Mr. Darcy Forever

by Victoria Connelly

  Mia frowned.

  ‘Don’t ask!’ Shelley prompted.

  The queue surged forward and there was a mad scrambling for the few chairs that had been put out in the shop. Mia and Shelley were pushed and elbowed to within an inch of their lives.

  ‘I didn’t think people in muslin could shove so hard,’ Mia said.

  ‘Just shove right back,’ Shelley advised.

  Even with a few tactfully placed elbows, they didn’t make it to a seat, but they got a very good position at the front of the room, close to the table where Lorna Warwick would be talking and signing.

  ‘I don’t think Jane Austen herself could command such a crowd,’ Mia said, looking at the bookshop that housed more people than books.

  There were stacks of Lorna Warwick’s latest book—Christina and the Count—everywhere, and its wildly romantic cover featuring a beautiful young heroine and a Gothic castle was drawing lots of attention from the fans. Two enormous posters advertised the event, but neither alluded to the fact that Lorna Warwick was a man.

  Mia had to admit to being a bit of a fan, and Lorna Warwick’s books had certainly been there to distract her when the real world got too much for her. She’d lost count of the number of evenings she had spent in the company of fictional characters. Once she opened a book and nose-dived into its pages, she could almost forget about the roar of the traffic outside and the bass from her neighbor’s stereo coming through the walls. Fiction was always her medicine, and Jane Austen never failed to cure a heart that had been bruised by life, but her favorite writer had left only six novels behind. They were wonderful, of course, and could weather any number of reads, but what did a fan do when she wanted something new?

  Luckily, Mia had recently found the Austen Authors website and discovered there was a whole world of Austen sequels, prequels, and spin-offs with irresistible titles such as Mr Darcy’s Secret, Murder at Mansfield Park, and Wickham’s Diary. She’d already seen a fine collection of such titles at Shelley’s.

  Then there were the Lorna Warwicks, with their jewel-bright covers, handsome heroes, and beautiful, spirited heroines. Shelley had a full set of paperbacks and, judging by their cracked spines and creased covers, they were well loved.

  ‘Where is he?’ Shelley asked, bringing Mia back to the present.

  A member of staff appeared, and next to him walked a tall man with broad shoulders and a shock of dark hair. He was wearing a dark suit and a crisp white shirt that was open at the throat.

  An enormous cheer sounded and even a couple of wolf whistles.

  ‘Wow!’ Shelley said. ‘He’s gorgeous! I do hope they start to put his photograph in his books now. It would be worth buying them for that alone.’

  Mia smiled and nodded in agreement. Lorna Warwick was the best-looking man she’d seen in a long time.

  They watched as he walked to the center of the shop and waited for some sort of order to return before he spoke.

  ‘Thank you!’ he said at last. ‘It’s a very great pleasure to be in Bath today as part of the amazing Jane Austen Festival. I’m Lorna Warwick, although I’m sure you all realize that isn’t my real name.’

  The audience laughed and clapped as if he’d said the funniest thing in the world.

  ‘I’m actually Warwick Lawton, but please don’t hold that against me.’

  There was more laughter, and then he went on to talk about how he wrote and how much Jane Austen’s books had influenced him. He then read an extract from Christina and the Count, leaving the narrative at the sort of cliffhanger that would have readers running to the till in record time so that they could buy their own copy and find out what happened next.

  There was then the most almighty scrum to queue up and meet Warwick.

  ‘I’m going to get him to put lots of kisses in my book,’ Shelley said once they both queued to buy their copies. ‘And can you take a photo of me and him with my phone?’

  Mia nodded and grinned. It was all quite exciting. She’d never met an author before. Her favorite authors were usually people who’d been dead for at least a century. She wondered what kind of author Jane Austen would be if she were alive today. Would she give talks and appear at book signings? Would she chat live on websites?

  Before she knew it, Mia and Shelley reached the front of the queue and Warwick Lawton was signing their books.

