Page 6 of To India with Mr. Darcy

E lizabeth shuffled the deck of cards with practiced ease, the soft snap of the cards filling the quiet space between her and Jane. As their fourth week at sea came to an end, she had grown used to the gentle lilt of the ship and the constant hum of noise. The excitement of adventure had died down to a simmer beneath the surface, but still she found herself enjoying her time on the ship immensely. It was so different to life back at Longbourn. So much freer.

“I cannot say I ever imagined myself playing cards in the middle of the ocean,” Jane said with a smile, fanning out the cards neatly in her hand. “Nor that I would find the experience so agreeable. And yet, I find myself here every day, eager for another game or two.”

Elizabeth smiled, tossing a card onto the pile between them. “I’ve always enjoyed whist,” she said, “but it seems all the more exciting at sea, does it not?” She giggled and leaned forward. “Imagine, two young ladies of fortune, gambling away their reputations on a perilous sea voyage. Whatever would Father say?”

Jane shook her head in amusement. “You make it sound dreadfully improper.”

“I should hope so,” Elizabeth said. “Impropriety is the only real excitement we are permitted.”

Jane considered her cards for a moment before placing one down, her delicate brow furrowing. “I do think I am enjoying it more than I expected. The voyage, I mean. I thought I would find it terribly dull or frightfully uncomfortable, but there is a certain charm to it, is there not?”

“There is,” Elizabeth agreed. “The open air, the vast horizon, the feeling that the world is larger than we were ever allowed to believe—it is quite exhilarating.”

Jane laughed, her focus still on her cards as she considered her next trick. “And here I thought you would say the finest part of the voyage was the opportunity to watch our fellow passengers with impunity.”

Elizabeth gasped in mock offence. “Jane! Are you suggesting I am prone to gossip?”

Her sister raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by her theatrics.

Elizabeth sighed dramatically. “Oh, very well, you know me too well. But I cannot help it! There is something terribly fascinating about being trapped with so many strangers. Each of them has a history, a life we know nothing about. We may never see them again once this voyage ends, and yet, for these few months, our paths are entangled. Does it not fascinate you at all?”

Jane smiled at her indulgently, setting another card on the pile. “It does, dear Lizzie. Though I find myself wondering, which of our fellow travellers have captured your attention the most?”

Elizabeth tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to think. “Well, Mrs Harcourt has provided no small amount of entertainment. She insists on taking her little dog for walks on deck as though she were parading through a London park. I am convinced the poor thing despises her for bringing him aboard. He looks positively mournful at all times.”

Jane giggled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Perhaps he suffers from seasickness.”

“Or perhaps he suffers from his mistress.”

Jane gave her a reproachful glance, though her lips twitched.

“And then there is Mr Jackson,” Elizabeth continued, playing another card. “I do not believe I have ever met a man who enjoys the sound of his own voice quite so much. I sat near him at breakfast yesterday and heard him tell the same story twice within the span of an hour. And, Jane, I swear—he embellished it the second time! As though the original telling had not been dramatic enough.”

Jane shook her head with a soft laugh. “You are dreadful.”

“I am observant,” Elizabeth corrected. “And there is no harm in a little speculation. It is what makes life exciting.”

Jane placed her final card on the pile and smiled sweetly. “Perhaps not, but there is harm in losing. That is the game, I believe.”

Elizabeth glanced at the cards, let out a mock groan, and fell back in her chair. “Beaten again! I am beginning to think you were only pretending to be unsure of the game when we first started.”

Jane’s eyes twinkled. “Would I be so deceptive?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at her sister before laughing. “You are a dark horse, Jane Bennet. I shall have to be more careful in the future.”

Jane only smiled, serene as ever.

Elizabeth swept the cards back up from the table. “Shall we play another?”

“Let’s,” Jane said.

Elizabeth had just finished shuffling the deck again when a movement at the doorway caught her attention. She looked up to see Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy entering the room, both cutting rather striking figures against the warm glow of the lanterns.

Mr Bingley’s eyes brightened when he spotted them, and he nodded in easy acknowledgment, his smile warm and inviting. Mr Darcy, by contrast, offered only the most perfunctory nod, his expression unreadable, his gaze sweeping over the room as though assessing it for some unseen deficiency.

