5.

That evening Miranda and Darcy were late for dinner, and had to suffer one or two dark looks and some good natured comments from the rest of the group as they took their usual seats at the large table.

“My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?” Mrs Gardiner asked, a smile on her face and her tongue planted firmly in her cheek.

Miranda looked around and found seven pairs of curious eyes waiting for an answer. “We walked down by the stream, and went a little further than we realised.”

Trevor spewed a mouthful of tea all over the table, and needed a thump from Mrs Reynolds between his shoulder blades before he could breathe properly again.

Darcy laughed. “Now, now, Lizzy! You’re giving everyone the wrong impression.”

Only when she replayed her last words in her head did Miranda appreciate the possibilities of what she’d said. Blushing, she joined in with the laughter as they ate their meal.

After dinner, instead of joining the others for the usual card game in the green room, Sebastian invited Miranda to go for a drive in the surrounding countryside. As the lengthening evenings promised at least an hour of daylight left she agreed, and soon found herself in his aging but nimble Alfa, bowling along the narrow country lanes of the High Peak. There they watched the sun set below the sheep covered hillsides as she was entertained by his observations on life, the universe and everything.

It was dark when they drove into the car park. He handed her out of the passenger seat and they walked in silence along the path that lead back to the house. Few words were exchanged. Both were comfortable with the silence. It was enough to be in each other’s company, revelling in the touch of a hand, or the brush of a fingertip. Those words they did use were infused with wonder that such a strong attraction for another person could emerge from nowhere, like a tsunami wave washing over them without warning.

When they reached the outer door Miranda paused and turned to him, looking up into his eyes. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For the drive. I had a good time.”

He smiled, waving her through the door and closing it softly behind him. “So did I.”

As Miranda put her hand on the carved end of the bannister, she felt his larger hand come to rest on top, holding her at the bottom of the stairs.

“Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

She frowned. “Don’t we eat together every evening?”

He shook his head. “I meant just the two of us. The Green Man at Lambley is rumoured to have a respectable menu. Will you join me? Please?”

Smiling, she nodded her head. “That would be lovely.” She heard his whispered thanks as he lifted her hand from its support and brought it to his lips. “Oh, Mr. Darcy! How romantic.”

“Being Darcy obviously brings out the best in me. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Wishing him a good night, Miranda began to climb the stairs. Looking back as she reached the top step, she realised that he was still waiting in the hall. Smiling as he mouthed his ‘sweet dreams’, she turned on the landing and continued up to the top floor.

Her dreams that night were certainly pleasant, but no one could honestly describe them as sweet.

~<>@<>~

“Miss Bennet! Why do you not carry a reticule?” The questioner was frowning at her, as though she had committed a cardinal sin and deserved to burn in hell for it.

Tuesday was the second and final day of the convention and appeared to be unfolding in a very similar way to the day before. She knew for a fact that Darcy had already picked up another three telephone numbers and one email address scrawled on the now familiar scraps of paper, and one woman had threatened to throw a bottle of water over him just so she could have a photograph standing next to Darcy in a wet shirt. As much as Miranda might have liked to see that herself, she wasn’t surprised that he had refused to comply; and in an icy tone she had mentally labelled ‘Pre-Hunsford Darcy’.

And now she was stuck in the marquee, along with a few of the others, being asked questions she couldn’t answer. It was almost lunch time, and her stomach was rumbling. “My reticule? I left it with my other belongings at the Inn at Lambton.” Whatever a ‘reticule’ might be. It sounded like a Georgian instrument of torture, but Miranda assumed that as she was supposed to carry it, it was either an item of clothing or some kind of accessory. Perhaps an early form of pepper spray, to dissuade those dashing Regency bucks from making free with a young maids virtue.

“Miss Bingley. What is your opinion of the colour orange?”

Caroline sneered, the feather in her headdress shuddering violently. “Orange? I never wear it. Only a provincial would be seen in such a colour! It is not at all in vogue, as any good modiste will tell you.”

Some of the audience laughed, which lightened the mood considerably.

The next question was posed to Mr. Gardiner, before Mrs Reynolds was put under their interrogation. She did best of all, answering with a calm assurance and enough detail to prove herself informed about Regency housekeeping procedures. Scenting knowledge to be learned, two or three of the fans shot their hands into the air, keen to learn more about the secrets of the stillroom.

Studying the crowd for signs of Darcy, Miranda caught sight of what looked like the shoulder and sleeve of his blue coat. He was standing outside the marquee, answering questions of his own. The breeze caught at the white tented wall, which moved enough to reveal his inquisitor as a tall, blonde form she recognised.

