Page 21 of Secrets Across the Sea

Staffordshire, England – 1812 – Day 11

From his bedroom window Darcy watched a brightly clad Miss Bingley reject the assistance of her brother as she sought to climb into the awaiting carriage, the shining black stark against the white of the drive.

Stepping away from the cool glass, Darcy took a fortifying breath. For all that he pitied Bingley’s falling-out with his sister, her absence lent a peace long overdue.

If only Mr. Thomson would follow her lead and leave.

The rest at least knew to ‘keep their breath to cool their porridge,’ as Grandfather often said. A little lacking in sophistication, and perhaps not an ideal use of his grandfather’s saying, nonetheless their silence, though not complete, had and still was, quite welcome.

“Enough self-pity. It is time to live as a man; not as a browbeaten boy.”

Elizabeth. He would find Miss Elizabeth and determine if she and her sisters’ belief in a secret passage could be confirmed. True, they would all prefer a simple conversation with Lady Charmane; but if she refused to oblige, a secret passage being blocked off might prove incredibly useful.

Glancing at the clock, Darcy considered where she might be. 10:45. Too late for breaking her fast… she should be gone from her room as well. The drawing room, library, or somewhere outside? Drawing near the window, he rejected the last option. The snow came down far too thick.

No. If she had begun to wonder about that passage as he had, she would be in the library.

With a swift nod he accessed his appearance in the mirror, and in less than five minutes he had made his way from his room to the library door, his heart hammering away as he prepared to enter.

“Foolishness,” he whispered to himself as he pulled his shoulders back.

Except for the fact he had confessed his feelings for Miss Elizabeth without receiving a reply, he reminded himself.

One deep breath, two, and he pushed open the library door, Miss Elizabeth whirling to face him, her hand held to her chest as her back pressed against the many rows of books.

Exactly where they had stood the other day, he mused, his feet leading him unwittingly to her side.

“I see you hold the same idea as I,” he smiled down at her, her hand at last falling to her side. “We never did have an opportunity to search for your passageway.”

“My passageway?” she laughed. “You mean Lady Charmane’s… though I dare say I have more interest in it than she likely does. For her disappearing has grown wearisome. This morning she scurried into her study again and by the time I realized she had used her well-trod passageway, she had vanished not only from there, but the library as well. We may find that it travels between more rooms than these two.”

“That it may, though one entrance is all we require,” he remarked, his gaze moving lazily over the thousands of books. “If only it might be simple to find. It could be opened by the removal of a book, by the pressing of a patch of fine scrollwork, or some panel nestled behind any number of books.”

“True,” she sighed, her own gaze moving over the wall of books. “Though the sound appeared localized to this area; unless built to aggravate, the means to open it must be near the door. Lady Charmane disappeared too quickly to have run to that corner of the library over there and then to here to make her escape.”

“She is an eccentric woman; evading her guests as she has. Still, you are correct, our means of entry ought to be hidden nearby… and given her height is no greater than yours, the uppermost shelves are unlikely to hold the answer.”

With a glance in each other's direction, they began to press the woodwork, lift books, and feel for any hidden catches in the nooks and crannies behind. Not one inch could be overlooked in their search as he started at the top, and she the bottom.

“It has to be here, somewhere,” Miss Elizabeth huffed as she passed in front of him, his own search delayed as she did.

A waft of some sweet scent mingled with citrus pooled up from her as she reached past again, his gaze frozen to her as she continued scouring the wall of books.

Focus, Darcy. This is not the time to admire her sweet scent… or the way the light plays in her hair… or her lovely face… or her closeness.

Gripping the shelf, Darcy ripped his eyes to the books in front of him.

She had no idea what she did to him. Oh, he had ought to ask her to court him… and soon.

“Here; this scrollwork seems lighter than the rest, as if…” a click filling the air as she pressed it inward, Elizabeth turned to face him, her eyes wide as she laughed.

The great wall of books creeping outward, they stepped to the side, Darcy searching for the nearest candle they might use, several littered on the largest table.

“We might need this,” he teased as he lit the wick, “I doubt our hostess keeps it well-lit.”

“No; not for unexpected guests in any case,” she smirked as she opened the secret door, her heels lifting up and down as she waited for him to bring the candle.

“Well, let us see where this goes.”

Stepping into the dusty old space, Darcy lifted the candle higher. Directly in front of them was a door, though the passage continued on either side.

“Lady Charmane’s study no doubt,” Miss Elizabeth remarked as she stood beside him, one hand laid on the door. Eyes cutting down the darkened passages, her smile turned mischievous as she came to face him. “I wonder where these lead?”

“Unless you plan on asking our host, only one answer remains. Shall we?” he asked with a flourish, her nod of acceptance prompting him to move that way. “Stay close; if the unfinished rooms in the house are anything to go by, it may not be entirely safe.”

Her arm brushing his back, Darcy’s hand flexed beside him.

No. She had no idea what she did to him. None at all.

Ten or so steps down the path and another door appeared, the pair growing still as they listened. Not a voice, footfall, or sound of life. They could see what was beyond.

