Dating Mr. Darcy: A romantic comedy (Love Manor Romantic Comedy Book 1)

by Kate O'Keeffe

  He pulls me in for another head-spinning kiss.

  I take a sip of my wine. “Holy crap, that’s good,” I say before I remember that I’m sitting on a sofa that’s probably older than my great grandmother, in a room that was “extensively renovated by the late Victorians,” with an aristocrat at my side. A hot one, but an aristocrat all the same.

  He grins at me. “I’m glad you like it.”

  I take another sip. “It’s even better than Bud,” I declare with a laugh.

  “High praise indeed.”

  Our gazes lock and we grin at one another. Can anything beat this moment? The moment when you’ve both admitted to having feelings for one another after not knowing if the other felt the same? The moment when you realize the object of your desire wants you back?

  “I didn’t expect you, Sebastian Huntington-Ross,” I say. “I thought you were pompous and self-interested, and only came on this show to stroke your already massive ego. Either that or you were a total nut job, expecting to find love on reality TV. But you’re not like that at all.”

  “I’m not pompous, self-interested, or deluded? Emma, you are so good at flirting. You should write a book.”

  “I do try to make you feel special.”

  He laughs. “You’ve made me feel a lot of things since you came on the show.”

  “Angry, annoyed, unvalued?” I offer.

  “Don’t forget frustrated and irritated.”

  I spread my hands out to my sides. “My work here is done.”

  He takes one of my hands in his. His tone is more serious when he says, “I hope not. In fact, I hope you might agree to stay. Not just for your label.”

  My breath catches in my throat. “You want me to stay?”

  He bites his lip, his eyes glowing warm gold. “I can ask that you be allowed to wear your label on camera again, of course, but, Emma, I want you to stay for more than that. I want you to stay for me.”

  “I—” I break off. I look down at my hand in his. “Seb, I didn’t come here to look for someone.”

  “I know,” he replies softly.

  I lift my eyes to his. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find the words. I cannot deny I’ve got feelings for him, but I also know that this could never work. Different worlds, different lives, not to mention the fact we’re in this weird land of reality TV that distorts everything.

  “Emma, before you answer, I need you to know I feel something for you. Something I don’t feel for anyone else. Something I didn’t expect in a million years to feel on this show. You came along and changed all that.” As he looks at me, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes I’ve not seen before.

  “But you came on this show to find love. You told me that on the first night.”

  He takes another sip of his wine and stares at the empty fireplace. After what begins to grow into an uncomfortable silence between us, he tilts his head to face me once more. “I agreed to do the show because Martinston is under threat. The Huntington-Rosses may have a long line of notable aristocrats, but what we don’t have so much of these days is money.” There’s a note of anger in his voice.

  “You can’t tell me you’re broke. Your house is freaking huge.”

  “We’re not broke. But a place like this takes a lot of upkeep, which takes money. My family and I live here together. Although Zara and I both work, it’s not enough for us to support Mother and Granny as well as pay all the household bills.”

  “Oh.”

  “When Johnathan learnt about the fact the production company was looking for a Mr. Darcy, he suggested I apply as a way to make some fast cash.”

  “I guess it beats a bank robbery,” I say to lighten the mood. “What would have happened if you hadn’t done the show?”

  His jaw locks, his features hardening. “I would have gone down in history as the son to lose the family estate.”

  I squeeze his hand. “Seb, I had no idea.”

  “Of course you didn’t. I’m here to find love, not save my family home.” He looks up at me and I can see the pain behind his eyes.

  “Why now? What’s happened?”

  “It turns out I didn’t know my father very well at all. When he died, we discovered he’d racked up debts through gambling. I always knew he enjoyed going to the races. He loved horses. But I what none of us realized was quite how much he ‘invested’ in them. He’d emptied the family coffers, if you will.”

  I can’t imagine even having family “coffers,” let alone emptying them through gambling.

  “I’m really sorry to hear that, Seb. It’s a lot for you to have to deal with.”

