3.

Miranda studied herself in the mirror. Her hair had been pinned up at the back, with ringlets falling on either side of her face, and the empire waisted gown of sprigged muslin hung well enough that she didn’t look completely pregnant. Overall, she was rather pleased with the result. Being more of a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, the skirt flapping around her ankles made her feel more, well, feminine than usual.

Today was the final, full-dress rehearsals, and the cast were assembling on the lawn outside wardrobe for the publicity photographs. Jane was dressed in pale blue, with blue ribbons crossed over the bust, while Georgiana’s―a white gown with frills―was trimmed with thin bands of pale green velvet. Trevor had been transformed by his sombre black coat and breeches into a very serious looking butler, and Mrs Reynolds appeared even more austere in plain grey with a cream lace fichu and a cap covering her hair.

Mrs Gardiner looked neat and trim in her caramel and cream striped morning dress with matching pelisse and a high crowned bonnet, while her husband seemed to be struggling with his waistcoat, pulling it down over his extensive girth. “I bet that damned woman made this short on purpose,” he complained.

“Oh do stop moaning. Perhaps if you didn’t go back for seconds at dinner your costume might be a little more comfortable.”

“That’s just the sort of sympathy I’d expect from you,” he grumbled, before moving off to commiserate with Trevor.

Everyone’s attention turned to the door as Darcy and Bingley left the house to join them on the lawn. Bingley’s brown coat and pale breeches were half hidden by a light grey driving coat that almost brushed the floor as he walked, and he carried a tall hat and brown leather gloves in one hand and a cane in the other. Miranda had to admit that the formal attire suited him very well.

However, her eyes were soon drawn to Darcy, and the dark blue coat she had seen him in the previous day. He was not wearing an over coat, so she was better able to admire how snugly his breeches seemed to mould themselves over the well defined muscles in his legs. Sliding her gaze upwards, she met his eyes and felt herself blush; his smile suggesting that he knew exactly what she had been thinking about.

That only left Caroline, and it was another five minutes before she deigned to make her grand entrance, dressed in deep red silk with a neckline that looked a little excessive to Miranda's eyes.

The photographer shouted to get their attention, and began ordering the cast into their correct places. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were naturally positioned in the middle, with Jane and Mr. Bingley on one side and Mr. and Mrs Gardiner on the other. Everyone else was arranged around them until they were grouped to his satisfaction. Pictures taken, the cast wandered away to take full advantage of their precious rehearsal time.

Miranda spent the first hour with Mr and Mrs Gardiner, being shown around the house by Mrs Reynolds as the older woman once more described Mr. Darcy as the best landlord and master. After that, they all walked across the lawn to the pond, where Darcy―despite a hopeful suggestion from Mrs Grant―refused point-blank to emerge dripping from the water. Having been duly surprised by Elizabeth’s appearance, Mr. Darcy stalked into the house, while Mr. and Mrs Gardiner expressed their admiration of his figure. When they next met Mr. Darcy they were appropriately astonished by his arrival and his condescension in offering to show them where the fish were known to bite the best. Once they had declined refreshment, and he had asked permission to introduce his sister, it was time for lunch, and the group sat around the table, their costumes covered with strategically placed napkins to keep them clean. No one doubted the icy reception they’d receive if any of the clothing was returned to wardrobe covered in grease stains.

Even Darcy did not trust his luck to that extent.

Later, in another large reception room, Mr. Darcy took his sister and Bingley to pay a visit on the Gardiners and Elizabeth at the Lambton Inn; even though they remained firmly within the walls of Exley Hall. Miss Darcy made an excellent job of showing herself to be exceedingly shy, and Elizabeth had some fun struggling to make conversation when every answer had to be coaxed out of her silent visitor. Mr. Darcy then explained that Mr. Bingley was coming to call for her; as he did ... right on cue. Mr. Bingley―behaving in such a Bingley-like manner than Miranda could not help but smile at his performance―spoke with good humoured ease as he declared his delight at meeting her again. Finally, the scene ended with Mr. Darcy encouraging his sister to proffer them invitations to dinner at Pemberley, which were gratefully accepted.

After a short coffee break, Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth presented themselves at Pemberley to return Miss Darcy’s call, and it was time for Elizabeth Bennet to reacquaint herself with Miss Bingley once again.

Despite those first impressions of friendliness, Ruth Swale had not endeared herself to the majority of the company, although no one would deny her acting ability. She played her part so well, her impression of Caroline Bingley so exact, that Miranda found very little to like. In the evenings, once dinner was over, she invariably returned to her room; shunning the camaraderie of the green room in favour of endless conversations on her mobile phone. On the occasions when she did join them, nothing would do but for her to be the centre of attention.