Miranda could not help but wonder exactly what Mrs Rivers-Smithe was offering Darcy this time.

Once they’d escaped the question and answer session, the cast were free to amuse themselves for an hour or two as the fans were once more crammed in the ballroom, waiting to listen as a scholarly looking gentleman discussed the fascinating and popular topic of ‘Sexual symbolism in Jane Austen’s works’.

It would be a packed house. She was almost tempted to sneak in the back and listen herself.

Miranda propped her chin on her palm as she toyed with her salad, while the chair next to hers remained distressingly empty. Darcy had not returned for lunch, and his whereabouts consumed her thoughts. The last time she had seen him was outside the marquee with Mrs Rivers-Smithe. Had she offered him something he had felt unable to refuse?

After lunch, when he had still not made an appearance, Miranda wandered out into the gardens looking for him. Hoping that Darcy might be waiting for her by the river, she took the most direct path, setting a steady pace, and was half way there when an unfamiliar voice stopped her dead.

“Miss Bennet! I wonder if you would allow me to share a few words with you?” The man who had stepped onto the path from behind the shrubbery was tall and thin; his tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows and round-rimmed spectacles, gave the impression of a teacher or lecturer.

Unfortunately, his eyes, she had come to recognise, were pure rabid fan.

Miranda looked around her, hoping to see someone else—a group of women, or one of her own company—nearby, but there was not a soul to be seen. Not wanting to offend him, she accepted the man’s company while resolutely turning to take the path back to the house. Although he hadn’t said or done anything to concern her, she had seen enough over the last two days to feel wary about being alone with any of the fans ... male or female. As long as she kept him moving towards the Hall there was always the chance that she would meet someone else. After all, wasn’t there supposed to be safety in numbers?

“I have been walking here for some time in the hope of meeting you, Miss Bennet.” He grinned, obviously pleased that he’d been able to use the line he must have been practicing for hours. “My friend and I were having a discussion this morning after seeing you at the question and answer session, and I think you could shed some light on the correct answer to the conundrum we face.”

“Your friend?” As far as she could see they were still alone.

He waved a limp,dismissive hand in the general direction of the Hall. “Yes, Nigel. He’s in the marquee at the moment. He prefers to be called Edward, after Edward Ferrars you know, but that persona really does not suit him very well.”

“And you are?”

He stopped on the path, a slightly effeminate hand raised to his chest. “Oh! I am sorry. Of course, we have not be properly introduced. I ... am ... Fitzwilliam Darcy.” He bowed with all the grace and elegance a gangly lecturer-type could hope to aspire to.

Although she tried valiantly to hide the scepticism in her voice, Miranda’s eyebrows seemed to move upwards of their own accord, like puppets on a string. “Really?”

“I can tell you don’t believe me, but it’s true. I changed my name by deed poll.” He reached into his inside pocket and drew out a folded document. “Look, I can prove it.”

Waving the paper away, she assured him that there was no need for her to inspect his paperwork. Seeking to divert his attention, she resumed her stroll along the path. “And what is this conundrum? How may I help?”

Stuffing the paper haphazardly back into his pocket, he jogged to catch up with her. “Our disagreement revolves around your feelings for Mr. Darcy ... the one in the book that is. What exactly made you fall in love with him?”

Miranda smiled, grateful that she knew the source material so well. “Why, it has been coming on so gradually that I hardly know when it began,” she answered, with barely a pause.

“Yes ... yes,” he replied testily. “But which of Mr. Darcy’s attributes first attracted you? Was it his tall, noble mien and impressive intelligence? Or perhaps it was his masculine physique?”

It seemed to Miranda that he was more than a little interested in her reply. He had drawn himself up to his full height, and she realised that no matter what answer she gave him, he would assume that it referred to himself. She was pondering how best to reply without giving him any encouragement when she felt his hands grasp her arms tightly. The man had moved in front of her, blocking her path, and the glint in his eyes frightened her.

“Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth!”

The terrifying vision of a slobbering kiss flashed through her mind. “No, sir! Please ... desist!” Miranda tried to raise her arms, to ward him away, but his grip was too strong. Turning her face away from him, she braced herself; closing her eyes and waiting for the worst but it never came. Hearing the soft thud of footsteps on grass, his hands left her as suddenly as they had appeared, and when she opened her eyes again she found the counterfeit Fitzwilliam Darcy—leather patches and all—quaking before the terrifying form of an angry Mr. Bingley.

