7.

Although Miranda had known that the Regency fair was being held at the hall on Thursday and Friday, it was still a pleasant surprise to see the multicoloured tents and stalls laid out on the south lawn on Thursday morning; as though a giant’s wedding party had left behind their colourful confetti strewn across the grounds during the night.

Having already donned their costumes, and with barely an hour before the gates opened, Mrs Grant reluctantly gave permission for them to look around the fair while the stall holders were making last minute adjustments to their displays, or warming their hands on steaming mugs of coffee.

Miranda sauntered between the varied displays, pointing out items of interest to Georgiana, Jane and Mrs Gardiner. Caroline followed behind, firmly wedged between Bingley and Darcy. Occasionally, her laughter would drift in their direction, but Miranda was determined not to look over her shoulder.

She refused to give Caroline the satisfaction.

They passed one stall belonging to a dressmaker who made Regency style gowns for the more enthusiastic fan, while a woman in the next booth offered the necessary accoutrements; parasols, chatelaines, vinaigrettes and reticules; items a well dressed Regency lady would not be seen without.

Miranda picked up one of the reticules—a confection in pink silk and lace—remembering the question she’d been posed earlier in the week. “It’s a bag. A drawstring purse!” When the stall holder looked strangely at her, she added, “I’ve always wanted one of these!” with a vapid smile, and promised to return later for another look.

Handmade paper, sticks of wax and seals bearing every letter of the alphabet were on the trestle table of the next stand. Georgiana studied a feather quill while Jane showed an interest in a calligraphy set with a selection of coloured inks. Darcy and Bingley caught up with them and Caroline picked up another of the long thin goose feathers displayed on the table.

“Allow me to mend your pen, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a Cheshire cat smile as she waved the feather inches from his face.

“There’s nothing wrong with my pen, thank you very much,” Darcy replied wearily.

“You should have said: ‘Thank you, but I always mend my own.’ Don’t you remember?”

“That’s not part of the show,” he hissed through gritted teeth before following Miranda to the other side of the tent, where he feigned interest in a decorative notebook. “Save me,” he pleaded in a plaintive whisper.

Looking over her shoulder, she said, “What, from Caroline? You’re a big boy, Darcy. You can take care of yourself.” She grinned to take the sting out of her words.

“And you are a hard woman, Lizzy,” he murmured, but was happy to accompany her to the next stall, where Bingley and Jane already had their heads bent over a glass case.

“How sweet!” Darcy whispered sarcastically in her ear when he saw them together. “They’ll be buying a house and a puppy next.”

The trestles were covered in similar cases, which displayed the antique jewellery clearly while still keeping it safe from the less than honest members of society. Miranda’s eyes skimmed across the contents of the nearest case, before moving onto the next one. Up in the top right corner was an item that caught her eye. It was a cameo brooch, but an unusual specimen because both the female silhouette and its background were carved from contrasting stones. “Oh, look at that! It’s so pretty.”

Hopeful of an early sale, the stall holder lifted up the hinged glass lid and extracted the item, offering it to her for a better look. The background of the brooch was purple in colour, while the head in profile was finely carved from a dusky pink crystalline rock. She held it in her hands, running her thumb lightly over the raised surface.

Jane came to stand at her shoulder. “That’s lovely.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Glancing at the tiny white price tag, Miranda thanked the man as she handed it back.

“Aren’t you going to buy it?”

Miranda looked longingly at the brooch—resting in it’s spot on the black velvet—before answering Jane’s question. “I would if I could, but fifty pounds is a little out of my price range, especially when I’ve no definite work lined up after this. Half a dozen auditions, but nothing concrete.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve got eight weeks beginning in August, but the rest of June and July is empty for me. I’ll be back to the temp agency on Monday.”

Bingley inspected the brooch through the glass. However, he was careful to make no comment until they had walked away from the stall. “If it’s any consolation, I think the reason it costs so much is because it’s an original piece of lapidary, and in very good condition. I can’t say without checking the back and the design of the pin but I suspect that it could be up to two hundred years old, and worth a little more than the price he’s asking for it.”

“How do you know?”

Bingley shrugged his well dressed shoulders in a movement that was becoming familiar to Miranda. “When I didn’t have any acting work lined up I sometimes used to help out at my uncle’s jewellery shop. He stocked a lot of antique stuff and had a soft spot for Blue John and the other fluorites.”

Darcy had wandered ahead to the largest stand, which sold books; a fitting place for him, Miranda thought. The books on the shelves in front of him were mainly about the Peninsular war and biographies of Wellington or other well known military or political figures from the beginning of the nineteenth century. Darcy was flicking idly through a book about Lord Liverpool when she reached his side. “There’s a good selection here.”

Being in a playful mood, she put on her brightest smile and most vacuous expression, before saying,“Oh, I cannot talk of books in a ballroom!”

