A Weekend with Mr Darcy: The perfect summer read for Austen addicts!

A crystal vase of yellow and white roses stood on the deep windowsill and scented the room with their delicate fragrance. The walls were painted in a shade Warwick recognized as verdigris - a willowy green that was in keeping with the period of the house and gave the room a wonderfully fresh feel. It was a beautiful room.

But Warwick wasn’t at Purley Hall to stand admiring his bedroom. He had to register and see if Katherine had arrived yet so, quickly changing his shirt, he checked his reflection in the mirror - more out of fear that something might be out of place than for vanity - and headed down the grand staircase to where a table had been set for registration.

‘The dreaded name badges,’ Warwick said to himself. He wouldn’t have time to create yet another pseudonym for himself now, he thought. He was to be Warwick Lawton this weekend. His fate was sealed.

There were about a dozen people around the registration table and more were arriving by the minute. Warwick stood back at a respectable distance and watched the goings on. As a writer, he was used to observing and his height gave him the advantage of being able to see everything. There was an elderly lady by the table and the young girl on reception was quizzing her about her name badge.

‘Norris?’ the girl said.

‘Yes,’ the lady with cloudy white hair said. ‘Like in Mansfield Park.’

‘Doris Norris?’

‘Yes,’ the lady said with a cheery smile. ‘I know what you’re thinking. It’s not very likely, is it? But I wasn’t always a Norris, you see. I was Doris Webster. Perfectly normal. But then I met Henry Norris and had the misfortune to fall in love with him. So here I am - Doris Norris.’

The young girl grinned and Warwick could see that she was doing her very best not to laugh. He watched for a moment as Doris Norris pinned her name badge onto her pink cardigan but then a young woman by the door caught his attention. She had long blonde hair which corkscrewed down to her waist. Her face was pale with perfect features set into a slightly anxious expression as if she was asking herself, what do I do now? She was wearing a pretty white dress dotted with daisies and her feet were encased in a pair of silver sandals. Warwick watched her as she looked around the hall, tiny white teeth biting her lower lip, and there was a part of him that wanted to go and help her -to take her bag and say, come this way, but the writer in him stayed perfectly still and watched.

That was one of the things about being a writer - one always stood slightly apart, listening and watching. It was hard to tell, sometimes, if one were really alive, for life seemed to be happening to everybody else and yet the writer’s lot seemed to be one of permanent stillness. Had Jane Austen felt like that? he wondered. With neither husband nor children of her own, had she felt that her role had been to watch others? And had that made her happy? Her books made other people happy, that was unquestionable, but had they made her happy?

Warwick shook his head. He might well be at a Jane Austen conference but he wasn’t ready to get all philosophical just yet. He wanted to have some fun. He wanted to see Katherine. He could feel his pulse accelerate at the thought of seeing her for the first time. She wouldn’t know who he was so he couldn’t call out to her across the room. He would have the chance to watch her. Wasn’t that his favourite role? He could get to know a little bit about her before he said hello.

He smiled. He certainly had the advantage in this relationship, he thought.

‘My wheels seem to be jammed,’ a voice suddenly boomed across the hallway.

Warwick’s eyes fixed on the sort of woman who could only be described as a battleaxe. She had an enormous bosom which was thrust out before her indignantly and a face which seemed to be carved out of angry granite. Warwick watched as she struggled with her suitcase and decided that he’d better do the gentlemanly thing and offer some assistance. He was in training for a hero, after all, wasn’t he?

Chapter Eight

Once Katherine climbed the steps and entered Purley, the naughty novels of Lorna Warwick would have to be forgotten as the weekend promised wall to wall Jane Austen. There was no room here for the imitators, the pastiches or the sequels - however good they might be. This was Purley Hall and nothing but the original Jane Austen was accepted.

Katherine wondered if Lorna was going to be there and dearly hoped she would be. She felt quite sure she’d enjoy the experience. They’d talked so much about Austen’s novels in their letters to each other and Katherine knew that Lorna’s presence would have made the weekend an absolute treat. How much they would have to talk about. They would probably be like a couple of naughty students, chatting and giggling at the back of the lecture rooms, swapping comments and anecdotes.

