Mr. Darcy Forever

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘That might be us one day,’ Shelley said. ‘In fact, I’m not going to even consider getting married to a man unless he is willing to don Regency costume.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Mia said.

  ‘I think he was the only real hero here today, and he’s taken,’ Shelley said.

  ‘We can still look,’ Mia said, her eyes still fixed firmly on the gentleman.

  ‘My, you really have got a bit of a crush on him, haven’t you?’ Shelley teased.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Mia said. ‘I was only looking at the baby.’

  Chapter 11

  Once Sarah reached the abbey, she wasn’t on her own for long. She was adopted by a group of Americans who had come over from New York especially for the festival. She also spoke to a couple from Hong Kong and two girls from Sweden. Jane Austen was truly a global phenomenon.

  By the time the group reached Milsom Street, they’d all discussed their favorite heroines (Elizabeth Bennet and Anne Elliot, although Sarah put in a special word for Elinor Dashwood), their favorite heroes (Mr Darcy, Captain Wentworth, with a heartfelt mention of Henry Tilney, owing to their being in Bath), and the house that they’d all like to be mistress of (Pemberley was voted unanimously, although Sarah thought of Barton Cottage, but she kept her thoughts to herself).

  It was always an honor to walk the length of Milsom Street, and Sarah thought of how it was this very street that General Tilney had lodged in with Henry and Eleanor in Northanger Abbey. Anne Elliot had also walked this very street and, of course, Jane Austen too. Sarah often thought it funny how she would think of the characters as if they were real people who had really lived, occupying this very world with the same strength of mind and passion as their creator. How many of the shoppers today knew of the Austen connection, though? Sarah wondered. Did they think about Tilney teasing Catherine, and Captain Wentworth brooding over Anne as they went from shop to shop? Or was it just the select few like her, who could never walk through the streets of Bath without imagining a whole host of fictional characters swarming around her? Whatever the answer, Sarah knew that Bath would always hold a very special place in her heart, and she thought of Catherine Morland’s assertion, ‘Oh! Who can ever be tired of Bath?’

  ***

  Mia and Shelley were rather enjoying being photographed by the Saturday shoppers who all took a moment out of their time to stop and watch the promenaders.

  ‘He should definitely be in costume,’ Shelley said, nodding toward a handsome man who was taking a photo of them with his mobile phone. ‘Wouldn’t he look splendid?’

  ‘Like Gabe?’

  ‘So you noticed how splendid Gabe is?’

  ‘No,’ Mia said, ‘I’ve just noticed how you want to dress up half of the male population of Bath.’

  ‘It wouldn’t do them any harm,’ Shelley said. ‘I hate modern men’s clothes. All these ripped jeans and oversized trainers. Most unattractive.’

  Mia nodded. Very few modern men dressed well, she had to admit.

  ‘Good morning, ladies.’ A voice suddenly accosted them, and they turned around to see a gentleman in naval uniform. Unfortunately, he was about sixty-five and had a bushy beard in which you could lose a whole battalion.

  They nodded politely as he continued on his way.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s all that’s left for us,’ Mia said.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Shelley said. ‘Why is life a constant disappointment?’

  ‘Because we read fiction,’ Mia said, and Shelley nodded, knowing it was true.

  It wasn’t long before they were walking along the elegant curved pavements of The Circus. From there, they walked into Brock Street and on toward the Royal Crescent. It was always a highlight to enter the famous crescent, and there was an opportunity to stop for photographs whilst a group of dancers entertained the crowds. The sunny weather had brought more people out than ever before, and everyone stopped to watch the promenade.

  ‘How beautiful everyone looks,’ Mia said as she surveyed the sea of bright costumes in the sunshine. There were many sumptuous colors and fabrics, and everyone looked at home in the Georgian surroundings. Mia’s heart swelled with pride at being a part of it all.

  After the dancing ended, the promenaders ambled along the famous Gravel Walk, which was beautifully shady after the brilliant light in the crescent, but parasols remained up. After all, one didn’t get to use them very often.

  The walk ended in a flight of shallow steps, and then the party turned to head back into town.

  Shelley shook her head and sighed. ‘It’s all over,’ she said. ‘All over for another year.’

  Mia turned to look at her friend. ‘But there’s the rest of the festival to look forward to. We’ve got all sorts booked, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but this is my favorite bit, and it always goes much too quickly.’

  Mia smiled, but then she grabbed Shelley’s arm.

  ‘What is it?’

  Mia’s mouth dropped open, and she could hardly speak. ‘I think I saw someone.’

  ‘Who? The ghost of Captain Wentworth? I’m told he haunts these parts.’ Shelley grinned.

  Mia didn’t say anything, but her eyes were fixed on the crowd ahead. She could have sworn she’d seen Sarah, but she lost her almost as soon as her gaze had alighted on her, so no, she couldn’t be sure. Had her eyes played tricks on her? Had she only thought she’d seen her, because she’d been thinking about her? Maybe it was just a blend of an overactive imagination and her anxiety that her sister would be there.

  ‘She wouldn’t be here, would she?’

  ‘Sarah? Why not? She is as much a fan as you are, and you are here.’

