Chapter 38

Prussia Cove, Cornwall

Elizabeth gazed about her with a contented smile. She was seated beside her husband on one of the blankets that had once held a substantial picnic, great portions of that picnic now consigned to the ravenous bellies of two little boys. Those boys were walking by the water with Jory and Eseld, searching the sand for interesting shells and rocks. On the blanket beside the one the Darcys presently occupied, little Elizabeth had burrowed beneath her shawl for a nap, under the watchful eye of Wilson. Beside Elizabeth, her husband sat quietly holding her hand, and all about them were the rocks, sand, and stone of this beautiful cove, the lulling sound of the waves touching the shore.

It was one beautiful place of many beautiful places they had visited, but Elizabeth found herself particularly happy that day. Perhaps it was the fineness of the day, perhaps it was the loveliness of this particular cove. Yet she thought it more likely that it came from the peace within her own heart, from the understanding that she was finally healing from the events of the past few months, the past few years – not merely willing herself to heal.

She sighed, a little tempted to follow after her namesake and take a nap, but not wishing to miss her chance to explore this place. Tightening her grasp on William's hand, she asked, "Will you come and explore the cave with me?"

By his answering nod, she thought he had been eager to do so for some time. He rose and then offered his hand to help her up. Together they walked back along the sand to the mouth of the cave. Although Elizabeth had enjoyed the fine sun of the day, still she revelled in the delicious coolness inside, the sudden feeling that they were all alone in the world, even though this feeling was immediately belied by Henry's exclamation over a particularly interesting shell. Silence fell upon them again, however.

She had not expected the romance of such a place, and overcome with this sensation, she turned to William and stepped closer, laying her hands upon his cheeks, drawing still closer for a deep kiss. He must have felt it as much as she did, for exploration was entirely forgotten as they stood there in the cool stillness, kissing each other far more passionately than they had for the past few months. Elizabeth let her hands begin to roam over his body, admiring him, adoring him through her touch.

Then another cry from Henry recalled them both to the fact that they were not truly alone in the world. Elizabeth drew back just a little, but remained in his arms. He chuckled, softly.

"Tonight," she whispered. "I know I have been – reluctant – of late. I am grateful for your patience."

"Of course – after what you have been through, I would never have expected it of you."

"I am ready now – I think so, anyway."

"And if you are not, we will stop."

She kissed him again, chastely this time, and then they simply stood there in each others' arms, until Jory called out that the tide was coming in, and they must needs be going. William and Elizabeth left the cave and assisted in the packing up of blankets and baskets as well as the admiration of the boys' collections. They regained the lugger just as the tide was beginning to lap at her stern, and waited aboard the boat as the tide refloated her.

As they waited, Jory gazed out over the sea and then sniffed the air. "Storm comin' in," he stated, with quiet assurance. Then he looked to Elizabeth. "Ye needn't worry about us sailin' back home. T'will be later tonight. We'll need to tie her up good and tight, Will."

Darcy had learned to thoroughly trust Jory's word when it came to storms, and even as they tied up the lugger, the distant clouds had turned ominous. They agreed to dine separately that evening, not wanting anyone to be caught in the rain those clouds promised, both parties telling the others to be safe as they made for cottage and inn, respectively.

They got the children settled, and then Darcy told Elizabeth he would go and see the innkeeper, Mr. Lanyon, about dinner. He had been going about in his shirtsleeves for most of the day, it being too warm for his gansey, but Darcy donned waistcoat, coat, and cravat before going down. In the absence of any explanation for why Will Trevills had returned to Mousehole with a family and a new name, the villagers had come up with their own explanation, which was that he had married a rich widow. He had no desire to give them the true and far more complex explanation, and so Darcy chose to let them believe what they wished to believe, and dressed the part when he found it useful. With Mr. Lanyon, he found it particularly useful, for he had begun to suspect Lanyon had harboured hopes that he would marry Jenny. The clothes were the easiest possible reminder that regardless of his sentiments towards the former Will, Mr. Lanyon ought to remember the profits Mr. Darcy represented.

The rain hit just as Wetherby was adjusting his cravat, announcing itself with a first smack against the window and continuing on with great violence. Darcy went out into the hallway and started as he realised the woman in the green riding habit was coming towards him with a key in her hand; she must have taken one of the few vacant bedrooms in the inn, likely sheltering from the storm. Without recognising him, she gave him a long, appraising look. She must have determined him to be a gentleman of fortune and fashion, for she dropped a deep curtsey and kept her admiring gaze on him as he approached.

