Read The Trouble With Emma Online
Authors: Katie Oliver
The Trouble With Emma
There’s a fine line between matchmaking and
meddling
…
Stuck in a boring job, living at home with her parents and without even a glimmer of romance on the horizon, Emma Bennet’s life isn’t turning out how she planned. And since hit reality show
Mind Your Manors
started being filmed at the Bennet household, she’s felt more like a spare part than ever.
Matchmaking her assistant, Martine, is just the distraction Emma needs – and, whether Martine likes it or not, Emma is determined to see her coupled up before long! But when she meets Mark Knightley, the genius behind
Mind Your Manors
, Emma finds her
own
heart on the line...
Mark is everything Emma isn’t: quiet, reserved…and forever minding his own business! And suddenly, Emma is determined to prove to Mark that she’s ready to stop thinking about other people’s love lives – and focus on her own.
The ‘Dating Mr Darcy’ trilogy:
Prada and Prejudice
Love and Liability
Mansfield Lark
The ‘Marrying Mr Darcy’ series:
And the Bride Wore Prada
Love, Lies and Louboutins
Manolos in Manhattan
The ‘Jane Austen Factor’ series:
What Would Lizzy Bennet Do?
The Trouble
with Emma
The Jane Austen Factor
Katie Oliver
KATIE OLIVER
loves romantic comedies, characters who ‘meet cute’, Richard Curtis films, and Prosecco (not necessarily in that order). She currently resides in South Florida with her husband, two parakeets, and a dog.
Katie has been writing since she was eight, and has a box crammed with (mostly unfinished) novels to prove it. With her sons grown and gone, she decided to get serious and write more (and hopefully better) stories. She even finishes most of them.
So if you like a bit of comedy with your romance, please visit Katie’s website, www.katieoliver.com, and have a look.
Here’s to love and all its complications…
To the fabulous bloggers who’ve read, reviewed, and generously supported my efforts – a heartfelt thank you. Gratitude also to Claire Ellis, Ashleigh Zara, Maria Nestorides, Nadia, Gem, and CJ Matthews; and last (but not least!), thanks to Karen Almeida, Margaret Sheldon Chase, and Jane and Michael Sotelo, my first beta readers.
Thank you, all.
Thank you to the usual suspects – my agent, my editor, and Carina UK – for your unstinting help, support, and belief in me. And most especially, thanks to all of you who’ve read and enjoyed my Jane Austen flights of fancy. I hope I’ve kept you suitably entertained.
Contents
“I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like.”
—Jane Austen, Emma
“Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet! You’ll never guess what I’ve just heard!”
Emma Bennet glanced up from her crossword puzzle. Martine Davies, the local girl whose Monday, Wednesday, and Friday visits kept the interior of Litchfield Manor more or less tidy, burst into the kitchen hugging two grocery sacks to her chest and slid them down her hips to the table. Her cheeks were pink with excitement and her dark eyes sparkled.
“Don’t tell me,” Emma said. “You’ve just won the EuroMillions and you’re turning in your notice.”
“I wish. Not that I mind tidying up and doing the weekly shop for you and your dad,” she added hastily. “But if I won a million pounds –?” She grinned. “I’d be gone like a shot.”
“Well, at least you’re honest.” Emma gave her a brief smile and returned to her puzzle.
Martine began pulling groceries out of the sacks – tinned tomatoes, a carton of ice cream, a punnet of raspberries, boxes of Weetabix and Coco Shreddies – and set them on the table. “Wouldn’t it be something, though,” she mused, “to win pots and pots of money, and never have to work again?” She sighed at the pleasure such a prospect brought.
“With money comes responsibility. You need to manage it properly and make it work for you.”
“I wouldn’t know how,” Martine said, and gave a shrug. “I’ve never had two pennies to rub together, myself.” She opened the refrigerator and put the raspberries and ice cream away. “And I reckon I never will…unless I find a rich bloke and convince him to marry me.” She laughed at the absurdity of that particular notion.
“It could happen. Anything’s possible.”
Martine shook her head firmly. “Where would I meet someone like that – in the grocer’s? Havin’ my hair done at Miss Bates’s Beauty Salon?” She snorted. “Not likely.”
Emma studied the girl’s face. With her high, round cheeks, perpetual smile, and glossy dark hair – scraped back now into a ponytail – Martine was pretty in an open, uncomplicated way.
With a few elocution lessons and a bit of guidance on how to dress – she eyed Martine’s tight T-shirt and jeans with barely concealed disapproval – she had the potential to be stunning.
“You meet the right man by going to the right places,” Emma informed her.
