Chapter 8
It is settled between us already, that we are to be the happiest couple in the world.
— ELIZABETH BENNET, PRIDE PREJUDICE
“What an ugly thing,” Miss Lydia exclaimed, wrinkling her nose distastefully at the colourful, gangly little creature scuttling across the sand.
“I think it is rather pretty,” Miss Catherine remarked, bending down for a better look. “Do you know what it is, Lizzy?”
“In this case, I believe you would do better to apply to Mr Darcy, for he is the veteran seafarer among us,” she said with an arch little smile as she glanced at him.
“This impressive little creature,” he said, kneeling down to pluck it from the sand, “is a hermit crab. The shell he carries on his back is his home.”
The ladies exclaimed in awe as they watched the crab withdraw completely into its cosy little shell.
“Would any of you ladies care to hold him?” Darcy asked.
“Goodness, no,” said Miss Catherine, looking more than a little alarmed. “I would not know the first thing about it. Let someone else hold him.”
“Not me,” said Miss Lydia, moving behind Miss Mary.
“I would like to hold him,” said Elizabeth, boldly extending her hand so that Darcy could place the crab upon it.
Depositing the crab upon her hand did not require that they touch, but Darcy could not forgo an opportunity to feel the weight of her hand in his once more, even for so short a time. Cradling her hand in his, he placed the little crab in the centre of her palm.
While Elizabeth was wearing gloves, Darcy was not, and the soft, buttery kidskin, which had been warmed by its wearer, felt supple and smooth against his skin.
If Elizabeth had deduced his ruse, she gave no indication that his touch offended her. Her attention appeared to be focused solely on the tiny crustacean in her hand.
“He is beautiful,” she said, smiling delightedly as one of its legs emerged from its shell. She prodded it gently with her fingertip, and the crab withdrew it at once. “His shell is something to behold. It looks as though it once belonged to a snail, but it is larger and more colourful than any snail’s shell I remember seeing in Longbourn’s gardens.”
The thin bands of violet and Prussian blue spiralled outward from the centre of the shell to the outer rim and were as unique and vibrant as they were lovely. “The snails here are quite colourful,” Darcy told her. “They also make a tasty meal, especially for a hungry bird. More than likely, this crab took possession of his current home once the snail it belonged to became someone’s supper.”
“That sounds rather barbaric,” said Miss Mary, peering over Elizabeth’s shoulder as the crab made another attempt to stretch its legs. “I would not want to live in a house under such circumstances as those.”
“Then you may consider yourself fortunate you are not a hermit crab,” said Darcy. “They can be very formidable when searching for a new home. I have seen them fight each other for the privilege.”
Miss Mary sniffed. “I suppose the passage in the Bible that urges us to love our neighbours and to do unto others as we would have done unto us means very little to a hermit crab.”
“Just so, Miss Mary,” said Darcy, smiling kindly as he did so.
A full minute passed, but the hermit crab expended no further effort to make an appearance.
“I believe this poor creature has endured enough scrutiny for one morning,” Elizabeth announced to their little group. She returned the crab to its previous place along the water’s edge, where it scurried off her hand and began to burrow into the sand, hiding itself away from prying eyes.
Elizabeth’s lips quirked as she straightened, brushing grains of sand from her gloves. Her eyes were dark and luminous, and when she trained them upon Darcy, he smiled at her in turn. “I believe I could visit this lovely oasis every day and never become bored or indifferent to its beauty. The creatures who dwell here are truly remarkable.”
“I have always thought so,” he told her, willing himself to think of sea creatures rather than the way he felt every time she smiled at him. She had rarely ever done so in the past, likely because she had disliked him so intently. Now, after having passed more than a week in his company, she smiled often. And she laughed. The sound of her laughter, especially when he was the one to inspire it, made Darcy feel satisfied in a way he had not for a very long time.
“How brave that little crab was to permit us to handle him so,” she said, coming to stand before him. “If you had told me this morning that I would hold a hermit crab in the palm of my hand, I would not have believed you!”
