He gasped. “Part? Elizabeth, we cannot part.”
“Why not?” she asked coolly. “I will go to Hertfordshire, and you will return to Pemberley—or London, perhaps.”
His hands balled into fists in his lap. “You know we cannot do so. We have been traveling together for a week. Your reputation has been thoroughly compromised.”
She had expected this argument, but it was still a bitter pill to swallow. “So now we must marry?”
He looked bemused. “Well…yes. Of course.”
She drew herself up straight, making her back ache. If only there were somewhere else she could sit on the benighted boat. “I do not accept that premise, sir.”
Now he was bewildered. Had he not considered the possibility that she would reject him? Again? “But… you must marry me,” he sputtered. “We-We have been…in the same b-bed!”
She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was on an open boat and not trapped in a prison cell, even if it did feel as if walls were closing in around her. “And do you intend to take out an advertisement in the papers to that effect?”
“Of course not!”
“I shall not tell anyone, and neither will you. Everyone who witnessed our inappropriate relationship remains in France. I think it unlikely that the gossips of Meryton have agents in Saint-Malo.”
Darcy shook his head. “I knew this would go ill for me.” He rubbed his forehead with one hand. “And if rumors do start—?”
The wind had grown cooler; Elizabeth shivered violently. “I will not make decisions about my future happiness based on a hypothetical.”
“But—”
She interrupted. “There are worse fates than remaining unmarried: marrying the wrong man, for instance.”
Mr. Darcy winced. “Is there another man you would—?”
She interrupted. “No, not at all. But the decision about who to marry is the most important decision a woman can make in her life. It determines the whole course of her future, including where she will live. A man might enter into it lightly; a woman cannot.”
“I am not entering into this lightly.” He scowled.
She sighed, aware that she was badly mangling the conversation. “I did not mean to imply that you are. I simply am not prepared to make such a momentous decision.”
“Do you still find me so thoroughly objectionable?” he asked softly after a pause.
Elizabeth tried futilely to brush hair from her face. Why was he persisting in asking such difficult questions when she was having trouble enough just marshaling her thoughts? “No. Not at all….I may assure you that you have thoroughly destroyed my previous objections. But, I always promised myself that I would marry for love.”
His expression was bleak. “And you do not love me.” It was not a question.
She could not stand the intensity in his gaze and lowered her eyes to where her hands played with the edge of the blanket. “I…cannot say….I do not know how I feel about you. You were the last man in the world I would marry. Then you were my husband. Then you became the man who had lied to me and made a fool of me.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she bit her lip to prevent them from falling. “I am damp and exhausted and hungry. My family believes I am deceased, and I shot a man today.” His expression softened. “I cannot truthfully say how I feel about you.”
He was silent for a long moment. “It is not what I hoped to hear.”
Elizabeth slouched forward on the bench, desperately wishing for a bed or even a pile of hay upon which she could sleep.
Mr. Darcy touched her cheek with one finger, and she had to fight the impulse to lean into his hand. “You are not telling me no?”
She sighed. “At this moment I am not capable of saying yes or no. You must wait, Mr. Darcy.”
He snorted. “Patience is not one of my virtues, but I have received many lessons lately.” His hand squeezed her shoulder briefly. “I will leave you to rest, but we must discuss this again before we part ways.”
She nodded wearily.
“I will take a room at an inn for you when we reach Kent.”
She could only nod again. “That would be most welcome.”
“Very well.” He hesitated for a moment but then stood and made his way to the back of the boat to join his cousin.
***
Thanks to the choppy waters of the Channel, they did not arrive at Ramsgate until minutes before the dawn. The sun was peeking over the horizon as the sailors finally pulled the boat onto the beach. Colonel Fitzwilliam enlisted two of the sailors to help him take Dreyfus to the nearest magistrate while Mr. Darcy accompanied Elizabeth to an inn. Eager to return to Hertfordshire, she suggested searching for the first mail coach, but he insisted that she required breakfast at the very least.
