Dreaming Of Mr Darcy

Entertaining romance

Hi. I’m Jack Darcy. Pleased to meet you, Kathy.” He had sandy coloured hair and a nose that was slightly too big for his face. I couldn’t imagine him riding a stallion or emerging from a lake, shirt dripping.

I’ve always loved Pride and Prejudice. From the moment my sister first mentioned Jack, I’d been imagining a very different Mr Darcy – tall, dark, ruggedly handsome, straight from my favourite book.

I smiled to hide my disappointment. “So…” We both tried to speak at the same time.

“This is awkward,” said Jack, as if reading my mind. “Sisters, eh?”

Our sisters worked together and they’d set the date up.

“You have to give him a chance,” Susan told me. “He’s Mr Darcy.”

I should have guessed there’d be a catch when she wouldn’t say what he looked like.

“We don’t have to go through with this,” I told him.

He laughed as if I’d said something hilarious. “If I go home now, Dawn will never forgive me. At least let me get you a drink.” He led me to a table, pulled out a chair and waited until I’d sat down. “What would you like?” “Just a coffee. Thanks.” “Don’t get me wrong,” he said when he came back. “Dawn’s great. The problem is, she’s ridiculously happily married. Two adorable children. Ever since I moved back to Devon, she’s been trying to get me paired off.”

He sounded so brow beaten, I had to smile because my sister was exactly the same. At least we had that in common. I told him about the last three dates Susan had set me up with.

“She hasn’t got a clue. None of them were even remotely my type.”

Jack sipped his coffee. “If it’s not a rude question, what is your type?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Tall, dark, handsome. Like the other Mr Darcy, the one from Pride and Prejudice.” I wondered if he’d hear the wistful note in my voice but he didn’t say anything, just nodded.

“I told my sister, aim for Cameron Diaz. If you miss, fine – close enough will do.”

Not for the first time, I wondered why he’d agreed to meet me. If you wanted someone as different from Cameron Diaz as it was possible to get, you’d end up with me. My hair is as black as a raven’s wing and my skin is a warm shade of olive thanks to my Spanish grandparents. I’m slim too which means that, unlike Cameron, I don’t have much in the way of curves.

I checked the time. It was still ridiculously early, plus I’d gone to all the bother of getting ready. It would be a shame to waste it.

“I suppose we could go somewhere. There are some good films at the Vue.”

He grinned. “Why not? It’s better than getting it in the neck from my sister. We could have a curry afterwards.” He raised his right eyebrow, so that it looked like a question mark. “If you like spicy food.”

“Love it,” I said, taking out my phone. “I’ll check what films are on.”

It turned out to be a fun evening. Because Jack wasn’t my type, it didn’t feel like a date, which meant I could relax because there was no need to try and impress him.

In the funny bits of the film I laughed like a drain, and when we went for a meal, I ate as much as I liked without caring what he thought.

She SIGHED down the phone, “You know MR DARCY isn’t real”

The next morning, I’d only been at work for ten minutes when my sister phoned for an update. “How did it go with Jack?”

“He’s OK,” I told her, “He’s not my type but then you already knew that.”

“‘I did. That’s why I didn’t say what he looked like. But are you going to see him again?”

“Maybe, but only as friends. There was no chemistry.”

“Chemistry? How do you know?” her

pause was full of meaning. “Did you actually kiss him?”

“Of course not,” I said. “Seriously, Susan. You ought to know the kind of man I go for.”

She actually sighed down the phone at me. “I do, but the Mr Darcy in the book isn’t real. It’s time you stopped dreaming.”

I thought that was harsh coming from her. Her husband is tall, dark and handsome. So I dream of Mr Darcy – what’s wrong with that? Jack called me two days later. “The Royal Photographic Society’s print exhibition is on at the museum. Do you fancy going on Saturday?”

I hesitated but I didn’t have anything else planned, so I said yes.

“‘I didn’t know you were into photography,” I said as Jack talked about some of the pictures.

“I love it. I’ve been taking photos since I was three,” he pulled a camera from his pocket. “You must let me take one of you.”

“No way!” I waved my hand in front of the lens. “Cameras don’t like me.”

He chuckled. “Cameras don’t have feelings. You should try being photographed by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“I did. My sister bought me a session at a professional studio for my thirtieth birthday.” I told him all about it in glorious, graphic detail. “By the time they’d finished dressing me up and making me over, I hardly recognised myself.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “If I was photographing you, it would be exactly as you are now – no make-up. No big hair. Just you.”

I shuddered at the thought. “Sounds ghastly. What do you make of this one?” I asked, keen to change the subject.

