A/N: I need to quickly respond to a couple of comments. One reviewer pointed out that in canon, Charlotte Lucas-Collins calls Lizzy "Eliza." That's totally true, and I apologize for messing that up, but I'm probably not going to adjust it at this point. If I ever decide to do something more official with this story, I'll make the change. And to the (conveniently) anonymous reviewer who complained that there is no way Fitzwilliam could ride seventy miles overnight, you are also right… probably. But think of it this way. Fitzwilliam is not just a gentleman with enough funds to purchase a quality mount—he is a soldier with significant experience in the saddle. He would have already prepared for a long journey on horseback, meaning he would have with him some high quality feed in case there was little time to stop for grazing. Also, the entire journey is on roads, not wooded trails. From what I understand, it's totally plausible under those conditions that Fitzwilliam and Charlemagne could travel around fifty miles in nine to twelve hours. Coxton is already about ten miles west of Rosings Park, the location of which is, theoretically, somewhere near Westerham, which is about seventy miles from Dover. So in the end, Fitzwilliam went from Rosings (say, 65 miles from Dover) to Coxton (55 miles from Dover), where his horse rested for around two hours, then rode for around ten hours, arriving in the mid-morning at Dover. Is it a stretch? Sure. But it's not impossible. And it makes for good drama. So I've gone back and corrected the mileage Smythe's agent named (maybe he grew up in Westerham?) in the last chapter, but I'm not going to change Fitzwilliam's ride.
Anyway, thanks for all the reviews/follows. They keep me on my toes. And for your information, I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter of the story. Sorry so long, but a lot needed to happen.
Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen, and in all reality, I'm pretty glad I'm not. If I were, I'd have had to handwrite all this.
Chapter Five
Lizzy had never been to Dover. She had been to Portsmouth some years before, and in some ways the two towns were very similar, although Dover was the smaller. In both cities, the docks bustled with seamen carrying ropes and nets, cargo and trunks, barrels and crates. The former passengers in both cities varied between cheerfully windswept and still slightly green-tinged, and the future passengers waited in crawling lines with impatience and anticipation. Both cities smelled of the seaside, with the freshness of the open sea air mixed up in the stink of kelp and fish and salt. The only difference she could discern, besides the exact layout of the harbor, was that the passenger vessels were smaller here than in Portsmouth.
Well, that and the fact that the shipyards of Dover were filled with grand naval vessels in varying degrees of production and repair. She did not remember that from her trip to Portsmouth, although as she considered it, they had probably been there. England had, after all, been at war with France since she could remember. She simply had known of no reason to remark them before, she supposed. Now she had reason to remark every ship, for each one might be the vehicle of her damnation.
Lizzy, Mr. Darcy, and Lord Geoffrey's men had gathered at the end of a street leading toward the harbor. There were more men now than before, four more having been added to their number during their previous carriage stop. They had obviously been planning to meet Lord Geoffrey there, although she was uncertain from where they had come or why.
She gazed out at the sparkling water and focused on the ships she could identify. It had been years since she had studied sea vessels with her friends, an attempt to add more authenticity to their pirate games. She recognized the small fishing vessels, piled high with their morning catch, the larger sloops carrying significant cargo, and the packets, middle-sized narrow cutters originally used for mailbags and passengers but mostly now turned into quick navy messengers. Which one, she wondered, would carry her away from her home forever?
"Follow me," Lord Geoffrey said, motioning to the men who were nonchalantly surrounding Lizzy and Mr. Darcy. "I sent word from the carriage stop, so they should be ready for us."
Lizzy looked up and met Mr. Darcy's eyes as they moved forward. She wanted to reach out and catch his hand again, to both reassure herself and to comfort him against the anxiety she could see in his face. Bother the breeches and tall, stupid hat she wore that would make such a gesture mortifying!
They moved toward the wider piers, where the mid-sized vessels were lined up in angled rows. They were forced to walk in a single line as they passed loud boatswains yelling at scurrying crews and teams of dockworkers unloading bags and crates from various decks. Lizzy tried to look around, to set her mind to analyzing what was available around them, but there was too much to take in, and the setting was far too unfamiliar.
She searched desperately, hoping to see a man who looked to be employed by the harbormaster or an honest-looking naval commander, someone with authority to whom they could run for protection, but if there was one nearby, he was not distinguishable enough for her to locate him. She considered crying out to the seamen or dockworkers, but they were a rough, disreputable-looking lot, and she was far more inclined to protect her belongings from them (had she had any) than to ask for their aid.
There were a handful of captains visible on the decks of their ships, but they were all busily engaged in their own ships' business, and she could not risk her cry being ignored. The consequences to herself and Mr. Darcy might be expensive indeed.
She glanced up at him again as they walked and found herself irritated beyond all measure. Was this not the moment, in novels and stories, when the hero lashed out at the villains, drawing a hidden weapon (which she knew he now possessed) and boldly rescuing the damsel? Should he not even now be running back up the street, leaving the captors either gravely injured or in the custody of courageous observers whom he had rallied to their cause with a rousing speech?
Apparently this hero was not planning any such feat. Instead he was walking with his gaze straight ahead, practically ignoring his surroundings and looking rather pathetically defeated.
She swallowed her fury, letting it burn low inside her, and squared her shoulders. If he would not put himself forward to rescue them, then she would do it for him. She refused to be spirited away to the Continent and dragged to who knew what miserable end without at least attempting to fight!
She marched forward, her next few steps unfaltering, and then felt all her resolve melt away at the sight of the ship in front of which Lord Geoffrey had paused their little procession. It was one of the packets, the quick cutters formerly used to ferry passengers and mail across the channel. It was loaded down with bags of letters and packages across its deck, with more still being carried by its crew down into the ship's shallow belly. Perhaps it was carrying mail and supplies to English soldiers in Spain and Portugal.
There was no hope for escape, she realized, staring at the ill-favored vessel. It was moored at the far end of a narrow dock. She and Mr. Darcy were surrounded by their subtly armed abductors, not a single one of whom had shown the slightest glimmer of sympathy for their plight. They were boarding a ship with a crew that looked as if it had been gathered from the very worst inhabitants of the Old Bailey. The captain of the vessel, a grizzled, unkempt fellow who stood speaking in low tones with Lord Geoffrey, was now eyeing the two prisoners with interest, with a most unpleasant leer for Lizzy herself. The boat was narrow, with no hiding places whatsoever, and the hold below had no portholes or openings, no way for them even to slip out into the water and swim back.
No wonder Mr. Darcy had already given up hope.
Lizzy barely paid attention as she was shuffled on board and half-pushed down the narrow stairs into the darkened hold. What did it matter now? They were as good as lost.
"You take the first watch, Wellbourn," Smythe called down to Cleft Chin, who was in the process of guiding Lizzy by the arm through the jumble of boxes and crates in the dark hold.
