‘Toast’s ready,’ Lizzy called out the next morning.
She retrieved the browned slices from the toaster and buttered them generously before dropping them on a plate, then popped in two more. After setting out a jar of marmalade and another of their father’s homemade mulberry jam on the kitchen table, breakfast was ready.
‘I can’t believe it’s Monday so soon,’ Emma complained as she wandered in, yawning. ‘I feel as though I just went to bed and the weekend never happened.’
‘And you didn’t even go to the ball last night.’ Lizzy poured them each a cup of coffee and handed one to her sister.
‘How was it? Fun, or boring?’
‘Fun, for the most part. Except Hugh and Holly barely spoke the entire evening. And Harry was in the doldrums about something.’ The toast popped up and she buttered it and added it to the plate on the table, then sat down.
‘He’s probably still upset over the loss to Ciaran,’ Emma observed, and wrapped her hands around her coffee mug.
‘Yes, he is.’ Lizzy frowned. ‘He told me he went to see the regatta committee about the outcome of the race. He’s convinced that Mr Film Star cheated.’
Em’s eyes widened. ‘Cheated?’
Charlotte, already dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, bounded into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of toast. ‘Who cheated, and where’s Daddy?’
‘Never mind, and he went into Litchfield to get the paper,’ Lizzy said. ‘Please don’t get crumbs all over the floor,’ she added irritably. ‘I just swept.’
‘Why doesn’t he take delivery of the paper every day, or read the papers online, like everyone else in the world? He’s so behind the times.’
‘It saves money,’ Emma pointed out. ‘Daddy’s on a strict budget, what with all of us still living at home. Speaking of which,’ she added as she pushed her chair back, ‘when he’s done with the paper I intend to borrow it, and look for a job.’
‘A job?’ Charli scoffed. ‘What would you do, besides boss people around? You’re very good at that…’
She broke off as the sound of a bicycle crunching over the gravelled path outside signalled Mr Bennet’s return. The front door opened, and a moment later their father appeared in the kitchen doorway. His face was flushed a dull red and he had a stack of newspapers piled in his arms.
He threw them down on the table with a resounding thump.
‘Daddy,’ Lizzy said, eyeing him in mild alarm, ‘are you all right? You’re all red in the face. What’s happened?’
‘What’s happened?’ He looked at his daughters, each in turn. ‘I think it’s I who should be asking all of you that question. Have a look,’ he invited, his expression forbidding. ‘Go on. Look at the front pages of today’s morning editions, please, and tell me what you see.’
The three girls exchanged glances and gathered in trepidation around the table to peer down at the stack of fanned-out newspapers. Lizzy let out a gasp as she glimpsed the bold black headlines.
SEX FROLICS ABOARD THE MERYTON
CIARAN DUNCAN’S SEASIDE SEXCAPADE
WICKHAM, YOU ‘AUSTEN’ BE ASHAMED!
Just below the Longbourne Tattler’s headline was a photograph – the same one that appeared in the other papers – showing Emma, Charlotte and Lizzy reclining on sun loungers with Ciaran; but the photograph showed only their heads and shoulders, giving the impression they were all naked.
‘Would one of you girls care to explain to me just exactly what happened on board the Meryton yesterday?’ Mr Bennet asked. ‘Don’t all speak up at once.’
‘Daddy,’ Lizzy said, dragging her eyes away from the newspapers in mingled horror and dismay, ‘you can’t honestly believe this! We let our swimsuit straps down to get a bit of sun on our shoulders, it’s true; but that’s all we did!’ She remembered the photographer in the powerboat. ‘There was a paparazzo in a boat nearby, taking pictures. I told Ciaran, but he said not to worry, he was used to it. And now… this.’
‘Yes. This,’ Mr Bennet snapped.
‘The photographer’s cropped the picture,’ Emma said. ‘It’s obvious he did it for sensational effect – and since Ciaran’s in the photograph, I’m sure he made a great deal of money out of it as well.’
