Hello my dears! Thank you all so very much for the kind words and enthusiasm expressed for the first chapter of this new P&P adventure. "Elizabeth not a Bennet" stories are fairly popular, seeing ODG in different circumstances and origins, but I personally have never come across one where she is a Bingley, so I thought I would give it a try. Financially speaking, she would thus be a good match for Darcy, but remember he is a proud fellow who disdained her connections to trade as a Bennet, so that will definitely come into play a little in this story as well.
For those of you wondering, yes, the Bennets will appear later in the story. At present, my plan is to follow the timeline of the original story, so the Bingleys will be leasing Netherfield soon. I just gotta get Lizzy back to England first so she can be a part of it all!
Chapter Two
"Oi, you there!"
Colonel Fitzwilliam snagged the blue sleeve of a passing navy officer. The young man, whose hair was blond and gathered in a tail at the nape of his neck, turned to look at him.
"Can I help you … Colonel?" he asked after surveying Fitzwilliam's epaulets for his rank.
"Aye, you can escort me to your captain," the colonel replied.
The young man's eyes narrowed. "What business have you with Captain Wentworth?"
"I do not believe it to be your concern at present, Lieutenant," Fitzwilliam replied. "Take me to your captain at once."
The young lieutenant huffed softly and nodded. "As you wish, sir," he replied, and turned back in the direction from which he had come. Fitzwilliam quickly fell into step beside him.
The colonel was quite vexed. They'd been two days in Marín waiting for a ship to arrive; having not expected a delay, he had grown frustrated and restless. Miss Bingley—or Miss Elizabeth, as she had asked him to address her—and her companion, however, had relished the opportunity to take a proper bath and walk about exploring the shops.
Fitzwilliam's escort paused at the gangplank leading to the only ship currently docked, the HMS Thrush, and looked up at it with a proud grin. "You are about to board the finest sloop in the fleet," said he, before drawing a breath, squaring his shoulders, and leading the way up the ramp. On the deck he asked a gruff-looking older man who was coiling a thick rope if he knew where the captain was.
"In his quarters with the missus," was the reply.
The lieutenant thanked him, then crossed the deck to walk inside the massive upper structure of the ship to a closed door at the back of the narrow hall. He nodded at the cabin boy who stood vigilant outside of it before knocking three times.
"Come in."
Upon opening the door, the lieutenant stood at attention and saluted. "Sir, forgive my intrusion on your privacy, but this gentleman asked to speak with you at once."
"Well, do let the man in, Lieutenant Price," said a somewhat gravelly voice in reply.
The lieutenant—Price, Fitzwilliam amended—nodded his head then dutifully stepped aside. The colonel stepped further into the large room and looked about, taking note of how neat and tidy the space was. On either side of the door stood a wardrobe; a shelf of books and a couple of small potted plants were on the wall to the right. On the wall to the left, on one side of the large window at the back, was a bed just wide enough to fit two people, the curtains tied open and the duvet neatly tucked up against the pillows. On the other side of the window sat a desk, at which stood a tall, black-haired man with tanned skin. Standing beside him was a petite, dark-haired, blue-eyed woman, who instantly offered a welcoming smile.
"Colonel Theodore Fitzwilliam, in the service of General George Halsey of His Majesty's Army," Fitzwilliam introduced himself, then respectfully saluted.
The captain returned the gesture. "Captain Frederick Wentworth. This is my wife, Anne."
"How do you do?" said the lady.
"Very well, thank you, Mrs. Wentworth," Fitzwilliam replied.
"Lieutenant Price said you wished to speak with me?" prompted Wentworth.
"Indeed, Captain," Fitzwilliam said, then reached into his pocket for the packet of letters he had been given. On selecting one, he handed it over to the naval man. "I hereby request passage on your vessel for myself, Miss Elizabeth Bingley—niece of General Halsey—and Mrs. Penelope Martin, her companion. Our destination is England."
Captain Wentworth had unsealed and was reading the letter in his hands as Fitzwilliam spoke. The latter surmised it was a request on the part of the general to permit them passage.
With a sigh, Wentworth folded the letter. "I have no objection to conveying you and your companions home, Colonel, but I am afraid it will not be possible for a fortnight."
"Not for a fortnight?" cried Fitzwilliam. "Why so long?"
"Because my ship is in need of repairs and my men in desperate need of shore leave," the captain replied. "We've been at sea for several months—indeed, this is the first time we've put into port in nearly six. Do not forget, colonel, that the war with France is fought at sea as well as on land."
"I am aware of that, Captain, but two weeks? Can your repairs not be done in better time?" asked Fitzwilliam.
