Chapter 16
Early the next day, the morning sun blazed down upon Gibraltar’s famous Rock as Elizabeth and Prudence, followed by Mr. Darcy and the colonel, made their way through the garrison’s bustling streets. After the harrowing experiences of the past few days, Elizabeth was eager for a pleasant diversion.
“I do hope we meet someone in Gibraltar who shares Miguel’s artistic spirit.” She adjusted her parasol against the Mediterranean sun. “His drawings of Porto are my most precious possessions from our trip thus far.”
Prudence was delighted. “I know just the person. He is not a resident this time but one of our own British officers. Talented as they come, but shy as a church mouse when it comes to ladies.”
Within the hour, she had led them to a quiet corner of the garrison’s main courtyard where a young officer sat drawing in the shade of an olive tree.
At their approach, the artist looked up, and Elizabeth immediately understood Prudence’s description. He scrambled to his feet in such haste that his sketching materials scattered across the ground.
Second Lieutenant Matthew King was approximately twenty-two or twenty-three with striking blond hair that caught the sunlight like spun gold and the brightest blue eyes Elizabeth had ever seen.
His face was darkly tanned from months under the Mediterranean sun, creating a dramatic contrast with his fair coloring.
“Lieutenant King,” Prudence said with fondness. “I would like you to meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Fitzwilliam. Miss Bennet and gentlemen, this is Gibraltar’s resident artist, though he tries to hide his light under a bushel basket.”
“Mrs. Bell, please!” The young man flushed pink from her praise. He attempted to gather the spilled pencils and papers. “I am hardly…that is, I merely…” He straightened, clutching his pad to his chest like a shield. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
“The honor is ours, Lieutenant King,” Elizabeth said warmly. “I am hoping to commission drawings for my travel journal, if you would be so kind.”
“Commission?” The lieutenant’s voice cracked on the word. “I…that is…I would be delighted to…if you think…” He seemed to lose the thread of his sentence when Elizabeth presented him with a gentle smile.
“I have recently discovered how wonderful it is to have one’s travels captured in drawings. They bring back not just the sight of a place, but all the feelings associated with it.”
The young officer stared at her for a long moment. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, exactly! That is precisely what art should do―capture not only what we see…but what we feel.”
“Would you show us some of your work?” Elizabeth suggested, taking pity on the young man’s obvious nervousness.
The lieutenant’s sketchbook revealed page after page of Gibraltar’s dramatic cliffs, detailed studies of local flora, portraits of his fellow officers, and landscapes that captured the wild beauty of the coast with surprising skill.
“These are lovely,” Elizabeth said, leaning closer to examine a particularly fine drawing of the Rock at sunset.
“Thank you,” the lieutenant managed. “I…my father never thought much of my drawing. Said it was not a proper pursuit for a gentleman. He insisted I take a commission instead.”
“How short-sighted of him,” Prudence said with firmness. “Anyone who can create beauty like this should be encouraged.”
“I thank you most sincerely. Would you, that is, if it would not be too presumptuous, might I sketch you both?” he asked, his words tumbling over each other. “Here, with the Rock as a backdrop? The light is particularly fine.”
“We would be delighted.” Elizabeth settled herself on a nearby stone bench. “Though I warn you, Mrs. Bell is a far more patient subject than I am likely to be.”
As the lieutenant prepared his materials, Mrs. Bell took her place beside Elizabeth, her posture naturally graceful and serene. Mr. Darcy and the colonel stood nearby, speaking to a group of officers while keeping a close eye on the ladies.
“Would you turn slightly toward the light, Mrs. Bell?” Lieutenant King gave polite direction. “And Miss Bennet, if you could angle your chin just so? Perfect.”
What followed was the most charming hour Elizabeth had spent since leaving England. The artist worked with intense concentration, his earlier nervousness forgotten in the joy of creation.
“You have a gift for putting your subjects at ease,” Mrs. Bell observed as he added delicate shading to her portrait.
Elizabeth noted, “I suspect that is half the secret of good portraiture.”
“Thank you, ladies. Though I confess, it is not difficult when one’s subjects are so…” He lost his words again, his pencil hovering uncertainly over the paper.
“So patient?” Elizabeth supplied helpfully.
“So lovely,” he said in a rush, then immediately turned scarlet. “I mean…that is…forgive me, I did not mean to…”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Prudence said. “It is kind of you to say so, Lieutenant King.”
When the portraits were complete, Elizabeth, along with the others, marveled at the officer’s skill at rendering their characters. “These are magnificent,” she said sincerely. “You have given us the most wonderful mementos of Gibraltar.”
“Might I… Would it be terribly forward of me to ask if I could make another drawing? Of Miss Bennet alone?” The young man asked, his courage bolstered by their praise. “The light is beginning to catch your hair in the most extraordinary way.”
As he began this new sketch, Elizabeth became aware of Mr. Darcy's gaze and could not look away. He studied her unabashedly, his admiration open.
It was like seeing a flower bloom in real time.
She tried to understand what was happening between them.
This tender awareness, this magnetic pull that drew her soul to his despite all reason and past grievance.
Her hand rose unconsciously to where her heart was racing.
Yesterday, when she had taken his arm in that public courtyard, when she felt the solid warmth of him beneath her touch and noted the grateful relief flood his features, had that been the beginning of something significant?
