To Act in Your Name

Press Release: 5th April 2008

In conjunction with English Heritage and the Derbyshire Tourist Board, Exley Hall―the ancestral home of Major & Mrs Rivers-Smithe―will be staging a week-long series of events to mark the Hall’s two hundred and fiftieth anniversary.

The classical Palladian mansion, birthplace of celebrated politician Sir John Elder, was commissioned in 1757, with the foundation stone being laid in a grand ceremony on the 6th June 1758. The property boasts a number of complete Robert Adams interiors, as well as some exceptionally fine plasterwork and woodcarving. The Orangery, one of the finest of the period, has recently been restored to provide a centre point for the anniversary celebrations.

Exley Hall has long been thought by scholars to be the most likely inspiration for Pemberley, the home of one of the most famous literary creations; Mr. Darcy in Jane Austen’s novel Pride & Prejudice. In fact, so close is its resemblance to the book’s sparse description of Pemberley, that for years fans of Miss Austen’s work have swelled visitor numbers to Exley Hall, which has been open to the public since 1923. This supposition was recently given credence by the unearthing of a diary confirming a visit to the area by Miss Austen around the time she was known to be revising her most popular work for publication. Due to their similarities, the nearby village of Lambley has also been associated with the fictional village of ‘Lambton’―which plays a small but important role in the story―generating a vital source of revenue for an area blighted by high unemployment.

Exley Hall’s Pride & Prejudice week, running from Sunday 1st June to Saturday 7th June, will include a Jane Austen convention, a Regency Fair, costume display and numerous small events held throughout the week. Actors will be on hand to recreate the house as it would have been in 1812, as Mr. Darcy, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the housekeeper and a cast of well-loved characters bring the Hall―and the book―to life.

For further details please contact the press office on (01332) 622 3522.

 

~«o»@«o»~

1.

Dropping her canvas duffel on the bed, Miranda surveyed the room she would be sleeping in for the next ten days. Spreading her arms wide she couldn’t quite touch both walls at the same time, but it only lacked a few inches. A narrow bed, pushed against the wall, stood opposite a flimsy looking chest with three drawers, (one broken) while a dozen hooks on the wall, supporting five wire coat hangers, made a valiant attempt at impersonating a wardrobe. The only concession to modernity she could find was a tiny hand basin squashed into the corner behind the door, the mirror above no bigger than a paperback novel.

She sank slowly onto the end of the bed, making a couple of experimental bounces on the mattress until she was satisfied that it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it looked. Running her hand over the cool cotton quilt cover she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Despite its size, the room was not too bad. She had slept in worse. At least she didn’t have to share; not that there was room for anyone else. Miranda guessed that her bedroom had originally been part of a larger room― perhaps sleeping two or three servants―and she was thankful that she’d decided to pack light. Being in costume during the day, she’d considered a suitcase full of extra clothes to be unnecessary.

Standing on tiptoe she peered through the grimy dormer window set high in the sharply angled ceiling, but all she could see was the tops of the ancient Spanish chestnuts that were planted in the lawn. A knock on the door had her pirouetting on the spot, almost twisting her ankle in the process. “Yes?”

An auburn haired woman in a salmon pink twin set came through the door; the clash of colours setting Miranda’s teeth on edge. She silently perused a list on her clipboard, the end of her pen tapping against her bottom lip, before she looked up at the room’s occupant. “Are you our Miss Bennet?”

Cinnamon curls danced around Miranda’s shoulders as she nodded. “Yes. My name’s Miranda Lyons.”

Making a mark on her clipboard with a satisfied grunt, she introduced herself as Mrs Grant; in charge of co-ordinating the re-enactments. Miranda didn’t care much for her self important manner but, as she wouldn’t be spending too much time with her, she was able to exchange a few banal pleasantries before being left her to her own devices. Mrs Grant left her with a stern reminder that all the actors should meet in the green room before dinnertime; down the stairs, second door on the right.

Looking at her watch, she saw that she had almost an hour to kill so, swinging her legs up onto the bed, she allowed her head to sink into the soft pillow as she stared at the ceiling and tried to relax.

