Chapter 3
Leaning back in his chair, he found relief in the carefully placed elegant, though worn, pieces of furniture and the small touches that made Mrs. Hammond’s house a home. A painting of an ocean sunset graced the wall above the fireplace. Had she painted it?
Darcy asked, “In your years at sea, did you ever face rough winds, Mrs. Hammond?”
“Are you the sort who thrills with tales of danger and daring, Mr. Darcy? I already know that Miss Lizzy never tires of hearing of my adventures.” With a sly grin, she set her cup aside, then said, “My first summer as Mrs. Hammond was spent aboard the Concord, a merchant ship built for speed. We were four days out from the West Indies when the blue sky darkened by rapidly encroaching clouds. Despite the sun immediately above, a sheet of rain hit us as wind gusts snapped the sails, sending the sailors up the masts to tie them off. Mere moments later, a swirling air current sent the vessel skipping over the crests of waves, eventually spinning us in full circles and then tilting us from one side to the other as the height of the waves grew.
“We were blown so far off course into the Atlantic that we neared the Sargasso Sea. As scary as the wind was, it was the sound that inspired real fright. I had no idea that the air violently moving through the atmosphere could be so loud. By the time we were safely in port, not one member of the crew had slept for three days. Our ship was fortunate to make it to the docks in Nassau without the loss of a single life. Captain Hammond was as skilled a sea captain as James Cook. If he had not been, I would be unable to tell my account.”
“How did you survive?” Darcy asked, leaning forward. “You must have quickly run out of water, and the ship’s cook would not have started a fire since the danger of keeping it contained would have been too risky.”
“Aye, you ask the same questions as my Lizzy.”
For some odd reason, knowing they thought similarly pleased him.
Mrs. Hammond continued, “Our cargo was sugar, rum, and molasses, which we lived on for the length of the storm.”
“That would have been a merry crew,” Richard teased.
Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth as their hostess, then regaled them with one account after another of challenging conditions during her years at sea. She was enraptured, though she likely had heard the stories before. Twice, when Mrs. Hammond detailed how close her husband came to losing his life or the ship, Miss Elizabeth rested her hand on the lady’s arm, offering comfort.
Outside, the wind howled as the rain continued.
“What of you,” Mrs. Hammond asked Richard. “Was your journey from the continent uneventful? Have you found England to be much changed?”
Richard cleared his throat as he gathered his thoughts.
“I sailed from Portugal in June, arriving at Northampton the first week in July. The crew was competent, and the ship seaworthy enough to avoid the French blockades.” He sat straighter in the chair. “As far as my welcome…well, I am used to a certain amount of disappointment due to the fact that we did not return as conquering heroes who brought the war with Napoleon to an end. My expectations were not high.”
“I am distressed to hear it,” Mrs. Hammond quickly responded. “Did your regiment accompany you?”
Richard eased back into the chair. “They did. We were away from home for almost two years for this deployment. It was time.”
“Your life has been one of great sacrifice, Colonel,” Miss Elizabeth said. “The relief your family and friends felt with your safe return must be, at least in a small way, a reward.”
Richard accepted her comment but said nothing. Darcy understood his cousin. Richard’s father, Hugh Fitzwilliam, Lord Matlock, railed against his second son, doing everything within his power to keep Richard on British soil, safely tucked away in an office somewhere. With the heir being as much of a wastrel as Wickham, Uncle Hugh fretted that he would never have a grandson who would eventually take over the reins of Matlock and the carefully cultivated political career attached to the title. Richard fought hard against his father and mother to gain the independence he desired. Now that he had returned, another battle began. They immediately insisted he sell his commission and marry an heiress they selected. He wanted to make his own choices.
Darcy had no one to tell him what to do; at least no one he wanted to have that sort of power over him, which was both a blessing and a curse. His aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park in Kent, tried her best to control his decisions, but even with her blustering and insistent demands, he never gave in.
When Miss Elizabeth smiled directly at Richard for the second time, assuring him of his welcome to the neighborhood, uncertainty pierced Darcy’s chest. He could not be attracted to Elizabeth Bennet. Why, her family was far below his. Certainly, she was wise enough to be aware of the discrepancy. What did it matter to him if she found his cousin attractive? Richard was in every way admirable. Despite this, a trickle of what felt like jealousy taunted Darcy. Ridiculous.
When she turned her full attention to him, he had to drag his thoughts back to the present.
“Sir, are you pleased with your order from the bookstore? I am currently awaiting a delivery of Sense and Sensibility, a novel penned by an anonymous lady. My aunt in London has already read the tale and highly recommended it. Nevertheless, getting my own copy has been challenging.”