  ‘Put “To Shelley with my undying love,”’ Shelley said, batting her eyelashes.

  Warwick looked up, his pen hovering over the title page of the book. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘as much as I’d like to, I think my fiancée would have something to say about it.’

  ‘Oh!’ Shelley said. ‘Is that Katherine? The woman you dedicated your book to?’

  Mia nudged Shelley in the ribs, and Warwick cleared his throat.

  ‘It is, indeed,’ Warwick said, signing the book with a big flourish.

  Shelley scampered around to his side of the table, and Mia took a quick photo with her phone.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Have you ever thought of using the name Shelley for a heroine?’

  Warwick smiled.

  ‘Because you can use it, if you want. I don’t mind.’

  Mia grabbed her arm and marched her away.

  ‘I think he liked me,’ Shelley said. ‘Don’t you think?’ Before reaching the door, she paused for a moment and opened her book to see what Warwick Lawton had written. ‘To Shelley with my very best wishes,’ she read with a down-turned mouth. ‘And there’s only one kiss.’

  ‘But it’s a very big kiss,’ Mia said.

  ‘Yes,’ Shelley said. ‘It’s probably a kiss with tongues.’

  They both burst out laughing and left the shop together, arm in arm.

  ***

  Lloyd looked at his watch, and Sarah bit her lip. He was bored with her already, wasn’t he? He was trying to think of an excuse to get up and leave. She knew she shouldn’t have told him about her OCD. Even though he had it himself, it didn’t mean that he’d want to spend time with a woman who had it.

  She twisted her hands under the table and counted silently to ten. It was one of the ways she used to calm herself and take control of a situation.

  Eight. Nine. Ten.

  ‘Well, I think it’s about time I got on,’ she said.

  Lloyd looked at her, surprise in his eyes.

  ‘And you must be busy too,’ she added. It was better to be in charge of these things, she told herself.

  ‘Well, I’ve got an appointment at the Jane Austen Centre,’ he said. ‘Just to take a few photographs for the article.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Sarah said. So this was it, was it? A short but sweet meeting that didn’t come to anything.

  ‘Would you like to come with me?’ he asked.

  At first, Sarah thought she must have imagined his invitation, but he repeated it, and she smiled in relief that she wasn’t being dumped in a Bath tearoom. ‘Well, I’ve never turned down an excuse to visit the Jane Austen Centre.’

  ‘Good,’ he said.

  They paid for their tea and left the shop together, wending their way through the beautiful back streets until they came out at Gay Street.

  ‘She lived here, you know,’ Sarah said.

  ‘What—in the Jane Austen Centre?’

  ‘No—Gay Street—just a few houses up. It was one of her many addresses in Bath.’

  ‘Seems that you can’t move around Bath without stumbling across a blue plaque or some sort of literary reference to the great lady.’

  ‘That’s what I love about being here. She’s in the very air.’

  Lloyd smiled. ‘So what is it about Jane Austen?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, what’s this great hold she has over the female imagination?’

  ‘It’s not just a female thing,’ Sarah said. ‘Have you not seen all the men in costume too?’

  ‘Yes, but they’re far outnumbered by the women, and I have yet to see a man sporting an I Love Darcy T-shirt.’
/>   Sarah grinned. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘So what’s her secret? Why are people still so fascinated by her after two hundred years?’

  Sarah paused for a moment. ‘Well, it’s the stories. To begin with, they’re just wonderfully warm, optimistic stories about love and forgiveness. Her characters have such life, and they’re still recognizable today, from the vivacity of Elizabeth Bennet to the appallingly snobbish Mr Collins.’

  ‘But Jane Austen wrote only six books, and so many other books have been written since them.’