She was tense, but not in a bad way. It was nothing more than her eagerness to meet the group of people she would be working with over the next ten days. Miranda had been over the moon when the organisers had telephoned to confirm her success in landing the role of Elizabeth Bennet. She’d hardly had to learn any lines, knowing the book almost by heart, and she had felt at the time that the audition had gone well. However, if she was honest with herself, the chance to play one of her favourite literary heroines was only part of the appeal. While she was looking forward to meeting the other cast members, one member of the group had excited her anticipation more than any of the others, and she couldn’t wait to meet him. This week’s work would not earn her any glowing reviews, and the pay was poor, but at least she could look back and say she had spent a week in the company of Mr. Darcy.

Many women would willingly give up a kidney for the chance to say the same.

At half past five she was bending in front of the mirror, trying to see enough of her head in one go to be sure she looked presentable. She changed into a clean t-shirt, freshened up her make-up and by a quarter to six she was walking into the room that had been designated as their ’green room’.

One person had arrived before her.

Seeing Miranda at the door he quickly stood, brushing down his stone coloured chinos with a shy smile on his face. “Ah ... hello.” He held out his hand, which she took, noticing his confident grip. He clearly wasn’t as hesitant as he sounded. “I’m Gareth. Gareth Jones.”

Introducing herself, Miranda studied his light brown hair, curling at the nape, and his soft green eyes that smiled so readily. While she couldn’t deny he was good looking, he wasn’t quite what she had been hoping for. Although taller than she was, he didn’t exude that noble mien and stately bearing that she had always associated with the character of Mr. Darcy. Actor he might be, but nobody was that good. “Are you playing Mr. Bingley?”

He grinned and acknowledged her guess with a gentlemanly bow. The cast for this particular production, if you could call it that, had been pared down from the original, as much from a need to economise as anything else. From what she already knew, no more than ten people had been hired to bring Pride and Prejudice to life in the stately rooms and grounds of Exley Hall.

Miranda wondered when the other eight were going to arrive.

After a few minutes spent in awkward conversation with “Mr. Bingley”, a rumble of voices behind the door made them both look up, and a flurry of people entered in quick succession. A glance over the group told her that Mr. Darcy wasn’t among them but, pushing down her disappointment, she set to welcoming the newcomers and introducing herself and her companion.

The recent arrivals were a varied bunch. An aging, portly thespian called Gerald had been hired to play Mr. Gardiner, while Mrs Gardiner turned out to be a small but pleasant woman with short, curly hair. She introduced herself as Alison and explained that she had just finished a season of rep in Birmingham. The youngest of the group―who could only be Georgiana―was a slight young woman called Emily, whose claim to fame was a bit part in ‘Coronation Street’, while the fourth was a dark haired female of similar build to Miranda. She introduced herself as Maria, but would henceforth be known as Jane Bennet.

“But I thought Jane Bennet was blonde?”

Everyone turned to Georgiana, who blushed bright red.

“Costume is providing a wig,” Jane admitted, fingering her short dark locks nervously.

“The book never actually states that Jane is blonde,” Miranda was quick to point out. “Only that she is the most beautiful of the Bennet sisters.” There was no doubt that this Jane was beautiful; she had the largest blue eyes Miranda had ever seen. A blonde wig would suit her very well indeed.

They settled into two small groups. Mr and Mrs Gardiner, being of a similar age, gravitated towards each other, taking Georgiana with them. Miranda wasn’t at all surprised that Jane had taken the empty seat next to Bingley, or that the two of them had fallen into an easy conversation. After all, he was going to be proposing to her at least once a day for seven days so it was important for the pair of them to be comfortable in each other’s company.

Miranda took a moment to ponder who, apart from Mr. Darcy, was yet to arrive. She barely had the chance to tick ‘Mrs Reynolds’ off her fingers when an older woman wearing a tweed jacket and sensible shoes appeared in the doorway; her steel grey eyes casting sharp looks around the assembled cast. Miranda had always thought of the housekeeper as a non-threatening character, but Mrs Green seemed to expect deference from everyone in the company, perhaps with the exception of Mr. and Mrs Gardiner, who were closest to her in age.

A few minutes later, a stocky older man with short, salt-and-pepper hair entered the room with far more grace than she would have expected from his size. He apologised for being late and introduced himself as Trevor, a former Palace Guardsman turned actor. Miranda was surprised to learn that he would play the part of the Darcys butler; named, for the purposes of this performance, Mr. Flint.

“I can’t remember Jane Austen writing about a butler in Pride and Prejudice.”

