Darcy the Admiral

by Harriet Knowles

  He could marry. The thought insinuated itself into his mind, along with the lively figure and unafraid eyes of Miss Bennet.

  He jumped to his feet with a muttered exclamation, startling the two other officers. Hastily gathering his letter and pen, Darcy hurried for the privacy of the bunk. Where had that thought come from?

  In his mind, Miss Bennet paced alongside him, intruded into his thoughts in the cramped little space. Hastily, he tucked away the letter. If there was a post brig going past, he could add a brief salutation and send it, but he had no doubt Porcupine was likely to be the quicker ship to London now.

  But it’ll still be at least a week, he told himself as he bounded up the companionway steps to the deck. Miss Bennet or not, he needed to be up top.

  Resolutely, he didn’t glance aft to see if she was there but strode to the bows, to gaze ahead, nodding at the captain’s salute.

  He didn’t like being at the bow. The wind would have crossed the ship, collecting the smells from the stove and other pollution, rather than having crossed the ocean. But it could not be helped. Miss Bennet, if she was on deck, was likely to stay at the stern.

  His mind was not as disciplined as he’d hoped. The memory of her, rescued, rising above the side, gown clinging to her body, then looking up, her gaze clear and unafraid. He remembered her bold exploration of the Hibernia, and then the Porcupine. Confident of her place in the world and wanting to explore all the wonder of it.

  Unable to help himself, he glanced astern. She was standing there, staring at the wake. He wondered if she’d noticed that the wind was often blowing from a different side, as the ship zigzagged along her course, getting the best speed possible when the wind was quartered across their desired route. It had surprised him to discover few landsmen ever noted the fact, and it seemed important enough to him to find out if she had noticed. He crossed the deck.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Bennet.”

  10

  She hadn’t expected to hear his voice. Deep in thought, she was wondering how much longer Charlotte would take to begin to feel better. Her friend was usually very pragmatic, so much so that Elizabeth had expected her to seem very much as usual on the surface and hide her grief.

  Instead, her deep melancholy was palpable throughout the cabin, and Elizabeth felt completely stifled by it.

  So she smiled with much more relief than she would normally show. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m glad you’re here. Is it possible to explain to someone as ignorant of the sea as I am why the wind is appearing to come from that way, over there; whereas I am sure it was from over that way when I was up here an hour ago?”

  His chuckle was deep and rich. “It is observant of you, Miss Bennet. Many people who are not used to being at sea are unaware how often a ship must steer in different directions when on a certain course. It’s very unusual to have the wind blowing steadily from astern when one needs to travel in a certain direction.” His smile lit up his face. “It’s easy enough to see when land is in sight, of course. But on a featureless ocean, it takes a great deal of experience, the sight of the sun’s shadow in the belly of the clouds, or cast on the water.”

  “Or, of course, I suppose, the shadow of the mast across the deck,” she said prosaically. “I wish I had thought of that before asking a silly question.”

  “It was certainly not a silly question.” He seemed to ponder as he stared at the wake behind them. “I’m hoping to gain as many miles as possible before we turn into the Channel, where our speed will undoubtedly be slower.”

  She decided not to ask why that would be. “Might I be permitted to write to my aunt and uncle to ask them to meet us at Chatham?” She glanced at his face. “I earnestly wish not to be a nuisance to you a moment longer than we have to.”

  He bowed politely. “It will not be an inconvenience, Miss Bennet. But I doubt any mail will reach its destination before we dock, now we are making all speed. Even a brig might only beat us by a day — and I don’t think we will see a brig to pass dispatches to.” He glanced at her. “My steward tells me your aunt and uncle live in London?”

  She nodded. “They do. I thought they could meet us sooner than having my father travel from the country.”

  “Where is your family home, Miss Bennet?” He sounded polite, but not very interested, she thought.

  “Hertfordshire, sir. I’m fond of the county, of course, because it is my home. But I am the first to acknowledge the landscape strikes many as uninteresting.” She smiled. “I heard you come from Derbyshire. That county, I know, has dramatic views.” She had struck the right note. His eyes lit up.

