Page 5 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
“The doctors have said she’ll be there a few more days. She’s in a bit of pain.”
“Good thing you’re here to look after her.”
“Yes.” Her heart settled into assurance. Itwasgood to be here. Maybe it was the soft blue skies—never quite as vivid as back home—but the sunshine had helped to bring ease and recalibrate her soul. And leaving all her worries back in Wattle Vale was like turning the page in a book. Here she could relax and be herself. Whoever that was these days.
He nodded. “We don’t normally take to outsiders here, but seeing you’re Veronica’s girl, well, we’ll make an exception.”
“I appreciate that.”
He reached up and tugged two envelopes free from the shelf and handed them to her. Gran’s mail. “So, when do you next see her?”
She explained about her plans to see Gran each morning during hospital visiting hours, which left the afternoons free to explore.
“Mm. The biggest attraction around here used to be Hartbury Hall, but it’s closed nowadays,” Joe said.
“I thought stately homes would be open in summer. Isn’t now the peak tourist season?”
“Aye, but ever since the tragedy, well, the master has kept it shut.”
Tragedy? A faint inkling of something her grandmother had once said rang softly. Was it wrong to look interested? Best to not lose any brownie points by getting too personal with the locals. Better save that question for Gran.
“The gardens are still open, though,” he continued, rubbing a hand along a grizzled jaw. “Try the south gate, if the main entrance isn’t open.”
So, she could finally see the famous fountain where Mr. Darcy’s kissing scene had produced countless Instagrammed imitations? Yes, please.
She made her purchases, promised to pass on the mail and Joe’s best wishes and to stop by the next morning for a bunch of flowers to give Gran, and exited the shop. Across, the Duck Inn—she smiled—held welcoming tables outside a pub that looked several centuries old. Nearby, ducks squabbled happily in a small pond near a stream that gently meandered below graceful willows.
A middle-aged woman wearing an apron nodded as she collected empty glasses, and—hands burdened by calico bags of groceries—Liv settled for a smile and a called “Hello!”
“Veronica’s granddaughter?” the greying woman said, putting down her stack of glasses and crossing the empty road. “My, but you look like her.”
She did? Well, Liv had always thought Gran had been something of a beauty back in the day, so she’d take it. “Does everyone know I’m here?” she asked, putting down her bags.
“I should think so. We don’t get much excitement here, so when Veronica had her fall, and then we heard family was coming all the way from Australia, well, we put two and two together and got you.”
“I’m Olivia Bennett.”
The woman nodded. “I remember you from your last visit, what, ten, fifteen years ago? Marge Simmons.” Her head tilted to the pub. “You look like you could do with a good feed, so pop on by when you get a moment.”
“Thank you, I will.” Liv gestured to the shopping. “I better get this home first.”
“You’re doing a good deed, love.”
Heat sparked the back of her eyes, and she nodded and moved to the car as the other woman walked away. How had it come to this, that validation from a near stranger fed her soul? Was she so starved for approval that she lapped it up like Gran’s superior tabby cat slurped his milk?
She stowed her shopping, her thoughts turning to her arrival when she’d made the acquaintance of little Tom. He certainly hadn’t been expecting her, arching his back and hissing in warning when she arrived late at night to a dark cottage. She was glad to have made friends with him quickly, though, discovering the treats that Gran obviously used, treats that she’d needed to replenish as part of the shop today.
Back at the cottage, she put away her purchases then relocked the house, although she kept the windows slightly open to let the fresh warm air chase away the mustiness inside. She hurried back to the car, casting a glance at the neglected garden. One day soon she’d whip the garden into shape, as part of her surprise for when Gran returned home. But that day was not this day. This day was devoted to exploring.
Heart knots untangled. God was good, and her arrival after nearly twenty-four hours on a plane (via China, the cheapest way) held little of the jet lag she recalled from previous trips overseas. Trains had taken her to Birmingham, where she’d met her grandmother in the hospital and been assured by the doctors that, provided Gran stayed healthy, she’d be released in the next few days. Gran had reassured Liv that her cottage in Hartbury awaited her and that her car was insured with Liv’s name as a driver and at her disposal in the hospital’s parking area. Liv had thanked God she didn’t need to stay at a cheap hostel and then driven forty-five minutes down the M5 to reach the charming village of Hartbury. And now, after the visits and the past days of cleaning and restocking Gran’s fridge and pantry were done, she was free to explore.
A glance at her phone—Gran’s Morris Minor was too ancient for SatNav—revealed the road outside Gran’s cottage door soon merged into School Lane, which led, unsurprisingly, to the local primary school. She steered the car in that direction, taking her time as she drank in the pastel vistas. In the distance, church spires rose in a muted sky, and leafy trees beckoned with offers of coolness. The sun felt softer here, with none of the harshness of back home that saw her skin burn every summer.
A honk behind her caused her to swerve then almost drive into a hedge. She braked hard, her head slamming against the headrest. “Excuse me?”
A glance at the dusty red Land Rover saw the driver pass, not sparing her a glance. She exhaled. “Well! Apparently not everything around here is charming.”
She slowly unpeeled her white-knuckled grip from the steering wheel and carefully reversed. Okay, so maybe peak tourist season had some downsides. Like drivers with issues. That didn’t have to spoil the rest of the day.