And the only person deemed worthy of her company was Darcy.

“Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the Militia removed from Meryton?” She delivered her lines with a sickly sweet smile. “That must be a great loss to your family.”

Miranda’s reply was detached, Georgiana looked suitably uncomfortable and Darcy watched the scene unfold with interest.

Caroline appeared to relish the subtle digs at Elizabeth and it soon became obvious to Miranda that, almost two hundred years since Pride and Prejudice was first published, Caroline Bingley still wanted Mr. Darcy to herself. The looks she gave Miranda were challenging, and she took every opportunity of standing close to Darcy when she was not required to speak.

They quickly ran through the remaining scenes. Elizabeth and Darcy’s last meeting at the Lambton Inn was followed by Bingley’s proposal to Jane, and Jane’s confession to her sister. Then Mrs Reynolds reappeared after her costume change for the scene entitled ‘Lady Catherine’s visit’ and entered into the spirit of the part with gusto.

As the weather remained fine, Mrs Grant asked to see the final scene performed outdoors, and Elizabeth and Darcy trailed Jane and Bingley along a path in the gardens. Darcy’s second proposal went very much as it had the previous day. When he kissed her again, she found that she needed to grab his lapels in case her legs decided to abandon the fight to stay upright. She still wasn’t sure that his response to her positive answer was quite what the fans would be expecting, and―more to the point―it left her own emotions in a jumble of confusion.

Who was Mr. Darcy actually kissing? Was it really Elizabeth or could it be Miranda?

When the kiss ended, Darcy held her in his arms for a few seconds longer than necessary, looking down into her eyes. Did he realise how much it affected her? She was an actor. She should be able to kiss another cast member whenever the script called for it without suffering all these agonies. Miranda silently promised herself to be more professional when it came to the real performance, and not allow her own feelings to ruin the scene. She had to remain detached.

As they walked back to the house, to return their costumes and change for dinner, Miranda held back from the group, preferring to walk alone and allow herself a few moments to think. Unfortunately, her absence was soon noted and she walked around a large shrub to find Bingley waiting for her; offering to keep her company. Bingley was a nice guy and friendly with everyone; she didn’t have the heart to rebuff him.

It would be like kicking a puppy.

“That last scene was a good one,” he offered. “I liked the way you paused in the middle ... just for a second or two. It was very effective; you should make a point of keeping that in.”

“Thank you. I thought it went well too.” She looked down at the stony path, watching for the sharp pebbles that she could feel through the thin soles of her slippers. “How have your rehearsals been going?”

Bingley spoke of his scenes with Jane, and how easy Maria was to work with. “It’s a shame that Charles Bingley was such a complete ass.”

“What makes you say that?”

He looked down at his fingers as they fidgeted with the seals hanging from his waist. “It’s obvious really; he fell in love with the wrong sister. I’ve often thought that Bingley needed someone a bit firmer as his wife. Someone who would help to steer the family through life, rather than follow him blindly. Jane is a little too meek for him.”

Miranda was surprised that he should knew the book so well, although she couldn’t bring herself to agree with his interpretation of it, and said so.

He listened patiently to her reasoning before adding more arguments of his own. “Personally, I think Elizabeth would have been the perfect influence for Bingley’s malleability. He is too easily led, and Jane too complying. I’ve no doubt Jane and Bingley would get along fine but, like Mr. Bennet says, nothing would ever be decided between them. Each one would be forever deferring decisions to the other.” He looked up then, to see Miranda’s reaction. “What? You don’t agree?”

“I’ve never thought of it like that before. Don’t you think that Elizabeth would soon become bored with Bingley? I mean ... well, I don’t think she’d necessarily want a husband who was quite so ... persuadable. Mr. Bennet tells Elizabeth that she needs to be able to respect her partner. Do you really think that she would be able to respect Bingley?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, although I do believe that if he loved her, and she loved him, he would grow to become the kind of husband she needed. The challenge might have been good for him.”

Miranda smiled as they arrived at the house. “Well, look on the bright side. If Jane Austen had thought that way, then you might have ended up rehearsing with me, rather than Maria. Scary thought, hey?”

“Yeah, and that would have been hard work because you’re obviously such a prima donna.”

Laughing at his sarcastic tone, Miranda punched him playfully on the shoulder. “Am not!”

He held the door open for her, and as she walked past him, he whispered, “Are too! But it’s okay ... I won’t tell the others.”

“Won’t tell us what?” Jane asked from behind them.

Bingley gave another half hearted shrug and shook his head, walking ahead and leaving the two young women to saunter into wardrobe last.

“What was that all about?”