  “Indeed. I believe it to be the most wonderful place to live. However, I was sent to sea at twelve years old. I don’t see my home very often.”

  She caught the change of expression, the wistful words changing to an underlying loss, and she looked away quickly.

  Back down in the cabin, she wondered at what she’d learned. As she lay on the bunk, she stared at the deck above her head. Steps sounded as someone walked to and fro. She thought she knew who it was. He was a third son. He had no real home, unless his brother allowed him to stay at the family estate. And he would not have a large fortune. Even if his mother had brought a good fortune with her into the marriage, her fortune would have been spread between at least two younger sons and the sister he’d mentioned.

  She wondered if he would stay at sea for a long time. He seemed utterly at home on board whatever ship they were on, and most of his interest seemed to be caught when they talked about the sea.

  But she knew how dangerous it was. John Lucas had told her of the terrible toll battles wreaked on the crews. And she knew the sea was a cruel opponent, too.

  She knew she was anxious for him, and wondered why. He seemed competent and self-assured. He was nothing to her.

  The footsteps echoed below deck. She smiled to herself. He is exceedingly handsome. It must be his almost black hair and very dark eyes that made him appear so much like a pirate. And the uniform suited him.

  Secretly she admitted that she preferred his appearance as she’d first seen him: tight breeches and a loose white shirt, casually tucked in, but the loose fabric of the sleeves billowing in the breeze.

  She pushed herself to a sitting position. She must not sit here and dream the day away, or she would not sleep tonight. And Charlotte needed her.

  “Come, Charlotte! Let me ask Pember to make us some tea. Then I am going to take you up on deck. You need some colour in your cheeks, and some fresh air to help you to sleep tonight.”

  “Oh, Lizzy!” Charlotte’s face was tearstained. “Mother will say it is my fault Father has been lost. If I hadn’t entreated him to take us on tour, we would never have been at sea — and now I am worried about John. How can I ever rest, now I know what his life is really like?”

  Elizabeth thought a moment. “I think you cannot know anything for sure until we are home, dear Charlotte. We must get home, and then you will know. But your mother is kind and gentle; she won’t blame you, but she will rely on you to do the right thing. I want to help you to be strong. Your father was right to take you on the tour you wanted so much — it gave him much pleasure to watch your enjoyment.”

  11

  Darcy stayed up on deck until the ship was reefed down for the night. They had plenty of sea-room, and she was lying quietly into the wind.

  Before eight bells of the first watch rang, he made his way sleepily to the screened bunk, hoping he was tired enough to sleep better than he had the previous night. Dawn would show enough light for them to begin preparation to make sail early in the morning watch. No sailor was likely to sleep through it, and he found himself wondering if Miss Bennet would.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” His exclamation of annoyance at his thoughts had disturbed his servant.

  “No matter, Mr. Maunder. I don’t need you tonight; you may go.” Darcy ran his hands through his hair. I must stop thinking about Miss Bennet. It is only because circumstances have fo
rced us together.

  He climbed into the bunk, barely feeling the gentle roll. He ought to sleep well enough.

  But Miss Bennet’s form danced in the darkness behind his closed eyes. She wasn’t wearing that stained, repaired dress, but a satin gown sewn with tiny pearls. She wasn’t climbing onto the deck, but standing, unafraid, at Almack’s ballroom.

  He could ask her to dance. He crossed the room in his mind. When he raised her hand to his lips, he jerked fully awake, looking almost furtively around in the darkness.

  The snores from one of the lieutenants in the wardroom disturbed him. He sighed and rolled over. It seemed he wasn’t going to sleep well for the next week. But he really must not think of Miss Bennet. His mind was starved of company, and he ought to meet other young ladies first, before thinking this young lady was all he wanted.

  Why did it matter, he asked himself dispassionately? He was the third son, he didn’t need to find a lady suitable as mistress of Pemberley. He had made fortune enough for their children, and he trusted his careful investments would only grow.

