Lizzy walked into the party taking place in her backyard, she was wearing a black top, bright red cardigan and an amazing printed vintage skirt; with her mother's Darcy Pearls pendant adorning her neck and her mass of curls tied up with a relatively fashionable printed scarf, she felt that she would be able to hold her own in this party full of off-duty starlets and C-list actors. She was unsure who exactly had managed to convince Joyce to hang fairy lights from the gallery windows on each side, but she was glad they had. The soft, twinkling lights illuminated the inner courtyard and the whole house felt alive with people – she loved it when Pemberley was like this, it made her think of Millicent Darcy's infamous Edwardian house parties and how amazing it would be to recreate one of those; but for now she would have to content herself with a pre-filming get together that the production company was throwing for the actors, crew, HHS senior staff and, of course, the Darcy family.
Her brother Charlie was already here, braying in the corner with his terrible public-school hoo-ha and a group of his friends from the City, who were all double-barrelled Tories; Aunty Julia, who had been in and out of rehab so many times she herself had lost count, was chatting animatedly to a stocky member of crew, and the current Duchess, her stepmum Carol, who was loving being feted by Joyce, who was calling her 'Your Grace' at every possible opportunity. Carol will love that, Lizzy thought. Maggie was on duty tonight, answering questions about the house to some random members of the Press who had been invited for advance publicity, Lizzy waved to her and she waved back subtly, whilst explaining something to an excited Japanese journalist. Tottering across the checkerboard tiles of the courtyard in a pair of ASOS heels that she had indulgently ordered the night before, she made her way to the bar. If she was going to be forced to deal with her family, she would need copious amounts of the free alcohol on offer.
Benn Williams stood in the corner, drinking his San Pellegrino and skulking about. He had recently grown a beard for a ten-night run of Our Country's Good at the West Yorkshire Playhouse, where he had been wracked with nerves each night and required two shots of vodka before he could step foot onstage; he hadn't shaved it off yet as he discovered it gave him a certain level of anonymity that he found comforting. It was, he thought, pretty method of him to be playing Mr Darcy and standing around looking disagreeable at a party and, even though this wasn't any part of his preparation technique, this was what he was going to tell any journalists if they asked. Benn would rather have been drinking alone in the comfort of his hotel room than spending another minute making conversation with over-familiar crew members who he vaguely remembered, or the twenty-year-old actresses who he was pretty aware - and let's be clear here - should be playing his daughters rather than his love interests. He walked over to the buffet, filling a small plate with chicken and some cucumber. "We can't have a flabby Darcy," he had been told, and the studio had insisted that he stick to starvation rations for the next few weeks, or at least until his current Dad-Bod was honed into something that looked more androgynously sexy in breeches.
"You should try a cheese scone," came a small voice.
He looked over and saw a face he didn't immediately recognise, but one which looked strangely familiar.
"I beg your pardon," he said in a stately manner, whilst thinking that this Darcy thing was going to be easier than he thought.
"The cheese scones, they are really good."
As if to prove a point, she picked up the savoury, sliced it in half, smeared it with chutney and popped half on his plate. He looked at it, with a look that he knew was dripping with disdain, then slowly removed it and placed it back on the table.
"I can't eat that." He didn't mean for it to sound like he said it with a sneer, but that's how it came out and whilst he immediately regretted it, he knew full well that the sneer was now across his face. She looked at him with a quizzical expression on her face, as if she couldn't quite understand what his problem was.
"Harriet," another voice chastised. "Leave Mr Williams alone, he's probably not allowed any carbs for the next three months!"
He glanced over to see a face he instantly recognised, Lady Elizabeth Darcy, dressed as what he assumed was Frida Kahlo – he recognised the girl now as Harriet, Matthew's daughter – he hadn't seen her for a while, the last time was about three years ago, if he could remember correctly. But yes, that was where he recognised her from.
"Harriet," he smiled. "Of course, I remember you now. You were on set with your dad for Wuthering Heights."
