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Before Harry could respond, Ciaran was upon them, with a smile on his face and his hand extended. ‘Hello. Harry Darcy, I believe, isn’t it?’ he said, his words polite. ‘Hugh’s little brother. I’m Ciaran Duncan.’
The two men shook hands, and Harry turned, grim-faced, to Charli. ‘This is my neighbour, Charlotte Bennet.’
‘And a very lovely neighbour she is, indeed.’ Ciaran took up her hand and brought it, in true Regency fashion, to his lips. ‘Equally as lovely,’ he added as he released her hand and turned back to Harry, ‘as Cleremont. I’d forgotten what a stunning house this is. It’s a privilege to film here.’
‘Thanks,’ Harry replied, and glared at him. ‘We like it.’
The actor’s gaze lingered on Miss Bennet. ‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Charlotte.’
‘Oh, please call me Charli,’ she told him airily, and smiled. ‘Everyone else does.’
‘No,’ Ciaran decided, his eyes studying hers. ‘No, I I shall call you Charlotte. I much prefer it.’
‘O-okay,’ she stammered, starstruck.
‘Places, you lot,’ the director shouted. ‘Chop, chop.’
‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to go.’ He turned to leave, then paused. ‘I wonder…’
Charli held her breath. ‘Yes?’
‘I don’t have my mobile phone with me; it’s not allowed on set,’ he explained. ‘Might I give you my personal number? If you ring me tomorrow – I’m not on the call sheet – perhaps we might arrange to have a coffee together, or do a bit of sightseeing.’
Her eyes widened and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Had an international film star really just offered to give her his private number and asked her out on a date? Oh. My. God. ‘I’d like that,’ she said, as if getting asked out by a film actor was an ordinary occurrence and she wasn’t about to burst with excitement.
‘Tomorrow’s Sunday,’ Harry pointed out. He frowned as he glanced at Ciaran and back at Charlotte. ‘Church, remember?’
‘Oh, bother, you’re right. I’d forgotten.’ She sighed. Her father allowed the girls to miss a Sunday service only if they were extremely ill, dying, or dead. Afterwards, the family ate lunch, either in the dining room or on the terrace, with whomever Mr Bennet had invited to join them.
Only then were the girls free to go their own way.
‘Call me when you get home,’ Ciaran suggested, and smiled. ‘Perhaps we can arrange to do a bit of sightseeing. Or… something.’
‘Yes.’ Despite the mad pumping of blood through her veins and the light-headedness that threated to swamp her, Charli withdrew her mobile with trembling fingers and handed it over, watching in excited disbelief as the actor tapped his private number into her phone.
‘We have to go, Charli.’ Harry’s words were implacable.
‘Just a minute,’ she murmured, starstruck. ‘Please.’
‘Places, everyone.’ The director and crew were ready to resume filming the scene. ‘Let’s go.’
Ciaran handed her phone back and met her eyes. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, his voice low and intimate.
She nodded. She couldn’t speak, could barely think. Ciaran Duncan’s proximity, and the delicious, sexy scent of his aftershave made forming a response or even a thought all but impossible. He smiled, offered a polite ‘goodbye-and-nice-to-meet-you’ to Harry – who looked ready to implode – and left.
Charlotte stared after him, admiring his trim physique and erect posture (not to mention his tight buttocks), and let out a small, dreamy sigh.
It wasn’t so much the prospect of having lunch with Ciaran that dazzled her, she reflected as she watched him take his place next to Cara on the set, or the fact that the film star had just given her his private number.
No, what left her knees weak and filled her mind with impure thoughts was the promise of those two, tantalising words, ‘or… something.’
She imagined what it must be like to make love with someone like Ciaran. Her own experience of sex was limited to hurried gropings in the passenger seat of various boyfriends’ cars, stolen kisses in the back of the movie theatre, and avidly reading well-thumbed copies of books like Fifty Shades of Grey and Fear of Flying that she found in the used-book stalls or the pound shop.
Most of the local boys refused to go too far with her, not because they didn’t (literally) fancy the pants off her, but because her father was the former vicar and they feared his wrath (not to mention the wrath of God) if they should get his youngest daughter in the family way.
And she was really tired of being a virgin.
Harry tugged at her hand. ‘As soon as they’re done with this scene,’ he hissed in her ear, his words steely with determination, ‘we’re out of here.’
Charli scowled. ‘But I don’t want to leave,’ she sulked. ‘I want to stay, and watch Ciaran.’
‘If you don’t come with me the minute this scene is over,’ Harry promised, his expression grim, ‘I promise I’ll tell your father exactly what you’re getting up to with Ciaran Duncan. He won’t approve. And he’ll never let you come here to Cleremont and watch the filming again.’
