Chapter Twenty-Three

D arcy was alarmed when Clara May informed him that Elizabeth would not be joining them for supper. Though the lady's maid assured him that it was just a passing headache that troubled his wife, Darcy was uneasy with suppositions of his behaviour having offended her.

His forearms and chest still sensed the phantom of her lithe form pressing into him as he swung her in a tight circle. For a second, her cheek had grazed his as he had set her down. The look of puzzlement as she had stepped back from him made him frown in concern.

Did I commit such a terrible offence by returning her embrace? We were so carried away by overcoming the danger of the task, I do not think it was too improper, not after everything we have accomplished together.

Darcy suspected that her sudden need to avoid his company gave him the answer to that question.

"Would you rather take the tray to Mrs Darcy?" Clara May held the platter containing biscuits, smoked ham, and black-eyed peas up before her.

"Well, I…" he said, uncertainty slowing his tongue. Clara May raised one eyebrow, waiting with lips pressed together as if something struck her as amusing.

"Perhaps the company of her husband is just what she needs. You will know how best to ease her anxiety."

Darcy could not help but catch Clara May's quick glance in the direction of the red-haired engineer. Most of the crew had already drunk enough celebratory beverages to ensure that the rest of the evening would be boisterous and jolly.

"Miss Clara May," Mr Baker bellowed, "Stevenson here was telling the funniest story of his hat getting caught up in the paddle wheel and now the top of his head is red and burnt. You should join us!"

Baker glanced at the empty chair beside him.

"Away with you. I shall take the meal to my wife," Darcy said as he took the tray with a sigh of resignation.

He entered Elizabeth's cabin and saw the curled ball on the berth.

"Elizabeth…" he whispered. After clearing his throat, he called her name again with no movement from her. Silently, he entered and set the tray upon the table.

Concerned, he approached and observed that it was a heavy sleep that had overcome her. Hardly shocking, given the day of intense adventure and the anxiety that had preceded it. Before he could stay his hand with a sense of propriety, his fingertips swept one stray curl from off her cheek. Darcy smiled, noting how much her hair had grown out from its rough-shorn appearance that he recalled from their first encounter on the Jolly Sparrow . It was not unbecoming in the least. If anything, the frame of loose curls heightened her natural beauty.

How long he stood there, he could not say. The entrancing motion of her breath held his attention in absolute control. Finally, she stirred, clutching a long piece of fabric more firmly to her cheek as she rolled slightly onto her back.

Startled out of his reverie, he took a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by jealousy for a scrap of fabric that could reside so closely to Elizabeth's flesh. With a shake of his head at his own foolishness, he turned to leave and crashed into one of the chairs next to their card table. Embarrassment at his present situation caused him to reach for the door without a glance back.

"Clara May?" Elizabeth muttered.

Already out of her cabin door with his hand just about to shut it, Darcy paused and said, "No, it is Fitzwilliam. Clara May was desirous to join the others for supper, and I offered to bring a tray to my…my wife. I did not intend to disrupt your rest."

Darcy risked a glance at her from the corner of his eye. Elizabeth looked horrified and deeply shocked. She was sitting up in her bed, clutching the fabric to her chest. As with any moment when he was in the wrong, Darcy straightened his spine and felt a surge of defensive ire rise in his chest. "After all, it would be a strange thing indeed if I were not able to bring food to my wife when she is feeling low. I believe I committed no great offence. There is no cause for you to be angry. I trust that you are feeling better?"

"Yes… I feel— I am much recovered, thank you for your concern. It is very kind of you."

Her voice was so low and subdued—not at all like her typical tone—that Darcy stuck his head back into her cabin and said, "Are you certain that all is well? You sound low-spirited."

"It is nothing. The excitement of the day has caught up to me. Our voyage shall be such a simple task of following the river now, I am perhaps a little forlorn at the prospect of the approaching end of our time together…as a crew on the boat."

"I agree. We have come together remarkably well…as a crew. No small achievement given the diversity of our backgrounds."

"Yes. Our differences have given us strength, would you not agree?"

Darcy hesitated, sensing that there was more under these words than he was able to perceive. Not for the first time, he experienced that haze of confusion that overwhelmed him when words were heavy with meanings that were not immediately obvious. He glanced up at her again, noting that she was stiff and pale. The white shawl that she had been clutching so tightly whilst she slept was gone, presumably behind her back in her hand that he could not see.

"That is true," he replied as he glanced over the rest of her bedding, trying to catch a glimpse of the hidden fabric. "A great advantage of life in the Americas, I suppose. We have the chance to widen our circle of acquaintance and learn from others. Is there anything else I could bring to make you more comfortable? Would you like me to stay and read aloud?"

Her eyes widened as she shook her head.

"Ah. I see. Well…" Darcy looked down at his feet and then began to withdraw fully from the doorway. "Goodnight, Elizabeth."

"Goodnight, Fitzwilliam," she whispered back.

He closed the door slowly and frowned, uncertain and confused. It was as if she wanted him to be gone whilst also desiring him to stay. For a minute, he stood before the door, hoping that there would be some sound of her footsteps rushing to open it and of her request that he remain and keep her company for a little longer. Darcy attempted to imagine what might occur. Cards? Conversation? Any speculation he created always ended with the warm sensation of her flesh under his fingertips as he brushed a curl from her cheek.

He did hear her rise, but was disappointed when all he could catch was the sound of pacing back and forth in Elizabeth's cabin. Protective of her and her happiness, he turned and walked away with a frown on his face. What could be troubling her so deeply?

Elizabeth shuddered with embarrassment and despair as she watched the sliver of comet light disappear once Darcy shut the door.

Had he seen what she had been holding when he entered with the tray of food? Was it possible that he had recognised his own shirt being pressed firmly to her heart and face? Or was the lighting too dim? Foolish girl! What a mortifying spectacle she had just made of herself.

Uncertain humiliation spread heat over her cheeks as she rose to pace back and forth in her snug cabin. Elizabeth took several turns around the room, stopping to eat a small portion of her food before falling back into her berth for a restless night of slumber.