‘”WICKHAM CLOCKS DARCY”,’ Mr Bennet muttered, retracing his steps back down the hallway to the kitchen as he read the headline aloud. ‘”BENNET BEAUTY TO BLAME?”’
All thoughts of a cup of tea and a quiet perusal of the day’s news vanished in the wake of the 36-point tabloid headline. This was as unexpected – and every bit as unwelcome – as the crack of Ciaran’s fist into young Harry’s jaw must have been.
He picked up his tea and tossed the paper on the kitchen table, and with a grim expression he sat down and began to read.
***
On Monday morning the sun woke Holly, penetrating a gap in the brocade drapes, and turned the blue toile that papered her bedroom a warm, golden hue.
She yawned and opened her eyes. Everything in the room was white and blue and very feminine, with a shabby chic sensibility. The only difference being that nothing in Cleremont was remotely ‘shabby’ – every stick of furniture, every candlestick and cushion, was an authentic (and undoubtedly priceless) antique.
She had to hand it to Lady Darcy – the woman knew how to decorate a room.
Holly stretched her arms over her head, luxuriating in the ridiculously high thread count of the Egyptian cotton sheets, the broderie anglaise coverlet and matelassé blanket piled on her bed. Nights in these old English houses, even in summer, could get chilly.
How much nicer it would be, she thought grumpily as she sat up and swung her legs out of bed, to spend those chilly nights wrapped up in Hugh’s arms…
Oh, well. Lady D had put paid to that notion.
It wouldn’t be proper for her and Hugh to sleep together (at least, not at Cleremont) before marriage, after all; the proprieties must be observed. At least, that’s what Hugh said. Personally, Holly thought it was all a lot of old-fashioned nonsense and wished the proprieties would go straight to hell.
Today Hugh had told her they were going horseback riding on the property with Lizzy. She stood now in front of the wardrobe and flung open the doors to survey her clothes in an effort to find something suitable to wear.
How on earth did one dress to go riding when one hadn’t the proper clothing for it?
Holly frowned. She didn’t have a pair of breeches, or boots, or even a proper hacking jacket… unless you counted that Barbour jacket she’d once borrowed from her sister, and accidentally torn the lining.
Five years on, and Hannah still mentioned it every year at Christmas dinner.
There was a discreet knock on the door. ‘Miss James? Are you awake?’
Holly froze. It was Hugh’s mother. She hurried to the door and opened it. ‘Good morning, Lady Darcy. Yes. Please, come in.’
‘Hugh mentioned late yesterday that the two of you are going riding today.’ She strode in, and Holly noticed she had several items of clothing draped over her arm. She eyed her future daughter-in-law expectantly.
‘Erm, yes. That’s the plan.’ Dear God, Holly thought, I hope Lady D doesn’t decide to come along with us as a bloody chaperone, or something.
‘It occurred to me that you might not have the proper riding attire. So I brought these’ – she held out her arm – ‘in hopes they might prove useful. There’s a pair of Phoebe’s old jodhpurs, and a hacking jacket. I think you’re both about the same size. If you need boots,’ she added before Holly could open her mouth to thank her, ‘there’s an assortment of wellies and riding boots by the back kitchen door. Help yourself.’
‘Oh, thank you! I was just wondering what to wear-’
‘Don’t mention it. I’ll see you both at breakfast?’
Holly nodded, and without another word Hugh’s mother deposited the clothes on the bed and took her leave.
‘Well,’ Holly muttered as she picked up the discarded jodhpurs and eyed them in relief, ‘at least that’s one problem sorted.’
With a bit more enthusiasm, she began to get dressed.
***
The dining room was empty when Hugh and Holly entered for breakfast.
‘Looks like we’re the first ones down this morning,’ he observed as he went to the sideboard and picked up a plate. ‘More eggs for me.’
‘Not if I get there first. I’m starving.’ Holly lifted the silver-domed chafing dish of scrambled eggs and piled her plate high.
‘You’d best tuck in, then,’ he agreed. ‘You’ll burn it off riding. I plan to give you and your mount a good workout.’ He leaned over to kiss her.
She couldn’t help but notice that he looked utterly yummy in his breeches and boots and white polo shirt.
‘Perhaps we should go back upstairs,’ she said, and waggled her brows suggestively, ‘and you can mount me.’
‘Holly,’ Hugh said, frowning as he cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder at the door, ‘careful what you say. Anyone might walk in.’
‘Wouldn’t that give your mother a turn,’ she teased, ‘hearing me talk about sex right in front of the eggs and soldiers?’
He did not share her amusement. ‘Holly, really.’
Her smile faded. ‘You’re annoyed with me! Hugh, I’m only joking.’
‘There’s a time and a place.’ He turned away and speared a sausage with a grim expression.
Holly felt a flicker of irritation. ‘Well. I’m sorry. That’s me put in my place, then.’ She reached for a piece of toast with the silver tongs and dropped it on her plate.
He let out a short breath and turned back to her. ‘No, I’m sorry.’ He sighed. ‘Whenever I’m here I revert back to the perfectly behaved specimen I was expected to be, growing up – “Master Darcy”.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘He had excellent manners but no sense of humour, I’m afraid.’
Instantly, her anger fled. ‘Poor you. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, growing up in a place like this.’
‘It had its perks. It was an easy matter to disappear when I didn’t want to be found, for example.’
Holly laughed. ‘There is that. Do you like my outfit?’ she asked as she carried her plate to the table. ‘Do I look suitably horsey?’
Hugh leaned over and gave her a quick kiss before he sat down next to her. ‘You look beautiful, as always.’
‘Very good answer.’
‘Good morning, everyone.’ Hugh’s father strode into the dining room with his wife following behind. ‘I trust you slept well, Miss James?’
‘Holly, please,’ Holly replied, ‘and yes, very well, Lord Darcy. Thank you.’ How could she do anything but sleep well, she thought irritably, with Hugh in the east wing and herself stuck in the west?
‘Going riding, are you?’ Hugh’s father asked as he went to the silver coffee urn and reached for a cup.
‘Yes. Lizzy’s invited us for a hack across the property later this morning,’ Hugh answered.
‘I’ve loaned Holly a few of Phoebe’s old things so she has the proper riding attire,’ Lady Darcy added, and glanced at Holly. ‘I realise, living in London, you likely don’t have the right sort of clothes for the country.’
Honestly, Holly thought with a flicker of irritation, how did Hugh’s mother always manage to make her feel like Eliza Doolittle, trying – and failing – to pass herself off as a lady?
‘My family actually do own a country place, in Chipping Norton,’ she pointed out. ‘I even had a horse when I was younger, for a time.’
There, Holly thought. Take that, you smug cow.
‘Where’s Harry this morning?’ Lord Darcy enquired as he sat down. ‘Haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.’
‘I’m here.’
They all looked up from their plates then as Harry, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and sockless loafers, appeared in the doorway.
‘Harry,’ his mother cried, and half rose in her seat, one hand pressed to her throat. ‘My God! What’s happened to you?’
Holly let out a gasp.
Harry, his handsome face usually so open and friendly, was scowling.
And no wonder, Holly realised in dismay, as she took in the twin purple bruises that marred his jaw and surrounded his blackened left eye.