Chapter Seven
He left her upon the sand, with the recovered bonnet lying in her hand, and walked on toward the path that climbed the bluff.
The wind freshened at his back; it carried the salt and a faint sweetness from the cliff grass.
He had not trusted himself to remain another moment.
There was nothing improper in what had passed; a gentleman had returned an article to a lady and taken his leave.
Yet the look that followed him had unsettled his composure more than any crowded drawing room could do.
Darcy walked directly to the house he had taken in Brinmouth, where his valet awaited him with the papers laid out for review.
While he dressed for the town, exchanging the informal attire of the shore for a coat more suitable to business, he reviewed the memoranda he had prepared the night before and considered again the particulars of Mr. Gardiner's proposal.
Sir Thomas Ellison was with Mr. Gardiner when Darcy arrived.
The door stood a little open; a servant withdrew at the sound of footsteps and made a low bow as he slipped past. Darcy paused only an instant, yet it sufficed to observe the close of a negotiation.
Sir Thomas wore an air of courtesy that had been too carefully arranged.
His smile engaged the mouth rather than the eyes; his expressions altered a shade too slowly to be entirely natural.
He professed himself eager, prudent, and fully at leisure to decide; in the next breath he hinted at delays that did not proceed from him, and obligations that could not be hastened by any mortal means.
Darcy took his measure at once. Mr. Gardiner, for his part, neither pressed nor flattered.
He gave facts without ornament, accepted what was offered, declined what was unreasonable, and saw the baronet out with a civility that wasted no time.
When the room was empty, Mr. Gardiner turned to Darcy with unaffected welcome. There was no flourish in his manner; he seemed a man who had learned that steadiness is its own recommendation.
“Mr. Darcy. I am obliged to you for the call. Pray be seated.”
Darcy presented his card and accepted a chair at the table.
In a few moments the ledgers were brought, the prospectus laid open, and the clerk dismissed.
They spoke of the pier, the harbour depth at different tides, the state of the roads that served the town, and the neighbouring markets.
Mr. Gardiner produced letters from Bristol and Liverpool; he named the men who had written them, and Darcy had heard those names before in contexts that inspired confidence.
The terms of charter were set down with care; the insurance had been negotiated with reputable underwriters; the crews were to have their shares plainly stated.
Captain Montjoy’s experience was sufficient to satisfy a strict examiner; his eagerness would be checked, Darcy thought, by Mr. Gardiner’s discretion.
Darcy asked what he always asked. What would be the first cargoes; how the warehouse rents were calculated; how the risk was distributed among the partners; what sum was already pledged; and under what circumstances further calls might be made.
To each point Mr. Gardiner returned a clear answer.
If he did not know, he said so and produced a letter that promised the answer within a stated time.
He offered no parade of figures to dazzle and no prophecy that the sea itself would submit to their convenience.
And yet, when the ledgers were closed, Darcy remained unsettled. For more than once, while Mr. Gardiner spoke with patient clarity, his own mind had strayed to the image of a young woman upon the shore, the ribbons of her bonnet fluttering in the sea wind. He rose at length.
“You have been perfectly open with me, Mr. Gardiner. I must think before I proceed further.”
“The obligation is mine, sir. I would not wish you to proceed upon any point you had not fairly weighed.”
“I never do. I must consider it.”
“I should have been surprised to hear otherwise, sir.”
“I am disposed to think well of the undertaking. Sir Thomas appears less disposed to think well of anything but his own importance.”
“You are frank. I have learned to esteem frank dealing.”
“It is possible that the whole may be better served by fewer partners than more. A feeble subscriber is a greater burden than a stout one. If Sir Thomas retreats, the vacancy need not be regretted.”
“You are not wrong. A light purse and a heavy opinion make a tiresome companion.”
Darcy could not be certain how much he had revealed of his own inclination, yet he did not regret it.
He was already calculating the sum he would be prepared to hazard, and the larger sum he might undertake if the baronet withdrew, but he would not commit by word what must be sealed only after the last examination.
Mr. Gardiner closed the prospectus and set it aside.
His manner altered from business to hospitality with natural ease.
“If you are still in Brinmouth tomorrow, Mr. Darcy, will you do me the honour of dining with us. My wife keeps a plain table, but she manages it well. We are a quiet party, and I would not pretend it is an entertainment; yet you might find it agreeable.”
Mr. Gardiner named the direction and the house, adding a few particulars for clarity. Darcy looked up with surprise.
“Cliff Row,” Gardiner said. “Number Five.”
“Indeed. That is but a few doors from me.”
“Then the convenience is assured. Six o’clock.”
Darcy bowed. “With pleasure.”
In the street Darcy breathed the keen salt air as he walked back along the quay.
The scheme was solid, and he would likely advance not only his own share but cover what Sir Thomas withdrew.
Yet it was not the venture that occupied his thoughts.
Again and again they returned to the young woman he had met upon the shore.
For the first time, he wondered whether the careful order with which he governed his life might prove less sovereign than he had believed.
The next morning Darcy returned to the shore. He told himself he sought only the air, for Brinmouth offered little else in the way of exercise, but the excuse satisfied him less than it once might have done. He had not gone far when he saw her.
She was standing upon the sand, her face turned upward toward the sun and the waves.
The bonnet hung loosely in her hand, her hair stirred by the sea breeze.
Her footman kept his post a little way off, his eye quick to notice Darcy's approach.
The fellow stiffened at first, but when Darcy made no movement toward the lady, he relaxed his guard.
She lowered her gaze then and saw him. For a moment she stilled, colour rising in her cheeks. With swift composure she replaced the bonnet and walked towards him, the footman following closely.
As she passed, she sank into a brief curtsy, her eyes lowered. He inclined his head in return, the gesture as restrained as it was formal. She moved round him with quiet grace, the servant at her shoulder, and in another moment her figure receded up the path toward the village.