by Kara Louise
She lifted her eyes to watch him walk out the door as it slammed behind him. He did not enjoy being so forceful with her, but he needed to set up boundaries for her sake as well as his own. The sheet was a safeguard against what could be the greatest temptation he had ever faced. The sheet itself would not be enough to hold him back, but it would be a reminder to him of his resolution and his assurances to Elizabeth.
He was impatient to get out on deck, to breathe in the fresh night air after having been down in steerage. He wondered how anyone could endure that for a month. He came up and filled his lungs to capacity with the cool air and let it out slowly.
He was also anxious to get outside, where he could better clear his thoughts about the woman in his cabin. Two years ago he had looked back at the carriage conveying her away, annoyed at himself for not thinking to ask her name, while at the same time berating himself for becoming so captivated by a woman so decidedly beneath him. It had not been easy to remove her from his thoughts. Several months following that carriage ride he still found himself thinking of her.
Whenever he made a trip to Town, he looked for her, hoping he might encounter her there. He held her up as a standard to every woman he met, and found that they all lacked something he had found so appealing in her. But the memory of her gradually faded… he had almost completely forgotten about her… until meeting her on his ship!
He walked over to the ship’s railing and rested his elbows upon it, clasping his hands together. He looked out at the vast sea of blue surrounding him and took in a deep breath. Elizabeth was truly a remarkable and attractive woman in all aspects of her person, and he was honestly concerned for her health. He just had to remember that this marriage was solely to get her out of steerage to allow her a better chance to improve her well-being. He could never seriously consider a real marriage to a woman who was not at least of equal birth and connections as himself, to a woman whose family was not in the first circles of society and had little or no fortune.
He shook his head. Apart from that, however, she was the type of woman who stimulated him, who entertained and challenged him at the same time. She brought out something in him that very few other women did. She had a vivacious personality, something that he lacked, being more often than not quiet and reserved. She had an engaging nature that actually drew him out of his fastidious shell without her even making a decided effort to do so. This was very unlike so many other women who, in making the same exerted effort, actually drove him deeper inside himself and further away.
But then she can certainly be obstinate! It was very apparent to him that she disliked the fact that he was taking charge. Perhaps we have gotten off to a bad start; no doubt due to her feeling unwell and the awkwardness of the situation. Things will improve. I certainly hope they do.
***
Back in the room, Elizabeth looked at the duffel containing all her things. She would have preferred to put everything away before retiring, but she was fatigued from the exertion of the evening. She felt completely unable to attempt anything of that sort now, and although she had enjoyed a good rest earlier, she felt sleep strongly beckoning her again.
She quickly put on her nightdress, modestly covering it with her robe, ever conscious that Darcy could walk in through the door at any moment. Although he said he would return later, she was fully aware that this was his room and he had every right to return to it whenever he desired.
She let down her hair, grateful for the weight of it now set free, and brushed through it a few times. Just the exertion of the few strokes of the brush tired her even more, and she resigned herself to the fact that all she cared to do right now was crawl into the bed and lose herself to a night of deep slumber.
She pulled aside the sheet that Darcy had hung and climbed into her bed, taking off her robe once the sheet fell back down into place. She eagerly crawled under the blankets. This time, as she lay her head down, she did not succumb to sleep right away, as she had done before. She was able to truly appreciate the comfort of a real bed, its soft mattress beneath her. She breathed in the fresh air, very unlike that which had been in steerage. As she looked over at the sheet that would act as a barrier between her and the man who was now her husband, she actually felt a sense of gratefulness for the thought he had put into this. That was the last thought that passed through her mind as sleep stole upon her.
Darcy later returned, quietly moving about the room readying himself for sleep.
He crawled into his bed and lay down, his eyes wide open at the knowledge that Elizabeth was asleep in the other bed. He lay awake, listening to the sound of her deep, steady breathing, savouring a very faint scent of lavender that must have been the lingering essence of perfumed toilet water. Even though the room was bathed in complete darkness once he extinguished the oil lamp, he found himself glancing over to where she slept. He did not have to see her with his eyes, for he had a very detailed image of her in his mind that would not go away.
Elizabeth slept soundly, barely moving a muscle as her body tried to make up for her lack of sleep and discomfort the past week on the ship. For the first time since coming onboard his ship, Fitzwilliam Darcy slept very poorly.
Chapter 9
Instead of improving in the comfort of Darcy’s cabin, Elizabeth seemed to grow steadily worse those first few days. She was barely able to get herself out of bed, her fever climbing dangerously high. To aid in her recovery, Darcy secured whatever remedies he could acquire from the ship’s cook, who was the only expert onboard pertaining to these illnesses.
He also enlisted the help of Mrs. Jennings to give assistance to Elizabeth where he believed it would be more prudent for a woman to aid her. She came to the room several times a day, helping Elizabeth out of bed, taking her to the necessary room, encouraging her to eat and drink, and securing her back into bed. Darcy needed only to remember to remove the sheet first thing in the morning so she would not have any questioning suspicions as to the nature of their marital arrangement.