Neither gentleman approached. Instead, they took a table across the room, Mr Bingley already speaking with his usual enthusiasm while his companion sat beside him, silent and composed, his fingers tapping lightly against the table.

Elizabeth let out a quiet breath, shaking her head with amusement. “They always do that.”

Jane glanced up from her cards, her lips curved into the softest of smiles as she caught sight of Mr Bingley. “Do what?”

“Come in together, as if tethered to one another, and then sit apart from everyone else. It is a wonder Mr Bingley does not drag Mr Darcy into conversation more often.”

Jane, who was still watching their new companions settle into their seats, let out a soft laugh. “I do not think Mr Bingley would be capable of dragging Mr Darcy anywhere he does not wish to go.”

“Then I suspect Mr Darcy wishes to go nowhere at all.”

Jane turned back to their game, placing her first card down thoughtfully. “Mr Bingley has been very kind, you know,” she said.

Elizabeth raised a brow at the warmth in her sister’s tone, noting the way her eyes glittered at the mention of the man. “Has he?”

Jane nodded, her fingers smoothing the edge of her next card absentmindedly. “I was feeling a little unwell yesterday morning—nothing too dreadful, just a touch of discomfort. And would you believe it? He noticed. I said nothing of it, and yet he must have seen something in my manner, for not an hour later, he had sent word through one of the stewards that he had procured a remedy for seasickness and thought I might benefit from it.”

Elizabeth arched a brow, impressed by Mr Bingley’s kind actions. “How very attentive of him.”

Jane’s cheeks warmed slightly. “It was most thoughtful. And the remedy worked beautifully.”

Elizabeth studied her sister for a long moment, seeing the gentle glow in Jane’s expression. She was pleased, that much was clear, though as always, she kept her feelings measured.

“I suspect you shall tell me next that he arranged for the sun to shine this morning, simply to improve your day,” Elizabeth teased.

Jane laughed, shaking her head. “You make light of it, but it was a kindness. And kindness is not so abundant in this world that we should fail to appreciate it when we find it.”

Elizabeth could not argue with that. Instead, she played her next card and said lightly, “Well, if Mr Bingley has proven himself so gallant, then I shall allow him a few more points in his favour. I only hope you do not think too well of him too soon.”

Jane tilted her head, a soft, knowing look in her eyes. “And what of Mr Darcy? What do you think of him?”

Elizabeth let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, he is insufferable.”

Jane’s lips twitched. “So insufferable that you continue to seek conversation with him?”

Elizabeth scowled. “I do not seek him out. He just appears whenever a spare moment arises.”

Jane gave her a knowing look.

Elizabeth huffed, throwing a card down with more force than necessary. “Very well. I speak with him, but only when forced to do so.”

Jane remained unconvinced, and her expression said as much. “And yet, you do not appear quite so vexed by his company as you once were. It’s all right, Lizzie. You can tell me. I’m your sister.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips, considering. She could not deny that their most recent conversation had been interesting. It was not often she could discuss books so freely with a gentleman, particularly one as intelligent and well-read as Mr Darcy. He had an irritating habit of disagreeing with her, but at least it was informed disagreement, which she much preferred over empty flattery.

She glanced towards him before she could stop herself. He looked restless at Mr Bingley’s undoubted wittering.

Elizabeth swiftly looked away, hoping Jane had not noticed her lapse. “He is tolerable at times,” she admitted, keeping her voice carefully disinterested. “He at least has the good sense to enjoy literature, even if he does have an unaccountable preference for Macbeth over The Tempest .”

“That is high praise from you, Lizzie,” Jane teased as she played her hand.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Do not mistake my willingness to converse for any real fondness.”

Jane pretended to inspect her cards again, her tone light. “Oh, I would never make such an assumption.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at her sister. “You are laughing at me.”

“I would not dare,” Jane said, though the slight dimple in her cheek betrayed her.

Elizabeth exhaled loudly, as if burdened by the conversation, but there was no real annoyance in it. She returned her attention to the game, determined not to glance in Mr Darcy’s direction again. Not even once .

She lasted all of two minutes before sneaking another look. Mr Darcy’s eyes were still on their table. She turned back to Jane. “Do you think—”

But her words were interrupted by the hurrying of a young ship hand weaving through the tables, his face flushed, his cap in his hands.

“Miss Bennet? Miss Bennet!”