  Perhaps he could begin to think about the possibility of finding out more about her. He must discover her father’s estate, he must meet her parents. Then he could make a rational decision.

  He put the folded blanket which served as a pillow over his head, trying to block out the snoring.

  Rational decision be damned. He desired her, desired her absolutely. But it wasn’t just his base desires, he argued with himself, or Miss Lucas would seem to be the better match.

  No; he admired Miss Bennet. She seemed to understand his feelings about the sea, asked intelligent questions about shipboard life, and made as few demands upon the crew as she could.

  He was very much impressed with her. He slept.

  He was glad the week was nearly over. Yesterday, he’d joined Miss Bennet leaning on the rail, staring aft. She was wearing the shoes from the oldest ships’ boy, his cox’n having bribed the lad to pass them over with a pair that fitted him better, acquired somehow from somewhere. Darcy thought it better not to ask.

  She’d smiled up at him brightly, and asked him to thank Mr. Duncan.

  “Charlotte has a pair that fits her very well, too.” She’d smiled impishly. “Mr. Duncan appears to be a magician — or a cobbler in another life.”

  He’d smiled appreciatively. “He has been my cox’n for a number of years. I couldn’t manage without him.” And he couldn’t, he realised. If he ever did leave the navy and settle ashore, he hoped profoundly the man would stay with him.

  But he’d been rather concerned by the shadow behind the young woman’s eyes, and he’d set himself to discover what was causing her concern.

  But she hadn’t been forthcoming, and after a few moments he’d taken his leave of her, and gone to the bridge, where his irritation had been apparent in the cautious glances from the officers on watch, as they tried to stay out of his observation.

  Why had he taken passage with the ladies? If he’d returned to London on the brig, he’d at least have been able to pace the deck without having Miss Bennet there to disturb his equilibrium.

  Once they were on this frigate, he had nowhere he could be private, nowhere he could walk out his thoughts and concerns.

  What was concerning Miss Bennet so? Perhaps she was anxious about the following day? She had no money to hire a hack chaise, no means of getting to her uncle’s house. He’d tried to reassure her that he would ensure the two ladies got safely home, but had been surprised when she hadn’t seemed relieved by his comment.

  He lay on the bunk, longing to hear the cry that would herald all hands being called to reef sail. Then he could go up on deck again and watch as the ship nosed her way into port.

  He smiled slightly; he ought to be worrying more about why the Admiralty had recalled him. Getting away from blockade duty would be a welcome change, although he’d be sorry if he couldn’t return to his squadron. Most of his captains were good men and he knew them — trusted them — very well.

  He was far more concerned with Miss Bennet, though. He’d quite accepted that his mind and body were infatuated with her. He must not lose touch with her. If he was fortunate enough to have a few weeks of shore leave, he could …

  He was on his feet before the pipe had finished shrilling, and his footsteps were accompanied by the press of bare feet as the on-watch men rushed for the rigging.

  “Chatham.” He crossed to join Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas as they stood by the rail, watching as the great river opened up to show the bustling port, where many ships, large and small, swung at anchor.

  Mr. Soames had the sails almost completely reefed, and the ship crept in at slow speed, the anchor party ready.

  But he could not stay and talk to them longer. He was the admiral, and he ought to be on the bridge. He bowed. “As soon as I have finished here, ladies, I will personally escort you both to the home of your uncle, Miss Bennet.”

  “Oh!” Her features showed surprise. “Won’t you be busy?”

  He smiled tightly. “I will be on my way to the Admiralty. I doubt it is too far out of my way.” As he made his way to the bridge, he realised it would be better to leave the ship early tomorrow. Thirty-five miles, and Cheapside was thirty-three of them.

  Yes, they must leave early tomorrow.

  He pulled his mind to the present moment; the guard boat was approaching. The port officer of the day indicated where Porcupine should anchor and waved a dispatch bag to indicate he held letters for the crew.

  Darcy watched, dispassionately. He supposed he’d have to dine ashore with the port admiral and discovered he didn’t want to do so.