Miranda turned around to see Jane looking at her, her eyes wary. “We were just talking. He called me a prima donna.” She could see that Jane was still unsure. “I swear, I’m not after your Mr. Bingley, Jane.”

“He’s not my Mr. Bingley,” Jane quoted, a half smile on her lips.

“No?” whispered Miranda with a grin as she walked past her. “Well, he soon will be if you continue to spend so much rehearsal time alone together.”

~<>@<>~

By Sunday morning, everyone was rushing around in different directions, preparing themselves for the day ahead. Some partook of a hearty breakfast while others were too afflicted by ‘first day nerves’ to even look at food. Georgiana was convinced that it was the smell of the fried eggs and bacon Trevor was wolfing down that was making her queasy, while Mrs Gardiner couldn’t bear to look at Mr. Gardiner’s slabs of thickly buttered toast. Miranda was more excited than nervous, and joined Bingley and Jane in having a small bowl of cereal and some fruit.

Most of the cast had their dog-eared scripts close to hand―lying on the table, sticking out of back pockets or bags, or rolled up like a fly swat―as they took the last opportunity to go over their lines; either in the privacy of their own heads, or in hushed whispers under their breath.

Miranda noticed that Mrs Reynolds had taken a seat in the corner of the room and was watching the others with a rare smile in her grey eyes. Offering to fetch her a cup of tea, Miranda asked if she had completed her own preparations for the day.

“Of course. You don’t spend fifty years in this business without learning how to memorise your lines.” She pushed herself out of her chair; pleased to be able to show off her abilities. Changing the tone of her voice slightly, taking on more of a humble accent suitable for a housekeeper, she quoted a random line. “This room was recently redecorated on the orders of Mr. Darcy, after his sister took a particular liking to the room.”

Miranda knew that that was her cue. “He is certainly a good brother.”

“I expect that Miss Darcy will be delighted by the scheme, but that is always the way with him. Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her.”

Miranda looked down the table, where Darcy was distracting Georgiana from her nerves by cracking jokes with Mr. Gardiner and Bingley. They were making a point of reassuring the young girl that all would be well. Yes, he was indeed playing the part of a good brother, and she didn’t think it was completely an act either.

After breakfast it was time to don their costumes in earnest and the troupe gathered on the south lawn as Mrs Grant gave them some last minute instructions, including the strict injunction that they were to remain in character at all times when in the presence of visitors. Any questions asked had to be replied to in the correct manner in order to preserve the fantasy they were trying to create. She explained that a high number of visitors were not expected on this, their first day. The largest visitor numbers would occur on the Monday and Tuesday, when the Austen Convention was taking place in the ballroom and in the large marquee, and on Thursday and Friday when a Regency Fair would be held in the grounds. “I expect you all to be ready and waiting for when the gates open at 10am. You all know when your scheduled lunch breaks are, and you must keep to the timetable so that you do not hold up another performance. Miss Bennet, as you are most in demand, that rule pertains to you more than anyone else, I’m afraid.”

Miranda nodded, accepting the restriction with good grace. The fact that their working day coincided with the Hall’s opening hours meant that their evenings would be free. During the course of her career, spent mainly in the theatre, it was usually the opposite way around unless they had matinée performances. The weather forecast was good, considering it was only June, and they had the opportunity to spend some of their time in the fresh air, with a Mr. Darcy who was very easy on the eye.

And she was getting paid for it. Life didn’t really get any better than this.

Then Mrs Grant introduced a visitor who had come to wish them all well. Mrs Rivers-Smithe reminded Miranda of an older Caroline Bingley. Although she had to be at least fifty, she was completely the opposite of Mrs Grant. Her ash blonde hair, subtly coloured to camouflage the tell-tale wisps of silver, was perfectly straight, with no strand out of place, while her clothes screamed expensive designer labels. She obviously spent time at a gym, for she was not only thin, but nicely toned.

Mr. Gardiner raised his eyebrows in admiration, and whispered in Trevor’s ear, a wide grin on his face.

“Oh, how lovely to see you together like this! You all look delightful in your costumes!” She moved around them, complimenting their clothes and accessories. She unerringly identified each character correctly―showing herself au fait with the book― and shared a few words with each of them. When she arrived in front of Miranda, Mrs Rivers-Smithe gave her a wry smile. “Miss Bennet! Well, you do look the part ... I’m so glad. It would have been frightful to see Darcy making sheep’s eyes at a plain Elizabeth, for although Jane is meant to be the beauty I never thought that Darcy would be so smitten as to fall for a dowdy girl! Yes, I think you will do very well indeed.”