Both Elizabeth and Jane turned at once. The young man was breathless when he reached them, his eyes darting between them uncertainly before settling on Elizabeth.

“It’s Mrs Gardiner, miss—she’s taken ill.”

Elizabeth’s heart lurched. “Ill? What do you mean? What has happened?”

“She was sittin’ down in the cabin, looked right pale,” the ship hand said quickly. “Then, all of a sudden, she near collapsed. The steward says she’s burnin’ up with fever. He sent me to fetch you.”

Elizabeth barely registered her own movements as she shot up from her seat. “Jane—”

“I’m right behind you,” Jane said, already rising.

They left the card table at once, hurrying through the room as the murmur of their departure rippled through the passengers.

Elizabeth’s mind raced as they navigated the narrow passageway towards the sleeping quarters. Her aunt had been well at breakfast, had she not? Or had she seemed quieter than usual? She could not recall. How could she not have noticed? How had she been sitting there, laughing, gossiping, playing cards, while her aunt had been suffering?

Panic swelled in her chest.

What if it is serious? What if—

No. She would not let her thoughts go there.

They burst into the cabin to find Mrs Gardiner lying on her bunk, her face flushed, her hair damp with sweat. The steward stood at the bedside, dabbing her forehead with a cool cloth, while a maid hovered near the washbasin.

Elizabeth rushed to her aunt’s side. “Aunt, can you hear me?”

Mrs Gardiner’s eyes fluttered open, but her gaze was unfocused. “Lizzie,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jane pressed a hand to her shoulder. “We’re here,” she said gently. “You’ll be all right.”

The steward looked up at them, his face grim. “She’s burning up, miss. The fever came on sudden.”

Elizabeth swallowed against the fear clawing at her throat. “Has the ship’s surgeon been sent for?”

“Aye, Mr Gardiner went to fetch him, but he’s tending to another passenger at the moment,” the steward said. “We’ll get him here soon as we can.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, willing herself to think clearly. What should they do? How did one treat such a fever? Cold compresses? Fresh air? Laudanum? She had no knowledge of such things, and the helplessness was maddening.

Behind her, the sound of footsteps approaching at a clipped pace made her turn.

“Mr Darcy! Mr Bingley!” she cried in surprised.

“We heard a commotion,” Mr Bingley said at once, his expression full of concern. “What has happened?”

Elizabeth barely knew how to answer. She looked at them, suddenly feeling the full weight of her own helplessness, and for the first time since stepping into the room, she felt her composure waver.

“My aunt—” she started, but her voice caught. She looked back at Mrs Gardiner, whose breathing was uneven, her forehead glistening with sweat. “She is unwell. The fever came on suddenly. We do not know what to do.”

Mr Darcy was already stepping forward. “Let me see.”

Elizabeth barely had time to process this before he had shed his coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he moved towards the bed. His expression was all business now, his usual reserve giving way to something calm, capable, and assured.

“We must keep her cool,” he said at once, taking the damp cloth from the steward and re-wetting it. He wrung it out with practiced ease before pressing it gently to Mrs Gardiner’s brow. “Fresh air would help—open the porthole.”

The steward rushed to comply.

“Has she taken water?” Mr Darcy asked.

“Not yet,” Jane said.

“Then she must. Bingley, fetch some at once.”

Mr Bingley, though clearly unsettled, nodded and left without hesitation.

Elizabeth watched in stunned silence. This was a side of Mr Darcy she had never seen before. A side she never expected he possessed.

Gone was the aloof, withdrawn gentleman who scowled at dinners and criticised the ship’s lack of refinement. In his place was a man who took command without hesitation, who did not flinch at illness or discomfort, who moved with certainty while she herself felt entirely adrift.

She swallowed. “You seem familiar with such matters.”

Mr Darcy did not look at her as he adjusted the compress. “I have dealt with fever before.”

That was all he said. Elizabeth did not press him further.

Instead, she watched as he continued his ministrations, his hands gentle but sure, his movements quick but never careless. Mrs Gardiner stirred under his care, and though she did not wake fully, she seemed a little steadier, her breathing slowing just enough to ease some of Elizabeth’s panic.

Still, her heart pounded unsteadily in her chest.

Mr Darcy, of all people, had stepped in where she had felt utterly lost.

And she did not know what to make of it.