They say that clothes maketh the man, and it was quite remarkable how the formal Regency clothing—particularly his boots, Miranda thought—could turn someone who wouldn’t hurt a fly, like Gareth, into a man who looked like he could happily commit murder.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Bingley shouted imperiously as he held the tip of his cane up to the man’s throat like a rapier.

“Well ... I ... I ...”

Although never once stepping out of his Regency mindset, Gareth was playing Bingley in a way Miss Austen had never shown in her book; as the Master of Netherfield. “I think you should apologise to Miss Bennet.” Despite his tentative words, the statement was not framed as a request.

“Yes, yes, of course.” The parody of Mr. Darcy turned in abject misery to cringe in front of Miranda. “I am dreadfully sorry, Miss Bennet. I do not know what came over me.”

“It is quite alright, I assure you. No harm has been done.” She spoke in a calming tone, as much for Bingley’s benefit as the man he had threatened.

“You are very generous,” the fruitcake grovelled.

Bingley, however, was not appeased. Although he had withdrawn his cane, it was still held in an aggressive grip. “Now you’ve done that, I would recommend that you leave ... and quickly.” His words were quiet, but no one hearing them could ignore his determination. “And if I set eyes on you again today, I will guarantee that we will be meeting tomorrow morning. Early tomorrow morning.”

His eyes opening wide with horror, the man who called himself Fitzwilliam Darcy made a jerky bow before scooting away between the shrubs.

Miranda was going to laugh―more from relief than seeing any humour in the situation―but one glance at Bingley’s face made her pause. “Thank you for coming to my assistance, Mr. Bingley,” she replied, perfectly in character.

“You are more than welcome, Miss Bennet.” He paused, looking around them to make sure they were alone, before his shoulders sagged. “Seriously though, Miranda. Did he hurt you?”

Her arms did feel a little sore where the psycho fan had held her too tightly, but she wasn’t about to admit to it. “No, not at all. He only surprised me. I don’t think the man was quite ... sane. He’d changed his name to Fitzwilliam Darcy, you know.”

His laugh was bitter. “If only it were that easy.” He frowned then, searching the gardens again. “Talking of the devil, where is Sebastian? Why is he not with you?”

“I don’t know. He never came back for lunch. I was walking down to see if he was waiting for me by the stream, but I met him instead.”

“Well, can I at least walk you back to the Hall? I don’t like to think of you being on your own when there are people like that about.”

“Yes ... thank you.” Appreciating his company, she allowed him to walk a few moments longer in silence, before assuaging her curiosity. “What did you mean when you talked about about meeting him in the morning?”

At that a shy smile curled up the corners of his mouth. “Ah ... well, as many of the fans are enamoured of all things Regency, I was telling him that I would be prepared to challenge him to a duel for your honour. I thought it was a threat he might understand.”

“And you would do that?”

He shrugged. “Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we? I’ve had some training with a pistol.”

“Firing blanks, I presume?”

“Yeah, of course. My father would never have let me near live ammunition, but I know the basics. I’ve done some sword work too. Enough to put on a descent show anyway.”

Miranda nodded, but she had stopped listening to him; her imagination drifting to visions of Darcy; in his shirtsleeves and breeches, bringing his sword up to salute his opponent. She wondered whether Darcy could fence. If he’d been at the RSC, even as an understudy, the chances were good that he knew the basics too.

Bingley cleared his throat. “While we're alone, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask ...”

Miranda waved as she spotted the real Darcy striding across the lawn to meet them. She heard Bingley sigh, then he rested his hands on top of his cane as he waited.

“Miss Bennet.” He bowed before turning to Bingley. “What are you doing here?”

“He saved me from a psycho fan.”

“You’re joking!”

“Does she look like she’s joking?”

“My God! Are you alright?”

Bingley appeared unimpressed by his concern. “She might not have been. The lunatic had already grabbed her when I arrived. Where the hell were you?”

“That damned Grant woman, sewed me up good and proper with Mrs Rivers-whatever! I would have gotten out of her invitation with no trouble if she hadn’t poked her nose in.”

“What invitation? Is that why you didn’t come in for lunch?”

“Yes,” he grimaced. “I was forced to drink tea and eat cucumber sandwiches in her rooms while she wittered on about how she’s always thought the character of Darcy was wonderful, and how I am just perfect for the part, while I pretended to give a damn.”

“Well, that shouldn’t have caused you a problem. It’s not like you can’t act the part when necessary,” Bingley replied bitterly.

