The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy: Prada and Prejudice / Love and Liability / Mansfield Lark

“Pen?”

“Her sister, Penelope. Pen’s very arty; she designs her own jewellery. Poppy’s the goofy one. Perhaps I can persuade Pen to design a few pieces for the store.” She beamed at him. “I never knew work could be so much fun!”

“It can be, if you’re motivated. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

The unexpectedness of the question left Natalie blinking. “I…erm, yes, I am.”

She imagined sitting across from him in a posh restaurant, sharing smouldering glances across a candlelit table as he fed her prawns and ripe, juicy strawberries…and then she imagined him leaning forward to kiss her, murmuring, ‘Miss Dashwood, you bewitching creature, you taste enticingly of strawberries…’

“I’ll have Gemma order takeaway,” Rhys announced. “Chinese, or Indian if you prefer. We can discuss our plans in the conference room.”

Her visions of candlelight and chateaubriand in a romantic French bistro vanished abruptly, replaced with takeaway cartons, plastic cutlery, and grease-spotted bags. A business dinner…why on earth had she expected anything more?

“I don’t like Indian takeaway.” She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling suddenly like a petulant child.

“Then Chinese it is.” Rhys leaned forward and pressed his intercom. “Gemma, order in some shrimp lo mein for me, and—” he paused to glance inquiringly at Natalie.

“Garlic broccoli,” she murmured sulkily.

“—garlic broccoli for Miss Dashwood, please. And spring rolls. You can leave once it arrives. Thanks.”

“Are you quite sure we can afford it?” Nat snapped.

“I think we can just about manage.” He lifted his eyebrow. “I see you get cranky when you’re hungry.”

“Blimey.” Natalie sat back, and despite her irritation, regarded him with grudging admiration. “How do you do it?”

He thrust on his glasses and begun tapping at his laptop. “Do what?” he asked.

“Well, you…you make things happen. I came in here ready to throttle you; instead, we’re about to plan D&J’s future together over spring rolls and plum sauce.”

He shrugged. “I just get on with it.”

The food arrived, and once the cartons and spring rolls and packets of soy sauce and mustard were sorted, they went to work.

“Gemma said you went shopping with your sister this morning,” Rhys said as he expertly wielded his chopsticks. “Did she find a wedding gown?”

Natalie squeezed Chinese mustard liberally on her spring roll. Gemma had a big bloody mouth. “She found the perfect dress at Vera Wang. I was going to buy it for her. But unfortunately—” she glared at him “—my credit was declined.”

“That must’ve been inconvenient…and embarrassing.”

“It was. I was furious, had a bit of a meltdown. Caro said the dress was too expensive anyway.”

“I’m glad at least one of you is sensible.” He caught the packet of plum sauce she flung at him. “Why not ask your designer friend – Pen, is it? –to recommend an up-and-coming designer to make your sister’s wedding dress?” he suggested. “A bespoke gown from a rising fashion star—”

“Yes! We could feature the dress in store ads, and offer a limited number for sale,” Natalie mused. “Women love limited editions. And not just wedding gowns! We could feature a new designer line each season.”

“Available only at Dashwood and James,” Rhys agreed.

“We could sponsor a yearly event,” Natalie went on, her excitement growing, “and offer makeup consultations and makeovers, and accessories – handbags, shoes – to go with the outfits. We could have a fashion show!” She looked expectantly at Rhys, her eyes shining. “Well, what do you think?”

“I like it…dependent upon the cost, of course. Draft me up a business plan.”

“Oh, it shouldn’t cost much; we’d only need to put up a marquee outside, provide light refreshment, hire a couple of DJs. We’d give a real boost to a fledgling designer’s career if we featured their clothing line in-store.” Excitement overtook her. She was actually enjoying this! “I’ll do up a marketing plan.”

Rhys frowned, which meant he was deep in thought, and probably not listening to a word she’d said.

Natalie bit into her spring roll. “Tell me a bit about your brother, the one who fancies Keeley. Is he a workaholic, like you?”

“Jamie? He’s a sous chef with a 60-hour work week and a girlfriend he rarely sees.” He paused. “So yes, I suppose you could say he’s a workaholic. But he’s more likeable than me.”

Natalie raised her brow. “I should hope so. You’re not likeable at all.”

He chucked a packet of Chinese mustard at her and said it was time they got back to work.

Hannah James flicked through the racks of new spring clothing with a satisfied sigh. A Saturday afternoon spent browsing in Topshop and H&M always cheered her up.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” she told her best friend, Jo. “I don’t see anything I like.”

As they emerged onto the pavement, Jo glanced at Hannah. “We could go to D&J…”

“No way. The clothes are vile. Even mum says they’re only fit for old ladies.”

“True.” They passed a music store, and Jo grabbed Hannah’s arm. “Han, look, isn’t that…it is! It’s Duncan!”

“Where?” Hannah froze and glanced through the window, past the guitars and amps and racks of sheet music, and she saw him.

He stood with a slender blonde girl, the two of them looking at a sheet of music Duncan held, oblivious to anyone around them.

“Who’s she?” Hannah demanded. “I’ve seen her before, somewhere—” she broke off as she saw Jo’s guilty expression. “You know who she is! Tell me.”

Jo sighed. “Her name’s Theodora, she’s a new sixth-former. Her friends call her Theo.”

“Come on,” Hannah decided, “let’s go. I don’t want to see Duncan…or Theo,” she added.

They were turning away when Duncan glanced up and saw them through the window.

“Oh God, he’s seen us,” Jo muttered. She waved. “Shit! They’re coming out. Sorry.”

“Jo, I swear, I’ll kill you for this!” Hannah hissed.

The door opened, and Duncan and Theodora joined them. “Hullo, Jo, Hannah,” he said, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping,” Hannah retorted. “What else?”

“This is Theo,” he said. “She’s a new music student. Theo, this is Jo and Hannah.”

Theo’s hair was looped and clipped into a messy up-do. She looked like one of those annoying French girls – chic, without even trying. She wore dangly eardrops and hardly any makeup. She didn’t need it; her skin was flawless.