Authors: Victoria Connelly

Happy Birthday, Mr Darcy (13 page)

‘They can be extremely difficult to grow, of course,’ Martin’s friend was telling her, ‘and it’s best if you dig the bulbs up each year to stop rot.’

Carys nodded, feeling that her brain was rotting with his topic of conversation. Where was the gentleman? Had he made an early departure? She might never find out who he was.

‘You can’t beat a decent tulip for a spot of colour, of course…’

She’d never been smiled at before like that. She’d felt it in her very stomach.

‘My mother used to have the most glorious auriculas you’ve ever seen.’

His eyes too. They’d looked at her in a way she’d never been looked at before.

‘Most people believe they’re native to Britain but they’re not,’ Martin continued, completely absorbed in a world of bulbs, buds and blooms.

Carys swallowed the last of her wine and then had a thought. ‘I need another drink,’ she said with a smile.

‘Oh, allow me,’ Martin’s friend said, taking her class and disappearing across the room.

Carys looked around. Where on earth was Louise? It wasn’t bad enough that she was probably getting back together with Martin but Carys would never forgive her for dragging her away from the gentleman at the top of the stairs to listen to Martin’s friend going on about mulching and fertilizers.

She pushed by a group of people in the middle of a grand living room and spotted Louise standing in front of one of the enormous windows that had made them whistle when they’d first arrived. Sure enough, she was in deep conversation with Martin, her smile bright and eager, and her fingers running coquettishly through her hair.

‘There you are,’ Carys called, deciding she was going to break this meeting up as quickly as Louise had broken hers.

‘Carys! Where’s Martin’s friend?’ Louise, it appeared, had also forgotten his name.

‘I’ve sent him away to get me a drink,’ she said with great meaning.

‘Oh,’ Louise said.

Carys glared at Martin.

‘Good to see you again, Karen,’ he said.

‘Carys,’ she corrected, noticing Louise wince at his mistake.

He cleared his throat but didn’t apologise. ‘I’ll, er, see you later, Louise,’ he stuttered, before disappearing through the crowd.

Louise sighed. ‘I don’t suppose he will.’

‘Good,’ Carys said. ‘I’m not having you getting back together with him.’

‘We were just talking,’ Louise insisted. ‘There’s nobody else here to talk to,’ she said, scanning the room. ‘They’re all in their own little groups. Look!’

It was then that Carys saw him. He was stood on the other side of the living room talking to a beautiful red-head.

‘Who’s that man in the corner?’ she asked Louise casually.

‘Where?’

‘By the table.’

‘The one with his fingers in the nut bowl?’

‘No,’ Carys sighed in exasperation.

‘Oh! You mean the man you were talking to on the landing?’ Louise said, spotting the dark-haired gentleman. ‘Fancy not knowing who he is. He’s probably the most famous man here. He’s certainly the only one other than Martin that I’ve actually heard of.’

‘Well, who is he?’

‘Richard Bretton, Marquess of Amberley. Heir to the Duke of Cuthland.’

‘No!’

‘Yes. His father’s Henry Bretton, the eleventh Duke, no less. He’s the one who’s always banging on about bringing back the House of Lords.’

Carys knew, instantly, whom she meant. Henry Bretton was something of a local celebrity in Cuthland. If he wasn’t on local television, he was on the radio, busting a blood vessel at how England was
Going to the dogs
.

‘Fancy you talking to a marquess and not knowing it.’

Carys rolled her eyes. It was just like Louise to get all star-struck.

‘What’s so special about being a marquess?’ she said but she could feel herself blushing from head to toe with shame as she remembered everything she’d said. She’d said she was a sympathiser of the French Revolution, for goodness’ sake!

‘Tell me he’s not related to the de Montforts.’

Louise’s forehead puckered into a frown as she mentally trawled through the many society pages of the many glossy magazines she’d ever flicked through. ‘de Montfort, let me see-’

Carys’s heart hammered.

‘Yes. I do believe that’s his mother’s maiden name.
Something
de Montfort. Some sort of society belle, if I remember correctly. One of those masculine turned feminine names. Georgina or Willamina or something.’

‘Oh God!’

