What Would Lizzy Bennet Do? (11 page)

Holly felt a pinprick of irritation. ‘If it’s not too much to ask, could you please not call me “Miss James”?’ she said as they began to walk towards the church. ‘My name is Holly.’

‘I’m perfectly aware what your name is.’ Lady Darcy smiled and nodded at several people passing in the other direction. ‘I prefer to remain on more formal terms for the moment, if you don’t mind.’

‘But – why?’ Holly asked, bewildered. ‘I’m engaged to your son, after all. We’re going to be married soon.’
Whether you like it or not
, she added silently.

‘Yes, and I’m perfectly aware of that, as well.’ She stopped on the pavement and turned to face Holly. ‘Let me ask you a question, Miss James. How long have you known Hugh?’

Holly blinked. ‘Since last summer,’ she said after a moment. ‘Nearly a year.’

Lady Darcy nodded. ‘Nearly a year. That sounds like a reasonable amount of time to you, I daresay. To me, however, it sounds frightfully short.’

‘Hugh and I knew we loved each other very quickly.’ That wasn’t strictly true, of course; they’d disliked each other on sight, Holly because she thought him stuffy, and Hugh because he thought her shallower than a mud puddle. ‘Well, fairly quickly,’ she amended.

‘Miss James, please allow me to lay my cards on the table.’

But I don’t like cards
, Holly thought.
I hate bridge, I’m rubbish at rummy, and anyway, I don’t much like playing games…

‘You profess to be in love with Hugh.’

‘I don’t “profess”,’ Holly retorted. ‘I
am
in love with Hugh.’

‘Perhaps you are. That remains to be seen. But the fact is, if you marry my son, you’re not just marrying any man off the street.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘You’ll be the wife of a peer of the realm, with a title of your own, and all that entails. And – forgive me – but I don’t think you’re ready for that.’

Holly bristled. ‘It’s all a bit daunting, I’ll admit. But I’m not an idiot. I’m perfectly capable of learning the… aristocratic ropes, as it were.’

Hugh’s mother laughed. ‘My dear girl, you
are
amusing! You’ve no idea what you’re about to enter into, do you?’

‘Why don’t you tell me, then?’ she said, and crossed her arms loosely against her chest. ‘I’m sure you’re longing to set me straight.’

‘Very well. The responsibility for maintaining Cleremont now, and in future, will rest not only on Hugh’s shoulders, but yours. It’s a responsibility the Darcys have carried on for generations.’

‘I understand.’

‘Do you?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Being Lady Darcy isn’t only about sitting in the royal enclosure at Ascot, or shopping, or hosting shooting parties every autumn, you know. It’s about finding money to repair the roof, which costs untold thousands of pounds, or replacing the boiler, or paying artisan workers to repair the eighteenth-century plasterwork. It’s about making arrangements with film crews and tour groups and journalists and festival promoters. And, most importantly, it’s about preserving the family’s heritage for future generations.’

‘No. It’s about the fact that you don’t like me,’ Holly said evenly, ‘and that you’d much rather Hugh married Elizabeth Bennet than me, isn’t it?’

Lady Darcy drew herself up. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, and moved to brush past Holly. ‘Time is getting on.’

‘Well, he isn’t marrying Lizzy. He didn’t ask her to marry him, he asked me… because he loves me, and I love him. And there’s nothing you can do about it,’ Holly added with equal parts childishness and satisfaction.

‘You don’t love him, Miss James.’ Sarah Darcy spoke with quiet conviction. ‘Oh, you think you do. But it isn’t Hugh you love, it’s the idea of Hugh – the title, the glamour…’ She paused. ‘And, of course, the money.’

Holly sucked in a breath of mingled outrage and shock. Had Hugh’s mother really just accused her of being a gold digger? A – a
fortune hunter
?

‘You’ve been engaged twice before,’ Lady Darcy went on. When she saw Holly’s startled glance, she pressed her lips together. ‘To that chef, Jamie Gordon, and to that… film star.’ She invested the last two words with loathing. ‘I know all about your regrettable romantic past, you see.’

‘You – you’ve had me investigated?’ Holly demanded, her eyes wide. ‘You had no right!’

‘On the contrary, I have every right to know all there is to know about the girl who professes to love my son.’ She sniffed. ‘And I find you singularly lacking, I’m afraid.’

