Page 9 of To India with Mr. Darcy

D arcy was not entirely certain how he had ended up sitting beside Miss Elizabeth Bennet, staring out of a rain-streaked window as the last remnants of the storm danced across the horizon. He supposed, had he given it more thought, he might have excused himself once the worst had passed. He had ensured she was safe, seen that she was warm and, most importantly, lectured her for her reckless behaviour. There was nothing else that required his attention here.

And yet, here he sat. And if the truth were known, he was enjoying himself.

The ship had settled into a steady rhythm once more, no longer lurching unpredictably with each rise and fall of the waves. The worst had passed, though rain still pattered against the wooden exterior, and the occasional distant rumble of thunder reminded them of nature’s lingering presence.

Elizabeth had stopped shivering some time ago, though she still held the blanket tightly around her shoulders, her fingers gripping the edges with a tension she likely did not realise. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, watching as the lightning streaked faintly in the distance, illuminating the clouds in brief, brilliant flashes. Perhaps she was beginning to realise just how much danger she had put herself in. How close she came to being entirely lost.

“You need not thank me again, Miss Bennet.”

Her head turned, though she did not look at him directly. “I did not say anything.”

“You were going to.”

A small huff of laughter left her lips, though it held little true amusement. “You do not know that.”

“I do,” he replied, voice dry.

She exhaled through her nose and turned her gaze back to the window. “Well, perhaps I was. But can you truly blame me? It is no small thing to have one’s life saved, you know. I imagine it warrants at least a few expressions of gratitude.”

Darcy resisted the urge to sigh. “You were never in true danger,” he lied. He didn’t want to get a reputation for saving lives.

Her head snapped towards him at that, eyes flashing with incredulity. “Mr Darcy, I was clinging to the rail for dear life while a storm attempted to hurl me into the ocean. Forgive me, but I believe that qualifies as true danger.”

He pressed his lips together, remembering the sight of her, so vulnerable, so scared. He had acted instinctively, had moved before he had thought, and now that the storm had passed, he did not particularly wish to examine why.

Still, he would rather not prolong this conversation with another round of thanks.

“I simply do not require excessive gratitude,” he said after a moment. “I did what anyone would have done.”

Elizabeth tilted her head at him, considering. “I think you give yourself too little credit, sir. I daresay not just anyone would have done it.”

Darcy tensed, unsure of how to respond to that, and so he merely let the silence stretch between them once more.

They sat there for a long while, both watching the last gasps of the storm fade into the night. The wind no longer howled, only whispered against the ship’s exterior, and the waters had calmed to a gentle undulation beneath them. The atmosphere in the room had shifted as well. The other passengers—many of whom had been glued to the windows in fearful fascination—had begun to murmur amongst themselves, their voices quieter now, the tension easing into something closer to relief. Many wandered back to their private cabins now that the excitement was over.

Darcy was keenly aware of the silence between himself and Miss Bennet. Not an uncomfortable silence, exactly. But something weightier than before.

“Do you think there will be another storm?” she asked suddenly, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

He glanced at her, watching the way her brows were drawn together slightly, her mouth pressed into a small, uncertain line.

“No,” he said. “At least, not tonight. The worst has passed.”

She nodded but did not look reassured.

“Do storms frighten you?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She blinked in surprise, then let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “No. Not at all, actually.”

“Then why do you ask?”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening briefly around the edge of the blanket. “Because I had never been in one at sea before.” She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “It is quite different from storms on land. And quite beautiful, in its unpredictable way.”

“That it is.”

Another silence.

Elizabeth shifted in her chair, turning her face back towards the window. “It is strange,” she said at last, almost to herself. “The storm was terrible—loud and violent and unrelenting. And yet, now that it has passed, it feels as though it was never truly here. As if it were merely a dream.”

Darcy’s eyes moved to the window again, watching the steady, gliding movement of the waves and the distant, dissipating clouds. He supposed he understood her meaning. The world had been chaos just minutes ago. And now, all was calm.

“The sea is ever-changing,” he murmured. “It does not linger in past tempests.”

Elizabeth let out a soft hum of agreement. “A rather enviable trait, wouldn’t you say?”

He turned his head towards her, arching a brow. “Enviable?”

She tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, do you not think it would be pleasant to simply let go of things? To leave behind whatever has troubled you the moment it has passed?”

Darcy studied her for a moment. He had never considered it that way before. Letting go was not something he did with ease. In fact, he rather suspected he did the opposite. He held things tightly—memories, responsibilities, obligations. It was his nature to hold, not to release. And yet, the way she spoke of it made him wonder.

“Perhaps,” he allowed.

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You are remarkably stubborn, Mr Darcy.”

Darcy shot her a look. “And you are remarkably persistent, Miss Bennet.”

She grinned. “That I am.”

Another stretch of silence, though this time it was lighter.

She shifted again, this time folding her hands in her lap. “I should like to see more of the world,” she said suddenly.

Darcy glanced at her. “Indeed?”

She nodded. “England is home, of course, and I love it dearly, but there is so much beyond it that I shall likely never see.”

