At Home with Mr Darcy
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Authors: Victoria Connelly
At Home with Mr Darcy
Victoria Connelly
Copyright © 2014 Victoria Connelly
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Victoria Connelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Cover image by Roy Connelly.
Published by Cuthland Press
in association with Notting Hill Press.
All rights reserved.
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To my mother-in-law, Margaret, with love.
‘There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire.’
Jane Austen,
Pride and Prejudice
There were books everywhere. They were on the tables, on the floor, on the stairs – there was even a pile on the washing machine which didn’t bode well for when the spin cycle kicked in. Katherine Roberts – or Katherine Lawton as she now called herself in her private life – had never seen so many books and she was a lecturer at St Bridget’s College in Oxford and was used to being surrounded by them.
‘What are we going to
do
, Warwick?’ she cried, her long dark hair looking somewhat dishevelled as she stood in the middle of the chaos.
‘Don’t worry,’ Warwick said, emerging from the south-facing drawing room which was flooded with summer sunshine. ‘It’ll take a bit of sorting out but we’ll get there.’ He crossed the hallway to the living room where Katherine had been trying to uncover one of the sofas and took her face in his hands and kissed her. ‘Hello, wife,’ he said a moment later with a big grin.
‘Hello, husband,’ she said, melting instantly. It was almost a year since their wedding at Purley Hall in Hampshire and yet Katherine still felt like a newly-wed. Perhaps that was because it had taken them such a long time to find the perfect home.
Moving into Hawk’s Hill Manor had been a much longer process than they’d anticipated what with solicitors moving in mysterious ways and the previous owner having a last-minute wobble as to whether she actually wanted to sell at all. But, finally, they’d exchanged contracts and the date had been fixed for the middle of July.
Set deep in beautiful Cotswold country to the north of Oxford, Katherine had agreed that it was worth the slightly longer commute into work than she had initially wanted because the Grade II listed Georgian property with its grand front door and nine sash windows was just too perfect. Katherine had almost cried when she’d first seen it.
‘We can’t afford this, Warwick,’ she’d said.
‘I think it’s worth pushing the budget a little, don’t you?’ he’d said and she hadn’t been able to put up any sort of a fight as she’d walked around the English country garden filled with topiary, lavender and roses and had admired the view across the sun-filled terrace from the breakfast room and the equally delightful views of gentle hills and verdant fields from each of the six bedrooms.
It was a sort of Purley Hall in miniature, Katherine had joked. Of course, it was far too big for just the two of them but Warwick had already been dropping hints that it wouldn’t be just the two of them forever now, would it? One thing was for sure – it was the kind of home which was a real wrench to leave to go to work and Katherine had begun to envy Warwick being able to stay and work at Hawk’s Hill each day, wandering through the sunny rooms and taking a turn about the garden like a Regency gentleman, surveying his perfect English acre.
The village was beautiful too, full of cottages built in the mellow gold stone that the Cotswolds was famous for. There was a ford by the church, a tiny shop with a post office counter, and a footpath leading to a quiet stretch of river which wound its way through the Oxfordshire countryside and gave Warwick and Katherine somewhere to jog together on weekend mornings.
The little cottage Katherine had lived in before was being rented out as unfurnished so all her worldly goods were now at Hawk’s Hill. As were Warwick’s from his home – The Old Vicarage – in West Sussex.
‘I didn’t realise we’d have so many things,’ Katherine said to Warwick, rummaging once more through a tower of books which were in danger of spilling across the living room floor.
‘It’ll look better once everything’s been put away,’ Warwick said, idly picking up an ancient paperback with a cracked spine from the arm of a chair. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking for this for
years!
’
One of the first things they’d done when they’d moved in was to employ a specialist carpenter who had made miles and miles of bookshelves for them in the two rooms they were to use as their studies as well as any other alcoves and neat recesses which would look all the better for being stuffed with books. Now, it was just a matter of sorting through their great collections and getting them into some sort of order.