‘Oh, very well,’ she retorted, and crossed her arms against her chest in irritation. ‘Honestly, Harry – you’re no bloody fun at all.’
Chapter 8 (#ulink_bb4140ee-0bfc-53c8-89ab-c97f8337c1c9)
Sunday morning, for the Darcy family, meant church.
After a light breakfast of eggs, toast and tea, Lord and Lady Darcy rose from the table and made their way to the dining room door.
‘Don’t be long, darling,’ his mother reminded Hugh. ‘You know Father Crowley frowns on latecomers.’
‘We’ll be along shortly.’ He glanced at Holly, who looked at him with a trace of apprehension, and reached out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Harry pushed himself away from the table as well. ‘Gotta go. See you later.’
‘You’re welcome to ride with us to St Mark’s if you like,’ Hugh offered.
‘Thanks, but I need to get to church a few minutes early. I promised Father C I’d help with the Offertory this morning.’
‘I never pegged you for the church-going type.’ Holly set her coffee cup down.
‘I’m full of surprises.’
‘So I’m learning.’
‘Come along, then, darling,’ Lady Darcy urged. Harry followed them into the entrance hall and out the front door.
Holly couldn’t help but notice, as she laid her napkin aside and pushed her own chair back to leave, that Harry, normally so quick with a joke or a clever comment, hadn’t said above a dozen words during breakfast.
‘What’s up with Harry?’ she asked as she followed Hugh out to the hire car. ‘He didn’t say much beyond “good morning”, “please pass the butter”, and “see you later”.’
Hugh held the door open and waited as she slid inside, then went round and got behind the wheel. ‘I’ve no idea. He seemed fine to me, just quiet.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s probably nothing. Never mind.’
They arrived at St Mark’s a short time later, and Holly studied the gothic stone edifice as she emerged from the car and waited for Hugh to park the Mercedes. Ancient trees shaded a cemetery on the far side of the church, its gravestones enclosed within an iron fence; the car park where she stood took up the opposite side.
Hugh appeared beside her a few minutes later and held out his arm. ‘Ready?’
She nodded as she took it, and confessed, ‘I haven’t been to church in a very long time, I’m afraid.’
He laid his hand atop hers. ‘Nor have I,’ he admitted. ‘Not since the last time I was at Cleremont.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Promise you won’t tell my parents.’
‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
Hugh led Holly down the aisle to the Darcy family pew in the front of the church, and as she took her place at the far end with her fiancé and his family, she studied her surroundings.
Tall windows lined the length of the nave, leading up to an altar fronted by fresh-cut flowers and bracketed on either side by a pair of candles on tall candlesticks. A pulpit of Devon marble stood to the left, with the chancel and choir on the right. The scent of incense from an earlier service lingered on the air.
Over the rustling of pages and the clearing of throats, Holly heard footsteps advancing down the aisle. She glanced back to see the Bennet family as they filed in – she knew, because she recognised Emma – each kneeling briefly in turn before they entered the pew across the aisle from the Darcys.
She studied them with covert curiosity. Mr Bennet was stout, with reading spectacles perched on the end of his nose and a pleasant if unremarkable face; his daughters, however, were another matter. They sat alongside him on the pew like three beautiful swans.
Emma, the girl with the dark hair whom she’d met only yesterday, sat next to her father. As if sensing Holly’s eyes on her, the eldest Bennet girl met her gaze and nodded slightly, then turned her attention back to the Book of Common Prayer in her hands.
A blonde, fidgety girl in trendy clothes, who Holly judged to be the youngest daughter, sat beside Emma. Her face was partly hidden beneath the brim of a stylish navy blue hat, and she made no secret of her boredom or of her desire to be elsewhere.
But it was the middle Bennet girl, the one sitting furthest from her father on the end of the aisle, who caught Holly’s attention.
This, she realised, must be Elizabeth Bennet.
Unlike her sisters, who whispered and giggled behind their hands at something amusing they’d just seen, Elizabeth stared straight ahead, looking neither to the left or the right. Her hair was neither dark nor light, but an indeterminate shade of brown. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap.
And her expression, Holly realised, was desolate.
She felt a surge of sympathy for the girl. She must’ve taken the news of Holly’s engagement to Hugh very hard. Guilt assailed her.
After all, it was because of her that Elizabeth had lost Hugh Darcy; if the two of them hadn’t met at her father’s department store and fallen in love last summer, Elizabeth might very well have ended up as Hugh’s fiancée, not her.