I wonder what she looks like? Katherine thought as she entered the grand hall of Purley, marvelling at the double staircase and smelling the intoxicating lilies that sat in their vases like marble sculptures above the fireplace. It didn’t really matter what she looked like - Katherine knew that and yet she’d still Googled the name, only to come up with innumerable images of Lorna Warwick novels from around the world. There were no photographs of the writer - not even on her website.

Anyway, she wasn’t going to be here so what did it matter? Looking around the room, one thing was certain - Katherine might not have any idea of what Lorna looked like but she knew that, were she attending the conference, she was sure to recognize her immediately. It would be like old friends meeting up after years of separation.

She made her way towards the crowded reception desk and waited her turn and, once she’d been given her key, she dared to ask if Lorna Warwick had arrived.

‘Let me see,’ the girl on reception said. ‘No, there’s no Lorna Warwick here this weekend.’

Katherine sighed and left the desk.

It was then that she heard a voice that chilled her spine. Oh, no, she thought as she turned round and saw the woman she’d dreaded seeing: Mrs Soames. They’d crossed paths before and Katherine remembered all too well the woman who could cloud over the loveliest day just by entering a room. She was the kind of woman who found something to complain about in even the simplest of tasks. Nothing was beyond reproach whether it was a day’s excursion or a cup of tea. Mrs Soames was bound to find something in it that was worth complaining about.

Katherine did her best to sneak by her as she was shouting some orders at a man who seemed to be crawling underneath her suitcase. She could just make out a pair of long legs ending in smart brown leather shoes poking out from one side of the enormous suitcase and the top of a tousled head of hair at the other end.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Mrs Soames said. ‘That’s not going to do any good!’

‘I think I can loosen it here,’ the man’s voice said. ‘Yes, that ought to do the trick.’

Katherine watched as the dark-haired man stood back up to full height, pushing the suitcase in her direction as he did so.

‘Ouch!’ Katherine screamed. ‘My foot!’

‘Oh my God! I’m so sorry,’ the man said, turning round to look at her. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No, I’m not okay. You’ve run over my foot with a two-tonne suitcase!’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Mrs Soames said. ‘Oh, it’s you, Dr Roberts.’ There was no trace of concern in her voice for Katherine’s poor foot.

Katherine bent down to rub her bruised toes.

‘Can I help you?’ the man asked, his bright eyes filled with concern.

‘You’re meant to be helping me!’ Mrs Soames said, her mouth set in a firm line.

‘Of course,’ the man said. ‘Look, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do—’

‘Just leave me alone,’ Katherine said, wincing as she hobbled away with her own suitcase.

Robyn took a deep breath and approached the young girl at the desk.

‘Hello. I’m here for the conference.’

‘What’s your name?’ the girl asked.

‘Robyn. Robyn Love.’

‘Oh! What a gorgeous name!’

Robyn gave a shy smile. ‘I’m usually told how strange it is.’

‘I’ve met stranger,’ the girl said with a giggle and Robyn wondered what she meant. ‘You’ve got a welcome pack?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

The girl looked down at her register. ‘You’re in the Cedar Room. Up the stairs and turn right. It’s at the end of the corridor.’

The Cedar Room, Robyn said to herself. She liked the sound of that.

‘Mark will help you with your bags.’

Robyn turned and came face to face with a young man who immediately took her suitcase from her.

‘Oh, just a minute, Mark,’ the young girl said. ‘Here’s Dr Roberts. She’s just opposite in the Lake Room.’

Robyn turned to see a beautiful woman with dark hair swept up in a rather severe bun. She was wearing a crisp white shirt and a knee-length black skirt that was pencil-thin over her shapely legs.

‘Hello,’ Dr Roberts said to the girl who handed her a badge. She then turned to smile at Robyn. ‘Please, call me Katherine,’ she said but then she winced.

‘Are you okay?’ Robyn asked.

Katherine nodded. ‘Some idiot just wheeled a suitcase right over my foot. I fear I’ll be hobbling for the rest of today.’

‘Oh, dear!’ Robyn said. ‘We’ll have to find a handsome Willoughby to carry you up the stairs.’

Katherine laughed. ‘I think I can make it up myself.’

