What Would Lizzy Bennet Do? (29 page)

‘That’s absurd! She didn’t know you were gone.’

‘Obviously she did, or she wouldn’t have come looking for you. Your mother must’ve told her, or Harry.’

‘Holly,’ he said firmly, and came to her to take her hands in his, ‘you’re overreacting. We rode out to the pasture and back, Lizzy and I, and looked at the bloody sheep. That’s all. You don’t see me getting upset because you went sailing with Harry this afternoon, do you?’

Instantly, guilt assailed her. If he only knew how very close she’d come to kissing his brother…

‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ She sighed and leaned forward to brush her mouth against his. ‘I’m being completely ridiculous, aren’t I?’

‘Completely,’ he agreed, and his lips curved into a smile. ‘But I like it that you’re so possessive. It shows how much you love me.’

‘I do love you,’ she murmured, just before his lips claimed hers. ‘I love you madly, Mr Darcy.’

And she did love him, she thought dazedly as she lost herself in his kiss. She
did
.

***

‘Don’t forget to take a few umbrellas along,’ Mr Bennet cautioned as he and his daughters loaded the Mini on Saturday morning. ‘The forecast says there’s a possibility of rain later today.’

Emma, her arms filled with a stack of folded beach towels, glanced up at the sky with a sceptical expression. ‘Well, it’s sunny and perfect at the moment. There’s not a cloud to be seen. I do hope the weather holds during the regatta.’

‘So do I,’ Mr Bennet agreed, and hoisted a picnic basket loaded with every sort of food imaginable into the tiny boot. ‘I should be disappointed to have to dine
al fresco
under an umbrella in the pouring rain.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Lizzy said thoughtfully. ‘Sharing a picnic lunch under an umbrella in the rain sounds pretty romantic.’

‘Not if the sandwiches get soggy,’ Emma, ever the realist, pointed out. ‘Crikey,’ she added in dismay as Mr Bennet went back into the house, ‘where’ll I put these towels? With this massive picnic basket in here, there’s no room for anything else.’

‘I know where you can put them,’ Charli retorted, and stalked past her and climbed into the back seat of the car.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Emma asked.

‘She doesn’t want to go to the regatta,’ Lizzy answered. ‘She’s over her obsession with Ciaran Duncan – so she says – and wants to stay home and brood, but Daddy won’t let her.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He doesn’t trust her just yet.’

‘I don’t blame him.’ Emma sniffed. ‘Charlotte isn’t worthy of anyone’s trust. I hope he doesn’t expect
us
to keep an eye on her…?’

‘I do indeed,’ Mr Bennet said as he returned with a jug of iced tea and a portable radio in his hands. ‘I expect you
all
to stay out of trouble.’ He frowned and began to rummage through the packed boot. ‘Now, then, I’m certain I packed a bottle-opener somewhere in here…’

***

‘Is everyone ready to go?’ Lady Darcy called up the stairs. ‘It’s half past. We really should be on our way if we expect to find a proper spot to watch the regatta race.’

Holly and Hugh came downstairs. ‘We’re ready,’ Holly said, and glanced up at her fiancé. ‘Aren’t we, darling?’

‘Ready,’ he confirmed. ‘Where’s Harry?’

‘Oh, he left ages ago,’ his mother said, and turned towards the door. ‘He had to make sure the
Pemberley
’s ready to go.’

Holly busied herself checking that she had everything she needed in her tote bag – sunglasses, sun cream, a floppy hat – to hide the telltale flush that rose on her cheeks at the mention of the Darcy yacht.

‘Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve got a tiny cut, just there.’

Harry had reached out to touch her face, and Holly had known the instant his fingers brushed against her cheek that he’d wanted to kiss her. His lips had come dangerously close to hers.

And she’d
wanted
him to kiss her.

‘Coming, darling?’ Hugh enquired, and held out his arm to her.

She smiled and slid her tote bag into the crook of her elbow. ‘I’m ready,’ she said, and took his arm. ‘Let’s go and watch Harry win that regatta cup.’

Chapter 35

Saturday’s regatta in Longbourne proved to be even more crowded than the previous week’s event. Every car in South Devon looked to be parked along the streets or jammed in the car parks; pedestrians crowded the pavement, and bicycles and scooters zipped past.

‘At least Daddy didn’t ride
his
bicycle,’ Charli said, and gave a dramatic little shudder as they staked out a spot on the beach and spread their towels and set up chairs. ‘It’s so embarrassing when he does.’

‘It’s good exercise,’ Lizzy pointed out. ‘You should try it sometime.’

