Page 64 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)
Mr. Darcy looked across the breakfast table at his wife with a glint in his eye.
“Elizabeth, would you care for a drive to the sea? We might look in on Anne first, and then be off for the whole of the day, just the two of us. The coast is but nineteen miles distant.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lit. “I should love to walk on the sand, Fitzwilliam, and wet my toes in the water. When we travelled to Scotland, we glimpsed the sea at dusk, but only distantly.”
“Then we shall see it properly now,” he replied, pleased to grant her wish. “We will have the day to ourselves, just as we did on our journey home from Scotland.” He smiled, his voice low with fond remembrance.
The next morning, they took leave of the Bertrams, explaining where they might be found should any emergency arise. Darcy, fastening his greatcoat, remarked, “We must set off before we are caught by some visitor eager to inspect Miss Catherine’s family.”
Elizabeth laughed. “We are to act the truant? That is very well with me, darling.”
They entered the carriage, bringing with them a basket Charlotte had filled with cold meats, hard-boiled eggs, bread, and fruit.
As the wheels began to turn, Darcy’s gaze caught hers.
His eyes lingered, then dropped to her lips.
Leaning forward, he kissed her with a warmth that deepened swiftly.
His arms drew her close until she felt the solid strength of his chest against hers.
There had been a time when she had thought him cold; now she marveled at his passionate nature. Without conscious thought, she found herself upon his lap, her arms twined about his neck. His whisper was husky. “Elizabeth… how did I ever live without you?”
The carriage slowed, turning into the drive at Rosings. Darcy’s sigh broke the moment. “Time to pay the piper. Let us see how my cousin fares. Will you wait here, or join me?”
She considered. “What would you have me do?”
“If we encounter my aunt, she will not scruple to insult you. I would shield you from that. I will go up and see Anne; if Richard requires your assistance, I shall send for you. But should Lady Catherine appear and abuse you, return to the carriage at once. Neither of us shall remain under such treatment.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then stepped down and made his way swiftly through the kitchen gardens, ascending the servants’ stairs. Entering Anne’s chamber, he found his aunt in the midst of a shrill quarrel with Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Anne, pale and wan, winced at each rise of her mother’s voice. Darcy’s tone, when it came, was sharp as a blade. “Lady Catherine, you will lower your voice at once, or Richard and I will remove you to the dower house, where you shall remain until our cousin’s health is restored.”
His aunt stared at him, clearly astonished. In twenty years, he had never spoken to her thus. Turning to Richard, he said evenly, “Shall I escort her to the dower house now, to give you peace for the day?”
Lady Catherine’s reply was a protest that the dower house was dirty and unfit.
“In that case,” Darcy said, “I shall be happy to escort you to your suite, where you may remain until my return.”
Fury flared in her eyes; then, in a fit of rage, she seized a heavy cut-glass vase and hurled it. Darcy, anticipating the movement, stepped aside. The vase landed upon the thick Axminster carpet with a muffled thud, unbroken.
Darcy turned to his cousin. “Lady Catherine has just decided to pass the day in her rooms. Send for the housekeeper.”
Together, the two nephews escorted their unresisting aunt to her suite of rooms, ignoring her muttered protestations.
Darcy locked the door, handed the key to the housekeeper, and ordered, “Have her meals brought by the largest footman in the house.” Turning to Richard, he said, “Anne is awake; that is a hopeful sign. Since the two maids have everything in hand, I shall return this evening for news of her progress. Is this acceptable to you, cousin?”
Richard looked worried but agreed. “There is nothing more we can do for her beyond what has already been put into place. For now, we must wait and see.”
With that, Darcy departed, rejoining his wife.
The road to the coast unrolled beneath the carriage wheels in a blur of barren fields. The day was cold but fair, a pale autumn sun glinting weakly in the sky.
At Birchington, they paused at a small bakery for hot coffee and spiced buns before walking the short path to the beach.
The sea opened before them in a sweep of silver-grey, the light dancing over gentle waves.
A keen gust tugged at Elizabeth’s bonnet and carried with it the briny scent of the tide.
They picnicked in the shelter of the cliffs, the sand still faintly warm from the morning sun.
Over bread and cold meats, they spoke of nothing urgent, childhood adventures, books they meant to read, places Fitzwilliam had seen.
It felt to Elizabeth as though they had stepped beyond the reach of all obligations, into a day belonging only to themselves.
They walked hand in hand across the firm, wet sand, the gulls wheeling overhead with plaintive cries.
Elizabeth removed her half-boots and stockings and stepped into the shallows; the cold of the saltwater rushed over her ankles, sharp enough to draw a gasp and a laugh.
Darcy, watching her, smiled in that private way he reserved for her alone.
Further along, tide-pools glimmered like glass, and shells were scattered like treasure upon the sand. Elizabeth bent to gather a few, her fingers brushing Darcy’s as he handed her one, the spiral ridges still damp from the sea.
The chalk cliffs rose in the distance, their pale faces stark against the winter sky, and a lone fishing boat bobbed upon the horizon, its sails catching what light the day offered.
By afternoon, they had driven to Margate to explore the caves, where the air was cool and faintly damp, and curious patterns were etched into the walls.
By the time they turned for home, the sun was lowering towards the horizon.
Inside the carriage, Darcy drew a rug over their knees, its woolen folds warm against the creeping chill.
He watched Elizabeth, as was his wont, then reached to smooth a curl, his fingertips lingering against her jaw.
“You have color on your cheeks,” he murmured, voice low and indulgent. “The sea becomes you.”
Elizabeth smiled, leaning into the touch. “It has been a perfect day, Fitzwilliam. The best since, well, perhaps since Scotland.”
He took her hand beneath the rug, his thumb tracing slow circles over her gloved palm. “It has been a day of rest and recuperation, darling. I am so glad we came away.
The carriage rocked gently over the rutted road, and the steady rhythm was restful. He drew her closer until her shoulder rested against his, and after a pause, pressed his lips to her temple.
“It was good to hear your laughter today,” he said. “I do not hear it often enough. The preparations to participate in London society and our family have conspired to keep us exceedingly busy. Too busy. We would do well to set aside a day now and then entirely for ourselves.”
Elizabeth felt the warmth of his words settle over her. She looked up, and his gaze held hers, the faint lamplight catching in his eyes. His arm curved around her, holding her securely, and she rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
Thus, they travelled the last miles to Bertram House in a comfortable stillness.
Remarkably, they arrived in time to dress for dinner, their cheeks tinged with the wind and their eyes bright, refreshed by the day’s stolen freedom.