Chapter Eighteen
And so it was that little over an hour later, Mr. Darcy and I found ourselves on a train pulling out of Paddington Station.
In a panic, and without any real forethought, I’d decided we should go to Bath.
It was where I’d gone to university, so I knew it well.
Plus, it was only an hour and twenty minutes on the train from London, but still far enough away that Nick wouldn’t be able to track us down there, tell Darcy who he really was, and ruin my only chance of happiness.
I’d left Mrs. Atallah a note asking her to feed Mr. Wickham but hadn’t told her where we were going.
I felt bad about this, but in my paranoid state, I was concerned that Nick might turn up at the house and torture/charm her into telling him where we were.
“Where shall we be residing in Bath?” Darcy asked me as the train passed Didcot Parkway. “I have been to the city once before so that Georgiana could take the waters, and we stayed in a delightful house on the Royal Crescent.”
“I’m afraid it’s nothing that fancy. Most hotels were fully booked at this short notice, but I managed to find us a B and B in the north of the city.”
In truth, I was feeling a bit nervous about the place, given its website clearly hadn’t been updated in years and everything looked very pink and chintzy. But it had been the only accommodation available with two rooms that didn’t cost a fortune, so beggars couldn’t be choosers.
At eleven, our train pulled into Bath Spa station and we set off toward the center.
If you’ve never visited Bath before, it’s a beautiful historic city in Somerset, first settled in the Roman times because of its hot springs.
In the seventeenth century, someone decided that the water had healing properties, something the Georgians later went crazy for and built a whole town around the baths.
Much of that Palladian architecture still existed, and I could see Darcy relaxing as we walked north up toward the Abbey, his hands clasped behind his back.
Clearly, he felt more at home here than he did in London.
“This was a most excellent suggestion,” he said, looking around in satisfaction. “When last I visited, we attended Sabbath prayers at this very Abbey, and I see it is not much changed at all.”
“You know, there’s a historic restaurant around the corner that might have been here when you last visited too. It’s called Sally Lunn’s.”
“My word, I remember it!” Darcy gasped. “I recall that we used to take tea there. Georgiana was most partial to their Bunns.”
As he said this, I saw Darcy’s face fall, clearly with grief at the memory of his sister. Damn, why had I just reminded him of her?
“I was thinking we could visit the old Roman baths later,” I said, to try to distract him. “They have an excellent, informative museum, which I think you’ll enjoy.”
Darcy nodded, and as we carried on walking, I started to relax a little.
We could hardly hide in Bath forever, but at least this would give me twenty-four hours breathing space while I worked out how I was going to keep him away from Nick.
Plus, it was nice to be back in the city I’d called home for three years.
We walked past the Pump Room restaurant, where I used to work as a waitress to fund my studies, and the library where I spent hours writing drafts of my novel when I should have been doing uni work.
And there was the pub where Bianca and I—
“Praise the Lord, for it is a miracle!” Darcy suddenly shouted, jolting me out of my memories.
I spun around to look at him. “What is it?”
“I am not alone!” he said, his face shining with wonder and relief.
I followed his gaze along the road, and then I ground to a halt.
Oh. My. God.
Up ahead, there was a large group of people dressed in Regency clothing—the men in top hats and tailcoats, the women in long dresses and bonnets, many carrying parasols. Darcy had taken off toward them at top speed, and I hurried to catch up with him. What on earth was going on?
“There are hundreds of them!” Darcy cried with delight as we got closer, and he was right. A long procession of people stretched back over the bridge and ahead toward the Assembly Rooms, all slowly promenading along.
Promenading.
I felt suddenly sick. How could I have been so stupid?
I knew exactly what was going on, because I’d seen it when I’d studied here.
Every September, Bath held a huge Jane Austen festival, where people traveled from all over the world to take part in events celebrating the author and her work.
And the festival always started on a Saturday with the Grand Regency Promenade, where hundreds of people in Georgian costumes walked through the town.
How the hell was I going to explain this to Darcy?
“Wait up!” I shouted, but he was already ahead of me, approaching a middle-aged man in the scarlet jacket of a soldier.
“Officer!” he cried as he reached the man. “Tell me whence you have come?”
The man stopped walking and turned to Darcy with a grin. “Well, hi there! You’ve really worked on that accent, haven’t you?”
The man’s own accent was a thick Texan drawl, and I saw Darcy scowl. “Are you from the Americas? Then for what treasonous reason do you wear the uniform of King George’s army?”
“My Mary Lou has always had a thing for men in uniform—haven’t you, hon?”
The woman next to him, rosy faced and slightly sweaty in her long dress, shawl, and bonnet, smiled at Darcy. “Don wanted to wear a tailcoat and top hat, but I told him I was like Lydia and thought a man looked best in regimentals!”
Darcy was still scowling. “I do not comprehend. Are you also trapped here as I am? How did you find yourselves in this place?”
“Well, we flew from Dallas to Heathrow and spent a couple of days in London,” the woman said. “Then we took the train to Oxford—which is darling—and then we got a coach here yesterday. Are you kids here for the Jane Austen Festival too?”
