Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Barely a quarter of the way from Strandsmere Park to Cliff House, Darcy wondered what on earth had possessed him to set off in the curricle and why his uncle had owned such a carriage but never seemed to have made use of it.
He knew that the judge had suffered from melancholia and, on the advice of his physician, had purchased the seaside property offering an abundance of fresh air and a complete change of scenery.
But, although Darcy had visited the villa a couple of times, he had not known about the curricle.
In any event, such a light, open two-wheeled carriage was ill-considered for the local terrain.
In answer to why Darcy had wanted to drive what resembled a Roman racing chariot, he supposed he had hoped to prove, at least to himself, that Bingley was wrong about his being a killjoy.
Taking the reins of a jaunty vehicle with a perfectly matched and spirited pair of bays was a way to exhibit not only his considerable skill with horses but also his derring-do.
Be that as it may, because of the rough ground, his liveried adolescent groom, Edward—whom Darcy had summoned from Pemberley—held fast to the rumbler.
As for his other poor passenger, he thought it served her right for having insisted on accompanying him.
Twice the curricle had become mired while traversing an expanse of boggy terrain.
Both times, the three of them had jumped off, finding the ground ominously spongy beneath their boots.
The two males then squelched through the morass and freed the curricle.
Darcy vowed there would be improvements made to the roads and lanes in and around Wyman’s Cove.
Once liberated from the soggy fen and finding that the open ground along the cliff was dry and level, he urged the eager bays into a faster pace.
The increased speed and the breeze blowing in from the Channel combined to tear the hat off his head and carry it away.
The bespoke topper from James Lock’s shop—where fashionables bought their hats—rolled like a billiard ball along the grassy clifftop.
The horses were stopped, and Edward gave chase.
Just as the boy reached for it, the wayward hat flew off the precipice and merrily bounced down a rickety-looking set of steps, landing on the beach far below.
The groom hung his head. “’Tis that sorry I am, Mr Darcy, sir.”
“I do not expect you to run as fast as the wind, Edward.” Sighing, Darcy watched his hat roll farther along the beach. “There is no point in crying over spilt milk, nor is there any point in turning back to the villa. We are within a mere stone’s throw of Cliff House.”
In addition to proving he was no killjoy, Darcy had wanted to impress the Bakers by pulling up in a jaunty carriage he, himself, had driven.
In all honesty, he had hoped to bedazzle a certain young lady, and not merely the one who had accompanied him.
Alas, the chance of impressing anyone was lost to him.
Once the horses were drawn to a halt on the gravel sweep and the three bedraggled occupants had stepped down, it became apparent that no one at all had witnessed their arrival.
While Edward took charge of the curricle, Darcy and his travelling companion went to the front door.
As he rapped the knocker, he was mortified to see that the lady beside him was in no better condition than he was.
Both were mud-splattered and wind-blown.
At least she still has her bonnet. He brushed at his clothing and indicated she should do the same to hers, for sunshine and breeze had dried most of the mud.
Then he ran fingers through his tangled curls and wished his valet had insisted on the trim he had wanted to give him.
By Jove! Our appearance is not dissimilar from Miss Elizabeth’s when she arrived at Netherfield all those many months ago.
Darcy was reminded of something Miss Bingley had said.
‘I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.’ He had replied, ‘Certainly not.’
“She and I were running, I mean walking, in the orchard and—oh! Here is Miss Bennet now.”
Darcy was still smiling at Miss Hughes’s comment when Miss Elizabeth entered the Bakers’ sunlit sitting room, her face glowing with the warmth and brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion.
Wearing a lilac gown trimmed at the neck and wrist with lace the colour of unbleached linen, she was even more lovely than he remembered.
Standing, he greeted her with a bow, good humour, and, he hoped, something better than mere politeness.
“Fancy meeting you here, Mr Darcy.” Miss Elizabeth curtseyed and smiled at him.
He prayed she was expressing not only surprise but delight at unexpectedly encountering him there at Cliff House.
As he introduced Georgiana, it was obvious his sister was embarrassed about her unkempt appearance, so Darcy thought it best to make light of it.
“In addition to enjoying the sea breeze this morning, it appears as though my sister and I decided to follow in Bladud’s footsteps and take a mud-bath.