“No, Mr. Bing... oh, I mean Gareth!” Miranda sighed. “I can see this getting complicated.”

Mrs Gardiner looked up from her crossword puzzle. “Perhaps, given that we’ll only be together for a week, wouldn’t it make more sense if we all answer to our character names?” Glancing around the room at the others, she noted their assent. “Thank you. I’m sure that will make things easier for all of us.”

Miranda turned to Gareth. “Well, Mr. Bingley―”

“Yes, Miss Bennet?” he replied formally, but with laughter in his eyes.

“I was only going to say that there was certainly no butler mentioned in the source material as far as I can remember.” She looked at Trevor. “Perhaps Mr. Flint can clarify the situation?”

Mr. Flint’s wide grin made him look more like a jolly innkeeper than a butler, especially out of costume. “Yes, Miss. I believe I can assist you there,” he ad-libbed for their entertainment. “The organiser of this event thinks that the visitors will expect to see a butler, even though one is not specifically mentioned in Miss Austen’s book. I think I’m here to lend some gravitas to the proceedings as well as formally welcoming the visitors and directing them to the beginning of the house tour.”

“That is perfectly correct,” Mrs Reynolds’ sharp voice added from across the room. “It would be historically accurate, of course, to include a butler in the household. I’m only surprised they didn’t hire a few extras to play footmen or maids as well.”

“I’m not,” Mr. Gardiner replied, rubbing his fingertips together. “It’s all extra cost, ain’t it?”

Georgiana moved chairs, sitting next to Miranda, Jane and Bingley. Pulling her chair closer, she asked in a quiet voice whether anyone knew who was playing the part of Mr. Darcy.

Bingley shook his head. “There were quite a few Darcy types there when I went for my audition, more Darcy’s than Bingley’s actually, but I have no idea who got the part in the end.”

“There are still two sisters of Mr. Bingley to come, as well,” Jane pointed out.

“No, there aren’t. They’ve only hired a Caroline. I think they were taking a leaf from Joe Wright’s film, saying it would save them money, and if the films can do it ...” Bingley allowed his words to trail off with a shrug.

“What cheapskates!” As a fan, Miranda would have preferred them to stick as closely to the book as possible. She looked around their little group and saw a general agreement. Production companies always seemed to be looking for ways to save money.

“Although the costumes I saw were very nice,” Georgiana ventured, just before the door flew back on its hinges.

There was no doubt about the identity of the two individuals who walked through the door. Although Miranda had never met either of them before, she knew that she was seeing Caroline Bingley and Fitzwilliam Darcy in the flesh. The actress playing Caroline looked and behaved just as Miranda had expected her to; tall and slim with a supercilious air that pronounced her above mere mortals. While she was pretty, there was a hard look to her face that stopped her from being beautiful. The sleeves of her cashmere sweater draped elegantly over her shoulders, and she was laughing lightly at something her companion had said moments earlier.

As Miranda’s gaze slid to Mr. Darcy, her breath caught in her throat. Had Colin Firth himself been standing there, she could not have pictured a more perfect match for the Mr. Darcy she had carried around in her head since she was twelve. Slightly taller than Bingley, this Darcy had a strong, masculine face, a straight nose and short hair tumbling in loose brown curls that could almost be black, except where the light caught the black treacle and hazelnut undertones. His tight jeans did not so much hide as accentuate his muscular thighs―she had no doubts that he would fill a pair of breeches perfectly―and his eyes ... well ... it was only good fortune that Miranda was sitting down, for she knew that her legs would not have supported her if those large chocolate brown eyes had been turned in her direction.

She watched silently as ‘Caroline’ moved around the room. Ruth Swale was garrulous; introducing herself with a cheerful ’hello’ to each cast member, and treating them to a secret smile that promised friendship but had little warmth in it. Darcy, on the other hand, had stood aloof from the group since his arrival. Miranda couldn’t decide whether he was just being polite or if he was as taciturn as the character he had been hired to portray. Caroline turned towards him. “And this, of course, is our Mr. Darcy!”

Scowling slightly that she had usurped his own introduction, he took two steps forward with a self-deprecatory grimace. “Hello. I’m Sebastian Fox. As Ruth rightly says, I am Mr. Darcy.” He bowed to the group―and even out of costume Miranda thought he looked every inch the elegant gentleman―and then he flashed the room a friendly smile and dropped down into the nearest chair.