He was very careful not to touch so much as the fringe on her shawl but remained close enough to demonstrate she was under his protection. He led her to The White Hart, surely the biggest and most expensive establishment in the town.
“I have stayed here before,” he said softly as they entered the building. Only then did Elizabeth recall that Ramsgate was the town where his sister had run afoul of Mr. Wickham. It would not hold pleasant memories for him.
The innkeeper looked askance at the two travel-stained peasants who dared to darken his doorway, but his expression quickly shifted to incredulity. “Mr. Darcy!” the man cried, hurrying toward them as if fearing they would collapse from exhaustion at any minute. “What has befallen you? Highwaymen? Footpads?”
Mr. Darcy grimaced. “Merely a few of Napoleon’s soldiers.”
The man’s eyes widened comically. “Here?”
“No, we are just arrived from France.”
The man nodded sagely as if he understood—when he obviously did not. “Ah. Do you need a room?”
“Two rooms. And we are sorely in need of one of your fine breakfasts.” Elizabeth’s sluggish brain puzzled over the need for two rooms until she realized one must be for Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Elizabeth was immediately whisked away to a back room while Mr. Darcy discussed the particulars with the proprietor. The innkeeper’s wife was just bringing in breakfast when Mr. Darcy entered the room. Elizabeth’s hunger had abated during the night, but the aroma of eggs and sausage awakened her appetite and she ate heartily. Once her stomach was full, she became quite drowsy, giving her second thoughts about her plan for an immediate departure for Hertfordshire.
“Elizabeth.” Mr. Darcy gently laid his hand on hers, affecting not to notice when she pulled it away. “You are not fit to travel today, particularly since you are not recovered completely from your illness. Please take a room here; you need a bed and a warm bath.” Her eyes were so heavy she was not sure if she could make it to a bed before falling asleep.
“My own room?” she asked.
He scowled. “Of course.” He lowered his voice. “If I did not take advantage of you in France, I would hardly do so here.”
Elizabeth’s mind absorbed these words slowly. “I apologize. I did not mean to imply…” Her voice trailed off when she forgot the subject under discussion.
Mr. Darcy chuckled. “You should not travel in your current state. You might accidentally take the coach to Penzance.”
“Very well, I suppose there is no harm in departing tomorrow.” Her words were interrupted by a huge yawn.
Mr. Darcy disappeared and returned with a maid in tow. “Mary can show you to your room,” he said.
Elizabeth trudged up the stairs behind the maid, trying to decide if she wanted a bath or a nap first. The choice was decided for her when she saw a huge bath of steaming water in the room. “When did Mr. Darcy order this?” Elizabeth asked Mary. “I only decided to stay a few minutes ago.”
The maid giggled. “I don’t rightly know, ma’am, but we’ve been bringing water up here for the better part of an hour.”
He knew I would stay. Or at least he hoped I would. Elizabeth supposed she should be vexed by his presumption, but she could only
be grateful.
“Would you like me to help you undress?” Mary asked, glancing dubiously at Elizabeth’s clothing, no doubt wondering why so fine a gentleman as Mr. Darcy was escorting a woman whose clothes might be cast aside by a charwoman.
“No, I can manage.” It wold be a joy to take off the rumpled and stained garments.
“Mr. Darcy asked me to hunt up some proper clothing for you.” She gestured to a gown lying on the bed. “This is the best I could do on such short notice.” The gown was simple muslin with little in the way of decoration, yet it was no doubt finer than anything the maid owned. Elizabeth wondered how many coins had fallen into the innkeeper’s hand so the staff would produce a suitable gown in an hour’s time. Beside the gown were all the appropriate undergarments and a fine linen nightrail. He had considered all her needs. Tears sprang to her eyes at his thoughtfulness.
“It is wonderful,” she told Mary, who dimpled with pleasure.