Mrs. Rawlings, for the first time since boarding the ship, was eventually well enough to come up out of steerage and repaid Elizabeth’s compassion with some of her own. The two women eagerly and graciously helped Darcy out with his wife’s care. Elizabeth slept a lot, said very little, was growing increasingly pale, and Darcy was concerned.
Between Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Rawlings, they took good care of her but saw little improvement. Mrs. Rawlings was compelled to repay Elizabeth for all she had done and stopped by at every available opportunity. As Elizabeth’s fever climbed higher, Mrs. Rawlings took damp cloths and applied them to her face and encouraged her to drink plenty of fluids, advising Darcy to do the same with her, as well. When Elizabeth was too weak to do anything but sleep, she brushed out her hair for her and tidied her up.
Darcy was at a loss to know what more to do. He found himself gravely concerned for her health; wondering whether he had been too late in bringing her up out of steerage. He received varied accounts of Mrs. Trimble, and it was apparent that she was not making any sort of recovery. He wondered whether Elizabeth had contracted the same thing she had.
The evening of the third day that they had been married, Elizabeth was at her worst. Darcy awoke in the night to find Elizabeth moaning and thrashing about in her bed. He quickly pulled himself out of bed, lit the oil lamp, and walked over to her, removing the sheet that separated them. He sat down beside her and felt her forehead. Even to his inexperienced touch, he had the unsettling feeling that her fever was higher than it ever had been or should be. He did as Mrs. Rawlings had advised, putting moist cloths across her forehead and trying to get her to drink some fluids.
In the light of the oil lamp, Elizabeth’s face appeared flushed. He gingerly let his hand trail down her cheek, delighted by its softness, disquieted by its scorching heat. As she began again to thrash and cry out, Darcy tried to waken her by gently shaking her and calling out to her. “Elizabeth, do you hear me? Elizabeth, wake up, you are having a bad dream!”
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He seriously doubted that it was merely a bad dream, however. He was quite certain she was delirious from the effects of the high fever. She did not respond to his voice or touch, would calm down for a short spell, and then frantically cry out again. He steadfastly stayed by her side as he continued to apply the cloths to her face, hoping the fever would break.
As he sat there, he silently pondered whether her ailment could be the judgment from God on the two of them taking solemn vows so lightly. Could this be a punishment for entering into a marriage covenant without due consideration? He closed his eyes and uttered what he considered a meagre prayer. He was not a man who normally found himself relying on God, but having no other options available to him, he appealed to God’s mercy for the plight he may have brought upon them and beseeched Him for her healing.
Elizabeth began murmuring again and then frantically cried out, “No! No!”
Firmly grasping her shoulders, Darcy drew his face close to hers and called out to her, “Elizabeth, wake up! I know you can hear me!”
She mumbled something unintelligible, tossing her head even more, and then suddenly stopped. Her eyes unexpectedly opened, and he found himself staring into her beautiful, wide eyes, unsure whether or not she was really awake and seeing him. She then cried out, “Mr. Wright, Mr. Wright!”
Darcy took in a quick, sharp breath, fully convinced now that she was not awake, although she seemed to be looking right at him. He briefly wondered who this Mr. Wright could be when she cried out again.
“I did not know… I did not know…”
Elizabeth continued to thrash about while Darcy diligently applied wet cloths to her face, feeling more and more at a loss to know what to do. He wondered what it was that she did not know, and again, who this Mr. Wright might be.
Darcy lingered with her the remainder of the night, keeping watch over her, alternating between attending her and pacing the floor. She cried out a few more times, but in the early hours of the morning, her fever finally broke. She fell into a deep, restful sleep, and relief flooded Darcy, knowing that she was on her way to recovery. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, and his head buried in his palms. He could do nothing until he offered up another short prayer of thanks to God for bringing her through this. Exhausted, and ever so reluctantly, he walked the short distance over to his bed and crawled in, just as the sign of first light broke through the window. He did not bother to put the sheet back up.
***
After a few days of little more than bed rest, Elizabeth steadily began feeling improved. For those first few days after her fever subsided, she resisted the urge to rise with the sun, prompted principally by Darcy’s strong admonition that she remain in bed to allow her the rest she needed to fully recover. Her more than satisfactory meals from the captain’s private cupboard, although provided only occasionally now due to diminishing supply, strengthened her. She regretted that she was not feeling well enough to go visit the friends she had made, but greatly appreciated the visits from the now healed Mrs. Rawlings. On more than one occasion, she enthusiastically relayed to Elizabeth how Mr. Darcy showed such compassion and concern for her while she was ill. It was apparent to Elizabeth that he had secured Mrs. Rawlings’s approval.
On those mornings while she had been ill, she had been only vaguely aware of Darcy rising and readying himself for the day. She had barely been able to open her eyes, and before she knew it, he would quietly remove the sheet and be gone, followed by either Mrs. Jennings or Mrs. Rawlings, who would come in to help her up.
It was dark one morning and Elizabeth could hear rain pelting the ship. The overcast skies did little to give light to their room. When Darcy arose, he lit the oil lamp and began readying himself. Being the most alert she had been since their marriage, she found herself entranced by the shadows his movements projected upon the sheet.