Darcy looked sharply at him. “Don’t you have somewhere you ought to be? Doesn’t your angel Jane need some of your attention too? Practice does make perfect, after all. I’ve got things covered here now, thanks. We won’t keep you.”

Bingley held his stare, and Miranda thought for a moment that he would say something more, but he looked away. Turning to her, Bingley told her he would see her at dinner, before walking back towards the house.

Darcy yanked the cuffs of his shirt down irritably. “Finally! I thought he'd never leave.”

Alarmed by his tone, Miranda asked him what was wrong, but he waved her question away. “Oh, don’t mind Gareth. We’ve never been the best of friends,” was all the explanation he would give. He was far more interested in finding out what she had done to attract the 'nutter'.

When she explained how it had been his fault, because she had been looking for him when she was waylaid, he was so apologetic—grovellingly so, in fact—that she likened him more to the sycophantic Mr. Collins. By the time they had reached the marquee, they were both laughing out loud.

Later that afternoon, as the delegates spent their last hour around 'Pemberley', Darcy's improvements to the second proposal continued to be the most talked about topic of conversation. “You do realise that this could be all over the internet by tomorrow morning,” Darcy whispered as he bowed to the audience after they had accepted an encore.

“Yes, I saw one woman filming it on her mobile phone. Do you think it’ll end up on You Tube?” Miranda giggled at the thought of her big break coming from such an unlikely source.

“How did you see that?” he asked as he graciously accepted the standing ovation their performance had won.

“Over your shoulder.”

He was smiling at the audience as he hissed through his teeth: “Damn. If you had enough wits about you to do that, I must be losing my touch.”

Miranda grinned. “Don't worry, there's no risk of that happening.”

Once the gates were closed it was time to shed the cocoons of their characters and become themselves once more. Having deposited her gown, spencer and bonnet with wardrobe, she took the stairs two at a time to reach her bedroom.

In the corridor she found Jane leaning against the wall, chatting to Bingley, who stood on the threshold of his room. They stopped talking as soon as they heard her coming, which annoyed Miranda. It wasn't as though she cared what they were talking about. “Sorry to interrupt your tête à tête. Darcy's taking me to Lambley tonight for dinner. I need to get ready.”

Jane looked at her strangely. “You mean Sebastian, surely?”

“Yes ... of course I do.”

Bingley and Jane shared an odd look, before she said, “You two seem to be getting very friendly.”

Blushing, she agreed. “I know. When he first came into the green room I never imagined that he would be interested in me. It just shows how your perceptions of people can be all wrong, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t be so quick to put yourself down, Miranda.” Bingley warned. “Sometimes trusting your first instincts isn’t a bad thing.”

Miranda felt an angry knot grow in her stomach. “So, you’re trying to tell me he isn’t interested? That’s ridiculous!”

Jane excused herself then, going into her room and closing the door, and Miranda reached for her own door handle to do the same, but stopped when she felt Bingley's hand come to rest on her arm.

“You don’t know him as well as you think you do. If you’ll give me a minute, I’d like to explain.”

“I really do need to get ready. We've got a table booked for seven, so I don’t have long to change.” Pulling her arm away, she pushed her door open and walked into her room.

Bingley stopped on the threshold, leaning against the frame. “Look ... I really don’t want to bug you, but it's important.”

Miranda sighed. She had no idea what the situation was between Bingley and Darcy, but she certainly wasn’t going to get involved with any of it. She made her excuses, explaining again that, for her, it was important to be ready on time as she didn’t like to keep people waiting. She hoped he’d get the hint.

He accepted her words reluctantly, wishing her a good night before he left, closing the door softly behind him.

~«o»@«o»~

6.

That evening was everything Miranda had hoped it would be. The Green Man was the epitome of an old country pub, with its weathered grey stone, dark slate roof and small, square windows. When he escorted her into the bar, Darcy was forced to duck beneath a low beam before steering her to a small table in a dark and cosy corner. Conversation and laughter flowed comfortably between them as they ate their meal, and later he watched Miranda demolish a large slab of sticky toffee pudding and ice cream. Lingering over coffee, he reached out and took her hand; holding it under the table like a besotted schoolboy.

As they left the pub, wishing the regulars a friendly “good night” on their way out of the door, Miranda wondered what was going through his mind. Darcy had been the perfect gentleman that evening. Too much so, in fact. Apart from a quick peck on the cheek when they’d first met at the top of the stairs, he hadn’t tried to kiss her at all.