After the maid departed, Elizabeth gladly removed her salt- and mud-caked clothing and took a long, leisurely bath. Emerging from the bath, she felt as though she had never been so clean in her life, but her limbs grew heavier with every passing minute. After drying herself, she pulled the soft nightrail over her head. The last thing she remembered was climbing under the coverlet and sinking into the soft mattress. She did not stir even when the footmen entered to remove the bath.
***
To Darcy’s immense relief, Elizabeth’s skin had lost its grayish pallor by the time she descended the stairs for dinner in the inn’s private dining room. Eight hours of rest had clearly done her a world of good. Although the gown was snug in the bodice and a little long, it was a vast improvement over her previous garb. How satisfying to see her finally dressed properly! Although he would have preferred she wore a finer fabric, he was pleased she no longer resembled a fishwife.
Darcy, too, had appropriate clothing cobbled together by the innkeeper’s wife. The jacket was too large and the waistcoat quite out of style—and he still wore the laborer’s boots. But it was worlds better than his previous garb. When I finally find some decent boots, I will see these burned.
Having turned Dreyfus over to the local magistrate, Richard was able to join them for dinner. He had left a suit of clothing in town, so he was not only dressed appropriately but it all fitted quite well. Darcy eyed his cousin enviously.
Richard smiled and stood when Elizabeth joined them at the table. Darcy stood as well, but he could not bring himself to smile. Every time he saw Elizabeth, he feared she would tell him that she never wished to see him again.
As they ate, they spoke of neutral subjects—the weather, the war on the peninsula—and Richard relayed all the latest news they had missed. He voiced the opinion that Dreyfus would likely be imprisoned for the remainder of the war, but the man seemed willing to provide information in exchange for more lenient treatment.
Elizabeth spoke civilly to Darcy, neither avoiding nor seeking out his gaze, but there was little warmth in her tone. Her continued coldness made Darcy’s heart sink; she obviously had no plans to accept his offer. When, over pudding, Elizabeth asked for Richard’s assistance in arranging for her transport to Longbourn, it was like a knife in his heart.
Darcy spoke before his cousin could respond. “That will not be necessary. I have hired a coach for tomorrow so I may escort you home.”
Elizabeth laid her spoon on the table. “Mr. Darcy, I thank you for your solicitude, but I could not possibly inconvenience you further.”
“It is no inconvenience—”
Elizabeth continued speaking. “Furthermore, I cannot possibly arrive at Longbourn in your company without giving rise to speculation.”
A fist squeezed Darcy’s heart. Of course, he would not mind provoking such speculation since he still hoped to make her Mrs. Darcy. But he did not want her to marry him because of speculation any more than he wanted her to accept his hand from a sense of obligation.
Perhaps he should throw himself to the floor at her feet and beg. It would have the advantage of surprise. Instead he grasped the edge of the table in an iron grip and mustered a reasonable tone of voice, murmuring, “Elizabeth, you should consider—”
Her hand arose to stop the flood of words. “I thank you for your assistance, Mr. Darcy, but I am exhausted. At this moment I want nothing other than to see my family again.”
Richard coughed and looked away, no doubt wishing he were somewhere else.
She wants her family; she does not want me.
The fist around his heart was crushing it. Somehow Darcy managed to expel a few words from his constricted throat. “Of course, if that is your wish. I…er…will send you in the carriage tomorrow.”
She blinked in surprise. Did she really believe he would send her post when he had the means to make her journey safe and comfortable? “I thank you, sir,” she said finally.
“It is my pleasure.”
She arose from the table, and the men followed suit. “I find I am still weary, so I will retire for the night.”
Once she had departed, Darcy turned to Richard, who had the air of a man who had been dragged unwillingly into a lovers’ spat. “You should accompany her to Longbourn.”
“Arriving with me would give rise to just as much speculation,” Richard said mildly. “And the War Office expects me in London tomorrow.”