Katherine believed that they needed at least half a mile of bookshelves for their Jane Austen titles alone as they both had each of the six novels in many different editions as well as the collections of the author’s letters, juvenilia, and all the biographies and criticisms. And goodness only knew how many copies of
Pride and Prejudice
they now owned between them. It was quite mind-boggling.
Of course, there had been one truly heart-stopping moment when Warwick had been unpacking a box of books in his newly appointed study that did, in fact, belong to Katherine.
‘Warwick!’ she’d cried in alarm, her hair almost standing on end.
Warwick had looked up from his task, thoroughly perplexed. ‘What is it, Cherry?’ he asked.
‘They’re
my
books!’
‘Are they?’
Katherine had nodded and Warwick had taken out first one, then another, and then another.
‘And so they are,’ he’d declared, shaking his head and chuckling at his error.
But she hadn’t remained cross with him for long. That was the thing about Warwick. He might have been extraordinarily good at getting himself into trouble but he was very adept at getting himself back out of it. Usually, he just needed to smile to make Katherine forget his maddening behaviour.
‘You know, you just need to relax more,’ he told her now. ‘You expect everything to fall in to place straightaway and that isn’t going to happen. Not with the timetables we’ve both had recently.’
Katherine nodded. Warwick was right, of course. He’d had yet another punishing deadline for a novel and had had two speaking engagements – one of which had taken him to Germany where he had a huge following for his racy Regency romances. Katherine had also been busy with the usual end of term turmoil at St Bridget’s and had been collating notes for a series of essays she was writing to be published in academic journals.
‘We need this break in Derbyshire,’ he told her and Katherine smiled as she remembered their upcoming holiday. ‘We’ve both been working so hard.’
Katherine nodded again. She was so looking forward to the trip. It was the first Purley Hall Jane Austen holiday – three glorious days in Derbyshire which was the county of Mr Darcy’s ancestral home, Pemberley. Indeed, actress Dame Pamela Harcourt, who was overseeing the trip, had promised the Janeites not one Pemberley but
two
with trips to Chatsworth House in Derbyshire and a quick hop over the border to Lyme Park in Cheshire.
Katherine and Warwick had visited Derbyshire on a number of occasions but they had been rock climbing trips and, although they had both visited Chatsworth and Lyme on a number of occasions, they hadn’t visited them together and, as any Austen addict knows, you can’t have too many trips to Pemberley.
It was going to be hard to leave their home so soon after moving in even though they knew it would be in safe hands. Katherine had asked her dear friend Chrissie to come and cat sit for them and she’d leapt at the chance to stay at the beautiful manor house.
‘No wild parties, mind,’ Katherine had teased.
No, Katherine thought, she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to live in such a beautiful house. They’d looked at a couple of much older houses whilst property hunting – one dating back to the fifteenth-century in parts but, after Warwick had hit his head for the sixth time on the low beams, they’d decided that their home would have to be Georgian. There’d never been any contest really for what Jane Austen fan could resist the pull of Georgian architecture?
She remembered that first magical viewing of Hawk’s Hill when she’d walked into the living room and had imagined a roaring fire in the grand hearth and a Christmas tree sparkling in the corner. She’d gasped at the dining room and had known that it would be impossible to rush any meal there and dreamt of lingering over breakfast, sipping Earl Grey tea from a fine china cup. Then there’d been the terrace and the garden that was oh-so-perfect for summer parties with croquet, summer cocktails and strawberries and cream.
She watched Warwick bent double over a box full of orange-spined Penguin classics, his dark hair flopping across his face as he idly picked a title at random and mumbled something to himself as he thumbed through the pages. How much did she love this man? How lucky did she feel that he was her husband? As lucky as Elizabeth Bennet had felt when marrying Mr Darcy? Katherine smiled. Yes. She had found her Mr Darcy and her very own Pemberley too.
Deep in the heart of the Hampshire countryside, tucked away in a corner of the Purley Hall estate, was Horseshoe Cottage. Its rosy red bricks, three windows and sweet porch over which clambered a great deal of honeysuckle made it look immediately warm and welcoming to any visitor.