Pressing at the door, Darcy’s brows furrowed as it stood fast, his eyes studying the area. At least they had left the library passage open. One corner of his lips pulling, Darcy turned to Miss Elizabeth, her gaze flitting to the lever he had just found. Perhaps they would not have to rely on the library after all?

Grasping the wooden pull, he tugged it downward, the door unlatching as it did.

With a push the door opened enough to reveal the deserted hall, the library and study to either side.

“Reverend!” the bright, cheery voice of Miss Umbridge called from somewhere out of sight, the sound of footfalls growing louder by the second. “Perhaps you can recommend a book for me?”

Whirling to meet Miss Elizabeth’s gaze, he pulled the door closed behind him.

“The library!” the pair said as one before scurrying as fast as the narrow space allowed, Miss Elizabeth drawing the library door closed with moments to spare.

Eyes blinking as they adjusted to the light of their candle, Darcy rested a hand on Miss Elizabeth’s arm; the voices of the Reverend and Miss Umbridge strengthening as they neared the bookcase they stood behind.

Motioning down the passage they had not explored, Darcy raised his shoulders in a silent question, the swift bob of her head answer. They would press on.

Slow and quiet, they made their way down the narrow passage, though dust-filled and possessing no lack of tiny cobwebs, the space clearly had been used; faint traces of prints on the floor and walls evidence of recent activity.

Turning sideways as they came to a steep, curving set of stairs, he sought Miss Elizabeth’s gaze as he pointed to them. Hopefully it would lead to somewhere they could escape; who knew how long Miss Umbridge would keep the Reverend in the library. Facing the stairway once more, they began the climb, the awkward pacing of the stairs and the dimness of the space slowing their progression considerably.

At the top of the meager landing, he paused and held out his candle, Miss Elizabeth navigating the final winding stair with intent; her furrowed temple eased as she came to stand beside him, eyes clearly alight despite the gentle glow.

“Well, that was an adventure,” she grinned impishly, her gaze casting toward the passage before them. “Shall we see where this leads?”

His lips wrapping upward, Darcy murmured his agreement before continuing on, the passage far less trodden than the one below; the dust thick and scarcely untouched.

Swatting at a mass of cobwebs, Darcy fidgeted at the prickling sensation which traveled from his skull down to his toes, the soft, sticky cling of the webbing worse than the creatures who made it.

At least Elizabeth would not have to endure it–there would be no trace of the offending webs after he had crashed into them with all the finesse of a prize bull.

Wiping the last of the cobwebs from his brow as they came face to face with a wall, or more likely a door, Darcy glanced back at the way they had come. Given all the doors downstairs, one would think there would be more than this one?

“Did you notice any doors on this level?” Darcy asked, all thoughts of doorways thrown from his mind as she brushed against him accidentally.

Tilting her head up toward him, she held his gaze. “I… I did not notice any,” she answered softly.

“That is odd,” he managed, his eyes flitting to her lips.

“Indeed. Quite odd. I suppose though, that a place as old as this holds many secrets… It brought us together after all. That is to say. Here? Yes. That must be what I meant. It brought us here?”

Hand reaching to grasp the lever, Darcy forced himself not to take her into his arms; the lack of space between them maddening. Why could he not simply tell her of his feelings? Here they would not be interrupted; but was this a proper place? Dusty, cobweb laden. No more than a hallway really.

Gulping, Darcy could feel his head drifting downward, the will to resist lessening with each passing moment. Gripping the lever, his gruff voice filled the small space, “I am curious to discover where this leads.”

Brows pinching, he wondered what he had meant. The door? Or the two of them?

A pair of hands reaching behind his head followed by a soft pair of lips on his caused the candle in his left hand to bounce, his other falling from the lever as he answered her kiss.

The scent of her, the fire of her lips against his, she became all he knew until the hot sear of wax met his hand; a hiss interrupting their touch.

“Forgive me,” he hurried, “the wax… it is rather hot.”

Chuckling, she took the candle from him, setting the holder upon the ground before pulling his hand to her, her eyes narrowed as she examined it.

“A bit red, but I do not think it is likely to blister. A little cool water and some honey ought to tend it… unless you would rather see a physician of course?” she remarked, her eyes twinkling.

“No. I trust your judgement,” he answered, a grin forming as he regarded her fingers still wrapped around his. Letting his thumb rub over the back of her hand, he wondered at the softness of it, of how her hand felt as if it belonged there, in his.

He ought to tell her. Dusty passageway or not, there would never be a better time.

“Mr. Darcy,” she rushed before he had a chance to speak. “I never had the opportunity… the opportunity to tell you how I feel. How your feelings are returned. That is to say, that if you hold affection for me, I can only tell you that I have fallen in love with you. Hopelessly and against all reason, but equally true and welcomed. I am being forward–incredibly so–for here we are, alone in this passage and I, I kiss you and confess how I love you, though so few days have gone since we first met. It is folly… yes?”

“If this be folly, then I delight in it. Why not, when the woman I love has not only kissed me, but confessed she loves me in return?” Bending to touch his forehead to hers, he declared, “My wish is to ask you to marry me, though should you desire, I am patient enough to court you properly before I do?”

