Katherine barely heard a single word of the next talk. A little old lady with a shrill voice was talking about dating and courtship in Jane Austen’s time and making it seem the dullest subject on the face of the earth, but maybe Katherine was being unfair and not giving her a chance. Maybe even if this had been the Undressing Mr Darcy session she wouldn’t have been able to pay attention because her mind was elsewhere.
She was sitting next to Warwick and, as if that wasn’t enough of a distraction, she kept thinking about their conversation. How easy it had been to talk to him, she thought. It was a terrible cliché, but she couldn’t help feeling that she’d known him for far longer than the couple of days they’d spent at Purley together, and yet their first few encounters hadn’t been auspicious.
Like Elizabeth and Darcy, she thought. How quick we are to make a judgement about somebody, and how very wrong we can be, she thought, casting a quick sideways glance at Warwick. He caught her eye and smiled and she smiled back. He had a very nice face and his smile was the kind that could easily get a girl into trouble. His voice was nice too. It was deep and velvety and she could just imagine him reading to her and how easy it would be to lie back and let the words wash over her. His hair was so cute too—it was very dark and slightly wavy which gave it a tousled look that made her want to run her fingers through it.
As the little old lady shrilled on about the importance of dancing for meeting a prospective partner, Katherine mused on the unexpected situation she found herself in. Honestly, she hadn’t meant to be flirting with the opposite sex this weekend, especially not with somebody called Warwick. All the Jane Austen warnings were there: he was tall, dark, handsome, and charming. He’d casually mentioned his Jaguar was parked outside which meant that he was also rich and—the very clearest warning of them all—his name begin with W and, as any Austen fan will tell you, that always means trouble.
Wickham, Willoughby, and Warwick, Katherine thought. Wicked Warwick, she added, but then smiled. The only wicked thing about him seemed to be his grin. And where was the harm in flirting, anyway? Jane Austen had been a huge fan of flirting, and it wasn’t as if she was planning on anything coming of it anyway. A bit of flirting might be just what she needed. Flirting was fun, and she hadn’t had any fun for what seemed like an age.
But I shall not fall in love again, she told herself. Not this weekend. Not so easily. No matter how sexy his voice or how strong his arms look, I shall not fall in love!
Katherine was adamant. Although this weekend was partly work for her, it was also pleasure and as long as she took care not to take things beyond a little flirting, what possible harm could there be?
***
Towards the back of the room, Robyn was also finding it hard to concentrate. The shrill-voiced woman was having a go at Sense and Sensibility’s Marianne Dashwood for her immodest behaviour, to which Robyn took exception. She’d always felt that Marianne took so much flak for behaviour that today would be seen as positively shy and retiring. She had only been a young romantic girl who had fallen in love. Was there anything wrong with that?
For some strange reason, the handsome man on horseback flashed into her mind at that moment.
Dan Harcourt.
That was a good name, wasn’t it, she thought.
With his floppy coppery hair and his smiling eyes, he’d quite taken her breath away. Plus there’d been the horses and the dogs. Any man who loved animals got a big tick by his name as far as Robyn was concerned. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Jace had lost favour over the years. He never went near her chickens and was forever making fun of them. What was it he called her birds—her scrawny-necked Sunday lunches? It wasn’t the way to win her over at all.
Looking through the rows of heads in front of her, Robyn saw Katherine sitting next to the dark-haired gentlemen. Boy, he was persistent, wasn’t he? Had he forced his presence upon Katherine yet again or had something changed and were they now friends? She watched them for a moment and saw them turn to each other and smile. Okay, things had definitely changed.
Perhaps Purley was weaving its magic upon them. Or was it the Jane Austen effect? The world always seemed much rosier when Jane’s presence was felt.
***
‘Well,’ Warwick said, getting up and clapping his hands together, ‘that was another riveting talk. Perhaps she’s a relative of our friend the reverend.’
‘Shush! She’ll hear you,’ Katherine said, a little of the lecturer coming through in her rebuke.
The two of them left the room together.
‘She had a voice like a tin whistle,’ Warwick said.
Katherine tutted him but couldn’t help giggling too. ‘Where do they get these speakers from?’
‘At least it bodes well for you. I mean, unless you’re as bad as that.’
Katherine’s mouth dropped in mock consternation, her hands resting on her hips.
‘Only joking!’ he said, and she hit him playfully on his arm.
***
Lunch in the dining room was an elegant but understated affair with a buffet table heaving with bowls of pasta and salad and large plates of ham, jacket potatoes, quiche, and a fine selection of bread and cheese. There were jugs of iced water and cordial on the tables and blackberry tarts for dessert. Dame Pamela—who was forever buying beautiful dinner services—had chosen one in a warm terracotta colour, and everything had the glow of autumn about it.