‘I’m sure the only exercise Charlotte favours,’ Emma said with a smirk, ‘is the lateral variety, with a boy.’

Charli, who’d normally have thrown back a cutting retort, was far too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow’s cruise on the
Meryton
to care. Would Ciaran win the race today?

She hoped so.

She’d seen him aboard the sailboat, talking to the captain as she and her sisters walked past the marina, and he’d lifted his hand to wave at her. He’d looked gorgeous, muscled – but not overly so – and fit, with his chest defined against his polo shirt, and his arms and legs lightly bronzed and sheened with sea spray.

Perhaps she’d made a mistake, turning him away.

Well tomorrow, as Scarlett O’Hara had once so famously said, was another day.

Charlotte frowned. She didn’t have a bikini to wear on the yacht, thanks to Daddy and his ridiculously old-fashioned rules; but the red swimsuit would do, especially if she pulled the straps (and the top) down just a bit – strictly for sun-bathing purposes, of course…

‘…I
said
, do you want an egg sandwich?’ Lizzy was asking her, an expression of annoyance on her face. ‘Are you even listening to me?’

‘Yes,’ Charli snapped. ‘I’m bloody listening to you. And yes, I’d like an egg sandwich.’ She caught it as Lizzy tossed it at her and unwrapped the waxed paper. ‘Thanks.’

‘What’s got you so cranky?’ her sister asked as she dropped down onto a beach towel and bit into her own sandwich.

‘Nothing. I just didn’t want to come here today, that’s all.’

‘But why not? I should think you’d welcome a chance to eye up Ciaran Duncan all afternoon, and cheer him on.’

‘I do. And I will. But I can’t keep lusting after film stars and boy band singers for ever, Lizzy.’ Charlotte chewed her egg and bacon sarnie with a moody expression. ‘I want someone real, not someone I can never have. Someone I can go riding with, or talk to, or – or share a Chinese takeaway with after a date. I want a real, proper boyfriend.’

Lizzy was silent.

‘But I’ll never meet anyone here,’ she went on, scowling as she glanced at the colourful bunting and crowds of people everywhere. ‘Not with every boy in South Devon afraid to touch me because of Daddy. They must think he has a direct phone line to God, and that he’ll send them straight to Hell if they so much as kiss me. It isn’t fair. I’ll die a virgin.’

‘I think,’ Lizzy said slowly, ‘that Daddy’s overprotective because you’re the youngest… and he’s not quite sure what to do about you, now that Mum’s gone.’

Charli cast her a perplexed glance. ‘Do about me? What do you mean?’

‘He doesn’t know how to cope with you,’ she said. ‘I mean, think about it – Emma was already out of her teens and I was sixteen when Mum died. We got through the worst ravages of puberty on her watch. But you… you’re still coping with boys and sex and all of that angsty, hormonal stuff, and Dad doesn’t have a clue how to get on with you. So he overreacts.’

‘Oh. I think I see what you mean.’ And she did.
Poor Daddy
. He was only a man – and a former vicar, at that – trying to cope with three stroppy daughters, one of them oversexed and constantly hormonal. She felt an unexpected surge of sympathy for him.

‘If it were up to him,’ Lizzy went on, ‘I’ve no doubt he’d lock you in a tower and throw away the key until you’ve either gone to uni or got married, whichever comes first.’ She smiled. ‘In the meantime, he’s doing the best he can. He does love you, Charli.’ Her smile faded. ‘You
do
know that, don’t you?’

Charlotte nodded and laid her sandwich, half-eaten, aside. ‘I guess. Maybe you could talk to him? Ask him to loosen the noose a bit?’

Lizzy eyed her in consideration. ‘I might do. But you have to do your part as well.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Show him he can trust you,’ she said. ‘Quit sneaking out of your bedroom window, for one thing. Earn his trust and he might allow you a bit more freedom.’

‘Do you think so? Really?’

‘Well,’ Lizzy said tartly as she finished her sandwich and crumpled the waxed paper wrapping, ‘you have nothing to lose by trying, do you?’

And Charlotte was forced to admit that her sister had a very good point.

***

As she settled into a folding beach chair next to Hugh, Holly’s gaze wandered past the crowds of people and bunting and the tall ships’ masts in search of the
Pemberley
.

The sky was blue and cloudless. Gulls circled and called, and the freshening breeze carried with it the scent of the sea and – typically for Longbourne – the distinctive odour of chips and sun cream as well.

‘There’s Harry,’ she told Hugh as she spotted the Darcys’ yacht, and pointed.