"I cannot!" Cleft Chin turned to Reg, who was just behind Mr. Darcy. "I am nigh to falling down in a dead sleep right now. He cannot ask it. And besides, I thought he said we were to meet in the prow to discuss our next steps."
"'Tis Lord Geoff's order that you guard them," Reg replied automatically, although he looked dubious. "As an initiate, Wellbourn, your task is to prove yourself strong enough to do whatever is asked of you, and if you cannot manage guard duty for a few more hours, then you have no right to know our plans at all. You are already frighteningly close to being relieved of your position here. We would not want that, would we?"
Cleft Chin looked as if he had been slapped. "No, sir. But I say, it was not my fault I nearly fell asleep on duty last night! What else is an exhausted man to do when left alone in a quiet corridor for hours on end?"
When had Cleft Chin fallen asleep? Lizzy felt immensely cheated to have missed it.
Reg's face looked dangerous in the half-light, and Lizzy could see that his grip on Mr. Darcy's upper arm was tightening convulsively. Mr. Darcy watched the interplay between the two men with mild interest, drawing no attention to himself.
"You failed, Wellbourn. I have even less tolerance for failure than Geoff has, regardless of excuses."
"Well, I am strong enough!" Cleft Chin replied, sticking his chest out and again reminding Lizzy powerfully of a little boy. She had not realized until that moment how very young he was, probably her own age, or even Mary's. His stature and serious countenance had made him seem much older. "I will prove myself!"
"Then get to it, and no more complaining. I will send one of Captain Markham's men down to keep you company as soon as I go back on deck. They are a reliable lot, when it comes to making an extra coin or two. Not that either of you should be needed. Markham installed a very reliable bar on the brig several years ago."
Cleft Chin nodded and continued forward with Lizzy ahead of him.
There was a single small room in the prow, some sort of storage area, and into this Lizzy and Mr. Darcy were led. With a smirk, Reg placed the single oil lamp he had been carrying on the a stack of broken crates in the center of the room. "I suggest you not take it into your heads to start a fire. You would die in here of all the smoke long before it ever created an escape hole, and even if it did, I doubt either of you is a good enough swimmer to make it across the channel."
Then he walked out, and Cleft Chin followed behind him with his shoulders already slumping tiredly again. He closed the door, and they heard the sound of a heavy iron bar coming down over the doorway, followed by a crate scraping along the floor of the hold and stopping right in front.
Lizzy chose to not even look around the room. She only had the barest impression of very compact walls hung with ropes and other paraphernalia before she dropped to the floor, crossing her ankles, hunching over her knees, and curling into a ball of perfect misery.
They were lost. It was time to accept it. She had already taken her last step on English soil, and she had not even thought to note it. Where would they be taken from there? Would she be separated from Mr. Darcy as soon as they finished the crossing, or would she have a little more time before finding herself alone?
She tried to calm the hitch in her breathing caused by her fear and sorrow. She did not want to cry, not now, but she was uncertain she could prevent it.
It took a few moments for her to recognize the sound of Mr. Darcy's boots clomping around the small room, and she looked up at him furiously. She fully intend to deliver a blazing chastisement for his blatant disregard of her wish for quiet in which to indulge her misery, but something about the expression on his face stopped her. All the dejection she had seen earlier had disappeared, and his eyes were fierce and intently fixed on the door as he paced. Just in front of the doorway, he stopped, fully alert.
"Mr. Darcy?" she questioned.
"Shhh," he answered, motioning her closer to the door. "Listen."
She stood and moved forward quietly, realizing that just beyond the wall there were voices.
"You cannot just leave! You were ordered to stay here and help me."
That was Cleft Chin. He was still in the hold, but he stood at the far end near the stairs to the deck.
"'E's not my master!" replied a voice she did not recognize. "I told 'im I'd come down, and so I 'ave, but we're shoving off in just a moment, and there's work to be done. Why would ye need two guards anyway for two rich milksops behind an iron-barred door? 'ow could they possibly escape? And what would they do if they did, slap you to death wit' all their money?"
"You're to stay," Cleft Chin argued. "I am too tired to watch them on my own."
"So sleep! They canna get out."
"I know Reg paid you to come down and help," Cleft Chin said, sounding suddenly triumphant. "If I tell him you failed to do what you were paid for, he'll take the money back and make you regret it."
"Not that he paid me much," the man grumbled, his voice moving toward the prow. "Won't even pay for more 'an a tankard or two in port. I get better tips for carrying passenger bags to their coaches."
The men subsided into silence, and Lizzy moved away from the door, seething with frustration. "Was it important to emphasize that we are now even more securely captive here? It is all hopeless!"
"We need to get them both in here," Mr. Darcy hissed to her. "Now!"
"But why? What would that accomplish?"
Mr. Darcy approached her, his features taut and a little frightening in the flickering of the badly trimmed lamp. He grasped her shoulders urgently. "I know you are upset, and I freely admit that any chance we have of successfully escaping is painfully slight, but I believe there is a chance, and if we do not take it, we may regret it for the rest of our lives. Now I beg you to trust me. We have no time to argue or discuss—after this ship pulls away from the pier, all hope is truly lost. Can you do it, Elizabeth? Can you trust me?"
"Yes." The word came easily, surprising her.
He beamed at her, his smile as brilliant as the sun reflecting off the sea outside. Her heartbeat stuttered at the sight. He was so beautiful!
She was still stiff and blinking as he spun away and began searching the walls with his eyes and hands, touching every rope, bundle, and container, and muttering about distractions. Lizzy watched for only a moment before a simple answer occurred to her. She opened her mouth and screamed.
He jumped in surprise, knocking down an array of mops leaned in the corner. But at the sound of the two men's footsteps pounding toward them, he pushed her against the far wall and ran back to stand beside the entrance, taking up one of the fallen mops like a quarterstaff. She barely had time to wonder about his intent before the box slid aside and the door was flung open.
"What's wrong?" cried Cleft Chin, his eyes concerned. He remained just outside the door.
Her mind raced, and she could barely think, given the pounding of feet on the deck above. They had heard her cry outside! Oh, what had she been thinking? Why had she screamed so loudly? The entire ship would be on alert.
She put all the fear she had ever felt into her voice. "It was over there! The biggest I have ever seen! It tried to bite me!"
If Cleft Chin had not been so slow and tired, had the sailor not been so eager to get back on deck, both men would have stopped to think and realized she could only be referring to a rat. They would have laughed in her face and slammed the bar over the door in a trice. But her terror brought them both forward just a few steps.
Just far enough for Mr. Darcy to wallop the scruffy, young sailor with the mop handle. He swung with such force that the man went down instantly, crumpling into a heap on the wooden floor.
Cleft Chin reacted slowly, finally jumping forward toward Mr. Darcy after nearly a full second, but he skidded to a stop just in time to keep the short dagger in Mr. Darcy's hand from sliding into his chest.
"Turn around and tell them all is well," Mr. Darcy said, his voice low and dangerous, "or you will die."
