A Weekend with Mr Darcy: The perfect summer read for Austen addicts!. Victoria Connelly

only he had the confidence that he gave to his heroes in his novels, he thought. Then, he would stride into a room, quickly surveying all before him, drawing all eyes towards him, before singling out the woman of his choice who would, of course, be palpitating with desire by then. He would make his approach, bow, silently admire her décolletage as she curtsied before him, say something immeasurably witty and then take her hand and lead the first dance.

      How easy it was back then, he thought. Men and women had clear-cut roles and were happy to play them. Today, everything was so muddled. Women didn’t want to be bowed to or to be told that they were charming creatures and have their eyes admired.

      Or did they?

      For a moment, Warwick wondered.

      The women who were attending the Jane Austen conference might be different. They might actually want a gentleman who admired the clothes they wore, asked about the books they read, and pestered them to play the piano forte. They’d want a Jane Austen or Lorna Warwick hero, wouldn’t they? Wasn’t that why they read the books? Wasn’t that precisely why there were so many adaptations of Austen’s novels - because the female population couldn’t get enough?

      Warwick grinned at this most amazing discovery. Now he knew exactly how he was going to play things with Katherine.

       Chapter Seven

      Robyn would never forget her first glimpse of Purley Hall. They’d rounded corner after corner of twisting country lane, when suddenly, there it was; red-gold and glorious across the rolling fields. It sat in symmetrical perfection, its aspect cushioned by the countryside around it, with honey-coloured fields stretching out in front of it and deep green woods behind it.

      ‘Look!’ she exclaimed, pointing out of the window like an excited toddler.

      Jace looked. ‘What?’

      ‘Purley!’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘Where?’ Robyn echoed. ‘There!’

      ‘That? I thought it would be bigger.’

      ‘It’s perfect,’ Robyn said, counting its three visible storeys and its seven sash windows across. ‘Twenty-one,’ she said.

      ‘Twenty-one what?’

      ‘Twenty-one windows. Or rather twenty. I expect one’s a door.’

      Jace grimaced. Windows and doors didn’t interest him. They took another bend in the road and entered the tiny village of Purley. There was a row of picture perfect cottages with dark thatched roofs, a pub called the Dog and Boot and a pale gold church with a modest steeple.

      ‘Oh, I love it!’ Robyn said. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’

      ‘’S’all right if you like that sort of thing,’ Jace mumbled.

      Robyn bristled. Well, she did like that sort of thing and it was hard to enjoy it all with Jace as her companion. When, she wondered, was she going to manage to get rid of him?

      ‘Where are we going, anyway?’ he asked impatiently.

      It was then that Robyn saw a discreet wooden sign pointing right. ‘Purley Hall’ it read, and there was a handwritten sheet of A4 paper tacked on underneath. ‘Janeites this way!’

      They turned into a driveway which could easily have stretched the length of Robyn’s whole village back in Yorkshire. There were fields on either side and it was lined with mature trees.

      Robyn was almost on the edge of her seat as the driveway opened and the grand front of Purley Hall greeted them.

      ‘Oh!’

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Jace asked.

      ‘Nothing! Nothing at all,’ Robyn said.

      Jace tutted and brought the car to a screeching halt, its tyres firing up a shower of gravel as he parked - almost parallel but not quite - next to a black Jaguar.

      ‘Someone’s got some money,’ he said.

      ‘Yes. Apparently, some people have,’ Robyn said, wondering what that must be like.

      Robyn got out of the car and looked up at the house. The front was in shade now and there was a great cedar tree to the left, shading tennis courts and casting its shadow across an immaculate lawn, its branches sprawling out like dinosaur limbs. A set of croquet hoops had been left out on the lawn and, beyond that, Robyn spied a bright blue swimming pool.

      She looked up at the house once more, awestruck by the size of its windows - which were just as large as the great door - and the triangular pediment at the top which soared into the blue sky above.

      ‘Right,’ Jace said, interrupting her thoughts, ‘I’m off to the pub.’

      Robyn did her best to hide her relief. ‘What are you going to do with yourself this weekend?’

      He shrugged. ‘Come and see you.’

      ‘Oh, but you can’t!’ Robyn said. ‘I mean, there are activities all day and you’d be bored stupid by them.’

      ‘All right, all right, I get the message. I’ll call you, okay? You’ve got your mobile, haven’t you?’

      Robyn nodded.

      Jace leant in to kiss her and gave her bottom an affectionate squeeze. Robyn blushed. It wasn’t seemly to have one’s bottom pinched at a Jane Austen conference.

      Jace hauled her suitcase out of the boot of the car and handed it to her. ‘I won’t come in,’ he said.

      ‘Best not,’ Robyn said.

      ‘I’ll give you a call.’

      ‘Okay,’ Robyn said, watching as he got in the car, did a boy racer manoeuvre on the immaculate driveway, and disappeared. As soon as he was out of view, she took her mobile out of her handbag and switched it off.

      Warwick had arrived a little earlier than predicted but had been welcomed by one of the event organizers and shown to a very nice room upstairs which looked out over the gardens to the river and fields beyond. Nadia had worked wonders at getting him a room in the house at the last minute and he marvelled at the beauty of it. There was an enormous bed in a rich dark wood, with a pretty yellow bedspread. Four fabulously plump pillows caught his eye and promised a sweet slumber that night.

      He looked around the room and a mahogany dressing stand inset with a porcelain bowl in blue and white caught his eye. He admired the workmanship and knew that such a piece of furniture would have been very common in a Regency gentleman’s bedroom - it was just the sort of room one of his heroes would inhabit although he was also glad that he had a modern en-suite with power shower - a luxury denied to his characters. Jugs and bowls just didn’t cut it in the hygiene stakes any more.

      A crystal vase of yellow and white roses stood on the deep windowsill and scented the room with their delicate fragrance. The walls were painted in a shade Warwick recognized as verdigris - a willowy green that was in keeping with the period of the house and gave the room a wonderfully fresh feel. It was a beautiful room.

      But Warwick wasn’t at Purley Hall to stand admiring his bedroom. He had to register and see if Katherine had arrived yet so, quickly changing his shirt, he checked his reflection in the mirror - more out of fear that something might be out of place than for vanity - and headed down the grand staircase to where a table had been set for registration.

      ‘The dreaded name badges,’ Warwick said to himself. He wouldn’t have time to create yet another pseudonym for himself now, he thought. He was to be Warwick Lawton this weekend. His fate was sealed.

      There were