Hugh’s younger brother stood mid-ship, shouting at someone halfway up the mainmast, and Holly shaded her eyes against the early sun as she followed his gaze upwards.

She frowned. Wasn’t that –
Billy
?

It was. The boy, clad in madras plaid shorts and a T-shirt, clung to the mast like a monkey and made his way back down to the deck.

‘Is this a private party, or might I join you?’

Holly tore her attention away from Harry and the activity aboard the
Pemberley
to find Lady de Byrne standing before them, a straw bag in hand and her sunglasses firmly in place. She wore a bright pink trouser suit.

Hugh stood. ‘Hello, Lady Georgina. Please, have a seat.’ He reached out to the pile of wooden sling-backed chairs and folded one open. ‘Here you are.’ He set the chair down between himself and Holly and helped his godmother into the seat.

‘Has the regatta begun yet?’ she asked once she was comfortably settled, scanning the sea of masts and rigging. ‘I should hate to miss anything.’

‘No, it hasn’t started,’ Holly told her. ‘Soon, though.’ She gave Lady Georgina a polite smile. ‘Have you brought your daughter along with you?’

‘Imogen’s here,’ she confirmed, ‘although she’s not, thank goodness, with me.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘She came along with our houseguest, Oliver Slade, and they went to get something to eat before the race begins.’

‘Is he enjoying his visit?’

‘I hardly know. I’ve scarcely seen the man since he arrived.’

Hugh frowned. ‘Did you say Oliver Slade? I can’t think why, but the name is familiar to me.’

‘Believe me,’ Lady de Byrne assured him, ‘he’s no one you’d ever have occasion to meet. The man is dreadful. He wears loud ties,’ she added, and shuddered. ‘One can only imagine where Imogen met him. He claims it was at the Marquess of Cavendish’s country estate, but I find that very difficult to believe.’

Hugh was about to ask her why that was so when the blue ‘P’ flag went up, snapping smartly in the wind.

‘Only four minutes until the start of the race,’ he told Holly and Lady Georgina.

‘It’s terribly exciting, isn’t it?’ Lady Darcy exclaimed as she and her husband joined them. ‘I do hope Harry wins!’

‘Well, we’ll soon find out.’ Hugh stood again and unfolded two more chairs and set them up, and they all leaned back in anticipation and waited for the race to begin.

Holly could barely contain her excitement. The class flag was lowered and the race was officially underway.

In between nibbling on cold lobster salad and sipping at white wine with the others, she leaned forward to follow the progress of the six yachts with avid interest, borrowing Hugh’s binoculars now and then to get a closer look.

Just as in the finals race, the other yachts entered in the contest trailed well behind the
Meryton
and the
Pemberley
. Both vessels were neck and neck and had been from the moment the flag dropped.

‘Who do you suppose will win?’ Holly asked as she leaned over to return the binoculars to Hugh.

‘Honestly? It’s anyone’s guess. The
Meryton
’s a keen competitor and she’s lightning fast. I hate to say it, but Harry’s crew faces a tough job of it just to stay ahead.’

The sky, earlier so clear and blue, had gradually darkened to a dull, pewter grey as rainclouds began to move in; but thankfully, the rain held off as the yachts raced back across the bay, sails billowing as they sliced through the waves, bringing them ever closer to the finish line.

***

Emma took the binoculars from Charlotte, who had them trained on the
Meryton
.

‘Give those back!’ Charli protested. ‘I was watching the race.’

‘You’re watching Ciaran,’ Emma retorted. ‘Besides, you’ve had them long enough. It’s my turn.’ She held the binoculars to her eyes and scanned the shoreline.

‘Who are you looking for?’ Lizzy asked as she took a packet of chips from the beach tote. ‘The yachts are on the water, not the sand.’

‘I’m looking for Daddy,’ she replied, and frowned. ‘I don’t see him anywhere – oh, wait… there he is.’ The binoculars came to rest on Mr Bennet, sitting cross-legged on a blanket under a striped beach umbrella. He’d rolled his trouser legs up; and despite a liberal application of sun cream, he was already turning faintly pink. Beside him she saw the picnic basket, and a woman sitting opposite.

‘Can you see her?’ Lizzy demanded, and reached for the binoculars. ‘Can you see Araminta?’

Emma dodged her. ‘Not really. Only her back, and it’s ramrod straight.’

‘What’s she wearing?’ Charli asked, and sat up from her prone position on the beach towel. ‘Let me have a look. After all, she might end up as our stepmother one day.’