Page 44

Mr Huntley, of Huntley and Associates, was a shrewd man, and never, ever again would Darcy entertain the thought that he paid his honoured solicitor too much money.

Reentering the Security Bank of New York for the second time, Darcy looked even more bedraggled than he did the previous day.

The rain did nothing for the cut of his oversize suit, his shirt was a bit worse for wear, and although he’d bathed that morning, his underclothes had not.

Unfortunately, the clerk who had him ejected the previous day wasn’t at the window. The new lad, on hearing his name, immediately reported to his grey-haired superior, and Darcy was escorted to a wood panelled office in the back where he was given tea and courtesy.

“ We are so sorry for your inconvenience of yesterday, Mr Darcy.” The bank manager wouldn’t meet Darcy’s eye but kept his attention on the papers on his desk.

A telegram sat atop his documents. He waved it in Darcy’s direction.

“Your solicitor in London sent us information that you had, indeed, survived the sinking of the Titanic , and that your funds should be released to you posthaste.” When Darcy didn’t reply, he continued, sputtering a bit.

“You can understand our scepticism, Mr Darcy, surely. I mean, the way you are dressed…”

“ As I explained to your clerk yesterday, my clothes are at the bottom of the sea, under an iceberg.”

“ Yes, yes, of course. So sorry…”

“ Perhaps, in future, you should not be so quick to judge people merely by their appearance.” He curled his mouth into a half smile. Did those words really come out of his mouth?

“ Yes, yes of course. How stupid of me. I hope this won’t affect any business dealings we may have in the future…”

Within minutes, Darcy cashed a sizable bank note and, hailing a taxi, headed off to the nearest department store.

***

21 April 1912

Dear Papa, Mama, Kitty, and Mary,

By the time you read this letter, I may already be back in England.

Due to the quick thinking and persistence of Mr Darcy, both Lydia and I survived the sinking of the Titanic .

I’m sure you know by now that Lydia is married to Mr Wickham.

They should arrive back on your shores before this post. Please be gentle with Lydia. She has been through a great deal.

The Carpathia plucked us from the sea just as the sun was rising and we were brought to New York.

The Red Cross has been very helpful. They found me some clothes, a place to live, food, and even some money for post and such things.

I am near a large, lovely park in the heart of the city called Central Park.

I wish you could see it. Just like everything here, it is much larger than any park back home.

Mr Darcy, although he did not come along with us in our boat, and gave his place to another, somehow survived the sinking by swimming away from the ship.

The sea was full of ice and so cold that one could freeze within minutes, but he managed to get away and was rescued by another lifeboat. We found each other yesterday.

Seated at the table, Elizabeth stopped writing for a moment and fluffed her fingers through her hair.

Bathing, dealing with her coiffure, and dressing had taken up much of the afternoon.

Darcy still hadn’t returned, and she fought down this roiling ball of panic that seethed in her belly.

Writing to her parents was helping somewhat, but she could never reveal to them what she really felt.

After putting the pencil down, she reread what she had written, and resting her elbows on the table, she knit her fingers together and pressed them to her lips. What else could she tell them?

Startling her, a knock came at the door.

“ Elizabeth… Lizzy… open the door.”

Darcy.

Releasing her breath and smiling, she quickly got up and headed over.

When she opened the door, Darcy stood there so laden with boxes, Elizabeth could barely see his face.

Carefully dodging her, he eased past, followed by a dapper-looking chap with black hair parted in the middle and slicked down so extremely as to appear painted on. He carried a towel over the arm of his cutaway jacket and pushed in a tray covered in a white tablecloth and dinner plates.

“ That’s right. Bring it in here. Very good.” From beside the door, Darcy cocked his head and waved him in.

As Lizzy eased aside, she didn’t know where to look first. The waiter snapped a white tablecloth in the air, and it settled like a landing dove on their table.

With practiced efficiency, he began to lay out the place settings, dishes, and the like.

Darcy deposited the boxes he carried on a small table near the door and removed his hat and coat.

He was much changed from the morning. His labourer’s cap was replaced by a smart homburg, his inadequate sodden coat, by a navy-blue ulster.

His suit was grey with hints of navy striping, and peeking from it a new shirt, collar, and tie.