Seeing that smile, and particularly the dimples that indented each cheek, made Miranda’s stomach flip, and she could not help but wonder how she would manage to work with him when a mere smile could disturb her so. Hearing a gasp from the chair behind her―Georgiana, she thought―she knew that she was not the only one to be affected by his magnetic presence.

Georgiana leaned eagerly towards Miranda and Jane. “Sebastian Fox! I saw him in a West End production once ... Dickens, I think. He’s also spent years as first understudy with the R.S.C. I’ve heard that his Prince of Denmark was inspired. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

Miranda had to agree. Compared to Sebastian Fox, no other man half deserved the word. “If that’s so ... why has he taken on this job?”

None of her companions appeared to have an answer.

A few moments later Mrs Grant came in through the open door, clipboard still in hand, to let them know that dinner was served and invite them to follow her to the dining room, which was in the old servants hall within the bowels of the house.

The troupe filed slowly out of the green room in small groups, continuing conversations as they wandered down the corridor, drifting towards the smell of food. Mr. Darcy was talking to Mr. Gardiner; it appeared that they had met before, or had friends in common. After a few minutes, Mr. Darcy’s attention swung around the other cast members. He seemed to be searching for something ... or someone. Was he looking for his Elizabeth? He paused for a moment―allowing the Gardiners to pass him by―before falling into step next to Jane. Miranda was only slightly behind, and had no trouble hearing his words.

“You must be playing Elizabeth.”

Jane blushed, flustered by the tone in his voice, which had sounded almost caressing. “No ... no, I’m not. I’m Jane.”

“Really? Lucky Bingley. But then who...?” His question tailed off as he looked around at the faces that surrounded him. After checking out and discounting the youthful Georgiana, Jane helpfully pointed behind him, where Miranda had remained hidden. When he turned around she gave him a challenging look with one eyebrow raised, just as she’d seen Jennifer Ehle do in the BBC adaptation. However, instead of being embarrassed by his faux pas, Mr. Darcy let out a deep chuckle; humoured, but in no way embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I should have known. Of course, you’re Elizabeth! What a stupid mistake for me to make, and how very Darcy-like!”

Flattered by his apology, even though it was hardly necessary, Miranda felt her cheeks flush.

“However, unlike Darcy, I don’t usually make a point of ignoring beautiful ladies, or insulting them within their hearing.” He moved closer to her and lowered his head until she felt his hot breath against her cheek. “And I certainly have no difficulty in recommending myself to strangers.”

Miranda felt the heat travel right to the top of her ears, and she was momentarily unable to frame a pithy response. After a few seconds she gave up, wishing she was more like the quick witted Elizabeth she was meant to be portraying.

Escorting Miranda the final few steps to the dining room, Darcy settled her on his right as he sat at the head of the table. The group had been given this one evening to socialise and get to know the other actors they would be working with before rehearsals started in earnest on Friday. Although, during the performances, they intended to ad-lib their general conversation, there were some well-known scenes from the book that would be expected by the visitors. Because of this, the following day would be taken up practicing lines and with the final costume fittings.

Everything had to be perfect for their first performance on Sunday.

~«o»@«o»~

2.

The following morning the shrill ringing of Miranda’s travel alarm woke her with a start. Yawning, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes before looking around. It took a few seconds for her to remember where she was and why―an occupational hazard unless she was on a long run―but as soon as she did, a soft, satisfied smile grew on her face as she recalled the events of the previous evening.

Miranda had been fortunate. While everyone she had met yesterday had been nice enough, Sebastian Fox must have been born to play the role of Mr. Darcy. He was everything she had hoped he would be; the consummate gentleman.

Although talk around the dinner table had been loud and general, with conversations criss-crossing over the dishes, Sebastian had made a point of spending at least some of the evening speaking with her alone. His marked attention had put her in such a whirl that she could barely recall what they had talked about. He had asked about her acting experiences, and later offered some stories of his own; that she did remember. His resume had been far more impressive than hers, although no one listening to the conversation could ever have accused him of boasting.

In fact, if anything he downplayed his own achievements in favour of praising those of others.

