Chapter Nine

E lizabeth desired to rest, apparently still feeling the aftereffects of her sea illness. Darcy was glad to have a space of time to walk the deck in contemplation of all that had been said, all of the expressions of Elizabeth's lovely face, and to come to terms with the dawning realisation that he would not willingly change a single thing about his present difficulties.

To his utter astonishment, the revelation of her total ignorance of his love for her had not quelled his passion in the least. In fact, the complete reverse seemed to be occurring. If it were possible, Darcy could believe that these moments of unguarded treatment and frank speech were goading him further down the path of his being irretrievably enamoured of her. His body, mind, and soul were hers.

To raise Elizabeth even higher in his estimation, there had been no recoil of disgust when he mentioned the reduced state of the Darcy finances. From almost any other woman of his acquaintance, he was certain that there would have been a chill in their treatment of him. However, Elizabeth had hardly batted an eye at the damning declaration.

Darcy frowned. He could not say as much about his honest recital of his past interactions with Wickham. That had shocked her and hurt her. Curse him! Was Elizabeth deeply in love with him? Was it possible for a woman of her intelligence to be blinded by his chicanery of charm and dazzle?

His heart knew the answer to this question. His own sister, Georgiana, had been thoroughly deceived into believing the worm loved her for herself alone and that her fortune was no inducement. Even after Wickham's financial machinations had reduced Georgiana's dowry, it was still of a sum that any charlatan would be tempted by. Georgiana had believed herself to be held in reverent adoration by Wickham. Her intellect was perhaps not on par with Elizabeth's, but she was no simpleton. It was only through the happenstance of Darcy's quick visit to Ramsgate that an elopement between his sister and Wickham had been prevented. There seemed to be no end to the scoundrel's attempts to tear at the Darcy name, fortune, and reputation—like a scavenger on the carcass of a beast.

And his father! Darcy experienced a painful contraction in his chest every time he contemplated how his own father had been so duped. It was an impossibility for him to dwell upon the subject for very long. His true affection for him wished to forgive all the missteps that had occurred when the senior Mr Darcy had placed his faith and trust in George Wickham.

Darcy made one final loop on the deck, the rising gusts of wind making each long stride of his legs more unsteady. Going below deck, he paused before his cabin door, knowing Elizabeth was just on the other side. He rested his forehead against the smooth grain of wood, his hand on the latch.

An ember of hope was being fanned in his chest. A new start. A clean sheet of paper on which he and Elizabeth could write their story. This comedic prologue of missteps had a shimmer of real possibilities for their future. What if all had gone smoothly and he had returned home—months later—to an indignant Elizabeth, thinking him mad for believing they had an understanding? Worse still, what if, in her complete ignorance of his regard for her, she had accepted a proposal from another man? He would have had the crushing sorrow of hearing of her married to another. It was possible that Mrs Bennet could have eventually forced her into some sort of advantageous union that made her ultimately unhappy. Even a lady as strong as Elizabeth had her breaking point.

With a sharp inhale to give himself strength and courage, Darcy turned the handle slowly and cleared his throat loudly. It was a risk, but it would appear very odd if someone witnessed him knocking upon his own door in deference to a young nephew. This was yet another confusion he must clarify with her so that no moments of extreme embarrassment should occur.

He walked slowly in. She lay upon the bed, asleep, still needing rest to recover her strength from the previous days. One arm was tossed above her head, framing her face. The curls of her short hair encroached on her lovely skin, becoming waves around her forehead and delicate earlobes. Her fingers in a half-closed fist just above her hair, the slim wrist with its delicate blue veins trailing into the loose, white cuff of her shirt. Her bulky vest had been removed, and Darcy observed with glassy-eyed enthralment as each breath raised and lowered the fabric of the rough-hewn, white shirt she wore. Her small breasts were gentle swells beneath the material. Elizabeth's red lips were parted, smothering him with the desire to press his own to them.

She let out a soft moan and turned her back to him as she resettled. Instead of ending the spell, this hiding of her features increased its power. He wanted to watch her sleep. Now all he had to observe was the little waist and sweet curve of her hips and thighs as she lay on her side with her knees tucked up towards her chest.

The bells on deck sounded, breaking him out of this enchantment. He gasped loudly, as though he had just broken the surface of the water after a prolonged swim. With a shake of his head and a small, angry curse at himself, Darcy took the chair and faced it away from the bed, towards the window.