He saw her now very differently from his time as Will: she was country gentry, no town polish at all. He had fallen in love with a country gentlewoman, of course, but unlike Elizabeth, it was unmistakable that this woman longed for his attention. It was no little effort to give her a short bow and pass her by without smiling in amusement, recalling how she had told him to mind his place. Still, he owed her a debt he could not acknowledge – without seeing her, without attending to her horse, he could not be sure how much longer it would have been before he began to suspect things about his past. The further damage that might have been done to Elizabeth in that time was unfathomable, and Darcy shuddered at the thought.

The lady was far from the only person seeking refuge at the inn that night, but Mr. Lanyon did not need any reminders beyond Darcy's clothes that the man who had rented out more than half of the Keigwin Arms for the majority of the summer took precedence in all things – including the larder – and the small meal Darcy requested was easily promised.

They ate quietly, the rain now joined by howling wind and thunder. Darcy's mind was on the promise his wife had made, earlier, and he looked to that promise with eager anticipation, so long as she remained eager. He had missed that intimacy, it was true, although he would never have pressed her towards it. But still more, he thought it meant she was healing from that long, awful night at Pemberley, from all that had come before.

When they did finally enjoy those intimacies in that vast old bed, it was with the storm reaching its peak, thunderclaps booming loud outside the window and lightning streaking the sky, illuminating their bare skin. It gave everything a greater frisson, although it was not necessary; simply being together in this way was more than enough.

They were wonderfully slow and leisurely about each other, and when finally they were done – at least for the present – they lay together, Elizabeth's head upon his chest, listening to the storm rage about them. She sighed – he felt it, rather than heard it – and turned her head to kiss his chest. Darcy caressed her back and thought contentedly that this trip to Cornwall had done all he could have hoped: restored much of Elizabeth's spirit, allowed him to see Jory and Eseld again, and brought her to something of a friendship with his friends.

A boom of thunder struck so loudly it rattled the windows, a bright flash of lightning arriving almost simultaneously. From the nursery room beside their own, little Elizabeth squealed in fear, and Darcy rose, donning his nightshirt. As he had foreseen, there was a knock at the door a few moments later, with Wilson informing them that little Elizabeth was mighty frightened. As she said this, the child had already been crawling towards her father, and she tugged upon his nightshirt, looking up with her plaintive eyes and speaking. Her voice was too quiet to be heard with the cacophony outside, but Darcy did not need to hear her to know she was saying "papa."

He picked her up and held her, the child leaning heavily against him as he told her that all was well – it was just a storm. When her breathing slowed and her eyes drifted closed, he gingerly carried her back to her palette and laid her down, covering her with her shawl.

When he returned to the bedchamber and drew aside the bedcurtains, he found her mother much as he had left her, lying there, her bare skin illuminated by both candlelight and lightning. She watched him with soft eyes and a faint smile as he determined to remove his nightshirt and join her in the same state of nakedness.

"You did not think yourself to be needed?" he asked.

"No." She nestled up close to him, much as she had been before. "At such a time, I knew it was you she would want. You make her feel safe."

The storm remained strong throughout the night, and Darcy awakened several times to particularly loud claps of thunder. Yet every time he woke, his wife was still quietly and peacefully nestled up against him, her bare skin warm against his own. Even when she did finally wake the next morning, the storm had yet to abate, and it was nearly afternoon before it passed.

Darcy's first priority was to go to the Trevillses's cottage, to ensure they were both well. They were, although part of the roof of Eseld's smokehouse had collapsed. "Better'n the cottage," was Jory's simple philosophy.

Darcy helped Jory stabilise the mess of wood and slate, and they were at this task when Eseld led Wenna Teague out into the yard. It was clear at a glance that Wenna was deeply distraught, and the reason for this was revealed to them when she said,

"Lowen were out in that storm, and he ain't come back – I'm a'feared he's lost."

"And the boys?" asked Darcy.

"Nay, he sent 'em home. Had a bad catch, thought he'd go out once more – thought he could get back in 'fore it hit. I were hopin' ye an' Jory could look for him. Most boats been damaged, but yer lugger looks in fine enough shape."

"Of course we'll look," said Jory.

Darcy turned to Eseld. "Will you tell Elizabeth where I've gone?"

Eseld replied that she would, and the two men walked down to the lugger.

"Seas'll be stronger than what you're used to, Will. We'll need to take care."

"Tell me what to do, and I will do it."