The interior was no less welcoming with its squashy sofas, chintzy curtains and general feeling of being well lived-in and loved. It was the sort of home where you didn’t worry too much if you walked in wearing a pair of wellies and where you were very likely to trip over a free-ranging chicken or sit on a dog who’d found the best seat in the house just before you had.
As with many country homes, the kitchen was where you could usually find its occupants and that was exactly where Dan and Robyn Harcourt were that morning.
‘Are you
sure
you’re going to be okay?’ Robyn asked her husband as he rubbed a very wet Jack Russell Terrier named Biscuit with an old towel.
‘Of course I’ll be okay,’ he said. ‘I’m responsible for twelve horses now that the riding centre’s up and running and these two dogs–’
‘Yes but a toddler is a little bit different,’ Robyn said. ‘You can’t just stick your daughter in a stable or bribe her with half a sausage like you can with Moby and Biscuit.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Dan said. ‘It might be worth trying.’
‘I do hope you’re joking,’ Robyn said. She was sitting by the bright blue Aga with Cassie on her lap, brushing the curls that were so like her own but which were the same red-gold as Dan’s hair.
Having decided that Biscuit was as dry as he could get him, Dan looked up and watched Robyn as she brushed Cassandra’s hair.
‘I can’t believe she’s almost two,’ he said.
‘I know,’ Robyn said, kissing her daughter’s cheek. ‘The time’s gone so quickly.’
‘She’ll soon be at school.’
‘Don’t say that!’ Robyn said, unable to bear the thought of parting with her daughter so soon. Luckily, though, they had a primary school in Church Stinton so she wouldn’t be too far away when the time came.
Dan crossed the room and scooped Cassandra up into his arms. ‘Haven’t you got to be heading up to the Hall?’
Robyn stood up and nodded. ‘Yes. We’re just tying up all the loose ends before tomorrow. Gosh, I do wish you were coming with us,’ she said.
‘So do I but somebody has to stay at home and take care of everyone.’
‘And you’re going to be brilliant at it, I’m sure,’ Robyn told him. ‘Did I tell you that Pammy asked if I wanted to do any of the spiels on the coach?’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said I’d be absolutely petrified,’ Robyn said with a laugh. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t dream of stealing her limelight.’
‘Yes, she does love that sort of thing,’ Dan said. ‘Give her a microphone and an audience and she’s up and away.’
‘I’m really looking forward to it,’ Robyn said. ‘Our first Jane Austen holiday! It’s so exciting.’
‘So, who’s travelling up with you in the minibus?’
‘Just Roberta and Rose who are coming through from Brighton. Everybody else is meeting us there,’ she said.
‘And the journalist?’
‘She’s booked in at the same hotel and is getting the train from London,’ Robyn told him. ‘What?’ she asked, noticing the concerned look on his face.
‘Do you trust her?’
‘What you mean?’ Robyn asked.
‘I mean, she writes for
Vive!
– she’s a journalist.’
‘Well, I don’t know her personally but I’m sure she’ll do a good job.’
‘Right,’ Dan said.’
Robyn cocked her head to one side. ‘What?’
‘I’m just a bit worried about her. How do you know she’s not going to do a hatchet job on you?’
Robyn laughed. ‘Why would she be coming on a Jane Austen tour if she was just going to make fun of us?’
Dan gave her a pained look. ‘Because that’s what journalists like to do. They’ll flatter you and make you think that they’re your best friend and then they’ll stab you in the back with their pen.’
‘I don’t think Melissa Berry is like that at all from what I’ve heard.’
Dan shook his head. ‘Just keep an eye on her.’
‘I have more than enough people to keep an eye on,’ Robyn said. ‘Mrs Soames is going to be there for a start.’
Dan laughed. ‘I don’t envy you that experience.’