Returning to the car park, his grip on her hand remained firm. The moon was almost full; shining a ghostly white light over the monochrome scene in front of them. Reaching the passenger side door, Miranda stretched her hand out to open it, but he pulled her towards him, turning her to face him and capturing her other hand so that he held both to his chest. “I really enjoyed being with you tonight.”

Miranda looked up into his face. Although his eyes were in shadow, she could still sense his piercing stare. “Me too. Thank you for inviting me.”

He separated her hands, wrapping them around his waist before bringing his own up to settle across her shoulders. Bending slightly, he kissed the tip of her nose. “It was entirely”—he kissed her again—“my”—and again—“pleasure.” With that, he dropped his lips lower, capturing her mouth in a way that stirred her senses and whispered promises in her mind.

The ride home was almost silent, but filled with ponderous looks on both sides; neither wanting to say anything that might spoil the mood. When his hand wasn’t needed to change gears, it was more often on her thigh than the steering wheel; his thumb unconsciously stroking back and forth. By the time they arrived at the Hall it was late, but they could still hear Trevor and Mr. Gardiner laughing in the green room.

As they climbed the stairs, hand in hand, Miranda’s mind was racing forward to the time when they reached the door to her room. Would he expect to come in? It wasn’t as though she could offer him coffee, and the only place they had to sit was on the bed. Although she had enjoyed being in his company—particularly during the last twenty four hours—was he expecting more than just a goodnight kiss?

And would she allow it after so short a friendship?

She didn’t have an answer to the first question, but she knew that she wouldn’t have to wait long before she found out.

Neither spoke as they walked down the narrow hallway. Miranda was very aware of the lateness of the hour and knew that most of the group would already be in bed. The last thing she wanted was to advertise how late they had stayed out. She stopped outside her door, and smiled gratefully up at him. “Thanks for dinner. The food was great. I had a good time tonight.”

He trailed a fingertip across the arch of her eyebrow and down the side of her face. “So did I.” The kiss that followed was a gentle caress rather than a full-on seduction. “I only wish—”

The door opposite opened suddenly and Bingley walked out, seemingly oblivious to the two lovers in the hallway. “Sorry! Don’t mind me. Call of nature. Just carry on with whatever you were doing. I didn’t see a thing.”

Miranda watched him walk away, towards the bathroom, feeling a little guilty that they had been ‘caught’ together in the hall. She had no idea why she should think that way; it wasn’t as though either of them were doing anything wrong. They were all adults after all. Surely it shouldn’t matter what the others thought.

But it did matter to Miranda. She had only met Darcy—Sebastian, she reminded herself—a few days earlier; had anything happened between them tonight, would it be any better than a one-night stand? That wasn’t the sort of person she was and it was only fair that she make that plain from the beginning.

Sebastian sighed as he watched Bingley’s retreating back. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, before tilting her chin up, pressing his lips softly to hers. “I’d better say goodnight now, before he comes back, otherwise I’ll be in for a lecture.”

“A lecture?”

“Oh yes, Gareth’s always been the same, sticking his nose in where it’s not needed.”

She recalled how Bingley had earlier tried to talk to her about Sebastian. “I had no idea that you’d previously met until your conversation this afternoon.”

“We attended at RADA at the same time, although he’s a couple of years younger than me, and we were never what you would call close. Sometimes, in this business, it’s more a case of ‘who you know’ than whether you’ve actually got any ability or not, and frankly it annoys the hell out of me. I prefer to see people getting by purely on ability.” Darcy ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

His second kiss was bolder, hinting at a tightly reined passion within. Miranda was left breathless as he stepped away and wished her a good night.

The flushing toilet at the end of the corridor sounded terribly loud in the otherwise quiet hallway, breaking the spell between them.

Smiling, she whispered, “Good night,” before watching him walk back down the corridor to his own room. She was still standing by her door when Bingley returned.

“You okay?” he asked. It was hard to tell whether his frown grew from disapproval or concern.

Miranda thought he had no right to feel either and her reply came out sharper than she intended. “Of course. There is no reason why I shouldn’t be.”

As she walked away from him she heard him sigh wearily. “Sleep well, Miranda.”

Closing the door behind her, she sat on the bed in her dark bedroom. The bulb was still lit in the hallway outside, but the thin sliver of golden light that shone through the gap under her door was broken. Listening, she heard a scrape of a shoe on the wooden floor; then another, and she knew that Bingley was standing in front of her door. The yellow band of light shifted as he paced up and down outside.

He was acting like a mother bear, shielding a feeble cub, but she had no idea why he should feel protective of her. The only motivation she could think of was that he might hold a grudge against Sebastian, but their relationship was hardly any concern of his.