I went out with him a couple more times, when neither of us had anything better to do, then I met Sam… Sam whose eyes were so dark it was hard to tell where his pupils ended. We bumped into each other in the supermarket, started talking about the joys of ready meals for one, and before I knew what was happening, he’d asked me out.

He took me to a classy Italian restaurant where the food was mouthwateringly fabulous and the wine expensive. The conversation didn’t exactly flow but first dates never go as well as you’d hope, do they?

I was delighted when he asked to see me again.

I soon discovered that Sam wasn’t just tall, dark and handsome, he was wealthy too. On our second date he told me about his parents’ holiday home, nestled on the coast of Devon. It had cost a fortune.

“We should go there,” he said. “It has four double bedrooms, three bathrooms and a swimming pool.”

Jack called that evening about a walking holiday some of his friends were going on. “It’s cheap and cheerful and should be fun. Fancy tagging along?”

“I’d better not. I’m seeing someone.” I explained about Sam. “He’s taking me to Devon next weekend.”

“Let me guess… he’s tall, dark and handsome.”

I laughed. “As a matter of fact he is.”

Saturday morning dawned crisp and bright. When I climbed into Sam’s brand new car, I felt like a princess.

The house didn’t disappoint either. It was approached via a long driveway lined with poplars. I could imagine a certain Mr Darcy riding his carriage down that drive. It was seriously impressive.

“Wait ’ til you see our bedroom,” said Sam as he parked our cases in the hall.

“Our bedroom,” I echoed. “I thought I’d have my own room.”

“Don’t be daft,” he said. “I didn’t bring you here to sleep in separate rooms.” He pulled me into his arms and tried to kiss me. When I didn’t respond he asked what was wrong.

“It’s too soon,” I said. “I need to get to know you first.”

“What’s to know? I’m rich and good-looking, isn’t that enough?” He tried to kiss me again. When I pushed him away, his face darkened. “I’ll call you a cab.”

Ten minutes later, I was in a taxi, heading to the nearest station. I was halfway there when Jack sent me a text. How’s it going? Still seeing Mr Right? It’s all gone horribly wrong, I replied. When I said I was heading home, he told me to wait at the station. I’ll come and collect you. No arguments, he wrote.

When he arrived, he didn’t pry or ask awkward questions, he let me tell him in my own way. He didn’t even say Itold you so. “Thanks,” I said. “What for?” “For being there. For listening.” “My pleasure,” he said. “That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” But that wasn’t what I’d meant. When Sam assumed I’d share a room with him, I realised that if Jack had made the same offer, I might not have said no. It was no longer Fitzwilliam Darcy I was dreaming about – it was Jack.

When he’d offered to pick me up at the station, I’d hoped he’d take me in his arms. maybe even kiss me, but that was never going to happen. I was no Cameron Diaz. I wasn’t his type.

I felt like such a fool. Sam was tall, dark and handsome but he was no gentleman. On our dates I felt tense, scared in case I made a faux pas or said the wrong thing. With Jack, I could relax and be me.

When we got to my house, he carried my case inside.

“If there’s anything else you need, give me a call,” and then he was gone.

With the weekend stretching out in front of me like a long and empty road, I flicked through the local paper, hoping to find somewhere to go. Jack’s camera club’s annual exhibition was on at the local grammar school. I’d forgotten all about it.

It would help fill an hour or so. Besides, I wanted to thank Jack for giving up his time to collect me from the station.

It wasn’t a big exhibition. After ten minutes, I’d seen most of the pictures. It wasn’t the same without Jack telling me about them. So far, I hadn’t seen any sign of him or his photos. Then, as I turned the last corner, I saw something that literally took my breath away. It was a portrait – a portrait of me.

A couple stopped by my side. They looked at the photo then at me. “Wow! Is that you?” The woman sounded so unsure.

I laughed. “Yes. I had no idea it was being taken.”

“You should definitely ask for a copy,” the woman said. “It’s a stunning portrait.”

As they walked away, all I could do was nod. I was still standing there, when I heard a voice I recognised.

“See how beautiful you are?” Jack said softly.

“How did you do that? How did you make me look so…” As I struggled to find the words, he took my hands in his and drew me closer. “But I’m not your type,” I protested. “You like blondes.”

“Ah,” he said. “About that…”

Apparently, my sister had advised him to say that I wasn’t his type.

Jack explained, “If I’d said I don’t have a type, or that I like slim ladies with black hair, and dark eyes, would you have agreed to go out with me? Even just as friends?”

He had a point. More likely, I would have run a mile! I shook my head. “So Cameron Diaz isn’t your ideal woman?”

“Every man likes Cameron Diaz,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “But she’s not real. You are.”

Then he kissed me and I knew that I’d be dreaming of the real Mr Darcy for a long time to come.

It just wasn’t the same WITHOUT Jack TELLING me all about it