"My men estimated four weeks; be glad I demanded they get it done in two," Wentworth countered. "You could certainly hope for passage on another ship, but I warn you, this port is not frequented by English ships due to its distance from the French coast. Your wait is likely to be much longer than a fortnight."
Fitzwilliam suppressed an aggravated groan. "It would seem I've no choice but to accept your terms, sir. And I do thank you for your willingness to grant us passage."
Mrs. Wentworth chuckled softly and looked sidelong at her husband. "Indeed, Colonel. You have caught my dear captain in a rare fair mood, for he does not usually allow any women onboard a ship of his save for a ball or a few hours' visit."
"Anne," Captain Wentworth admonished softly.
Fitzwilliam could not help a grin. "And you are his only exception, I suspect?"
"Indeed, I am," said the lady with a smile.
Wentworth huffed, but his eyes when he looked at his wife were full of warmth and love. "We had already endured a separation of nearly eight years and a half. I would not be parted from you a moment longer than was absolutely necessary."
Curiosity over that cryptic comment burned within Fitzwilliam, but he had been raised to abstain from asking impertinent questions. Clearing his throat softly, he said, "Again I thank you for acceding to my commander's request, Captain Wentworth. Should you have need to speak to me, my party is at the Fish and Barrel Inn."
Wentworth nodded. "Anne," he said, looking down at his wife once more, "why do you not accompany the colonel back to his lodgings? The ladies might appreciate a visit, and you can prepare them for what life is like at sea."
Mrs. Wentworth chuckled. "Frederick, my dear, I am certain the ladies have been aboard a ship before, having needed to do so in order to get to Spain in the first place," said she. "However, if the colonel does not mind my company, I should be glad of the opportunity to meet his charge and her companion. As we are to be here a fortnight, it's best I get my land legs now."
Fitzwilliam smiled genially. "I do not mind at all, madam, and I daresay both Miss Bingley and Mrs. Martin would enjoy a visit from a fellow Englishwoman."
Mrs. Wentworth stood on her tiptoes for a kiss from her much taller husband, who happily obliged her. Fitzwilliam felt like something of a voyeur to be watching the intimate moment, even though he had seen men kiss their wives hundreds of times before. It stirred in him something akin to envy—for it was clear to him that the pair loved one another very much—and he longed for such a connection with a woman.
On departing the captain's cabin and stepping out on deck, Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Wentworth encountered Lieutenant Price.
"I thought you would have gone back into Marín, Lieutenant?" observed Fitzwilliam.
"I…" The younger man colored and cleared his throat. "I confess to being curious as to what an army colonel could want to speak to my captain about."
Fitzwilliam lifted an eyebrow and glanced sidelong at Mrs. Wentworth, who wore a knowing smile.
"You will have to forgive the lieutenant his impertinence, Colonel," said she. "My husband is such a commander as instills a great sense of loyalty and protection in his men."
"Aye," agreed Price with a vigorous nod. "Captain Wentworth is the finest commander in the English Navy, and I'll have words with any man who says otherwise."
Fitzwilliam chuckled. "At ease, Lieutenant," he said. "No harm will befall your captain at my hands, I assure you. I came only to secure passage home for myself and two companions. Perhaps you might like to join Mrs. Wentworth and I in making our way to the Pescado y Barril—or in English, the Fish and Barrel—where my friends await word of my success or failure."
"I, ahem, would be delighted to join you, Colonel," said Price, who then led the way off of the ship.
It was only a few minutes' walk to the inn, where Miss Elizabeth and Mrs. Martin waited. Upon entering the private dining parlor they had secured, Fitzwilliam announced,
"My dear ladies, I bring you gifts from our homeland in the form of visitors!"
Both ladies' eyes widened in surprise, and in Elizabeth's he noted a sparkle of delight. The colonel quickly made introductions then excused himself, saying that he intended to try and have a letter sent to her uncle about their delay.
"Delay?" queried Mrs. Martin as Elizabeth invited the visitors to sit.
"As you can see," said the younger woman, gesturing at the tea things on the table, "we've just received tea. Do join us—I shall ring for two more cups."
"Thank you, Miss Bingley," said Mrs. Wentworth as Lieutenant Price pulled out her chair for her before taking his own.
"Indeed," said he. "Much obliged to you."
Elizabeth's summons was quickly answered, and the two extra cups were requested of the maid that appeared.
"As to the delay Colonel Fitzwilliam mentioned," Mrs. Wentworth went on, "I am afraid that, while my husband is more than willing to take you home, we shall not set sail for at least a fortnight. The Thrush is in need of some repairs after our last engagement, you see."
"Oh my," said Elizabeth as Mrs. Wentworth accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Martin, who had elected to serve. "I am sorry to hear that—was anyone hurt, or… or lost?"