Hot tears rose up and burnt Holly’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ she choked out, her voice unsteady. ‘Truly. Because the fact is – you’re wrong. I do love your son, very much.’ She brushed at her eyes with the back of a slightly unsteady hand. The ugly mix of emotions she felt at the moment – anger, despair and humiliation being the sharpest – made articulating her thoughts impossible. ‘I don’t… I can’t even…’

With that, Holly turned abruptly away and left Hugh’s mother standing alone on the pavement.

‘Miss James!’ Lady Darcy called after her. ‘Wait just a moment – where are you going? How will you get back to Cleremont? The jumble sale…’

‘I hate jumble sales.’ She didn’t turn around, but flung the words over her shoulder. ‘And I’ll find my own way back.’

Holly, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, thrust her way though the crowds in an effort to put as much distance between herself and Lady Darcy as she could possibly manage.

***

For some time Holly walked, and wept, and brushed past people with a mumbled ‘Sorry, excuse me, sorry’, until she realised she’d been walking for twenty minutes and was quite lost.

Not that Litchfield was very large, as villages went; but it was unknown to her, and so she found her footsteps faltering.

She was halfway down a side street – Persimmon Road – bordered on either side with neat brick townhouses, the kind that housed doctors’ offices and law practices, and planted with neat rows of persimmon trees.

Holly came to a stop. Where on earth was she? And more importantly, how was she to get back to Cleremont with no ride on offer?

Surely no local bus lines would go that far out of town. A cab would cost a fortune, and she hadn’t much money in her purse, only a couple of quid. Of course she could always hire a taxi and ask the driver to wait when they arrived, and ask Hugh to pay him.

But then she’d have to explain to him why she’d come back home in a taxi, and not with his mother.

Holly frowned and turned around to retrace her steps. Perhaps there was some sort of daily tour group departing to Cleremont that she might join, with one of those tacky tour buses she could ride in…

Holly heard a clunk and looked up just in time to see a car door, dark shiny green and belonging to a sleek Jaguar XKE, flung open before her. She gasped and ploughed straight into it before she could stop herself, lost her balance on one rope-soled, wedged heel, and toppled sideways onto the pavement.

‘Oh, shit! Oh, my God! Bloody hell – are you all right?’

A face loomed over her, partly obscured by the sun behind it. A man, Holly realised in a daze.

‘I – I’m fine,’ she managed, and moved to straighten her dress and sit up. But the movement left her with a dizzy, strange feeling, and she sank back onto the pavement.

‘You’re not fine,’ he accused. ‘You’re…’ he broke off. ‘
Holly
?’

She lifted her head slightly and shaded her eyes against the sun. ‘Harry?’

Holly squinted. Now that he’d moved back slightly, she could see the gingery hair, the swollen purple eye, and the concerned expression on his face.

‘You’re crying,’ he said. Alarm coloured his voice. ‘What’s happened? Are you badly hurt? Shall I call 999?’ He reached in a back pocket for his mobile phone.

‘No, I’m fine, really.’ She sat up then, gingerly, aware of the warmth of his hand resting on the small of her back, and brushed off her skirts. ‘I took a tumble over your car door, that’s all.’ She glared at him. ‘You really
should
watch what you’re doing before you fling it open like that.’

‘Sorry.’ He gave her a sheepish smile. ‘But I never saw you there.’ His smile was replaced with a frown. ‘Why are you crying, then, if you’re not hurt?’

It was a fair question. Was it one she could answer honestly?

‘You needn’t tell me if you don’t want to,’ he added. ‘None of my business.’

That decided her. ‘If you promise to give me a ride back to Cleremont, I’ll tell you all about it.’

Chapter 17

Lizzy got up from the window seat and began to pace in agitation around Charlotte’s room. What to do, oh, what to do?

Of course she must tell their father that her sister was gone. But if she did so, Mr Bennet would worry terribly. Then he’d fly into a temper at Charlotte – not that she didn’t deserve it – and upset himself further. And an upset like this at his age would prove not only unwelcome, but possibly even dangerous.

Poor Daddy would be apoplectic.

But nor could she do nothing. Who knew what mischief Charli had got herself into, even now? She might have been persuaded to sleep with that film actor, or worse still, to run off with him somewhere tawdry, like – like Las Vegas.

She might even get herself pregnant with Ciaran Duncan’s love child.

All right, she scolded herself, perhaps she’d read too many of Charlotte’s tabloids lately, and was allowing her imagination to run away with her. Of course her sister wouldn’t be so stupid as to sleep with that actor, a man old enough to be her – her – well, he was too old by far.

But then again, Charlotte was young and foolish and unpredictable. Lizzy twisted her hands together in indecision.