Katherine and Warwick stood in line together, cutting slices of quiche and fat rings of baguette for each other, swapping smiles and little giggles as they walked the length of the buffet.
Sitting down at the table, they tucked into their food and for a few minutes their minds wandered in differing directions. Katherine glanced up and down the table. It was nothing short of amazing that an author who had been dead for almost two hundred years was the sole reason for all these people gathered there. Wasn’t it incredible that these people and many millions more around the world were still reading Austen stories and were inspired enough by them to sign up for a weekend such as this? That one simple provincial woman had reached out and touched so many was nothing short of miraculous.
But it was about more than the books now. They’d taken on quite another dimension, hadn’t they? They were far more than just words on a page; they were whole worlds that ardent fans populated in their day-to-day lives. The characters were their friends. Readers could imagine exchanging witty barbs with Elizabeth Bennet, sharing book recommendations with Catherine Morland, and flirting with any one of the handsome heroes. That was the thing about Jane Austen’s books—they felt intimate, like a cozy chat with a best friend. Readers always felt exceptionally close to the characters as if they were extensions of the readers themselves or at the very least family members.
Glancing at some of the people sitting at the table, Katherine wondered what lives they led and what role Jane Austen played in them. Perhaps she’d get a chance to find out in one of the sessions that afternoon, an informal discussion in which people could talk about their favourite book.
Katherine thought about the first time she discovered Austen. She was lucky. She hadn’t been force-fed it at school by some work-worn teacher who made pupils read passages in class, listening to them as they stumbled over the prose, making no sense and taking no joy from it. No, Katherine had watched the old black-and-white film version with Laurence Olivier and Greer Garson. She completely fell in love with it, even though the costumes had been more Gone with the Wind than Pride and Prejudice. The next time she was in her local library, she sought it out, devouring it eagerly before buying the first of many copies that would accompany her through the daily grind of life.
The other novels had quickly followed but nothing could ever compare to that first book. It was the sweetest of reads, and no matter how many books were still out there to be discovered, Katherine felt that nothing would ever come as close to stirring her imagination again. Other than the Lorna Warwick books, of course.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Warwick said, interrupting Katherine’s thoughts. ‘Your name is rather Austensian, isn’t it? Was your mother a fan too?’
Katherine nodded. ‘She was indeed. She always adored Catherine Morland from Northanger Abbey, but I’m afraid she got the spelling wrong so mine’s with a K rather than a C. Can you believe that? Out of all the wonderful Austen characters, my mother named me after the daydreamer because she thought the names Jane, Emma, and Anne were too plain. And Fanny was a nonstarter, and I’m not sure she could spell Elizabeth.’
‘It’s a lovely name,’ he told her.
She smiled. ‘Just so long as you don’t call me Kitty Cat.’
‘Ooooo!’ Warwick said, sucking in his teeth. ‘I’m not going to ask who called you that in the past.’
‘Good,’ she said.
‘Names can be tricky, can’t they?’
‘They certainly can,’ she said, taking a sip of water. ‘Yours is very unusual. How did you come to be called Warwick?’ Katherine watched as he too took a slow sip of cordial as if delaying his answer.
‘I have no idea,’ he said at last. ‘I guess my mother just liked the sound of it.’
‘It’s a good sound,’ Katherine said. ‘It sounds like a hero’s name.’
‘Like an Austen hero?’
‘Perhaps,’ Katherine said. ‘Elizabeth and Warwick,’ she said. ‘It has potential, certainly.’
He grinned. ‘I’m glad you think so.’
Katherine finished the last of her quiche. ‘Have you heard of the Republic of Pemberley?’ she said.
‘That’s a website, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘It’s the home on the Web for rather a lot of Janeites. It’s an amazing place, and you can find out all sorts of information there. We could easily put your name up for discussion. Which novel would Warwick—er…’
‘Lawton.’
‘Which novel would Warwick Lawton most easily fit into? And would he be a colonel, a captain, or a sir? That could make for hours of happy discussion.’
‘And this is somewhere you frequent?’
‘Well sometimes,’ Katherine said. ‘Usually when I’m in my office at college and I’m meant to be marking essays, I have been known to be chattering away on the discussion boards.’
‘But nothing beats the real thing, does it? Nothing beats conversation.’
‘No,’ Katherine said. ‘That’s why these weekends are so amazing. I can try talking to my students about Jane Austen but half of them will be busy scribbling down everything I’m saying and won’t have anything interesting to say themselves and the other half will be asleep.’
‘A good listener is hard to find.’
‘Yes,’ Katherine said, and her eyes met Warwick’s.
‘And I’m a good listener,’ he said. ‘You can tell me anything.’
Katherine watched as a very cute smile lit up his whole face. She was beginning to believe that she could, indeed, tell him anything, and it was a very nice feeling. How often in this world could you find someone you could trust?