He looked pointedly around the large green tent, where the books were protected from the vagaries of the weather, before returning his attention to Miranda. “Please don’t do that. You sound like Caroline.”

“Heaven forbid!”

“Don’t worry. You’re really nothing like her. She’s only jealous, you know, because I won’t give her the sort of attention she craves. Don’t let anything she says bother you.”

Something in the tone of his voice gave her a clue. “You heard her?”

“Trevor told me about your confrontation last night. I’m glad you put her in her place. Don’t trust her and don’t believe a word she says.”

She smiled. “I had no intention of it.”

Their shopping trip over, they returned to the house and took up their places ready for the first visitors. As though to make up for their absence the previous day, the house and grounds were soon bustling with people, who all seemed to take a great interest in the entertainment being put on for their benefit.

While Miranda played her part, her mind was elsewhere; at the jewellers stall with the cameo brooch. Although she’d said that she couldn’t afford it, that wasn’t strictly true. She had a small sum she kept back for emergencies, special occasions and rainy days.

And in a few months it would be her birthday.

After some consideration she decided to buy the brooch using some of the money in her savings, and replace the fifty pounds when she received her ‘birthday money’. That way she could justify treating herself early.

The decision made, she was impatient for lunch time. As soon as their last scene of the morning was complete, she headed straight across the lawn to the jeweller’s stall. She spent a few anxious moments excusing herself as she passed through the crowds. Finally she managed to move forward to the front of the queue.

Her eyes immediately travelled to the corner of the case, but she couldn’t see the cameo. Making her way to the other cases, she checked each one carefully before moving back to the first one. Finally, she enquired with the stallholder.

It was too late. The brooch had already been sold.

~<>@<>~

Their audience for the next scene had gathered in the blue drawing room as Miranda took her place at the desk ready to begin. A young, sandy-haired toddler was swinging the red velvet rope—the only thing separating the visitors from the actors— back and forth with one hand while a finger on the other worked industriously as it excavated his right nostril. Next to him, a harassed woman seemed weighed down by a sleeping baby in a front carrier. Near the windows, at the very back of the group, a young couple—whose whole bodies appeared to be intertwined like a pair of siamese twins—had less interest in the upcoming performance than in each other.

Miranda wondered absently whether they wouldn’t be more comfortable somewhere a little less public.

Hearing the door open behind her, she picked up the prop letter from the desk, before standing abruptly and turning towards Darcy; the sign that she was ready to begin.

“I beg your pardon, but I must leave! I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed. I have not an instant to lose.”

“Good God! What is the matter?” Darcy cried with feeling, delivering what she knew was one of his favourite lines. “I will not detain you a minute; but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs Gardiner. You are not well enough. You cannot go yourself.”

He then strode back to the door and made a show of speaking to a servant off-stage.

Sinking back into the chair, Miranda fumbled for a handkerchief. In the past she had always struggled to produce tears on demand, until Mrs Reynolds had taught her some old tricks of the trade. She grabbed the lacy handkerchief and hid her face in it, sniffing forcefully.

She could not see Darcy, who was standing somewhere behind her, but she heard sincere gentleness in his next words.

“Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine ... shall I get you one? You look very ill.”

Wishing that she could have a glass of wine to ease her dry throat, Miranda turned to him; explaining how she had been upset by some dreadful news she had just received. “My younger sister has left all her friends ... has eloped ... has thrown herself into the power of ... of ... Mr. Wickham.” Miranda paused a moment for effect. “You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him. She is lost for ever.”

The scene continued along familiar lines. They had both become so comfortable with the words that that they tripped off the tongue with very little effort.

Meanwhile, the baby, who had been relatively well behaved up until now, chose that moment to let out a blood curdling scream. Everyone else in the room turned to look at the mother; the actors temporarily forgotten.

“I am grieved indeed.” Darcy valiantly attempted to make himself heard above the noise of the wailing infant. “Grieved ... shocked! But is it absolutely certain?”

Miranda caught the frustration in his eyes, and returned a brief, understanding smile. She didn’t appreciate the interruption any more than he did, especially when the mother seemed to be making no effort to calm her child. “Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond. They are certainly not gone to Scotland.”

His voice raised a notch louder. “And what has been done? What has been attempted, to recover her?”

His increased volume unfortunately coincided with the baby’s abrupt silence, as the mother retreated to a dark corner to offer sustenance in a way that would least offend the sensibilities of the onlookers. Miranda failed to suppress a smile, seeing her companion outmanoeuvred by an infant.

Darcy shook his head. The audience would probably assume it to be in sympathy with Miss Bennet’s plight, but Miranda knew his annoyance for what it was.

Their performance, even when disturbed by unwitting audience participation, was charged with empathy. Although the limitations of the script means that words of love remained unspoken, the silent glances they shared were hard to disguise.