The girl smiled excitedly, "yes! That was me."
"Yes," he returned the smile. "Did we take some selfies?"
"Yes! Yes, we did… and then I tagged you in them and you commented on my Instagram!"
"That's right," he agreed "I remember."
He didn't want to tell her that he had a social media person who posted and tweeted on everything on his behalf, and that he didn't even know the login for his Instagram account, let alone how to comment on anything.
"I knew you would… I'm working on set tomorrow, so I will see you then, Mr Williams"
Harriet shot her mother a look tinged with smugness, and then walked off towards a gaggle of girls who he guessed were her friends. They all grouped together before turning around in unison to look at him and smile before walking off under the main gate to the front driveway.
"I am sorry about that," Lady Elizabeth said apologetically. "I'm Lizzy, by the way," she said, holding out her hand, which he shook reluctantly.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I know who you are."
"I did ask her not to approach you, but she was helping out the catering team in the house this morning and feels somewhat personally responsible for the cheesiness of the scones."
"You were right," he said. "I'm on a carb ban until my trousers fit."
"Well, for what it's worth, I think that you would look rather dapper in a pair of breeches just as you are." She joked with him, before taking a massive bite of the chutneyed and abandoned cheese scone. "I can tell that you are very jealous of me and my scone right now."
He looked her up and down; "I think most people could benefit from a carb ban."
She pretended to ignore the sly dig but pulled down the back of her dress self-consciously anyway. He sipped his water and she drank her 'Mr Collins' – a cocktail thought up by the production team and consisting of rhubarb gin, lime and soda – through a straw.
She looked up at him, noticing how tall he was – much taller than she though he would have been, and broad, but in a way that you could imagine him picking you up and carrying you over a threshold, not that she wanted him to carry her over a threshold. It was an observation, nothing more. He was wearing a gorgeous blue jumper and nice jeans, dressing them down with a pair of battered old converse. He could feel her looking at him, and he tried to avoid accidentally catching her eye by looking out into the crowd. Jenny Graves, the Elizabeth to his Darcy, was surrounded by her on-screen sisters, who included Nancy Mertons, who was playing Jane and had just finished a successful run in an off-off-Broadway play, and taking the part of Lydia was Tamsin McLeod, recently expunged from a BBC hospital drama in a rather gruesome and macabre death involving an escalator. Since watching it the thought of the incredibly long escalator at the Angel tube station made his stomach turn a little and he avoided it as much as possible. Over by the bar was Franklin Hughes, an incredibly posh and well-spoken actor who had only recently graduated from RADA and would be taking the role of Bingley – they had screen-tested together well and the rehearsals in London had helped him to build up a rapport with the man who was fifteen years his junior. Matthew Wickham was sitting on the steps that led up to the front door of the house, chatting to Harriet and her three friends who looked too excited to listen to anything he had to say.
"Do you enjoy working on period dramas?"
He nodded, then stiffly said, "Occasionally".
"You were rather good as Heathcliff, I must admit."
He nodded again, saying nothing.
"I am sorry to hear about your wife," she said apologetically.
He looked at her with great disdain, "maybe concentrate on cocktails rather than gossip columns, Lady Elizabeth." Leaving his plate on the table he walked away, just as Matthew started his speech and called for the presence of his star.
Benn walked out onto the expanse of lawn, how could he feel so claustrophobic in the open air, he didn't know. He headed left, hoping that the summer air would make him feel less hemmed in and more like himself. It had been a long six months since Madeleine, his wife of ten years, had publicly announced the end of the marriage by moving out of their home in Greenwich and moving into the home of her lover in France. She had taken their two girls with her and left him with an empty house and a broken heart. It had been smeared across the tabloids, obviously, and he had retreated into his shell and his work to try and stop it from hurting. For the most part it was not helping, being away from his children had made him feel self-destructive in the worst possible ways - most nights he found himself drinking alone, smoking his way through a box of Cuban cigars that the soon-to-be former Mrs Williams had gifted him for their most recent wedding anniversary, and ordering his favourite takeout foods to make himself feel better or at least feel something. The noise of the party was escaping over the rooftops, and he sat on a patch of grass at the top of some steps, closed his eyes and wished that he was anywhere but here.
