Lizzy got up from the window seat and began to pace in agitation around Charlotte’s room. What to do, oh, what to do?
Of course she must tell their father that her sister was gone. But if she did so, Mr Bennet would worry terribly. Then he’d fly into a temper at Charlotte – not that she didn’t deserve it – and upset himself further. And an upset like this at his age would prove not only unwelcome, but possibly even dangerous.
Poor Daddy would be apoplectic.
But nor could she do nothing. Who knew what mischief Charli had got herself into, even now? She might have been persuaded to sleep with that film actor, or worse still, to run off with him somewhere tawdry, like – like Las Vegas.
She might even get herself pregnant with Ciaran Duncan’s love child.
All right, she scolded herself, perhaps she’d read too many of Charlotte’s tabloids lately, and was allowing her imagination to run away with her. Of course her sister wouldn’t be so stupid as to sleep with that actor, a man old enough to be her – her – well, he was too old by far.
But then again, Charlotte was young and foolish and unpredictable. Lizzy twisted her hands together in indecision.
‘I’ll go and tell Daddy straight away,’ she decided, her mind made up, and turned to make her way to the door to march back downstairs and tell Mr Bennet that his daughter Charlotte had snuck out to see that scoundrel, Ciaran Duncan…
She heard a scrape, and a thump, and looked back to see her sister, looking shambolic with her hair mussed and her T-shirt ripped, climbing through the opened window.
‘Charli!’ Lizzy exclaimed, and spun around. Her eyes widened at the state of Charlotte’s clothing and hair, and fresh fear gripped her. Had Ciaran Duncan perhaps tried to force himself on her baby sister…?
Charlotte slid one long, slightly tanned leg after the other over the sill and stood by the window seat to brush herself off. ‘Bloody blackthorne bushes! I was climbing the wall by the Darcys’ back garden to leave when I fell smack into a whole nasty lot of them.’ She regarded her legs in dismay. ‘Look at the scratches! Where’s my leg make-up spray?’
‘Never mind that! Where have you been? You snuck off to see that film actor again, didn’t you?’ Lizzy accused. ‘Ciaran Duncan.’
‘I snuck off to watch the filming,’ Charli corrected her as she brushed past her sister to the dressing table and began rummaging through the drawers in search of her can of spray make-up. ‘That’s all.’
‘In hopes of seeing Ciaran, no doubt.’
‘Ah, here it is!’ Charli grabbed the can and kissed it. ‘The answer to my prayers. I never saw Ciaran,’ she retorted as she flung herself down on the dressing table chair and began spraying her legs. ‘He wasn’t on call today. So you can rest easy.’
‘Rest easy?’ Lizzy echoed as spots of angry colour flushed her cheeks. She snatched the can of spray from her sister’s hands and glared at her. ‘I was horrified when I came in here and realised you were gone! I was just about to go downstairs and tell Daddy.’ She turned to go. ‘Which I intend to do, right now.’
‘No, Lizzy – wait!’
Charlotte jumped up and ran over to grab her by the arm. ‘Please, please don’t tell Daddy. He’ll kill me. He’ll – he’ll send me to a nunnery, or something.’
‘It’s all you deserve. What were you thinking, Charli?’
Her sister’s lower lip began to tremble. ‘I couldn’t bear to be cooped up in this room for one minute longer, much less the entire month. It’s horribly unfair. I hate being the youngest. Daddy always treats me like a ch-child.’
A tear, glistening and perfect, welled in her eye and shimmered on her lashes.
‘Don’t bother turning on the waterworks for me,’ Lizzy snapped. ‘It won’t work.’ Charlotte had always had the uncanny ability to cry at the drop of a hat, and very persuasively, too. ‘It might convince Daddy, or even Ciaran, but I’m immune.’
‘No. You’re horrible, is what you are,’ Charli retorted, immediately abandoning her tears. ‘Unfeeling and devoid of compassion, too.’ She reached out to grab her sister’s hand and eyed her imploringly. ‘But I love you anyway. You won’t tell him, will you? Promise?’
‘I should do. He deserves to know.’
But she hesitated. Lizzy knew that telling their father what Charlotte had done would only upset him needlessly and lead to rows and recrimination. And no harm had been done.
