Lily:Baskerville Books has been here for almost seventy years, yet compared to other London institutions like Daunt Books or Foyles, you’re relatively unknown. What do you think is the secret to your shop’s longevity?
Maggie:Well it’s certainly not easy to survive in the current climate, but I’m lucky that over the past seven decades we’ve developed a very loyal customer base; many of my regulars have been shopping here since my grandmother’s days. I think word of mouth is hugely important too. I get people coming from all over the world because they’ve heard about Baskerville Books from a friend of a friend and want to experience our magic for themselves. We may not be as well knownas Daunt or Foyles, but sometimes I think there are advantages to being a well-kept secret.
I finished reading the post and leaned back against my pillow, exhaling slowly. How had this sweet, romance-loving woman spawned such a horrible, happy-ever-after-despising child? If I hadn’t seen the photo, I’d have found it hard to believe the shop Maggie was talking about was the same one I’d stumbled into the other day. I could only imagine how horrified she’d be if she knew that her son was now refusing to sell her beloved romance novels to customers.
I scanned the article again, and my eyes fell on one sentence.I get people coming from all over the world because they’ve heard about Baskerville Books from a friend of a friend and want to experience our magic for themselves.I might have been reading too much into it, but was Maggie hinting at the thing that made her bookshop so special, whatever “magic” it was that had pulled Mr. Darcy out of this copy ofPride and Prejudice? After all, Nick had told me the book had belonged to her personally—so had Maggie somehow acquired a magical edition of Jane Austen’s story that people traveled all over the world to experience?
Given that this blog post was my only lead—albeit a very small one—I clicked on Lily’s contact page and typed a message saying I had a few questions about Baskerville Books and wondered if she had time for a chat. Just as I was pressing send, I heard a shout from the living room.
“Miss Knight, come at once!”
Oh God, what had happened now? I slammed my laptop shut and hurried out of the bedroom. Darcy was standing in the middle of the room, clearly fresh from the shower, as his hair was wet and his shirt clung slightly to his chest. I was suddenly reminded of Colin Firth’s Mr. Darcy emerging from the lake in the BBC adaptation, ascene that had been the start of many of my earliest sexual fantasies. And now here Darcy was, in my flat, looking indecently damp and disheveled. What would happen if I lived out those fantasies for real by walking across the room and kissing him? For a moment I tried to imagine it, my hands in his hair and his lips on mine, but somehow I couldn’t quite picture it. It must just be too early in the morning for my libido to kick in.
“Is everything OK, Mr. Darcy?” I asked.
“It is past eight and I am famished. Where is my breakfast?”
I frowned. “I’m not your servant. If you’re hungry, you can make yourself some breakfast.”
His eyebrows shot up. “But I am a gentleman. I cannot be expected to prepare my own food.”
“Actually, you can. In 2026, plenty of men cook; they also clean and share childcare duties with their partners.”
He let out a derisive snort. “Now I know you are teasing me, Miss Knight. Winged mechanical vehicles that fly in the sky are one thing, but you cannot seriously expect me to believe that a respectable man would willingly partake in domestic chores? Next, you’ll tell me that woman are allowed to be doctors or vote in elections!”
“Actually, we’ve had three female prime ministers,” I said, crossing my arms, and I saw his eyes widen in shock. “Women are also allowed to go to university, own property, and divorce our husbands. We can even marry another woman if we want.”
I was expecting Darcy to explode in horror, but he cocked his head on one side. “You mean to tell me that were my sister alive today, she could pursue a career or marry the person of her own choosing?”
“That’s right. Although things are far from perfect, and there’s still plenty of gender inequality, women in the UK have exactly the samelegal rights as men.”
I waited for him to say something sexist about most women not being accomplished enough, like he does inPride and Prejudice, but instead he shook his head in wonder. “But that is…extraordinary.”
“You don’t hate it?”
Darcy paused for a second, pondering my question. “It is certainly a novel idea, and one I should never have believed to be possible. But no, I find I do not hate it. The thought that there could be a life for Georgiana beyond marrying well and providing her husband with an heir—that she should be allowed to find intellectual satisfaction or financial independence—is an attractive one. She is a capable young lady, and I believe, were she to be given the opportunities I have had, she could go on to achieve great things.”
A grin spread across my face.Of courseMr. Darcy was a feminist! I should never have doubted the great Jane Austen. After all, she’d written him as a man capable of taking feedback and changing for Elizabeth, so it was no surprise that he was open to new ideas.
“All that being said, I still balk at the notion of a man engaging in the domestic sphere,” he continued. “It is simply not proper to imagine a gentleman baking a pie or pushing a perambulator. Do all men dirty their hands with such feminine matters?”
“I wish I could say yes, but many men are still lazy arses. I’m not sure I ever saw my ex do the washing up, and my dad couldn’t even boil an egg.”
“Your ex?” Darcy said sharply.
“My ex-boyfriend, Crispin Carter. An utter douchebag who thought that household chores got in the way of his ‘creative flow,’ and so refused to even put his clothes in the washing machine, although he was perfectly happy for me to quell my creative flow by cooking andcleaning for him. Come to think of it, he’d have been right at home in your world.”
“And your father?”
“Another selfish, narcissistic man who cared for no one but himself. He serially cheated on my mum and then disappeared on us both. He didn’t even bother contacting me when Mum died, and the last I heard, he was living with a girlfriend younger than me.”
My words seemed to have an immediate effect on Darcy, as he began to pace furiously across the room.
“The scoundrel! There are men like him in my era, too—cads and bounders who think nothing of ruining a young woman’s reputation for their own wicked pleasure. I despise them with my whole being!”
I knew exactly who Darcy was referring to: George Wickham, the character inPride and Prejudicewho tricked the barely teenage Georgiana Darcy into thinking she was in love with him and would have managed to elope with her had Darcy not discovered the pair in time. Still, I couldn’t help but feel flattered at seeing Darcy get so riled up on my behalf.
He came to a stop in front of me, and his face softened. “Please forgive my outburst, Miss Knight. It is only that if there is one thing I cannot abide, it is people who are dishonorable and dishonest.”