As Mrs. Teague had promised, the harbour was filled with men and boys repairing their boats, but while the lugger looked a little weather-beaten, there was no doubt she was seaworthy. They made sail and cleared the mouse-hole, and then Jory said, "Reckon we oughta sail towards the cape. Stay to the coast as much as we can without risking a lee shore."

Darcy nodded. As Jory had promised, the sea was still very rough, and he listened keenly to his friend's commands as they came. He hoped Elizabeth would not worry over his safety; he trusted Jory so implicitly that it had not occurred to him until that moment that she might very well see cause for worry, having lived through his loss at sea once before. Darcy hoped Eseld could reassure her. He hoped Wenna Teague was not about to experience that same loss – and permanently.

They sailed for some time, eyes scanning the sea and coast, looking for some sign of Lowen's boat. As they were nearing Boscawen Point, Darcy thought he saw a bit of red, and as they drew closer he felt certain of it.

"There," he pointed.

"You've younger eyes than me, Will," said Jory. "We'll tack and get a little closer."

They did so, revealing that the red was indeed the hull of Lowen Teague's boat, grounded upon the point and mostly broken up. They called out his name several times, hoping against hope, but then Jory held his hand up.

"Ain't like what happened to you, Will. There's no chance of livin' through that and I don't dare get any closer, to try to get his body. At least we can tell his widow what happened – at least she'll know."

That would be little consolation for a widow who had just lost her husband and his means of livelihood in one storm, but Darcy took solace in the fact that at least he was in a position to help the family. But so was Jory, who revealed his plan after they had made their turn for home and sailed in silence for some time.

"Will, I've been thinkin' about your offer, ever since you made it, that Eseld and me should come and live with you and your family. Been talkin' it over with Essie, too. We was already agreed we'd come an' join ye someday, but I think now that day's a lot sooner. I'd planned to sell the lugger, but I can give it to the Teagues. I'll stay a while, help the boys sail her, make sure they're ready to get on without their father. Then we'll be ready to move to your Derbyshire. Reckon it's for the best, anyway. I don't think me or Eseld could bear to be parted from you and your family for too long."

Darcy's heart soared at this, even amidst the tragedy that had prompted it. "You will be welcome whenever you are ready to come. And I intend to help the Teagues as well – the lugger will be the best solution for them in the long term, but I will ensure they have ready money for food and essentials while they grieve."

"I knew ye would, Will. Come, let's get back and tell poor Wenna the news. It'll be tough, I'm sure, but it'll go down easier without the threat of starvin'."

Despite Eseld's soothing, Elizabeth felt certain she would not be at ease until she saw her husband walk through the cottage door, and when finally that moment came, she rushed forward to embrace him in relief. Only once she had held him tight for some minutes and released him did she learn of Lowen Teague's fate. She sighed, bowing her head, feeling tears come to her eyes as she recalled that awful day all those years ago. She embraced William again and he held her tight, surely understanding something of her feelings at that moment.

The Trevillses seemed to understand her upset as well, and said they would go to inform Wenna Teague of her husband's death. Eseld and Elizabeth had been making up a basket of food for the family, and they took it with them, leaving the Darcys to walk back to the inn. As they walked, William informed her of Jory's decision to give the lugger to the Teagues and come to join the Darcys in Derbyshire.

He told her with some trepidation, which Elizabeth immediately assuaged by saying, "I am glad. The children adore them, and I – I am coming to adore them as well. I will miss this place, though."

"There is nothing stopping our returning, if we wish. I am sure Jory and Eseld will want to see their friends in the village again."

"Let us plan on it, then."

Upon entering the inn, they were informed by the innkeeper that the post had finally come in, delayed by the storm. In it was a letter for each of the Darcys, and upon their realisation that Henry had written to his cousin, and Kitty to her sister, they began to hope that there might be some other good news to come out of this tragic day. When they retired to their parlour to read the letters, they reached the happy understanding that they were correct.

"Henry writes that they both very much want us there, for the wedding," William said. "If you are not ready to return to Pemberley, though, we could stay on at Willicot for some time and then go elsewhere."

"No, I am ready. The time away has given me what I needed, and I will not let that man take our home from us. I am ready to return and be happy there again, as we were before."

"Would you mind if we stopped in London, during our journey? Now that my memory is restored, it would be useful to me to check on some of my business holdings, but I would understand if it is also a painful place, for you."

"It will not be if we stay at our house. I think it would be good, to break our journey a little."

He nodded, and kissed her gently, his countenance a mixture of all the emotions such a day had bestirred.