The man took one long look at Mr. Darcy's forbidding expression before nodding and spinning toward the men who were leaping down into the hold.
"What happened?" Lord Geoffrey cried.
"Nothing, nothing," Cleft Chin answered, chuckling weakly. "She had a bit of a scare. A rat!"
The group stopped moving and relaxed, although their expressions were deeply annoyed, Reg's most of all.
Mr. Darcy wiggled the knife against Cleft Chin's back, which elicited a few more words. "Go back to your business, sir. I shall take care of the vermin and settle them again."
Lord Geoffrey shook his head, equal parts frustration and amusement. "And here I thought you so brave, Miss Bennet!"
"I dislike rats," she said, trying to hide the trembling of her voice, "and I could swear it was the second biggest one I have ever seen."
Lord Geoffrey, who had turned to follow his men up the stairs, paused and looked back at her. "The second biggest? Where did you see the first?"
"In a parlor, sir. In Kent. Holding a rapier. Although I suppose technically now this hold contains both of the oversized pests."
Lord Geoffrey burst out laughing, his barks so fierce that he was forced to bend in half and slap his thighs. Lizzy could not help her own tiny smile. That one had been rather good, she thought.
"My darling, you are a gem! I am doing the Continent a great service by bringing you to its shores."
He turned to go, but paused when Reg looked back with a frown. "Wellbourn, where is the sailor I sent down to share guard duty with you?"
Lizzy tensed, and she noticed Mr. Darcy pressing the knife harder against Cleft Chin's back.
"He had to… relieve himself. Said he'd only be a moment."
"You sent him aid?" Lord Geoffrey asked Reg, his expression deeply displeased. "If he cannot guard them down here on his own…"
"It was just until we leave the harbor, in case Mr. Darcy gets any ideas," Reg answered, his posture defiant.
"This may surprise you, Reg," Lord Geoffrey replied dangerously, "but this is still my crew, and I still give the orders."
It was obvious that Reg wanted to argue, but he held his tongue and nodded, offering only a stiff, "Of course."
"Carry on," Lord Geoffrey said to Cleft Chin as he finished glaring at Reg and they continued up the stairs and out of sight.
Cleft Chin remained very still until Lord Geoffrey's boots fully disappeared onto the deck. Then he nearly collapsed where he stood, but Mr. Darcy grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him inside, closing the door. He motioned with the dagger to the far corner of the small room, and Cleft Chin just made it there before his knees buckled. He mewled from the ground, "Please, sir, don't kill me! I've a wife and child at home, and they need me, sir."
"Oh, bosh," Mr. Darcy said with an eye-roll. "You are not a day over nineteen, and if you are already irresponsible enough to have a wife and child at your mercy, then I suspect they shall be better off without you. Now stay there and be silent."
The man, who was more obviously a boy with every passing moment, nodded and closed his lips tightly, slumping against the wall.
"Now what, sir?" Lizzy asked. "The deck will still be crawling with enemies."
"That is where costuming becomes rather important," he answered, eyeing their two captives with distaste.
Too many minutes later, and after significant difficulties with maneuvering the unconscious sailor, Lizzy and Mr. Darcy were dressed as their captives. Lizzy thought the loose trousers of the seaman much more comfortable than the breeches she had worn for the past two days, and she was ridiculously grateful to the poor man for parting with them, however unwillingly.
"Now, I recall you mentioning that you played pirate as a child, Miss Bennet. What do you know about knots?" Mr. Darcy asked, his eyes staying warningly on Cleft Chin.
"Rather more than an accomplished lady should, sir."
"Excellent. Would you be so good as to tie our two friends securely to the support beams there?"
Lizzy went to work immediately, once again feeling an anxious need to giggle. One day she would have to write letters to John Lucas, Martin Golding, and Walter Terry, reminding them of nine-year-old John's admonition that pirating skills might always come in handy when they were older. How right he had been!
Mr. Darcy watched her with an admiring smile, finally returning the small blade to his pocket as Lizzy finished tying scraps of oilcloth around the men's mouths as gags. "You are a marvel, Miss Bennet. Well done."
She blushed with pleasure, noting how exceedingly handsome his face was when he was openly impressed. She thought she might like to see that look often, preferably directed at herself.
He moved to the near wall of the small room. "Now," he said, tugging a longer length of rope from a hook, "we must make our way off this boat."
"And how do you propose we do that, sir?"
He shrugged with affected nonchalance. "Simply walk up the stairs, move aft, tie the rope to an anchor point off the stern and, when no one is looking, shimmy down into the water. We can wait below the pier until they sail away. Then we can make our way up one of the ladders or, if all else fails, call for help."
"You say all that as if any of it is likely to work!" Lizzy cried, horrified. "There is no shelter on deck, only the short main cabin behind which to huddle. Sailors are constantly moving across the deck and in the rigging. We shall be observed for certain!"
"Have you a better idea?" he asked intently, truly seeming to mean the question. "We must get off, and this is the best I can do. I would very much appreciate a better option."
Lizzy sank back, leaning against the wall near her. "I have none. It is just so foolhardy."
"And if you think it is not galling to leave so much dependent on chance, then you do not know me at all, but we have no other choice."
"I see that," she replied, feeling despair weigh her down again. She tried to swallow around the heart lodged in her throat. "But if we are caught…"
"Miss Bennet, if we are caught, then it is God's will. But we must try. If anything goes wrong and I am caught alone, keep running. Do not turn back. I shall take care of myself, and they have no reason to harm me. The money I can offer them is worth more than any revenge they might seek for your loss."
He stepped toward her, quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat, the same one he had been wearing since their capture, and ripped out a section of lining. Several large coins slid out. He stepped over to the unconscious sailor, who was just beginning to stir, and dropped one into the pocket of the long gentleman's shirt he now wore. He did the same for Cleft Chin, who raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"For a new jacket," Mr. Darcy explained to the young man. "We are not thieves."
Cleft Chin looked down and nodded once, a little abashed.
Then Mr. Darcy drew Lizzy near the door and pressed a handful of guineas into her hand as he whispered almost silently, "This will get you to London. Go to my townhouse in Grosvenor Square, number one-hundred forty-eight, tell my butler Connors everything that has happened, and explain that you need to get a message to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Tell Connors that you must stay there until I can get word to you. Whatever happens, do not return to your family or friends, for Lord Geoffrey and the others might find you there."
Lizzy wanted to ask a thousand questions, but she only let one escape as she dropped the coins into her own coat pocket. "And what if I am caught and you are not?"
"That would be impossible," he answered, "for I shall be with you every step of the way. They will not catch you without me."
She nodded, swallowing hard again. "I am afraid."
He reached out and cupped her jaw in his palm, running one thumb soothingly across her cheek. He had removed his gloves when changing his jacket, and his fingertip was slightly rough against her skin. She thought it might be the nicest thing she had ever felt. "So am I."
She stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips against his, the roaring of her blood in her ears so loud that she would not have heard a gunshot just outside the room. She held there for only a second, maybe two, before dropping her heels.
