Up the Garden Path

Come to think of it, garden scenes don’t feature very often in my books, and that’s probably because ornamental gardens are rather too close to the house. Not much chance for privacy, for meaningful talks (and hopefully a swoon-worthy kiss, or several) if our dear characters are strolling under Lady Catherine’s windows or Miss Bingley’s. The woods around Rosings, Netherfield and Longbourn are a much safer bet, and so are cliff-paths overlooking the sea, or quiet spots in the park, or garden temples a long way from the house, or Mr Darcy’s private book-room.

In my latest book though, they can stroll through the garden to their hearts’ content, safe from Lady Catherine’s meddling (and, for a while at least, safe from Mr Bingley’s sisters too) because they are already married. I was very glad, by the way, to discover that in those days the marriage service did not include anything along the lines of ‘You may kiss the bride.’ I wanted their first kiss to be at Pemberley, and also to be rather more than a brief and tame sort of thing at the end of the wedding ceremony.

If you haven’t read Twists of Fate yet, here’s a little peek at that garden scene:

TWISTS OF FATE

(Excerpt from Chapter 18)

The circular route Darcy had chosen took them down the narrow footpath that meandered through countless clumps of rhododendrons. They were descending the steep incline, step by cautious step, and he was about to let Elizabeth know that, come April, the entire hillside would burst into a riot of colour, when all of a sudden Rufus darted between them and crossed the path in wild, uncoordinated haste, tripping her as he did so.

Darcy barely had the time to spin round and catch her. He instinctively anchored his heels in the soft, damp soil, lest they gracelessly tumble down the slope together, and the terrier’s shrill barks rent the air as Rufus gave chase to some hapless woodland creature and vanished in the undergrowth.

The small dog and his quarry might as well have fallen off the edges of the world. Darcy could not spare them another thought. He stood stock-still, lost in her gaze – lost in the gloriously unexpected moment – until a strange tightness in his chest reminded him to breathe.

He did. Air rushed into his lungs, and it was intoxicating. Because they had never stood so close. Close enough for him to find the heady fragrance of her skin in the very air that he breathed.

He drank deep, letting it flood his senses, even as wisps of reason urged him to slacken his hold around her waist. They could barely make themselves heard, those wisps of reason, yet they were irksomely insistent, so he cursed them and complied.

Light-headedness set in when, for all the slackened hold, she made no move to withdraw but remained where she was, her hand on his shoulder, her shimmering eyes never veering from his. Dark brown eyes flecked with gold, a warm glow in their depths. A glow that filled his world when Darcy dipped his head and touched his lips to hers.

He could not have drawn back if his life hung in balance when a puff of air brushed his face, and her slender frame, tense with the shock of the near-fall, loosened into abandon. Closing her eyes, she kissed him back – and it was all that he could do not to give in to the fierce onslaught of desire. By dint of sheer will, he kept the kiss light. Soft. A tender caress against her lips that deepened slowly, with gentle pressure, much as it begged to flare into ravenous possession as passion surged and burst into a blaze. Resisting it was nothing short of agony – exquisite agony, too sweet to be relinquished – and it was only when he felt his self-control inexorably slipping that he forced himself to cease playing with fire and drew back a little. A very little. But it was still beyond him to let his arm drop.

Her eyes fluttered open and, to his relief, Darcy found that they had lost nothing of their glow. If anything, they seemed to have gained an impish glimmer.

“Thank goodness for squirrels, I suppose,” Elizabeth said with a breathless little chuckle, “or whatever it was that Rufus was chasing. I should not have wished him to acquaint you with his fangs just now, if he happened to mistake the matter.”

She lightly stroked his lapel as she said that, the touch burning him through her gloves and his layers of clothing. So he could not forbear brushing her lips with his again, and his smiling eyes flicked back to hers as he whispered, “Worth it.” (Copyright © 2021 Joana Starnes).

I hope you’ll be pleased to hear that in my next book a stroll in the garden will also lead to their first kiss. I would have loved to give you a sneak peek at that scene too, but it’s not written yet. Our favourite couple haven’t made it into the garden. They’re still in the music room, putting up with Miss Bingley who is trying very hard indeed to get in the way. For now, let me share some pictures of the gardens where I found some inspiration: