The Trouble With Emma. Katie Oliver

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СКАЧАТЬ and dark-washed jeans, with a diver’s watch strapped around his wrist.

      “What are you doing here?” Emma asked.

      He met her eyes. If he was bothered by her abrupt manner, he gave no sign. “I might ask you the same thing.”

      “Emma, this is Mark Knightley,” Lizzy said into the sudden, awkward silence, and glanced between the newcomer and her sister with a questioning expression. “He and I worked together in London. Mark, this is my sister, Emma.”

      He nodded. “Miss Bennet.” He glanced down at her espadrilles. “I see you dispensed with the wellies. Good move on your part. But I’m afraid you still wouldn’t pass as a Londoner.”

      “Good,” she retorted. “I wouldn’t want to, if Londoners are all as ill-mannered as you.”

      Lizzy glanced between them, her brow crinkled in confusion. “I’m sorry – do you two know each other?”

      “We met,” he answered her, his eyes still on Emma’s, “in the bakery, in Litchfield.”

      Although his expression gave nothing away, Emma was certain she saw a trace of amusement lurking in his dark blue eyes.

      “So you found us,” she said. Her words were cool. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew my sister when you came into the shop this morning? I might’ve been more forthcoming.”

      “How could I possibly have known Elizabeth was your sister, when you wouldn’t volunteer your name, much less give me directions to your house?”

      Emma scowled. Score, and point to Mr Knightley. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

      “Oh, Emma, you’ll never believe it,” Lizzy cut in, her eyes bright with excitement. “It’s the most amazing thing!”

      “What is?”

      “Mark is here,” she told her sister impatiently, “because he works with that television programme, Mind Your Manors. And –” she leaned forward to clasp Emma’s hands in hers. “He came to tell us that Litchfield Manor’s been chosen to appear on the programme!”

Chapter 14

      For perhaps the first time in her life, Emma Bennet found herself at a loss for words.

      “Oh,” was all she could manage.

      “Production won’t start for a few more weeks,” Mr Knightley told her. “I overheard Lucy discussing it with the production team and I thought –” he glanced at Lizzy. “I thought you’d want to know right away.”

      “That’s wonderful,” she said, and turned to Emma. “But I didn’t know anything about it. Did you, Em? You don’t seem very surprised.”

      “Oh, I am. I’m…stunned,” Emma confessed. “I sent an email and asked to have Litchfield Manor put on the telly, but I never dreamt it would actually happen.” She looked at Mark Knightley with wary curiosity. “How are you connected to the programme?”

      “Writer,” he replied, “associate producer, and general dogsbody as the occasion warrants.” His smile was brief. “We’ve a very small budget, so we all wear more than one hat.”

      “I can scarcely believe it.” Emma sank down into a chair next to her father and shook her head in disbelief. Her eyes widened. “Ten thousand pounds! We can fix the roof, and repair the stair treads, and replace the dining room wallpaper –”

      “Simon and Jacquetta will take a look round first and provide their recommendations,” Knightley said. “You should hear something official from Lucy in the next day or two.”

      “I know you told me you planned to contact the programme,” Mr Bennet said to Emma in wonderment. “But I didn’t suppose we’d actually be chosen!” He turned to Mark. “Doesn’t Mind Your Manors normally feature more impressive family piles? Places with – oh, I don’t know…Elizabethan knot gardens, and dozens and dozens of chimneys?”

      “Usually. But not always. The problem with those grade-I and II listed properties is the English Heritage regulations. It makes doing anything subject to permissions and delays and reams of paperwork. Litchfield Manor may be modest in size, and it may not be listed, but it has historical appeal, as well as a charming country setting.” His glance came to rest on Emma. “It’s bucolic, if a bit of an anachronism.”

      Before she could lob back a suitable retort, Lizzy turned to him.

      “My sister and father are having a party to welcome us home on Sunday.” She met her new husband’s eyes and blushed. “Hugh and I just got back from our honeymoon.”

      “Congratulations.” He came forward to shake Hugh and Lizzy’s hands in turn. “My best wishes to you both.”

      “Why don’t you join us?” Lizzy ventured. “I’d love to see you. Give us a chance to catch up.”

      He hesitated. “That’s very kind. But I’m afraid I’m returning to London this afternoon.”

      “What a pity,” Emma said, and smiled sweetly. “I’m sure the demands of being a writer, associate producer, and general dogsbody keep you terribly busy.”

      “On the other hand,” Knightley said, pausing as his eyes met Emma’s with a mixture of amusement and challenge, “I suppose I could stay over for a couple of days and get the lay of the land before the production company arrives. It might prove useful.”

      “Wonderful,” Lizzy exclaimed. “We’ll see you here at noon, then?”

      He pushed himself away from the kitchen counter. “I look forward to it.” After exchanging polite pleasantries with Hugh Darcy and Mr Bennet for a few moments longer, he made to leave. “It’s time I said goodbye. It was a pleasure to meet you Hugh, Mr Bennet.” His gaze flicked to Emma. “Miss Bennet.”

      She pressed her lips together and managed a curt nod.

      “You’ll find the Litchfield Inn provides excellent accommodation,” Hugh told him. “And the Regency in Longbourne is very good as well.”

      “Thank you, and thank you all for your hospitality. I’d best be going.”

      “Emma,” her father suggested, “why don’t you see Mr Knightley out?”

      “Of course.” She followed Mark Knightley down the hall to the front door. For such a tall man, he moved with surprising grace.

      If one cared to notice such things, she told herself. And she most certainly did not.

      “Goodbye, Miss Bennet,” he said as she opened the door. “I’ll see you on Sunday, I expect.”

      “I’ll be here,” she assured him. “Dressed in serviceable but unstylish clothes and reeking faintly of the barnyard, no doubt. Goodbye, Mr Knightley.”

      He nodded and sketched a bow, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Goodbye.”

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