“You may yet have the opportunity,” Darcy said. “Even now, you are on course for India.”

She nodded her agreement. “Perhaps. But one must be practical. I have no fortune, Mr Darcy. No means of travel beyond this voyage, and even this is only possible because of my uncle’s kindness.”

Darcy hesitated, feeling an odd discomfort at the thought that her prospects were so limited.

“And what of you?” she asked suddenly.

Darcy blinked. “What of me?”

Elizabeth smirked. “Do you enjoy travel? Or do you merely endure it?”

Darcy exhaled. “I travel when necessary. I do not seek it for amusement.”

She let out a soft hum of understanding. “That does not surprise me.”

Darcy frowned. “And why is that?”

She turned to face him fully, her expression bright with amusement. “Because you are a creature of habit, Mr Darcy. You like order and predictability. The unknown does not suit you.”

Darcy stared at her, taken aback by how precisely she had assessed him. “You presume much, Miss Bennet.”

She grinned. “I observe much.”

Darcy huffed, shaking his head. “I suppose I should be grateful you have not yet written a complete study of my character.”

“Oh, I would not dream of it,” she said, her voice teasing. “That would take all the fun out of it.”

Darcy did not know whether to be amused or exasperated.

He looked over at her, this beautiful, strange, insufferable creature he found himself travelling with. He realised that he no longer thought it such a hardship, no longer considered it a misfortune to be on the ship as Miss Bennet. Indeed, he found he rather enjoyed their conversation, her company a balm for his soul.

He had never been a man given to impulsive speech. Every word he spoke was measured, weighed, carefully selected to reveal only what was necessary. And yet, for one reckless moment, he nearly broke that rule as these thoughts ran through him.

He did not know what had compelled him—perhaps the storm, or the odd sense of camaraderie that had settled between them in its wake—but as Elizabeth turned back to him, her eyes bright, her hair still damp from the rain, he felt the words forming before he could stop them.

“I—” He hesitated. What was he even going to say? That he found himself inexplicably drawn to her? That despite all reason, despite everything, he enjoyed her company more than he should?

Utter madness. And yet—

The door swung open with an unceremonious bang .

“There you are!” Bingley strode into the room, relief written across his face, his gaze bouncing between Elizabeth and Darcy. “We have been looking everywhere for you.”

Miss Jane Bennet followed quickly behind, her expression softer but no less concerned. Mr Gardiner brought up the rear, shaking his head as he took in the scene.

Darcy exhaled sharply, pressing his lips together as the moment dissolved into a flurry of inquiries, relieved to have been disturbed before he made a fool of himself.

“Are you all right?” Jane asked Elizabeth, her hands reaching instinctively for her sister’s, eyes scanning her as if to confirm for herself that she was whole.

“Yes, Jane, I am quite well,” Elizabeth assured her, though she cast a brief, sheepish glance towards Darcy as she said it. “Just a little damp.”

“A little damp?” Bingley repeated, looking positively scandalised. “Miss Elizabeth, you were out in the storm—do you have any idea—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind, you are here and safe, that is all that matters.”

Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “I do believe that is what I said, Mr Bingley.”

Bingley groaned, raking a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “Yes, well. I am sure you will forgive me if I do not find your particular definition of safety very reassuring.”

Jane turned to Darcy then, her expression softening further. “And you, sir—you rescued her?”

Darcy stiffened at the unexpected attention, but before he could deflect, Elizabeth spoke.

“He did,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet sincerity that left him uncharacteristically mute. “He pulled me from the storm and ensured I was not flung into the ocean.”

Jane’s eyes widened, and for the briefest moment, Darcy thought he saw something like gratitude soften her usual reserve.

He looked away. “It was nothing.”

Mr Gardiner, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. “Nothing, is it? Well, sir, I daresay I am rather pleased that ‘nothing’ kept my niece in one piece.” He gave a dry chuckle before turning his attention to Elizabeth. “And you, my dear, should be more careful in the future.”

Elizabeth had the good grace to look a touch guilty, though it was undercut by the mirth still dancing in her eyes. “Yes, Uncle.”

Darcy cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in this emotional moment. “And Mrs Gardiner? How is she faring?”

Mr Gardiner’s face broke into something like amazement. “Would you believe it? She is sitting up in bed.”

Elizabeth startled at that, her entire posture straightening. “Truly?”

“Yes,” Mr Gardiner nodded, still looking rather bewildered himself. “It seems the storm quite literally shook her out of her illness. The fever has broken, and she is coherent again. Weak, but much improved.”

A breath of relief left Elizabeth, her shoulders sagging. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“Perhaps she was always meant to recover,” Bingley suggested. “Or perhaps this voyage is simply determined to test us all in every possible way.”

Elizabeth let out a soft laugh. “I rather suspect the latter.”

Darcy found himself watching her again, an odd sort of tightness settling in his chest. He should be relieved that the conversation had moved on, that his moment of near madness had been so thoroughly interrupted. And yet, some part of him still felt that he had left something unsaid.

Something that he should not have been considering saying at all.