Chapter 24
Darcy
Darcy was inclined to be delighted by everything Elizabeth did and said, and she was, in turn, inclined to be delighted by everything he had arranged for their tour.
When they went to Saint Michael’s Mount, in Cornwall, she had exclaimed that it was in a four-way tie for her favourite spot on earth.
He had laughed and asked for the other three contenders for the top spot.
She counted them off with her fingers: “Stonehenge, Kynance Cove, and of course Oakham Mount.”
Not long after that, she had been utterly thrilled to cross the Severn via the Aust Ferry. Standing at the rail, holding onto his hat with one hand and his bride with the other, they laughed into the wind as the flat-bottom boat was expertly sailed and oared across the fast-moving river.
“This is one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life,” Elizabeth shouted at him over all the sounds that surrounded their voyage: the constant deep sound of water rushing past the hull, along with turbulent gurgles; the cluck-thump of oars groaning against the thole pins, and the slap of oars hitting the surface of the water; the sails snapping as they shifted, and the rigging groaning as the wind rubbed ropes together; even their carriage creaked as the ferry’s movement across the current jostled it, despite its brake and the wheel chocks and ropes that secured it.
“I was almost positive we would not be taking a chance with this crossing,” Darcy shouted back. “If it was any windier, or certainly if it was wet and stormy, we would have gone around.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Then I am very glad we have such lucky weather!” she called back.
It was no surprise at all that Elizabeth loved Wales—especially the waterfalls that had reportedly inspired Wordsworth to write about “waters, rolling from their mountain-springs” and “the sounding cataract.” The brief visit to a house party in Carmarthenshire and to their estate, Ashton Manor, in Cardiganshire, were pleasant interludes made much more enjoyable because of Elizabeth’s sparkling conversation and evident happiness.
Last on the list of Welsh sights was Holyhead, on the island of Anglesey.
“An island? Will we go on another ferry?” Elizabeth asked. She seemed delighted until she saw Darcy’s face.
“This is quite treacherous,” he said, “although many people safely make the crossing.” He frowned briefly and then continued, “We will be below ship, not at the rail, since the risk of falling overboard is much greater, and we will be wearing cork life jackets. And, no, the life jackets are not attractive at all.”
Elizabeth smiled into his worried eyes. “I trust you; I am certain it is as low a risk as you can make it. And let us face it, all of life is a bit of a risk. So please try to smooth your brow.”
As she said that last bit, she reached up to gently press the furrow. He could not continue to frown when she was caring and positive, and touching any part of his body with any part of hers.
They crossed the strait with no trouble. “Now you shall have your fun, Elizabeth,” Darcy promised as the carriage approached a private sailing packet ship. “Standing at the rail and everything!”
As promised, the crossing of the Irish sea was even more exciting than either of the ferry rides. The carriage was carefully loaded onto the ship, and Darcy had paid to have the entire ship for their party—Darcy, Elizabeth, their carriage and luggage, their horses, and their servants.
Elizabeth eagerly watched as they pulled away from Holyhead.
Thousands of puffins, razorbills, and guillemots flew in swirling patterns around the towering, jagged cliffs.
The newly built lighthouse was bright white.
The waves crashed against the rock piles at the bottom of the cliffs and the small “stacks” of rock that looked like so many tiny islands.
“I never get tired of hearing the waves pounding the shore,” Elizabeth said. “This is the most exciting sea crossing I have ever taken!” she added, laughing as she clung to the railing.
“It is also the least exciting sea crossing you have ever taken,” he pointed out.
“As always, you are correct, Husband Mine.” She dropped the railing in favour of giving him a tremendous hug. “Thank you for marrying me!”
As the waters changed from the green-blue water of the harbour to the darker blue, white-capped waters of the channel, Elizabeth marvelled at the complexities of characterising water.
“It is so simple to describe, if you only have a little water in a transparent glass. But water can be a mirror, a dark torrent, a white-frothing cascade, or a mysterious, seemingly bottomless pool. It can be clear or deepest navy, brightest turquoise blue or deepest green, flat and black or reflecting a landscape in perfect detail.”
“I agree that water is so varied and beautiful that it almost seems magical,” Darcy said. “And that is a pretty apt description of you, too, Wife Mine.” He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you so very much for saying yes to my proposal.”
