Page 10 of To India with Mr. Darcy
T he next day dawned bright and clear, the storm nothing more than a distant memory. The air had shifted once again, the heavy tension from the night before replaced with a pleasant, steady breeze that carried the scent of salt and sun-warmed wood. The sky stretched endlessly above them, a perfect blue, unmarred by even the wispiest of clouds. It was as if the ship itself had shaken off the chaos of the previous night and was now revelling in the serenity of a new day.
Elizabeth stood at the railing, inhaling deeply, filling her lungs with the crisp sea air. The warmth of the afternoon was tempered by the fresh wind curling around her, tugging playfully at the loose strands of hair that had escaped her pins. She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the sensation, so wildly different from the previous evening.
It was impossible not to feel lighter in such a setting. The vast expanse of the ocean stretched in every direction, endless and unbroken. The world here felt wide, limitless, and Elizabeth felt something close to true freedom. She had always loved the rolling fields and wooded lanes of Hertfordshire, but there was something about the open sea that made everything else seem so small in comparison.
The ship was alive with movement. Passengers strolled the deck in cheerful spirits, chatting easily with one another as they took the air. The oppressive formality of land-based society had begun to soften in the face of their shared journey, and Elizabeth had observed that people—particularly those who, at home, might be stiff and guarded—were becoming far more agreeable at sea. Even those who had barely exchanged pleasantries in the early days of the voyage were now greeting each other with warm nods and well-wishes as they passed.
“Miss Bennet!” called Mrs Harcourt, waving from where she was settled on a bench with her ever-present little terrier, Tibbins, curled at her feet. “Did you manage any sleep after last night’s frightful ordeal?”
Elizabeth turned with a smile, stepping away from the railing. “I did, Mrs Harcourt, though I confess I find I am rather more refreshed by the sight of such clear skies this morning. What a glorious day it is!”
“Indeed! And thank heavens for it. I declare, I thought we were all going to be swept away last night. I do hope you kept your footing, dear?”
Elizabeth hesitated before nodding with an easy laugh. “Not entirely, but as you can see, I survived the experience, albeit a little bruised in places.”
Mrs Harcourt tittered. “Well, it shall make for a dramatic tale when we return home, I suppose. That is, if I ever return home. I am beginning to think I shall live on ships forever—I have become quite accustomed to the life, you know.”
Elizabeth chuckled, though she was not entirely sure the older woman was jesting. Mrs Harcourt had taken to the voyage better than most, and despite her occasional complaints, she was clearly thriving in the fresh sea air.
As Elizabeth bid her good morning and continued her leisurely walk, she passed a small group of gentlemen engaged in an enthusiastic discussion about trade routes and supply chains. They barely paused to acknowledge her, so absorbed were they in their conversation. Nearby, two young ladies, Miss Bletchley and Miss Linton, leaned against the railing, their bonnets discarded, their cheeks pink with the pleasure of the fine weather.
A few feet away, an older couple walked arm in arm, smiling fondly at the younger passengers enjoying their morning strolls. A steward passed with a tray of tea, carrying it towards a group of gentlemen seated on the far side of the deck.
Yes, Elizabeth thought, she quite enjoyed life at sea. There was something inherently different about it, something that allowed people to shed their usual inhibitions. For all its dangers and inconveniences, it was a way of life that she was quickly coming to enjoy.
And perhaps, she mused as she glanced across the deck, that was why she had found herself warming to even the most unexpected company.
As if her thoughts of him were a call for his presence, he was suddenly beside her. Mr Darcy. She had just rounded the aft deck when she heard the measured sound of approaching footsteps behind her. Before she had time to turn, a familiar figure fell into step beside her, his long strides naturally matching her own.
She did not jump in surprise or bristle at the uninvited company, as she might have just weeks ago. Instead, she merely glanced sideways, her curiosity piqued.
“Mr Darcy,” she greeted, tilting her head. “To what do I owe this unexpected honour?”
Darcy glanced at her, his expression bland but lacking his usual severity. “Am I interrupting your solitude?”
Elizabeth considered him for a moment, then offered a small, almost reluctant smile. “Not at all. It seems I have grown accustomed to your presence.”
