Happy Birthday, Mr Darcy (2 page)

‘I can write anywhere,’ he told her and so they’d registered with several Oxfordshire estate agents and had viewed two properties together already.

It was fun to imagine the kind of property they’d end up with. They’d decided that it had to be bigger than Katherine’s but smaller than Warwick’s. Georgian or Regency would be perfect with the generously proportioned rooms of the period and the large sash windows that they both adored but Katherine also leaned to earlier properties with their cosy little rooms and beams.

‘Too dark,’ Warwick had said when she’d told him. ‘And don’t say I can write by candlelight. I want nice big windows in my study.’

Katherine took a deep breath. She was going to live with Warwick Lawton –
really
live with him - not just for the space of a weekend or a holiday but forever.

Gazing down at the silvery brightness of her engagement ring, she realised that her life was about to change out of all recognition and that thought terrified her. What if she was making a huge mistake?

Chapter 2

‘What a pity Cassandra isn’t old enough to be a bridesmaid,’ Robyn Love Harcourt said wistfully as she tidied away the bridal magazines which her boss, Dame Pamela Harcourt had ordered. There were quite a few of them and each one had been plundered for ideas in preparation for the upcoming wedding. Robyn, who was a true romantic, had spent hours flipping through the pages and she couldn’t stop imagining her daughter in a fondant-pink dress, throwing rose petals down the aisle.

‘She’ll be old enough one day,’ Dame Pamela said. ‘Maybe I’ll get married again and she can be
my
bridesmaid.’

Robyn blinked in surprise, unsure if Dame Pamela was joking or not. She looked at her boss for a moment as she pulled out a ten by eight glossy black and white photograph of herself in the role of Ophelia in
Hamlet
before signing it with a flourish.

‘There, send that out to Mr Piper,’ she said.

Mr Piper was one of Dame Pamela’s biggest fans and regularly wrote her passionate letters that ran to ten or more pages. He sent her flowers on her birthday, chocolates for Valentine’s Day and outrageously lavish gifts from his home furnishings company for Christmas. He was, Robyn thought, Dame Pamela’s number one fan but she did often wonder what he did with all the photographs she kept posting to him. He could probably paper his whole house with them by now.

‘Would you really consider getting married again?’ Robyn asked.

Dame Pamela looked up from her desk. She was wearing a powder blue dress with a silk scarf tied around her neck and an enormous pair of aquamarine earrings. Her silver-white hair was swept up in its famous chignon and a large diamond clip sparkled in its depths.

‘My dear Robyn, I have had more husbands than I care to count and, although I adore men, I’d prefer not to live with one again. Apart from Higgins, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Robyn said with a smile, thinking of the faithful butler who had been a part of Dame Pamela’s life for at least twenty years.

‘Anyway,
you
are going to look absolutely resplendent in your outfit,’ Dame Pamela told her.

Robyn smiled, thinking of the Regency dress which had been specially made for her in her role as maid of honour. It was an Empire-line dress in sky-blue – one of Katherine’s favourite colours – and was hand-embroidered with white roses which both Robyn and Katherine were going to carry in their bouquets. Finished with a simple white ribbon around the waist, the dress really was the last word in sophistication and Dame Pamela had also insisted on a matching Spencer jacket being made in case the English summer proved inclement. Robyn adored her outfit and couldn’t wait to wear it. She knew it would be treasured for years to come and worn again and again at Purley Hall’s Jane Austen conferences when the time came to dress up.

Robyn stared out of the window of Dame Pamela’s office, her gaze going far beyond the cedar tree towards the fields. Dan was out riding that way on Perseus. He’d taken Biscuit the Jack Russell with him but dear old Moby the Golden Labrador was sitting at home in his wicker basket after a more sedate walk in the grounds earlier that morning. He was slowing down and knew his limitations but he still enjoyed a poke around in the hedgerows and Robyn’s pace with the baby stroller suited him just fine.

For a moment, Robyn thought of her tall, handsome husband. He was Warwick’s best man and was going to wear the most perfect Regency gentleman’s outfit with a sky-blue cravat to match her gown. She had only seen him in it once at the last fitting and had almost had to ask for some smelling salts for fear of swooning completely. He looked like he’d just stepped out of the pages of a nineteenth-century novel.