He was also clean-shaven. When he’d dismissed the waiter, he took her hands in his and pulled her towards him.

The fragrance of clean wool and witch hazel drifted over.

The minute the door closed, leaving them alone, Lizzy threw her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. As she leaned back to look at him, a look of concern crossed his face.

“ Are you all right?”

“ Of course.” Her reply gurgled out of her mouth as her voice broke slightly. She was angry at her body for betraying her. She let go of him and turned toward the table. “It looks like quite a feast.” Again, her voice trembled ever so slightly. She cleared her throat and wouldn’t look at him.

“ I’m a stupid fellow. I should never have left you.” He stepped up behind her and put his arms around her waist.

“ Don’t be silly…” When she turned to face him, her eyes filled again. After breaking from his embrace, she clutched the back of the chair. “I don’t know what the matter is with me. I really don’t.” She walked to the two front windows and drew the curtains as dusk approached.

“ There’s nothing the matter with you that isn’t also the matter with me.”

Of any words of comfort he could have said, those were the most surprising. Now she could look him in the eye. He held his hands out to her.

“ What are you talking about? Look at you. You’re a tower of strength.” His gaze was directed at the floor

“ Do you want to know a secret?” He met her eyes again and offered a rueful smile back.

She gulped slightly, her tangled emotions rising to the surface. “What?”

“ I’ve had nightmares almost every night since the sinking. I even had them after the two of us dove into the river after Bingley.”

“ Oh, Darcy…”

He hesitated, then spoke. “I wept with you last night. You just didn’t know it.”

She quickly wiped her eyes and then threw her arms around him, burying her head in his shoulder. He rested his head in her hair. When she finally pulled away, his eyes were as full as hers. “I don’t suppose you thought to buy a handkerchief.”

He laughed, and after pulling his pocket square out of his suit breast pocket, he gently dabbed her eyes. He did the same for himself.

She kissed him gently. “What a pair we are.”

A fleeting smile crossed his countenance.

“I think I could use a drink.” She hadn’t noticed before, but along with whatever comestibles arrived in those covered dishes, a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne arrived with them.

He deftly popped the cork and poured each of them a glass.

She held it, watching the bubbles detach themselves and rise to the surface.

“ What shall we drink to?” she asked, and his smile disappeared. Darcy set his glass on the surface of the table.

“ Sit down a moment, Elizabeth.”

The table was small and round, and he motioned her to a seat next to him. He took one of her hands in his. “I was thinking…” He studied her, then began again. “I was thinking that tomorrow, we should…book a voyage home.”

He was very confusing. After all that had just passed between them, he was now talking of travel arrangements. “I am already booked—”

“ Yes, yes… I had assumed that a booking had been made for you. It’s just that I was thinking…” The set of his jaw was determined, his breathing like that of a fighter about to enter the ring. She tried to encourage him to continue with as open an expression as she could muster.

“ Perhaps we should sell back that ticket and book one stateroom in first class.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “What are you suggesting?”

He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “I… I’m making a botch of this. I knew I would.” He looked away; his attention directed anywhere but at her.

Finally, she caught his eye and smiled at him. “Do go on. I am listening…”

He reached into his suit coat pocket and produced a small box, which he placed in front of her on the table. “Open it, please.”

Elizabeth’s heart began to pound in her chest and she picked up the box.

“ Dare I ask you again, Elizabeth?”

Lizzy caught her breath and opened it. Inside the box a gold ring sat sedately, a rather large, square-cut ruby in the centre flanked by two smaller diamonds. Lizzy stared at it for a few moments, long enough for Darcy to speak again. His voice was a whisper now. “Will you marry me, Elizabeth?”

***

Darcy held his breath. Maybe it was too soon to ask her.

She seemed so vulnerable and fragile. Was it fair of him to push her so?

But what else could he do? They would be going back to England in a few days, or, perhaps, if she refused him, he’d be travelling on to Chicago alone as he intended. Why didn’t she speak?

He couldn’t see her expression clearly, only the topknot of her chestnut bouffant as she gazed at the ring. Finally, she spoke, “I suppose you only want to marry me out of duty since you spent the night in my bed.”