Page 114 of Me and Mr. Darcy

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

Broken from my reverie, I turn to see Miss Steane walking across the path to join me. I feel a beat of regret. I don’t feel much up to talking. I want to be alone.

‘Oh, yeah, very.’ I nod. ‘We don’t get views like this in New York,’ I add, for something to say. My knack for small talk seems to have deserted me.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ she enthuses. Joining me, she stares straight ahead out at the view.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, at her delicate features, the curls of hair escaping from her fur hat, which matches her muffler. You know, she really does remind me of someone. I’ve been wracking my brains all week, but I just can’t think who.

‘So have you enjoyed your literature lover’s trip, Miss Albright?’ She suddenly turns and catches me looking at her.

‘Oh, yeah.’ I nod, quickly looking away again. ‘It’s been . . .’ I search for the word. Well, what word sums up this roller coaster of a week? I can’t think of one. Does one even exist? ‘. . . Interesting,’ I manage.

Miss Steane looks satisfied by my reply.

‘Which has been your favourite part?’

I hesitate. Before, I would have definitely said Mr Darcy. Well, I wouldn’t have said it, but I would have thought it. But now? Now, I’m not so sure. Everything is so jumbled up and messy and confused. I don’t really know what to think.

‘Um . . . all of it,’ I say finally. ‘It’s all been great.’

‘And did you read Mr Hargreaves’s email?’

‘Yeah,’ I reply, before it registers what she’s just asked me. I look at her sharply. Miss Steane is looking at me, her hazel eyes bright in the winter sunshine. ‘How did you . . . ?’

‘Know he’d written to you?’ she finishes, and smiles. ‘I gave him your email address.’ There’s a beat. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

I pause for a moment, allowing this to register. ‘No, of course not.’ I shake my head. And then, looking back at her, ask quickly, ‘Did he tell you what happened? What he was going to put in the email?’

‘No. I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell me.’ She stares at me for a few moments, as if deep in thought, before finally speaking. ‘Prejudice can be a terrible thing, Emily. As can pride,’ she says quietly, and looks at me soberly. ‘You know, Jane Austen always made her heroines feisty. They stuck by their principles, went after what they wanted, were not afraid to admit when they were wrong.’ She looks at me, her eyes flashing. ‘Not doing anything can be worse than doing the wrong thing.’

I absorb her words. They resonate within me. I turn them over in my mind and am about to say something when I’m distracted by what looks to be someone swimming in the lake. Surely not – it’s January. I crinkle up my forehead and squint to see better. The swimmer is pulling himself out of the water. Christ, he’s still in his clothes. He must be freezing. You can see his nipples from here, right through his white shirt that’s wet through and clinging to his chest . . .

Holy shit. It’s the famous lake scene. Except it’s not Colin Firth . . .

‘It’s Mr Darcy,’ I gasp, before I can help myself.

As soon as I’ve said it I clamp my mitten over my mouth, wishing I could stuff the words right back in again. Fuck. Me and my big mouth. Why did I have to go and say that? My tour guide’s going to think I’m totally nuts.

I glance at Miss Steane, but she hasn’t flinched. Instead she’s still standing there, perfectly poised. She turns to me, a faint smile of amusement playing on her lips. ‘I hate to say it, but he’s not a patch on Colin Firth, is he?’

‘No, he’s not,’ I laugh – and then freeze.

What the . . . ?

Did she just . . . ?

I open my mouth but no words come out. Which is weird as there are a million of the things whirling round in my head right now, forming a million different questions.

But I don’t have time to ask any of them. I need to talk to Mr Darcy before he disappears again. I look sharply back down at the lake. Shit, he’s already striding away across manicured lawns.

‘I gotta go,’ is all I can manage to stammer. And without even a backwards glance, I begin hurtling down the hill after him.

By the time I get to the bottom, he’s gone.

I scan left and right, hoping to catch sight of him, but seeing nothing I slow down and come to a standstill by a large hedge. I bend double and drop my hands to my knees to catch my breath. My heart is thumping like a piston, so hard it feels as if it might burst right out of my chest. Jesus, I had no idea I was so unfit.

I stay like that for a few moments, waiting until my breathing returns to normal, staring at my grassy, mud-splattered boots and wondering what I’m going to do next. Heaving a sigh, I push my hair out of my eyes and focus. I might not be an Olympic athlete, but it didn’t take me long to run down that hill. He’s got to be around here somewhere. But where?