Because you matter to me more than my own life. The memory of his desperate declaration gave her a shiver that had nothing to do with the breeze. Had he meant it? Could a man like Mr. Darcy—reserved, controlled—truly feel what she imagined she saw shining in him?
In her disquiet, she had broken her visual connection with the object of her thoughts, instead glancing at the artist and then at the surrounding scenery.
“Miss Bennet?” Prudence broke through her reverie. “Are you well?”
Mr. Darcy was quick to react. “Is it the sun? Do you need a cooling drink?”
Elizabeth blinked, realizing she had been staring while her thoughts spiraled through possibilities she hardly dared contemplate. “Forgive me. I was merely admiring the beauty before me.”
The excuse sounded hollow even to her own ears. Mr. Darcy’s adoration was like looking into a mirror that reflected her heart’s deepest secrets.
Am I developing feelings for him? When had her opinion changed from active dislike to grudging respect to this uncertain awareness that scattered her thoughts each time their gazes crossed?
The drawing was complete, and the officer asked the four of them to stand against the same backdrop.
Prudence stepped next to the colonel, leaving Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth alongside each other.
When the final drawing was revealed, everyone was facing Lieutenant King except Mr. Darcy. He was gazing lovingly at her.
Who was this man?
Before they parted company, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy each purchased small drawings of the area that they would send to their families on the next vessel bound to England.
“Well,” Prudence said as they walked back toward their quarters. “You seemed to inspire our shy young artist!”
“I believe it was the novelty of having someone new to draw.” Elizabeth peered sideways at Mr. Darcy, who walked beside her, his fingers occasionally brushing against hers. She did not move away. Fortunately, neither did he.
She had much to write to Jane and her aunt Gardiner, and much to avoid telling them.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across Gibraltar’s bustling marketplace as Colonel Fitzwilliam made his way between the vendors’ stalls, feigning interest in the Spanish oranges while keeping a careful ear attuned to conversations around him.
Markets were often the best places to gather intelligence.
People spoke more freely when focused on commerce, and information flowed as readily as coins.
He was examining a display of fresh fruit when he heard a familiar voice call him.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Mrs. Bell appeared at his elbow, addressing him by his civilian name. Her manner was alert. “Might I have a word?”
“Of course.” He purchased the oranges and followed her to a quieter corner of the market near a vendor selling bolts of colorful cloth. “What can I do for you?”
She busied herself examining a length of silk, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “I may have overheard something of interest to your particular duties here in Gibraltar.”
Richard had mentioned his intelligence-gathering mission to Mrs. Bell only in the most general terms, but her quick mind had grasped the implications. “What sort of thing?”
“Two Spanish fishermen were discussing unusual French naval activity off the coast of Almería. They mentioned ships moving at night, avoiding the usual shipping lanes.” She fingered the fabric.
“One of them seemed quite concerned about it. He said that his brother’s fishing boat had been approached by a French vessel last week, and the crew questioned extensively about the movements of British ships. ”
“Questioned how?” Richard’s attention sharpened completely.
“About schedules, cargo, destinations. The French officers seemed particularly interested in any merchant vessels flying British colors that might be carrying military supplies.” Mrs. Bell remained conversational, but Richard caught the slight tremor beneath her calm tone.
“The fisherman’s brother was, shall we say, persuaded to provide detailed answers or he would face the threat of la sombra. ”
“La sombra?”
“Spanish for ‘the shadow.’”
The traitor. “Did they mention specific locations or times?”
“Not in detail, but…” She hesitated, her fingers worrying the edge of the silk.
“Sir, I believe I can learn more if you think it would be useful. My late husband’s service left me with connections among the maritime community.
Captains and crew members tend to speak freely around me, especially when they are returning to the ship after spending time in one of the taverns. ”
Richard turned to face her fully. He studied her, the determined set of her chin, the way she met his examination without flinching.
A muscle worked in his cheek as he weighed her offer against the dangers it represented.
“Mrs. Bell,” he said slowly, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I am grateful for the offer, but I must be frank about the risks. If the French have operatives in these ports…”
She placed her fingers briefly on his sleeve.
The touch sent an unexpected jolt through him, and he resisted the urge to cover her fingers with his own.
“I have been a naval widow for seven years. I understand the risks of war better than most. And I have a particular interest in seeing that your expedition reaches its destination safely.”
“Particular interest? Of what are you speaking?”
“Miss Bennet has become a dear friend. She has a remarkable mixture of innocence and inexperience coupled with her zest for living, and she makes me see the world differently. For her, I want only the best.”
“I see.” He stepped closer. Mrs. Bell’s gaze held Richard captive. She was not merely offering assistance; she was volunteering to become his partner in a dangerous game and trusting him with her safety. Her courage was extraordinary.
The unexpected sensations drew him to lean further toward her. Sounding rougher than usual, he said, “You must promise me that, at the first sign of actual danger, you will withdraw immediately. Information is valuable, but it is not worth your safety.”
A smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I give you my word, Colonel. Though I may be better equipped to handle maritime dangers than you imagine.”
As they concluded their conversation and moved apart―Mrs. Bell returned to her shopping, and Richard continued his circuit of the market―the colonel’s attention kept being diverted by the sight of her graceful movements through the crowd.
He caught himself adjusting his coat and smoothing his hair, behaviors that generally amused him in others.
When she glanced back once and offered him a small smile, he was no longer paying any attention to the market at all.