Mark picked up Katherine’s suitcase and led the two women up the stairs.

‘Have you travelled far?’ Katherine asked Robyn.

‘North Yorkshire.’

‘A bit further than me then. I’ve only come from Oxford.’

‘You’re the lecturer, aren’t you?’ Robyn said excitedly. ‘I’ve read your book!’

‘For pleasure?’

‘Oh, yes!’ Robyn enthused.

Katherine laughed. ‘I’m forgetting that everyone here enjoys Austen. I lecture at St Bridget’s in Oxford and I’m afraid the students there aren’t all as enthusiastic about our Jane.’

‘It must be a hard job,’ Robyn said, full of admiration for her new friend.

‘Some of the time,’ she said. ‘But I’m teaching the subject I love and, of course, we get to come to events like this.’

Robyn nodded. ‘I wish I’d had the chance to go to university. I would have loved it. It’s one of the reasons I like coming to things like this. I feel I learn so much.’

Katherine smiled. ‘Learning is a lifelong pleasure.’

The two women climbed the left-hand staircase which joined the right one in the middle and led them up to the first floor where the bedrooms were.

‘This is such an amazing house,’ Robyn said, gazing back down the stairs to the hall below, her feet making no sound on the plush red carpet.

‘This is called the Imperial Staircase,’ Katherine told her. ‘One of the finest in the country.’

Robyn suddenly stopped.

‘What is it?’ Katherine asked.

‘That man,’ Robyn said, nodding to a dark-haired gentleman at the bottom of the stairs. ‘He’s been watching us. Do you know him?’

Katherine’s eyes followed Robyn’s. ‘Oh! It’s that dreadful man who attacked me with a suitcase.’

Robyn watched as the man turned away. ‘He’s rather good-looking,’ she said.

‘Well, if you like that obvious tall, dark and handsome look,’ Katherine said.

‘Tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt you?’ Robyn said with a grin.

Katherine’s eyes met hers. ‘Something like that.’

They walked on, reaching the top of the stairs and turning right down a corridor lined with portraits.

‘We’re at the end,’ Mark said, leading on and stopping outside two bedroom doors. ‘Dr Roberts here,’ he said, opening the door on the right. ‘Miss Love here,’ he said, opening the door to the left. ‘Enjoy your stay at Purley.’

Robyn smiled, confident that she was going to do just that.

Warwick was mortified. Of all the people to run over with a suitcase, he had to go and pick Katherine. What a way to finally meet her. He’d recognized her instantly, of course, but the memory of the look she’d given him was enough to make him give up and go home right now.

He’d helped Mrs Soames to her room with her suitcase and had quickly returned to the hall, hoping to apologize to Katherine again and make some sort of amends but she’d been on her way up the stairs by then with the young woman in the silver sandals.

He’d stood and watched, getting his first proper look at Katherine, and what he saw surprised him. What had happened to the long luxurious hair that he’d seen in the photograph of her online? Instead of cascading over her shoulders, it had been tugged into a tight bun, flattened and lifeless at the back of her head. He took in the business-smart outfit too in black and white and the author in him wanted to rewrite her - dressing her in a vibrant colour and unpinning her dark hair.

He watched as she talked to the girl with the corkscrew curls and followed their progress up the stairs. He hadn’t meant to stare. That wasn’t the heroic stance he’d planned at all and he’d felt such a fool when he’d been spotted.

First impressions were so important, he thought, thinking of the disastrous one that had befallen Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy, and Austen herself had realized the role they played when she’d given Pride and Prejudice the original title of First Impressions. Warwick groaned. He’d completely missed his opportunity to make a good one - twice. Still, he was an author and was quite used to rewriting plots that didn’t work. He’d just have to wait for another opportunity and make sure he got it right next time.

Chapter Nine

The Cedar Room was absolutely perfect and Robyn fell immediately in love with it, rushing over to the great sash window in excitement and sighing like a lovelorn heroine at the view that greeted her. The perfect emerald lawn stretched away before her and the cedar tree stood sentinellike to her right.

