Page 16 of To India with Mr. Darcy

T he weeks stretched on and little had changed. The ship rounded the Cape of Good Hope on day forty-nine, and still, the journey seemed endless.

Elizabeth stood at the railing, her fingers lightly curled around the smooth, salt-worn wood, looking out at the vast, unbroken sea. The wind tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet, threading through her loose curls, and the scent of salt and brine filled her lungs. It was the same open sea, the same endless horizon, the same steady creak of the ship beneath her feet. And yet, everything felt different.

The voyage home was nothing like the voyage out.

She had once found so much freedom here—the open deck, the boundless sky, the gentle roll of the waves all offering her a sense of possibility. She had stood in this very spot, letting the wind kiss her cheeks, believing herself on the brink of adventure. But now, that same wind felt colder. The air felt heavier. She felt more trapped than ever.

There was no storm, no true reason for the shift, and yet she felt it pressing down on her. Perhaps it was the knowledge that they were returning to reality, that the escape of India was behind them. Or perhaps it was something else entirely.

Perhaps it was the burgeoning new friendships that she was missing…

Even the passengers seemed subdued. On the outward journey, there had been an unshakable energy aboard the ship— people eager to arrive, to see new lands, to experience something beyond the familiar. Laughter had been easy, conversations lively, and every night the communal dining room had been filled with animated discussions and clinking glasses.

Now, as they passed further into the Atlantic, that vibrancy had dulled. More and more, passengers took their meals in their cabins, avoiding the long dining tables where once they had so easily gathered. The few who did appear for meals spoke in hushed tones, their spirits quieter, their thoughts already turned towards home. Even she and Jane had played fewer hands of cards, their usual amusements slipping away into apathetic silence.

It was as if the journey had stolen something from all of them. Or perhaps, Elizabeth admitted to herself, it had only stolen something from her.

She glanced down the deck, where Mr Bingley walked beside Jane, their conversation hushed but seemingly warm. Even now, even with his recent withdrawal, he still watched Jane with unmistakable fondness. Elizabeth turned away before she could dwell on it too long.

She exhaled slowly, gripping the railing for a moment longer before straightening her shoulders. The air was growing cooler as they moved further from the equator, and the wisps of cloud gathering on the horizon suggested the promise of rain before long. She ought to go below deck before it turned.

Elizabeth moved towards the stairs leading below deck, one hand lightly trailing along the railing as the ship tilted gently with the motion of the waves. The staircase was steep, the steps narrow and slick with the sheen of salt carried in from the sea air. She had climbed these stairs a hundred times before, knew their precarious nature, and yet she had grown careless. Her mind was elsewhere, lost in the tangle of her own thoughts.

And that was her mistake.

The ship gave a sudden, lurching sway—nothing more than a shift in the wind, but enough to catch her off guard. Her foot missed the step entirely. Her stomach plunged. The world tilted. For one horrifying moment, she knew she was going to fall.

But then she didn’t fall. Or rather, she fell into something she wasn’t expecting. Someone. Strong hands had caught her.

Elizabeth gasped as she was pulled back from the brink, steadied by an unyielding grip. She barely registered the warmth of fingers closing around her upper arms, the solid presence against her as she wrenched herself upright.

“Are you determined to injure yourself at every opportunity?” The voice was unmistakable.

Elizabeth snapped her head up, her breath unsteady. Mr Darcy. Of course, it was him.

He was looking down at her, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and concern, his hands still bracing her as if he expected her to topple over at any moment. The sheer indignity of it burned through her.

“I am perfectly capable of managing a staircase, Mr Darcy,” she bit out, jerking herself from his grasp.

Except she wasn’t. She would have fallen completely were he not there to stop her, and even now, she knew all was not well. The moment she shifted her weight, a sharp, searing pain shot up her ankle. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, her knees nearly buckling beneath her.

Mr Darcy caught her again.

“Clearly,” he drawled, his voice dry.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth, stubbornly willing the pain away. “I am fine.”

Mr Darcy’s hands tightened ever so slightly. “Yes,” he said, his tone clipped, “I can see that.”

She glared up at him, furious at the situation, at herself, and most of all, at him for seeing her like this.

He exhaled sharply, glancing down at her ankle as if considering whether to let her test her weight again. His grip loosened but did not fully release her.

“You cannot walk on it.”

“I can,” she snapped, knowing how childish she sounded.

Mr Darcy arched a brow. “Then by all means, Miss Bennet. Be my guest.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin, determined to prove him wrong. She took a single step, but nearly crumpled.

Mr Darcy caught her a third time, his grip firm and unyielding, his patience fraying.

“For heaven’s sake,” he muttered. “Must you always be this stubborn?”