"Some few injuries, Miss Bingley, but we lost no men," said Lieutenant Price proudly.
"Thank God for some mercies," said Elizabeth.
A knock at the door signaled the return of the serving girl, who presented the extra cups. Elizabeth thanked her and returned to the table to serve herself a cup of tea at last.
After a moment's passage, Mrs. Wentworth said, "I am sorry for your loss."
At first, Elizabeth was confused, then she looked down at her dress and glanced briefly at Mrs. Martin; both of them were wearing gowns that had been dyed black.
"Oh, yes. Thank you for the kindness, Mrs. Wentworth," said Elizabeth. "A terrible fever swept through our encampment about three weeks ago, resulting in the loss of nearly twenty souls, including my aunt and Mrs. Martin's husband."
Mrs. Martin sniffled softly, closed her eyes, and lowered her head over her teacup. Elizabeth felt her own eyes stinging but willed the tears back as she placed a comforting hand on the lady's arm.
"Your aunt's death is why you are going home, I presume?" asked Mrs. Wentworth.
Elizabeth nodded. "It is, yes. I came along as a companion to her when she decided to follow her husband to the continent—and yes, I know it is almost unheard of for such a thing to occur. Only wives tend to follow the drum, not children and certainly not nieces. But we had grown very close, my Aunt Elinor and I, after the death of my parents some five years ago. She was a second mother to me in many ways, and I feared losing her as well."
Mrs. Wentworth smiled sympathetically. "I know the feeling, Miss Bingley. My own dear mother died when I was but fourteen, and her most intimate friend—who is also my godmother—took it upon herself to stand in my mother's stead and offer the advice she believed Mamma would have given."
Elizabeth smiled. "My aunt was the same. She was my father's sister, so to have lost her as well… It has been a difficult week for me. And for my uncle most of all—to not even be able to properly mourn her, due to all his responsibilities…"
Colonel Fitzwilliam returned to the parlor then and took a seat at the table. "Well, I've sent off a message to the general. I thought it best to inform him we would be remaining in Spain another fortnight."
"May I ask why you did not travel to a port more often frequented by our ships?" asked Lieutenant Price.
"Simply because we were only three days' travel from this one," Fitzwilliam replied. "All the others were much too far."
"Colonel Fitzwilliam, as you may have guessed, does not like to be idle. At least we shall not be lonely, Colonel," offered Elizabeth with a smile in the direction of their guests. "We have new friends to get to know."
"I feel I should warn you," began Price, "that aside from being in port about two weeks, it may take as much as a week before we reach port at home."
"Why do you say that?" asked Elizabeth.
"Well, for starters the distance," said the lieutenant. "'Tis more than seven hundred thirty nautical miles from here to say, Portsmouth. At ten knots, in fair winds and calm seas, it would take little more than three days to get there. But that's not taking into account the chance of rough seas, no wind, and the French navy—or pirates."
Mrs. Wentworth chuckled and grinned. "If you cannot guess, Lieutenant Price longs for Portsmouth and the French navy—or pirates."
"Why Portsmouth?" asked Elizabeth.
"You like engaging the Frenchies, do you, Price?" asked Fitzwilliam.
"Why pirates?" asked Mrs. Martin with a slight shudder.
The visitors looked at one another and laughed. "My whole family's in Portsmouth," said Price, "except for my sister Fanny. She's in Northamptonshire with some noble relations of ours."
"And every man on the Thrush is always eager to take down the French," said Mrs. Wentworth.
"And if we can't capture a French vessel and turn her into one of ours, we like to stop pirates and their thievery," added Price with a grin.
The fortnight passed quickly for Elizabeth with Mrs. Wentworth as a constant companion to her and Mrs. Martin. The three ladies were "thick as thieves" as Captain Wentworth once put it, pursuing what entertainment they could whilst the Thrush was being repaired. In truth, Elizabeth was teaching Mrs. Wentworth to speak Spanish, which she had learned to do herself in the four years of her residence in the country.
"I can actually speak four languages," Elizabeth had said. "English is my first language, of course, and we were taught both Italian and French at the seminary my parents sent my sisters and me to. Though I confess I speak only English and Spanish fluently. French I had some difficulty grasping as I had little interest in it, and my Italian is only marginally better. Though as both Italian and Spanish have their roots in Latin, I think I understand the former a little better now. I shall have to practice speaking it more often."
Mrs. Wentworth, in turn, helped Elizabeth better her "non-existent" skill at embroidery. The three ladies would work on what few patterns could be found in a shop near the bay while Elizabeth, with assistance from Mrs. Martin, educated Mrs. Wentworth on the Spanish language.