  He gives a tight nod. “I’m trusting you to keep this information to yourself.”

  “Of course. I won’t tell a soul.”

  He takes my glass and places both his and mine on the table. “Thank you.”

  “That must be so hard,” I say. “I can’t relate to it, because I grew up in a total dump I was happy to see the back of. But this place is so special. I can see why you love it so much.”

  He leans in and kisses me gently on the lips. “Perhaps now you can see why you were such a revelation to me. We both came here for reasons other than love. We’re not so very different, you and I.”

  “I guess we’re not.” Happiness bubbles up inside me as I lean in to kiss him once more. My fears about us being different melt away at his touch, and I finally allow myself to fully admit to my feelings for him.

  Neither of us went into this thing looking for the other. But somehow we found each other, and suddenly the prospect of being here to the end, knowing Sebastian and I can be together, has me grinning from ear to ear.

  Chapter 22

  “Bowls!” Mrs. Watson’s beaming smile makes her look like she’s just told us we’ve all won the lottery, rather than we’ve got to play a game where we roll heavy black balls across a lawn to try to get them as close to a smaller ball as we can.

  I mean, really. What is the point?

  “The ladies and gentlemen of the Regency period had time on their hands and, consequently, they were fond of many games. Lawn bowls is one such game, and you will be competing with one another to win time with Mr. Darcy. The runner-up will have high tea with him in the parlor, and the winner will be treated to a romantic dinner for two this evening.”

  Two dates in one day? I almost feel sorry for the guy.

  “Awesome. Another game to dent our dignity,” I murmur to Kennedy.

  “What’s left of it,” she replies. “And anyway, isn’t this usually a game played by old guys on artificial turf?”

  I snort and quickly clear my throat when Mrs. Watson glares at me.

  “Whatever you do, don’t look at the shower cap,” Kennedy murmurs.

  I look at the shower cap and instantly burst into giggles, which I try to stifle with my hand over my mouth.

  Mrs. Watson turns her scary school teacher glare on me. “Are you quite well, Miss Emma?”

  I think of terrible things to stop from giggling. “Yup. All good, Mrs. Watson,” I reply as all eyes turn to stare at me.

  Mrs. Watson tightens her features and raises her eyebrows, telling me exactly what she thinks of my little outburst, and I feel like a naughty tween, messing around when I should have been doing algebra back in Mrs. Tosca’s math class.

  “Look around you. You’re already standing in your teams,” Mrs. Watson continues and I glance at Camille to my left.

  I roll my eyes at Kennedy. Lucky us. We’ve got the darling Camille on our team.

  “Miss Camille, you’re the captain of your team. Miss Shelby, you’re the captain of yours, and Miss Reggie, you’re the captain of yours. You will decide the bowling order.”

  Camille turns to us and declares I will go first, followed by her and Kennedy. We agree, because neither of us couldn’t care less about bowls, and Camille is kind of scary.

  “First team to bowl is Miss Shelby’s team,” Mrs. Watson announces and Shelby and her teammates collect their black balls
from the wooden cases on the table.

  “We are going to win,” Camille instructs us as we peel away to the nearby chairs to watch.

  “Are you especially fond of high tea, Camille?” Kennedy asks facetiously.

  She scrunches her brows together. “Of course not. I don’t eat carbs and I definitely don’t drink tea.” She gives us a look that questions our sanity. “I want that dinner date, not the consolation prize. Now, watch the others and imitate the ones who know what they’re doing.”

  “Camille, I don’t think any of us know what we’re doing on account of the fact we’re not men in our eighties,” I reply.

  “Actually, I heard that lawn bowls has the highest mortality rate of any sport,” Kennedy says. “Although I think that’s more to do with the average age of the participants than any real danger.”

  “Good to know.”

  “It’s all about ball skills,” Camille states.

  “Riiight?”

  “I’m sure you’ve both got them. That’s all this is.” She turns to watch as Shelby takes her first roll of the bowl. It misses the jack by about fifty yards and Camille sniggers. “Don’t copy that dingbat Shelby.”