It was by no means a distinct silhouette of the man, but she continued to watch it in silence. It was when he began walking closer toward her that the shape took on a more definite form, and she was surprised to find her heart had begun to beat a trifle more erratically. When he unexpectedly spoke to her from the other side of the sheet, she practically jumped, reeling from the irrational thought that he must have known she had been watching his shadow through the sheet.
“Elizabeth? Are you awake?”
It took a few moments for Elizabeth to compose herself, and she manufactured a loud, long yawn. “I… I am now,” she answered softly.
“I am sorry to have awakened you. I wondered if you needed me to fetch Mrs. Jennings or Mrs. Rawlings this morning.”
“No, no, I believe I am feeling well enough to take care of myself this morning.”
Darcy smiled. “Good. Unfortunately it looks as though it is raining. I will go to the dining room for a while to allow you to get ready and then bring you back some food if you like.”
“Thank you, no. I should like to partake of my food in the dining room itself. It has been too long since I have seen everyone.”
“I shall return for you shortly, then.”
Later that morning, when she went to the dining room with Darcy, Elizabeth was grateful to renew those acquaintances whom she had not seen since she took ill almost a week ago. Sitting with her, Darcy was more intent on keeping an eye on her to ensure that she did not overdo it rather than be inclined to join much in any conversation. But he did occasionally contribute, and for that Elizabeth was glad. She remained there until early afternoon, but fatigue gradually demanded she return to the room and rest, and she complied.
A couple of days later, she finally felt well enough to join Darcy on deck for their first walk since becoming husband and wife. The rain storm had passed without too much of an inconvenience. As the sun gradually rose above the horizon, she felt more compelled that morning to engage in the activity that she enjoyed best and had sorely missed. Elizabeth waited until after Darcy left their room that morning; then she promptly arose, readied herself, and proceeded to join him up on deck.
She peered out when she came aloft, feeling almost completely back to her old self. She took in a deep breath, anxious for a walk. She looked up one side of the deck and down the other, when she saw Darcy coming toward her.
“Good morning, Elizabeth.”
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”
By now Darcy was resigned that this woman would continually insist on being formal with him when they were not in the company of others.
The sun poured its warmth down upon the deck, but the breeze seemed to compete for attention. Elizabeth had inadvertently come up without her shawl, and Darcy insisted he go back down for it.
“You cannot walk without your shawl. I shall run down after it.”
“I am fine, truly,” Elizabeth attempted to assure him.
“I do not want you coming down with a chill immediately after recovering from your fever! I shall return shortly.”
He left without giving Elizabeth the chance to utter another word.
When he returned, he spread out the shawl in his hands and brought it around her. As he draped it around her shoulders, his hands came up and straightened the shawl around her neck, brushing against it lightly with his fingertips. If she had felt nothing this past week other than the effects of the fever, suddenly a fever of another kind swept through her at his touch.
She had been unaware of the extent of his care for her, too ill to be attentive to much of anything, and now was greatly discomfited that this simple touch, although most likely unnoticed by him, greatly stirred her. And there was something else. When she had been ill, she had dreams of him, and yet it had not been him. They were too hazy for her to clearly recall, and she was left again with a sense of something she was trying to recollect, but could not.
Elizabeth was incorrect in her assumption that Darcy most likely had not been affected by the touch. He had, in fact, been just as affected by the simple act of placing her shawl around her as she had been. He had cared for her these past fe
w days, and there was something in caring for her that seemed to strengthen his regard for her. As he felt his irrational feelings toward her doing battle with his rational mind, he reprimanded himself for being so adolescently affected by something as simple as a fleeting touch.
They both turned to walk, Darcy politely extending his arm to Elizabeth. She gingerly placed her hand inside his arm, and they began to stroll leisurely up on deck, their first time since becoming man and wife.
It was different now. They both sensed it. It had been over a week since they had taken their last walk together, and so much had happened since that day. A sense of awkwardness hung over their walk, as they both recognized that since Elizabeth was now well, their marriage would be more open for scrutiny by others. They would have to play the part convincingly and well.
Their conversation that day seemed stifled and forced. She could not think of any subject to introduce that might interest him. He appeared miles away in thought, apparently content in his silence, and so, apart from some general comments and observations, they said little.
In reality, though, both of their minds were full of thoughts that they wanted to pour out, but held themselves back.
As other passengers and some of the crew greeted them, Elizabeth found it disconcerting to be called Mrs. Darcy. She wished to be able to have everyone call her Elizabeth, instead of that name that was only a pretence, but that could not be. As they walked, she considered that Mr. Darcy had been spending almost this whole week posing as her husband while she had been ill in bed. Now she was faced with doing the same thing, and she wondered if she would be able to. In the fogginess of her mind when she agreed to his proposal, she could not have foreseen the awkwardness it would cause her.
She stole a look up at the man walking next to her, who seemed content to walk in silence and seemed oblivious to the moral or ethical dilemma she was facing. He was obviously one who did not struggle with lies and disguises. Did she really know him at all?
