A Weekend with Mr Darcy: The perfect summer read for Austen addicts!

Chapter Five

To be stuck in a car with a loved one for over two hundred miles would be a challenge at the best of times but being stuck with the most impatient driver in the world when what you most wanted to do was break up with him was an impossible situation.

‘I told you I should’ve got the train!’ Robyn said, as Jace honked the driver in front of him for not moving away fast enough at a set of lights.

‘What are you complaining about? We’re making good time!’

Robyn sighed and did her best to relax. They’d left North Yorkshire just after ten in the morning and registration for the conference was at five o’clock followed by tea and an official welcome by Dame Pamela Harcourt which Robyn didn’t want to miss under any circumstances.

She was also hoping that they’d have time for a slight detour to Steventon so she could see the church where Jane Austen had been baptized and spent her former years, but she wasn’t sure how Jace would respond to such a proposal. Poking around churches with literary connections wasn’t his sort of thing at all. He’d much sooner check into his bed and breakfast and head for the nearest pub to sink a few pints, then have an evening belching in front of the TV.

Robyn opened her handbag and pulled out the information sheets about the conference. After the tea and welcome, there was a chance to mingle before dinner and then there was a choice of watching either Emma Thompson’s Sense and Sensibility or Simon Burke’s version of Persuasion.

‘Ooooo!’ Robyn sighed.

‘What’s up?’ Jace asked. ‘You don’t need the loo again?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Just choices to be made for tonight.’ She didn’t bother to go into details. He wouldn’t understand. How could a woman choose between Hugh Grant’s bumbling Edward Ferrars and Rupert Penry-Jones’s smouldering Captain Wentworth? That was the trouble with Austen - there were too many wonderful heroes. It was hard enough deciding which book to read next and which hero to fall in love with again but it also made real life hard too for no man could live up to Austen’s heroes, could they? Where was a girl going to find a man as patient as Colonel Brandon or as witty as Henry Tilney? And could one ever truly hope to find that most elusive of all men - Mr Darcy?

Robyn smiled to herself. If the truth were known, she rather preferred Mr Bingley to Mr Darcy. He was - in Jane Austen’s own words - amiable; there was nothing complicated about him and Robyn liked that. You didn’t have to do any emotional wrestling with Bingley. He liked dancing. He smiled a lot. He didn’t go around insulting anyone and making a hash at proposing to a woman. In short, he was just the sort of man Robyn was looking for.

But you have a man, a little voice inside her suddenly said.

But I don’t want him, she replied.

Then you should tell him.

I’ve tried!

Then you haven’t made a very good job of it, have you?

Robyn took a sideways glance at Jace. His eyes were narrowed into angry slits as he focused on the road ahead and then gesticulated at a car that was overtaking them. Mr Bingley would never gesticulate, Robyn couldn’t help thinking. He was far more likely to articulate.

‘Upon my honour!’ he might declare. ‘I have never met with so many unpleasant drivers in my life.’ He would shake his head and think nothing more of it, probably declaring that a ball was in order and that he’d make the arrangements forthwith.

Yes, Robyn thought, Bingley was - as Jane Bennet had told Elizabeth - ‘just what a young man ought to be’.

Slowly coming out of a daydream in which she was wearing a white empire-line dress and dancing with Bingley, Robyn saw the sign announcing that they had crossed into Hampshire. At long last, she’d arrived in Jane Austen country.

Turning round to retrieve the road atlas from the backseat, she flipped to the right page and made a study of the area. Almost at once, she found Chawton - perhaps because she’d circled it in bright red pen. There was already a planned trip to Chawton from Purley Hall on Saturday and Robyn was so excited about it that she felt sure she’d burst with joy but she longed to see the church at Steventon too.

‘Jace?’ she said, her voice gentle.

‘What?’ he snapped back.

‘I’ve got an idea.’

‘What sort of an idea?’ he asked. ‘A naughty idea?’

‘No!’ Robyn said. ‘A detour idea.’

Jace frowned. ‘I don’t like detours. I like going from A to B, and A to B today has been one hell of a drive.’

‘I know it has,’ Robyn said sweetly, ‘and you’ve been brilliant but this is such a tiny detour, you’d never even notice it.’

Jace’s frown didn’t budge but he tutted and sighed. ‘All right, then. Where do you want me to go?’

Robyn was tempted to answer something rude to that particular question but said, ‘Take the next right,’ instead, and it wasn’t long before they were driving through the narrow lanes of Hampshire with tall hedgerows and sunny fields on either side of them. The landscape was far less dramatic than Robyn’s limestone valleys of the Yorkshire Dales but she loved its gentleness. With its pretty village pubs, cute cottages and stone churches, it was perfect and just what tourists thought of when they imagined Jane Austen’s England.