She then turned to Darcy, who had moved closer to Miranda during the conversation. “And Mr. Darcy! Well, I must admit that I was concerned that the casting director could easily make a mess of casting Darcy, but I could not be proven more wrong! You are perfect! Isn’t he just perfect?” she asked of Miranda, who nodded her agreement. “The ladies who are organising the convention will be here later, and I must introduce you to them. I am sure they will be highly delighted with you.” She reached out and ran a finger lightly across his lapel before pretending to pick something off his coat. “I would love the opportunity to discuss your opinion of Mr. Darcy’s character. Playing the part must give you a real idea of the man hiding behind that stony façade of propriety. Perhaps we could talk about it ... over dinner one evening?”

The last was said in a voice so low that Miranda wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it, but the hunted look in his eyes as Darcy gave a brief, non-committal answer told her that her imagination had not filled a silence.

Later, as she walked in the gardens with Darcy, pretending to discuss her visits to Chatsworth and Matlock for the edification of the few visitors they could see in the distance, Miranda broached the subject of Mrs Rivers-Smithe’s generous offer. “I imagine you are used to having women throw themselves at you like that.”

Darcy sighed as his eyes roamed over the flowers in the boarder. “It happens.” His voice was unusually quiet; almost a whisper.

Miranda had intended to tease him, but his muted reaction made her pause. Maintaining a sympathetic tone, she said, “Doesn’t it make things awkward sometimes?”

“Yes ... yes it does.”

He fell silent and Miranda counted ten paces along the path before she dared to look at him. Somehow his expression seemed less assured and there was a trace of uncertainty in his eyes. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle.”

His next words were hesitant. “Few people understand. They don’t know ...”

Although she wasn’t at all sure she could help, Miranda wanted to try. Suddenly, as though a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she no longer saw a tall, confident actor, but a young man uncomfortable with the reactions of others. It took a few more words of encouragement before he seemed willing to explain.

“It can be difficult at times. I ...” He exhaled slowly, raking his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think I’ve been on one job, since I was seventeen, where I haven’t been propositioned like that at least once; either by one of the cast or a member of the audience. It’s the one time when you could say I am like Darcy.” His short bark of laughter sounded harsh and cynical. “I know I give everyone the impression that I’m oh-so-confident, and I do try to be, but when something like that happens I ... I never know what to say, or how to say no without upsetting them.”

Miranda felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach. “I think it says a lot about you as a person that you worry about someone else’s feelings, especially when they don’t consider yours.”

Stopping on the path, Darcy stared into her eyes as though he was seeing her for the first time. His lips curved briefly into a smile. Not a knowing smile, but an unconscious one; as though he had found something unexpected. “You’re an unusual woman, you know.”

“I am?”

“Yes. You’re not like the others, are you? Most people I meet sees my face or my body first—and, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to play to their preconceptions—but few people bother to look further ... to the real me.” He waved a hand depreciatingly towards his own face. “This handsome countenance is more of a curse than a blessing.” His wearied sigh seemed to mirror his mood. “I’d probably be taken more seriously as an actor if I looked less like a male model. People—women in particular—imagine me to be a sex-starved pretty boy, which is hardly conducive to earning the serious roles I’d really like to play. It’s all about first impressions, isn’t it?”

He turned away, scanning the trees as though lost in thought. After a moment’s reflection, his eyes swung back to study her. “I’m sure you know as well as I do how hard it is to form real relationships in this business. You probably think I have stacks of friends ... long lists of conquests.” When Miranda neither confirmed nor denied his assertion he shook his head sadly. “Everyone thinks the same. Yes, I do have lots of friends, and I am popular, but it comes at a price few would guess.”

Miranda wondered what that price was, but Darcy spotted a group of visitors heading in their direction, and they began to ad lib a conversation more appropriate to the parts they were playing. The rest of the day flew past and she did not have another chance to assuage her curiosity until the last guest was ushered from the park and the gates finally closed.

That evening, once they’d returned their costumes to wardrobe, Darcy asked if Miranda would care to go for a short walk before dinner. Agreeing, they wandered between the Spanish chestnuts and across the rising expanse of grass, heading towards a copse of trees which rose behind the hall. Their walk was, for the most part, silent; her companion either having nothing to say or not being quite sure how to say it. She sensed that he was struggling with something, and hoped that he would open up to her again.

After their conversation earlier in the day, she didn’t doubt that he needed to speak to someone.

As they reached the edge of the trees, Darcy sat down in the tall grass, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Miranda dropped down by his side and they sat for a minute in silence as they looked out across the valley and the leaded roofs of Exley Hall. Just at the point when Miranda felt that a break in the silence was required, Darcy cleared his throat.

“You know, it’s nice to be able to just sit here, and not feel compelled to talk. It’s very relaxing. Being here with you is comfortable. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it before.” He looked up at Miranda. “I hope I haven’t made things awkward between us, saying that?”