His eyes were wide open, staring at her in wonder as she stepped slightly back.
"For luck," she explained, swallowing down her belated embarrassment. Now was no time to be missish.
He nodded once, closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then opened them and released a deep breath as he lifted the latch. "Then let us go."
The hold was empty, as it had been before. Lizzy followed Mr. Darcy, creeping through the stacks of crates rather than walking down the main pathway, but it was unnecessary, as no one came down the stairs. They stopped at the bottom, listening intently.
Lizzy gasped sharply as the ship rocked slightly and she felt the definite motion of the packet pulling away from its mooring. She grabbed Mr. Darcy's forearm.
"We must hurry," he whispered, tugging her forward.
There were several voices on deck, but none directly by, so they crept up the stairs, Mr. Darcy only getting high enough to peek outside. After a moment, he motioned for her to follow him, and he moved quickly to the top, disappearing.
Lizzy drew in a final deep breath and moved after him, trying to remember to walk with the quick, rolling gait of a sailor.
There was a flurry of well-organized activity on deck, but most of it was concentrated at the center, around the base of the mast and in the rigging, and at the prow, where Lizzy could make out Lord Geoffrey and his companions gathered in laughing discussion. Most of the group was facing out to sea, although Lord Geoffrey himself was turned toward the cabin and hold.
They thought they had won, she thought wryly.
She gazed toward them for one more moment as she moved away from the stairs, and her heart suddenly jumped to her throat as Lord Geoffrey's eyes swept toward her, pausing. They had been seen!
She froze in place. What should she do? If she dove from the ship's side, dragging Mr. Darcy with her, would they survive the fall? Would they be able to escape? Would the men pursue them, or would the public nature of their surroundings prevent them from giving chase?
Then, just as she decided to run, Lord Geoffrey's gaze skipped away from her, and he returned to his conversation calmly.
He had not seen her, or at least not recognized her!
She considered dropping to her knees at that moment and offering a prayer of thanks to Heaven for such a miracle, but she decided that the best method of expressing her gratitude would be to accept the blessing and make the best use of it that she could manage.
She followed Mr. Darcy toward the stern, where he leaned casually next to an empty anchor point for some kind of tow line. "Here," he murmured, his eyes sweeping the docks around them under the shadow of Cleft Chin's hat. Lizzy moved beside him, as bold as any other seaman onboard, and began tying the end of the coil she carried to the anchor point. Her hands were shaking from their near miss, but she kept going, and only a few seconds later, she dropped the rest of the rope into the water where the ship was nearly bumping another segment of pier.
She leaned back against the rail, mimicking Mr. Darcy's position. "Ready."
"Go now," he whispered urgently. "No one is watching."
It took all her courage not to look carefully around for herself. It was so hard to trust their safety to him, but she let herself ignore her fear and climbed over the side. She shimmied quickly down the rope until she had moved out of view of anyone up on the pier or on deck. She hung there in the shadow of the cutter still several feet above the water, her arms already trembling with the effort, and looked up above her.
She saw Mr. Darcy's hand on the railing, and she willed him to follow, but before he could move, a voice approached. "Oy, there!"
Lizzy froze, hanging on the line like an icicle. They were discovered! She had to run! She looked down into the murky green water, newly horrified at the thought of making this attempt on her own. Was she strong enough for this? Would she be able to do it alone?
And could she bear the idea of Mr. Darcy being stuck back with these rotten men? What would they do to him? How would they punish him for helping her escape?
"What?" Mr. Darcy replied gruffly.
This was it. This was her last chance. She had to go now!
But she could not leave without knowing his fate. Her own safety be hanged!
"Ye're one of Smythe's men? Ain't ya supposed ta be meetin' with him over there?"
"I am keeping watch until we set sail. The master is always careful, even to the very last moment."
"Keepin' watch for what? Pursuers? Or an escape?" The man laughed in a raspy voice, ending with a sharp cough. "None of these 'gentle people' 'ave ever even made an attempt, 'ave they? They always shuffle on board, as docile and frightened as lambs about ta be sheered, sit quietly in the 'old, and emerge a little green and willing to pay whatever amount Lord Smythe chooses. 'e's always sendin' 'em back a few days later, their estates quite a bit poorer and their determination ta never make a wager agin' a flaming fire inside 'em. It's practically a Christian service!"
"His planning is admirable," Mr. Darcy replied thoughtfully.
"Ay, although I must say I was surprised to see a woman come aboard. 'e always keeps them this side of the channel, don't he? For their own safety, 'e always said. Mayhap 'e's plannin' to keep this one for 'imself?"
"She is a lively one," Mr. Darcy said stiffly, "and he seems to have taken a liking to her."
"Well, good for 'im, I say. She could do much worse. 'e's an excellent fellow—for a con-man." The sailor laughed again, and Mr. Darcy joined him.
Lizzy's arms were shaking, despite having wrapped her legs in the rope to lend some support. She would not be able to hold much longer.
"Come to that, are you new with Lord Smythe? I ain't never seen you onboard before."
"Well, I, uh…"
"Striker! To your post!" a voice called from the prow. "Ya lazy dog!"
"G'day to ya," Striker said hurriedly.
Suddenly Mr. Darcy was sliding down the rope above her. Lizzy went the rest of the way in seconds, ignoring the burning of her palms as she slipped too quickly, sliding into the cold, briny water with barely a splash. She gasped at the chill, just managing to keep her head above water. She swam back into the shadows under the pier, trying not to think of the muck and grime floating in the flotsam around her, and she heard Mr. Darcy splashing after her. She made it to a barnacle-covered post well-hidden under the wooden planks, and Mr. Darcy came up beside her, both of them grasping the pillar.
"Why did you not go when you heard the man's voice?" he hissed, his eyes blazing. "All he would have had to do was glance down over the side!"
"I could not. I could not just abandon you!" A wave rolled in and back out, buffeting her hip and shoulder against the pillar. She grimaced and held on tighter.
"Saving yourself is not abandoning me! I told you that…"
"I make my own decisions, sir, regardless of any advice you offer. I found, when the moment came, that I would rather remain in peril than spend some unknown period waiting in safety to know whether you were well!"
"But I am much more likely to be in peril if you remain than if I am captive alone. Can you not see that?"
"Of course I can!" she spat, ignoring the shiver that had just brushed up from her icy limbs as the force of another wave smacked her ankles into the post. She held on tighter, or as tightly as possible given her failing strength. "It makes perfect, logical sense. But in the moment, I found that logic was irrelevant. I wanted to remain with you! Does it have to make sense?"
"I do not understand how you can so easily accept your own lack of wisdom when it comes to your personal safety. If you would just…Agh!"
His words were cut off when the largest wave yet rolled up and crashed over both their heads. They came up spluttering and coughing, and Lizzy felt Mr. Darcy's hand on her back.
"Perhaps, sir," Lizzy wheezed, "we should choose another location in which to continue this argument."