She looked at the double bed and couldn’t help feeling guilty that it was for her and her alone and that Jace would be sleeping on his own but that certainly wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t asked him to chauffeur her to and from the conference, had she? It was his fault if he was going to be stuck in a bed and breakfast, bored out of his mind for the next few days. Robyn was quite determined that he wasn’t going to ruin her weekend. She’d looked forward to it for so long.

Flinging open her suitcase and finding her hairbrush, she entered the bathroom and did a quick repair job on her travel-worn tresses. She’d worn her hair long all her life and couldn’t imagine it being any other way. It was much admired and Jace loved it but it did take some upkeep and Robyn often wondered what life would be like with a nice neat bob.

Emptying her handbag of everything she didn’t need -which included two paperbacks and a bumper packet of mint humbugs, she left her room.

She was halfway down the grand staircase when she caught the eye of Katherine in the hall.

‘Robyn!’ she called. ‘Come and sit with me.’

Robyn joined her in the hall and Katherine linked her arm through hers.

‘Now, we’re just like a pair of Austen heroines, aren’t we?’ she said.

Robyn smiled and the two of them walked into the room at the back of the house known as the Yellow Drawing Room. It was filled with mellow afternoon light and the windows looked out over the gardens down to the lake.

‘I have this view from my window,’ Katherine boasted.

‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Robyn said. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.’

‘I know,’ Katherine said. ‘I always feel like that too. It’s part of the magic of the conference. They know you’ll be back year after year. It gets a hold of you and never lets you go.’

There were three enormous sofas in the room and lots of armchairs in brilliant colours and, filling in the gaps, some wooden chairs had been placed in order to accommodate all the guests.

‘How many people are here?’ Robyn asked.

‘There’s usually twenty to thirty but not everyone stays in the hall. There are only enough rooms for about eighteen. Everyone else stays in nearby B&Bs.’

Robyn swallowed as she thought of Jace again. She wished she could stop doing that.

‘Let’s get a cup of tea,’ Katherine said, bringing Robyn back into the Austensian world of Purley that was filled with china tea cups rather than the Jace world which was filled with beer cans.

Taking a cup of tea and a piece of sugary shortbread, they sat on a big squashy sofa the colour of lemons.

‘Hey, there’s that man again,’ Robyn said, nodding towards the door as the dark-haired gentleman walked in.

‘Oh,’ Katherine said.

‘He is very handsome, don’t you think?’

‘He’s very clumsy,’ Katherine replied, turning away.

Robyn smiled. She could feel a romance coming on, she was quite sure of it. ‘He’s so fit-looking,’ she persisted. ‘But not in that awful I-spend-all-my-time-in-a-gym way. He looks more like an athlete or something. Nice shirt too, don’t you think?’

‘I’m doing my best not to think about him,’ Katherine said.

It was just as Robyn was contemplating an Austen-style declaration of love from the dark-haired gentleman to her new friend when a gentleman in a scarlet waistcoat entered the room, standing in front of the window and clearing his throat and instantly hushing the room.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to Purley Hall and to the Jane Austen conference. Please put your hands together to welcome your hostess, Dame Pamela Harcourt!’

A wondrous expectant hush befell the room which was quickly followed by a riotous round of applause as all eyes turned to the door as the actress made her entrance.

Robyn felt a strange fluttery feeling in her chest. She was actually rather nervous. She’d been a fan of Dame Pamela’s for years. In her youth, she had played an enchanting Elizabeth Bennet and a dazzlingly wild Marianne in TV adaptations, and now she struck terror into the heart of viewers with her portrayals of Fanny Ferrars Dashwood and Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Robyn’s head swivelled towards the door and her mouth dropped open as Dame Pamela made her entrance in a sweep of lilac. Her silvery hair had been swept up in a full meringuelike style that was pure theatre and her smile radiated warmth and pleasure at being the centre of attention.

‘My dears!’ she announced, her hands raised and sparkly with diamond rings. ‘My wonderful guests! Welcome to my home which, for this all-too-brief space of time, is your home too. I can’t tell you how much I look forward to this weekend every year, and each year is invariably better than the last so welcome to the best ever Jane Austen conference yet!’

There was another round of applause and Dame Pamela smiled and began to mingle.

Warwick didn’t stay for the mingling.