Coming to the end of the piece, Darcy stood; the brim of his top hat held in his hands like a supplicant. He stood aloof and uncomfortable and the audience was left in no doubt of the character’s feelings. “I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing concern. Would to Heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part that might offer consolation to such distress!”

A man behind the rope shouted, “Kiss ‘er!” The audience laughed.

Darcy ignored the heckler and instead expressed his regret that she would be unable to visit Pemberley.

Elizabeth asked him to apologise to his sister on her behalf. “Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. I know it cannot be long.”

He readily reassured her, expressed his sorrow for her distress and wished a happier conclusion than there was at present reason to hope. The look in his eyes as he turned to Elizabeth one last time melted Miranda’s heart. She saw such desire and longing in those sultry brown eyes, that she could no longer believe he was merely acting out the role.

He left the room, and she faced the audience alone. After holding her position for a few seconds, the scene was complete and Darcy returned to the room, where they shared their bows.

The group in front of them applauded politely and wandered away in search of the next performance. Bingley and Jane’s proposal scene was due to start in fifteen minutes. Miranda had about half an hour before she was required again.

“I could do with a drink. Coming?”

She smiled. “Oh, yes! I’m parched!”

They walked through the lesser used corridors of the house, keeping away from the areas that were accessible to the public. Reaching one of the narrower staircases, they descended to the basement; Darcy complaining about mothers who were unable to keep their children quiet. Before they reached the kitchen, he opened a nondescript side door and quickly pulled her through after him.

Miranda glanced around. The small room was dark, except for the pale grey light coming through a pane of glass above the door. In the semi-darkness, she felt his strong hands as they traced a path up her arms and over her shoulders to clasp behind her neck, pulling her closer. “What —”

“Elizabeth.” His whisper was no more than a breath. “What have you done to me that I can’t keep my hands off you? I’ve spent all day thinking about you. About being alone with you.”

Closing her eyes, Miranda drowned in the sensations as his lips swooped down to claim a kiss. His hand trailing down her spine made her shiver as his fingers brushed over the muslin of her dress.

“You’re so warm ... so soft.” He pulled her close enough that she could feel his unyielding body. “Can you feel how much I need you?”

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly.

Their lips came together again, his tongue gaining possession of her mouth; his hands roaming frantically across her back, seemingly in two or three places at once. When he drew away from their kiss, she felt deprived, until his hot breath on her neck made her sigh as his lips trailed seductively along her collar bone to her shoulder. Miranda tipped her head back, enjoying his attention, their upcoming performances all but forgotten.

His fingers assessed the neckline of her dress. She felt him smile as she shivered; instinctively pushing herself towards him. The heat of his breath on her cool skin was the only warning she received before she felt the hot moisture of his mouth covering her. His tongue swirled around and over, sending a shiver of pleasure through her body. Her eyelids grew heavy as he continued his attentions until she barely knew where she was. The next thing she realised, he was gathering her skirt in his hands; collecting the material as he lifted her hem ever higher.

“No! Don’t! The material will crease.”

“But I need you.”

“But wardrobe—”

“Won’t notice a few more creases at the end of the day,” he whispered encouragingly. “Trust me. No one will know.”

She shook her head silently. Some small corner of Miranda’s brain was screaming at her, but it was almost smothered by the feelings of desire that whirled through her body.

“Let me love you, Lizzy.” He turned her around slowly until her back was leaning against his chest. Snaking an arm around her, he stroked her sensitive skin with his fingertips until he heard a small moan she was unable to stifle. “No one will know. I need you. I need to touch you.”

He continued to whisper endearments and encouragement. Intoxicated by his words and her own passion, she was only woken from her stupor when she felt the cooler air around her legs as Darcy bent her forwards as he pulled the skirt of her dress over her back. “I want what’s mine, Elizabeth. I want you.”

She tensed, hearing a harsh possessiveness in his words.

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m only playing.” He leaned over her back where her skirt now rested. “There, you see. That will keep everything nice and straight. No one would ever guess.”

His hand was caressing her thigh when the voices of Mr. Gardiner and Mrs Reynolds sounded loudly as they passed the other side of the door.

“I’ll ask him. Sebastian can’t be far away. I’ll bet he’s in the kitchen, getting coffee.”

It was as though someone had switched on the light. The full impact of their behaviour hit Miranda and she stiffened. Had Mr. Gardiner walked through the door and found them she would hardly have been more embarrassed. She couldn’t believe how far they had gone without her being fully conscious of it. Her heart began to beat faster, but it was now more in panic than lust. She couldn’t believe that she might have let him go further, heedless of any consequences.

Pulling her skirt around her like a barrier she settled her costume more respectably. “We’d better get back.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because we’re meant to be working!” As much as she loved being with him—loved how he made her feel—her work ethic was too deeply ingrained to ignore; especially for a five minute fumble in a broom cupboard.

Besides, if their relationship was going to move forward, she would like to think it would be somewhere more romantic than this.