And that, Holly suspected as she saw Lady Darcy’s attention focused on Elizabeth, was the outcome Hugh’s mother would probably much prefer.
As if she, too, felt Holly’s eyes upon her, Elizabeth looked up and their gazes met. Unlike Emma, she didn’t smile, or nod.
Instead, just for a moment, she levelled a cold stare at Holly, leaving no doubt as to the direction of her feelings or the depth of her dislike for Hugh Darcy’s new fiancée.
Then she turned away, and the service began.
***
Afterwards, as service ended and everyone stopped to greet Father Crowley on the church steps, Holly left Hugh talking to a knot of parishioners and paused in the vestry as Lady Darcy called out to her.
‘Miss James, before you leave, there’s someone here I’d very much like you to meet.’
She turned, and found herself face to face with Mr Bennet and his trio of daughters.
‘It’s a very great pleasure, Miss James,’ their beaming father said, and took Holly’s hand in his. ‘I’m William Bennet and these young ladies are my daughters, Emma, Elizabeth and Charlotte.’
They smiled and greeted her in turn, except for Elizabeth, who gave Holly a curt nod and regarded her coolly.
‘I adore your outfit,’ Charlotte piped up, eyeing Holly’s black-and-white-striped dress and rope-soled espadrilles in envy. ‘Those shoes are Topshop, aren’t they?’
‘Yes. You have a very good eye.’
‘She ought to,’ Emma said, and rolled her eyes. ‘She’s always got her face stuck in a fashion magazine.’
‘Better that,’ Charlotte retorted, ‘than moping around the house like Anna bloody Karenina all the time.’
‘Girls, girls,’ Mr Bennet chided. He turned his attention to Holly. ‘Miss James, if you and Mr Darcy are free next Sunday, and if you’re so inclined, we’re having a small garden party at Litchfield Manor. I’d be honoured if you could attend.’
Hugh joined them and reached out to clasp Mr Bennet’s hand. ‘We’d be delighted, wouldn’t we, Holly?’
She glanced at Hugh, and then at Elizabeth, who turned pointedly away to greet a neighbour.
‘Yes, of course we would,’ Holly said, and managed a smile. She took a deep breath. ‘We’d love to come to your garden party next Sunday, Mr Bennet. I can’t think of anything I’d like better.’
Chapter 9 (#ulink_da9a2389-298f-5d40-99ae-67c5ef47e296)
The minute she and her sisters finished lunch, Charli asked to be excused and hurried into her room to change. It was time to get ready for her meeting – because it wasn’t a date, exactly – with Ciaran Duncan.
They’d agreed, via several texts, to meet in Longbourne at the Carefree Cruises marina, where Ciaran said he had a surprise in store for her.
I love a mystery! Charli texted. What shld I wear?
Whatevr u like… but heels NOT recommended.
No heels? she thought in dismay as she rummaged through her closet for a pair of sandals. She didn’t own a pair of shoes that weren’t platforms or wedges or teetering semi-stilettos (changed into once out of Daddy’s sight). She hoped Ciaran wasn’t one of those blokes who liked to hike, or ride bicycles, or something equally sporty and tiresome.
Eventually she unearthed a pair of gladiator sandals she’d bought with her babysitting money and laced them up. The leather ties went half the way up her calves and looked very on trend with her bright yellow sundress.
And Charli loved to be on trend.
Next, she sat at her dressing table and applied pink lip gloss, feathered on a trace of blush and a flick of mascara, and sat back to survey the result.
She looked, she decided, sort of like Brigitte Bardot, and practised a sexy pout. Perfect. Ciaran would be bowled over by her sexy, girl-next-door outfit and her innocent, schoolgirl look.
Although she still actually was a schoolgirl, she thrust that thought firmly aside.
Charli felt a thrill of anticipation. Today would be brilliant, absolutely brilliant, because she’d be spending the afternoon with Ciaran Duncan, and she couldn’t wait.
She rubbed plenty of factor fifty sun cream onto her shoulders and chest, and dabbed a bit on her face for good measure – no pink lobster look for her, thank you very much – and stood up to go. Next on was a floppy-brimmed hat that looked very seventies boho and made her feel like a film star going incognito.
Finally, she chucked her mobile, a tube of sun cream, lip gloss, and sunglasses into a straw tote, and left for her first-ever almost-date with a major international film star.
***
When luncheon ended, Lord and Lady Darcy took their glasses of wine and went to sit outside and enjoy the sun. ‘Will you and Holly join us?’ Sarah Darcy asked Hugh as she paused beside the French doors that led to the terrace.
