. She’s very put out with me,’ he said, and chuckled. ‘She slammed her bedroom door so hard, the portrait of your Aunt Henrietta fell right off the wall.’

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