Caroline—who had pounced on the chair to his left like a lioness hunting a gazelle—had tried her best to overshadow Miranda with a long list of successful productions and minor TV appearances; praising her own accomplishments while ruthlessly discounting those of the others in a manner reminiscent of her character in the book. Mr. Darcy, gentleman that he was, had refused to rise to her bait. If anything, it only served to make his attentions towards Miranda more marked.

By the end of the evening she had been lost in a haze of happiness. Well, it could have been the wine, which had circulated freely between the diners, but wine had never made her feel quite so interesting before.

Miranda had considered herself inured to a handsome face.You couldn’t spend more than ten years in the theatre, with its ever-changing stock of good looking young men, without becoming very familiar with the species. However, when Mr. Darcy spoke to her—Miranda couldn’t think of him as ‘Sebastian’ when ‘Darcy’ suited him so well—inside she had felt a tug of attraction; as though fate’s icy hand had plunged through her skin and was drawing her towards him. Unfortunately, it had turned her into a blushing schoolgirl, giggling at his compliments and feeling the heat rising in her cheeks whenever her eyes caught his, or when he flashed her one of those devastating smiles.

After dinner the cast had remained around the table, nursing their drinks as they spoke of past productions, of famous names and ancient scandals, until the older members of the cast had decided to retire. By unspoken agreement, everyone had returned to their rooms, most grumbling about the early start they would have to endure. Final fittings with Wardrobe would, for some, begin at 8.30, and breakfast was to be served promptly at 7 a.m.

And Mrs Grant didn’t seem the type who would tolerate shoddy timekeeping.

Their rooms were spread on both sides of one long corridor on the top floor of the house, and each cast member called out their goodnight’s to the others as they disappeared through their own doors. Jane’s room was on the left side of Miranda’s, while Mr. Flint, the butler, had the room on the right.

As Miranda reached for the door handle she had sensed that Darcy was still hovering behind her.

Mr. Bingley, his eyes shifting between the pair of them, gave her an odd look before wishing them goodnight and slipping into the room opposite hers. She had then turned around to find Darcy looking silently down at her.

“Where’s your room?” She winced, mentally kicking herself as soon as she’s said it. She’d grasped the question for want of something to say, not thinking how it might sound until it left her lips.

Darcy grinned slightly at her discomfort, but had seemed to understand that it hadn’t been meant as an invitation. “At the far end of the corridor; nearest the stairs.”

His implication couldn’t be clearer. He’d walked past his own room to see her safely to hers.

Lying back in bed she grinned at the memory of it. Could this Mr. Darcy truly be as wonderful as the fictional character she had often dreamed about? It was too soon to hope, and she didn’t intend to make a fool of herself; pining for something that would never be.

Because everyone knew that dreams never came true.

Breakfast was served in the hushed tones of muted conversation. Only Trevor-the-butler and Mr. Gardiner seemed to be morning people, as they hunched over the sports section of the daily paper, discussing the latest odds on the three-thirty at Ascot. Bacon and eggs; cereal and milk; tea and toast; all were welcomed and consumed in what passed for silence amongst the acting community. Mrs Grant joined them after half an hour, handing out schedules and scripts.

Looking down the running order, Miranda saw that the performances were split into two sections. Four scenes would be recreated during the morning session, which ran from ten in the morning, when the house and grounds opened to the public, until twelve-thirty. After an hour for lunch the actors would then be expected to cover the remaining six scenes before the park closed at five.

As she studied the scenes in more detail, she spotted what she thought was an inaccuracy. “Mrs Grant? The fifth scene of the afternoon session is titled “Lady Catherine’s visit”, but we don’t have a Lady Catherine.”

Mrs Grant’s smile was sweetly condescending. “Why, of course we do. Mrs Green will be playing the dual roles of Mrs Reynolds and Lady Catherine.”

This was news to everyone except Mrs Green, who was sitting at the end of the table, knitting. “Yes, Housekeeper in the morning, irascible Aunt in the afternoon. Now that’s what I call job satisfaction!”

“But what do we call you?” Jane asked bravely. “Mrs Reynolds or Lady Catherine?”

A rare gleam of humour lit up the old woman’s face. “Let’s stick to Mrs Reynolds, shall we?”

Bingley and Jane left first to find a quiet spot in which to rehearse his marriage proposal; the only scene which didn’t require Miranda’s presence in some capacity. Mrs Reynolds watched them leave before sharing a knowing nod with Mrs Gardiner.