Not to mention knowing how to dress and speak properly once you’re there
, she nearly added, but didn’t. “Garden parties and dances and suchlike.”
“I s’pose.” Martine’s words were doubtful. She grabbed the tinned tomatoes and turned to put them away in the cupboard. “I don’t get invited to places like that, anyway. And even if I did I wouldn’t know what to do. Right now,” she added, “I’d be happy just to meet a nice bloke with a steady job.”
Frowning, Emma tapped her pencil against her lips.
What was a six-letter word for ‘behave in a certain manner’?
“Perhaps you should raise your expectations a bit higher.”
“Why? I’d only get slapped down if I did.” Martine was nothing if not a realist.
“Well, if you haven’t won a million pounds,” Emma said as she wrote ‘a-c-q-u-i-t’ neatly into the puzzle’s squares, “or received a marriage proposal from a wealthy aristocrat, what’s your news, then?”
“Right, I nearly forgot!” She turned back to face Emma as she rested her generous derrière against the counter. “Someone’s bought the manor house up on the hill.”
“Crossley Hall?” Emma’s eyes widened. “But that old place has been empty for years. Are you quite sure?”
“Positive. There’s an estate agent’s sign stuck out front an’ everything, says ‘sold’ plain as day.” She leaned forward. “But that’s not the best bit.”
“No? All right, then, tell me – what is?”
“The Hall’s been bought…by a man.” She crossed her arms against her chest and eyed Emma smugly. “A bachelor, from London.”
Hearing the news, Emma dropped her pencil, the crossword puzzle forgotten. “Indeed? And who is this mysterious bachelor who’s chosen to move house to our little village?”
“That’s the thing, miss.” Martine’s face clouded. “I asked around, but no one knows who he is. Not the grocer, not the postmistress – not even the stylists over at Miss Bates’s beauty salon. And they know
everything
that goes on in Litchfield.”
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough when our new neighbour moves in. Although it might be some time before he does,” she added, “as I’m sure the Hall isn’t fit for habitation. It’ll require a lot of work, inside and out. It’s stood empty for a good many years.”
“It’s probably full of mice and spiders and furry creatures,” Martine agreed, and shuddered. “I wouldn’t want the job of cleanin’
that
place up.”
“Ah, Martine,” Mr Bennet called out as he came in the front door and made his way into the kitchen. “There you are. You’re just the person I wanted to see.”
“Me, sir?” She saw the sacks in his arms and hurried to take one from him. “What’ve you got in here?” she asked, and peered inside. “Apples!”
He nodded and set the other sack down on the counter. “Two bags full of Pippins, just picked and waiting to be peeled and made into lovely apple pies.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I’m counting on you to help me make it happen.” He turned his attention to his eldest daughter. “Emma, grab a paring knife. You can turn the radio on and help us peel.”
“
Such
a shame,” Emma said with mock regret, “but I’m on my way to the village.” She stood and kissed her father’s cheek and added, “I’ll see you both later. Have fun peeling.”
“If you don’t help with the work, don’t expect to share the fruits of our labour,” he called out after her. “More pie for you and me, eh, Martine?”
More pie is the last thing either of you needs
, Emma thought uncharitably as she went upstairs to get ready. Mr Bennet was already plump as a partridge, and Martine’s jeans strained to cover her bum. If she lost a stone the girl had the potential to be a knockout.
Oh, well. Rome wasn’t built in a day, she reminded herself, and giving a makeover to a girl like Martine – who, despite her pretty face and sweet nature, had neither money nor education to recommend her – would require more than twenty-four hours.
But the idea of taking Martine under her wing, turning her from a rough-edged country girl and polishing her, like one of daddy’s Pippins, into someone more refined – more
worthy
– took hold in Emma’s thoughts and wouldn’t let go.
She went into her bedroom and picked up her handbag. In truth, she had no real reason to go to Litchfield; the pantry was stocked, thanks to Martine, and there was nothing she needed from the shops, no mail to take to the post office. But the girl’s words had piqued her curiosity.
Someone’s bought the manor house up on the hill. A bachelor
.
From London
.
The news, Emma decided as she went downstairs and let herself out, was most intriguing…
…and worthy of immediate investigation.
Late summer in Litchfield meant tourists overran the normally quiet village – children with sand pails, teenagers, families stopping in the shops for a book or a pair of flip flops or a cup of morning coffee, couples having lunch in the corner chip shop.
Emma nodded to several acquaintances as she made her way down Mulberry Street. She paused for a glance into the Box Hill Bookstore’s window, tempted to slip in and browse the shelves. But, she reminded herself with regret, she’d other priorities at the moment.