A minute later she heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and the presence outside her room was gone. Miranda breathed a sigh of relief as she got ready for bed.

She was a big girl, quite capable of looking after herself. Besides, surely the last person she needed protection from was Mr. Darcy.

~<>@<>~

Wednesday morning dawned to grey skies and a drizzle more typical of an English June than the glorious sunshine they had enjoyed so far that week. Miranda was disappointed. Rain meant that all their performances would take place indoors, and if it continued through the afternoon, she might also miss the opportunity for another walk with her Mr. Darcy.

Her Mr. Darcy. She liked the sound of that.

The cast moved through the house to take their positions just before the gates opened. Miranda sat with Mrs Gardiner on an overstuffed sofa, while Mr. Gardiner stood in front of the fireplace; his hands behind his back, he rocked back and forth on his heels as they waited for the first visitors to arrive. After watching the weather for a while he offered generous odds that they’d see no more than ten visitors come through the gates that day.

No one took him up on it.

The rain began to beat harder against the glass, and Mr. Gardiner pulled a pack of cards out of his coat pocket, inviting them to join him in a game. Mrs Gardiner showed a mild interest, but only because she’d left her pocket sudoku book downstairs in the green room.

Miranda had no interest in cards. Pacing around the room, she stopped in front of one of the large windows to gaze across the lawn. They hadn’t expected it to be busy today, not when visitors could put off their visit by one day and enjoy the sights of a Regency fair for no extra charge. However, because of the weather, there was a real chance that they might reach the end of the day having seen no visitors at all. Part of Exley Hall’s charm was its extensive grounds and the miles of woodland walks that crossed the estate, so why would anyone choose to pay the substantial entrance fee on such a damp and dreary day, when at least half of their visit would leave them feeling decidedly soggy?

An hour later, Jane, Bingley and Caroline arrived, confirming that no cars had yet pulled into the car park. Bingley suggested that they might while away the time with a parlour game, such as charades, but none of the others could drum up any enthusiasm for the idea. Instead, Mr. Gardiner enlisted Bingley and Jane’s company at the card table.

Caroline wandered across the room towards Miranda, looking very pleased with herself. “Miss Eliza Bennet, may I persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room?”

“No.”

Her perfectly plucked eyebrows raised slightly. “Did someone fall out the wrong side of the bed this morning? Or the wrong bed even?”

“For your information, I slept in my own room last night.”

“Oh dear! Is that why you’re grumpy, or perhaps Sebastian kept you awake past your bedtime last night?”

The silence from the table behind them was deafening, and Miranda could feel their attention firmly focused between her shoulder blades. There was no one more nosy than a group of actors. “You know, Caroline, I can’t for the life of me imagine how that is any of your business.”

Although she could have hardly phrased it any plainer, it slid past Caroline like water off the proverbial duck’s back. She smiled. “If you want my advice—”

Miranda ruthlessly interrupted her. “When I want your advice, I’ll be sure to ask for it.”

She made a mental note never to ask for it.

With a shrug of her elegant shoulders, Caroline retired from the window and walked around the room until she reached others, clustered around the table. Miranda heard a murmur of exchanged words, but she refused to turn around. Instead she maintained a solitary vigil, waiting for Darcy to appear. She was surprised he hadn’t come looking for her already.

Another hour passed, and by now almost everyone was lounging around the salon. Mrs Gardiner was playing patience on a side table while Jane read a book on the window seat. Georgiana admitted that she was hungry and she wandered off to the kitchens, and Caroline continued to pace around the room like a caged tiger, before complaining of a migraine and retiring to her rooms.

As there seemed to be little else to do Miranda walked into the hallway, intent on looking around the house and viewing the rooms that she hadn’t previously had the time to visit. As she reached the top of the main staircase there was a floor standing sign pointing to the costume display, and she followed the arrow until she found herself in a darkened room filled with glass cases. The damaging sunlight had been blocked by thick curtains while spotlights shone down, highlighting some of the most beautiful gowns she had ever seen. Bright silks and satins; intricate lace and colourful feathers; pearls and diamonds. The whole collection was gorgeous, the workmanship exquisite. She pondered how it might have been as the wife of a rich man during the early 19th century and truly live the life that she was only pretending to live.

“Ah ... there you are.”

Smiling, Miranda turned to the door to see Darcy standing there, his hands on his hips. Just hearing the sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Were you looking for me?”