  ‘I know,’ Sarah said. ‘You’ve only to go into a bookshop to be stunned by the number of stories out there. It’s truly baffling sometimes to know what to choose, but the magic of Jane Austen is that you can return to her six books any number of times and always find something new to enjoy. If you read them when you’re young, it’s the love stories you’re interested in—the “will they, won’t they?” But later you become fascinated by other things too. There’s the humor, for a start, and the intricacies of the relationships. It’s a whole world, and I can’t tell you what a joy it is to escape into that world.’ She stopped. ‘I’m gushing now.’

  ‘No,’ Lloyd said. ‘Well, yes, but it’s wonderful. I’ve never heard anyone talk so passionately about books before.’

  ‘You’re not a reader?’

  ‘Only a bit of nonfiction, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But you’re missing out on so much,’ Sarah said. ‘Novels can tell us so much about life. They have the power to enrich our own lives in so many different ways. They’re not just for entertaining us, although that would be enough.’

  ‘And how have they enriched your life?’

  Sarah smiled. ‘I can’t imagine my life without novels—especially Jane Austen’s. They’re like the very best of friends. They’re always there for you. At the end of a hard day, you can reach out and know that they’ll give you the sort of comfort that’s rare to find in life.’

  ‘You speak like somebody who—’ he stopped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Like somebody who’s needed that comfort,’ he said, looking down at the pavement. ‘I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘You’re not prying,’ Sarah said. ‘And you’re right. Jane Austen’s always been there for me. Even in the very worst of times.’

  Chapter 18

  Barton Cottage

  It was evening at Barton Cottage. The sun had dipped low in the sky, and a cold breeze sent the sisters inside. As Sarah was tidying in the kitchen, there was a knock at the door.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Mia sang. Not that Sarah had any choice. Ever since she was a small girl, Mia had been convinced that every phone call and every knock at the door was meant for her. This time, she was right, because as she opened the door, she saw Alec standing there holding a large birthday cake aflame with candles.

  ‘Alec!’ she screamed. ‘It’s wonderful!’

  ‘Couldn’t celebrate a birthday without a cake, could we?’

  ‘That’s so sweet of you. Come in! Come in!’ Mia ushered him through to the kitchen where Sarah was making a cup of tea. ‘Sarah—look what Alec brought!’

  Sarah turned around and gasped at the sight of the cake.

  ‘Can I put it down somewhere? I’m terrified I’ll drop it at any moment.’

  Sarah motioned, and Alec placed the cake on the worktop, where the twenty-one beautiful candles winked at them all.

  ‘I can’t believe you found such a brilliant cake. Wherever did you find it?’

  ‘Ah, that would be telling,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Well, we must all have a slice immediately.’

  ‘Not before blowing the candles out and making a wish.’

  ‘Okay,’ Mia said, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she closed her eyes and blew. Every single last candle was extinguished.

  ‘Did you make a wish?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Mia said, blushing as she looked up at Alec. ‘I did.’

  That night, Sarah lay awake in her bed, listening to the distant hoot of an owl. She didn’t mean to think about Alec. She’d been trying to shut him out of her mind all evening, but he wouldn’t go away. His voice had echoed in her mind throughout dinner and, as she washed up, his face had hovered before her.

  He’s not interested in you, a little voice said. It’s Mia he likes, and why not? She’s young and beautiful and full of vitality. Why would he look at you? You didn’t have one interesting thing to say to him all day. Besides, you’re meant to be having a break from men.

  For a moment she thought about her last relationship. It had been doomed from the beginning. Well, what could she expect, being the way she was? People just didn’t understand her. Mia had often joked that she’d need to find a carbon copy of herself, in a male version, of course, who would put up with her little quirks, but where was she going to find such a man?

  People with OCD didn’t want to go around divulging their affliction, for fear of putting others off. It was bound to rear its ugly head at some point, and Sarah always hoped that whomever she was seeing would have fallen for her by then, and nothing would put him off. But that hadn’t happened with Martin.