Grateful that he knew of what she spoke, he said, “I read the book as soon as my sister finished and found the struggles between the sisters’ differing personalities intriguing. Since we are only the two of us, and I am much older than Georgiana, the lives of the Dashwood females are far removed from ours.”
“I suppose so.” Her head tilted sideways. “Is Miss Darcy of an age with my sisters?”
“She has recently turned sixteen.”
“Ah, that puts her between Kitty and Lydia. A difficult age.”
Darcy barely kept himself from gasping at the idea that his beloved sister had anything in common with Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia, two of the most ill-mannered females in Hertfordshire. In this, they were like their mother, vulgar and loud. Never could his mind wrap itself around a mental image where Georgiana Darcy and those two misfits would be in company.
Richard blurted, “Were you ever that difficult, Miss Elizabeth?”
She laughed at the bold inquiry. “I should say so, sir. Even my eldest sister Jane, who is by far the sweetest soul on planet Earth, would smile one minute and then cry the next. Soon enough, every one of my sisters will pass those trialsome years only to wonder what all the fuss was about.”
Darcy dropped his eyes to his fisted hands, grateful the two ladies would never know just how difficult it had been for Georgiana. Her near elopement with George Wickham not three months prior would have succeeded had Darcy not chosen to arrive early to Ramsgate, where she was residing. Should he have been unsuccessful in stopping Georgie from climbing into the carriage with the rascal, the repercussions would have altered his sister’s existence irreparably, and Darcy’s consequences would have been more than a man could bear. What had she been thinking? She was trained in decorum from infancy. Wickham!
He cleared his throat to regain his composure. “My order was much more mundane. I purchased a treatise by a well-known agriculturist who studied soil samples in my home shire. Further, the weather of the past few weeks inspired a reread of Daniel Defoe’s The Storm.”
Miss Elizabeth nodded. “The Storm: Or,A Collection of the most Remarkable Casualties and Disasters which Happen’d in the Late Dreadful Tempest, both by Sea and Land. I read that in my tenth year after a particularly hard wind toppled the village church’s steeple. For years after, I was terrified that the same level of destruction would happen in Meryton, specifically to Longbourn. When I woke the next morning to clear skies and peaceful surroundings, I still fretted each time the wind whipped the tree limbs hard enough that they bent. After several winters passed with no more destruction from the weather, I forgot about Mr. Defoe’s book. I am quite surprised that I did not recall it with our current conditions. Perhaps it is time I find it on Father’s bookshelves and reread it on a dark and stormy night.”
Richard asked, “You were only ten? Remarkable! I am surprised that you were not kept awake from bad dreams?”
Miss Elizabeth’s joy illuminated the room. “I share a room with my eldest sister, Jane, who remains steady despite any tumult. Only in her presence would I dare do such a thing.”
An image of Miss Elizabeth being in his private sitting room between the master and mistress’s chambers, where they read together as they cuddled on the sofa in front of a warm fire, popped into his mind. They would drink wine and have complete privacy to…
He moved to the fireplace to adjust the screen closer. It was an unnecessary task that masked his growing confusion. How and why was his mind dwelling on him and Miss Elizabeth being together? Impossible!
Mrs. Hammond addressed Colonel Fitzwilliam.“But tell me, have you visited places other than the continent?”
Elizabeth was grateful when Mrs. Hammond drew him out. The colonel spoke for a length of time. He was particularly well-traveled. The man was a fascinating character with an amiable personality—quite unlike Mr. Darcy.
Each time the colonel smiled, dimples appeared on each cheek. His teeth were straight and white, and his eyes twinkled with the same look as did her father’s when he was teasing. His countenance was easy, and his conversation stimulating.
Glancing at the man at his side, Elizabeth could not help but wonder how the two were able to enjoy company together. As a matter of fact, Elizabeth also wondered the same about Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. They were as opposite as night was to day. What was it about a miserable man like Mr. Darcy that attracted amiable people? Did his cousin and Mr. Bingley feel sad for him that he likely had no other genuine friends? Was it some sort of pact they made to attempt to pull Mr. Darcy’s attitude from the highest heavens down to where mere mortals existed?
Whatever the answer, it was easy to ignore one man while listening to the other.
Mr. Darcy unlatched the shutter behind where he stood. It was then that Elizabeth noted the silence outside.
He said, “Mrs. Hammond, we thank you for your hospitality. There seems to be a break in the storm. I suggest we leave immediately in case the weather quickly changes its mind again.”
As the men donned their greatcoats and retrieved their horses, Elizabeth said her goodbyes to Mrs. Hammond. The afternoon, despite the wind and rain, was stimulating due to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence. As was typical, having Mr. Darcy along—well, he was tolerable, she supposed.