The Man Who Loved Jane Austen

they’d like to take a walk. However, if your bodice is in need of ripping I can call Harv for you.”

“That’s okay,” she grinned. “I actually only have the one bodice with me this trip anyway.”

Darcy stepped back. “As you wish,” and indicated the broad hallway with a sweeping bow. “Walk this way, then.”

Eliza stepped out into the darkened passage and followed him. “Where are we going?” she whispered.

He turned and winked at her, his finely formed features disturbingly handsome in the flickering light of the candle. “To the one place where we’re almost certain not to be disturbed,” he replied.

After several minutes of walking down narrow back staircases and through the silent house they emerged onto the lawn through a side door.

By the light of a full moon Darcy led Eliza down a worn path to a barnlike wooden structure that loomed ahead in a grove of trees. Darcy grabbed a pull handle and a large wooden door slowly opened with an appropriate horror-movie creaking of iron hinges. Eliza hesitantly followed him into a pitch-black space and stood nervously at his back while he fumbled to light a lantern he removed from a peg inside the door.

“Am I going to like this place?” she asked. “Or are there bats?”

“There might be a few bats living in here,” he replied, peering up into the pools of inky darkness filling the space between the dimly outlined rafters, “but they’re probably all out feeding at this time of night.”

“Oh, thanks,” she replied with a shudder. “Now I feel much better.”

The lantern suddenly flared, illuminating the interior of what appeared to be an ancient barn filled with large, box-like shapes. Eliza blinked in the glare and her mouth fell open as she realized what she was looking at.

For parked along the walls in two neat rows were no fewer than a dozen horse-drawn conveyances, their polished brass and painted woodwork gleaming like new in the lantern light.

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” she gasped.

“Family heirlooms one and all, and all quite comfortable,” Darcy said. He raised the lantern high and walked slowly down the aisle, past racy chaises, heavy traveling coaches, and light buggies with wheels as spindly as cobwebs. “Take your pick,” he told Eliza.

She wandered among the elegant vehicles, pausing from time to time to peer in at soft, hand-stitched leather seats and ran her fingers over shining red and black lacquer and delicately carved sills. At the end of the aisle she stopped before a graceful burgundy traveling coach with glass windows etched in elaborate floral patterns and an interior of spotless dove-gray suede.

“I pick this one,” she announced.

“My personal favorite!” said Darcy sounding pleased. “This coach belonged to the very first mistress of Pemberley Farms—”

Eliza clapped her hands. “Rose, your great-great-whatever-grandmother!”

“The very same,” he said, opening the door with a flourish to admit her to the roomy interior of the coach. “Climb in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Stepping up into the high passenger compartment, Eliza sank luxuriantly into the feather-soft cushions of the forward-facing rear seat and closed her eyes. “Now I know how Cinderella felt,” she uttered into the darkness. “But I’m warning you. I could get used to this.”

When no response was forthcoming she peered out into the barn through the open door, looking for some sign of him. “Hello?”

Darcy suddenly appeared at the window on the opposite side of the coach. He opened the door and climbed in, taking the seat facing hers. In his hands were an open bottle of champagne and two fragile wine glasses.

“Here you are,” he said, handing her a glass.

Eliza watched as he deftly filled first her glass and then his own and placed the bottle on a small wooden shelf. “Are you sure this isn’t a decadent prelude to some wild romance novel hanky- panky?” she asked, gazing at the golden effervescent wine.

“On my honor as a gentleman,” he pledged, touching his glass to hers with a musical ring. “I just thought you might enjoy a little authentic nineteenth-century atmosphere to go along with my tale.”

“A dashing gentleman, champagne and candlelight!” Eliza sipped the chilled golden wine, found it delicious and sipped again. “Every woman’s dream.”

His raised eyebrow made her blush at the exuberance of her reaction to the romantic gesture but his warm smile made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Needing to be in control, she sat up a little straighter in her seat, cocked her head and searched his chiseled features. “Fitz, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Eliza,” he replied, “so far you don’t seem to have asked any questions that haven’t been intensely personal.” There was a pause that made her fear he might say no. “But yes, you may go ahead.”

“Were you falling in love with Jane?”

Darcy’s eyes lit up with a sudden surge of hope that tugged at Eliza’s heart. “Does that question mean you believe my story?” he asked.

“Let’s just say I’m beginning to believe that you believe it,” she answered, struggling to keep the warring emotions that she was feeling out of her voice. “But you were falling in love with her, weren’t you?”

“I’m not sure I can truthfully answer that question,” he replied. “It’s easy to fall in love in a dream. And that’s what it all seemed like to me then.”

Darcy took another slow sip of his wine and closed his eyes, remembering. “As I was saying when we were interrupted earlier, Jane and I weren’t able to speak alone again, so as she was leaving Edward’s house that night…”

Volume Three

Chapter 25

The stately Edinburgh grandfather clock in the marble foyer of Chawton Great House was striking half past ten as Jane and Cassandra stood outside beneath the portico with several other guests, waiting for their carriages to arrive.

There was a chill in the night air and Jane was searching through her bag by the flickering light of the pitch torches affixed to wrought iron sconces at either side of the porch. The tension caused by Darcy’s earlier demands for a private meeting had been wearing on her and she had successfully avoided him only by remaining close to members of her family for the remainder of the evening.

Now the evening was at an end and Jane wished only to flee to the cozy safety of Chawton Cottage, there to reflect on what to do about the brash American. “My gloves, my green gloves,” she exclaimed, rummaging through her bag in frustration. “I am certain I put them in here…”

At that moment Darcy emerged from the house, a pair of ladies gloves in his hand. “Miss Austen, are these yours?” he politely inquired.

“Oh, yes,” Jane said, her eyes flashing with a fury that was not reflected in her voice. “I am grateful to you, Mr. Darcy,” she said for the benefit of Cassandra, “for these are my favorite pair. A gift from my brother Frank.”

Jane reached for the gloves. But as she did, Darcy stepped close and pressed them into her hand, along with something else. She looked down and saw a small square of paper lying in her upturned palm.

Before she could speak, Darcy stepped back and bowed. “I hope we will meet again very soon,” he said with a broad smile.

Across the portico Jane saw Edward and Frank engaged in conversation with one of her many cousins.