Robyn sighed. ‘I do wish she’d find some other interest. Perhaps we could persuade her to join another group. Maybe Charles Dickens or Thomas Hardy have their own conferences. I think Mrs Soames would get on far better as a Thomas Hardy fan what with all those gloomy endings. I’ve never been able to understand how a woman who complains so much can really be a Jane Austen fan. Janeites are usually such happy people.’
‘Maybe she’s an impostor,’ Dan suggested. ‘Maybe she hasn’t really read the books at all but just comes along to the conferences because she likes the costumes and dancing.’
‘Oh, no,’ Robyn said. ‘She’s a fan all right. She knows her stuff. You know, she’s even bringing her daughter to Derbyshire. I wonder what she’ll be like.’
‘Blimey,’ Dan said. ‘
Two
Mrs Soameses!’
Robyn’s eyes doubled in size. ‘I hope not. I really hope not.’
Dame Pamela Harcourt was hopeless when it came to packing even though she’d done her fair share of travelling over the years during her career as an actress. Then again, she didn’t need to master the skill of the perfectly packed suitcase because she had Higgins the butler who always undertook the task himself.
‘Madam, do allow me,’ he’d say whenever he saw her flinging her expensive clothes in willy-nilly. Today, he was wearing a waistcoat in sky-blue with bright silver buttons which seemed to sing of summer and he had already taken charge of the luggage situation folding neatly and packing professionally.
‘How many hats do you think I should take?’ Dame Pamela asked him.
‘A couple of wax rain hats should be just the thing,’ Higgins said.
‘Oh, don’t be so pessimistic,’ Dame Pamela chided him. ‘We’re going to have
glorious
summer weather, I just know it.’ She thought back to the previous summer and the wedding of Katherine and Warwick and how, for a few dreadful hours, they’d thought that it was going to rain. But the sun had made a miraculous appearance and the gardens had been bathed in golden light. No, Higgins was most certainly not going to put a dampener on her first ever Jane Austen holiday.
‘It’s a truth universally acknowledged that the sun always shines for Janeites,’ she said.
‘Yes, madam,’ Higgins said, clearly knowing when he was defeated.
‘Now, back to my hats. I have a fabulous mint green summer hat somewhere with a large bow in the most ravishing shade of pink you’ve ever seen. That might be just the thing for Chatsworth.’
‘Don’t forget your walking boots, madam,’ Higgins told her.
‘Ah, yes,’ Dame Pamela said, wrinkling her nose in disdain as she looked at the enormous boots. ‘Dan assures me I’ll need them for the Derbyshire countryside but I ask you, Higgins, do they really go with my dresses? I just can’t see myself wearing them somehow.’
‘One wouldn’t like to twist one’s ankle,’ he said.
‘No, I suppose not but that’s exactly how Marianne Dashwood met the delectable Mr Willoughby.’
‘Didn’t that end badly?’ Higgins asked, folding a silk blouse and placing it carefully into the suitcase. He hadn’t ever admitted to reading or watching any Jane Austen but, having lived and worked with Dame Pamela for so many years, it had been impossible not to pick up a certain amount of knowledge.
‘Yes but she had such fun before all the heartache,’ Dame Pamela said. ‘Ladies do like the occasional rogue.’
Higgins shook his head. He would never understand the female heart.
‘Maybe I could get away with a nice pair of canvas plimsolls,’ Dame Pamela said a minute later. ‘They’d certainly look more lady-like.’
‘I think that would be a mistake, madam. I really think you should take the boots,’ Higgins insisted.
‘But just
look
at the colour! How very drab they are. Couldn’t they make them in a more inspiring colour like pink or blue?’ She shook her head. ‘I suppose I’ll just have to suffer in silence.’
Higgins cleared his throat. He’d never known his mistress to suffer in silence – it just wasn’t in her make-up.
‘And what will you do, Higgins, whilst I’m away?’ she asked him.
‘The silver needs polishing again,’ he said, ‘and I shall oversee the bookbinder when she arrives.’
‘Of course,’ Dame Pamela said, ‘and I want you present when she handles our first edition of
Pride and Prejudice
.’
‘Indeed, madam.’
