Chapter 12 Elizabeth
Elizabeth
Arriving at the Lizard—specifically, Kynance Cove—was like a revelation. “I cannot believe this is real!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
She fairly vaulted out of the carriage and stood looking at the panorama—the dark cliffs, several islands, bright white sands, turquoise blue water.
The sea breeze tugged at her bonnet, and she clung onto the ribbons so it would not blow off and, likely, disappear from her life forever. She did not bother with the fact that the breeze worked on her curls next, causing some to escape their pins and tumble about her face.
She turned and saw that William was gazing more at her than at the beautiful scene before them, and his smile had carved his dimples even more charmingly than usual.
“William—look at this place! This has to be the most beautiful spot in the world.”
“I brought you here for that reason,” he said. She flicked a glance back at him, and he was still gazing at her.
She positioned herself behind him and held his head so that it was turned towards the bright water and frothy waves. He chuckled but continued to look at the beautiful scene before them, even when she moved to stand in front of him, again. He put his arms around her.
Elizabeth said, “I saw a painting of a Cornish beach, one time, and I disdained the colours the artist used because—I was certain—they were unrealistic. Now I see that it was just one more time when I could not have been more wrong!”
William waited a bit and then said, “It is hard to see from here, but those dark cliffs are called serpentine, dark green and red mottled together in what looks a bit like snakeskin.”
“Oh, is there a way down?”
“Of course. Take my hand, though—the path is steep.”
Elizabeth felt that the beauty of this spot caused her entire body to thrum strongly.
She loved everything about it, including the slightly dangerous path and the pull on her leg muscles from the slope.
Once at the bottom, she immediately pulled her hand free from William’s and ran to inspect the dark rocks. “Oh, these are lovely!” she called.
“I love rocks in general, and these are rare,” William said. “I do not mean that serpentine is rare—I have seen it in Scotland and know that it can be found in Italy—but red and green together is quite rare.”
“What causes the colours?” Elizabeth asked. “I assume the red is from iron, like a kind of rust?”
“Yes, I believe it is. The green—that, I am not certain, and I do not know if geologists know. I manage to enjoy the look and feel of the rock without fully understanding how it came to look and feel this way.”
“The feel?” Elizabeth ran her hand over the mottled-coloured rock. “Oh! It looked smooth, but it feels not just smooth, but greasy. Or do I mean slippery?”
“Yes, whatever colour serpentine rocks are, they always feel quite greasy.”
“I need to read more about geology to be your wife, sir.”
She boosted a single eyebrow, and he cocked his head to one side and teased back, “Months ago, when we first met, we were scaring off your other suitors with a bit of geology.”
“I remember. William Smellie’s book, The Philosophy of Natural History. I would ask, ‘Have any of you read it?’ and entire platoons of men would pale before us. Half would faint; the other half would swiftly run away. Soon the word went out: Elizabeth Bennet is a half crazed lover of geology!”
William was laughing, but Elizabeth continued with what she considered the true laughing point of her jest: “People would issue warnings against me but then add, ‘Also, guess what? You have to compete with Fitzwilliam Darcy. Run for your lives!’”
“It was exactly like that,” William said. “You transformed from a wonderfully witty and intelligent young lady to a bluestocking with eyes rolling in your head, and I transformed from a too-quiet gentleman to a blood-thirsty duellist.”
Elizabeth laughed even more. She explored even further. When she returned to her husband, she said, “Will, I wonder…”
“What is it you wonder, love?”
“I know it is incredibly improper, but I wonder, since no other person is here, if I might be able to take off my half-boots and stockings and feel the ocean.”
“Our servants are laying out our luncheon up there.” He pointed to where the carriage was, but then he walked around a bit, not worrying about his boots getting wet, constantly looking up towards the clifftop.
Finally, he called, “I found the perfect little cove-let!” He reappeared and said, “I will carry you, and nobody will be able to see you, I promise.”
She nodded eagerly, and William scooped her up, ensuring that her ankles did not show, and he carried her to the small cove that lay beneath an outcropping of rock. Walls of serpentine surrounded the cove on three sides.
Elizabeth scrambled to remove her half-boots and stockings, when he put her down, and then she held up her skirts and shuddered as the cold water swept over her feet. “Oooh, bracing!” she said.
“We should not linger here too long, Elizabeth,” he replied. “You could become overly chilled.”
“I do not wish to stay here long,” she affirmed. “But it does feel nice in one way—the water sort of tugs on me as it hurries back to the sea.”
William nodded. “As a boy, I did some swimming in the ocean, and the currents and the tide can be very forceful, dangerous to land-dwelling animals such as us—but I agree that the pull can feel quite delicious when it is easy enough to withstand it.”
“Let us sit on the sand, and when my feet dry I can put my stockings and boots back on.”
They did as she suggested—although William did check to ensure that they were still impossible to see from above—and Elizabeth declared that bare toes in warm sand were just as lovely as wet toes being tugged towards the sea.
When their stomachs growled, Elizabeth gladly restored her footwear, and Darcy carried her through the wet sand and inch-deep water until they reached the steep path, and they scrambled up as quickly as they could.
The delicious picnic luncheon was made even more enjoyable because they could continue staring out at the extraordinarily colourful scenery.
Elizabeth started chuckling when she realised that her husband was looking at his pocket watch every five minutes or so.
She stood and said, “I hope I shall always remember everything about this place—the sounds of the waves crashing and the feel of the sand in the sun are every bit as amazing as the colours of the rocks and the sea. But we need not risk travelling after dark. Let us go now.”
He stood with alacrity, and since the servants had already packed up everything other than the quilt, it was less than a minute before they were on their way to their next spot.
This time, it would not be an innkeeper or a business associate who would be awaiting their arrival, it would be Darcy’s closest cousin and best friend, Richard Fitzwilliam, who was no longer “the colonel.”
Elizabeth wondered if William would have any regrets of letting Oakhaven go, once he was there again. She thought not—he seemed to know very well what he did and did not wish to do or have.
As for her, Elizabeth felt again the deep wellspring of happiness that Richard had a wonderful woman to love and to marry.
She wondered if Miss Garrett would be staying at the estate, or nearby in someone’s home.
She certainly hoped she was not in far-away London.
She would be glad to be in a situation in which she could better know Miss Garrett.