“What about my things?” asked Elizabeth weakly.
“I could send someone to collect them,” Darcy offered.
“I should like to retrieve them myself, if you do not mind. I should like to tell Mrs. Rawlings and her daughters myself… about our… our… marriage.”
“I shall take you down after you have had some rest and a good meal.”
“Very good. I have done all that I needed to do,” the captain said austerely. “I shall see you both later.”
Darcy picked Elizabeth up and walked out the door. Elizabeth hoped that no one would see her being carried to his room, and she was grateful when they were able to make it there and inside without encountering anyone. It helped that Darcy’s room and the captain’s were up toward the front of the ship away from most of the other rooms. She felt awkward this time, being carried into his room and hearing the reverberating sound as the door closed behind them.
He set her down on the bench again, inquiring how she was feeling.
“Tired. I think I should like to sleep, if I may.”
Darcy nodded. “I have done some thinking about the arrangements in here. I will hang up a sheet across your bed so you can have some privacy and separation from my side of the room at night. Of course we will remove it during the day so if anyone notices it, they will not become suspicious as to why it is there.”
“That is very considerate of you, sir.”
“It is nothing, Miss Benn…”
Darcy stopped and looked at Elizabeth. “I cannot call you Miss Bennet now, can I?”
Elizabeth looked down; neither of them had contemplated this.
“What would you have me call you: Mrs. Darcy or Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth flinched slightly as she pondered what each would mean. Mrs. Darcy sounded so official, so legal, and so wifely. Yet Elizabeth sounded so intimate, so familiar. Her hand was nervously drawn to the small necklace she wore around her neck as she pondered an answer. She fingered it momentarily and finally answered, “Elizabeth, please.”
“Very well, Elizabeth.” He walked over and easily picked her up, carrying her over to her bed and placing her upon it. Exhausted from fatigue and illness, Elizabeth practically fell across the bed, laying her head upon the pillow and bringing her legs up on the thick, soft bed.
For a few moments Darcy let his eyes rest upon her pleasant, reclining figure before sternly admonishing himself about what that kind of indulgence might lead to. Without allowing his eyes to linger any longer, he reached for the coverlet and pulled it up over her. He suddenly realized how difficult this arrangement might end up being for him.
“I shall leave you to rest now.” His words were spoken most reluctantly.
As she heard him walk slowly toward the door and open it, she opened her eyes and quietly asked, “And what shall you have me call you?”
Darcy stopped in his movement and turned back to her. “My given name is Fitzwilliam, but I should prefer that you call me William.”
Elizabeth nodded as he turned to leave.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” He looked back at her, shook his head, and walked out. She closed her eyes, plumping up the pillow underneath her head, and fell into a deep sleep that she had not had the pleasure of having for almost a week now.
Chapter 8
When Darcy returned somewhat later, he was not surprised to find Elizabeth in a sound sleep. Not wanting to disturb her, fully aware that she needed as much rest as she could get, he quietly laid out the tea and an assorted array of foods that he had secured from the captain’s private supply. At times like this, there was an advantage to being the ship’s owner, and he did not have to twist the captain’s arm too severely to get what he desired.
He turned toward her and stood silently observing her, intrigued by the calm demeanour that had spread over her face in sleep, captivated by the few long, dark tresses that had escaped from her pinned-up hair, but greatly disturbed about the pallor that was taking hold of her features. He fought the temptation to reach over and gently run his fingers through her hair or stroke her cheek, compelling himself to turn away instead. He could not allow himself the liberty to dwell on things that could not be.
Sitting down on the bench at the table in his room, he absently picked up the book he had been reading. He opened it to the page he was on, but found his attention reverting back to the sleeping form in the bed on the other side of the room. He had always found time to read, enjoyed reading, and looked for any excuse to read, but at the moment he was easily finding a justification not to read.
He finally gave up and closed the book, setting his mind to trying to recall more about the carriage ride two years ago and the young lady who shared it with him. While he was fairly certain it was her, he tried to think of other things he remembered about her from that day.
Vigorously rubbing his chin, as though that would help facilitate his memory, he did vividly recall that he had been impressed with her knowledge of the books she had read and they had shared a lively discussion about many of them. He remembered afterwards crediting her as being an accomplished woman who sought the improvement of her mind by extensive reading. She had been willing to express a difference of opinion and even argue with him about some aspects of literature and his opinion of them. That was certainly descriptive of the lady asleep in his room.
He furrowed his brow as he tried to recall any part of the conversation they shared. What else could there have been that would enlighten him as to whether or not it was her? He recollected that she had dark, sparkling, fine eyes, as did Elizabeth. She had sprained her ankle falling from a tree that she had climbed… she had to walk home injured… she loved walking! Yes, that would be true of Elizabeth.
Suddenly he remembered a vague discussion they had about horses. She had told him that she preferred walking to riding a horse and sometimes even to riding in a carriage. Darcy smiled. That should be easy enough to discover without raising suspicion. He would wait for the right opportunity and then work it into his conversation. If he found that to be true of Elizabeth, he would be certain it was her!
Darcy stood up and walked over to the small port window. He looked out at the vast sea that surrounded them and realized that it had been days since his thoughts had turned to Georgiana and the sole reason for his coming on this voyage. He had boarded this ship with her retrieval being first and foremost on his mind, and having to cross the ocean to fetch her was something that had originally caused him great consternation.
He had come aboard with a very poor disposition, to the point of being irritated with his fellow passengers even before becoming acquainted with them. He felt anger toward Mrs. Annesley and his cousin Fitzwilliam for their persistent and persuasive arguments to allow Georgiana to go to America in the first place. He had not looked forward one bit to the crossing and had it settled in his mind from the first that he would not enjoy the voyage at all.
Added to all this was that upon boarding the ship, he still reeled from the recent blow of Georgiana’s close call with that deceitful, scheming George Wickham. These past few months had been taxing on his ability to handle the things life dropped in his lap, had affected his decision-making ability, and altered the way he had begun to look at life.
Certainly he had boarded the ship angry at the very people with whom he was having to make this journey. He cringed with shame as he recalled the comment he made to the captain that first day, and he still wondered whether Elizabeth had overheard him.
He turned to look at her. Somehow she had made him forget all his anger, frustrations, and even some of his resentment.