After making a final check to ensure that she was presentable, Miranda reached for the door handle.

His hand covered hers in an instant. “Lizzy ... darling! I’m going to be a wreck before this week is over. Can’t you give me a break?”

Hearing that particular endearment sent the butterflies in her stomach wild, but she refused to give in. “There’s a time and a place for everything,” she explained patiently as she ruthlessly squashed each fragile lepidopteran. “This isn’t the time, and it certainly isn’t the place!” In the half-light she could see the frustration in his expression and she caressed his cheek with her free hand. Softening her voice to calm him, she said, “Come on, let’s get that drink and get back to work before we’re missed.”

He conceded and turned the door handle. “Don’t think you’ll escape me for long.”

The determined tone in his voice sent an icy shiver slithered up her spine like a snake, and for once she couldn’t decide whether it was lust or something else entirely.

~<>@<>~

Miranda returned to her room early that evening, still feeling a little guilty about their abortive liaison in the store room.

She recalled how she’d felt when he had first walked into the green room a week earlier. She’d been almost beside herself with anticipation, and he hadn’t failed to deliver. Tall, dark and handsome, he was everything she’d ever hoped for in Mr. Darcy. Something had sparked between them almost from the beginning. Well, not during their first meeting, admittedly, but certainly by the end of that night. The fact that he’d originally overlooked her in favour of Jane didn’t bother her. After all, the fictional Mr. Darcy had overlooked Elizabeth Bennet at the Meryton Assembly, and look how that turned out!

As she had got to know him she had realised that Sebastian was a very physical person. He expressed himself through touch. Since they had become close, he had constantly affirmed their connection with the touch of his hand—if not on her arm then her shoulder, neck or cheek—and she could easily lose her mind through the soft caress of his lips, as had been proven only that afternoon.

While she didn’t object to losing her mind over a man, the way this particular man could so easily break down her natural reticence was a little worrying. Every time he touched her, all her common sense seemed to fly straight out of the window.

She changed into her nightshirt and squeezed into the space between the bed and the basin to clean her teeth and wash her face. As she reached across to put her folded clothes on the chest of drawers, something fell to the floor with a muffled thud. She scanned the threadbare carpet until she spotted what had been knocked down. It was a small brown box, about the size of a credit card and no more than an inch and a half deep.

As she reached down for it she felt her heart beating a little faster, but she dared not speculate about it’s contents. Taking the lid away, she saw a folded piece of paper and a rectangle of protective foam.

Underneath it all was the cameo brooch she had wanted.

Miranda stared at the contents for at least thirty seconds before reaching out and tracing the fine carving of the silhouette with her finger. It was even prettier than she remembered. Unfolding the tiny square of paper she held it up to the light. It was filled with a bold, flowing hand.

Miranda,

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever. I hope this continues to give you joy for as long as you possess it.

Would you meet me by the fountain—the one with the three dolphins—tomorrow? About half an hour before dinner? There’s something I need to tell you, and it's best said in private.

Smiling, she read the note through again. The words fit the paper exactly, with no space at the bottom for so much as an initial. She turned it over, but there was nothing written on the back. Miranda had heard of the fountain, and seen pictures of it in the guide book. It was deep within the park, further from the house than she had walked before. She knew which path she needed to take to get there, but why was it so important that they speak privately?

She looked down at the cameo again. It was perfect. She loved it.

But how had Sebastian known that this was just the one she wanted?

~«o»@«o»~

8.

Miranda hoped that she would have the chance to thank Sebastian for his gift early next morning, but although she waited for him he never came downstairs. A ribald comment from Mr. Gardiner, suggesting that he had been exhausted by nocturnal activities, raised few smiles around the subdued breakfast table. When Sebastian still hadn’t appeared by the end of breakfast, Trevor—thinking that he might have overslept—went to check on him, returning only to report his room empty.

Joining the others in the dressing room, Miranda was worried. Sebastian had been a perfect cast-member; always one of the first downstairs in the mornings and never once late for a performance. As the hairdresser worked on fixing Elizabeth’s hair and creating the ringlets that framed her face, Miranda’s eyes dwelled often on the reflection of the door as she waited; replying absently to the conversations that flew around her.

When Sebastian wandered into the dressing room it was half past nine and Mrs Grant had been panicking about his disappearance for at least three quarters of an hour.

He gave the organiser a smile guaranteed to melt her heart before addressing the group. “I apologise, ladies and gents, if you were concerned by my absence. I took an early drive into Lambley because I needed to go to the bank.” He spoke for a few minutes with Mr. Gardiner before walking across the room to sit at his usual chair, next to Miranda. Leaning closer, he said, “Were you worried about me too?”

She tried to stay annoyed with him but it was impossible once he was so close, and her scowl soon cracked into a reluctant grin. “Maybe a little.” It had felt odd sitting down to breakfast without him there, swapping jokes and telling stories. He never ate much, but she had missed his company.