Idiot! Imbecile! Stupid, stupid man!

He didn’t spare the curses as he left the Yellow Drawing Room. What had got into him? Hadn’t he been going to recreate the role of hero and stride across the room to introduce himself to Katherine? So what had happened? Well, once he’d caught sight of her again, he’d frozen. For ages, he’d gazed at the beautiful curve of her neck which, as her hair was still swept up into a bun, had been left exposed for the express purpose of tormenting men. Then she’d turned round and caught him staring.

Like a ridiculous schoolboy! he said to himself, leaving the scene of his crime and flying up the stairs as fast as he could. What must she think of me? She must think I’m a prat to be avoided at all costs and I’ve not even spoken to her yet.

Reaching his room, he slammed the door behind him. What was he going to do? What would a hero do? he thought. What would Darcy do? Write a letter, probably, but he couldn’t do that. For one thing, Katherine would recognize his handwriting. Anyway, there wasn’t time.

He could try explaining himself but what was there to explain? That he was some sort of neck pervert? She’d have him arrested. No, there was only one way to deal with this and that was to pretend that the whole staring thing hadn’t happened at all. Rather like Mrs Bennet’s sudden memory lapse at the bad behaviour of Lydia once she found out that her daughter was married.

Yes, he thought, the new improved Warwick would banish any bad memories of the old one.

Chapter Ten

Dinner at Purley Hall was always something to look forward to and Robyn’s first experience was sending her spinning with excitement as she rushed from suitcase to wardrobe in search of the dress she was going to wear. It was a plain sky-blue dress with only a hint of bugle beads along the neckline and it was rather short for Robyn - just skimming the knees instead of covering her ankles.

She felt rather on show as she made her way down the stairs, very aware of the bareness of her legs, but then she saw the familiar face of Katherine and her nod of approval put her mind at rest. Katherine was wearing a pretty dress in burgundy. Her hair had been unpinned and fell over her shoulders in dark waves.

‘You look lovely,’ Robyn said.

‘So do you!’

‘I don’t often get the chance to dress up at home,’ Robyn said. ‘This is rather special.’

‘It’s one of the things to look forward to here.’

Robyn noticed that the dining room door was open but people were chatting in groups in the hall before entering.

‘We’re waiting for the dame,’ Katherine told her.

Sure enough, a moment later, a hush descended and all eyes turned upwards towards the cantilevered staircase. It really was the staircase of an actress, Robyn thought, and an actress who knew how to make an entrance for, as the grandfather clock in the hall struck the half hour, a vision in violet greeted them.

Dame Pamela was a sight to behold at the best of times but tonight she was part superstar, part royalty, in a dress of deepest purple which wafted dreamily behind her and a diamond necklace which encrusted the whole of her neck so that it seemed to be made more of diamonds than of skin.

As was becoming the practice whenever Dame Pamela made an appearance, everybody burst into applause which had the effect of lighting up her face like the most enchanting of queens. She took the arm of a gentleman wearing a suit of midnight blue, and the two of them led the way into the dining room.

As Robyn entered, her eyes lit up - the room was a delight of chandeliers and candles. To be as authentic as possible to Jane Austen, electricity had been shunned and the result was greeted by appreciative gasps from the guests as they entered. It was a room that seemed to stretch forever and Robyn felt that she needed at least three pairs of eyes in her head to take it all in. The walls were cream with ornate gold plasterwork around the ceiling which glimmered in the light from the candles. There was an impressive fireplace which hadn’t been lit owing to the continued warmth of the season but which Robyn could imagine being the very heart of the house when it was alive and roaring, filling the room with the unmistakable smell of home.

Several grand portraits lined the walls, the pale faces gazing down at the guests with the passivity that is so particular to the painted form. Robyn wondered who they were and how long they had been staring down from these walls. Were they ancestors of Dame Pamela or had she bought them as part of the house when she’d moved to Purley?

With a dozen questions swimming around her head, seats were taken and Robyn’s gaze fell to the beautiful table settings, the flower displays and the silverware. It certainly beat beans on toast on the sofa in front of the television in her little terrace, she thought, as she gazed at the vases of pink and white roses which lined the table.