‘Emma’s right,’ Charli said, her expression grim as she retrieved her mobile phone. ‘He cropped that picture to make it look like something naughty was going on. But nothing went on, nothing but a bit of sunbathing. And I can prove it.’
Quickly, she scrolled through her collection of photographs until she found a snap of all of them sitting on the sun loungers, with their straps lowered and swimsuits unmistakably in place, and showed it to their father. ‘Look! I gave Tom, one of the crewmen, my phone and asked him to take a picture of us.’
‘I’m sure Tom will confirm that nothing happened,’ Emma added. ‘After all, we were just a few miles from the shoreline, in plain view of the beach and the entire town.’
Although the flush had receded from his face, Mr Bennet’s expression remained grim. He handed the phone back to Charlotte. ‘I don’t, at present, know what to think. But if you all say nothing happened, then I believe you. I know none of you would behave in such a shocking manner.
‘However,’ he went on as the girls let out sighs of relief, ‘this will prove to be quite a scandal in the village. Until this story can be refuted, and your names – and Mr Duncan’s – are cleared of any wrongdoing, I forbid you all to have anything further to do with Ciaran Duncan.’
Charlotte gasped and opened her mouth to protest, but one glare from her father kept her silent.
‘I’ve said all I intend to say.’ Mr Bennet strode from the room, pausing in the kitchen doorway to turn back. ‘You are none of you to go to Cleremont until the filming of Pride and Prejudice is ended and Mr Duncan and the film crew have left the premises.’
It was Lizzy’s turn to gasp. ‘But Daddy,’ she cried out, aghast, ‘you can’t be serious! You can’t mean to say that we’re forbidden to go to Cleremont, that we can’t see Harry, or Holly, or… or Hugh?’
He regarded her without expression. ‘I’ve never been more serious in my life, Elizabeth. As long as that actor,’ he infused the word with contempt, ‘is in the vicinity, you will not step foot on Cleremont property. I will not be persuaded to change my mind. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have no wish to discuss the matter further.’
With that, he turned away and marched into his study, and firmly shut the door.
***
The arrival of the morning’s newspapers had left Lady Sarah in a state of shock over her eggs and kippers.
Had the entire world gone mad?
Of course it was no surprise that one of those film stars should be embroiled in a sex scandal; that sort of thing happened all the time these days. And Ciaran Duncan was no stranger to scandal.
But what left her speechless was the role the Bennet girls had played in this latest tabloid shocker.
BENNET BEAUTIES BARE ALL!
MAKING MERRY ON THE MERYTON
‘Someone bring me a Mimosa,’ she called out as she rang the bell by her plate. ‘Chop chop!’
‘Sarah, what on earth is going on?’ her husband asked as he joined her at the dining room table. ‘Calling for a drink already, and it’s barely…’ he glanced down at his watch. ‘Half past nine.’
‘Have you seen the Longbourne Tattler?’ she demanded, and passed it over. ‘Do have a look. The Bennet girls have landed in the midst of a shocking sex scandal!’
Lord Darcy nearly choked on his Earl Grey. ‘What? “Bennet girls” and “sex scandal” are four words I never thought to hear spoken together in the same sentence.’
But as he saw the headline and the photograph below, his eyebrows rose precipitously. ‘Good God. Mr Bennet must be beside himself. What were those girls thinking?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ Lady Sarah snapped. ‘Higgins!’ she called out again. ‘Where’s that Mimosa?’
‘What’s all the shouting about?’ Hugh asked, frowning as he and Holly appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s happened?’
As the two of them entered the dining room and sat down, Lord Darcy thrust the papers at Hugh.
‘Have a look for yourself,’ he told his eldest son. ‘Evidently Mr Bennet’s daughters have embroiled themselves in a scandal.’
As Hugh read the story and glanced at the photograph, his expression registered shock, then disbelief. ‘This is outrageous. I’ll never believe those girls capable of such behaviour.’ He pushed his chair back and tossed his napkin down.
‘Where are you going?’ Holly asked, her coffee cup lifted halfway to her lips. ‘We had plans.’