Colonel Fitzwilliam busied himself with helping to repair the Thrush. Captain Wentworth was glad to have an extra pair of hands to get the work done. The two men became friendly with one another, as they were both of them second sons, but in truth, Fitzwilliam found a closer companionship with young Lieutenant Price. He was not as reserved as the captain and was more willing to talk about himself, his hopes, his dreams. Price reminded Fitzwilliam of himself only a few years before, when he had also been young and idealistic.
The sea journey began on a bright morning with clear blue skies. As it had been four years since she had set foot on a ship, it took Elizabeth some time to get her "sea legs" under her and remember how to sway ever so slightly with the gentle up-and-down motion of the deck. She also felt rather sorry for the first mate, who had been asked to give up his cabin for her and Mrs. Martin; he was now sharing with the first lieutenant for their voyage. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been offered Lieutenant Price's cabin to himself, but he had elected to share with him rather than put the younger man out of his room.
For a day and a half, the sailing was smooth. Elizabeth often stood at the railing to enjoy the soft sea breeze. Captain Wentworth had announced they were making good time, which pleased Colonel Fitzwilliam immensely.
That is, until the evening of the second day, as the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, and a shout from one of the men brought Captain Wentworth from his cabin up onto the deck.
"A squall be in our way, sir!" cried the man as soon as Wentworth appeared.
Elizabeth and Mrs. Martin glanced at each other worriedly and Fitzwilliam was instantly at Captain Wentworth's side, where the skipper stood on the top deck next to the wheel with a spyglass in his hands.
"Come, ladies," said Mrs. Wentworth at Elizabeth's elbow. "Let us take shelter and leave the hard work to the men."
Elizabeth nodded and turned to follow her, though she paused to look over her shoulder at the quickly darkening sky. "Will it be a bad storm, do you think?" she asked.
"I'm afraid I cannot say, Miss Elizabeth," said Mrs. Wentworth. "I've learned that one cannot judge the strength of a storm until they are in the midst of it."
The storm proved to be a very rough one. Elizabeth and Mrs. Martin huddled together with Mrs. Wentworth on the bed in the captain's cabin as the Thrush was tossed about by the angry sea. Books and knickknacks fell from their shelves, and a clay planter broke as it crashed to the floor. They could hear the muted shouting of the men on deck as orders and requests for aid in completing this task or that were bandied back and forth. The ladies screamed in fright as one of the windows broke and the rain began to blow into the room along with splashes of water from the sea itself.
Hours passed before the Thrush was at last again in calm waters. Rain still pelted the ship steadily, but the sea was slowly returning to an almost gentle roll. Mrs. Wentworth ventured to go up on deck to see how the ship and crew had fared and returned—to Elizabeth's relief—with a bedraggled Colonel Fitzwilliam at her heels.
"What a bugger of a night it's been!" he said as he doffed his red coat and shook it to dispel some of the water, then looked sheepishly at Mrs. Wentworth.
"Sorry, ma'am," he added.
"How bad is it?" Elizabeth asked. "Is everyone all right?"
Fitzwilliam drew a breath. "We lost one man who fell overboard during a swell, the poor sod. A couple of broken bones, but otherwise nothing too serious. Except…"
Elizabeth stood and took a step toward him. "Except what, Colonel?"
Fitzwilliam glanced again at Mrs. Wentworth. "The captain has told me we are off course," said the lady. "They are working to determine our position now but may not be able to until nightfall when we can see the stars."
"If we can see them," Fitzwilliam muttered. "The blasted rain has to stop first."
The rain carried on through the rest of the night and most of the next day, but the beleaguered Thrush was granted a reprieve on the second evening after the storm when the cloud cover broke at last. The seamen immediately turned their heads up to the sky, studying the stars above them in order to determine where upon the sea the ship now was.
"Thank God for small mercies!" Elizabeth heard Lieutenant Price shout.
Elizabeth ran up to the top deck. "What is it? Where are we?"
Captain Wentworth glanced at Fitzwilliam, then turned to her with a smile. "You may rest easy, Miss Bingley, we are not so far off course as I feared. Much to Lieutenant's Price's disappointment, however, Plymouth is now the closest port."
"We cannot turn the ship for Portsmouth?" Elizabeth asked.
"We could, but it would add nearly a day to our journey," Price replied. "Much as I should like to see my family, I cannot be so selfish as to request it."
Elizabeth smiled at him. "You are very kind, Lieutenant. Personally, I should not mind a little more time at sea—"
"I might!" cried Fitzwilliam with a laugh.
"—but neither I shall not ask your captain or the crew to go out of their way," Elizabeth finished, offering the colonel a grin.
"Thank you," said her escort.
Captain Wentworth chuckled. "To Plymouth, then, we shall go."