“No ... no, not at all,” she replied smilingly, as she settled herself in the grass. How like him to worry about her feelings.

He frowned. “It’s a long while since I haven’t had to worry about playing up to people’s perceptions of me. Do you know what I mean?”

Miranda wasn’t entirely sure she did know what he meant, but she was prepared to sit and listen as he explained it to her. And he did. He told how his male friends were his friends primarily because it did them good socially to be seen with him. With women, he hadn’t yet met anyone who liked him for his personality rather than his good looks. “Another woman, sat in your place, would expect certain behaviour from me. They might assume that I wanted to kiss them; perhaps even more. Sometimes it’s just easier to give them what they want, rather than say no and risk making things difficult.” Laying back in the soft grass he stared up into the blue sky. “God, Elizabeth, you don’t know how good it is to just be able to relax and be myself.”

Recalling her first thoughts when Darcy entered the green room on Thursday evening caused Miranda a moment’s guilt. She’d thought him drop dead gorgeous, and he still was, but she knew him better now. Under that pretty wrapping paper was a thoughtful brain and now, it seemed, a sensitive side too.

The one thing she had never expected was to become his confidante. However, if he needed to unburden himself she was more than happy to fill that role. She hadn’t come up here expecting anything from him. The last thing she needed was another kiss. After all, she was guaranteed a smouldering encounter with him every day during the second proposal scene, and she hadn’t become inured to the effects of that one yet. And he was only acting!

She allowed herself a moment to wonder what it might be like when he wasn’t acting, but soon pushed the illicit thought away.

If Mr. Darcy needed her as a friend, then she would be the best friend he could wish for. And if, in the privacy of her dreams, they became more than just friends, well ... she would just have to keep that little secret to herself.

~«o»@«o»~

4.

Miranda hit the snooze button twice the following morning before she was awake enough to get out of bed, and she paid the price for her laziness. A queue for the bathroom. By the time she had arrived downstairs the dining room was already buzzing as the group fortified themselves for another day of performances.

Mrs Reynolds was chatting with Georgiana over a cup of tea; the two having formed an unlikely friendship when the young girl expressed an interest in learning to knit. Since her first hesitant inquiry, she had been furnished with a pair of needles and some pink fluffy wool, and she was earning the approbation of her mentor as she carefully created her stitches under the watchful eye of the housekeeper.

The previous evening, when they had returned from their walk, Darcy had been talked into joining a game of whist, after learning how popular it was during the Regency; the era they were pretending to live in. It hadn’t taken Mr. Gardiner long to turn a simple game of cards into something more interesting—to him at least—and the stakes had slowly risen as their skills had improved. This morning, his fascination with the game had not dimmed in the slightest, and it had taken an outright refusal from Mrs Gardiner before he was made to understand that gambling was not an appropriate pastime for the breakfast table.

Relieved to escape their heated ‘discussion’ for the relative quiet of the rest of the house, Miranda was walking to wardrobe when she noticed the large white marquee that had been erected on the south lawn; looking for all the world like a giant mushroom that had erupted through the grass overnight. She continued down the long hallway, only stopping when she passed the doors to the ballroom, which were flung open to reveal rows and rows of chairs facing a projector and screen. Ever curious, she moved closer to the opening and looked around, but there was nothing else to see. Apart from the chairs, the room was empty.

She yelped when two large hands wrapped themselves around her waist, causing her to startle. Turning, she found the solid figure of Mr. Darcy less than a foot away. He stepped back, as much surprised by her reaction as she had been by his touch.

“Oh! It’s you!” she cried, as her hand jumped to her chest, calming her racing heart. “I didn’t hear anyone coming. You gave me a shock.”

His contrition appeared genuine. “Sorry, Elizabeth. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He poked his head around the door and waved a hand towards the chairs. “Of course! It’s Monday, so it must be the Jane Austen Convention. Did you know that Exley Hall is usually closed to the public on Mondays and Tuesdays? Because of the anniversary celebrations they’ve allowed the organisers to hold their convention here.”

“So all the visitors here today will be Jane Austen fans?”

Darcy shuddered and nodded his head. “And you know what that means, don’t you?” When Miranda admitted that she had no idea, Darcy put a brotherly arm around her and steered her down the corridor as he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “That means a large gaggle of women of a certain age, who would like nothing better than to scratch your eyes out and dump me in the pond!”

He said the last with such feeling that Elizabeth had to laugh.

“It is no laughing manner, Miss Bennet!” he warned in his best ‘Darcy’ tone. “I’m beginning to think that you do not care for my welfare at all. I thought we were friends! Do you not feel the smallest bit sorry for the pain I will have to endure over the next two days?”