Dame Pamela nodded. She had recently bought a rare first edition of Jane Austen’s most famous novel at auction for the best part of two hundred thousand pounds. It was a purchase that had shocked even the most ardent Janeite but Dame Pamela hadn’t been able to resist. After all, what was money for if not to be extravagant once in a while?
‘I do hate leaving Purley but I’m so looking forward to this trip. I think it’s going to be a resounding success, don’t you?’
‘Very likely, madam,’ Higgins said.
‘Just like the weddings.’ She clasped her hands to her primrose-clad bosom. ‘I can’t believe that we’ve had five weddings here since Katherine and Warwick’s. Word has certainly spread although I have to say I wasn’t at all enamoured by that bride who wore that strapless, sleeveless gown. I thought she was going to spill right out of it when she bent over to cuddle that little bridesmaid. Honestly, I really must vet what brides are going to wear in the future. Purley has standards, after all.’
Higgins didn’t say anything but he had blushed a deep crimson.
It was a bright summer’s morning when the little white minibus pulled up outside Purley Hall. Dame Pamela refused point-blank to call it a minibus, however, because that was such an undignified name. In her books, it was a coach.
‘Ah, Robyn,’ she said, peering out of her study window. ‘Do go and greet the driver, won’t you? His name’s Paul something or other.’
‘Allsop,’ Robyn said. ‘Mr Allsop.’
Dame Pamela wasn’t listening. She was rummaging through some of her coach spiel notes which were littering her desk. She was taking her role as a tour guide very seriously indeed.
Robyn walked down the great staircase and crossed the grand hallway, opening the front door to greet Mr Allsop who was standing scratching his head, neck craned up as he took in the house.
‘Blimey!’ he said. ‘I never knew this was here.’
‘Hello, Mr Allsop,’ Robyn said, extending her hand to shake his. He was a small, thin man with a narrow face containing brilliant red cheeks and a pair of the brightest eyes Robyn had ever seen.
‘You Dame Pamela, then?’ he asked.
‘Gracious, no,’ Robyn said. ‘I’m Robyn – her personal assistant. Dame Pamela will be down in a moment.’ She smiled. Had this curious man really never heard of Dame Pamela Harcourt? She was one of the most famous actresses in England and a national treasure to boot.
‘She own this place, then?’
‘Yes,’ Robyn said. ‘She’s an actress. Perhaps you’ve seen some of her films or plays?’
‘Eh?’ he said. ‘Not me. I don’t go in for much TV. Prefer a good book myself.’
‘Then you should be in very fine company this weekend,’ Robyn told him, ‘for you’ll be surrounded by book lovers.’
‘So I’ve been informed. Jane Austen fans, isn’t that right?’
Robyn nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Yes, my second wife was all wrapped up in that Darcy nonsense.’
Robyn’s eyes widened. ‘Your second wife?’
He nodded. ‘Divorced last year. Looking out for the third Mrs Allsop now.’
Robyn smiled. ‘Come on in and have a cup of tea before we leave,’ she said, wondering just how Mr Allsop would fare amongst a group of Janeites if he was a Darcy-basher.
Rose and Roberta had arrived in plenty of time and were sitting in the garden at Purley Hall enjoying a glass of elderflower cordial and admiring the summer roses in the borders.
‘I never tire of coming here,’ Roberta said.
‘I thought that incident with Dame Pamela’s first edition of
Pride and Prejudice
might have put you off,’ Rose said.
‘It
wasn’t
the first edition though, was it?’
‘We didn’t know that at the time,’ Rose pointed out, remembering with a shudder what had happened during the Christmas conference.
‘I must say, I can’t help feeling a mite nervous every time I walk into a library now.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Rose said. ‘I can’t take you anywhere, can I?’
Roberta gave a little chuckle. ‘Goodness knows what will happen when they let me loose at Pemberley.’
‘Which one?’
‘
Both
of them,’ Roberta said, thinking of the treats they had in store. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to take all the excitement! Just imagine being at home with Mr Darcy.’
