Page 21 of To India with Mr. Darcy

T he ship moved like a ghost into Portsmouth harbour, its great sails slowly lowered as the sea gave way to land. The air smelt uniquely of England, of dockside smoke and the tang of rope and damp wood. Shouts rang out from the shore, sharp orders from stevedores and dockhands as crates were lifted, barrels rolled, and ropes coiled with practiced precision. Even the passengers had regained their energy, a newly found ripple of excitement passing through them, their dullness brought back to a shine.

Darcy stood at the upper deck rail, his gloved hands braced on the salt-crusted wood, his eyes fixed on the approaching port. The skyline of England, his own beloved country, had never seemed so unfamiliar. If the others felt polished, he felt tarnished in a way he had not been expecting.

He had thought he would be relieved. He had, in fact, been certain of it. England was order and civility and duty. It was everything he loved about life. He had boarded the Belmont nearly a year ago believing the voyage would be tiresome and inconvenient, a necessary evil, support for a good friend and nothing more. He had not anticipated the heat of India, nor the storms, nor the relentless days at sea. And certainly, he had not anticipated Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

His chest felt tight with something akin to loss, though he would never admit it aloud. There was nothing especially remarkable about the moment, only the familiar bustle of a ship’s arrival, but it felt momentous all the same. A chapter closing. A curtain falling. A very real end to something.

He didn’t look away as Bingley stepped up beside him, the wind tousling his already unruly hair. Together, they stood in companionable silence, both watching the flurry of activity below as passengers gathered their belongings, queuing up to disembark even though the crew were nowhere near ready to allow people off.

“There’s a strange sort of finality to it, isn’t there?” Bingley said at last, his voice low. “I thought I would be glad to be home. I am, in a way.”

Darcy’s eyes followed the movement on the lower deck. Elizabeth stood with her sister and the Gardiners, her bonnet in one hand and a travelling shawl draped neatly over her arm. She wasn’t smiling, not exactly, but there was something soft in her face. She was pleased to be home, he suspected. She looked up just then, squinting into the sunlight, and for a moment Darcy imagined—hoped—she might look for him. But she turned to her sister instead.

“I thought I would be glad too,” Darcy murmured. “I must admit, I feel rather out of sorts.”

Bingley glanced at him, a frown tugging at his brow. “I rather think I shall miss the sea and the simplicity of it. All that endless time. It feels like a luxury we have now lost.”

Darcy nodded, though he felt anything but simple inside. His mind was too crowded. He said nothing.

“Do you think we shall see them again?” Bingley asked after a pause, his eyes going to the Bennet sisters.

Darcy’s grip on the railing tightened. He hoped they would, for life without her would feel greyer, somehow. He hoped they wouldn’t, because when she was in his life, Darcy was thrown into disarray. He had no idea what he wanted. “I do not know,” he replied simply, quietly.

Bingley said nothing more, but the silence between them was heavy with unspoken questions. How strange, he thought, that they should both be feeling the same. Darcy’s eyes remained fixed on the figure below, the flash of Elizabeth’s dark curls as the wind pulled them loose, the curve of her mouth as she laughed at something her aunt said, the way her fingers absently fussed with the strap of her satchel.

When the ship docked at last, the gangplank was lowered with a loud clatter and the chaos of disembarkation truly began. Porters and stewards bustled about with satchels and trunks, the shouts of the crew mixing with the metallic groan of rigging and the snap of sails folding overhead. Passengers gathered in clusters, blinking at the grey English sky as though it were a novelty. India’s skies were entirely different.

Darcy stood still amidst the flurry, his boots planted firmly on the deck, unwilling to take the final steps to shore. Bingley had already descended, joining the Gardiners and the Bennet sisters as they prepared to collect their luggage. There was laughter among them, quiet and subdued, perhaps, tired, even, but unmistakably warm. Bingley offered to carry Jane’s case, and she accepted it with a smile that made something twist sharply in Darcy’s chest.

He could have turned away. He could have walked down the gangplank, collected his trunk, and disappeared into the carriage that awaited him without a single backwards glance. It would have been easy. Clean, and dignified. Safe. But something in him rebelled. He couldn’t leave like this.

And so, he stayed, hovering at the edge of the upper deck as the crowd below thinned. His coat collar was lifted by the wind, he gripped his tightly in one hand, and Darcy watched her.