Miranda laughingly turned to give him an answer, but the words died in her throat as she found him staring at her with such intensity that her heart fluttered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Feeling a little giddy she looked away. The last thing she wanted was for him to think her no better than any other woman he met. She was happy to be his friend; she didn’t want more.

And if she repeated that often enough she might even start to believe it.

His attention returned to the door in front of him, but the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile. Drawing in a deep breath he let it out slowly. “Playing Darcy is bad enough in front of the public, but everything I’ve heard leads me to believe that the fans are a different breed altogether. I wasn’t joking about the pond. I’ll bet you anything you like that, by the end of today, at least five of them have asked me to get soaking wet for their edification. Then there’ll be the innumerable photographs, and the fondling―”

“The what?”

He stopped walking and laughed. “I think that’s one of the things I like about you. You seem blissfully unaware of the more ... sordid side to all this. You have to picture the scene.” He held his large hands spread out in front of him, like a photographer framing a shot. “Imagine for a moment that you are me, and I am a rabid fan. Can you do that?”

She smiled. “It’s a stretch, but I think I can manage.”

“Okay. Stand there and be me.” As she drew herself up, trying to make herself as tall as possible, he hunched his shoulders to appear smaller and plastered a manic grin to his face. “Oh, Mr. Darcy!” He spoke in a rasping cackle more suited to one of Shakespeare’s witches. “Can we have a photograph please?” So saying, he moved to stand right next to Miranda, moulding himself to her side, while his hand wrapped tightly around her waist. “Cheese!” he cried enthusiastically, getting into the spirit of the character as his hand slipped down to cup her bottom, squeezing sensuously.

She jumped away from him as though she had been burned. “You must be joking!”

He held out his hands; the picture of an innocent man. “I swear I’m not. It must be those breeches that gets them going.” His smile faltered. “I doubt that’s the worst thing I’ve got to worry about either.”

Miranda spluttered. “I can’t imagine anything worse that that!”

Darcy’s expression reminded her of a hunted animal. “Remember those situations I told you about? The ... the propositions?” He saw the nod of her head. “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s ten times worse today and tomorrow. If I don’t get to the end of the convention with at least ten different telephone numbers pressed into my hand on bits of torn envelope or program, then you can call me a liar.”

Miranda looked up, hoping to see a teasing smile on his face, but he was deadly serious. “That’s terrible! Is there anything I can do to help?”

He did smile then; grateful for her support. “Well, if you think you’re strong enough to stand against the daggers that will surely be thrown every time someone looks at you, then I could use your body.” He grinned, before grabbing her hand and holding it to his chest. “Be my shield. Help me fight them off. With you by my side, some of them might think twice before trying anything.”

She didn’t have to think too hard about her answer. “Of course I will, but you might have to save me too. If they’re as bad as you say they are, there’s a strong chance I might be hit over the head with a parasol and dumped in the pond myself.”

He squeezed the hand he still held in his own. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

If Miranda thought for a minute that things wouldn’t be as bad as he had predicted, she soon realised her mistake. Their regular schedule of performances had been suspended during the convention, as lectures and demonstrations were planned for both morning and afternoon. Instead, the actors would be on hand during breaks in the programme to walk among the delegates, offering photo opportunities, answering questions about their characters and playing out scenes on request. Things were understandably quiet while the lectures were in progress, but soon the garden was full of visitors wandering around in the sunshine―some even in their own home made costumes―and, by some unerring homing signal, it didn’t take them long to find Darcy.

At first the women, sometimes accompanied by a lone male, were very polite, with just one or two coming up for photographs at a time. However, it wasn’t long before a larger group had descended on them and Miranda found herself separated and cut off from Mr. Darcy as a circle of women two or three deep in places surrounded him as he was fawned over, photographed and giggled at.

During his ordeal, Darcy strove to remain the perfect gentleman, even when Miranda could see it was costing him some effort to keep the scowl from his face. After suffering alone for five minutes, he looked directly towards her and raised his eyebrows meaningfully; obviously wondering when she was coming to rescue him.

Taking a deep breath, Miranda raised her voice to say, “Excuse me please, Ladies,” before pushing through a gap that briefly opened up in front of her. As soon as she reached Darcy’s side, he grabbed her hand and pulled it through his arm as though he was in mortal danger and saw her as his only chance for survival.

Miranda tried to ignore the satisfaction she felt at being chosen to be his life-preserver in front of all those other women.

He offered her up; a sacrifice to appease the angry gods. “May I have the honour of presenting Miss Bennet?”