She shivered again, and he moved closer, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders. She felt no warmth from him in the frigid water, but the gesture cooled the last of her ire, and she laid her head against his shoulder for a moment before pushing away from the pillar, beginning to swim from post to post along the dock, trying to get as far from the packet as she could.
She and Jane had learned to swim years before in the small pond near the edge of her father's estate, but she was realizing quickly that such limited experience had not prepared her for swimming in the sea. The tide seemed to be turning, but there were many conflicting waves from various incoming and outgoing vessels, and it was difficult to predict the direction of the next swell. Her already weary arms were losing energy quickly. The ill-fitting boots she wore dragged at her feet, and she was grateful the posts were so close to one another, although all too often she crashed into the posts rather than reaching for them, draining her further.
She glanced over her shoulder and paused, treading water, as Lord Smythe's packet began to move more definitely away from the pier. Mr. Darcy stopped beside her, and they watched in silence as the boat pulled into the open water at the center of the harbor. Finally she turned away and half-swam, half-floated the last few lengths to a long ladder hung on the back side of the very last, mostly empty pier.
She reached for the bottom rung in relief, but her numbed hand slipped from the slat instead of gripping it. Fear spiked through her, as chilling as the icy water. What if, after all of this, she was too weak to climb out? The idea would have been laughable had the fatigue in her limbs not felt so glaringly real.
She reached out again, using all her will to command her frozen fingers to grip the slat. She did the same with the other, then slid each leaden leg until her feet landed on the slippery, submerged rungs. She leaned her forehead against her forearm and closed her eyes. Help me, God, to make it up this ladder. Please, I ask no more. Just help us both up the ladder.
"Go up."
Lizzy opened her eyes and gazed at Mr. Darcy in desperation. "I cannot raise myself. I am too cold and weak."
"No, you are not. You are fine. Go up the ladder."
She glared at him. She had expected some sympathy, perhaps even a kiss of encouragement to her forehead. "I cannot."
"Of course you can. Just go."
"What do you mean? I already told you I am not strong enough." She was panicking, her breath coming shallowly and too fast, and now she felt lightheaded.
He swam behind her and pressed his chest against her back, placing his hands beside hers on the rungs and his feet just below hers. "You have no other choice. Therefore, you are strong enough. Now, stop arguing with me and move!"
His words spurred her, as much through anger as a desire to live up to his expectations, and she managed very slowly, rung by rung, to raise herself up the side of the pier. He mirrored every movement, coming up just below her, and at his insistence, as they neared the top, she moved off slightly to the side so that he could come up beside her and look out over the planks.
There was a team of men loading a small fishing vessel, the only one moored anywhere near.
"We ought to wait until they disperse," Mr. Darcy began. Then he looked over at her shivering form and down at his own shaking limbs and sighed. "But we cannot wait."
He climbed onto the dock and bent back over to help her up. He released her hand as soon as he finished, and she was surprised by it until she remembered that she was still dressed as a man. Good grief! How was she supposed to walk like a man when her legs were shaking so much she could barely walk at all?
They neared the group on the pier, who noticed them with no little surprise.
"Oy, there, what 'appened ta you?"
"You two all right?"
"D'ya fall in?"
Lizzy's fuzzy mind whirled, but she thought of no reasonable explanation. Thankfully, Mr. Darcy was less addled than she.
"We were right fools," he said, with a slight shift of accent and a sheepish grin. "We made a bit of a wager about the minute the Maid Lucy would dock," he said, motioning toward another packet that had just made it in before the tide turned. It had numerous passengers waiting on deck, obviously impatient to reach land. The name Maid Lucy was painted on its side in bold script. "Our discussion grew a bit hot, and the lad here took a fist to me face, so I answered in kind, and before we knew it, we were washing in wit' the tide."
Lizzy kept her head down, her cap low over her eyes, but she could hear the men laughing cheerfully. Mr. Darcy joined them, and she tried to shrug and look sullen, the way she imagined such a foolish young man would.
"The lad will go back to his ship, but is there an inn nearby where I can go to get changed before the coach leaves going south?"
"Aye," one of the men said, still chuckling. "The Bulldog is the nearest honest place, and the innkeeper will let rooms by the hour if you have need. Go straight up the main road and turn left your first chance."
"Thank 'ee kindly. G'day to ya."
Mr. Darcy strode past them, Lizzy following in his wake until there was enough room for them to walk abreast. "We must find a change of clothes," he said, leaning down toward her and speaking quickly. "We are too noticeable as we are."
"Obviously," she replied through chattering teeth. She also needed to sit down and get warm, but she thought it superfluous to mention since his concerned glances made it clear he already knew.
They reached the main length of the dock and began to move through the midday crush into the narrow street ahead. It was hugged by dingy buildings that smelled strongly of damp, mostly shipmaster and coach offices.
"We could break into someone's luggage while no one is watching," Lizzy whispered, peering around for an unattended trunk. But travelers and drivers were especially vigilant in any place as busy as this one, and she saw no simple possibilities. Then she looked up, wondering where the nearest housing could be found. "Or we could pilfer something from a friendly clothesline. Or I suppose…"
"Perhaps this will serve better," Mr. Darcy said drily, turning aside and leading her toward an unprepossessing shop under a sign with a painting of a grinning sailor.
Not less than fifteen minutes later, Lizzy and Mr. Darcy left the shop two guineas poorer (having been outrageously taken advantage of by the shrewd shopkeeper) but in dry, clean, new shirts, trousers, jackets, and caps. Only their footwear remained the same, as they had not wished to deplete their funds too far. Mr. Darcy's boots were well-enough hidden by the wide workman's trousers that their quality was not immediately obvious.
Lizzy was still shivering, and she very much wished for dry feet, but at least they were no longer so conspicuous.
"And now we must get warm," Mr. Darcy said, leading them around the corner and a ways down the narrow side-street toward the sign for The Bulldog.
Lizzy did not argue, her eyes already fixed on the entrance to the tall, thin building.
"What are we to do once we have…?" Lizzy's voice trailed off as her ears caught the sound of sharp footsteps on the wooden boardwalk they now traversed. She looked over her shoulder just in time to catch her breath before Scissors, a look of incredulity and anger on his face, reached out and grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop.
How had they not noticed that at least one of Lord Geoffrey's fellows had been left behind? Lizzy was too surprised to do more than cry out sharply.
"How did you get off the boat?" he hissed, jerking her back against him. "I was watching from the dock, and I noticed nothing amiss. I did not see you until you left the shop back there."
"More fool you," she answered through clenched teeth. She attempted to reach out and clasp her arms around the roof pillar nearest her, but Scissors wrenched her back and wrapped an arm around both her arms and her chest. She stilled as she felt something sharp press into the flesh near her spine.
Her eyes locked on Mr. Darcy, who had spun at the sound of her cry and was now standing in the center of the walkway, staring at the man with desperate anger.
