Page 100 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
Gran had helped her twist her hair up into a topknot that looked very Austen appropriate, even if Liv had opted for undergarments designed for practicality and warmth rather than early 1800s accuracy. A girl had to be comfortable, after all.
Gran slid a pearl-encrusted comb into Liv’s hair. “There.”
Liv turned to eye herself in the mirror again. Touched the comb. “That’s so beautiful.”
“It came from nearby Hawkesbury Hall. Your grandfather bought it for me. Said it had once belonged to Lavinia, the wife of the seventh Earl of Hawkesbury, who gave it to one of her friends from the village of St. Hampton Heath.”
Breath caught. To think someone from so long ago had once handled this, possibly worn this herself. She shivered.
“Are you ready?” Gran asked.
“Yes.”
They were an hour early, but the place was ready. Lights shone from the Hall’s windows, and a trail of lit torches led through the gardens, to the parterre, past the fountain, then past braziers roasting chestnuts along to the Orangery, the setting for tonight’s entertainment.
Oh, Stella had worked her magic. In addition to the twinkling fairy lights, decorations of festive wreaths and kissing balls and gold-sprayed twigs and candles made the place look amazing. The string quartet Liam had driven to collect after their unfortunate van breakdown were setting up in the corner, so she hurried to welcome them and thank them for their time, and she checked that amid the festive tunes were several traditional melodies people could dance to.
Stella had mentioned that many other Regency balls often held dance practices for those unused to Regency dancing patterns, but they hadn’t had the time or the space to facilitate that, so some basic Pride of Erin-like barn-dance steps would be performed among the waltzes. Liv glanced around the room. It was a good thing her mother hadn’t come. This place would be a tight squeeze as it was.
“Liv.”
She turned, her mouth drying as she took in Liam’s cravat and white shirt, tails and fawn-coloured breeches, dressed just as she’d imagined Mr. Darcy might.
She beamed. “You look amazing.”
He drew closer, holding her gloved hand in his, then held it to one side as he took in her own ensemble. The silver-blue dress might not be exactly Regency appropriate, with its material definitely not found two hundred years ago, but Gran had modified the sleeves and neckline into something more Regency-like, and the result left her feeling spectacular. Liam certainly seemed to approve, his face soft as he slowly spun her around.
“I thought you looked beautiful before, but this is beyond anything I could imagine.”
“Told you she’d look a treat,” George said smugly, before leaning in to air-kiss Liv’s cheeks, once, twice. “You look great, Liv.”
“And you look fabulous too.” She smiled at a man hovering nearby. “And I’m going to guess that you are Ewen. Hi, I’m Liv.”
George’s blush and smile said her fellow medical student had a hold on her heart, which, considering the lengths she’d gone to in order to throw Liv at Liam, made Liv want George to find similar happiness.
Movement outside the window showed that some of the guests had arrived early. Liam braced.
“Who is it?” she murmured.
He glanced at her. “The trustees.”
Oh. She pushed her shoulders back and joined Gran, George, and a newly arrived Tobias at the door. Not for the first time, she wondered where the owner was. George had mentioned he was shy and didn’t like parties, so maybe he wasn’t coming after all, which was a shame. Oh well. She followed Liam’s lead, holding out her hand and smiling as he performed the introductions.
“And this is Olivia Bennett, without whom none of this would be possible. Liv, this is Sir Humphrey.”
Her hand was squeezed briefly by the paw of a weathered grey-haired man. “Good evening.”
“Miss Bennett.” His gaze narrowed. “I can see why young Liam here thought to keep you around.”
She pulled her hand back and stretched it—he hadn’t meant to crush it, had he?—and turned to the next elderly gentleman. Who stood next to an equally pugnacious-looking woman, both dwarfed by one of her most favourite people in the world. Camilla.
“This is Lord and Lady Atwood. May I present Miss Olivia Bennett.”
Lord Atwood barely clasped her hand, his wife only dipped her chin, and their daughter’s hungry eyes refused to look at Liv at all, so busy was she feasting on Liam.
“We’re so pleased you could come,” she said, refusing to let their obvious disdain ruffle her. Then her attention was stolen by a third couple. Oh, thank goodness. Mr. Wheaton-Smythe had visited with his wife a few weeks ago. They at least seemed a little more approachable.
“I’m sorry that was a little awkward,” Liam murmured, his hand on her lower back, once the Wheaton-Smythes had moved to join the Atwoods and others at the buffet table at the walled garden end. Marge had driven her van and set up portable food-warming stations within the greenhouse to keep the food hot, seeing it was much closer to the Orangery than either the kitchen or café was. “The Wheaton-Smythes are nice, even if others are … less agreeable.”