His shoulders lifted almost imperceptibly. “You weren’t with the others.” Darcy moved nearer, until he was standing right behind her, ostensibly viewing the dresses over her shoulder. “Very nice.”

Miranda turned her head and found his face much closer than she expected. His height and position gave him an excellent view of the displays, although she had to wonder whether his compliment was for the display in front of them, or perhaps for her.

As though he had guessed her thoughts he smiled, before dipping his head to press soft kisses below her ear. Standing tall, he pulled back his shoulders and straightened his waistcoat as he enquired whether she’d seen the other rooms on this floor. When she admitted that she hadn’t, he offered to show her around. “It is supposed to be my home after all.”

“I can’t imagine anything nicer than being shown around by the Master of the house.”

“I’d like to think I could do it as well as, if not better than, Mrs Reynolds.”

She had no doubts about that.

Leaving the costume display, they wandered around the other rooms on that floor, with Darcy putting on a suitably proprietorial air for her benefit. At the end of a corridor, they stepped through an impressive set of doors, arriving in a room that had already been described to her in detail even though she had never had chance to view it. The large bed, draped in blue and gold, was far taller than she had imagined, it’s canopy standing at least eight feet off the floor. She moved to the window, wanting to compare the view over the garden with others she’d seen.

She was only on her own for a moment before she felt the warmth of Darcy behind her once more, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head before bending his lips to whisper in her ear.

“Now, if this really was Pemberley, you would be trespassing in my domain, for this is the Master’s chamber.”

His lips moved along the edge of her ear, causing an icy tingle to slither down her spine.

“Were you to be caught in here with me, Miss Bennet, your reputation would be thoroughly...”—he spun her around within his arms until she faced him—“ruined.”

Miranda gasped as he pulled her closer, his hands gliding slowly over her bottom. “Miss Bennet would never have entered Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber. At least not until the end of the book, when they married.”

Stepping back to look down into her eyes, his eyebrow rose questioningly. “Are you so sure about that? You’re here aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I’m not—”

He interrupted. “I always imagined that Darcy knew just what he wanted out of life and set out to achieve it. That’s why he was so confident of his proposal in Kent.” His fingertips stroked slowly up and down her arms.

“That might have been the case earlier in the book, but that was before her refusal at Hunsford. Surely you must accept that her rejection of him seriously undermined his confidence.”

“Mmm ... I’m glad we’re not doing that particular scene this week. Not that it wouldn’t have been fun trying to convince you to change your mind.”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy would never have sunk so low. Jane Austen didn’t write him as a rake!”

“Only because she didn’t know any better. Don’t forget that he was, first and foremost, a man ... and a rich one at that. He was also used to getting his own way. That’s why I’m so sure that Miss Bennet was no longer a virgin on her wedding night. If you think it through logically, what are the chances he would wait that long?”

“Darcy wasn’t just a man, he was also an honourable man. That’s what makes all the difference. It’s why the character is so well loved today because it’s a trait that’s in limited supply these days.”

“Yes, he was honourable in many respects. He didn't lie or cheat, and he treated his tenants and servants fairly. But we're talking about his reaction to Elizabeth. The love of his life; the woman he had been waiting months for. As soon as she accepted his proposal—probably even before then—he would have been fantasizing about having her in his life and taking her to his bed ... or anywhere else for that matter.”

“No, I don’t agree. He would have waited for her ... for their wedding night. I know it.”

He snorted. “This wasn’t the Victorian age, you know. Those Georgians were uninhibited ... even by today’s standards.”

Miranda was forced to stop and think. In all her readings of Pride and Prejudice, it had never occurred to her to imagine that Elizabeth could have slept with Mr. Darcy prior to their marriage.

It didn’t seem right.

He reached out for her again, putting a hand on each hip and pulling her closer. “Have you never thought what else might have happened during those long walks to Oakham Mount and back? Don’t forget, they lost Bingley and Jane, and only just arrived back in time for dinner. They were alone and unchaperoned all that time. Do you really think they had that much to talk about?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “There was such chemistry between them; do you really think Darcy would have been able to wait a week before making her his?” She felt his breath on her neck as he trailed a line of soft kisses from her ear to the edge of her gown at her shoulder.

“You’re thinking like a man again,” she replied, her voice unsteady.

“That’s probably because I am one ... and like Darcy, I also find myself strongly attracted to a young lady called Elizabeth Bennet.” He spoke against her lips, his voice low. “Wouldn’t you like to play Mistress of Pemberley?”

“What?”

