The Man Who Loved Jane Austen

Eliza took his hand and stepped out of the carriage with a nervous smile. “I warned him I’ve got nothing more formal to wear than jeans and T-shirts,” she said, nodding toward Harv, who was busy gathering up the two small bags they’d retrieved from her rented Toyota.

“There is vintage clothing in the wardrobe room,” Darcy assured her, “so I’m sure you can find something appropriate to wear.”

His smile faded and his expression turned suddenly serious. “I was afraid I’d frightened you away for good. I hope you’ll forgive my earlier outburst. It was very wrong of me to assume that you came here to sell your letters.” He fixed her in his haunting green-eyed gaze. “I must confess that I’m very surprised to see you back,” he continued. “My behavior was unforgivable.”

“I guess that makes us even, then,” Eliza said. “I’d already been feeling pretty awful about how I treated you on the Internet, so I probably overreacted myself.”

She looked around to see if Harv was listening and saw that he was engaged in turning over her luggage to a portly, middle-aged woman who had come down from the house.

“I really came back to hear why you said that Jane’s letter was meant for you,” she frankly admitted to Darcy. “That is, if you’re willing to tell me.”

Darcy’s smile returned and he nodded. “Mrs. Temple,” he called to the woman with Harv, “would you see that the Rose Bedroom is prepared for Miss Knight? I’m going to take her down to see the horses now.” With that he took Eliza’s arm and led her away.

Harv watched them walk across the lawn toward the end of the house, then he turned to Mrs. Temple, whose mouth had fallen open. “You heard the gentleman,” he said. “The lady will be staying in the Rose Bedroom.”

The astonished housekeeper followed his gaze to Eliza and Darcy. “He’s putting her in the Rose Bedroom!” she exclaimed breathily. “Who on earth is she?”

Harv shrugged and gave Mrs. Temple a boyish grin. “Evidently an honored guest of your employer,” he replied.

Knowing better than to expect any further help or information from Harv, the housekeeper clucked her tongue three times to register her disapproval of the unanticipated situation. Then she wiped her red hands on her apron in resignation, hefted Eliza’s bags and disappeared into the house with them.

“I cannot believe that woman is going to be staying in the Rose Bedroom!” she said.

“Oh, hello, Faith!” Harv turned to look at his sister, who had crept up to eavesdrop while he was speaking with the housekeeper, and then he glanced at his watch and frowned. “It took you close to sixty seconds to get up here from the lawn,” he informed Faith. “That’s nowhere near your best time.”

“What does that witch want with Fitz?” Faith demanded, craning her long, smooth neck to peer in the direction the couple had gone.

“Best I could make out is that she has some old letters that he wants to buy,” he replied. Seeing Faith’s always-suspicious eyes narrow in a way that promised big trouble was not far off, he added, “You know how Fitz is about that kind of thing these days…”

To Harv’s great relief his last remark seemed to have had the desired effect on his combative sister— because her suspicious frown lessened noticeably and her pushed-out lower lip receded by several millimeters. “Old letters! And she’s holding out on the price,” Faith knowingly proclaimed.

“Well now that I can understand. I thought it was something serious.”

Chapter 16

As Eliza walked with Darcy past the house she saw that the broad gravel drive in front of the property branched into a narrower lane. They followed the pleasant road down a slight hill toward a complex of low brick buildings trimmed in green and ringed with white rail fences. Several of the fenced enclosures adjoining the lane contained horses, which came trotting expectantly to the rails to watch the couple passing by.

Looking at the converging scenery of lush countryside and distant mountains, Eliza was reminded of Jane Austen’s description of Pemberley in Pride and Prejudice. What was it? Something about how man had not interfered with what nature had done. That’s how Fitz’s farm seemed to her and she remarked, “I’d love to paint here sometime,” and meant it.

“You’re an artist,” Darcy replied, sounding pleased that she approved of his property. “But then, I suppose I should have figured that out from your online screen name. Smartist, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she laughed, wondering just how smart she was being in having agreed to spend the weekend as the guest of the strangely obsessed horseman. “I paint idealized country landscapes.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows. “In Manhattan?”

“I guess that does sound a little odd,” Eliza said, though she had never thought of her way of working as particularly odd until he had implied it. “Though they’re based on actual places I’ve visited, most of the landscapes I paint are imaginary,” she explained. “I often compose them entirely in my mind beforehand, so I suppose you could say they’re really fantasies.”

Darcy thought about that for a long moment. “That could turn out to be an advantage,” he said, “when I try to explain to you about the letter.”

She cast a questioning glance his way but he kept walking, so she said nothing and waited for him to go on.

“What I meant was that it may be helpful that you work with your imagination,” he continued. “Because I’m absolutely positive that what I’m about to tell you would be automatically rejected by anyone without a receptive mind.”

“About why you said Jane’s letter was meant for you?” she asked.

Darcy nodded. “I’ve never discussed the reasons for my interest in Jane Austen with anyone.”

Eliza wasn’t quite sure if another response was expected from her. So when Darcy did not say anything further for several more seconds she nudged him. “Well, I’m all ears,” she said.

“Perhaps, but it’s difficult to know where to begin, considering the fact that you obviously already think I’m deranged,” he responded, looking grave.

“I’m so sorry about what I said to you before!” she apologized, determined not to provoke him again, at least not until she had heard him out. “I have such a big mouth,” she added. “I’m afraid tact has never been one of my virtues.”

Darcy raised a hand to preclude any further admissions of guilt on her part. “Please don’t apologize,” he said. “In fact, there was a long period of time when I wondered myself whether I was merely delusional, or if…”

He left the thought hanging as the enormous black stallion he had been riding earlier extended its head over the fence and whinnied for his attention. Stepping off the road, Darcy walked over to the enclosure, patted the animal’s nose and fished in his pocket for a handful of something. Eliza came over and leaned on the rails beside him and watched the horse gratefully nuzzling the treat from his open palm.

“Before I begin my story,” Darcy said, turning to look at her, “you should probably know that my family has been breeding champion hunters and jumpers on this same land for generations.”

Deprived of Darcy’s full attention, the black horse fixed a jealous eye on Eliza, then tossed its noble head impatiently in an obvious plea for more of whatever the treat had been.

“I saw the plaque on your gates,” Eliza said, keeping a wary eye on the magnificent animal, which still frightened her, mostly because of its size. “The idea that it’s been in your family since—is it 1789?—is amazing.”

Darcy nodded. “We’ve always been proud of our heritage. And we’ve been buying and selling horses across the Atlantic since the late 1800s,” he told her. “So my visit to England three years ago began as an ordinary business trip.” He hesitated for a moment. “It wasn’t really ordinary, I suppose. You see I had gone to England specifically to attend a breeder’s auction at which a particular horse was to be sold. A champion among champions.” He rubbed the velvety nose of the big black stallion again. “Lord Nelson, meet Eliza Knight.”