What Would Lizzy Bennet Do?

***

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.