As they passed an old wooden stile to the side of the road, Robyn could easily imagine Elizabeth Bennet hopping over it on her way to visit her sister, Jane, at Netherfield. For a moment, she wondered whether she dared ask Jace to stop the car so that she could walk across a couple of fields until her eyes shone like her favourite heroine’s but one look at Jace changed her mind. He wouldn’t understand and she’d better not push her luck after getting him to agree to the detour to Steventon.

It only took ten minutes to reach the little church and Robyn gasped as Jace stopped the car.

‘Oh, look!’ she said, her eyes wide with instant adoration.

‘It’s a church,’ Jace said.

Robyn did her best to ignore his sarcastic tone. She was determined that nothing was going to spoil this moment.

‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she asked as she opened her door.

‘Nah. I’ll wait here. Churches creep me out.’

Robyn sighed but she was secretly glad that he wasn’t coming with her. He’d only complain and spoil things.

Getting out of the car, Robyn stretched her arms and took in a great lungful of warm October air. Theirs was the only car in the dead-end lane and everything was perfectly still and quiet.

Entering the churchyard, she looked at the modest little building before her. St Nicholas’s didn’t shout about its presence in the landscape but it was very pretty with a tiny crenellated tower in a warm beige stone and a small silver spire. There were three arched windows above a fine wooden door either side of which were two carved faces gazing out over the pathway.

A great yew tree cast a cobwebby shadow across the front of the church and Robyn thought of how Jane Austen must have walked by it so many times and that made her smile.

Opening the church door and walking inside, she marvelled at the coolness of the building after the warm sunshine and gazed at the beautiful white arches under which delicate flowers had been painted.

A bright brass plaque on the wall to the left announced that Jane Austen had worshipped here. Robyn looked around at the neat wooden pews and walked up the aisle and sat down. Where would Jane have sat? she wondered, sitting in both the front row pews and sliding along them just to cover all the options. And would she have been paying attention to her father’s sermon or dreaming of handsome men on horseback? Was it in this very church that she’d created Elizabeth and Darcy, Elinor and Marianne and Catherine and Tilney? Were their adventures of the heart conceived in this hushed and humbling place?

Robyn let a few peaceful moments pass.

‘Only two hundred or so years separate us,’ she said with a smile. It felt strange to finally be sitting in a place that her idol had once inhabited. Other than reading the novels, this was as close as she was ever going to get, wasn’t it? To walk in the same steps and to sit in the same seats.

At last, Robyn got up and looked around the rest of the church, noting the memorial to Jane’s brother, James, who’d succeeded his father as rector. There was also a moving memorial to three young girls, Mary Agnes, Cecilia and Augusta, who had all died of scarlet fever in 1848.

‘Great-nieces of Jane’s,’ Robyn whispered into the silence. ‘Whom she never lived to see.’

And that was one of the great tragedies about the writer - that she’d led so short a life, dying at the age of forty-one. How many other wonderful novels might have been written if she’d lived longer? That was the question everyone asked. It was, truly, one of the greatest losses to literature and, although Robyn wasn’t particularly religious, she couldn’t help but send a little prayer up for Jane.

As she walked back down the aisle, she noticed four beautiful kneelers in sky blue featuring silhouettes of Regency ladies. Everyone, it seemed, was proud of the Austen connection.

Opening the great wooden door and stepping back outside, Robyn spotted a baby rabbit hopping amongst the graves. She walked around the back of the church which opened onto fields and then thought she’d better make her way back to Jace.

It was as she left the churchyard and entered the lane that she heard the sound of horse’s hooves on the road and, turning round, saw a great chestnut stallion trotting down the lane, its mane and tail streaming out behind him. But that wasn’t what had captivated Robyn for sitting astride the horse was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

A handsome man on horseback, Robyn thought. Hadn’t she been thinking of just that inside the church? It was as if she’d conjured him from wishful thinking - as if the magical world of Jane Austen had come to life before her very eyes.

She gazed up at the man as he rode by. His hair was a dark coppery gold underneath his riding hat and his arms were bare and tanned. Robyn could tell he was tall and he sat proudly and confidently on the chestnut stallion. It really was a sight to behold and, as he passed her by, he turned, nodded and smiled and Robyn could feel the most wonderful blush colouring her face.

‘The man’s a lunatic!’ Jace yelled as the horse and rider picked up speed and shot across an adjacent field. ‘Did you see how close he was to my car?’

‘He wasn’t anywhere near your car.’

‘That horse could have kicked out and done all sorts of damage. He’s totally out of control.’

‘He’s totally beautiful,’ Robyn said, and then wondered if they were still talking about the horse.

Chapter Six

Katherine had just delivered her two beloved cats to a friend in the village and now had the unenviable task of saying goodbye.

‘My darling boys,’ she said, bending down to fondle them both.

