As he drove them back to Cleremont, Hugh subsided into a frowning, broody silence.
‘What’s wrong?’ Holly asked him, and laid a hand on his arm. ‘It’s Charlotte, isn’t it?’ she added.
‘Yes. I’m worried about her, getting involved with that scoundrel Ciaran. I don’t like it. I’m only sorry we didn’t reach the dock in time for me to have a word with her.’
‘It wouldn’t have done any good,’ Holly pointed out. ‘You’d only have made Charlotte angry… at you. Not to mention more determined than ever to see Ciaran.’
She spoke from experience. Was it only last summer that the film star had worked his charm on her, convincing her he was madly in love and desperate to marry her?
Thank God she’d learned what he was really up to before it was too late.
Hugh let out a short breath. ‘Of course you’re right. At least I got hold of Harry and he promised to bring her home. But I do wonder if I shouldn’t tell Mr Bennet as well. He ought to know what his daughter’s up to.’
‘Well, she’s of age,’ Holly said, ‘and her father may already know that she’s seeing Ciaran, and may not mind.’
‘I doubt that.’ Hugh’s words were firm.
‘He hurt your sister very badly, didn’t he?’ she said after a moment.
His hands tightened on the wheel. ‘Phoebe was young and trusting, just like Charlotte, and Ciaran used her and discarded her like a – a toy he no longer wanted. Never mind that she was expecting his child.’
Holly laid a comforting hand on his arm. ‘I know. He even had the audacity to tell me that you’d treated his sister Jane in exactly the same way.’
‘Yes, of course, you know the story… most of it. He demanded she get rid of it. She did, but the guilt nearly destroyed her, and she tried to kill herself. She took a handful of sleeping pills,’ he added matter-of-factly. ‘Thank God she was found before it was too late.’
Her hand tightened on his arm. ‘Where’s your sister now?’
‘Happily married and living in Pembrokeshire,’ he answered, and smiled slightly. ‘With two rambunctious children and a husband who dotes on her.’ His smile faded. ‘And Ciaran Duncan, thank God, is nothing more than a bad memory.’
***
‘I don’t mean to pry, my dear, but what on earth is the matter?’
Lizzy Bennet looked up as her father, his face creased in concern, sat down across from her at the kitchen table.
The house was mercifully quiet; Charlotte and Emma had gone out to spend Sunday afternoon with their friends. The cat slept on the cushioned settle, and the only sound was the tick of the wall clock over the Aga.
Lizzy was glad of the lull; it meant there was no one to overhear her conversation with her father, no one to tease her or question her about things she didn’t wish to discuss.
She looked at Mr Bennet now and managed a wan smile. ‘Is it so obvious?’
‘Something’s bothering you, and has been since yesterday afternoon. What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just feeling a bit sorry for myself, I suppose, that’s all.’
‘No.’ He shook his head gently but firmly. ‘There’s more to it than that, or I very much miss my guess. Something’s happened to upset you.’
She regarded him in exasperation. ‘There’s no fooling you, is there?’ She sighed. ‘It’s Hugh. Hugh Darcy.’
He blinked. ‘I should have thought his return would make you happy, not the opposite. The two of you were so close when you were younger, after all; inseparable, really…’ He stopped. ‘Ah,’ he murmured as understanding dawned, ‘I think, perhaps, I begin to see.’
‘I was so excited to hear that he was coming back home to Cleremont,’ she admitted, and laid her hands on the table. ‘It’s been eight years since we last saw each other.’ She frowned. ‘I suppose I hoped Hugh might… feel the same as he once did. I wasn’t at all prepared for the news that he’s engaged to Holly.’
Mr Bennet looked at her in dismay. ‘Oh, Lizzy, you can’t mean to say that you honestly expected a proposal from him…?’
‘Why not? Like you said, we’ve known each other for yonks, practically since we were in nappies. No one’s ever understood me the way Hugh does. No one ever will.’
‘The Darcys move in different circles than us, Lizzy,’ he said gently. ‘Surely you see that.’
‘I can’t believe you just said that,’ she exclaimed. ‘What a snob you are, Daddy.’
‘Not a snob, Lizzy, just a realist. Holly’s much more suited to marry into the Darcy family… with all that entails.’
‘Meaning that I’m not?’ Her eyes snapped.
‘Meaning that Holly comes from a wealthy family herself.’
Lizzy sniffed. ‘Department store wealth,’ she said in dismissal. ‘Trade, as they would’ve said in the old days. It’s not inherited.’
‘Now who’s the snob?’ he chided her. ‘Listen to yourself.’
After a moment, she relented, and gave him a grudging smile. ‘You’re right, of course. You’re always right.’
‘Not always. I was wrong about the last Premier Cup.’ He frowned. ‘Ah, well.’ He reached out to take her hands in his. ‘Eight years is a long time. People change. Their feelings change. Darcy never made you any promises, did he?’
She sighed. ‘No. I’m afraid his feelings for me exist only in my head.’
‘Give Holly a chance, Lizzy. You’ve taken a dislike to her and you don’t even know the girl. She seems like a nice enough person, and she’s obviously in love with Hugh. Make an effort to be pleasant to her at the garden party on Sunday, that’s all I’m suggesting.’
Lizzy grimaced but squeezed his hands in reassurance. ‘I make no promises that the two of us will ever become friends,’ she said, her words decided, ‘but I’ll make an honest effort to welcome her to Litchfield Manor, and be the perfect hostess.’
Mr Bennet shoved back his chair and beamed. ‘More than that, my darling Lizzy, I cannot ask.’
***
The next morning, the thump of the newspapers landing on the doorstep distracted Mr Bennet from the preparation of his tea.
He paused and glanced up at the ceiling. The girls were still upstairs sleeping and the house was blissfully quiet; with any luck, it would stay that way for a time. He looked forward to enjoying his tea and papers outside on the terrace in luxurious and uninterrupted solitude.
Humming the Te Deum absently under his breath, he went down the hallway and past the stairs to the front door, and opened it to survey the doorstep.
Was there any better moment, he thought happily as he bent down to retrieve the newspapers, than settling down with a cup of lemon tea and a pile of the latest newsprint to read?
But as he shut the door behind him and glanced down at the front page of the topmost paper, the Longbourne Tattler, his smile abruptly vanished, and his eyes widened behind his spectacles.
It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be.
Yet there it was, right before his eyes in grainy black and white. His youngest daughter, Charlotte – who, for some inexplicable reason, was on Ciaran Duncan’s private yacht, the Meryton – stood by in wide-eyed shock as the film star reared back and punched Harry Darcy squarely in the jaw.
But worse than that – if such a thing were possible – was a second, smaller photograph, of the film star kissing his youngest daughter…
…for the Tattler’s readers, not to mention all of South Devon, to see.