  “I couldn’t care less about winning, but I do like the idea of high tea,” I say to Kennedy.

  “I thought you’d want the dinner with Mr. Darcy. So romantic.” She waggles her eyebrows at me and I’m mortified to feel heat creep up my cheeks.

  Camille doesn’t miss a beat. “As I told you before, Sebastian and I are a perfect fit. Even if you do win, Emma, you having dinner with him won’t make any difference to that fact. You and your stretchy pants business and air of desperation.”

  I think of the time I spent with Sebastian in the library last night, and my cheeks flame. The only desperation I felt then was when he ran his fingers through my hair and I ... never mind. It was hot, and that’s all you need to know.

  “You just keep telling yourself that, Camille,” Kennedy says in my defense.

  She ignores the jibe. Instead, she twirls one of her ringlets around her finger, and says, “We vacation in some of the same places, we know some of the same people, we both come from serious money. Can either of you say that?”

  “Oh, my gosh, Camille. Have you ever wondered if you’re related?” Kennedy asks, wide eyed.

  I do my best not to laugh.

  “Don’t be ludicrous. The only way Sebastian and I are going to be related is through marriage when I win,” she replies, looking especially pleased with herself.

  “I walked into that one, didn’t I?” Kennedy says under her breath to me.

  “Kinda did, babe.” I nod at the cameras. “And it was all recorded.”

  “Oh, Shelby!” Camille exclaims in delight as Shelby mis-bowls a ball, this time rolling it into a bush on the other side of the garden. It misses the jack by about the length of Sebastian’s house, give or take. “You’re meant to try to get the ball as close to the jack as you can, not as far away from it.” She giggles at her own joke and receives a scowl from Shelby.

  The atmosphere changes around us and I look up to see Sebastian walking across the lawn toward us. He’s dressed as Mr. Darcy, of course, and when his gaze lands on me, my heart contracts.

  “Hello, ladies,” he says as he comes to a stop. “Did someone mislay this?” He holds up a ball.

  “Oh, that’ll be mine,” Shelby says bashfully. “I’m not very good at this game.”

  He holds it out for her and she takes it in her hands as though it’s a rare and wonderful baby bird. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to spend some time with you, Shelby.”

  I know he’s playing the game. He’s got to at least show willingness with the other contestants. But it stings all the same.

  The other members of Shelby’s team bowl their balls and then it’s Reggie’s team’s turn. Reggie is terrible but good humored about it as always, and then Mrs. Watson announces, “The next team is Miss Camille’s team, Mr. Darcy. We have Miss Camille, Miss Kennedy, and Miss Emma.” She points at each of us.

  He smiles at us and says, “I’m glad I didn’t miss this.”

  Mrs. Watson claps her hands. “Positions please, ladies.”

  Kennedy, Camille, and I collect a ball each and move over to the mark.

  “If this were ten-pin bowling, I’d smash the lot,” Kennedy says to me.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You don’t look like the bowling type.”

  “What’s the type?”

  “You know, protruding belly, terrible shoes. Plus you’re not a balding, middle-aged man.”

  “I grew up with a dad obsessed with it. I couldn’t not be the type.”

  “You go first, Emma,” Camille instructs.

  “But Kennedy’s got the ‘ball skills,’” I complain.

  “Just do it,” she snaps. She turns to smile sweetly at Sebastian.

  I could argue, but what’s the point? I’d may as well get this thing over with. I step onto the little green mat and line up my shot. Without any strategy whatsoever, I aim for the jack and roll the ball in its direction. I watch as it slows and comes to a stop about five feet from it, knocking one of the other team’s balls out of place.

  “Hey! Not fair,” Shelby complains.

  “Sorry,” I say to her with a conciliatory shrug.

  “Don’t be sorry, Emma,” Camille says. “You’re doing great.” She hands me another bowl and I almost fall over at the compliment.

  “I’ve got to go again?” I ask.

  “Haven’t you been watching? Each player gets four balls to bowl.”