His strong hands gripped her waist, picking her up off the floor and depositing her a few feet away, close to the large bed that dominated the room. Sliding his hands over her back, he resumed his attentions on her lips.

Just as during their performance, Miranda felt herself adrift and giddy as her heart beat loudly in her chest. Taking a step back, she felt the solid bulk of the bed’s brocade covers against the back of her legs and wondered what he intended and where it might lead. She opened her mouth to protest but, lost in the moment, he saw it as nothing more than encouragement. Trying again, she moved her hands up to his chest, and pushed him away.

The loss of his lips against hers was like a physical ache as the confusion muddled her brain. Her head and her heart were in conflict; one part wanting to exercise restraint, while the other wanted him to lay her on the bed and take her.

As though he could read her thoughts, Darcy whispered against her lips: “Aren't you curious to find out what it's like to sleep in a bed like this?”

Miranda stiffened. Something about his suggestion felt wrong.

“What’s the matter?” While his voice sounded concerned, his fingers gave every impression that he had something else on his mind.

As soon as she felt him exploring beneath the neckline of her gown, her head won the battle as the reality of where they were crashed in on her. “No! We can’t do this!”

Pulling her close again, he wrapped his arms around her; embracing her in a way that made her feel safe and loved. “Shhh. It's okay. Being here ... with you. I got carried away by the moment. I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to do.”

Resting her head against his chest, she heard the steady beat of his heart reverberating through his body. She had felt a moment of panic, as though things were out of her control, but now it seemed that everything was back to how it should be; or so she hoped.

He took in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before allowing it to drain out of him again. “I can't tell you that I don't want it though, because I do. I feel so comfortable with you; you're all I think about. You're in my dreams. What really bothers you? Is it me?”

She was grateful that he could not see how embarrassed she was by the subject. “It’s not you. I ... I don’t feel comfortable here. This is neither the time nor the place. Someone could walk in at any moment, and how would it look?”

The gentle squeeze he gave her reassured Miranda. “You’re right, of course. Sometimes being with you makes me forget everything else ... including where we are. Let’s get back to the others.”

Their arrival in the salon downstairs coincided with that of Mrs Grant, who seemed to feel that the rain was falling purely to spite her plans. She tutted as she watched the drops running down the glass.

“Does this mean we get the day off?” Mr. Gardiner asked with a hopeful smile.

“Of course not! The weather could easily change. Apart from your normal lunchbreaks I expect you all to stay ready. Visitors could arrive at any time.”

But they didn't. The rain grew steadily heavier and the house remained unvisited. By three that afternoon the actors were allowed to stand down.

Shedding her costume, Miranda returned to the green room. Although she would have normally relished the opportunity to spend time with Sebastian—regardless of whether he was in character as Mr. Darcy or not—the episode that morning had left her wary of tempting him further. She'd known him less than a week and everything seemed to be moving so fast between them. A night in the company of the other cast members would do neither of them any harm. Sinking into one of the comfortable chairs, Miranda tucked her feet underneath her and opened the thriller she had bought with her to while away her unoccupied hours.

Trevor was already ensconced in the corner, studying the sports pages of the newspaper, while the click of Mrs Reynolds' knitting needles made it clear that she didn't wish to be disturbed. Engrossed in her paperback, Miranda didn't notice Caroline until her shadow fell across the page.

“A great reader as well, Eliza? I think you're more like your character than you'd like people to believe.”

Miranda's attention remained firmly fixed on the page in front of her.

Caroline dropped into the chair next to hers and, leaning closer, lowered her voice until it was almost a whisper. “If you like stories, I could tell you one that would make your toes curl.”

“I'm a little old to be frightened by horror stories.”

“Maybe, but if you don’t want to find yourself in the middle of one I would suggest that you stay away from Sebastian.”

She wondered whether Caroline was threatening her or just trying to frighten her into keeping her distance from him. “Why? So you can have him?”

“You think I haven’t already?”

Recalling what he’d told her about the women who forced their attention on him, Miranda smiled. “Don’t worry. I know all about it.”

“From Sebastian?” Caroline sneered. “I doubt it.”

They both turned as the door opened.

“... by the end of the week.” Sebastian was speaking earnestly with Mr. Gardiner as they came into the green room together.

Mr. Gardiner settled in the chair next to his friend Trevor, while Sebastian, perhaps sensing the tension in the room, walked over to Miranda. “Evening, ladies. Is everything okay?”

Caroline smiled so sweetly that Miranda would not have been surprised to see sugar lumps in place of her teeth.

Page 2 | Page 4

Web design and content © 2007 by Heather