Marion, her friend, shook her head. ‘Freddie and Fitz,’ she said. ‘They’re unusual names for cats.’

‘They’re my two favourite heroes,’ Katherine said. ‘Darcy and Wentworth.’

‘Oh, I should’ve guessed. If they were named after my favourite heroes, they’d be Johnny and Brad.’

Katherine smiled. ‘Make sure you feed them that new food I’ve left. They don’t like that old one any more.’

‘You spoil them rotten,’ Marion said.

‘Of course,’ Katherine said. ‘That’s exactly what they’re for.’

‘And no doubt I’ll spoil them rotten too so don’t you go worrying about them,’ Marion said. ‘Just enjoy your weekend and let’s get together for dinner when you’re back. I want to hear all about it.’

It was always hard to leave her boys behind but Katherine had to do just that if she was to get down to Hampshire on time so, saying her goodbyes, she took one last look at her beloved cats and left.

Katherine was getting the train down to Hampshire and being picked up from the station by someone from Purley Hall. She’d already packed and was looking forward to relaxing on the train. She had always loved travelling by train. It was rather like being suspended in time - you were neither in one place nor another and it was the perfect time to dip your nose into a good book. So which book was she going to choose this particular journey? Northanger Abbey and Persuasion were the obvious handbag choices because of the slimness but Emma was her favourite and it was always fun to dip in and out of it, rereading much-loved scenes. But there was a naughty twinkle in Katherine’s eyes as she organized her train reading. She knew she should be getting herself in the right frame of mind for her lecture at the conference by swotting up on some last-minute Austen but the temptation to take a Lorna Warwick novel instead was just too much and so, packing the Jane Austen six into her suitcase, she placed a much-beloved Lorna Warwick in her handbag: The Notorious Lady Fenton.

It was always hard to choose her favourite book but there was something rather special about The Notorious Lady Fenton. It was kind of like a reversed Pride and Prejudice where Lady Fenton clashes with a spirited but poor gentleman before realizing that she’s madly in love with him, defying family and friends to marry him. Isabella Fenton had to be one of Lorna Warwick’s best creations. She was selfish yet sparkling, proud yet passionate and she got the happy ending that all great heroines deserve.

Once Katherine had found her seat on the train, she took the beloved book out of her bag and turned to chapter one, hoping that she wouldn’t be spotted by any of her colleagues or students as she indulged herself in the most decadent of fiction.

Living in West Sussex and having neither chickens nor cats to worry about, Warwick didn’t have to leave his home until the afternoon, driving his black Jaguar through the country lanes at a sedate speed. The car had been his little treat to himself once the US sales for his novels had really begun to take off.

He loved living in Sussex. After several years in a noisy street in North London, escaping to the countryside had been a dream come true. He was close enough to the coast to enjoy a bracing swim when the weather was good - or even when it was bad as Warwick didn’t seem to feel the cold - and yet he was just a short train ride from the capital for those literary lunches with his agent. And his house was his pride and joy. It had been bought at auction and had been described as being ‘a project’ but it had been a project Warwick had thrown himself into with gusto. He’d involved himself in everything from repairing the roof to laying new floorboards. He loved DIY and using his hands. For one thing, it was a good excuse to get away from the keyboard and there was something immensely pleasurable about doing a job yourself. And now he had his dream home to show for all his hard work.

As he hit the A3, he wondered what time Katherine would arrive and how quickly he would recognize her. How was he going to introduce himself? Would she even like him as a man? And was he going to use his real name, Warwick Lawton? Was the Warwick not a bit of a giveaway? And what profession should he now have?

All sorts of questions flew around his mind. He hadn’t felt this nervous since dating at university. He felt out of practice at this sort of thing and wasn’t sure if he could pull it off. His string of broken relationships over the past few years was surely the evidence that he was meant to be alone. Maybe that was one of the reasons he was a writer: he was far more successful in his own company. But there was something about Katherine that made him want to forget his past failures and try again. She could be worth gambling embarrassment, humiliation and rejection for.

If only he had the confidence that he gave to his heroes in his novels, he thought. Then, he would stride into a room, quickly surveying all before him, drawing all eyes towards him, before singling out the woman of his choice who would, of course, be palpitating with desire by then. He would make his approach, bow, silently admire her décolletage as she curtsied before him, say something immeasurably witty and then take her hand and lead the first dance.

How easy it was back then, he thought. Men and women had clear-cut roles and were happy to play them. Today, everything was so muddled. Women didn’t want to be bowed to or to be told that they were charming creatures and have their eyes admired.

Or did they?

For a moment, Warwick wondered.