The wardrobe mistress and her staff were all more than happy to work their magic on Mr. Darcy—regardless of what time he arrived—which meant that by ten o’clock he was immaculately dressed in blue coat and buff breeches and was ready to go.

The day looked set to be a busy one as the visitors poured through the turnstiles. Around the area, local newspapers had included coverage of the event in their weekly columns and the better weather had brought out a large number of people who wished to visit the second day of the fair and see the much publicised reenactments for themselves. The grounds were full from ten o’clock and Miranda was plunged into the first Lambton Inn scene without having had any opportunity to discuss either the brooch or Sebastian’s curious invitation.

The last performance before lunch was also the one that included the most cast members. The script described it as ‘The second Lambton Inn (invitation) scene’, where Mr. and Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth were visited by Darcy, Bingley and Georgiana. A large audience was waiting to see them perform—the most people Miranda had seen standing behind the red rope all week—and there seemed to be an air of anticipation as they watched the actors take their places.

Stepping forward, Darcy spoke first. “May I introduce my sister? Georgiana, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Dipping her knee into a curtsey, Miranda smiled at her. “How do you do? I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Darcy.”

Georgiana looked up shyly from underneath the brim of her bonnet. “And I you.”

Fixing a reassuring expression on her face, Miranda asked a question designed to look like she was attempting to draw Miss Darcy into conversation. At the same time she caught a movement amongst the audience. Two teenage girls seemed to be stalking Mr. Darcy; weaving through the large crowd, trying to get nearer to him.

The object of their attentions appeared unaware of his eager fans as he delivered his next line. “Mr. Bingley is here with us, and very desirous to see you as well. He insisted on accompanying us. May I summon him?”

Ignoring the giggles from the girls in the audience, Miranda smiled brightly. “Please do. I should like to see him very much.”

Darcy walked out into the hallway to fetch Bingley. At this point, Elizabeth and Georgiana would normally have been making an effort to communicate until the two men returned. Instead, both looked on in horror as the young girls jumped over the rope that separated the actors from the audience and ran across the room.

“Mr. Darcy! Come back. We love you!” they screamed as they raced through the door in his wake.

Miranda turned to Georgiana but both had been stunned into a shocked silence. There were muffled voices in the hallway beyond, and then everything fell quiet; including the audience, who were obviously curious to see what might happen next. She was about to follow the two girls and check backstage herself when Mr. Bingley came through the door alone, and continued with the scene as though nothing had happened.

“Miss Bennet! I was so delighted when Darcy told me you were not five miles from Pemberley! How do you do?” As he bowed over Miranda’s hand, Gareth gave her a quick wink, which she assumed was intended to reassure her.

She curtseyed. “Very well, thank you.” Miranda was preoccupied; her attention divided between the performance and whatever scene might be taking place behind the door.

“Good ... good. And what of your family? How do they do?”

Her ears strained to hear what was going on beyond the door. “Th ... they are also well, sir.”

Mr. Bingley smiled as he valiantly tried to keep the scene going. “Yes? Pray, tell me. Are all your sisters still at Longbourn?”

Forcing herself to concentrate, Miranda focussed on his words. “No, not all. My youngest sister is currently visiting Brighton with friends.”

A brief frown marred his forehead, there and gone almost in a moment. “It is a very long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing you. It must be above eight months at least. We have not met since the 26th of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield.”

“I think you must be right,” she replied, just as Mr. Darcy slipped silently into the room, taking his usual place behind Bingley. The rest of the script was a little rushed, but she thought it unlikely that the people watching would notice anything odd. At the end of the scene, they all bowed as usual and made their way through the door to the area she thought of as ‘backstage’.

Georgiana grabbed Sebastian’s sleeve as soon as they stepped through the door. “What happened?”

Bingley put his finger to his lips, silencing them until the door behind them was firmly closed. “Well, that could have been worse. At least they waited until you’d moved off stage before they grabbed you. If they’d done it out there, it would have made a bit of a mess.”

Miranda looked between the two men. “I couldn’t believe it! What did they do? How did you deal with them?”

Bingley gave Darcy an enquiring look, indicating that he should take over the explanations.

“Mm ... well they came through the door shouting, as you no doubt saw, and attached themselves to me, with no apparent intention of letting me go. Gareth prised them off my arms—a little bit like scraping barnacles off a ships hull—before running in to take his part while I led the girls through the house to the exit; explaining on the way why it wasn’t such a good idea to interrupt the performance like that.”

“And they allowed you to take them off ... without argument?”

“Of course.” He shrugged. “I’m Darcy. As far as they’re concerned I can do what I damned well like. It is my house, after all.”

Miranda smiled to see how thoroughly he had absorbed his character.

