What Would Lizzy Bennet Do?. Katie Oliver

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       Chapter 12

      ‘”WICKHAM CLOCKS DARCY”,’ Mr Bennet muttered, retracing his steps back down the hallway to the kitchen as he read the headline aloud. ‘”BENNET BEAUTY TO BLAME?”’

      All thoughts of a cup of tea and a quiet perusal of the day’s news vanished in the wake of the 36-point tabloid headline. This was as unexpected – and every bit as unwelcome – as the crack of Ciaran’s fist into young Harry’s jaw must have been.

      He picked up his tea and tossed the paper on the kitchen table, and with a grim expression he sat down and began to read.

      ***

      On Monday morning the sun woke Holly, penetrating a gap in the brocade drapes, and turned the blue toile that papered her bedroom a warm, golden hue.

      She yawned and opened her eyes. Everything in the room was white and blue and very feminine, with a shabby chic sensibility. The only difference being that nothing in Cleremont was remotely ‘shabby’ – every stick of furniture, every candlestick and cushion, was an authentic (and undoubtedly priceless) antique.

      She had to hand it to Lady Darcy – the woman knew how to decorate a room.

      Holly stretched her arms over her head, luxuriating in the ridiculously high thread count of the Egyptian cotton sheets, the broderie anglaise coverlet and matelassé blanket piled on her bed. Nights in these old English houses, even in summer, could get chilly.

      How much nicer it would be, she thought grumpily as she sat up and swung her legs out of bed, to spend those chilly nights wrapped up in Hugh’s arms…

      Oh, well. Lady D had put paid to that notion.

      It wouldn’t be proper for her and Hugh to sleep together (at least, not at Cleremont) before marriage, after all; the proprieties must be observed. At least, that’s what Hugh said. Personally, Holly thought it was all a lot of old-fashioned nonsense and wished the proprieties would go straight to hell.

      Today Hugh had told her they were going horseback riding on the property with Lizzy. She stood now in front of the wardrobe and flung open the doors to survey her clothes in an effort to find something suitable to wear.

      How on earth did one dress to go riding when one hadn’t the proper clothing for it?

      Holly frowned. She didn’t have a pair of breeches, or boots, or even a proper hacking jacket… unless you counted that Barbour jacket she’d once borrowed from her sister, and accidentally torn the lining.

      Five years on, and Hannah still mentioned it every year at Christmas dinner.

      There was a discreet knock on the door. ‘Miss James? Are you awake?’

      Holly froze. It was Hugh’s mother. She hurried to the door and opened it. ‘Good morning, Lady Darcy. Yes. Please, come in.’

      ‘Hugh mentioned late yesterday that the two of you are going riding today.’ She strode in, and Holly noticed she had several items of clothing draped over her arm. She eyed her future daughter-in-law expectantly.

      ‘Erm, yes. That’s the plan.’ Dear God, Holly thought, I hope Lady D doesn’t decide to come along with us as a bloody chaperone, or something.

      ‘It occurred to me that you might not have the proper riding attire. So I brought these’ – she held out her arm – ‘in hopes they might prove useful. There’s a pair of Phoebe’s old jodhpurs, and a hacking jacket. I think you’re both about the same size. If you need boots,’ she added before Holly could open her mouth to thank her, ‘there’s an assortment of wellies and riding boots by the back kitchen door. Help yourself.’

      ‘Oh, thank you! I was just wondering what to wear-’

      ‘Don’t mention it. I’ll see you both at breakfast?’

      Holly nodded, and without another word Hugh’s mother deposited the clothes on the bed and took her leave.

      ‘Well,’ СКАЧАТЬ