She was speaking to her uncle, her brow creased with some small concern. Then she turned, as if sensing something, and looked up. Their eyes met across the distance.

Her face held no sharpness, no defensiveness, only a soft curiosity, a question, perhaps. She passed a few words to her aunt, and then, without hesitation, she made her way towards the base of the gangplank and paused there, waiting.

Is she waiting for me?

Darcy froze for a brief second, wondering how he could escape, but then he reminded himself he was being ridiculous. He took a deep breath and descended slowly. When he reached the foot of the ramp, she stepped forward.

“Mr Darcy,” she said quietly.

“Miss Bennet.”

They stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by the sounds of other reunions, other goodbyes. Elizabeth’s eyes searched his face without anger or fear. She was simply watchful.

Darcy cleared his throat. “I was going to leave without saying goodbye,” he admitted, unable to keep the edge of awkwardness from his voice. “But I find I cannot.”

Her brows lifted, and her surprise almost made him laugh. He thought she would be used to his honesty by now, as foolish as it so often was.

“I would not have blamed you,” she said.

“No,” he said softly. “I imagine you wouldn’t have.”

Another silence, one that was both uncomfortable and warm.

“I wondered,” he began, then stopped. He glanced over her shoulder at the waiting carriage, then back at her. “I wondered whether I might call upon you. At Longbourn. One day, I mean.”

Elizabeth blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You wish to visit Longbourn?”

Darcy nodded once, his voice quiet but steady. He hadn’t realised he was going to say it, but now that he had, he knew the truth of it. “If it would be welcome, I would very much like to.”

She paused. “It would be welcome,” she said eventually, and though the words were polite, her voice carried a note of genuine surprise.

He inclined his head. “Bingley and I are returning to Netherfield for a time, so we’re not too far away.”

“No,” she said slowly, still studying him, and he found he rather liked her eyes upon him. “No, I suppose not.”

They fell into silence again, but it didn’t have that unfinished quality that the previous silence had. It was merely a pause.

Darcy drew a steadying breath. “Goodbye, Miss Bennet.”

She gave the barest smile. “Goodbye, Mr Darcy.”

He didn’t ask for her hand, and for once, he didn’t bow. He only looked at her once more, long enough to memorise the shape of her face in the grey English light, and then he turned and walked away.

He found Bingley at the waiting carriage, their trunks already loaded, and the two men turned back for a final look at the dock. Darcy fixed his eyes on the group moving away from them through the crowd.

Elizabeth walked between her aunt and uncle, her step light but purposeful. Jane followed beside her, glancing back once towards Bingley, who stood unnaturally still at Darcy’s side. Neither of them waved. Neither of them spoke. They simply watched the women disappear into the crowd, until the shape of their figures was lost among trunks and porters and departing passengers.

“She looked back,” Bingley murmured, his voice low.

Darcy said nothing.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bingley added.

Darcy swallowed. “Nor do I.”

They stood in silence for a beat longer, then Bingley gave a soft snort. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? By every measure, the trip was a success. The negotiations with the Calcutta firm went better than I could’ve hoped. Gardiner was pleased. He and I will likely be in correspondence again by next week, discussing the next shipment.”

Darcy nodded, his gaze still fixed on the crowd. “The figures speak for themselves. Profitable, efficient. Even our journey home was blessedly uneventful—no storm this time, no delays.”

“Yes,” Bingley agreed. “On paper, a triumph. And yet…” He trailed off with a shrug, folding his arms. “I don’t feel very triumphant.”

Darcy’s mouth curved wryly. “No. Nor do I.”

Bingley turned to him. “Did I do the right thing, Darcy? Truly?”

Darcy finally looked at him, saw the genuine doubt behind his friend’s eyes. And for the first time, he didn’t have a clear answer. All this heartache had been caused by him because he’d been so certain. Now, that certainty had deserted him.

“I believed it to be the right thing at the time,” he said carefully.

Bingley was silent, then gave a small nod. “Yes. I suppose we both did.” Bingley let out a long breath. “Do you think it’s too late?”

Darcy looked towards the road where Elizabeth and her family had vanished, the weight in his chest pressing more heavily now. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

As they turned towards the carriage, Darcy felt the regret settle deeper. He had convinced Bingley to walk away from Jane. He had destroyed his own chance with Elizabeth through arrogance and pride. And now, all that remained was silence.