  Mia sighed. Why indeed should Sarah not be there? She had as much right to attend the festival as Mia did.

  ‘But she wouldn’t,’ Mia reasoned with herself. ‘She can barely make it to the supermarket on her own.’

  Shelley placed a hand on Mia’s shoulder. ‘Well, maybe she’s changed. Maybe she got help for her OCD. I mean, you don’t know, do you?’

  The question stung Mia. Shelley was right. She wouldn’t know, would she? She had missed out on more than three years of her sister’s life, just as her sister had missed out on three years of her life. So much could have happened—so much had happened—in that time.

  ‘It probably wasn’t her at all,’ Shelley said. ‘Everybody looks the same in costume. It could have been any number of people.’

  Mia nodded. Shelley was probably right, but Mia kept wondering if the woman she’d seen really had been her sister.

  ***

  When the promenade reached the Pump Room again, Sarah felt a little lost. A great crowd of people were gathering outside the entrance to the Pump Room, luxuriating in having lunch in the sumptuous surroundings whilst wearing the most appropriate of clothing. Others were sitting on chairs outside cafés, happy to mingle with the modern world and not the least bit embarrassed by the looks they were getting.

  It was always a sad moment to see the crowd dispersing and knowing it would be a full year before everybody met again. Of course, the festival was far from over, and Austen stalwarts would continue to wear a costume until the last event closed and it was time for Bath to return to the modern world.

  Sarah paused for a moment outside the Pump Room, wondering where she should go. She had lost her new friends in the crowd and wasn’t at all sure what to do with herself.

  ‘Don’t be such a child,’ she told herself. ‘You’re a grown woman and can fend for yourself. Just get a sandwich and sit on the bench.’

  A few minutes later, she had bought herself some lunch and walked to the square by the abbey. There was a busker playing a guitar and singing, and the benches were full of tourists and workers on their lunch break. In fact, there was only one bench that was free, but a man had spotted it just before her and was making his way toward it. Sarah was just about to turn in search of somewhere else to sit, when she realized it was the man from the restaurant. She recogni
zed his shock of dark hair and kind brown eyes.

  She watched in fascination as he got out a large tissue and dusted the bench. It hadn’t been raining and the bench didn’t look dirty, but he wiped each slat of wood before walking across to a nearby bin and placing the tissue in it. Returning to the bench, he sat down, placing a large bag next to himself.

  Sarah wasn’t usually forward when it came to men, but she really didn’t fancy going in search of another place to sit, and the dark-haired man looked slightly less threatening a proposition than most.

  ‘Okay if I sit here?’ she asked as she approached the bench.

  He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘Please,’ he said with a nod.

  Sarah sat down. She was terribly hungry. In fact, she could feel her stomach rumbling, but she felt funny about eating in front of a stranger, so left her pack of sandwiches in her handbag.

  ‘Weren’t you at the restaurant last night?’ he said.

  Sarah gave a little smile—half thrilled, half shy. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good restaurant,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Clean.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I mean, all restaurants should be, of course, but they’re not. At least, not to—’ He stopped. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I’m boring you.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  He shook his head, looking embarrassed. ‘Really, I can go on sometimes.’ He cleared his throat and turned toward her. ‘I’m Lloyd,’ he said.

  ‘I’m Sarah.’ She was relieved when he didn’t offer his hand to shake, another potential minefield for the OCD sufferer. Not everyone took as much care of their hands as someone with OCD, although Lloyd had been talking about clean restaurants and had wiped the bench before sitting on it, so his hands were probably cleaner than the average person’s. Something struck Sarah. He hadn’t shaken hands with her not because he knew she wouldn’t want to, but because he probably thought that her hands weren’t clean. Sarah bit her lip and she immediately wanted to say something, but she couldn’t blurt out, ‘My hands are clean,’ could she? It wouldn’t be very gracious.

  ‘What brings you to Bath?’ Lloyd said, and Sarah was glad to be diverted from the unpleasant subject of how clean her hands were perceived to be.

  ‘The Jane Austen Festival,’ she said, motioning to her costume.

  ‘Oh, of course,’ he said with a smile. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  Sarah frowned. He didn’t look like a fan, but maybe he was a secret one. After all, not everybody went around sporting breaches and cravats, and hadn’t she spotted him reading Jane Austen’s Collected Letters the night before?

  ‘I’m a photographer. I’m here to photograph the festival,’ he went on.

  ‘Oh!’ Sarah said.

  ‘For Vive!’

  Sarah grimaced at the name of the tabloid newspaper.

  ‘Not for the newspaper itself,’ he said. ‘They’ve got a new Sunday magazine called The Difference.’ He gave a groan. ‘Vive!—The Difference, get it? The photographs are for that.’

  ‘I don’t like that newspaper,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s full of appalling stories that just aren’t true.’

  ‘I know,’ Lloyd said. ‘My mother’s horrified that I’m working for them, but you can’t be too choosy when you’re freelancing, and it’s good exposure.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Sarah said. ‘But I do hope they’re not going to make fun of the festival. Jane Austen fans in costume are an easy target, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You’ve got no worries there. It’s a totally sincere piece to coincide with one of the Austen anniversaries.’