‘I’ll go and tell Daddy straight away,’ she decided, her mind made up, and turned to make her way to the door to march back downstairs and tell Mr Bennet that his daughter Charlotte had snuck out to see that scoundrel, Ciaran Duncan…

She heard a scrape, and a thump, and looked back to see her sister, looking shambolic with her hair mussed and her T-shirt ripped, climbing through the opened window.

‘Charli!’ Lizzy exclaimed, and spun around. Her eyes widened at the state of Charlotte’s clothing and hair, and fresh fear gripped her. Had Ciaran Duncan perhaps tried to
force
himself on her baby sister…?

Charlotte slid one long, slightly tanned leg after the other over the sill and stood by the window seat to brush herself off. ‘Bloody blackthorne bushes! I was climbing the wall by the Darcys’ back garden to leave when I fell smack into a whole nasty lot of them.’ She regarded her legs in dismay. ‘Look at the
scratches
! Where’s my leg make-up spray?’

‘Never mind that! Where have you been? You snuck off to see that film actor again, didn’t you?’ Lizzy accused. ‘Ciaran Duncan.’

‘I snuck off to watch the filming,’ Charli corrected her as she brushed past her sister to the dressing table and began rummaging through the drawers in search of her can of spray make-up. ‘That’s all.’

‘In hopes of seeing Ciaran, no doubt.’

‘Ah, here it is!’ Charli grabbed the can and kissed it. ‘The answer to my prayers. I never saw Ciaran,’ she retorted as she flung herself down on the dressing table chair and began spraying her legs. ‘He wasn’t on call today. So you can rest easy.’

‘Rest
easy
?’ Lizzy echoed as spots of angry colour flushed her cheeks. She snatched the can of spray from her sister’s hands and glared at her. ‘I was horrified when I came in here and realised you were gone! I was just about to go downstairs and tell Daddy.’ She turned to go. ‘Which I intend to do, right now.’

‘No, Lizzy – wait!’

Charlotte jumped up and ran over to grab her by the arm. ‘Please, please don’t tell Daddy. He’ll kill me. He’ll – he’ll send me to a nunnery, or something.’

‘It’s all you deserve. What were you thinking, Charli?’

Her sister’s lower lip began to tremble. ‘I couldn’t bear to be cooped up in this room for one minute longer, much less the entire month. It’s horribly unfair. I hate being the youngest. Daddy always treats me like a ch-child.’

A tear, glistening and perfect, welled in her eye and shimmered on her lashes.

‘Don’t bother turning on the waterworks for me,’ Lizzy snapped. ‘It won’t work.’ Charlotte had always had the uncanny ability to cry at the drop of a hat, and very persuasively, too. ‘It might convince Daddy, or even Ciaran, but I’m immune.’

‘No. You’re horrible, is what you are,’ Charli retorted, immediately abandoning her tears. ‘Unfeeling and devoid of compassion, too.’ She reached out to grab her sister’s hand and eyed her imploringly. ‘But I love you anyway. You won’t tell him, will you? Promise?’

‘I should do. He deserves to know.’

But she hesitated. Lizzy knew that telling their father what Charlotte had done would only upset him needlessly and lead to rows and recrimination. And no harm had been done.

At least, not this time…

‘Do you swear you won’t ever do this again?’ she demanded of her sister now.

‘I do,’ Charli promised. ‘I’ll never, ever sneak out the window again.’

Satisfied, Lizzy picked up the tea tray to return it downstairs. ‘All right. I won’t say anything… this time. But if it should happen again,’ she warned, ‘I promise you – I’m going straight to Daddy.’

***

‘It’s all your mother’s fault.’

So saying, Holly slid onto the passenger seat of the Jaguar, wincing slightly as her bruised bits made contact with the seat. She waited as Harry made sure she was comfortable before he shut her door and went around to get behind the wheel.

‘Not saying I doubt your word,’ he said as he started the engine, ‘but what has Mum got to do with it? She’s not here, after all.’

‘Actually, she is.’ Holly leant back against the butter-soft leather seat and let out a long sigh. ‘She insisted on bringing me here to Litchfield, to the jumble sale at the parish hall. Speaking of which – what are
you
doing here?’

‘I had the doctor take a look at my eye. He told me the same thing you did – put ice on it and take a couple of paracetamol.’

‘I should start charging for medical advice.’

‘Perhaps you should.’

‘How did Ciaran Duncan end up punching you, anyway?’ Holly asked, curious. ‘Did you two get into a fight over Charlotte Bennet?’