Lizzy, bored of Matthew's waffling on about the importance of filming here at his childhood home and with a reluctance to continue hiding that boredom, decided to see if she could find Benn Williams, who hadn't responded to everyone's shouts to come up on stage, and whose absence had been forgotten after a drunken gaffer shouted, 'his diet pills haven given him the shits – he's on the bog." She hadn't wanted to offend him before, she was genuinely sorry to hear about the breakdown of his marriage – of all the couples that she was rooting for, the Williams' were in her top five and they always seemed happy together, but she had offended him, and seeing as they would be neighbours for the next few weeks, she thought she owed him an apology.
Sprawled out on the grass, one of the world's most bankable actors stared at the stars above, the noise of the PA had been replaced by the tinny karaoke, which echoed around the courtyard and out in the balmy air. He could smell roses and the heady scent of them in the air was only seeking to compound his loss. Madeleine loved roses, especially peonies. he remembered how on their first date two days before Christmas, when was a struggling actor working repertory and she had just got a job on the country's longest running soap, that he bought her a massive bunch of what she called 'tissue paper roses', not realising that they were out of season and ridiculously expensive. It had cost him a week's pay check and caused a few bills to bounce that month, but it had been worth it to see her face light up and that smile of hers, it warmed his heart. As she had kissed him that night, under the fairy lights wrapped around her bedhead, he knew that he was going to make this woman his wife.
When he started dating Madeleine he was the man who held her handbag, as she was photographed and deconstructed every week on the pages of Heat and Star Goss. She had laughed it off. Madeleine Tennant was loved by the nation, she had grown up in the public eye; both her parents were British film royalty and she had played the younger version of her mum's role in two features before she had left school. It was this innate self-confidence that enabled Madeleine to ignore the media for the large part. It simply didn't bother her.
They had been together for five years when he finally plucked up the courage to finally ask her to marry him – petrified that she would laugh at him, even though they already had two daughters and a ridiculously overpriced house in Clapham. She did laugh at him, happy smiling tears of laughter as she said 'yes, yes, a million times, yes'. He was supportive when she had made the decision to leave Haringey Place and then she had effortlessly moved into grittier dramas before spending eight months in Australia filming a series for Netflix. It had been hard looking after the kids by himself, essentially being a single dad whilst she was away, but the universe had smiled upon him and it was after he had taken Esther and Anya to school that he had gone to the audition for a British film written by a girl he went to university with, Casey Muir. She had called him specifically one evening saying that she knew he would be absolutely perfect for it and that she hoped he hadn't put himself out to pasture yet; the pages were great, and he had worked on them after the girls were in bed, rehearsing with his wife over Skype before the conversation fell into something slightly more interesting.
He had walked into the audition room to see Matthew Wickham, Oscar-winning wunderkind, who was sitting behind the table looking amazingly polished and professional. Benn had worn his smart jeans and a blue jumper feeling every one of his thirty-five years. He had been to auditions before, obviously, but this one was different. This was for something real; for a role that he knew he could do brilliant things with. As much as he loved supporting his wife and looking after his kids, he hadn't worked his arse off and paid his dues in pantomime and rep and education to perform recycled jokes from the seventies to studio audiences. This could be his big break and he wanted this part more than anything. He hadn't thought that he would receive an Oscar nomination, or that he would have a BAFTA for Best Actor sitting on a shelf in the kitchen. Benn Williams' rise to stardom had been meteoric and even now, seven years later, he was still waiting for the day when he would crash back down to earth.