Opening a book whose title he could not have recited—even with a pistol held to his head—Darcy began the difficult task of ignoring the reclined, senseless form of Elizabeth Bennet. How long he stayed on that single page without even a motion of his finger towards the papery corner to turn it, he could not say.

After Elizabeth had awoken and refreshed herself, she and Darcy went to the captain's cabin for a meal. As they had spoken of in the privacy of their cabin, Elizabeth trailed behind Darcy, pretending to be painfully shy and reluctant to respond to any conversation directed her way.

Captain Hansley made a few brief comments towards whom he thought was a young man and then turned his full attention to Darcy.

Darcy had a devil of a time not smiling or even laughing aloud at the instances of Elizabeth acting out the role of a sullen young man. In the end, however, he was impressed with her ability to convey the sort of half-listlessness of a lad.

Once back in the cabin, Elizabeth sat on the bed and Darcy in the chair. In hushed tones, they compared notes from the evening. Several instances had made them laugh aloud at themselves and the reactions of each other.

"When the first mate inquired as to whether you were leaving behind a young lady in England whom you were particularly sweet on, it took all of my powers not to laugh at your surprise," Darcy exclaimed.

Acting indignant, Elizabeth said, "There are young women among our acquaintance whom I think I could charm tolerably well, sir. I think if Miss Bingley had been present, she would have been extolling the virtues of my handwriting, commenting loudly on its smoothness and evenness."

Darcy shaded his eyes with his hand and shook his head as his shoulders trembled at the humorous memory. "Indeed, that is a sterling quality that Miss Bingley finds irresistible."

Elizabeth dropped her gaze down to her hands in her lap. "I am sorry. It was wrong of me to speak. I do not know how things stand between yourself and Miss Bingley. I meant no offence."

"Stand? In what way?"

"It was impolite of me to speak so of Miss Bingley. The two of you seem to have an understanding— What I mean to say is—I apologise for making some sport of her when the general impression is that you and she may one day…"

Elizabeth's voice trailed lower and lower as the shade of crimson grew upon her face. Darcy was stunned into silence. Having such an unaccustomed conversation, so full of intimacies, with a woman whom he adored passionately was not a common experience for him.

"Miss Bennet," he finally managed to say through a thickness in his throat, "am I to understand that you were under the impression that Miss Bingley and I were in possession of some sort of regard for each other?"

"Well, I believe given the way she speaks of you and to you, with such a degree of intimacy and warmth of manner, it would be difficult to come to any other conclusion. As to your own feelings on the matter, I do not know… That is, you are so generally reserved and her fortune is so very great and she is pretty in her way and you always seem to be in such close conversations about particular things such as penmanship and walking around rooms together and—"

Elizabeth stopped the endless train of speech abruptly. Her gaze had returned to her hands on her lap.

"I suppose I just assumed , based on what I had observed, that you and she were close." Elizabeth looked back up into his eyes, her brows drawn together in contrition.

Darcy, never before having been subjected to this particular sweetness of her expression, felt any outrage melt into a much more enjoyable sensation. Noting that he was in some danger of blathering his heart out to her like a foolish schoolboy in the throes of his first crush, he leaned forward and began to stand rapidly.

"Mind your head!" Elizabeth cried.

At the last possible second, Darcy dropped his head meekly so that he would not slam it into the rafters above.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice. "Your kindness saved me from another lump. Let me take this opportunity to assure you, Miss Elizabeth, that there was never anything warmer than friendship on my side for Miss Bingley. I cannot say how her own feelings may have been tending. She is the sister of a close friend and is entitled to all of the respect and consideration that position deserves. Miss Bingley is a handsome woman and does possess a certain sharp wit that I enjoy on occasion, but beyond that, there is nothing to our relationship that would ever foretell of matrimonial prospects."

"Ah. I see I was mistaken. I sincerely apologise for any offence I have given."

Afloat on another murky span of misunderstandings with Miss Elizabeth, Darcy despaired of ever cultivating any sort of return of his affections in her breast. She had been labouring under the false notion that an understanding between himself and Miss Bingley was a given thing, settled, and secured.

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak further on the subject. "I think I must step above deck for one last evening breath of fresh air."

"Of course! Are you—"

Darcy did not stay for the rest of the sentence. He was already out of the small cabin in one long stride.