“You were quite brave yourself. I do not know of any other lady who would have consented to do it, never mind consented so readily.” None of the ladies with whom he was acquainted would have attempted it. Their reactions would have been similar to Miss Lydia’s—they would have recoiled. Elizabeth had not only been willing to hold the crab, but eager, and Darcy could not help but admire her for it. It was one more thing to add to his list; one more way in which Elizabeth Bennet had distinguished herself from every other lady he knew.
“It appears that my sisters have abandoned us, sir.”
Sure enough, all three of Elizabeth’s sisters were walking quickly in the direction of the house. A low rumble of thunder prompted him to glance at the sky. Overhead, the clouds had thickened, and the sky itself had taken on a leaden hue. “I suppose that our outing has come to an end. I am sorry for it.”
“As am I.”
It gratified Darcy immensely to hear it, for Elizabeth sounded as though she truly meant it. His heart gave a little lurch. Was she merely sorry because the darkening sky dictated a return to the house? Or because the remainder of his call would likely be dominated by her mother, who did not have Mr Drummond to distract her that day?
They began walking back, but Elizabeth did not seem to be in any hurry, which gladdened Darcy all the more. She remarked upon the waves, which had grown choppy, and the storm clouds silently gathering momentum in the sky. He pointed out the gulls, who appeared untroubled by the change in the weather as they hovered over the coast, their cries as sharp and insistent as ever.
Then came the rain—cold, fat drops that pelted the sand and prompted them to run. Somehow, Elizabeth’s hand ended up in his own. Running across the sand was not an easy feat, but they managed to reach the path before the sky truly opened up and released its deluge. When it did, they were almost to the back garden. The house was not much farther, but there was a small folly in the corner of the property that was closer. It was there that Elizabeth led him.
Giddy with laughter, they stumbled into the folly, which had a roof and a floor and a bench, but not much else. In lieu of walls, brightly coloured clematis flowers had wound themselves around the beams that supported the structure. The blooms, in hues of crimson and purple and pink, climbed the thick timbre posts and encompassed the rooftop. A large cluster dominated the interior of the space as well, giving the appearance of a whimsical chandelier that swayed with the wind. Although it was within view of the house, the flowers afforded them a measure of privacy. Darcy had to admit that it was lovely, but not nearly as lovely as the woman standing beside him.
In his distraction, Elizabeth had removed her bonnet, and several long curls had been dislodged from their pins. Her skin glistened from the rain. Never had she looked more beautiful to him than she did in that moment—soaking wet with her hair coming down and a smile that warmed him from within.
He stepped closer to her, so close that he could smell her scent. It was subtle and sweet and teasing and perfect—like she was herself. The urge to touch her was difficult to resist, and before he could stop himself, his fingertips were lovingly stroking her cheek, brushing a thick, damp curl aside and tucking it behind her ear. “You are beautiful,” he told her. “I have always thought so, but now…like this…”
The moment he touched her, Elizabeth’s smile had slipped from her face, but her eyes…her eyes had become darker and more expressive than he had ever seen them. They were not the eyes of a seductress, however, but of a spirited, clever woman, a woman with heart and soul and an affectionate nature. A woman whose boldness belied her innocence.
He ached just from looking at her. From wanting her. And from wanting to tell her—again and again—that she was the very best thing that had ever happened to him.
“I know,” he said around the lump that had lodged in his throat, “that your feelings are by no means equal to mine, and that a renewal of my addresses would likely be unwelcome. But I must tell you how very much I have treasured the time we have had together of late. Every moment I have spent with you has been a gift.”
He grasped her hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm, and with all the love he felt for her within his heart, murmured, “I can make you happy, Elizabeth. I know I can. Please, allow me to try.”
The hint of a smile, as tender as it was intimate, appeared upon her lips. “You already have,” she told him as she caressed his cheek with a gentle, affectionate touch.
And then, as the rain fell in heavy sheets around them, forming large puddles on the grass beyond the folly, she stood upon the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his ear and murmured seven words that made him nearly insensible with joy:
“I believe that I love you, too.”