"You are both half-wits if you believe they will not return for you immediately upon discovering your absence," Scissors said, his tone scathing. "You are worth too much to allow your escape."
"They will not notice we are missing for some time, perhaps a few hours," Mr. Darcy answered, inching closer although his hands were raised and open in front of him. "Long enough, at least, that they will be unable to return until tomorrow at the earliest. You are alone here. How do you imagine you will keep us captive?"
"Reg is just at the other end of the dock. All we must do is walk back down, which you will do quietly if you do not want your dear lady to be skewered on my blade. Move now, and I will not have to hurt her."
Mr. Darcy paused, his eyes roving the street in hope of finding aid, but as far as Lizzy could see, this side-street was conspicuously empty. Even worse, they were standing on a covered section of walkway against a boarded-up shop, well shadowed and out of sight. His gaze grew more desperate, and she could sense his fear of capitulation. They had been so close to escaping! It was galling to face returning to imprisonment.
Then, for just a moment, Lizzy saw relief flash in his eyes before he returned the anxious expression to his face. "Very well," he said. "Just… just please do not harm her."
Lizzy heard Scissors chuckle in his throat, already celebrating this victory. "Then move quickly," he spat, his tone authoritative and confident. "And I will consider asking Lord Geoff to be merciful, though I doubt I will be successful. Reg is not going to like this little development—not at all."
"Perhaps it is us you will have to beg for mercy," said a familiar voice from behind Scissors, "though it will need to be for yourself and no one else."
Scissors moved to turn, trying to take Lizzy with him, but he was thrown sideways, bowled over by a man who may as well have been the huge bulldog from the inn's sign. Scissors' hands were ripped from her, but her rubbery limbs still could not withstand the mild impact of his movement, and she toppled sideways, smashing her shoulder into the thick post she had tried to reach before.
Mr. Darcy was there in a moment, on his knees and gathering her into his arms even as the grunts and growls of a scuffle sounded out of her sight. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
"My shoulder," she gasped, bracing her arm against her side with her other hand.
He settled her back against the pillar, hovering worriedly. "Can you move it?"
"Give me a moment. I am certain I shall be all right soon."
She forced herself to focus on the men who were now some feet down from them. Two men in clothes very similar to her own were hanging a semi-conscious Scissors between them. One of Scissors' eyes was ringed red, and she was certain it would soon be swollen shut, a nice accompaniment to the bruising that would soon be appearing on his cheek and jaw.
She let out a relieved breath before looking up at the two men. The giant was unfamiliar to her. He was sandy-haired with a patch over his left eye, and his round, cheerful face was apologetic as he gazed at her. But the other man…
"Colonel!" she laughed, ignoring the sharp pain the movement inspired in her shoulder. "You may be the most beautiful sight I have ever seen!"
Colonel Fitzwilliam, looking only slightly disheveled from the fight, grinned at her in his old way, although she knew the expression was not as careless as it had been when she had seen him last. His eyes were troubled as he looked her over. "I wish I could say the same, my dear Miss Bennet, but I must say you are not quite looking your best."
"Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy chided impatiently, "for goodness sake, man, after all she has been through…"
"No, no," Lizzy interrupted, leaning her head back against the post and closing her eyes—she was perfectly unable to keep them open any longer. "Honesty is best to welcome, even when it is painful to accept. I admit that I have felt better."
"Forgive me for hurting you, miss," the other man said in a deep, rumbling voice. "I never meant for you to fall."
"'Tis quite all right," she replied. "It is worth any physical pain to remain free from Lord Geoffrey and his henchmen. And the way Scissors looks now," she added, cracking one eye open, "makes me feels a far sight better."
"Miss Bennet," the colonel chuckled, "you have always been charming, but your ability to make light of this particular situation is perfectly adorable. Perhaps I shall have to overcome my qualms and marry you after all."
Lizzy's eyes popped open, and she hissed as Mr. Darcy's hands, which had been working to gently slide her jacket off her shoulder, convulsively closed on her upper arm. He released her instantly, nearly tipping over in his haste. "Forgive me," he muttered. "I… overbalanced."
He returned to his task but stopped again as a shudder wracked her frame. The excitement and fear had warmed her for a moment, but the return to relative safety had allowed the cold to seep back in, and she tried to stifle a sob as the sharp movement caused the pain in her shoulder to flash anew.
"She is cold and now injured," Mr. Darcy said his cousin. "We must get her inside in front of a fire."
"Of course. Cardon? Can you take care of this hindrance?" the colonel asked, gesturing to the man they supported between them. "He cannot be allowed to get word to his companions."
"'Twill be simple enough. I am good friends with the local magistrate," Mr. Cardon answered, grinning widely. "We shall find this fellow—Scissors, did you call him?—somewhere cozy to recuperate for a few days… or weeks."
"You are a good friend," the colonel said, transferring Scissors's weight around until he was slung heavily over the big man's shoulder. "You have my enduring gratitude."
"And ours as well, Cardon," Mr. Darcy said, rising to shake the man's hand. All Lizzy could do was offer a faint smile.
"A pleasure to serve. I've been spoiling for a brawl for months anyway—just ask my wife. If you need any more help, you'll let me know, will you not, Colonel?"
"Undoubtedly," the colonel laughed. They exchanged farewells and the man, Cardon, turned away, easily carrying the unconscious man down the street. He nodded before disappearing around a corner at the far end.
The colonel and Mr. Darcy assisted Lizzy to her feet gently, supporting her between them much as Scissors had been a moment before. She moved gingerly, leaning mostly on the colonel's arm in order to keep from jostling her injured shoulder against Mr. Darcy's. It felt odd to be relying on someone else suddenly, almost like a betrayal.
"Colonel," she asked tiredly, "however did you find us?"
"No, no, Miss Bennet," he teased. "First we will get you some tea, a roaring fire, some half-dozen cozy blankets, and a doctor. Then I will hear an excellently detailed and tedious account of your adventures from Darcy. And then I will explain my presence and all that has happened in Kent since you were removed."
"You are horribly cruel," she replied. Well, that was what she attempted to say, but the words came out in a muddle, and she realized that the world had grown oddly dark. Oh, that was because she had closed her eyes again. She dragged another foot forward, but it did not quite respond as it should, and she knocked her toes against a step.
"Miss Bennet? Miss Bennet!" The distress in Mr. Darcy's voice was the last thing she noticed before she drifted into blessed blackness.
"Are you certain she shall be all right?" Darcy asked the hunched little man again. Darcy was still hovering uselessly over the mattress on which Miss Bennet lay sleeping.
"As I have already told you," Dr. Wiggin pointed out less patiently than the first two times, "her arm is severely bruised but not broken, and the surface wound is small and carefully dressed. She has regained her color and her skin is warm again to the touch. The periodic shivers will stop in another hour or so as her system accepts that she is no longer too cold. She is resting, which is the best remedy I can recommend for her fatigue. She will be just fine!" He picked up his bag and moved toward the door, his coat already buttoned.