Georgiana, however, was still in shock. “I really didn’t know what to do. If Elizabeth hadn’t carried on talking to me, I’m sure I would have frozen completely.” The young girl turned to Bingley. “And if you hadn’t come in when you did, the whole scene might have fallen to pieces.”

Bingley and Georgiana wandered ahead towards the dining room, as he reassured her that everything had gone well and how admirably she’d coped with the disruption.

Miranda felt a hand caress her arm and turned to Sebastian, who studied her with a soft smile on his face. His fingers moved slowly down to take her hand in his. “Are you ready for lunch?”

“Yes, but first I need to say thank you ... for the present you left in my room last night.”

He looked down, his lips curling up at the corners. Taking a deep breath, he paused before exhaling slowly. “Did ... did you like it?”

“Oh, yes, very much. I’d looked at that very piece this morning, and I even went back to buy it, but it was already sold. You can’t imagine how surprised I was to find it in my room.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I would’ve liked to have seen that.”

Miranda looked up at him; his eyes were focussed on her fingers, still intertwined with his as he held them close to his chest. “But why did you want to meet at the big fountain?”

He stood for a long moment before lifting her fingers to his lips. His breath was warm against her knuckles as he spoke. “Perhaps I fancied the walk?” he offered, before bushing his lips across her skin.

Miranda felt her pulse quicken. “I don’t mind ... I just wondered, that’s all.”

“It doesn’t matter. We could go somewhere else, if you’d prefer. I know, why don’t we look around the orangery after dinner instead? I’ve been told that they spent a lot of money on it this year.”

She’d read about the orangery in one of the guidebooks. It was a heavily-glazed building—not unlike a conservatory—where the gardeners used to grow tender fruit, like oranges and lemons, despite the vagaries of the English weather. “Yes, I’d like that.”

He caught her chin in his fingers and drew her lips to his. The kiss began slowly and softly but soon became more heated as Miranda tilted her head and opened her mouth in response to his silent entreaties. Everything around them dimmed; the only thing she knew was the two of them; their lips caressing, their tongues dancing, his arms holding her as though he would never let her go.

A sudden cough—more a pointed clearing of the throat really—sounded loud in the corridor behind them and they sprang apart, turning to see Mrs Grant eyeing them both with a palpable distaste. She raised an eyebrow and tapped her pen on her clipboard, as though considering whether detention would be a suitable punishment for the errant pair. Her decision must have been in their favour, for instead she continued walking down the hall without further comment.

Darcy laughed nervously. “That woman gives me the creeps. Come on, lets grab some lunch before Trevor and Gerald go back for seconds.”

Agreeing, Miranda slipped her arm through his and accompanied him to the dining room.

Later that evening, after an uneventful dinner, Miranda slipped out of a side door and walked the short distance along a gravel path. The orangery was close to the Hall, yet completely separate from it. While its primary function had always been the cultivation of fruit, during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries it had also been used by the Master and Mistress of the house as a social space during the summer months.

The glorious stone structure was at least twenty meters in length, with wide, arched windows that ran almost from floor to ceiling; the large expanse of glass out of proportion with the surrounding walls. At each end, the windows were replaced by glazed doors that could be opened wide to let in the cooling summer breezes, and Miranda could imagine how it would make a wonderful space for a party.

As she entered through the closest door, Miranda surveyed what she could see of the interior. The roof was solid around the outer edge, but the centre was filled with a delicate tracery of ironwork, glazed to let the most light in. The long back wall had been painted a dazzling white to reflect the sunlight back into the room, allowing all manner of tropical plants and fruits to thrive, while the floor was criss-crossed with meandering tiled walks between sunken beds crammed with abundant foliage.

Not knowing where Sebastian would be—or even if he had arrived—she followed the narrow trail that ran closest to the wall, pausing occasionally to push back the large glossy green leaves and spiky fronds that had grown horizontally across the path.

Half way down the length of the orangery she found a small fountain, where water trickled from a trio of small horns played by a curly haired cherub. The water droplets falling onto the carved marble shells made a relaxing, almost musical sound.

But there was still no sign of Sebastian.

The broad edge circling the fountain was just the right height for sitting on, so Miranda perched on it, allowing the stream of cool, clear water to play over her fingers. Already she could see a handful of silver and bronze coins thrown in by visitors glinting at the bottom of the wide bowl; importuning whatever deity they believed in with pleas for good fortune.

Miranda hadn’t brought any money with her, but then again she hardly needed any luck tonight. She already had what she wanted.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

She whirled around, then smiled when she saw him standing behind her. “I was only thinking how I don’t have any pressing need to wish for something. I have everything I want right now.”