Elizabeth clenched her jaw, loathing every second of this, but she knew when she was beaten. The throbbing in her ankle was sharp and relentless, and every attempt at movement sent another wave of pain shooting up her leg. There was simply no way she’d be able to get to her cabin alone, and Mr Darcy was the only person here to help her.

She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to look anywhere but at him. “Very well,” she said through gritted teeth. “If you insist on helping, then help me to my cabin. And do not think I am pleased about it.”

Mr Darcy sighed, shaking his head. “Believe me, Miss Bennet,” he muttered, adjusting his hold to brace her against his side, “neither am I.”

And with that, he lifted her. Elizabeth gasped as her feet left the ground, her arms instinctively clutching at his shoulders. “Put me down this instant!”

Mr Darcy did not so much as falter. “That would rather defeat the purpose.”

“This is entirely unnecessary,” she protested.

“Is it?” He gave her a pointed look. “Would you prefer to crawl back to your cabin instead?”

Elizabeth snapped her mouth shut, her cheeks burning. He was correct and she knew it. She scowled, but as the ship rocked again and the dull throb in her ankle pulsed painfully, she begrudgingly let him carry her below deck.

If nothing else, she would at least take solace in the fact that he seemed just as miserable about it as she was.

Mr Darcy carried her through the narrow passageways with infuriating ease, his stride unbroken despite the ship’s swaying. She refused to look at him the entire way, her arms locked stiffly around his shoulders, her face turned resolutely towards the wall.

At last, he set her down carefully on the edge of the small berth in the cabin she and Jane shared, ensuring she was steady before stepping back.

“There,” he said, brushing his hands together as if to rid himself of the entire ordeal. “You are delivered safely. Your pride remains only slightly bruised.”

Elizabeth shot him a look, but before she could retort, a knock at the door interrupted them.

Mrs Gardiner stepped inside, her eyebrows lifting at the sight before her. “Oh dear,” she said lightly, her head bouncing between them. “I had thought this return voyage would be a quieter affair, but I see we are keeping things just as eventful as before.”

Elizabeth let out an irritated breath. “I merely miss-stepped on the stairs.”

Mrs Gardiner gave a knowing hum. “Of course you did. And I suppose Mr Darcy just happened to be in the right place at the right time?”

Elizabeth crossed her arms. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Mr Darcy exhaled sharply. “I see that gratitude continues to be in short supply.”

Mrs Gardiner chuckled, shaking her head before coming to kneel beside Elizabeth. She examined the ankle carefully, pressing lightly against the swollen joint. Elizabeth winced.

Mrs Gardiner sighed. “This needs to be seen to properly. I shall fetch the ship’s surgeon.”

Elizabeth groaned. “Surely that is not necessary.”

“I will be the judge of that,” her aunt said firmly, rising to her feet. She turned to Mr Darcy with an amused expression. “Would you mind staying with her, Mr Darcy? I would rather not leave her alone should she decide to be stubborn and attempt an escape. We both know what she’s like.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to object, but Mr Darcy beat her to it.

“She has already tried once,” he said, dryly.

Mrs Gardiner smirked. “I thought as much.” She patted Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Stay put, my dear. I shall return shortly.”

With that, she left, leaving the door ajar for propriety’s sake.

A silence stretched between them. Elizabeth exhaled, allowing her head to tip back against the wall. “This is ridiculous.”

“You do have a talent for calamity,” Mr Darcy mused. “First the storm, then the stairs. What will it be next?”

She glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “It is hardly my fault the ship insists on being an unsteady, treacherous vessel.”

Mr Darcy folded his arms, leaning against the small writing desk that mirrored the one in his own cabin. “It is the same ship you praised endlessly on our way to India.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “That was before it attempted to throw me down a flight of stairs.”

He huffed a small laugh, and to her great surprise, Elizabeth felt her own lips twitch.

She sighed, letting the tension slip from her shoulders. “Well,” she admitted, “I suppose I should at least thank you. As much as it pains me to do so.”

“The effort must be agonising.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. “Excruciating.” But then she met his gaze and, after a beat, softened. “Truly, though. Thank you, Mr Darcy. Again. It seems really are my knight in shining armour.”

He seemed momentarily caught off guard, as though he had not expected the sincerity. He shifted, clearing his throat. “You are welcome. I would have done the same for anyone.”

Elizabeth studied him for a moment. There was something different about him in this quiet space, perhaps without the sharpness of recent days. He looked less guarded, less distant. And for a fleeting second, she thought of the man she had once enjoyed walking with on the deck, the man who had once made her laugh.

She sighed, shaking her head. “This voyage has been far stranger than I ever imagined.”

Mr Darcy exhaled, watching her carefully. “It has.”

