“She’s—”
“We don’t mean to hold you up,” I jumped in before the woman could continue. “Have a great day.”
“You too!” the man said, tipping his hat to us, and they set off into the crowd.
My heart was racing at 100 miles an hour. In my rush to escape Nick in London, how could I not have remembered that Jane Austenlived in Bath for several years and even featured it in two of her novels? I needed to get Darcy the hell away from here,now, before someone mentioned his name or Elizabeth Bennet’s and sent the house of cards I’d built with my lies tumbling down.
“Let’s head up the B and B so we can—” I started, but Darcy pushed past me and walked up to another man in the procession, this one wearing a full-length brown coat over breeches, boots, and a waistcoat.
“Sir, do not toy with me, for I am come over quite ill. Tell me at once, are you a fellow refugee from our time?”
The man frowned. “I’m no refugee, mate. I’m from Manchester, born and bred.”
“Wow, you sound just like Colin Firth!” his companion said to Darcy. “All you need is a top hat and you’d made a perfect Mr. Da—”
“Enjoy the promenade!” I interrupted, my voice high pitched with panic. “Come on, Will, let’s leave them to it.”
I grabbed Darcy’s arm and began to pull him up the street. I thought he’d resist, but thankfully he allowed me to lead him away. It was only when we’d turned a corner and were out of sight of the procession that I released his arm, exhaling with relief. He ground to a halt, his head resting on his chest.
“Are you OK, Darcy?”
He didn’t reply for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low. “For a moment, I had such hope as I had not thought to ever feel again. Yet it is dashed, for they are but interlopers.”
My chest contracted at the sorrow in his voice. “I’m sorry, Darcy. It’s just fancy dress.”
“I had ascertained as much,” he said with a sigh. “But why? Who is this Jane Austen that they celebrate?”
Oh shit, how the hell was I supposed to answer that? I desperately tried to think of a lie, but my mind was blank.
“She’s an author,” I said helplessly.
“And she is from my own time? Yet I do not believe I have come across her work. What did she write?”
“Erm…she wrote a few novels—all romances, so not your sort of thing.”
“Pray tell me the name of her books, lest I have heard of them, if not the author.”
I swallowed, my throat parched. “Eh, she wrote one calledEmma, and another calledPersuasion.”
Darcy shook his head. “These names are unfamiliar to me, yet she is clearly an author of some renown, given this festival being held in her honor. I feel it would be remiss of me not to acquaint myself with her work. Do you have any of her books I may read?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” I said, looking away from Darcy as shame ripped through me at yet another lie. “Come on, let’s get to the B and B so we can drop off this bag.”
Darcy nodded and we set off again. I kept us to the back streets, desperate to avoid the promenade or any signs of the festival, but my pulse was still racing. How was I going to entertain Darcy in a city celebrating the genius of Jane Austen without him finding out that not only was he one of the most popular characters from her novels, but that I’d been keeping that fact a secret from him for the past ten days? But the only other option was to take him back to London now, where Nick might be waiting on my front doorstep, ready to kidnap him and force him back intoPride and Prejudice. Shit, this was such a mess!
At last, we reached the B and B, on a side street of old terraced houses. A “No Vacancies” sign hung in the dirty window as I pushedopen the front door and entered a small, charmless entrance hall. There was no one around, but as I was about to call out, a teenager emerged from a side door, earbuds embedded in her heavily pierced ears.
“Check-in’s not till three,” she said when she saw us.
“I was hoping we could drop our bag off,” I said. “I have a booking under the name Zoe Knight.”
The girl shrugged and retreated back through the door she came from. I glanced at Darcy, expecting him to complain about the place, but he was staring listlessly at his shoes, oblivious to his surroundings.
After a few minutes the girl reemerged. “The previous occupants checked out early, so your room’s ready. It’s 203 on the second floor,” she intoned flatly, handing me an old-fashioned silver key on a giant wooden key ring and then turning to leave.
“Is the other room ready as well? We booked two.”
The girl wrinkled her nose. “Mum said you’ve only got 203.”