“Lucky you.” Holding out his hand, he took hers into his keeping and led her silently through the screen of luxurious foliage until they reached the furthest end. Rather than being a blank wall, as Miranda had expected, she found a semicircular alcove—well hidden from anyone standing by the fountain—whose ceiling curved upwards into a half-dome shape. She imagined that it had once been filled by a chaise longue, or perhaps a day bed strewn with cushions and shawls, where a Georgian Mistress of the house might have conducted her dangerous liaisons. Today a large, square picnic blanket took its place, while a bottle of champagne and two glasses sat nearby.

“I take it you have a friend in the kitchens?”

Sebastian’s grin was boyish. “My dad used to tell me that my best friend at school should be the dinner ladies, and he was right. I always enjoyed extra helpings and preferential treatment. I suppose the habit has stuck.” Sitting down on one side of the blanket he reached for the bottle, loosening the wire with a deft twist before he eased the cork out with a gentle pop. “Sometimes, if you give the catering staff a smile and a wink they’re so overwhelmingly grateful that you’ve brought a speck of cheer into their miserable existences that they’ll do anything for you.”

Dropping onto the blanket next to him she accepted a half filled glass. Champagne wasn’t her favourite. It went to her head far too quickly and always left her with a hangover in the morning, but one glass wouldn’t hurt.

Sebastian stretched his legs out and propped himself up on one elbow, turning towards her as he held his glass in the other hand. “Well ... what shall we drink to?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The end of a wonderful week? We’ve only one more day here before the magic ends. Exley Hall is such a beautiful place, and I’ve had so much fun here. It seems a shame that we’ve got to return to the modern world on Monday.”

He reached for her free hand, drawing her closer. “The magic doesn’t have to end.”

She felt her heart jump in her chest. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Was this more than just a fling for him too? She hoped so, because she’d never been this happy with anyone else.

He leaned towards her for a kiss, their lips sharing a familiarity borne of frequent practice over the last seven days. She could taste the champagne on his tongue but it wasn’t the alcohol making her dizzy. She pulled her mouth away long enough to take a breath, and he relieved her of her glass, setting it safely to one side as he took her in his arms, laying her gently back onto the blanket.

Miranda couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so safe and loved.

He cradled her in his embrace as his other hand lovingly traced the contours of her body. “Lizzy ... oh, Lizzy.”

“Miranda,” she whispered absently. A frown appeared across his brow, as though he wasn’t quite sure what point she was trying to make. She looked into his eyes. “My name is Miranda.”

Sebastian’s lips spread into a grin. “That might be what your parents called you, but you’re my Elizabeth now.” His hand slipped boldly under her t-shirt and he ran a finger along the line of lace decorating her bra. “This bit is Lizzy ... and so is this,” he murmured as it slid across her chest to the other side.

Momentarily distracted by his movements, Miranda arched her back, pushing her body closer to his warmth.

“And this bit is definitely Lizzy.” He spoke purposefully as his fingertips trailed across her stomach and over her hip, grasping her bottom and pulling their bodies closer together.

Miranda lay back on the blanket, her mind drifting happily as their lips met once more while Sebastian’s free hand wandered at will. For a moment she felt as though she was sinking into the floor, but she was jerked out of her languor when she felt him trying to undo the button of her jeans. Unable to move back, she pushed at his shoulder to free her lips. “What are you doing?”

His hand came up to stroke her hair. “Shh, my Lizzy. Just relax.”

Miranda felt a knot in her stomach, but lust had nothing to do with it. “You know, that joke’s not funny any more. I’m not Lizzy ... you know I’m not. Elizabeth Bennet doesn’t exist and, particularly when we’re together like this, I’d be happier hearing you use my name.”

“Why?”

Feeling inexplicably crushed, she shifted him back a little further so that she could sit up. “Because then I’d know you were kissing me ... Miranda ... and not some figment of Jane Austen’s imagination.”

Sebastian lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Where’s the fun in that?”

By now, not only was she annoyed by his attitude, but also a little concerned. “Is that all this is to you? A game? I know we all agreed to use our character names at the beginning of the week, and it’s been fun thinking of you as Darcy.” She paused, taking a breath. “But if this thing between us is really going to go any further then I need to know that it’s me you’re kissing; not Elizabeth Bennet.”

Sebastian sighed. “For God’s sake, it’s only a name. You’re an actress; you answer to a different name almost every week. Don’t you think you’re being a little over-sensitive?”

“No, I don’t. If you really cared for me you wouldn’t want me to be anything other than I am.”

He snorted. “Oh, believe me, I’d want you no matter what you were called. I’ve wanted you all week.” His hand caressed her shoulder as he leaned forward to kiss her again, seemingly ignorant of her distress.

“I wish you’d take this more seriously.” She wriggled from within his grasp and crawled to the edge of the blanket. Standing up, she said, “I can’t be with you like this when I don’t know how you feel about me.” His brows furrowed as he realised that she didn’t intend to stay. She could understand why he would be annoyed. No doubt he thought she had led him on, but that couldn’t be helped. “I’m going. When you decide to stop messing about and drop this Darcy and Elizabeth nonsense, then let me know.”

