Page 102 of Me and Mr. Darcy

Impulsively I throw my arms round him and bury my face in his broad shoulder. ‘Boy, am I glad to see you,’ I gasp, closing my eyes and breathing in his familiar cologne.

Happiness mixes with relief. Gosh, he really does have the best shoulders to cry on, I think, feeling all the tension in my body release with his embrace.

Although, hang on, he’s not actually embracing me, I notice, suddenly realising how stiff he is. In fact, I’m the one hugging him. He’s just standing here with his back ramrod straight and his hands held firmly down by his sides.

I pull away self-consciously.

‘Um . . . Happy New Year,’ I say lamely.

‘Yes. Indeed.’ Mr Darcy coughs awkwardly and stares at the ground. For the first time I get a glimpse of what it would be like to go out with someone who’s brooding and dark and has all these repressed emotions. I mean, it all sounds very attractive and sexy in the book, but in real life I want someone who can give me a bear hug.

‘I have been looking for you,’ he begins, clasping his hands behind his back in a gesture that doesn’t need a body-language expert to tell me he’s obviously extremely uncomfortable with my public outburst of affection.

But then it’s not his fault, is it? I tell myself, feeling a bit sorry for him. I suppose the ladies of his day didn’t go around flinging their arms round men and expecting bear hugs. They just made a sampler or something.

Swallowing hard, he looks up at me and meets my eyes. ‘I was very worried about you, Emily. I went back to the stables last night in the hope that you would have made it back safely. When I found Lightning but no sign of you, I rode to your hotel. However, there was no light at your window, and by then it was very late and . . .’ He takes a breath and composes himself. ‘It gives me great relief to find that you are not hurt.’

Oh, God. With everything that’s been happening, I’d completely forgotten that the last time I saw him he had been knocked off his horse. But now, listening to him speaking, I suddenly realise I haven’t even asked him if he’s OK. Even worse, I hadn’t even thought about it until this very moment.

‘Thanks.’ I smile gratefully. ‘But what about you? I saw you fall—’

‘Thrown,’ he bristles.

‘Oh, right, thrown,’ I repeat, feeling a little piqued by the way he just corrected me.

‘Fortunately, I am a skilled equestrian and therefore I escaped injury.’

‘Phew, that’s lucky.’

‘Oh, it had nothing to do with luck,’ he says arrogantly.

That told you, Emily.

A line from Pride and Prejudice about Mr Darcy suddenly springs to mind: ‘One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man with family, fortune, every thing in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud.’

Yeah, well, I don’t, I think irritably.

‘So, have you eaten lunch?’ he asks.

His tone is once more polite, but I’m half inclined to fib and say yes, as I’m still feeling a bit rankled. My pet peeve is arrogance. Saying that, I haven’t eaten anything at all today, just the coffee at breakfast. As if on cue my stomach gives a faint gurgle of complaint.

‘No, not yet,’ I mumble.

‘Excellent. I brought us a little something.’ He nods, and strides over to his horse.

Trepidation stabs. Oh, no, not that again. I don’t think my buttocks can take another horseride. This time I’m just going to come out and say no.

‘No need to look so worried,’ he adds, catching my expression. ‘It is not like the last surprise.’

Unfastening something from behind his saddle, he lifts down a small wicker picnic hamper and a thick woollen blanket from one of the side panniers. He unfolds it and lays it down on the ground, meticulously making sure it’s straight. Then, unfastening the leather straps of the hamper, he begins pulling out various things.

‘We have some bread, grapes, cheeses, goose-liver pâté, a bottle of vintage Bordeaux to wash it all down with . . .’

‘Oh, wow,’ I gasp, somewhat taken aback.

‘. . . and here are the cutlery and plates . . .’ he continues.

Forget the paper and plastic variety. He’s brought real silver knives and forks, and white china plates.