  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Perhaps I could take a photo of you?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Sarah said, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. ‘I’m not very photogenic.’

  Lloyd frowned and peered at her. ‘I wouldn’t say that. You look very photogenic from where I’m sitting.’

  ‘No, no,’ Sarah said, in fear that he was about to get his camera out. ‘I much prefer to be on the other side of the camera.’ She opened her handbag and got out her tiny silver camera. ‘See?’ She showed him the screen and scrolled through some of the photographs she’d taken of the promenade.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said.

  ‘Well, they won’t be as good as yours.’ She watched as he opened up his bag and got out a very impressive camera.

  ‘I think there are one or two I can use,’ he said and scrolled through the photos taken that morning.

  Sarah gasped. They were stunning. He had caught the buoyant mood of the morning, and the light was exquisite, capturing the smiling faces, swirls of fabulous fabric, and the beautiful surroundings perfectly.

  And then her heart stopped. As picture followed picture, Sarah’s eyes picked out the image of a young woman she thought she recognized. Could it have been Mia?

  ‘Go back!’ she suddenly blurted. ‘Back!’

  Lloyd looked surprised but scrolled back through the photos.

  ‘Stop!’ Sarah grabbed the camera from him and zoomed into the figure, but it was impossible to tell whether it was her sister or not. It could be, but it could just as easily be half a dozen other young women.

  She handed the camera back to him. ‘Sorry,’ she said, suddenly realizing how odd her behavior must have seemed to him.

  ‘Did you recognize someone?’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I thought I did for a moment, but I was wrong.’

  He gave a little smile.

  ‘Your pictures are wonderful,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, putting the camera back in the bag. As he did so, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground and, at once, Sarah noticed what it was.

  ‘Oh, you have a list!’ she said.

  Lloyd cleared his throat as he retrieved it, obviously embarrassed. ‘I—er—yes,’ he said.

  ‘I make lists too… all the time. I can’t leave the house without them.’

  ‘Really?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘You don’t think that’s weird, do you?’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘That’s absolutely normal. I think people who leave home without lists are the strange ones.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve always thought so too. I mean, how do people remember everything without a list? How do they make the best use of their time?’

  Lloyd nodded. ‘People might think they’ll remember everything, but something usually gets forgotten.’

  Their eyes met, and they both smiled as if they’d found a kindred spirit.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to go now,’ he said, standing up. ‘There’s an event on at the Guildhall.’

  ‘Yes, the Country Fayre. I’m going to it later,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Here’s my card,’ he said, fumbling for one in a jacket pocket.

  Sarah took it from him and read the name in bold script across the top: Lloyd Anderson.

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you there,’ he said, a definite invitation in his voice.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up and smiled at him. ‘Maybe.’

  She watched as he walked away and became immersed in the crowds, thinking that her ‘maybe’ was a definite probably.

  Chapter 12

  Barton Cottage

  The walk back up to Barton Cottage was taking Mia longer than it should have, not because her knee was sore, but because she was rather enjoying linking arms with Alec Burrows.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked as they squeezed through the gate together. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Mia asked.

  ‘The little place just through the wood. It’s right down by the water and has the most amazing views.’

  ‘This one does too.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, looking back down toward the estuary. ‘My aunt used to live in Devon, and we’d stay here on family holidays. I
guess I never outgrew them.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘London,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I live in London too!’ Mia said, a bit too enthusiastically. She could almost hear Sarah admonishing her. ‘I’m in Ealing at the moment with a friend. I’ve just finished drama school.’

  ‘Really? You’re an actress?’

  ‘Yes. Well, more of a singer. I’m auditioning in the West End.’

  ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘I’ve never met an actress or singer before. I’ll have to come and see you when you’re on stage.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll give you my card. Just let me know when and where.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, imagining him sending red roses to her dressing room and taking her out for a champagne supper after her first stunning performance. But she was getting too ahead of herself; she hadn’t known him for even five minutes.

  ‘Now, let’s get you to the nearest sofa,’ he said, and the two of them walked across the lawn and into Barton Cottage.

  ‘Sarah?’ Mia called through the house. ‘Sarah?’

  ‘What is it?’ a voice called from the back of the house where the kitchen was. ‘Oh, my goodness! What’s happened to you?’ Sarah asked as soon as she saw her sister.

  ‘Nothing. I just fell.’

  ‘I’m afraid we had a sort of collision,’ Alec said.

  ‘And I tumbled right over, just like Marianne.’

  ‘Marianne?’ Alec said.

  ‘Marianne Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility.’

  He didn’t look any the wiser.

  ‘It’s a book by Jane Austen,’ Sarah explained.

  ‘Oh, she’s a heroine,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Mia said. ‘And she gets swept up by a dashing hero.’

  Sarah looked aghast at her sister’s forwardness.

  ‘Well, I hope I didn’t disappoint you.’

  Mia smiled at him. ‘This is Alec,’ she said to Sarah, by way of an afterthought.

  Alec stretched out a hand and shook Sarah’s.

  ‘I’m Sarah.’

  ‘This is about as strange as introductions get, isn’t it?’