He arched a brow slightly, and she wondered if he was just as surprised by this development as she was. They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, their pace unhurried. The ship’s deck was lively, passengers enjoying the fine weather, but as they moved along the starboard side, they found a quieter stretch where only the rush of the wind and the creak of the ship accompanied them.
Elizabeth had never imagined that she and Mr Darcy could enjoy a moment of shared quiet without tension clinging to the air between them. And yet, here they were.
“I confess,” she said at last, glancing at him, “that a few weeks ago, I would not have welcomed such an interruption.”
His lips twitched in something that almost resembled amusement. “And now?”
She exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Now, I am not entirely opposed.”
He inclined his head as though she had just bestowed a great honour upon him. “High praise indeed.”
She gave him a sidelong look, but there was no real irritation behind it. He was teasing her, albeit in his own restrained way. And rather than find it insufferable, as she once would have, she found it somehow intriguing. They walked on, neither in any particular hurry to part ways.
“You are deep in thought,” Mr Darcy observed after a moment.
Elizabeth smiled. “Am I? That is dangerous, according to some.”
“Then I shall take the risk.”
His delivery was so dry that it took her a moment to realise he had been jesting. When she did, she let out a short laugh, shaking her head.
“I was simply thinking how remarkable it is that the sea changes a person,” she admitted, glancing out over the glittering waves. “Or perhaps not changes, but rather… loosens. People seem different here. Freer, less bound by all the little rules that govern us on land.”
Mr Darcy’s gaze followed hers out to the horizon. “There is something both humbling and freeing about the open sea, wouldn’t you agree?”
Elizabeth tilted her head, considering. “Humbling, certainly. But freeing?” She cast him a thoughtful look. “I feel it, yes, but I never imagined you as someone who sought freedom.”
A flash of something passed over his face. Thoughtfulness, perhaps? He did not respond immediately, as though weighing his answer before speaking.
“I do not seek recklessness,” he said at last, “but I do see the appeal of something vast and untamed.” He exhaled slowly, his eyes still fixed on the endless water. “One must surrender control at sea. No matter how powerful a man is, the ocean does not heed him. It is a rare and rather sobering truth.”
Elizabeth studied him curiously. She had never considered this before—what it must be like for a man such as Mr Darcy, who was accustomed to authority and command, to face something that rendered such things meaningless.
She could not resist. “And is that something you find comfortable?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement.
His lips twitched. “Not entirely, I admit.”
Elizabeth laughed outright. “I thought as much.”
They reached the railing, and she leaned lightly against it, peering out over the waves. Mr Darcy remained standing beside her, his posture still straight and composed, stiff, though his gaze was fixed on the horizon.
After a few moments, he lifted a hand, pointing out over the water. “Do you see that?”
Elizabeth followed his gesture, squinting slightly against the glare of the sun. At first, she saw nothing but the endless undulation of the sea, but then there was something. A faint silhouette on the horizon, distant but distinct.
“A ship,” she murmured.
Mr Darcy nodded. “A merchant vessel, I believe. Likely heading westward.”
Elizabeth glanced at him. “How can you tell?”
He gestured slightly towards the sails. “The angle of the sails suggests it is tacking into the wind rather than running with it. A ship headed eastward, as we are, would not need to do so. And the height of the masts, the shape of the hull—it is not a warship, nor a fishing vessel. A merchant ship is the most likely explanation.”
Elizabeth was impressed despite herself. “You seem quite knowledgeable on the subject.”
Mr Darcy shrugged slightly. “It seemed prudent to understand the workings of a ship if one must spend weeks aboard one.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Ever the scholar, Mr Darcy.”
“Knowledge is rarely a disadvantage,” he said simply.
She turned her gaze back to the distant ship, watching as it moved steadily across the horizon.
“There is something rather romantic about it, is there not?” she mused. “A ship, cutting its way through the waves, carrying people to distant lands.”
Mr Darcy glanced at her. “You are a dreamer, Miss Bennet.”
She tilted her head playfully. “And you are not?”
He hesitated. “I am more practical.”
Elizabeth smirked. “And yet, here you are, reading the sea like a seasoned sailor, speaking of how it humbles even the most powerful of men. If I did not know any better, Mr Darcy, I might say you have a poet’s soul.”