A grumbled chorus of greetings followed his introduction, but not even the most optimistic person would describe them as welcoming. It was clear that her presence was seriously impinging on some of the women’s deepest fantasies, but Miranda refused to be daunted. She would stay by his side and be his shield if that was what he wanted.

The photographs continued, cameras passed around and even over Miranda’s head as everyone offered to take pictures of everyone else while they were standing next to Darcy. One, an American, looking like a full-sized walking Barbie doll, was the only person brave enough to try to get between Darcy and Elizabeth, and she was soon made to understand the error of her ways as Darcy decided it was time to make their excuses and return to the house; his store of patience thoroughly used up.

As they reached the house, Darcy made a bolt for the green room, dragging Miranda with him, so that the eagle eyed fans had no chance to follow them. They found it empty. Leaning his head back on the door, she heard him sigh. “Well, that’s the morning over with.” He looked up and smiled. “Thanks for saving me.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned away so that he wouldn’t see the glow on her face. He looked so appealing at that moment, his clothes slightly disheveled from the fingers that had plucked at his coat. Miranda wasn’t sure whether he was aware that two of his waistcoat buttons had been undone, while his neck cloth was definitely crooked.

And he had needed her. Her. Once she calmed down, she turned back to face Darcy ... and found him standing almost behind her.

“What did I tell you?”

He held his hand out to show her something, and she saw four scraps of paper lying in the palm of his glove. “What are they?”

He shrugged. “Telephone numbers ... and that’s not the worst.” He turned at the waist, looking behind him. Moving the tails of his coat to one side, he uncovered one buckskin covered cheek, which sported a perfect pink imprint of a pair of pouted lips. “Oh hell! Wardrobe will have my head for this!”

Miranda giggled. She just couldn’t help herself. Putting her hands up to her face, the giggle turned into a laugh that she struggled to rein in.

Darcy twisted his lips, trying his best to maintain a straight face under the onslaught of her mirth. “Well, I’m pleased that I was able to offer you some entertainment,” he said, dryly.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know why I’m laughing. The sight of the lipstick ... just there! Did you feel it?”

“Did I feel someone kiss my ass? Of course I did, but what could I do! Nothing, except put on my best Darcy stare and pretend it hadn’t happened. It could have been worse, I suppose. Whoever did it could have been kneeling in front of me.” Shuddering at the thought of it, he peeled off his gloves and dropped them in his upturned hat. “Not that I have anything against those sort of kisses, per se but there’s a time and a place, and obviously not with strangers.”

They both smiled at that, and Miranda, pointing out that it was lunchtime, offered to check the corridor against the likelihood of there being any more fans hanging about the place. There weren’t, and they were safely able to join the others around the table. After half an hour where most of the group were grumbling about the inane questions being asked that they had no answers for, she noticed Darcy slip away. When he returned some time later, he was wearing his other outfit.

“Costume change, Darcy?” Mr. Gardiner called out in a friendly tone.

“Wardrobe malfunction,” he muttered in return.

Mr. Gardiner shook his head, but his smile was understanding. “Those fans, eh?”

Darcy nodded. “Indeed!”

“And I’d put a fiver on that not being the only costume change you have to make this week.”

Soon afterwards, it was time for the cast to make themselves available for requests. Even in this matter, things did not go smoothly. Some delegates wanted to see every scene―nothing less would do―while others were only interested in the interactions between Darcy and Elizabeth. Yet another woman―obviously an incurable romantic―wanted to see the proposals; even the Hunsford proposal, which wasn’t part of their repertoire. Between them, a selection of the scenes were presented, to polite applause, before it came time for Darcy and Elizabeth act out their final scene.

The fans would either love it, or hate it.

Miranda knew what was coming, and she tried to prepare herself for it, but even before Darcy had begged her not to trifle with him she could feel something different between them; an energy that hadn’t been there before. As he whispered “Elizabeth” and bent his head towards her she could hear the gasps from the crowd, and then everything disappeared except for the soft, sensuous caress of his lips across hers, and the feeling of his strong arms wrapped about her shoulders and waist. Melting against him, time seemed to slow to a crawl as she relished the feeling of being held in his strong embrace, but eventually she felt him drawing away from her. Applause and whistles echoed around the room, but the two principals barely noticed as they continued to stare into each other’s eyes.

It took a cough from Mrs Grant to bring them wholly to their senses. One of the older members of the audience had swooned, and was being revived by a first aider. The droning hum of conversation followed them from the marquee.

Their interpretation of a most beloved scene was the only topic under discussion.

Elizabeth was grateful when the day was over and she could change back into her jeans and t-shirt and gain a modicum of control over herself. Darcy had already told her that he appreciated her as a friend. It would be very wrong for her to want more but, God help her, she did. That kiss had grown to become something that tantalised her senses. She could almost taste his need ... surely he was not that good an actor, was he?