Darcy nodded and stood stiffly, his knees cracking. It had been wise to move the ticking from the inn's bed to the floor closer to the fire, but it was not terribly comfortable for any of Miss Bennet's caretakers. Darcy looked nearly as weak and exhausted as Miss Bennet had been. "Very well. Thank you very much for your assistance. Please remember not to speak of us if anyone comes asking." He crossed to the doctor and handed him a few coins.
Dr. Wiggin pocketed the payment. "Yes, yes. I can spot trouble as well as the next person, and I shall keep my nose out of it. I recommend that you yourself get some rest now, young man, as your sister is doing. Good day." He bowed then walked out, pulling the door firmly shut.
"He is correct," Fitzwilliam said from his seat on a short bench under the window. He had been leaning back and closing his eyes, attempting to will away the itching under his eyelids that always told him he was near to dropping again himself. A few hours of sleep this morning had not been enough. "You look done in."
"I have not gone swimming for ages, especially not in the sea. I had forgotten how difficult it was. I am still amazed that she made it at all, but she did, only giving out at the very end." His eyes rested on Miss Bennet's still form, and he knelt back at her side. His gaze was adoring, nearly reverential.
"She is an impressive young lady," Fitzwilliam said thoughtfully, feeling rather mischievous. "I suspect she could handle much trouble and travail without faltering. That seems a good quality for an officer's wife, does it not?"
Darcy tensed and stared up at him, eyes burning. "What did you mean earlier, when you referred to overcoming your qualms in order to marry her?"
Fitzwilliam chuckled, shaking his head. "Miss Bennet and I had a very frank discussion on the morning before you were taken. We had been enjoying one another's company so much that I felt it only right to explain my rather difficult financial situation. I had no desire for her to get the wrong idea about my intentions, no matter how fond I have grown of her. But I am uncertain now. For a lady such as this, might it be worthwhile to make a few sacrifices? Perhaps she could be happy living on only an officer's income."
Darcy continued to stare at him with no expression, but Fitzwilliam could feel the rage, jealousy, and confusion rolling off him in violent waves. Darcy's words were stiff as he asked, "Have you some idea of her harboring feelings for you?"
"I know that we get along well, and she is always most glad to see me. I think she likes me very much, and that is a fine place to begin, is it not?" Fitzwilliam put on a worried look. "And besides, if even a whiff of this little escapade gets out, her reputation will be as good as ruined, and as she is just an innocent caught up in all this, it would only be right for one of us to offer for her. Why should it not be me?"
"Because you are-" Darcy cut off his outburst, looking as red in the face as if he were being strangled.
"Because I am what?" Fitzwilliam asked, his voice direct now and openly challenging.
Darcy drew in a few deep breaths, and after a moment, he looked down at the lady before him. He reached out and tenderly brushed a loose lock of hair off Miss Bennet's forehead. His fingers lingered on her cheek.
"Because I am not the one in love with her," Fitzwilliam supplied.
"Would you offer for her, Fitz, if it came to it?" Darcy asked quietly, his eyes still wandering Miss Bennet's peaceful visage.
"Of course not," he laughed, horrified. "I refuse to marry the woman with whom you are in love."
"But if she had to be married, for her own sake, and she preferred you, would you do it? I could provide you with some kind of stipend—in secret, of course—if you found your funds were not enough to keep her in appropriate comfort. I do not think she would ask for much…"
"Darcy!" Fitzwilliam cried, dropping his feet on the floor and staring at his cousin. "I was only teasing you, man. I was mostly certain you had fallen for the girl, but I was just making sure. I would not really…"
"It is not a matter of loyalty, Fitz. Or rather, perhaps it is. If she needed assistance, and you were the only one able to offer it, would you do it? You said yourself that the two of you get along well. Perhaps affection would grow, as it so often does." He choked a bit on the last part but pushed through regardless.
"Why would such an arrangement be necessary?" Fitzwilliam was completely befuddled. "Is there some impediment to her marrying you?" He had a sudden thought, and he could not dampen the severity of his tone as he asked, "Is it her connections and status? You love her, but not enough to make her an honorable woman? I suppose I should not be surprised after you proposed a clandestine arrangement to her at Rosings! But what has changed now to make her reputation of such import to you?"
Darcy finally looked up, frowning in confusion. "Clandestine arrangement? Of what are you speaking?"
Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. "You were not just stopping into the parsonage the night you were abducted in order to borrow a cup of sugar, Darcy. It became quite obvious to me, as I considered it, that you were harboring significant interest in our dear Miss Bennet, and the only possibility was that you had hoped to convince her to accept your attentions before leaving for London. I know not what sort of arrangement you proposed, but…"
Fitzwilliam's speech was stopped cold by the harsh and somewhat hysterical bark of laughter that had just issued from his normally staid and controlled cousin. "You thought I was there to seduce her?"
"Well," Fitzwilliam replied, feeling defensive after the scorn in Darcy's tone, "what else was I to think?"
"Fitz, you of all people in the world know I am not the sort of man to seek that kind of connection to a woman. I have never kept a mistress, and nor shall I ever! I resent that you came to any such conclusion."
"Well, what else was I to think? Why were you there, then?"
Darcy's face lost all of its humor, and he gazed back down at Miss Bennet's face. "I asked her to marry me."
"You what?" Fitzwilliam thundered, jumping to his feet. Darcy pointed severely at Miss Bennet and made a hushing gesture, and the rest of Fitzwilliam's words came out in a strangled whisper. "What could you possibly have been thinking? Love is all well and good, Darce, but she is outrageously beneath your expectations. Society would be scandalized. Even I know that her connections are abysmal, and she comes with no title or properties. Not even a dowry worth mentioning! Father would never forgive you, and nor would Lady Catherine!"
"Yes, I know," Darcy answered mildly. "I know all of that, although the longer I have considered it, the more I have come to the conclusion that little of that actually matters. Society would certainly be scandalized—for a fortnight or so. Then they would move on to another more juicy scandal on which to gnaw. Miss Bennet is the daughter of a landed gentleman, and that is a place to start. Her wit, intelligence, elegance, and charm would do the rest, and by the time Georgiana is ready for her debut, Elizabeth would be accepted.
"I care nothing whatsoever for Lady Catherine's opinion, and as for your father, the Earl, I care very little what that old windbag thinks anymore either. No one short of royalty would please him, and since I have no interest in marrying any of the royalty to whom I have been introduced, it is a hopeless cause. I may as well please myself."
Fitzwilliam had to chuckle a bit at Darcy's insult against his father. He was right, obviously. The man really was little more than an old windbag—all bluster and no bite. He was set in his ways and had a flash temper, but he had very little influence left. Andrew, Fitzwilliam's elder brother, was functioning as the head of the family more and more these days, and he would be much more open-minded regarding Darcy's future bride.
"Very well," Fitzwilliam said slowly. "Then if you have, regardless of all possible objections, become engaged to Miss Bennet, why on earth would you ask me to marry her instead of you? Do you feel your life is in danger?"