Miranda, playing Elizabeth, found herself most in demand. Her first scenes were with Mr and Mrs Gardiner for their arrival at Lambton and their initial meeting with Mrs Reynolds at Pemberley

Darcy, meanwhile, offered to rehearse with Georgiana and Caroline while they waited for Elizabeth to join them. Trevor the butler drew the short straw for first fittings as he had no set lines to practice.

The morning flew by as she worked with Mr. and Mrs Gardiner. The Lambton Inn scenes would take place within one of the ground floor rooms of Exley Hall, and she soon found herself in the swing of things as Mrs Gardiner coaxed her into visiting Pemberley time after time.

“If it were merely a fine house richly furnished I should not care about it myself; but the grounds are delightful,” she said, for the fifth time; rolling her eyes as she did so. “Not that my room is richly furnished, of course,” she added in a less formal tone. “There’s not enough space to swing a cat. Very different from the Master Suite. Have you been upstairs yet?” When Miranda shook her head, Mrs Gardiner sat back in her chair, more than happy to describe the scene. “Imagine what it must have been like to sleep in the Master’s chamber with the blue and gold draperies, and that huge bed with twisted posts.” She looked at Miranda, her smile widening as she borrowed one of Elizabeth’s lines. “Ahhh, to be Mistress of Pemberley would have been something indeed!”

Miranda laughed. “The Mistress of Exley Hall isn’t enjoying the benefits. I understand the Major and his wife sleep in a small set of apartments in the east wing.”

“Of course. Can you imagine how it would be if they overslept one morning and found tourists wandering through their bedroom? It would be enough to turn any man impotent!”

Laughing, they returned to the beginning of the scene.

Half an hour later they moved through into the Great Hall, where Mrs Reynolds would be standing ready to show them around Pemberley and talk about her favourite subject.

“I have heard much of your master’s fine person,” said Mrs. Gardiner, as she feigned interest in a picture. “It is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.”

Mrs Reynolds frowned and looked at her script. “Shouldn’t it be like him or not?”

“No, it clearly says like or not.”

“Who wrote this script?”

Mr. Gardiner grinned. “Wasn’t it Jane Austen?”

Mrs Reynolds shot him a withering glance before purposefully turning away from him. “Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?”

“A little.”

“And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma’am?”

Miranda failed to dampen a smile. “Yes, very handsome.”

“Mmm, and I’ve no doubt that he would agree with you on that score,” Mrs Reynolds replied sagely. “I suspect that Mr. Darcy thinks very well of himself indeed.”

As the rehearsals continued, one by one the cast members were called through to the Wardrobe department; who had set up their rack of costumes, sewing machines and ironing boards in a small parlour at the back of the hall that was not open to the public.

Just before lunch, Miranda received her summons to appear before the wardrobe mistress and her assistants. It came not a moment too soon, as she had found working with Mrs Reynolds while in ‘Lady Catherine mode’ to be rather exhausting.

Stepping into the small room, the smell of freshly washed clothing wafted over her. Closing her eyes to better appreciate the comforting aroma, she opened them to see Darcy already there, surrounded by a group of appreciative women.

He noticed her entrance almost immediately and held out his arms, turning slowly. “Well, what do you think? Does Miss Bennet approve?”

She allowed her eyes to slide over his form, taking in his buckskin breeches and stockings, his ivory embroidered waistcoat and snowy-white shirt, and on top of all the pristine dark blue coat ―its tails hanging down to his knees―with shiny brass buttons. She noticed his biceps sliding under the cloth of his sleeves, and tried to avoid examining the disturbance that marred the front of his otherwise smooth breeches.

She knew what she would see, and she didn’t think she’d be able to view the bunchage with complacency.

Catching his eye Miranda realised that an answer was still expected. “Yes, Mr. Darcy. I approve very much. You look very smart. Every inch a gentleman.” And some inches more so than others.

His answering smile held a touch of satisfaction, as though he knew just what she was thinking. “I’m glad you think so. Would you give me your opinion on this one?” He shook his fingers impatiently to another coat hanging on the rack, and the wardrobe assistants almost fell over themselves to help him out of the blue coat, while another held out the new one for him to slip his arms in.

Miranda sighed. It was dark green, and again he looked wonderful.