“Is this a proposal?” she giggled as she worked to meet his eyes, her face aglow. “I would listen to it if it were, rather than wait.”

Heart fit to burst, he considered the woman before him. She was his match in every way… and she wanted him to propose!

Holding her hands to his chest, he smiled as he never had before.

“My dear, wonderful Elizabeth. I am but a man, flawed and imperfect–in society’s eyes I am worse than that–yet, I offer my heart to you to keep forever, my hand and all I own to be yours. If I were an eloquent man, I might speak of the fineness of your eyes, your humour, your loveliness–all the things I love about you. And I do love you. Most ardently. Please, do me the honour of accepting my hand; of spending the hours before us, until all our years are done?”

“Given that I love you, have kissed you most scandalously, and cannot imagine my life without you… I say, yes, Mr. Darcy. I accept your hand and heart, and offer to you my own.”

Bending in the small space to capture a kiss, Darcy’s senses and thoughts swirled.

She agreed. She loved him! Him. A man despised by much of society, who, though rich, had little hope of being accepted by the Ton. She had offered him the greatest gift any could; her heart!

Pulling reluctantly from her lips, he cupped her face; her smooth skin welcome under his hand. “I suppose I ought to seek out permission to marry you from one of your relatives–your uncle, Mr. Gardiner perhaps? Or would you prefer I still write to your father? I want to do this right.”

Her hand coming to rest on his, she sighed, “My father should be consulted; but I think after we have spoken to Uncle Gardiner would be best. Father would feel better knowing Uncle approved… and I selfishly admit, I do not wish to wait months before we can speak of this to those outside our families. You do not mind, do you?” she asked, her brow crinkled as she studied him. “That I would only have family know until Uncle approves?”

“Not at all; it is best. Your uncle and father, after all, deserve to hear of it first–to approve of it first.”

“What is that cloud which has passed over your face?” she questioned, a hand tilting his head toward her.

“Already you read me well,” he said with a small smile; the cloud of his thoughts unsettling. “I only wonder if Mr. Gardiner will agree to our marrying. You recall I admitted the rumours of my family are not exaggerated, save those regarding my loyalties to the Crown and those my sisters hold. Those rumours of our disloyalty are unfounded, for we are loyal. Still, the rumours do exist, and I therefore hold little position in the society to which I was born. It is possible your uncle will see that and disavow my request and yours.”

“Then we would go to Gretna Green,” she laughed, a sad shake of her head following as his expression failed to alter. “You are a gentleman. Intelligent. Honourable. Kind. Wealthy even. But more than that, I love you. Once he knows I love you, that will be enough. My love and your character speak louder than whatever rumours have or may come.”

“Do you have any objection to my telling Fitz of your acceptance?”

Wrapping her arms around him, she nestled her head into his chest. “Only if you do not object to my telling my sisters?”

“I would be surprised if you did not; I know Fitz, Bingley, and I have confided in one another often enough.”

“Will you tell him? About us, I mean.”

“After the way he defended me against his sister’s wrath, and the likelihood of his becoming a part of your family, I should like to,” he admitted, his arms pulling her closer still.

“Then do,” she said, her head lifting to view him, “Wait, do you mean you think he means to propose to my sister?”

Chuckling, he nodded. “I think he would have asked her the day after they met if he thought she might have accepted. He is besotted! Though I suspect she has nearly as strong feelings for him. Am I wrong?”

“She has not excelled at hiding that fact, has she? A few years ago, I do not think even you could have seen that. Before Mamma died and we sisters took over the running of Longbourn, she seemed well on her way to being the quintessential refined young lady–soft spoken, feelings tucked away. Not that she is anything but a proper young lady; but she has become educated, skilled, and not nearly as timid. We all have.” Standing on tip-toe to kiss his cheek, she smiled before pushing back. “Shall we see where this door leads?”

“Of course, my darling.”

Bending to pick up the candle, Darcy gave the passage one last look.

The dusty, cobweb ridden space had a certain hominess about it. Or perhaps it being witness to his proposal and her acceptance gave it a welcome charm. Indeed, if their engagement remained hidden too long, he may be tempted to steal in here for a kiss.

An ear to the door as he listened for the sound of anyone outside, he held his breath. No voices. No footfalls or noise of any kind. It was time to leave.

Stealing one quick kiss from his intended, he pulled the lever, the brightness compared to the passageway near blinding. A second or more passing as his eyes adjusted, Darcy’s brows raised as the guest wing appeared, the long hall, usually seeming so dark, stretching out before them.

Slipping out, he extinguished the candle and turned to assist Elizabeth.

“Thank you,” she smiled, her eyes dancing over his form as his did her. “I fear we both appear a mess.”

“That we do–I mean, that I do. You look beautiful, covered in dirt and cobwebs or not. I… Close the door,” he hurried, voices sounding from downstairs. “We ought to go change before questions are asked; I love you!”

“I love you,” she whispered, a hand touching his cheek before she scurried toward her room, the voices growing louder as he rushed to his.

Breath coming quick and fast as he closed his door behind him, Darcy grinned. She agreed… She loved him!