” When Miss Elizabeth asked whose footsteps, he replied, “A legendary king who supposedly founded Bath after discovering that pigs who wallowed in warm mud a short distance away consequently did not suffer from skin diseases. Bladud tried it himself and was cured of leprosy, or so the story goes.”
She glanced at his and his sister’s clothing. “I would not even have noticed the mud had you not mentioned it. You both look as fresh as a daisy.”
“A daisy caught in a landslip, perhaps. But you are too kind, Miss Bennet.”
A maid entered with a tea service, and Miss Baker gestured for everyone to find a seat.
“Come and sit and have a slice of this spit cake, known as Baumkuchen in Germany. The recipe has been in our family for centuries. I hope you will find our tree cake, so called because of its rings, palatable. Perhaps it might tempt you, Mr Darcy, to set a date for your party to dine here and enjoy more of our Mrs Poole’s fine fare, of which, as you can see, I am enormously fond. ”
Georgiana accepted a cup of tea and a slice of Baumkuchen before settling beside Miss Hughes.
Darcy took a fireside chair across from Miss Elizabeth, balancing his refreshments upon his knees. To Miss Baker he replied, “We have no set plans at all. So if you would be so kind as to name a day and time, we shall be happy to dine at your table.”
“Frederick and I are terribly unadventurous and rarely leave Cliff House or Wyman’s Cove at all. But we are fond of entertaining our neighbours. Would tomorrow be too soon?”
Catching Miss Elizabeth’s eye, Darcy replied, “Not at all. I look forward to once again being in your most delightful company.” Egad.
Had he not been subtle enough? Everyone, particularly Miss Baker, was looking at him as though he had grown a second head when, to him, it seemed he had lost the only one he had.
He could not afford to raise anyone’s hopes—not Miss Elizabeth’s, not her friends’, and by all means not his own—so he thought it advisable to quickly change the subject.
“Next time we come, we shall arrive in carriages rather than a curricle. And please accept my apologies again, Miss Baker, for turning up at your doorstep looking like a dishevelled mudlark.”
Miss Elizabeth grinned at him. “It seems the boot is now on the other leg, sir.” She then told the ladies how she had arrived at Netherfield Park with weary ankles, untidy hair, dirty stockings, and a muddy petticoat.
“Yes, but you were on a highly commendable errand of mercy then. You went there to care for your ailing sister.” To Darcy’s chagrin, Miss Elizabeth seemed utterly surprised that he had come to her defence.
“Speaking of Netherfield, have you and Miss Darcy been much in the company of the Bingleys?”
“My sister not at all. I believe Georgiana only ever tolerated them because of my friendship with the brother, and I have not had the pleasure of his company for some months now. At present, they and the Hursts are summering in Scarborough.”
While Miss Baker and Miss Hughes engaged Georgiana in a conversation about the cove’s varied terrain and the best lanes to take, Darcy leant towards Miss Elizabeth and spoke softly. “I very much enjoyed our debates during your stay at Netherfield, Miss Bennet.”
“Our debates, sir?” She took a sip of her tea, then shook her head. “I would not call our differences of opinion debates.”
“No?” Both the Baumkuchen and Miss Elizabeth were delectable, and he was at a loss whether to watch her fine eyes or perfect lips.
“No. The designation is unproved. You might say the subject is open for debate.”
“Ah, I see.” Grinning like a fool, he nodded. “Yes, I believe further discussion will be required.” He took another bite of spit cake and thoughtfully chewed. “For the record, then, what would you call our discussions?”
“Arguments, perhaps.”
“You sound uncertain. But they definitely were debates.”
Her eyes twinkled as she smiled. “I would agree with you, but then we both would be wrong.”
Darcy laughed, nearly choking on the sip of tea he had taken.
His cup rattled, and the hot liquid splashed onto the saucer.
Just as he grabbed for it, Miss Elizabeth’s hand also shot forwards.
Their fingers touched beneath the saucer, and she withdrew hers as though they had been scorched by a flame.
“I beg your pardon,” said Darcy at the exact moment she, blushing, spoke the same words.
“Brother?” Georgiana’s eyes were nearly as wide as her own saucer.
What? Has she never heard me heartily laughing aloud before?
Then he noticed his sister surreptitiously looking at her pendant watch.
It had been a gift from him, and she wore it on a chain about her neck.
Darcy glanced at the clock upon the hearth.
Damn. More than a quarter of an hour had passed all too quickly.