Elizabeth hesitated, then said, “You seemed to enjoy it at first.”

He looked away, his fingers tracing the edge of the desk. “At times,” he admitted. “Though I imagine you enjoyed it rather more than I did.”

Elizabeth considered this, thinking of how different everything felt. “I did, once.”

Mr Darcy glanced at her. “And now?”

She hesitated, then looked down at her ankle. “Now, I am simply ready to be home.”

A knock interrupted the moment, and Mrs Gardiner returned with the ship’s surgeon in tow.

“Well,” she said cheerfully, “let’s see if we can keep this voyage from becoming too much of a disaster, shall we?”

Elizabeth sighed, but there was the ghost of a smile on her lips.

***

The cabin was quieter now. The ship’s surgeon had examined Elizabeth’s ankle, proclaiming it a mild sprain that would heal with rest. Mr Darcy had taken his leave soon after, departing with his usual stiffness, though Elizabeth could not deny that something had changed in the air between them. It was no longer the cold, bitter frost it had been these past days, but something softer, and she appreciated that even if it wasn’t the same ease they’d felt previously.

Now, Jane sat beside her, the gentle scrape of her embroidery needle the only sound in the small space. She worked with quiet concentration, her fingers deftly guiding the thread through the delicate fabric stretched taut in her hoop.

Elizabeth leaned back against her pillows, staring absently at the ceiling. “You need not stay with me, you know.”

Jane did not look up. “And leave you to wallow in your misery alone? Certainly not.”

Elizabeth huffed. “It is not misery.”

Jane made a noncommittal sound, then, without looking away from her stitching, said lightly, “I must say, I never expected you to go to such lengths just to throw yourself into Mr Darcy’s arms.”

Elizabeth groaned. “Not you as well.”

Jane’s lips twitched. “Aunt Gardiner told me everything.”

“She embellishes.”

“I am sure she does,” Jane murmured, amusement lacing her tone.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “He happened to be there, that is all.”

“Ah.” Jane nodded, as though she had just uncovered some great truth. She pushed her needle through the fabric once more. “So you did not choose to be caught by him, you simply fell into his waiting arms by chance.”

Elizabeth shot her a look. “If I had known he would be there, I would have thrown myself in the opposite direction.”

Jane laughed softly but did not reply.

Elizabeth was prepared to defend herself further, but something about her sister’s posture stilled her. Jane was teasing, yes, but her usual warmth was muted, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Elizabeth studied her carefully. “Jane?”

“Hmm?”

“You do not seem yourself.”

Jane hesitated, her fingers tightening around her embroidery hoop. “I do not know what you mean.”

“You do,” Elizabeth said gently. “And I think I know why.”

Jane swallowed. She looked down at her work, carefully pressing a stitch into place before finally speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mr Bingley is changed, though I know not why.”

Elizabeth exhaled, shifting against her pillows. “Yes,” she said. “He is.”

Jane’s hands stilled. “I do not understand it.” Her voice trembled, just a little, and it made Elizabeth’s heart ache. “We were so comfortable with one another before. He was so attentive in India. And now…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Elizabeth reached out, taking Jane’s free hand in hers. “You have done nothing wrong.”

Jane let out a short, uneven breath, her grip tightening. “But I must have. Why else would he be so different? I cannot think of any reason.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, then closed it. She could not tell Jane what she had overheard. She could not break her heart further with the knowledge that Mr Bingley had been encouraged to doubt her affections. But she could do something about it.

A familiar spark ignited in her chest. She would not allow this. Not without a fight.

“Jane,” she said softly, squeezing her hand, “I do not believe for one moment that his feelings for you have changed.”

Jane swallowed hard, blinking against the sheen of unshed tears. “Then why is he so distant? Even when we converse, he seems in another place.”

Elizabeth hesitated. Then, carefully, she said, “Perhaps someone has influenced him.”

Jane frowned, “What do you mean? Has he—”

“I mean,” Elizabeth interrupted, her voice gentle but firm, “that Mr Bingley has always been easily led. And there are those who think far too much of matters like status and fortune.”

Understanding dawned in Jane’s eyes, but she did not speak.

Elizabeth pressed on, her jaw tightening. “Do not give up hope yet, dearest. If he has been misled, then perhaps he can be un-misled.”

Jane let out a soft, breathy laugh, though it was tinged with sadness. “And how do you propose to do that?”

Elizabeth’s chin lifted defiantly. “I have my ways.”

Jane studied her for a long moment, then smiled—faintly, but truly.

“I do not doubt it,” she murmured.

Elizabeth returned the smile, but as Jane turned back to her embroidery, her expression hardened.

She would find a way to set this right.