Once she had spent a few moments appreciating just how well he fit into his coats, and murmuring the appropriate compliments, the women in the room reluctantly turned their attention towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Miranda had learned very early in her career that there was no place for modesty in show business. When Mr. Darcy made no effort to leave the room and spare her blushes, she knew that she would just have to grit her teeth and get on with it. He was occasionally distracted from his observations by his own disrobing, as some of the women stripped him of his costume in order to make those few final adjustments and prepare everything for the dress rehearsals tomorrow. The circumstances also worked in Miranda’s benefit. Although he showed more than a passing interest in what was happening on her side of the room, it was fair to say that she also received pleasure from some of the sights she happened to glimpse between bodies and hanging garment bags.

The dresser, after temporarily fixing up Miranda’s long hair, settled a velvet spencer over her shoulders before moving around to the front; an assortment of pins sticking out from between her lips. Once she had made a few adjustments, she stepped back and instructed Miranda to turn around slowly.

“Oh yes, that’s very nice,” a deep voice drawled from behind the collection of costumes.

Miranda started. She had been so busy studying her reflection in the tall mirrors that she’d almost forgotten Mr. Darcy’s presence.

Leaning on the rail he twirled his finger around in the air, silently requesting a second rotation. When she obliged he slowly nodded his appreciation. “And without the jacket?”

His question sent the dressers scurrying to do his bidding. As they peeled the velvet from around her shoulders, Miranda felt strangely under dressed in the thin muslin, even though the neckline for this gown wasn’t particularly revealing. She looked briefly up at Mr. Darcy, and met a stare that made her legs feel weak. She heard him chuckle and when she glanced back to him his attention had turned to something on the props table; the watch fob and seals that would complete his outfit. Wondering why he was still hanging around, she asked. “Is no one waiting for you to rehearse?”

The ever present smile grew at the sound of her voice. “No. They’ll be calling lunch in ten minutes. I thought I’d wait and escort you there. I trust you have no objection?”

Of course she couldn’t object. The wardrobe staff seemed to look at her with a new respect, and set to work a little faster to complete the last minute adjustments to her gown before they allowed her to carefully slide it down over her shoulders. It irked her slightly that their behaviour was being manipulated more to impress him than to assist her, but she told herself that she was merely being childish.

Shrugging into her jeans and t-shirt, they left wardrobe to make a simple lunch of jacket potatoes with cheese and salad, washed down with a glass of crisp chardonnay. When their meal was finished, Darcy pushed his chair back from the table and stretched out his legs. “Where would you like to rehearse this afternoon?”

Miranda admitted that she hadn’t given the matter any thought. “Is there anywhere you would like to go? On the lawn by the pond perhaps?”

“No, I was thinking more of somewhere that would evoke the sensations of living in a grand mansion like this. I need to soak up the atmosphere and mentally prepare myself to become Darcy. One of the salons ... the Yellow Salon in particular ... is decorated in a regency style. Perhaps we could work in there?”

Having no objection to make, Miranda fell in easily with his plan. They arrived at the pretty room, papered in buttercup and white stripes, to find it predictably empty.

Scripts in hand, they worked methodically through their scenes, alone to begin with. Mr. Darcy played his part to perfection, seeming to know exactly the amount of assurance and deference to give to the role. As they took their places for each different scene, he paused, taking a moment to transform himself, giving himself a more noble mien and regal aspect.

If Miranda had thought he looked like Mr. Darcy in the green room the previous evening, it was nothing to the way he looked when he was consciously playing the part.

“Your housekeeper informed us that you would certainly not be here until tomorrow. Indeed, before we left Bakewell we understood that you were not immediately expected in the country.”

Darcy stood, seemingly at ease as he fiddled with a signet ring on his right hand; giving the impression that he was trying to hide his nervousness. “That is true. Business with my Steward occasioned my coming forward a few hours before the rest of my party.” He looked up at Miranda, and added in a more normal voice, “Can you imagine how Darcy must be feeling at this point? I know he was tongue-tied and awkward the first time he met her in the garden, but even so ... he must have been so aroused, knowing that the woman he loved was within the boundaries of his property.”

“Is that all you men ever think about?”

He shrugged. “Of course.”

