What Would Lizzy Bennet Do?

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?’