by Kara Louise
She quickly fumbled for the dry shirt and lowered the sleeve so he could easily move his hurt arm into it, and then she brought it around and he was able to slide his other arm into it as well without any problem.
Darcy felt her breath on the back of him, and the very slight touch of her fingers upon his neck produced an involuntary shiver. When she slid his shirt off, he thought how different it was to have a woman do the same task that Durnham had done throughout the years. He enjoyed this much more than he should have allowed himself to.
Once the dry shirt was on, he quickly reached up with his good arm and nimbly began buttoning the buttons one-handed. An awkward silence had enveloped them, and his jaw tightened as he considered that Elizabeth must feel exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Thank you for your help, Elizabeth. I would not have wished to cause you any uneasiness.”
He spoke softly and with much gratitude.
Elizabeth drew herself around from behind. “I only did what I knew I must.”
She sat aside him, marvelling at the goodwill that had come to exist between them in just the last week. The ship suddenly tipped again violently, and she fell against him, causing him to reach out for her with his good arm, and he planted his sore arm against the floor for stability.
Another groan escaped him, and Elizabeth apologized profusely. “Mr. Darcy, I am so sorry.”
He looked down at her, not wanting to let her go. “Elizabeth, do you not think we have been through enough together, that even when we are alone you can call me by my given name?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and blushed. When she found herself unexpectedly wanting to draw nearer to him, she became more intent on reverting to formalities in addressing him.
“Mr. Darcy, we are almost at the end of our voyage. I think it best we keep things between us as we agreed.” He was still holding her when she met his eyes. “Our marriage is on paper only.”
Darcy sighed softly and released her. His idea to marry her solely for the duration of the voyage had indeed caused him greater consternation than if he had allowed himself to be tormented this past month by all the single women, their mothers, and their fathers, and all the other matchmakers and fortune hunters onboard this ship. He had fallen in love with Elizabeth, and it was clear that she did not love him in return. On paper only . That was certainly not how he felt toward her now.
Mustering all the strength he had to keep from succumbing to the storm of emotions that were erupting within, he calmly and deliberately spoke. “The captain said it would be wise to sleep on the floor, as a storm such as this will even throw one out of bed. We need to bring the bedding down to the floor for the night.” He looked around the room, much as Elizabeth had done earlier.
“There is not much room…” He looked over to the space between the two beds. “This is probably the best place for us to sleep tonight. There really is not any other room on the floor.” He tried to control his voice to sound calm, rational, and not at all ruffled, which was not at all what he was feeling. “With the dresser drawers underneath the bed, that will give us some stability from the rocking and keep us from sliding all over the floor.”
Elizabeth looked over to the small area. It was certainly long enough for them to stretch out in, but suddenly it seemed very narrow. “Yes, it seems to be the wisest,” she reluctantly agreed.
Darcy looked at her and recognized the look of discomfort written across her face. “Perhaps it would be best if I sleep over there. I could easily sit against the wall behind the table… if you prefer.”
“No, no,” she stammered. “I could not allow you to do that. We are both adults.” How she wished she did not sound so nervous. Then, in almost a whisper she added, “We are, after all, married.”
Darcy’s chest suddenly constricted and his jaw tightened as he heard her speak those words so dispassionately. He looked into her eyes and saw the pain. Does she really regret this marriage that much? he asked himself. “There is not much more we can do. We might as well try to make ourselves as comfortable as we can.”
As the ship continued its relentless rocking, they both began to pull the blankets off their beds. There was room for only one mattress on the floor, and Darcy pulled it off of his bed. Elizabeth pulled two blankets off her bed, one to go underneath her and one to cover her. She scooted as closely as she could to the dresser on her side, and lay her head down on her pillow. The room was dark now, except for the frequent flashes of lightning that ripped across the sky, lighting up the room through the tiny window. There seemed little likelihood of them falling asleep any time soon, with the clamouring of the forces of nature outside as well as in. The rumble of the thunder, the howling wind, and the crashing of the waves against and over the boat seemed to take their toll on the ship in addition to their nerves, as did the rising tide of their feelings.
Earlier, Elizabeth’s fear had propelled her to do something. She had tried to secure everything that was not bolted down so it would not fall over or come crashing down. Then she had set her mind on helping Darcy after he hurt himself. But now, as there was nothing to do but listen to the tumultuous sounds and feel the assault on the ship as it laboured and strained, her fear began to spiral, as the storm seemed to be intensely overpowering and growing in severity by the minute. With each pitch of the ship, Elizabeth grabbed either the mattress, the dresser, or the floor itself, hoping it would keep her in her place.
But as the ship rocked and swayed, as it creaked and groaned, there was little either could do to keep themselves settled in one place. More often than not, Elizabeth either slid into Darcy as the boat tipped his way, or he slid into her when it tipped the other way. The worst of it occurred when the boat encountered a wave head-on. The fore of the ship would rise up, and then come crashing down violently.
There was little chance that they could grow accustomed to the constant swaying, dipping, and crashing down, but they lay there together, each consumed by their own thoughts and feelings. At one sudden, very strong jolt of the ship, Elizabeth cried out as she was pelted against Darcy. He immediately wrapped his arm around her, driven by a protective instinct, but he let it remain there out of a selfish desire to feel her in his arms.
