Page 75 of Me and Mr. Darcy

Hang on a minute.

I do a little twirl, from side to side, and my face breaks into the biggest smile.

That’s me! That’s my reflection!

I pause in disbelief. Wow, I can’t believe it. I’m entranced by my own reflection. Even though I say it myself, I look great. Totally transformed. As if I’m going to the Academy Awards or something. I do another little twirl, revelling in how the fabric seems to swish out around me. Gosh, if wearing a dress like this can make me feel like a princess, I wonder what else I’ve been missing out on? Stella’s so right. What have I been doing all this time in Gap combats and T-shirts? Pulling a straight face, I do a little shimmy up and down.

Swish. Swish. Swish—

‘Champagne, madam?’

A waiter swoops down on me bearing a silver tray filled with champagne flutes.

‘Oh . . . um, great,’ I say, abruptly stopping mid-swish and blushing hotly. I take one gratefully. I’m determined not to drink too much tonight, not after my night at the pub with Cat, but I guess one tiny little glass isn’t going to hurt, is it? It will just help to take the edge off my nerves. The doors to the ballroom are wide open, and pausing at the entrance, I take a large, fizzy gulp.

After that I’ll stick to water. Promise.

Chapter Twenty-one

Except the trouble with promises is they tend to get broken.

No sooner have I finished off the first glass than another magically appears in my hand, only it barely registers, as I’m too busy chatting to Maeve, who I found tucked away in the corner with Rupinda and Hilary. She’s wearing a plain blue shift dress, and although every now and then she’s still in the habit of hugging her pale, freckled elbows to her body, as if trying to hide behind them, she seems more relaxed, unburdened somehow. As if sharing her secret has gone some way to setting her free.

‘What a pretty dress. The colour suits you.’

I look up to see Miss Steane bearing down upon us. She’s wearing what looks like a copy of a Regency dress and is smiling approvingly.

‘It brings out the colour of your eyes.’

‘Oh, wow, thanks.’ I smile appreciatively. ‘A friend bought it for me as a Christmas present.’

‘How very fortunate,’ she says, her eyes twinkling as she looks me up and down. ‘I’m sure you will be a huge hit with the gentlemen tonight.’

‘Oh, I’m not looking to meet anybody,’ I say quickly.

She looks indignant. ‘Nonsense,’ she replies firmly. ‘To quote Jane Austen: “To you I shall say, as I have often said before, ‘Do not be in a hurry, the right man will come at last.’”’

How prophetic. Mr Darcy pops up in my head. I get butterflies just thinking about it.

‘But how will I know he’s the right man?’ I quip, smiling.

Fixing me with her hazel eyes, she takes my hands between hers. ‘Because you will meet somebody more exceptional than anyone you have yet known. Who will love you as warmly as possible. And who will so completely attract you that you will feel you never really loved before.’

Wow. Heavy. I feel myself blush.

‘But first you must be open to the possibility that the right man might not be as you expected,’ she says wisely, and for a moment I feel as if she’s almost talking directly about Mr Darcy. As if she knows about him. But of course that’s impossible. ‘Remember, don’t let pride or prejudice stand in the way of love,’ she finishes, and smiles wryly.

‘Poppycock!’ interrupts a booming voice. ‘If you ask me, love is completely overrated.’

Turning sideways, I see Rose bustling towards us in a peacock-green satin dress, with matching full-length gloves. ‘And I should know, I’ve been married more times than I care to remember.’

‘Hello, Rose,’ chorus Rupinda and Hilary, shooting each other glances and suddenly deciding it’s time to take a bathroom break and disappearing.

‘Gosh, what an amazing dress,’ gushes Maeve, her eyes nearly popping out on stalks at Rose’s impressive cleavage, which is dripping with diamonds.

‘Yeah, you look great,’ I agree distractedly, taking another mouthful of champagne. My mind is lingering over Miss Steane’s words.

‘Rubbish! I’m invisible,’ sniffs Rose. ‘Nobody sees me any more. Waiters, taxi drivers, shop assistants . . .’