Katie Oliver - What Would Lizzy Bennet Do?

‘Not well.’ He sighed, his expression glum. ‘I know it’s not love on her part,’ he added, ‘because we’ve only ever been friends. I left for London years ago, and so did she. But we grew closer after her mother died. Ovarian cancer.’

‘Oh, how awful,’ Holly sympathised. ‘I’m sorry. Poor Elizabeth, losing her mother like that.’ She reached out and took his hand and squeezed it. ‘And you were there to help her through it, weren’t you?’

‘I tried. Not that there’s much one can do, other than listen, and offer a shoulder or a kind word.’

‘But that’s a lot, Hugh,’ Holly said, and stopped. ‘A shoulder or a kind word when you’re really hurting means the world.’

She remembered how he’d comforted her after she learned the awful truth about Ciaran Duncan. From the very beginning he’d warned her about the actor and told her to stay away from him, but she hadn’t listened.

‘Perhaps.’ He paused and added, ‘I think, for a time after that, Lizzy fancied herself in love with me. But I returned to London, and she got a job at a publisher’s, and we haven’t seen one another since, only exchanged a few emails and texts, until today.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips tenderly. ‘So you see? You have nothing to worry about.’

And although she smiled and murmured, ‘I’m so glad to hear it,’ and although she wanted desperately to believe him, as Holly walked back to Cleremont with Hugh, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny niggle of doubt.

Chapter 7

‘Are you well acquainted with Mr Darcy, Miss Bennet?’ Wickham asked.

‘As much as ever I wish to be,’ Elizabeth retorted. ‘After four days spent in the same house with him, I must admit I find him most disagreeable. His pride precedes him. You won’t find him mentioned with favour by anyone.’

‘I’m not surprised. The world sees only his fortune and consequence, or is so impressed by his imposing manners, as to see him only as he chooses to be seen.’

‘Cut,’ the director called out wearily. ‘Ciaran, you forgot the “I cannot pretend to be sorry” bit again.’

‘Oh, bloody arsing hell,’ Ciaran Duncan grumbled, and let out a short breath of frustration. ‘Sorry,’ he called back. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.’

Cara Winslow smiled sweetly. ‘Too much champagne and too many underage girls last night, perhaps?’

He glared at her. ‘Fuck off.’

‘Temper, temper,’ she tutted.

‘Let’s all take ten minutes, shall we?’ the director said. He cast Ciaran a meaningful glance. ‘And let’s make sure we know our lines. All of them.’

Charli Bennet watched the exchange from her vantage point on the edge of the set, and suppressed a giggle. She and Harry sat perched on a wardrobe trunk, watching the filming of Pride and Prejudice . ‘It sounds as if Mr Duncan’s a bit of a player, doesn’t it?’

Harry glanced at the actor with an inscrutable expression. ‘You have no idea.’

‘Goodness. I’ll have to remember to watch my heart around him, then,’ she murmured. ‘At least, while he’s in costume.’

Her avid grey gaze devoured the handsome actor, from his long, breeches-and-boots-clad legs to the dark mop of hair on his head, and a yearning came over her, sudden and strong.

He was quite the best-looking man she’d ever seen. She covertly admired his firm, kissable lips… his fine, high forehead… and his tantalisingly tight breeches.

How jealous her friends would be if she got to meet Ciaran Duncan!

She leaned closer to Harry and whispered, ‘Introduce me.’

‘Are you mad?’ He looked at her in surprise. ‘I can’t do that!’

‘Why not? You live here. Surely you can introduce me to Ciaran.’

‘Number one, I don’t know him, and number two, he’s way out of your league.’

She glared at him. ‘What do you mean? I’m not a child. And I happen to like older men,’ she added, and tilted her head back slightly so that her long, blonde hair – partially covered by a black, floppy-brimmed hat – spilled down her back.

‘Older men?’ he echoed, and snorted. ‘You mean older, as in upper sixth form? Get real, Charli. You’re still a kid as far as Ciaran’s concerned. Besides, your father would kill you – not to mention me – if I introduced you to that tosser.’

‘But what makes you say such a thing?’ she demanded. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Do you know something about Ciaran I don’t?’

‘I know he’s no good,’ Harry said shortly. ‘More than that I really can’t say.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You’re protecting someone! Who? A girlfriend? An ex -girlfriend?’

‘Never mind. Just know that it’s a truth universally acknowledged,’ he retorted, ‘that Ciaran Duncan, like Mr Wickham, is a shit. Just pick up any tabloid on the newsstand on any given day, and you’ll see for yourself how he ploughs his way through an endless swathe of actresses.’

‘Tabloids print a load of rubbish,’ Charli said stubbornly. ‘Everyone knows that.’

Harry made an impatient gesture. ‘Listen to me. You like all of that Austen stuff, don’t you?’

‘I can’t get into the books,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve tried, more than once. But I adore the films.’

‘Then you know that Wickham’s no good. And knowing that Ciaran’s exactly like his namesake should be enough to make you hoick up your petticoats and send you running.’

‘I’m not like that silly Lydia Bennet,’ Charli scoffed. ‘I know better than to fall for his… his…’

‘Bullshit?’ he finished.

‘Please, Harry, just introduce me,’ she pleaded. ‘That’s all I want, just to meet him.’

But an introduction proved unnecessary when the actor returned from a brief discussion with the script consultant and spotted the two of them. His gaze locked on Charli.

Her eyes widened, and she clutched at Harry’s arm. ‘Oh, my God. He’s coming this way!’

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.