They began to discuss what Darcy might have been thinking of as he was conversing so politely with the object of his affections. He, of course, was taking the man’s point of view and he explained rather eloquently―and with a surprisingly in-depth knowledge of the book―his reasons for thinking that Darcy would have been plotting ways to get his Elizabeth alone somewhere quiet.

Miranda, meanwhile, continued to push forward her view that Mr. Darcy was far too honourable and gentlemanly to consider such behaviour, and he only wanted to show her that the faults she had pointed out had been attended to.

He didn’t agree. “Men haven’t changed that much in two hundred years. Being a man, I think I can safely say what we as a species spend all our time thinking about.” He looked pointedly towards her. “Especially when they see a woman that interests them. It’s human nature I’m afraid.”

She was too busy quelling the butterflies in her stomach to argue with him. Slightly flustered by his looks—looks she would have described as meaningful if she tended towards the melodramatic—she picked up the pages of her script again and suggested that they ought to continue with the rehearsal. He made no argument, and they began again from the top.

By the time they had reached the last scene, they were no longer alone. The hour was late, and some of the others had already taken their parts earlier and had stayed on to watch. Trevor the butler and Mr. and Mrs Gardiner were standing by the door, while Georgiana was perched on one of the sofas. Jane and Bingley were near the windows, engaged in whispered conversations.

Darcy turned suddenly; looking at Miranda with a heat she thought might burn her soul. “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”

Miranda turned, blushed and looked down at her feet. “Mr. Darcy. My ... my wishes are ... so very different from your previous declaration that I imagine you must think my feelings to be quite fickle. My sentiments have changed so ... so very much, that it is almost impossible for me to sufficiently express my gratitude of your happy assurances.”

Darcy’s face seemed to mutate; one minute grim determination, the next exquisite happiness that seemed to make him glow. He took a step closer and caught up both of her hands in his, kissing her wrists. “Miss Bennet! Elizabeth! Is it true? Dare I hope that I have won your love?”

The moment was suddenly broken by a voice by the door. “You’ve got to be joking! My cat could have written better than this rubbish!” As one, the other occupants of the room turned to look at Mrs Reynolds, who shook her head disgustedly. “Dare I hope that I have won your love?” She mimicked, then snorted. “Couldn’t this imbecile of a scriptwriter have come up with anything better than that?” Everybody started talking at once, but her sharp voice cut through the noise. “You!” She pointed a bony finger at Darcy. “What would you have said, if you didn’t have to spout this drivel?”

Darcy perched on one of the arms of a high backed chair. “Nothing. If I were in Darcy’s position, I would have grabbed Elizabeth and kissed her senseless. Any man in his right mind would have done the same.” He paused, until he knew that he had the attention of everyone present. “All Miss Austen wrote was that he expressed himself just as you would expect from a man violently in love. That doesn’t mean that it had to be a verbal expression of love. Of course, she couldn’t say that they kissed, or perhaps she didn’t want to, but I’ll bet that everyone understood what she meant at the time. If I was violently in love, and the woman of my dreams had just accepted my proposal, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her.”

His suggestion began a whole new conversation, and everyone seemed to have an opinion on the subject. In the end, the majority decision seemed to be that they should give it a try and see how it worked.

Moving back to her place, Miranda waited for Darcy to join her as butterflies waltzed around inside her. It wasn’t that she objected to being kissed; she just hadn’t expected to be kissed by Mr. Darcy.

Well, not today.

He fed her the last line of his speech and she replied with her own words. When she once more expressed her gratitude for his actions, Darcy turned to her, a gentle smile suffusing his face. Then, before she could draw another breath, he clasped her in his arms, whispered her name and brought his lips down to hers for one of the most sensual kisses Miranda had ever experienced. It left her feeling weak and she clung to his shoulders to keep herself upright.

When the kiss finally came to an end, the room exploded in appreciative applause.

“Should we keep that change in then?” Darcy asked with a grin.

“I don’t see why not. The fans will like it, and it’s not like the scriptwriter is supervising the performances,” Trevor replied.

Darcy turned to look at Miranda. “What about you, Elizabeth? Do you have any objections to the change?”

Miranda wanted to say yes. She could not imagine how she would get through the next eight or nine days knowing that, every afternoon around four p.m., she would have to deal with a kiss that turned her legs to jelly, but seeing everyone else’s enthusiasm for it she smiled weakly and nodded.

It was going to be a long week.

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