Read Online What Would Lizzy Bennet Do? by Katie Oliver - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katie Oliver
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ever understood me the way Hugh does. No one ever will.’
‘The Darcys move in different circles than us, Lizzy,’ he said gently. ‘Surely you see that.’
‘I can’t believe you just said that,’ she exclaimed. ‘What a snob you are, Daddy.’
‘Not a snob, Lizzy, just a realist. Holly’s much more suited to marry into the Darcy family… with all that entails.’
‘Meaning that
I’m
not?’ Her eyes snapped.
‘Meaning that Holly comes from a wealthy family herself.’
Lizzy sniffed. ‘Department store wealth,’ she said in dismissal. ‘Trade, as they would’ve said in the old days. It’s not inherited.’
‘Now who’s the snob?’ he chided her. ‘Listen to yourself.’
After a moment, she relented, and gave him a grudging smile. ‘You’re right, of course. You’re always right.’
‘Not always. I was wrong about the last Premier Cup.’ He frowned. ‘Ah, well.’ He reached out to take her hands in his. ‘Eight years is a long time. People change. Their feelings change. Darcy never made you any promises, did he?’
She sighed. ‘No. I’m afraid his feelings for me exist only in my head.’
‘Give Holly a chance, Lizzy. You’ve taken a dislike to her and you don’t even know the girl. She seems like a nice enough person, and she’s obviously in love with Hugh. Make an effort to be pleasant to her at the garden party on Sunday, that’s all I’m suggesting.’
Lizzy grimaced but squeezed his hands in reassurance. ‘I make no promises that the two of us will ever become friends,’ she said, her words decided, ‘but I’ll make an honest effort to welcome her to Litchfield Manor, and be the perfect hostess.’
Mr Bennet shoved back his chair and beamed. ‘More than that, my darling Lizzy, I cannot ask.’
***
The next morning, the thump of the newspapers landing on the doorstep distracted Mr Bennet from the preparation of his tea.
He paused and glanced up at the ceiling. The girls were still upstairs sleeping and the house was blissfully quiet; with any luck, it would stay that way for a time. He looked forward to enjoying his tea and papers outside on the terrace in luxurious and uninterrupted solitude.
Humming the
Te Deum
absently under his breath, he went down the hallway and past the stairs to the front door, and opened it to survey the doorstep.
Was there any better moment, he thought happily as he bent down to retrieve the newspapers, than settling down with a cup of lemon tea and a pile of the latest newsprint to read?
But as he shut the door behind him and glanced down at the front page of the topmost paper, the
Longbourne Tattler
, his smile abruptly vanished, and his eyes widened behind his spectacles.
It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be.
Yet there it was, right before his eyes in grainy black and white. His youngest daughter, Charlotte – who, for some inexplicable reason, was on Ciaran Duncan’s private yacht, the
Meryton
– stood by in wide-eyed shock as the film star reared back and punched Harry Darcy squarely in the jaw.
But worse than that – if such a thing were possible – was a second, smaller photograph, of the film star kissing his youngest daughter…
…for the
Tattler’s
readers, not to mention all of South Devon, to see.
Chapter 12
‘”WICKHAM CLOCKS DARCY”,’ Mr Bennet muttered, retracing his steps back down the hallway to the kitchen as he read the headline aloud. ‘”BENNET BEAUTY TO BLAME?”’
All thoughts of a cup of tea and a quiet perusal of the day’s news vanished in the wake of the 36-point tabloid headline. This was as unexpected – and every bit as unwelcome – as the crack of Ciaran’s fist into young Harry’s jaw must have been.
He picked up his tea and tossed the paper on the kitchen table, and with a grim expression he sat down and began to read.
***
On Monday morning the sun woke Holly, penetrating a gap in the brocade drapes, and turned the blue toile that papered her bedroom a warm, golden
‘The Darcys move in different circles than us, Lizzy,’ he said gently. ‘Surely you see that.’
‘I can’t believe you just said that,’ she exclaimed. ‘What a snob you are, Daddy.’
‘Not a snob, Lizzy, just a realist. Holly’s much more suited to marry into the Darcy family… with all that entails.’
‘Meaning that
I’m
not?’ Her eyes snapped.
‘Meaning that Holly comes from a wealthy family herself.’
Lizzy sniffed. ‘Department store wealth,’ she said in dismissal. ‘Trade, as they would’ve said in the old days. It’s not inherited.’
‘Now who’s the snob?’ he chided her. ‘Listen to yourself.’
After a moment, she relented, and gave him a grudging smile. ‘You’re right, of course. You’re always right.’
‘Not always. I was wrong about the last Premier Cup.’ He frowned. ‘Ah, well.’ He reached out to take her hands in his. ‘Eight years is a long time. People change. Their feelings change. Darcy never made you any promises, did he?’
She sighed. ‘No. I’m afraid his feelings for me exist only in my head.’
‘Give Holly a chance, Lizzy. You’ve taken a dislike to her and you don’t even know the girl. She seems like a nice enough person, and she’s obviously in love with Hugh. Make an effort to be pleasant to her at the garden party on Sunday, that’s all I’m suggesting.’
Lizzy grimaced but squeezed his hands in reassurance. ‘I make no promises that the two of us will ever become friends,’ she said, her words decided, ‘but I’ll make an honest effort to welcome her to Litchfield Manor, and be the perfect hostess.’
Mr Bennet shoved back his chair and beamed. ‘More than that, my darling Lizzy, I cannot ask.’
***
The next morning, the thump of the newspapers landing on the doorstep distracted Mr Bennet from the preparation of his tea.
He paused and glanced up at the ceiling. The girls were still upstairs sleeping and the house was blissfully quiet; with any luck, it would stay that way for a time. He looked forward to enjoying his tea and papers outside on the terrace in luxurious and uninterrupted solitude.
Humming the
Te Deum
absently under his breath, he went down the hallway and past the stairs to the front door, and opened it to survey the doorstep.
Was there any better moment, he thought happily as he bent down to retrieve the newspapers, than settling down with a cup of lemon tea and a pile of the latest newsprint to read?
But as he shut the door behind him and glanced down at the front page of the topmost paper, the
Longbourne Tattler
, his smile abruptly vanished, and his eyes widened behind his spectacles.
It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be.
Yet there it was, right before his eyes in grainy black and white. His youngest daughter, Charlotte – who, for some inexplicable reason, was on Ciaran Duncan’s private yacht, the
Meryton
– stood by in wide-eyed shock as the film star reared back and punched Harry Darcy squarely in the jaw.
But worse than that – if such a thing were possible – was a second, smaller photograph, of the film star kissing his youngest daughter…
…for the
Tattler’s
readers, not to mention all of South Devon, to see.
Chapter 12
‘”WICKHAM CLOCKS DARCY”,’ Mr Bennet muttered, retracing his steps back down the hallway to the kitchen as he read the headline aloud. ‘”BENNET BEAUTY TO BLAME?”’
All thoughts of a cup of tea and a quiet perusal of the day’s news vanished in the wake of the 36-point tabloid headline. This was as unexpected – and every bit as unwelcome – as the crack of Ciaran’s fist into young Harry’s jaw must have been.
He picked up his tea and tossed the paper on the kitchen table, and with a grim expression he sat down and began to read.
***
On Monday morning the sun woke Holly, penetrating a gap in the brocade drapes, and turned the blue toile that papered her bedroom a warm, golden
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