She lay there still, suddenly feeling very safe in his arms. The thunderous beating of her heart competed with the sounds of the storm outside. Whether it was simply fear or the fact that she was now being held tightly in his arms, she was not sure. But she had this very strong assurance that while in his arms, no harm would befall her.
Despite her overwhelming sense of fear, she became aware of some other feelings that were awakening within her. It was more than just a sense of being protected by this man. There was a yearning inside her to draw closer to him. A stirring within that she had never experienced. She wished to be able to turn toward him and bury her head in his chest. She closed her eyes tightly, wishing away these thoughts and feelings. He was not really hers to think about. Her regard toward him that had been growing these last few days could never be reciprocated. She took in a deep breath to steady the overwhelming feeling of despair that began to overtake her. But it was not enough to prevent a tear from escaping her eye and travelling down her face.
She had two pictures in her mind, and neither of them was at all pleasant or desirable. The first was that the ship would not make it through the storm this night and they would all perish, being lost at sea. The second was that they would make it through the storm, and once the ship pulled into the harbour in America and they left the ship, she would never see him again. As the ship violently rose and fell, the thought came to her that perhaps she wished for the former. For in that case, they would at least be in each other’s arms for eternity.
All the while, Darcy closed his eyes as he considered how right it felt to have his arm wrapped around Elizabeth. If it were not for the extremely dangerous and trying conditions they were in, and the violent rocking and swaying of the ship, he knew he was in danger of another kind; that is, overst
epping his bounds with her and breaking the agreement they made for the conditions of this marriage. He was not sure how he would survive an entire night with Elizabeth by his side, without struggling with the temptation she presented.
After lying awkwardly in silence, stirred both by heightened feelings in the midst of the storm waging outside and in, Darcy attempted to engage Elizabeth in conversation, if nothing more than to take his mind off her discomfiting proximity, since neither of them would be able to sleep anyway.
“Did you ever finish your sampler, Elizabeth?”
“Why, yes, I did.” She lifted her head and looked around as if she suddenly realized that she did not know where it was, even though in the darkness she would not have seen it.
“I should like to see it now that it is finished.”
Elizabeth smiled, knowing this was a very meagre, but appreciated, attempt to keep her mind off the storm.
Attempting to keep their minds engaged on other things, he asked, “And may I inquire what other accomplishments you employ while you are not sailing across the oceans of the world?”
Another round of violent swells delayed her answer, as she gripped tightly to him, but she smiled. “You know I enjoy reading, I do a little sewing, enjoy singing, and play the pianoforte, but very ill indeed.”
“Those are delightful diversions.” He spoke the words softly, but the reaction Elizabeth had was almost as if he had screamed them.
Her eyes opened widely in an acute sense of stark realization.
Delightful diversions! The very same words the gentleman in the carriage two years ago had said!
She stared into the darkness, the room flashing with light from the bolts of lightning outside, and she suddenly recalled the image of the man who, for several months after their encounter, never left her thoughts! Her heart tightened and she suddenly felt as if she could not catch her breath, tightly closing her eyes as she deliberated this disclosure.
Suddenly it all became very clear! She knew why he had seemed so familiar! Those fleeting memories that she could not pull to the surface since she first saw him on the ship were from that carriage ride, the gentleman sharing the ride with her, and the following months that held her captive to his memory.
He had uttered those exact words when, as a young, impetuous eighteen-year-old, she told him how she had recently climbed a tree and fallen from it, spraining her ankle. She had thought he was mocking her behaviour, but in the course of their time in the carriage, she found him to be quite engaging, very attentive, and effortlessly charming.
For weeks and months following the carriage ride, she found herself repeating those words at every opportunity as a reminder of her short time with him. “Mary is reading Fordyce’s Sermons! Delightful diversion for her!” or “Jane! Guess what! We are going to visit Aunt and Uncle Gardiner!” What a delightful diversion that shall be!
And when she and Jane would talk about life and love into the wee hours of the morning, Elizabeth could only talk of him. For months, she talked of her “Mr. Wright,” the man whose name was unknown to her, but seemed so right for her.
At length the memory of that day had faded. As months passed into years, she no longer was able to draw up an image of what the gentleman looked like, or what his voice sounded like that had been so pleasing to her ears.
Her thoughts assaulted her. Could he really be the same man? It was as if she suddenly remembered everything very clearly! It was him! The man who visited her in her dreams in the past week was both Mr. Wright and Fitzwilliam Darcy! The same man! She simply had no idea.
She hoped that he would not sense her discomposure. At least in the darkness of the room she could hide her face of shock and make a futile attempt to still her shaking fingers. At once, all those little episodes trying to recall a vague memory made sense—her colliding with Mr. Darcy that first day, feeling that she had been on the receiving end of this proud man’s praise once long ago. She took a deep breath as she tried to gather her thoughts.
She knew that now she would have an even greater struggle getting off this ship without him. If she could not forget the man with whom she only spent a couple of hours, how could she ever forget the man who had posed as her very own husband over the course of several weeks?