The women who were attending the Jane Austen conference might be different. They might actually want a gentleman who admired the clothes they wore, asked about the books they read, and pestered them to play the piano forte. They’d want a Jane Austen or Lorna Warwick hero, wouldn’t they? Wasn’t that why they read the books? Wasn’t that precisely why there were so many adaptations of Austen’s novels - because the female population couldn’t get enough?

Warwick grinned at this most amazing discovery. Now he knew exactly how he was going to play things with Katherine.

Chapter Seven

Robyn would never forget her first glimpse of Purley Hall. They’d rounded corner after corner of twisting country lane, when suddenly, there it was; red-gold and glorious across the rolling fields. It sat in symmetrical perfection, its aspect cushioned by the countryside around it, with honey-coloured fields stretching out in front of it and deep green woods behind it.

‘Look!’ she exclaimed, pointing out of the window like an excited toddler.

Jace looked. ‘What?’

‘Purley!’

‘Where?’

‘Where?’ Robyn echoed. ‘There!’

‘That? I thought it would be bigger.’

‘It’s perfect,’ Robyn said, counting its three visible storeys and its seven sash windows across. ‘Twenty-one,’ she said.

‘Twenty-one what?’

‘Twenty-one windows. Or rather twenty. I expect one’s a door.’

Jace grimaced. Windows and doors didn’t interest him. They took another bend in the road and entered the tiny village of Purley. There was a row of picture perfect cottages with dark thatched roofs, a pub called the Dog and Boot and a pale gold church with a modest steeple.

‘Oh, I love it!’ Robyn said. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’

‘’S’all right if you like that sort of thing,’ Jace mumbled.

Robyn bristled. Well, she did like that sort of thing and it was hard to enjoy it all with Jace as her companion. When, she wondered, was she going to manage to get rid of him?

‘Where are we going, anyway?’ he asked impatiently.

It was then that Robyn saw a discreet wooden sign pointing right. ‘Purley Hall’ it read, and there was a handwritten sheet of A4 paper tacked on underneath. ‘Janeites this way!’

They turned into a driveway which could easily have stretched the length of Robyn’s whole village back in Yorkshire. There were fields on either side and it was lined with mature trees.

Robyn was almost on the edge of her seat as the driveway opened and the grand front of Purley Hall greeted them.

‘Oh!’

‘What’s wrong?’ Jace asked.

‘Nothing! Nothing at all,’ Robyn said.

Jace tutted and brought the car to a screeching halt, its tyres firing up a shower of gravel as he parked - almost parallel but not quite - next to a black Jaguar.

‘Someone’s got some money,’ he said.

‘Yes. Apparently, some people have,’ Robyn said, wondering what that must be like.

Robyn got out of the car and looked up at the house. The front was in shade now and there was a great cedar tree to the left, shading tennis courts and casting its shadow across an immaculate lawn, its branches sprawling out like dinosaur limbs. A set of croquet hoops had been left out on the lawn and, beyond that, Robyn spied a bright blue swimming pool.

She looked up at the house once more, awestruck by the size of its windows - which were just as large as the great door - and the triangular pediment at the top which soared into the blue sky above.

‘Right,’ Jace said, interrupting her thoughts, ‘I’m off to the pub.’

Robyn did her best to hide her relief. ‘What are you going to do with yourself this weekend?’

He shrugged. ‘Come and see you.’

‘Oh, but you can’t!’ Robyn said. ‘I mean, there are activities all day and you’d be bored stupid by them.’

‘All right, all right, I get the message. I’ll call you, okay? You’ve got your mobile, haven’t you?’

Robyn nodded.

Jace leant in to kiss her and gave her bottom an affectionate squeeze. Robyn blushed. It wasn’t seemly to have one’s bottom pinched at a Jane Austen conference.

Jace hauled her suitcase out of the boot of the car and handed it to her. ‘I won’t come in,’ he said.

‘Best not,’ Robyn said.

‘I’ll give you a call.’

‘Okay,’ Robyn said, watching as he got in the car, did a boy racer manoeuvre on the immaculate driveway, and disappeared. As soon as he was out of view, she took her mobile out of her handbag and switched it off.

Warwick had arrived a little earlier than predicted but had been welcomed by one of the event organizers and shown to a very nice room upstairs which looked out over the gardens to the river and fields beyond. Nadia had worked wonders at getting him a room in the house at the last minute and he marvelled at the beauty of it. There was an enormous bed in a rich dark wood, with a pretty yellow bedspread. Four fabulously plump pillows caught his eye and promised a sweet slumber that night.

He looked around the room and a mahogany dressing stand inset with a porcelain bowl in blue and white caught his eye. He admired the workmanship and knew that such a piece of furniture would have been very common in a Regency gentleman’s bedroom - it was just the sort of room one of his heroes would inhabit although he was also glad that he had a modern en-suite with power shower - a luxury denied to his characters. Jugs and bowls just didn’t cut it in the hygiene stakes any more.