‘I’m going to Litchfield Manor to get to the bottom of this – this licentious nonsense.’
***
Lizzy was washing up the last of the breakfast dishes when a knock sounded on the front door. ‘Can one of you get that?’ she called out.
Of course neither of her sisters, both of whom had disappeared upstairs, answered. With an aggrieved sigh, she tossed her J-cloth aside. ‘I’ll just get it, then, shall I?’ she muttered as she stalked down the hallway to the door.
She flung it open, and the sight that greeted her left her speechless with shock.
Hugh Darcy stood on the doorstep. And behind him – to her dismay – was a crowd of reporters, shouting and clutching cameras to their faces as she opened the door. Immediately, flashbulbs went off.
‘Give us a picture, love!’
‘Not out sunning topless on Ciaran’s yacht today?’
‘Tell us – what’s it like to have a threesome with a celeb, then?’
Hugh turned to face them. ‘Get out of here at once, all of you,’ he thundered, ‘or I’ll call the police. Go!’
Muttering and jostling, camera bulbs flashing as he glared at them, the reporters left, returning to their cars and news vans, and drove away.
‘May I come in?’ he asked Lizzy as he turned back to her.
‘Of course,’ she murmured, shaken, and shut the door after he came in. ‘I’m sorry about that, I had no idea… I’m sure you’ve heard about it all by now. I’m sure,’ she added bitterly, ‘everyone has.’
‘Yes, it’s all over the newspapers. What happened?’ His dark eyes searched hers. ‘Because I know none of it’s true. I know your sisters – and you, in particular – would never behave in such a way.’
Lizzy sighed. ‘Thanks for that. Please, come back to the kitchen, where we can talk in peace.’
As she set about making them tea, Hugh sat down at the table. While she fetched a box of PG Tips and two mugs, she told him about the previous day’s events, leaving out nothing.
‘So anyone who was on the Meryton with us yesterday can verify that nothing happened,’ she finished. ‘There was no…’ she blushed. ‘There was no nudity, and certainly no bad behaviour on anyone’s part – not even Charli’s. And Ciaran did nothing but lie in the sun with us all day.’
Hugh frowned. ‘I believe you. It’s obvious that the photographer cropped that picture to cast things in the most improper light possible. The question is – who took it, and why?’
‘That’s easy – it was Imogen’s friend, Oliver. He’s a writer, and he’s staying at Rosings. I saw him taking snaps in a boat not far from ours. I’m sure he did it for the money; tabloids pay well for that sort of thing, don’t they? Ciaran’s a famous film star, after all.’
‘Yes. Odd that he happened to be in the harbour with his camera yesterday afternoon, though, don’t you think?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The race was Saturday. The media left after the winner was announced. It seems more than coincidental that this particular photographer stayed on until the next day, waiting on a boat with his camera at the ready, until Ciaran’s yacht returned and anchored in the bay.’
‘Well, when you put it like that,’ Lizzy agreed, ‘it is a bit odd.’ She went to pour their tea and carried the mugs to the table. ‘He must’ve known about our cruise with Ciaran beforehand.’
He nodded. ‘Let me have a look at the paper, if you don’t mind.’
Lizzy got up and retrieved the Tattler from the dining room table where Mr Bennet had tossed it and carried it back into the kitchen.
Hugh drew it towards him and glanced down at the article. ‘Let’s have a look and see if Imogen’s friend wrote this scurrilous piece of crap, then, shall we?’ He frowned. ‘Where’s the byline? I don’t see it.’
‘Perhaps it’s not attributed,’ Lizzy suggested. ‘Or perhaps it’s at the end of the article.’
He turned to the story’s continuation page. ‘Ah, here we are.’
Lizzy leaned forward, her head nearly touching his. Why hadn’t she thought to look and see who’d written the piece?
He looked up and met her eyes with a grim expression. ‘You were right.’
‘Oh, God.’ Lizzy looked at him in dismay.
‘Oliver Slade wrote this article.’ He lifted his gaze to hers. ‘Lady Georgina’s houseguest is a tabloid reporter for the Mirror.’