Darcy slumped back in his chair, hating his cousin’s logic.
Richard waved an unconcerned hand. “Send a maid with her; she will be fine.” Darcy did not respond. “She may come around, Darce. She is not indifferent to you.”
Darcy snorted. “Yes, I do not inspire indifference. Loathing, perhaps, or nausea. But not indifference.”
“She will recognize her true feelings in time.”
Darcy gave his cousin a level look. “She hated me before all of this. And then for a week I took advantage of her ignorance, lying to her again and again.” Perhaps I should strive for indifference.
“You did it to save her life,” Richard said. “Surely she understands that.”
Darcy gripped his glass so tightly his knuckles turned white. “She did not love me—did not trust me—before. I have given her no reason to change her mind. Quite the opposite.” He downed the contents of his glass in one gulp.
“Did you offer her your hand?” Richard asked.
“Of course! What do you take me for?” Darcy poured more gin into the glass. “She does not want it, Richard.” He stared at the clear liquid, promising himself that he would get thoroughly foxed another time when he was at his leisure.
His cousin glanced at the doorway through which she had departed. “I am not certain about that.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Did you not hear what she said?”
“Aye, but I also heard what she did not say. She wishes to go back to Hertfordshire and see her family, which is perfectly understandable. She did not, for instance, declare again that you are the last man in the world she would marry.”
Darcy took a sip of the gin. “She already voiced that sentiment. It would be redundant.”
“Or she thinks it is possible she might consider marrying you.”
“Perhaps if I were the last man in the world.” Darcy’s lips twisted in a grimace.
A corner of Richard’s mouth quirked upward. “Surely you would rank above Dreyfus.”
Darcy could not prevent a chuckle from escaping. “Damn you, Cousin.”
“Wait and see,” Richard advised, slapping Darcy on the back. “She may come around.”
Darcy hardly wanted a wife who would “come around,” but additional debate would only continue the conversation, and he was weary of the subject. He downed the gin in one gulp. “You, my friend, may be optimistic if you wish, but I know what she has said to me.” He set the glass on the table with a thud. “I have no reason for hope.”
***
Darcy knew he should leave well enough alone, but Elizabeth would travel to Longbourn tomorrow while he depart
ed for Pemberley. He might never have another opportunity for a private conversation with her, or God forbid, he might never see her again. After a couple of glasses of gin with Richard, another conversation seemed like a grand idea.
After a brief visit to his room, Darcy took his candle down the corridor and knocked softly on Elizabeth’s door, hoping she had not already fallen asleep.
“Come.” Her voice was soft and low.
He opened the door slowly, peeking his head around the edge. Elizabeth sat by the window, her eyes growing wide when she saw him. “Mr. Darcy! I expected it to be Mary again.” Fortunately, she still wore the muslin gown; the nightrail would have been too great a temptation. Her hair was down, falling in dark waves around her face.
“I beg a moment of your time.”
“Of course.” She set down the book she had been reading. From where had she obtained a book? “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the chair opposite hers.
Before settling into the chair, Darcy handed her a slip of paper. She examined it by the light of her lamp. “What is this?”
“The names and directions for my banker and my solicitor. If you should ever find yourself in any kind of need, please consider them to be resources.”
She shook her head and laid the paper on the little table between their chairs. “I cannot accept this. You owe me nothing.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “I told you falsehoods about the most basic facts of your life.”
“You had good reason, and I have forgiven you. You need not make amends.”
“Even if you have no intention of using the information, please keep it—for my sake if not your own. It will grant me peace of mind.”
She stared at the paper as one might a poisonous snake, but finally she took it in hand. “Very well.”
Darcy sighed with relief.
“Did you want anything else?” The impatience in her words was belied by the compassion—near pity—in her eyes.
Yes, I would beg you to be my wife. Somehow—just barely—he managed to prevent the words from escaping.
The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy Page 20