At least, not this time…
‘Do you swear you won’t ever do this again?’ she demanded of her sister now.
‘I do,’ Charli promised. ‘I’ll never, ever sneak out the window again.’
Satisfied, Lizzy picked up the tea tray to return it downstairs. ‘All right. I won’t say anything… this time. But if it should happen again,’ she warned, ‘I promise you – I’m going straight to Daddy.’
***
‘It’s all your mother’s fault.’
So saying, Holly slid onto the passenger seat of the Jaguar, wincing slightly as her bruised bits made contact with the seat. She waited as Harry made sure she was comfortable before he shut her door and went around to get behind the wheel.
‘Not saying I doubt your word,’ he said as he started the engine, ‘but what has Mum got to do with it? She’s not here, after all.’
‘Actually, she is.’ Holly leant back against the butter-soft leather seat and let out a long sigh. ‘She insisted on bringing me here to Litchfield, to the jumble sale at the parish hall. Speaking of which – what are you doing here?’
‘I had the doctor take a look at my eye. He told me the same thing you did – put ice on it and take a couple of paracetamol.’
‘I should start charging for medical advice.’
‘Perhaps you should.’
‘How did Ciaran Duncan end up punching you, anyway?’ Holly asked, curious. ‘Did you two get into a fight over Charlotte Bennet?’
‘It wasn’t a fight over Charlotte Bennet,’ he corrected her irritably, ‘it was a fight about her. There’s a world of difference.’
She wasn’t convinced. ‘You like her, don’t you?’
‘No! Whatever makes you say that?’
‘Well it’s obvious, isn’t it – the way you watch over her, the way you hang around together on the set watching the filming – of course you like her. And who can blame you? She’s fun, and young, and really pretty…’
‘I don’t like Charli. At least, not in the way you mean.’ Harry grimaced. ‘She’s a kid, Holly! She cried for days when Zayne Malik left One Direction. Besides which, she’s like a – a sister to me.’
‘Oh.’ It seemed she’d got things spectacularly wrong – again. ‘Sorry.’
‘Why aren’t you at the parish hall, then?’ he asked, changing the subject as he pulled out onto the road. ‘What are you doing wandering along Persimmon Road in tears?’
It was a reasonable question. ‘We had words. Or, as your mother put it – she “laid her cards on the table”.’
‘Ah.’ A world of understanding was contained in the single word. Harry grinned over at her. ‘I’m beginning to get the picture.’
‘She was horrible, Harry.’ Holly turned – with another wince – to face him. ‘She accused me of being after Hugh for his money. She said I’m a serial fiancée and that I don’t truly love him.’
‘And do you? Love him?’
The question took her aback. ‘What kind of thing is that to ask?’ she demanded, aghast. ‘Of course I do!’
He shrugged. ‘It’s a fair question, I think. At least it is in Mum’s eyes. I mean… you’ve barely known my brother for a year. That’s not very long. I suppose you can’t blame a mother for wanting to be sure her future daughter-in-law really loves her son.’
Holly opened her mouth to argue, to say that Lady D was being entirely unreasonable and so was he; but as his comment sank in, she realised that Harry might, perhaps, have a point.
After all, as his mother had rightfully pointed out, Hugh wasn’t the first man she’d fallen in love with. There was Alex, her first interview assignment at BritTEEN magazine and her first serious relationship. But his long hours and thrusting political ambitions (not to mention his close friendship with fellow Member of Parliament, Miss double-first-from-Oxford, Camilla Shawcross) put paid to their romance.
Next was Jamie Gordon, chef extraordinaire, who’d been as skilled in the kitchen as he was in the bedroom… and in the shower. And, for that matter, on the kitchen table…
But they had grown apart when Jamie opened his second restaurant in Manhattan last summer. He spent more and more time with his new sous chef, Catherine – and less and less time with her.
Then there was Ciaran.
Thank goodness she’d learned the truth about Ciaran Duncan last summer, before she made the mistake of marrying him. Her relationship with the film star, like her romance with Hugh, had developed quickly and caught her completely off guard.