  I let out a puff of air. “Okay.”

  I bowl the next ball and it ends up crashing into a garden seat way off course, and the next ball barely makes it half way down the green.

  “Would you like some help, Emma?” Sebastian asks.

  “Sure,” I reply breathlessly as he collects a ball and moves over to me.

  “I think it might be your technique.”

  “Do you know much about bowls?” I ask him under my breath.

  “Next to nothing,” he replies, and I snort with laughter. He passes me the ball and moves to stand behind me. “Line up the jack.”

  I hold the ball up in front of me as though I’m going to bowl a ball down an alley at ten pins.

  He puts his hand on my arm and I can feel his firm body pressed up against mine. It feels amazing, and I find myself wishing we were alone in the library away from the glare of the cameras and the other contestants. “Now, pull it back like this, and then direct it at the jack.”

  I release the ball and, with his body still pressed against mine, we both watch its progress. It knocks my other ball out of contention, sitting pretty only a couple of feet from its target.

  “You’re a professional, Miss Emma,” he says and I turn and smile up at him, my heart going all kinds of crazy.

  “My turn next,” Camille announces.

  With regret, I pull back from Sebastian and return to Kennedy on the edge of the green.

  “Will you show me how to do it, too, Mr. Darcy?” Camille asks, looking up through her lashes at him.

  “Of course, Camille.”

  “You’ll need to do exactly what you did with Emma. I’m afraid I’m not very good at bowls.”

  I roll my eyes at Kennedy. Camille sure knows how to play the damsel in distress card.

  As Sebastian takes Camille’s ball and positions himself behind her as he had with me, a burning sensation takes hold of my chest. Although my rational brain tells me he’s playing the game for the cameras, it’s hard to watch.

  And Camille milks it for all it’s worth. She asks for his help with every ball, and I’m forced to watch the whole thing unfold, pretending I’m fine with it all.

  “Oh, Mr. Darcy. With your help, I think I might win today,” she simpers when her last ball has been bowled. Praise the Lord.

  Kennedy has her go next, and she makes a point of not asking for Sebastian’s help, even though she could quite obv
iously use it. She manages to knock one of my balls out of contention, but the rest of them go awry.

  And then it’s time for Mrs. Watson to assess who has won.

  She calls for quiet. “Congratulations, Camille. You have won the romantic dinner for two with Mr. Darcy tonight.”

  Camille smirks and thanks everyone as though she’s just won an Oscar and not some game played by the elderly.

  “The runner up is Phoebe, who will enjoy some high tea with Mr. Darcy this afternoon.”

  Phoebe smiles her beautiful smile at everyone.

  “Well done, you two,” Sebastian says. “I look forward to seeing you later.” His eyes flick to mine briefly, and I hope he means me.

  “Everyone else has a free afternoon,” Mrs. Watson says.

  “Poor Sebastian, having to have dinner with her,” Kennedy says once we’re back in our room and our mics are firmly off. “She’ll probably be all over him again, telling him how well they’re matched.”

  “I say bring it,” I reply.

  “Oooh, someone’s feeling confident.”

  “If I tell you something, will you promise not to say anything to anyone? And I mean anyone.”

  “This sounds juicy.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” She leans closer to me and asks, “What is it?”

  “I met up with Sebastian last night.”

  “You what?” she shrieks and I shush her straight away. We might be alone in our room away from the cameras, but you can’t be too careful on a reality TV show. I know. I’ve watched them.

  “He came to our room and I snuck out with him,” I say.

  “Oh, my God. Are you serious? I slept through the whole thing.”

  “You did.”

  “So? How was it?”

  “It was wonderful. He’s wonderful.”

  She beams at me. “Tell me everything.”

  “I may leave some things out,” I lead.

  She laughs. “Move over Camille. Emma has already won the prize. And what a prize he is.”

  I grin at her, happiness spreading across my chest. Camille may have won today, but I’ve won what really matters here. I’ve won Sebastian’s heart. And I could not be happier.