He let out a quiet breath—perhaps a laugh, though it was difficult to tell. “If I do, it is quite by accident.”
“A pity,” she replied with a grin. “You might have made a fine poet.”
He arched a brow. “I think not.”
“Shall I test the theory? Perhaps I should assign you a sonnet as a challenge.”
Mr Darcy gave her a look that was so profoundly unimpressed that Elizabeth could not help but laugh.
“Very well,” she said, lifting her hands in surrender. “I shall spare you, for now.”
He huffed, shaking his head slightly, but there was no real irritation in it. “Shall we walk some more?”
“Let’s,” she agreed.
They turned back, continuing their leisurely stroll along the deck, their conversation flowing more easily than she ever would have imagined a few weeks ago. As they rounded a corner, Elizabeth’s eyes landed on a familiar pair sitting together on one of the benches near the railing. Jane and Mr Bingley.
It was an almost idyllic sight. Jane sat with her hands neatly folded in her lap, her golden hair catching the sunlight, her face turned towards Mr Bingley with that quiet, composed smile of hers—the one that spoke of genuine warmth and contentment. Mr Bingley, for his part, leaned towards her, his expression bright and eager, his every gesture radiating admiration.
Elizabeth felt a tug of fond amusement at the sight. There was such an easy charm between them, such a natural harmony. It was impossible not to smile.
She turned her head slightly to gauge Mr Darcy’s reaction.
He was watching the pair with a contemplative expression, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed together in something that was not quite disapproval, but certainly not the unbridled delight that she herself felt at witnessing such a scene.
Elizabeth arched a brow, intrigued.
“They do make a rather charming pair, do they not?” she said lightly, testing the waters.
Mr Darcy’s gaze lingered on Mr Bingley and Jane for a moment longer before he looked ahead again, his features composed. “They seem well-suited,” he said carefully.
Elizabeth tilted her head, sensing something beneath his words. “You do not sound particularly convinced.”
Mr Darcy hesitated. “It is not a matter of doubt, precisely.”
“Then what is it?”
He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. “Bingley is easily pleased.”
Elizabeth glanced back at the couple, confused by Mr Darcy’s words. “A happy quality, surely.”
“Perhaps,” Mr Darcy allowed. “But happiness can be fleeting, especially aboard a ship.”
Elizabeth considered him for a moment, noting the careful way he spoke, the way his words were measured so precisely, as though he wished to say more but would not allow himself.
“You have reservations,” she said after a pause, watching him closely.
He did not meet her gaze immediately. “I have concerns.”
Elizabeth blinked at the admission. She had expected him to deflect, to brush off the conversation as beneath his notice. Instead, he had admitted, however reluctantly, that he harboured doubts. Doubts about her sister.
For the first time, she was not immediately bristling in defence of Jane. Instead, she found herself curious.
“What sort of concerns?” she asked, her voice gentler than she had intended.
Mr Darcy looked out to the open sea. “I do not question Miss Bennet’s good nature,” he said slowly. “She is amiable, kind, and well-mannered. But Bingley is, well, let’s say he is easily led by his emotions. He forms attachments quickly, and with great enthusiasm. I simply…” He hesitated, then shook his head. “It is not my place to say.”
Elizabeth studied him carefully. His words were not as dismissive as she might have expected, nor was his tone cruel or scornful. It was thoughtful. Cautious. Protective, even, not of Jane but of Mr Bingley.
Elizabeth’s lips curved faintly. “You are very fond of him.”
Mr Darcy glanced at her sharply. “Bingley?”
“Yes.” She nodded towards the pair, who had now fallen into quiet conversation, their heads inclined towards one another. “You watch over him, even when he does not realise it.”
Mr Darcy’s expression tightened, as though he had not expected her to notice. “He is impressionable, that’s all.”
Elizabeth hummed in response, turning her gaze back to her sister and Mr Bingley. “Perhaps. But I do not think that makes his feelings any less sincere.”
Mr Darcy was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he said, “No. I suppose it does not.”
Elizabeth glanced up at him again, still intrigued by his reaction, still wondering what, exactly, lay beneath his reservations. But she did not press further.
For now.
Instead, she simply let the silence stretch between them as they continued their walk, the bright sun overhead, the wind light against their skin, and the sea stretching endlessly before them.