“Your very grand proposal? The one that flowed with flowery statements rife with four-syllable words that aptly described the feelings you have for me? That one?”
They both chuckled, remembering Darcy’s very brief proposal. He said, “I believe the proposal, succinct though it was, got the job done.”
“I needed no convincing,” she agreed.
Eventually Elizabeth and Darcy went inside to eat and then to rest. They had a private cabin, and Darcy was awakened by a respectful tap on the door. Hopkins called through, “Last hour of the trip.”
Elizabeth was eager to get bundled up to watch for her first glimpse of Ireland, and she finally spotted something. She pointed to a green smudge on the horizon. “The Wicklow Mountains,” Darcy told her. “That is where our estate is.”
Eventually they could see the headlands that formed the entrance to Dublin Bay. A red lighthouse appeared, and finally the dome and riverside facade of the Custom House could be made out as they sailed through the busy Dublin port.
“I cannot believe I am in Ireland,” Elizabeth said as she got ready to disembark. Darcy loved how she managed to make it sound like the most exotic spot on earth. Seeing things through her eyes was even better than he had hoped.
Their first destination in Ireland was their own estate, Fraoch Hall.
Approaching the manor house, Darcy realised that he had forgotten how delightful the prospect was.
The mansion was built of local Wicklow granite, which had a silvery shimmer when sunlight struck it, thanks to flakes of isinglass in the rock.
The surroundings were, of course, deeply green, even more verdant than most Irish landscapes; Wicklow was, after all, known as the “Garden of Ireland” and featured many forests as well as massive, lush gardens encircling every mansion.
Elizabeth was as pleased as he, and he could not help but be proud as she exclaimed, “I cannot even imagine how your family owns so many perfectly gorgeous estates!”
He immediately corrected her: “You mean our family.”
“Oh, dear,” she answered. “Married weeks now, and I still make that mistake.” The carriage began to slow as it made a turn to pull up near the steps of the manor. “What is the name of this family who is leasing Fraoch Hall?”
“Wells,” Darcy replied.
“And are they pleasant? Do they have children?”
“They are new leaseholders, and this will be my first time meeting them—”
“—Or not!” His startled exclamation occurred as a young man exited the front door and, smiling, raised his hand in greeting.
It was Bingley!
Elizabeth froze, and Darcy immediately put an arm around her. “I will talk with him alone, dearest. Please wait in the carriage.”
Darcy took a deep breath and forced his face to its most impassive expression, rather than anger. He would not be returning Bingley’s smile.
When he climbed out of the carriage, he muttered a word to the footman closest to him, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the footman make a gesture. Thus, all the servants froze rather than hustling to complete the tasks of removing trunks.
The moment Bingley saw Darcy, all colour drained from his face. “Darcy!” he said. “Good God, man, do you own every home in the British Isles?”
“Mr Wells?” Darcy asked in a cold, clipped voice.
“Yes.” Bingley’s eyes were wide. He gulped visibly and said, “I had no idea—”
“My solicitor in Dublin wrote to you. He clearly let you know the date of my arrival, since you seem to have expected me.”
Bingley blushed. “I received the letter, of course, but I was eating breakfast, and I spilled some tea, and the part of the letter that was splattered was your name, but I did not think it mattered what the name of the owner was, I would be welcoming whoever it was….”
Darcy felt his lips twitch a bit—of course Bingley would spill something on an important letter of business! But he composed himself immediately.
Bingley breathed deeply and attempted a smaller version of his usual affable smile. Darcy did not return it, and Bingley allowed it to slip off his face again.
Using a low voice, barely above a whisper, Darcy asked, “Why are you leasing an estate in Ireland, of all places, and under a false name?”
Answering as quietly, Bingley said, “Look, Darce, I can explain everything, and I will. My story is very embarrassing and should be private. Let Eliza—Miss—Mrs Darcy come in and refresh herself, and your horses and men rest, and we can talk in my study. I mean your study.”
Darcy shook his head and decided to follow Bingley’s advice. He conferred with the footman and handed Elizabeth out of the carriage, formally introducing her to “our temporary leaseholder, Mr Wells.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said, dipping a curtsy.