‘Robyn?’

Robyn blinked and looked at Dame Pamela. Had she said something?

‘You were miles away,’ Dame Pamela said.

‘Just thinking about the wedding,’ Robyn said, feeling herself blush.

‘Thinking of our Danny in his Regency finery, were you?’

Robyn couldn’t hide her smile. ‘It’s very hard not to,’ she said.

Dame Pamela nodded. ‘Why don’t men dress like that anymore?’ she said, her heavily-powdered forehead wrinkling in consternation. ‘I mean, you can’t beat a nice cravat, can you?’

‘Or a waistcoat,’ Robyn added.

‘But men insist on wearing those awful sweatshirt things with the hoods or a baggy T-shirt that does nothing for the male form.’

‘Higgins does his best,’ Robyn said.

Dame Pamela nodded. ‘Higgins has done his utmost to resurrect the waistcoat but he’s no Colin Firth, alas.’

Robyn giggled.

‘Let’s just hope we can persuade a few of the male guests to don a costume.’

Robyn nodded. Dame Pamela was going to wheel her great wardrobe of Regency costumes out for guests to rummage through and she’d had at least two dozen new ones made especially for the occasion in the hope that everybody would join in. Yes, Dame Pamela was quite determined that Purley Hall was going to be awash with muslin, bonnets and cravats come the day of the wedding.

Chapter 3

Warwick Lawton had lost his pen and was bent double with his head upside down when the telephone rang. He ignored it for a moment because the pen was his favourite and he simply had to find it. It was a fountain pen which Katherine had bought him and he used it for signing contracts and letters to his readers and for writing the very first outline of a new novel which he’d been in the middle of doing when the pen had gone missing. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing it.

Fountain pens were a bit of a private joke between the two of them because he had bought her one for her birthday engraved with the words ‘So much in love’ from
Pride and Prejudice
and she had had his fountain pen engraved with the words ‘A great proficient’ also from
Pride and Prejudice
. Warwick had erupted with laughter when he’d read it.

‘You didn’t go for “
so much in love”
, then?’ he’d asked with a naughty grin.

‘No,’ Katherine had said. ‘I like to be original.’

The phone stopped ringing and blissful silence filled the study once more. Warwick picked up some loose pages of A4 paper on his desk but the pen wasn’t there.

For a moment, he looked at the silver-framed photograph of him and Katherine which he kept on his desk. It had been taken by a passing rambler up in the Peak District when Warwick had taken Katherine rock climbing. They had their arms wrapped around each other and their smiles couldn’t have been bigger if they’d fallen into the plot of their favourite novel like in the TV drama
Lost in Austen
.

He smiled as he remembered the day. They’d driven up to Derbyshire from Katherine’s cottage in Oxfordshire. Warwick had bought an enormous hamper filled with gourmet food and they’d spread a tartan rug out on the ground overlooking the glorious countryside of the White Peak. Then he had introduced her to his world of ropes, harnesses and carabiners. Katherine had been uncharacteristically quiet.

‘Nervous?’ he’d asked her.

‘Of course not,’ she’d said. ‘I’m just concentrating.’

He smiled at her sun-filled face in the photograph now. The soon-to-be Mrs Lawton.

‘Mrs Katherine Lawton,’ he said, the name sounding luxurious on his tongue. Although she was still to be Dr Katherine Roberts at St Bridget’s and would publish her books and papers under her old name too. But this beautiful, intelligent, funny woman was going to become his wife and he couldn’t quite believe his luck.

The phone started ringing again and he picked it up. ‘Yes?’ he said abruptly.

‘Darling! Whatever is the matter?’

‘Nadia,’ he said with a weary sigh. ‘You’ve caught me at a bad time.’

‘And when is a good time? You were meant to be calling me about this new idea of yours.’

‘Yes, I know. I’m trying to get it down right now only I’ve lost my pen,’ Warwick said, pulling the extension lead of the phone as far as it would go so he could inspect the rest of the room. Honestly, his agent had the most uncanny knack of catching him at the worst possible moment as well as being able to stick her foot in it like nobody else he’d ever met.