‘I know, awful names.
Francesca!’
Louise suddenly shouted. That’s it. Francesca de Montfort.’

‘Great,’ Carys sighed. Now it turned out that she’d unwittingly suggested his ancestors should have been beheaded.

‘You like him!’ Louise chimed.

Carys tutted. ‘I never said that. But he was a little more interesting than Martin’s friend.’

‘What were you two talking about, anyway?’

‘I don’t know. He was going on about auriculas or something.’

‘No, not Martin’s friend. I mean the handsome Marquess of Amberley. He is handsome, isn’t he?’

Carys nodded. He certainly was. Movie star looks were rare in Cuthland.

‘You know his wife left him?’ Louise continued. ‘Stark raving mad, they say. Amanda. I remember reading somewhere that she swore Amberley Court was haunted and packed her bags one day and just left - demanding a divorce.’

‘Really?’ Carys looked across the room at Richard with new eyes. ‘He’s a single?’

Louise nodded. ‘And a single marquess in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife,’ Louise giggled.

Carys play-punched her and then, just as she looked across the room at Richard, he looked up and caught her gaze. And smiled.

‘Wow!’ Louise said in an excited whisper. ‘Why don’t you go over? He’s smiling right at you.’

‘We’re leaving.’

‘What? Well at least say goodbye, then,’ Louise pleaded.

‘What’s the point? I made a complete fool of myself in front of him and I’m not going to see him again.’

‘I think you might,’ Louise smiled.

Carys looked up. He was walking towards them.

‘I think I’ll just go and get myself another drink,’ Louise said.

‘Louise - no-’

But it was too late. Louise had gone and Richard, Marquess of Amberley, heir to the dukedom of Cuthland, was standing before her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, extending a hand towards Carys. ‘I should have introduced myself properly before.’

‘Yes, you should have,’ Carys agreed.

‘Richard-’

‘Marquess of Amberley,’ Carys finished.

‘You know?’

‘I do now,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t before.’

‘And would that have made a difference?’

Carys’s eyes widened. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t have been so rude.’

‘You mean, you’d have lied to me?’

‘No!’

‘Just not told me what you were really thinking?’ he asked. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her, noticing her frown. ‘I wasn’t offended.’

‘I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have said those things - not in front of anyone. I don’t know what came over me.’

He smiled at her. ‘I think a lot of people are of your opinion.’

There was an awkward pause when neither knew what to say next.

‘I was thinking of getting out of here,’ Richard said at last. ‘Get a spot of dinner somewhere. Maybe at Venezia. What do you think? It would be my very great pleasure if you would accompany me.’

‘Oh,’ Carys said, rather taken aback. ‘It’s getting a bit late, isn’t it?’ she added, knowing that Venezia was one of the most popular restaurants in Carminster.

‘You’re worried about not having a reservation,’ he said as a statement rather than a fact. ‘I can always explain who I am.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ Carys said in undisguised horror.

He smiled at her, his eyes full of warmth and laughter. ‘For you, I believe I’d do anything.’

***

Download Three Graces here
.

About the Author

Victoria Connelly was brought up in Norfolk and studied English literature at Worcester University before becoming a teacher in North Yorkshire. After getting married in a medieval castle in the Yorkshire Dales and living in London for eleven years, she moved to rural Suffolk where she lives with her artist husband and a mad Springer spaniel and ex-battery hens.

Her first novel,
Flights of Angels
, was published in Germany and made into a film. Victoria and her husband flew out to Berlin to see it being filmed and got to be extras in it.

Five of her novels have been Kindle bestsellers.

If you’d like to hear about future releases, sign up for
her
newsletter
.

She’s also on Facebook and Twitter @VictoriaDarcy

www.victoriaconnelly.com

Other Books by Victoria Connelly

A Weekend with Mr Darcy
(Austen Addicts 1)

The Perfect Hero
(Austen Addicts 2) Published in the US as Dreaming of Mr Darcy

Mr Darcy Forever
(Austen Addicts 3)

Christmas With Mr Darcy
(Austen Addicts 4)

Wish You Were Here

The Runaway Actress

Molly’s Millions