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

and, filling in the gaps, some wooden chairs had been placed in order to accommodate all the guests.

      ‘How many people are here?’ Robyn asked.

      ‘There’s usually twenty to thirty but not everyone stays in the hall. There are only enough rooms for about eighteen. Everyone else stays in nearby B&Bs.’

      Robyn swallowed as she thought of Jace again. She wished she could stop doing that.

      ‘Let’s get a cup of tea,’ Katherine said, bringing Robyn back into the Austensian world of Purley that was filled with china tea cups rather than the Jace world which was filled with beer cans.

      Taking a cup of tea and a piece of sugary shortbread, they sat on a big squashy sofa the colour of lemons.

      ‘Hey, there’s that man again,’ Robyn said, nodding towards the door as the dark-haired gentleman walked in.

      ‘Oh,’ Katherine said.

      ‘He is very handsome, don’t you think?’

      ‘He’s very clumsy,’ Katherine replied, turning away.

      Robyn smiled. She could feel a romance coming on, she was quite sure of it. ‘He’s so fit-looking,’ she persisted. ‘But not in that awful I-spend-all-my-time-in-a-gym way. He looks more like an athlete or something. Nice shirt too, don’t you think?’

      ‘I’m doing my best not to think about him,’ Katherine said.

      It was just as Robyn was contemplating an Austen-style declaration of love from the dark-haired gentleman to her new friend when a gentleman in a scarlet waistcoat entered the room, standing in front of the window and clearing his throat and instantly hushing the room.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to Purley Hall and to the Jane Austen conference. Please put your hands together to welcome your hostess, Dame Pamela Harcourt!’

      A wondrous expectant hush befell the room which was quickly followed by a riotous round of applause as all eyes turned to the door as the actress made her entrance.

      Robyn felt a strange fluttery feeling in her chest. She was actually rather nervous. She’d been a fan of Dame Pamela’s for years. In her youth, she had played an enchanting Elizabeth Bennet and a dazzlingly wild Marianne in TV adaptations, and now she struck terror into the heart of viewers with her portrayals of Fanny Ferrars Dashwood and Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

      Robyn’s head swivelled towards the door and her mouth dropped open as Dame Pamela made her entrance in a sweep of lilac. Her silvery hair had been swept up in a full meringuelike style that was pure theatre and her smile radiated warmth and pleasure at being the centre of attention.

      ‘My dears!’ she announced, her hands raised and sparkly with diamond rings. ‘My wonderful guests! Welcome to my home which, for this all-too-brief space of time, is your home too. I can’t tell you how much I look forward to this weekend every year, and each year is invariably better than the last so welcome to the best ever Jane Austen conference yet!’

      There was another round of applause and Dame Pamela smiled and began to mingle.

      Warwick didn’t stay for the mingling.

       Idiot! Imbecile! Stupid, stupid man!

      He didn’t spare the curses as he left the Yellow Drawing Room. What had got into him? Hadn’t he been going to recreate the role of hero and stride across the room to introduce himself to Katherine? So what had happened? Well, once he’d caught sight of her again, he’d frozen. For ages, he’d gazed at the beautiful curve of her neck which, as her hair was still swept up into a bun, had been left exposed for the express purpose of tormenting men. Then she’d turned round and caught him staring.

      Like a ridiculous schoolboy! he said to himself, leaving the scene of his crime and flying up the stairs as fast as he could. What must she think of me? She must think I’m a prat to be avoided at all costs and I’ve not even spoken to her yet.

      Reaching his room, he slammed the door behind him. What was he going to do? What would a hero do? he thought. What would Darcy do? Write a letter, probably, but he couldn’t do that. For one thing, Katherine would recognize his handwriting. Anyway, there wasn’t time.

      He could try explaining himself but what was there to explain? That he was some sort of neck pervert? She’d have him arrested. No, there was only one way to deal with this and that was to pretend that the whole staring thing hadn’t happened at all. Rather like Mrs Bennet’s sudden memory lapse at the bad behaviour of Lydia once she found out that her daughter was married.

      Yes, he thought, the new improved Warwick would banish any bad memories of the old one.

       Chapter Ten

      Dinner at Purley Hall was always something to look forward to and Robyn’s first experience was sending her spinning with excitement as she rushed from suitcase to wardrobe in search of the dress she was going to wear. It was a plain sky-blue dress with only a hint of bugle beads along the neckline and it was rather short for Robyn - just skimming the knees instead of covering her ankles.

      She felt rather on show as she made her way down the stairs, very aware of the bareness of her legs, but then she saw the familiar face of Katherine and her nod of approval put her mind at rest. Katherine was wearing a pretty dress in burgundy. Her hair had been unpinned and fell over her shoulders in dark waves.

      ‘You look lovely,’ Robyn said.

      ‘So do you!’

      ‘I don’t often get the chance to dress up at home,’ Robyn said. ‘This is rather special.’

      ‘It’s one of the things to look forward to here.’

      Robyn noticed that the dining room door was open but people were chatting in groups in the hall before entering.

      ‘We’re waiting for the dame,’ Katherine told her.

      Sure enough, a moment later, a hush descended and all eyes turned upwards towards the cantilevered staircase. It really was the staircase of an actress, Robyn thought, and an actress who knew how to make an entrance for, as the grandfather clock in the hall struck the half hour, a vision in violet greeted them.

      Dame Pamela was a sight to behold at the best of times but tonight she was part superstar, part royalty, in a dress of deepest purple which wafted dreamily behind her and a diamond necklace which encrusted the whole of her neck so that it seemed to be made more of diamonds than of skin.

      As was becoming the practice whenever Dame Pamela made an appearance, everybody burst into applause which had the effect of lighting up her face like the most enchanting of queens. She took the arm of a gentleman wearing a suit of midnight blue, and the two of them led the way into the dining room.

      As Robyn entered, her eyes lit up - the room was a delight of chandeliers and candles. To be as authentic as possible to Jane Austen, electricity had been shunned and the result was greeted by appreciative gasps from the guests as they entered. It was a room that seemed to stretch forever and Robyn felt that she needed at least three pairs of eyes in her head to take it all in. The walls were cream with ornate gold plasterwork around the ceiling which glimmered in the light from the candles. There was an impressive fireplace which hadn’t been lit owing to the continued warmth of the season but which Robyn could imagine being the very heart of the house when it was alive and roaring, filling the room with the unmistakable smell of home.

      Several grand portraits lined the walls, the pale faces gazing down at the guests with the passivity that is so particular to the painted form. Robyn wondered who they were and how long they had been staring down from these walls. Were they ancestors of Dame Pamela or had she bought them as part of the house when she’d moved to Purley?

      With a dozen questions