“Festival? W-who is Jane Austen?” Darcy stuttered.
“She’s—”
“We don’t mean to hold you up,” I jumped in before the woman could continue. “Have a great day.”
“You too!” the man said, tipping his hat to us, and they set off into the crowd.
My heart was racing at 100 miles an hour.
In my rush to escape Nick in London, how could I not have remembered that Jane Austen lived in Bath for several years and even featured it in two of her novels?
I needed to get Darcy the hell away from here, now, before someone mentioned his name or Elizabeth Bennet’s and sent the house of cards I’d built with my lies tumbling down.
“Let’s head up the B and B so we can—” I started, but Darcy pushed past me and walked up to another man in the procession, this one wearing a full-length brown coat over breeches, boots, and a waistcoat.
“Sir, do not toy with me, for I am come over quite ill. Tell me at once, are you a fellow refugee from our time?”
The man frowned. “I’m no refugee, mate. I’m from Manchester, born and bred.”
“Wow, you sound just like Colin Firth!” his companion said to Darcy. “All you need is a top hat and you’d made a perfect Mr. Da—”
“Enjoy the promenade!” I interrupted, my voice high pitched with panic. “Come on, Will, let’s leave them to it.”
I grabbed Darcy’s arm and began to pull him up the street.
I thought he’d resist, but thankfully he allowed me to lead him away.
It was only when we’d turned a corner and were out of sight of the procession that I released his arm, exhaling with relief.
He ground to a halt, his head resting on his chest.
“Are you OK, Darcy?”
He didn’t reply for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low. “For a moment, I had such hope as I had not thought to ever feel again. Yet it is dashed, for they are but interlopers.”
My chest contracted at the sorrow in his voice. “I’m sorry, Darcy. It’s just fancy dress.”
“I had ascertained as much,” he said with a sigh. “But why? Who is this Jane Austen that they celebrate?”
Oh shit, how the hell was I supposed to answer that? I desperately tried to think of a lie, but my mind was blank.
“She’s an author,” I said helplessly.
“And she is from my own time? Yet I do not believe I have come across her work. What did she write?”
“Erm…she wrote a few novels—all romances, so not your sort of thing.”
“Pray tell me the name of her books, lest I have heard of them, if not the author.”
I swallowed, my throat parched. “Eh, she wrote one called Emma, and another called Persuasion.”
Darcy shook his head. “These names are unfamiliar to me, yet she is clearly an author of some renown, given this festival being held in her honor. I feel it would be remiss of me not to acquaint myself with her work. Do you have any of her books I may read?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” I said, looking away from Darcy as shame ripped through me at yet another lie. “Come on, let’s get to the B and B so we can drop off this bag.”
Darcy nodded and we set off again. I kept us to the back streets, desperate to avoid the promenade or any signs of the festival, but my pulse was still racing.
How was I going to entertain Darcy in a city celebrating the genius of Jane Austen without him finding out that not only was he one of the most popular characters from her novels, but that I’d been keeping that fact a secret from him for the past ten days?
But the only other option was to take him back to London now, where Nick might be waiting on my front doorstep, ready to kidnap him and force him back into Pride and Prejudice. Shit, this was such a mess!
At last, we reached the B and B, on a side street of old terraced houses.
A “No Vacancies” sign hung in the dirty window as I pushed open the front door and entered a small, charmless entrance hall.
There was no one around, but as I was about to call out, a teenager emerged from a side door, earbuds embedded in her heavily pierced ears.
“Check-in’s not till three,” she said when she saw us.
“I was hoping we could drop our bag off,” I said. “I have a booking under the name Zoe Knight.”
The girl shrugged and retreated back through the door she came from. I glanced at Darcy, expecting him to complain about the place, but he was staring listlessly at his shoes, oblivious to his surroundings.
After a few minutes the girl reemerged. “The previous occupants checked out early, so your room’s ready. It’s 203 on the second floor,” she intoned flatly, handing me an old-fashioned silver key on a giant wooden key ring and then turning to leave.
“Is the other room ready as well? We booked two.”
The girl wrinkled her nose. “Mum said you’ve only got 203.”
“No, I definitely paid for two rooms. I’ve got a confirmation email.” I pulled out my phone and showed it to the girl, who studied it with a bored expression.
“Looks like there was an error on the booking system. We definitely only have one room left.”
“Are you sure there isn’t another one you can find us?” I asked helplessly.
“Nah, we’re full all fortnight. You can try somewhere else if you want, but I don’t think you’ll have any luck. It’s the Jane A—”
“Fine, we’ll take it,” I interrupted, swallowing down a growl of frustration.
The teenager made a grunting sound, waved her arm half-heartedly in the direction of the stairs, then moped off.
“Bloody typical,” I muttered under my breath as I turned and began to lug our case up the stairs.
I waited for Darcy to offer to help, but he was still in his own world.
At the top, I turned down a dark corridor and felt my way along until I reached room 203.
The door swung open, and I braced myself for what I was about to find.
Yep, thought so. Only one sodding bed.