Dinner was a noisy affair, as everyone around the table had stories to tell about their brushes with the conference delegates. Trevor complained that if he heard anyone else tell him that Mr. Flint was not a character from Pride and Prejudice, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

“I can’t help it, can I? The job was there and I took it! Don’t they think I know that Jane Austen didn’t know Mr. Flint from Adam?”

“And I’ll bet you a tenner that you hear exactly the same tomorrow,” Mr Gardiner offered.

“Nah. I don’t bet on certainties.”

Everyone turned curious eyes down the table when Jane suddenly started laughing. Succumbing to their enquiries, Bingley held up a neatly folded piece of paper that had been pressed into his hand by a fan; his face red with embarrassment. He was encouraged to open it, and when he did he found a telephone number and details of a room at a local hotel in a small, neat hand. As everyone around the table laughed, Mrs Gardiner asked Darcy how many he had received. He admitted to receiving seven.

“You got another three this afternoon?” Miranda asked, incredulous. “How did you manage that? I’ve been with you all the time and I didn’t notice a thing!”

“Ah, the power of Darcy.” Mr. Gardiner intoned in a deep voice. “There are only a handful of roles that can command such fan devotion, isn’t that right, Sebastian?”

“Yes, Darcy is a dream role for any actor, as long as he’s willing to accept the minor inconveniences that go with it.”

“Is that why you took this part?” When everyone’s head turned towards Georgiana, she seemed to feel the need to qualify her question. “Well ... this is a step down from what you have been doing, isn’t it?”

“You could say the same about a lot of us,” he replied, his arm sweeping around the table to include Mr. and Mrs Gardiner, Mrs Reynolds and Bingley. “I can’t answer for anyone else, but I took this job because it’s been a dream of mine to play the part of Darcy for years, and you never know when another chance might be presented to you. It’s all about making the most of the opportunities you are given.”

Miranda was still thinking about his words later that evening when he found her sitting on the grass, by the now empty marquee, enjoying the last few rays of the evening sun.

“I can go if you’d rather be on your own,” he offered, uncertainly.

“No, not at all. I was enjoying the peace and quiet after such a hectic day, but I don’t need solitude for that.” She shielded her eyes from the glare as she watched him standing awkwardly, his hands in his pockets. “You're welcome to sit down, you know.”

“I hoped you might like to come for another walk.”

Miranda had no objection, so he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. They strolled slowly across the lawn, allowing their feet to take them where they would go. Darcy headed for the path that wound alongside the stream, and Miranda was content to follow, breathing in the musty smell of rotting leaves along the damp waters edge. Once they were well within the protection of the spring green canopy of leaves, he stopped and turned to wait for her.

“Isn't this a magical place? So serene ... so placid. I can't believe we've been so fortunate. We could have spent a week in a grotty theatre, where everything is held together with string and a prayer.”

Laughing, Miranda said, “You've obviously not seen the chest of drawers in my room.”

“No, you're right. I've not.”

Yet. The word hung between them, like a spiders web, drawing them together. Miranda sucked in another deep breath, briefly closing her eyes. When she opened them, she found that the thread had pulled him closer.

“Elizabeth ...” That single word was filled with longing as he brought his hand up to cup her face, caressing the soft skin of her cheek. Tracing a line under her chin with his finger, he tipped her face up to meet his; brushing his lips slowly across hers. As he pulled away he searched her eyes, waiting to see how she would respond to his kiss. “I’d say I’m sorry, but as you know, disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.”

Despite being mildly surprised by his actions—although unexpected it was hardly unpleasant—she grinned when she heard the familiar words from the book. “Your apologies aren’t necessary.”

“I’m glad. That means I can do it again.” This time he brought both his hands to her face, as though he wanted to be sure she couldn’t escape from him, before she felt the soft heat on her lips once more. When he broke away, he rested his cheek against her hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I wouldn’t normally behave this way. I ...”

This time, Miranda tipped her head, searching for him. Finding what she wanted, she pulled his face closer and once more his lips slid over hers, the merest glance of skin against skin, but it sent her senses soaring. She leaned into him, her fingers seeking purchase on his shoulders as he slid his hands down to rest on her hips, drawing her closer until his strength was the only thing keeping her upright. The idea that he might find her attractive—that his feelings for her were no mere performance—sent her completely off-balance.

Eventually, he tore himself away from her mouth, breathing raggedly. Released from his enthralment, Miranda rested her head against his broad chest, and sighed as he ran his fingers through her hair. Standing together under the dappled shade, neither spoke nor made any move to part; the rustle of the wind in the trees a whispering accompaniment to their fast beating hearts.

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