  But it was still the forenoon, and perhaps he could arrange something. If he lunched ashore, he would be back for the evening.

  The anchor splashed down, and he watched the great hawser unwinding from the capstan, watched by the detail crew.

  Soon enough, the ship was resting at anchor, the sails reefed and secured. The guard boat nosed alongside.

  “Compliments to the Flag,” the officer shouted up, “and the Port Admiral requests him ashore.” Darcy leaned over and touched his hat in acknowledgement. The lieutenant saluted, and the boat veered away after a sailor had shimmied up the rope ladder with the dispatches. Darcy watched it go. Smart turnout; he nodded. Smart uniforms, disciplined oarsmen, no wasted energy.

  He turned and crossed to the ladies.

  “Well, we are here. If you care to write to your uncle, Miss Bennet, and give it to Mr. Duncan, I will instruct him to ensure it is taken to the post at once. Please tell your uncle I will personally escort you both to his home tomorrow.” He hesitated. “Thirty-three miles. I believe you will arrive during the early afternoon.”

  She nodded. “Thank you, sir. I could ask him to come here if it would be more convenient.”

  Darcy shook his head. “Not at all. Whatever orders I get will have to wait a day if necessary.” He smiled. “But I won’t receive them until I am at the Admiralty, which is two miles on from Cheapside.”

  She nodded. “Then, thank you. I will write to them now.”

  He bowed, and turned away, beckoning to his cox’n.

  “Mr. Duncan, send my servant to get some fresh food. Ask Mr. Soames to dine with me and the ladies in the cabin tonight — and arrange that the ladies invite us to do so.”

  His cox’n knew better than to smile. “Aye, sir.”

  “And Miss Bennet will give you a letter soon. See it’s dispatched at once — express. And call away my barge, I need to go ashore.” He ran down to the wardroom to check his appearance before repairing to the Port Admiral. For the first time he could remember, he wasn’t already wishing to go to sea again. He wanted to see Miss Bennet at home, find out what she was like when she wasn’t in the strange position of rescued passenger.

  12

  Elizabeth peered out of the window of the hack chaise as it turned into the drive of number twenty-three, Gracechurch Street. She was safe. She thought about it;
she’d felt safe on board Hibernia and Porcupine, so why did she actually feel safe in a different way?

  More comfortable, perhaps. Yes, that would be the right word. Once she said farewell to Mr. Darcy, she could begin to forget the awful wreck and the loss of Sir William, and all the sailors she’d got to know on the schooner.

  She glanced at Charlotte, almost wishing she was alone so she could talk to her aunt and weep for her own grief. But she’d still not be able to do that — not until they were home in Meryton and until Charlotte was back at Lucas Lodge.

  Not only that, she would have to assist Charlotte, as she had to break the news to her family, so many weeks after it had occurred. Many of the townspeople would gather round, demanding she relive what had befallen them and describe it.

  She made a face; Mama would be one of the worst. The hack came to a halt, and Aunt Gardiner appeared on the top step. Elizabeth was glad she’d mentioned briefly in her note last night what had happened. Aunt would know what to say to Charlotte, would be able to help her more than Elizabeth could.

  She climbed out of the carriage and turned to assist Charlotte. To her surprise, Admiral Darcy had turned in with the chaise and was waiting, still mounted, behind them. She’d thought he would ride on to the Admiralty, happy to be rid of the nuisance and responsibility that came of having ladies aboard.

  She made sure Charlotte was safe with Aunt Gardiner and turned to him. He had a slight smile, and when he saw his presence was acknowledged, he bowed slightly and dismounted.

  “Just a drink, and keep him ready for me. I will only be a few moments,” he instructed the waiting groom, who touched his cap respectfully and led the animal away.

  The hack chaise rumbled away — Elizabeth thought perhaps the admiral had paid for it before the journey, to prevent her aunt thinking she might have to pay.

  “Thank you.” She watched the chaise turn out of the driveway. “I’m sure my uncle would like to return the cost of the chaise.”