"I suppose that is possible now," Darcy answered musingly, rubbing at the three-days growth of beard on his chin. "We cannot predict what retribution that fellow and his companions may exact. But no, that is not my reasoning. You see, Miss Bennet refused me."
It took several seconds for Fitzwilliam to fully comprehend his words, and once he had, he was too shocked to speak. Finally, with some effort, he choked out, "She… she what?"
Darcy laughed again, this time with some measure of bitterness. "Yes, that was my reaction as well."
"But why?"
Never in his wildest dreams had Fitzwilliam thought it possible that once Darcy actually decided to choose a bride, any woman would be capable of denying him. He was everything a woman wanted, was he not? Wealthy? Handsome? Of the right age and stability? Honest? Loyal? Of long and distinguished lineage? Well-educated?
"She does not particularly like me."
Fitzwilliam sat back as if he had received a physical blow.
"In fact, she despises me profoundly."
Fitzwilliam began to laugh.
It started quietly, a burble in his chest that he knew he ought to contain but could not. It grew then into a long, drawn out chuckle, and from there it became perfectly unruly, until he was reduced to knee-slapping and braying like a donkey.
Finally, after some time, he managed to catch his breath, and he looked up at his cousin and dearest friend as he wiped tears from his eyes. Darcy was staring at him with a dark expression.
"I am sorry, old man, but you took me by surprise, and I am too tired to help myself. She…" he chuckled again, "she does not like you? With all your qualifications, all your money and importance, she still disliked you enough to refuse you? It is just… just too unbelievable!"
"Yes," Darcy remarked sourly.
"What in Heaven's name did you do to so completely raise her ire?"
Darcy sighed, leaning his back against the hearth and closing his eyes. "It is a long story. Have we nothing of greater import to discuss?"
"We have plenty of time," Fitzwilliam said, making a show of settling into his seat more comfortably and motioning toward the sleeping damsel on the floor. "She must rest for a few hours before she will be well enough to travel. That packet on which they attempted to ship you out will not be able to turn around because of the mail they carry, and the tide will not be favorable for landing here again until tomorrow afternoon, even if they forced the issue. Cardon is taking care of the man who saw you, and his compatriot will be left adrift. We have time enough for your story."
And so Darcy began to speak, beginning with the tale of their first introduction and continuing all the way to the interruption of his proposal. Fitzwilliam interjected as little as possible, sometimes unable to resist identifying Darcy's moments of stupidity even though he already seemed painfully aware of them, and once he had finished, they sat in thoughtful silence, listening to Miss Bennet's deep, even breathing.
"Darcy, I have no idea what to say. I am entirely at a loss."
"If only I were at a loss," he said morosely, having turned at some point to gaze into the flames. "Unfortunately, I have had ample time to think over the past three days, and my misbehaviors and ill-judgment have become more and more obvious to me every moment. How I ever imagined…" He shook his head. "I have made it the study of my life to be a virtuous, upstanding man, a man of worth and integrity who has earned and treats with respect the status he has attained in the world. But how is it that it has not been made clear to me until now, at the age of eight-and-twenty, that I am lacking in everything that really matters? I give to the poor, but I am ungenerous with those of my own station. I am scrupulously honest, but I act and speak without compassion. I aspire to a virtuous life, and yet I treat those around me with contempt and judge them harshly for their imperfections. I am a hypocrite, Fitz!"
"True."
Darcy looked up at him, glaring sharply.
"What?" Fitzwilliam asked, shrugging. "I am agreeing with you."
Darcy groaned and leaned his head back against the hearth.
"Now, what are you going to do about it?"
"What can I do?" Darcy cried. "It seems a hopeless business."
"You do not truly feel that way, or these realizations would not still be troubling you so. You have seen your errors, and now it is time to act. What are you going to do?"
"Try to be a better man, I suppose," he said slowly. "In every way I can."
"I think that is the best place to start." Fitzwilliam clapped a hand on his thigh to emphasize. "And what shall you do about Miss Bennet? Shall you give her up?"
"No," he breathed, gazing at her rather fiercely. "I believe… that is, I would like to think there is still some hope."
"After everything you told me, after how harshly she rejected you, you still believe you have a chance with her?"
"Three days ago, I would have said no. Had I been able to walk out of the Collins's parlor as I intended to do, repair to Rosings and write her a letter of explanation, deliver it on the morrow and depart for London, I would have had no illusions regarding the possibility of winning her. I probably would never have seen her again. But now…"
"Now?"
"Now we have spent three days together, Fitz, swept up in an experience nothing in the courting rituals of polite society could have approximated. We have spent almost every waking moment together, and we have never been more than twenty yards apart. We relied on one another, not only for company but for security and confidence. The night we were taken, I suspect it was difficult for her to decide whether she would rather remain in my company or run off with our abductors. Yet this afternoon, when a situation arose that momentarily imperiled my escape, and against my express wish that she should save herself and run to London, she stayed behind and waited for me to join her. She said she would rather remain in my company than be safe."
Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows, struck by the significance of his statement. "You think she has developed feelings for you?"
"I do not know," he sighed. "It is hard to trust my own judgment now with regards to her—I was so bloody foolish before."
They sat in silence for some moments, deep in thought.
"She asked me to sleep beside her last night."
"She did not!"
Darcy nodded. "It was so cold, and she was still shivering under all the blankets, unable to truly rest. She was moaning and crying out in her sleep. I tried to refuse her, but she literally dragged me beside her."
"Poor man." Fitzwilliam's sarcasm was thick.
"Poor man, indeed," Darcy laughed as if in pain. "Fitz, I woke with her in my arms this morning. How am I to ever sleep alone again?"
More silence, then, "She kissed me before we left the boat. She said it was for luck."
"Oh, Darcy," Fitzwilliam groaned. "Clearly the lady has experienced a change of heart. I can hardly believe you are still worried about it."
"But what if it is only temporary? What if her emotions have been affected by the direness of our circumstances? How would I survive if I were to secure her hand now only to watch her feelings change again once we are safe and she has been returned home?"
"Heavens, I do not know!" Fitzwilliam yelled, covering his ears with his hands. "I only know I can bear no more. Your romantic ups and downs are more than I can absorb, let alone solve."
"It is no wonder I have always avoided women as a rule," Darcy chuckled harshly. "They certainly complicate one's life unnecessarily." Then his face softened, and his eyes caught on the young lady at his feet. "Though if I could win her, it would be worth all the suffering."
"Women certainly do complicate things," Fitzwilliam agreed, his mind flashing to a lady back in Kent, one he feared could complicate his life immensely if he allowed it. He shook his head to clear it and frowned down sternly at Darcy. "But now I believe it is time to discuss matters of somewhat more immediate import. Tell me everything that has occurred in the last three days, everything you can remember, and then I will relate all I have gleaned, much of which, I fear, will not be pleasant either."