He knew that Madeleine was unhappy when his own fame eclipsed her own, he knew his wife well enough to know that she was silently upset when, at the premiere of her own movie, the photographers demanded his attention rather than hers. He knew that she had felt insecure when the rumours had circulated about his friendships with his leading ladies and he knew that he had done little to stop her feeling that way, instead choosing roles that took him far away from his family for longer and longer periods of time, culminating in a disastrous month where he missed Esther's birthday and his ninth wedding anniversary but had been photographed walking on the beach arm in arm with Rosie Schaffer. Benn Williams had come to realise, in the beauty of the Derbyshire countryside, that he had caused the break-up of his own marriage and he resolved that he was going to make it right.
Lizzy looked down at the figure that was usually Benn Williams, lying on the grass verge next to the flowerbeds in front of the Orangery.
"Mr Williams," she whispered with a very real sincerity. "Are you okay?"
He pulled his knees up to his chest, curled himself in a little ball and groaned. "Can you fuck off" and then as if he remembered his manners, "please."
Lizzy felt a little indignant but turned on her heel and went back to the party. She was planning on drinking a lot of gin. Benn Williams opened one eye and watched as the curly-haired woman with the red sparkly shoes clattered down the steps and back to the party.
"Lizzy, how the devil are you, old girl?" Charlie grabbed her in his embrace and gave her the biggest hug, practically lifting her off the tiled floor. "I say, it has been a bloody long time since I have seen you outside of weddings and funerals."
"I know, I missed you!" She genuinely missed her big brother, despite growing up in different parts of the country, they had always kept in touch via letters and phonecalls, then emails and IM, before it became Skype and WhatsApp – Winston had always made sure they visited Charlie on St Andrews Day at Eton, and he always made sure that he gave her the pre-requisite birthday punches that he owed her from the month before. She kept her arm wrapped around him, as they walked over to the bar. "Have you not brought Lydia with you?"
"No, of course not, she is at a retreat in Geneva with Mufty and Portia, and then she is off to Norway for a few weeks."
"But it's the summer holidays, aren't Tom and Josh back from school?" Lizzy never understood the workings of the 'real' side of her family, who sent their children away to school and had them returned at eighteen as miniature versions of themselves. "Do she not want to see them?"
Charlie handed her a large glass of something pink as they squeezed past some baby-faced ingenues and a few faces she recognised from past productions. "Well, her reasoning is that the summer holidays are for her too, so she will back for last two weeks and we're all off to the villa to stay with Daddy. Has Carol been alright with you today?"
They walked over to the North porch, where they could sit on the stone bench near the front entrance and have a conversation undisturbed by Janice from accounts singing 'I Will Survive' over the PA. Carol was not a great stepmother. In fact, Carol wasn't particularly great mother either – preferring to throw her teenage daughter into the path of producers of reality television and the tabloid press, rather than actual parent her. She was hoping that Imogen would find a similarly rich man, possibly a minor Royal, who would marry her and then she would be someone else's problem. Lizzy and Carol had clashed numerous times over Imogen, which had resulted in a long-lasting, but fairly upper-class feud, where everyone was civil, whilst secretly plotting revenge. Charlie and Hugh were only concerned about it when there was an event, such as this one, when the two senior Darcy women might possibly clash. For the most part, Carol had been entertained by HHS staff and a Mitchell brother from Eastenders who had been calling her 'Duchess' all night in his cockney drawl.
"She's been okay," Lizzy nodded. "I keep out of her way, she keeps out of mine. How's Imogen been?"
"Back in rehab, not sure what for. Dad has managed to keep it all out of the press so that's a relief," Charlie downed his whiskey. "Promise me you will come to town soon, I want you to come and see the boys and we can do some of the sightseeing rubbish you love." He popped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her cardigan in tight against the cool breeze sneaking through from over the moorlands, and kissed the top of her head. "I miss you, Lizard."
"Miss you too, Charlie Bear," she smiled. "And I will be in town for Christmas anyway, you know this."
The Darcy siblings sat there for a moment in the porch before the pull of the party was too great and they returned to the dancing, laughter and singing as the music rose up above the sandstone brick and over the leaded roof, before fading into the warm July air above Pemberley.