Holly frowned. Was Harry right? Was her relationship with Hugh, like her previous romances, ill advised and destined to end in failure?
She hoped not.
‘I do love Hugh.’ She said the words firmly, leaving no question as to the depth of her feelings. ‘He’s kind, and thoughtful, and handsome…’ She wanted to add ‘and sexy’, but given the present company, refrained. ‘He’s a wonderful, perfect man. Any girl would be lucky to have him.’
‘Any girl? Or you?’
Holly glared at him. It was impossible to read Harry’s thoughts with his eyes hidden behind those dark aviator glasses and his attention focused on the road. ‘Why are you being so horrid? I thought you liked me.’
‘I do like you.’ He glanced over. ‘That’s why I don’t want to see you get hurt. You’re clever, and cute, and heaps of fun, but – forgive me – you’re not at all Hugh’s type.’
‘And what exactly is his “type”?’ she asked, with just a trace of huffiness.
‘Older, I suppose. Serious.’ He raised his brow. ‘Dull. Sorry, Holly, but you’re none of those things.’
‘And what’s your type? No, don’t tell me – let me guess. A girl who shops at Harvey Nicks and still calls her father “Daddy?”’
‘Absolutely.’ He grinned, unperturbed. ‘The shallower, the better.’
As they left the village and headed once again to Cleremont, Holly sank back against her seat. ‘Hugh once said I was shallow,’ she confessed. ‘Not to me directly,’ she hastened to add, ‘but to someone else. He said he’d met puddles with more depth.’
‘Ouch.’ Harry grimaced. ‘I’m sure he didn’t know you very well, or he’d never have said it.’
‘He didn’t know me at all. I don’t know what made him say such a thing. Oh, well.’ She shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter now, at any rate. Hugh loves me, and,’ she finished pointedly, ‘I love him.’
‘That’s all that matters, then.’
He slowed the car as several sheep ambled across the road at their leisure, a sheep herder behind them urging them forward.
‘What about you?’ Holly asked suddenly. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
Harry kept his attention focused on the road, waiting as the last sheep cleared the tarmac before he answered. ‘I’ve had a few girlfriends,’ he said with a shrug as he negotiated the narrow, hedge-crowded lane. ‘But no one serious.’
‘Why is that?’ She glanced at him and raised her brow. ‘You’re not bad looking. For a ginger.’
He laughed. ‘Damning me with faint praise, are you? Thanks. I think.’
‘No, really,’ Holly persisted. ‘Why don’t you have a serious girlfriend?’
He considered the question. ‘Well, not to sound full of myself, but I have loads of girlfriends. The problem is,’ he added, ‘they like me for all the wrong reasons. They think I’m a challenge, someone who needs to be – for want of a better word – domesticated.’
Holly laughed. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘Exactly. Every girl I date thinks she’ll be the one to get my ring on her finger, that she’ll be the one to meet my mum and have my children. Plus, it’s no secret that when my father dies, I’ll inherit pots of money. It makes me wonder if all these girls are truly interested in me… or my bank balance. Which is incredibly small at the moment,’ he added, his smile rueful. ‘Cleaned it out to buy this.’ He indicated the nicely appointed interior of the vintage Jaguar.
‘Oh, surely not,’ Holly said, and lifted a brow. ‘You must be rolling in it.’
‘Actually, no.’ He shrugged. ‘I have a trust fund, but I can’t touch it until I’m twenty-six. Another year.’ He paused. ‘So in the meantime, I work. I have a job in the City, assisting in my grandfather’s law offices. I’m only here now because I took a couple of weeks off.’
‘Is that where Hugh normally works, too?’
Harry nodded. ‘Yes. At least he will do until he comes into the title. Knowing my brother, he’ll probably toil on even after he becomes the next Lord Darcy.’
As he turned the car onto the lengthy drive that led to Cleremont, Holly smiled and laid a hand lightly on his arm. ‘Just wait till you meet the right girl, Harry. You haven’t yet. But you will. And when you do – you’ll put a ring on her finger, same as your brother.’
‘Maybe.’ He shrugged. ‘But I like my life quite well as it is, and,’ he said, grinning over at her, ‘I see no reason to change it.’