As she walked past the fountain, her ears were tuned for the following footsteps she hoped to hear, but all she heard was the scuff of her own shoes on the tiles and the tinkling sound of the water as the cherubic figure accompanied her retreat with his aqueous melody.

~<>@<>~

Returning alone to the house, Miranda slipped into the green room and sank gloomily into the chair in the corner, picking up the paperback she had discarded the night before.

After leaving Sebastian, she had wandered around the gardens for an hour or more, until she found herself climbing the hill to the coppice where they had spent time together on the Sunday evening. She watched the sun until it had disappeared below the horizon. It felt like she had known him for ages, but it had been less than a week.

And that week wasn’t ending quite as she had expected it to.

It had been their first fight and, no doubt, Sebastian was cursing her right now, but Miranda felt sure that she had done the right thing. It had been obvious from his demeanour that he had expected something more during their time alone in the orangery, and she could not in all honesty say that she wouldn’t have allowed it ... if he had not been so stubborn about calling her by a name that wasn’t hers.

She looked around at the others who were in the room. Most had no doubt retired early. Mr. Gardiner was playing solitaire, turning the cards over one at a time and placing them carefully on the table, while Mrs Gardiner was relaxing on the opposite sofa with Trevor; the butler’s hand laying lightly on her knee as she laughed at something he whispered in her ear. It seemed strange to see Mrs Gardiner spending time with another man.

Miranda paused and replayed her thoughts. Mr. and Mrs Gardiner weren’t married. They weren’t her aunt and uncle either. They were just two actors who happened to be playing a role. Wasn’t she as big a culprit as Sebastian? Although his tendency to call her Elizabeth had worried her, most of the other cast members were doing, and thinking, exactly the same. They had all agreed to use their character names and, had she not grown fond of Sebastian over the week, she would not have thought twice about calling him Darcy for the remainder of the week, nor cavilled at him identifying her as Lizzy.

Her eyes looked past the pages of her book and back to the orangery. Miranda had known exactly what he had expected and—regardless of her better judgement—she had no doubts that he would have ended up with her exactly where he wanted her. She began to wonder whether her aversion to being called Elizabeth was nothing more than a subconscious excuse to postpone that inevitable final step in their relationship. It was understandable that he had been confused and annoyed with her. The least she could have done was to explain her feelings more fully and confess that she was not yet comfortable with moving their relationship to the next level.

Regardless of how provoking his reaction was, she could have handled the whole situation much better. He deserved an apology for that, at the very least.

Leaving the room, she ran back to the orangery to see if Sebastian was still there, but there was no trace of their earlier tête à tête. Both the bottle and the blanket were gone. Although he could be anywhere, Miranda thought it unlikely that he had gone far, so she returned to the house and climbed the stairs. As she reached the top floor she paused outside Sebastian’s room, wondering whether it was a good idea to disturb him. Miranda recalled his hurt expression when she pushed him away. Would he still be angry with her? She knocked quietly. He didn’t answer, but that meant nothing. He could be listening to his mp3 player or even sleeping.

She decided to check inside, just to be sure.

Turning the handle, Miranda pushed the door open and paused on the threshold as time stood still. Her immediate thought was that he looked magnificent naked. The powerful muscles of his shoulders and buttocks bunched and flexed as he moved sensuously over the figure beneath him. Miranda could not see her face, but she could hear the soft moans and see the long, pale legs wrapped around his tanned body.

Then, his bedmate rolled her head across the pillow; her eyes still closed and her swollen lips parted as she sighed with pleasure.

Oh my God! ... Georgiana?

As Miranda stepped back her heel hit the door jamb. The blow sounded loud in the silence, although it was no louder than the knock they had earlier been oblivious to. It was enough, however, to alert Sebastian to her presence, and he turned his head to look directly into her eyes. A slow, satisfied smile grew on his lips before he turned away; continuing his attention towards his partner as though Miranda was not there.

Writhing beneath him, Emily remained blissfully unaware of Miranda’s trespass; her soft cries a sign that she, at least, was too caught up in the moment to be aware of anything or anyone.

Shaking herself from her stupor, Miranda staggered back into the corridor, as though she’d been struck a physical blow. How had their petty quarrel in the orangery turned into this? Miranda would never have imagined that his anger and frustration would push him to strike back at her in so vicious a manner.

Even before arriving at Exley Hall, she’d spent so long imagining her perfect Darcy that she’d mistakenly imbued Sebastian Fox with all the excellent traits of that fictional character; traits he’d neither possessed nor deserved. How could she have been so blind, so naïve to believe she had found someone as wonderful as she’d always pictured Darcy to be?

And how was she going to face him, or indeed any of them‬, again?

The photograph is of the Orangery at Mapperton House, Beaminster, Dorset, and is used with the kind permission of Duncan Frith.

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