Elizabeth was rendered silent by this realization, and Darcy, receiving no further response from her, assumed she was in no mood to talk. Their conversation for the night ceased.
For several hours the storm continued mercilessly with wind, rain, and occasionally hail battering the ship. In the early morning hours, the storm gradually weakened, and Darcy and Elizabeth fell into a sound sleep. Darcy awoke a few hours later and discovered his arm still protectively wrapped around her. She had turned in the night and her head was snuggled deeply against his chest and her arm wrapped securely around his waist. He could only see her when the occasional flash of distant lightning lit the room. She was beautiful, and he found it exceedingly difficult to remove his eyes from her.
Her hair was splayed around his arm and he found himself anxiously waiting for each successive bolt of lightning off in the distance to light up the small cabin so he could better see her. How he wanted to comb his fingers through her hair, caress her face with his hand, kiss her lips.
Darcy lay very still, but his heart pounded mercilessly. When Elizabeth moved in her sleep and drew herself up against his chest, Darcy gave in to the temptation, leaned his head over, and gently kissed the top of her head, letting his lips linger there. He wanted to draw her into a fervent embrace, but that kiss would have to suffice for the time being. He lay there for some time, listening to every breath she took, sensitive to every slight movement she made, and breathing in the flowery scent of her hair from the toilet water she most likely sprinkled in it.
At length, the only way Darcy felt he could endure the prospect of spending the remainder of the night with Elizabeth in his arms, and remain the gentleman he promised he would be, was to think of her as his best friend’s sister. He forced a mental image to appear of the woman who grated his every nerve, tested his patience, and pushed the boundary of his civility. The only way he found to deal with this temptation was to imagine that she was Caroline Bingley! Never before had he thought so much about that annoying woman! At length he fell asleep.
As the sun began to peek up over the horizon through the scattered clouds that were remaining from the storm, Elizabeth awoke. She had been in the middle of a dream. In the dream she had been up on the top deck of the ship and a fierce storm was raging, much like the one that night. One of the masts had broken and crashed down over her, the sails from the mast and yardarm falling atop her. She was sure that no one knew she was trapped under them, and felt frantic, unable to move… unable to scream.
When at last she awoke, it took her a moment to realize where she was and that it had only been a dream. Her mind gradually cleared and she recalled how she and Mr. Darcy had come to sleep on the floor that night. Darcy was next to her. She could tell by his heavy, steady breathing that he was sound asleep. She also came to realize that the masts that were lying across her in her dream were actually his leg that was draped across her leg and his arm that was slung over her. The sails that had entrapped her in that dream were the blankets that she was wrapped in.
Her head was buried deep within his chest and she not only recognized the constant rhythm of his breathing but could also hear and feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat. She lay there quietly, so as not to awaken him.
As more light began to seep into the room, she pulled herself away slowly and looked at his sleeping face. Something about watching him sleep halted her. While asleep, he appeared very vulnerable and unassuming. He had a very pleasing countenance that she only wished could permeate his features more often while awake. Normally fastidious about his looks, he now lay with his curly hair dishevelled. She thought how much more unpretentious he appeared. Here was a man with a large fortune, and yet as she looked at him, she felt that at this moment, h
e was purely flesh and bones as she, and his fortune meant no more to him than her lack of fortune meant to her. Finally, here was a man who normally put on a mask of pride, and yet now that mask had fallen away, and he was as innocent as a baby.
She thought how attractive he looked in this state. No airs, no pride, nothing to recommend him. She could easily fall in love with someone like that.
She steadily watched his face, and without even thinking, her hand went up and pushed aside an unruly strand of curly hair that had fallen across it. As soon as she let it go, it fell back down. In doing this, another thought came to her. Darcy was a man who took meticulous care in his appearance. She was aware of how he worked to get his hair in place, often with fruitless results once he went up on deck and the wind whipped through it. His dress was always immaculate, and he was of exceptional height and build. All these things inevitably drew attention to him.
That was it! That was what she could not figure out that first night she saw him in the dining area. His fashionable dress, exceedingly handsome looks, and tall stature all commanded attention; yet that was the very thing he loathed!
Elizabeth had to keep herself from chuckling aloud. He most likely considered his good looks a curse because of the attention they drew to him—attention he did not want. When he planted himself against a wall or a window, he hoped to disappear. If he was just anybody, he would have succeeded without too much notice or idle speculation. But due to the very nature of the man, it simply drew more attention to himself; attention that misinterpreted his actions as prideful.
Elizabeth closed her eyes with this thought, as she savoured the novelty of lying in his arms. She did not want the night to end and, for the very first time, began to fear what it would mean to them when the ship docked. As she dwelled on these thoughts, she noticed him begin to stir.
She closed her eyes so he would not see her watching him if he awoke. She was surprised when his arm closed around her more tightly, securing her against him. She could barely breathe, and suddenly felt ill at ease that if he should awaken, he should not find them tangled as they were. She tried to pull away carefully so as not to awaken him, when suddenly he spoke. “Lie still, Caroline, you are safe in my arms.”