  She’d been seeing him for six months and things had been going well, but only because he hadn’t visited her home. They’d been out to restaurants, where Sarah behaved herself impeccably, even when faced with a dirty tablecloth and a rickety table leg that had driven her mad. She had bitten her tongue and not said a word.

  But then she’d made the mistake of asking him to take his shoes off when she invited him in for coffee. He looked at her as if she were quite mad.

  ‘I haven’t been asked to do that since I was a kid,’ he told her.

  ‘I have new carpets,’ she explained. Well, they weren’t officially new, but they looked as though they were, because she took such good care of them. He’d taken his shoes off and followed her into the kitchen whilst she made the coffee, and that was mistake number two. She should never have let him into the kitchen.

  ‘You file your herbs?’ he asked, looking at the herb rack, a large grin bisecting his face.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘It makes perfect sense. How else would you find them?’

  ‘Er… by looking?’

  ‘But this saves time.’

  After that, he’d given himself a private tour of her home, noting the way she folded her towels in the bathroom and laughing when he discovered her list of lists. He even opened her wardrobe and shook his head when he saw the way she color-coded her clothes.

  ‘You’ve got that OCD thing, haven’t you? I saw a program about that the other week and thought you had it. You’re always straightening things that don’t need to be straightened.’

  Sarah hadn’t known what to say, so she said nothing.

  ‘You are one crazy lady,’ Martin had said, shaking his head. ‘Now I’m going to put my shoes back on and get the hell out of here.’

  Those were his last words to her. Six months of friendship and kindness evaporated as he slammed her front door and drove away.

  She certainly wasn’t looking to leap into another relationship yet. That would be madness.

  She beat her pillow with an angry fist and flopped back down again. Oh, why did Alec have to be there to spoil things? This week was meant to be about her and Mia. It was their special time together, and the only stressful thing was meant to be their fighting over which version of Persuasion to watch. Alec’s appearance had given the weekend another dimension, one Sarah was sure was going to end in trouble.

  ***

  There were several wooden sun loungers in front of the house, and the next morning, after a late breakfast, Sarah had made herself comfortable on one. She’d brought her copy of Sense and Sensibility out for company, but it had long since fallen out of favor as she closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the May sunshine.

  This really was the life, she thought, wondering if she could afford to buy Bar
ton Cottage if it ever came on the market, but even her decent earnings probably wouldn’t stretch to purchasing a piece of heaven.

  She took a few deep breaths, inhaling the sweet air as she listened to the rich song of a blackbird in a nearby hedge. It would be so very easy to shut oneself off completely from the rest of the world in such a place as this, she thought, and she could imagine doing it too. She had a sort of personality that didn’t rely on others, and she’d be quite content to be alone with her books and her films and only herself for company. Mia wouldn’t, though. She was enjoying her time at Barton Cottage and was definitely benefiting from being out of the city for a while, but she would go mad if she were expected to live in such a place. She’d already made friends with that stranger, Alec, hadn’t she? No, her sister couldn’t be happy unless there were others around her.

  Sarah was just pondering what to have for lunch when a dark shadow fell across her, blocking out the sun. She opened her eyes and started as she saw the outline of a man before her.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Alec?’ She sat upright and adjusted the straps on her summer dress, which were doing their best to escape down her shoulders. ‘You startled me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, taking a seat next to her without invitation. ‘You looked so peaceful there.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, removing her sunglasses and smiling at him. ‘It’s that kind of a place, isn’t it?’

  He nodded and smiled back at her. He really did have a very lovely smile, she noticed.

  ‘Mia’s out,’ she volunteered before he asked her.

  ‘Jogging?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought she might be. I expected to pass her as I walked through the wood.’

  ‘I think she went the other way.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said.

  ‘But you’re welcome to wait for her. I’m sure she won’t be long.’

  ‘What makes you think I wanted to see her?’ he asked.

  Sarah frowned at him, not understanding.

  ‘I might have wanted to talk to you,’ he said, clearly seeing her confusion.