Warwick had come pretty close to parting with Nadia Sparks after the stunt she’d pulled at Purley Hall during that first fateful Jane Austen conference he’d attended. His agent had had one too many drinks and had then gone and told Katherine about Warwick’s secret identity before he’d got a chance to tell her himself.

‘You’d still be waiting to tell her if it hadn’t been for me!’ she’d said in defence of herself.

Anyway, that was all ancient history and Katherine had forgiven him. Eventually.

‘I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this weekend,’ Nadia went on. ‘How’s the groom holding up?’

‘The groom is holding up fine,’ Warwick said, raking a hand through his dark hair. Why did everybody keep asking him that? Were they expecting him to do a runner or something?

‘No cold feet?’ Nadia pressed.

‘No,’ Warwick said.

‘No last-minute regrets about losing your bachelor lifestyle?’

‘Nadia – are you trying to put me off marriage?’

‘Well, I
am
concerned that being an old married man might restrict your literary output,’ she said.

‘It’s not going to affect my writing,’ Warwick told her.

‘Well, maybe not now but what will happen when little Warwick junior makes an appearance?’

‘What?’

‘
Babies!
’

‘Oh, Nadia! We’re only just about to become husband and wife. Give us a chance!’

‘It’s you who’s always telling me that “a lady’s imagination is very rapid” and mine is more rapid than most,’ Nadia said.

‘Indeed it is!’ Warwick said. ‘Look, you
will
be on your best behaviour at the wedding?’

‘I’m
always
on my best behaviour,’ Nadia said with a fruity chuckle.

‘Just stay clear of the cocktails.’

‘Warwick, darling. You know I never drink these days.’

Warwick rolled his eyes at the blatant lie.

‘Anyway, enough about weddings,’ Nadia said, getting down to business, ‘I thought you were going to send me this synopsis you’ve been talking about before you swan off on your honeymoon.’

‘I am. I will,’ Warwick said, ‘as soon as I can find my pen.’

‘Pen?’ Nadia said. ‘You write it with a
pen
?’

‘I always write the synopsis with a pen and then type it up later.’

‘Good heavens! I didn’t know my best client was living in the dark ages.’

‘I like a nice pen,’ Warwick said. ‘It helps me think things through – the slow flow of ink onto the page-’

‘Just get it to me before all this wedding business takes over, okay?’

‘I’ll get it to you,’ Warwick said, hanging up. It was then that he spotted the pen. It had somehow rolled off his desk and onto the floor and had gone under a cabinet on the other side of the room. He bent down to retrieve it, his hair flopping over his eyes. He’d been going to get a nice short haircut but Katherine had asked him to keep it long for the wedding.

‘It looks cute,’ she’d said. ‘Like ‘Hugh Grant in
Sense and Sensibility
.’

Warwick flicked it out of his eyes now and looked at the engraving on the pen again.

‘
A great proficient
,’ he read with a little laugh. ‘A great idiot more like. What on earth is someone like Katherine doing marrying a chump like me?’

Chapter 4

‘2013 is a very special year. Can anybody tell me why?’

‘It’s the year you’re getting married, Dr Roberts,’ Bethany, a dark-haired student said, and everybody laughed.

Katherine was taking her last tutorial of the summer term with twelve students and all of them had clocked the diamond engagement ring as soon as she’d started wearing it and had beaten her down with questions.

‘Well, yes,’ Katherine said, ‘I can’t deny it’s special because of that but why else? What are we celebrating?’

‘The year after the Olympics?’ another student offered.

Katherine was in too good a mood to throw one of her Lady Catherine de Bourgh glares at her student.

‘Have a look at the frontispiece,’ Katherine said.

A couple of her students looked blank.

‘The front page,’ Katherine elaborated. ‘This edition has a facsimile of the original frontispiece. What do you notice about it?’

‘It doesn’t have her name on it,’ a student called Laurie volunteered.

‘That’s true,’ Katherine said, thankful that somebody had made a half-decent observation, ‘but look at the date.’

‘1813,’ Bethany said. ‘It’s two hundred years old.’

‘Exactly,’ Katherine said. ‘2013 marks the two hundredth anniversary of
Pride and Prejudice
and what I thought we could discuss today is what makes a story live on centuries after it was written. Why are we still reading and studying Austen, the Brontës, Dickens and Hardy?’

‘Because they wrote good stories,’ Bethany said.