CHAPTER 8
Not far from outside the inn, an aged traveling carriage stood waiting beneath the fading light; it had been sent from the cottage in anticipation of Mr. Darcy's arrival, and had remained at the harbor throughout the afternoon after word reached the caretaker that the Liverpool Packet had docked earlier than expected.
The driver immediately removed his hat, "Good evening, sir, are you Mr. Darcy."
"Good evening, Thomas, yes, I am he, and my wife is accompanying me, Mrs. Darcy."
The coachman stepped forward to collect their luggage, though his attention, like everyone else's that day, soon drifted toward Elizabeth.
Mr. Darcy answered the unspoken question before it could be asked, "My wife will be accompanying me.
" The words, though spoken with perfect composure, landed heavily upon Elizabeth's ears.
She inclined her head with what she hoped was the easy grace of a newly married woman, though inwardly she felt anything but composed.
"Mrs. Darcy," the driver said respectfully. "A pleasure to welcome you to the island, ma'am."
"Thank you," Elizabeth somehow managed.
Thomas loaded the trunks without another question, apparently satisfied with the explanation. If he harbored any surprise that his master had arrived with a bride unannounced, long service had taught him that curiosity was seldom rewarded.
Mr. Darcy opened the carriage door and stood aside, while Elizabeth hesitated for only the briefest moment before stepping inside.
How extraordinary, she thought, that only four months earlier she had rejected the very notion of becoming Mrs. Darcy, and now she entered his carriage under that very name, a fake.
Mr. Darcy followed, taking the seat opposite her rather than beside her. It was a small but deliberate act of propriety; though they must appear husband and wife before others, he would claim no familiarity beyond what necessity required.
The carriage lurched gently into motion.
Castletown and its harbor began to disappear behind them, and Elizabeth glanced through the window at the last lights of the town.
With each turn of the wheels, England seemed farther away, and the strange fiction they had agreed to uphold became less an idea than a reality.
She pondered now that, for however brief their stay upon the Isle of Man might prove, Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been left behind at the harbor. And, the lady traveling toward the cottage was, to every eye that would meet her, Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
***
At length the carriage turned from the main road onto a narrower lane lined with weathered ash trees. After several minutes, a small stone cottage came into view.
It was neither grand nor was it neglected. Built of gray local stone with a slate roof softened by creeping ivy, it overlooked the sea from a gentle rise above the cliffs. A modest garden, enclosed by a low stone wall, surrounded the house.
A lantern glowed beside the front door, and the old carriage had scarcely come to a halt before the front door opened. An elderly man descended the short path with surprising agility, removing his cap as he approached, opening the carriage door.
"Mr. Darcy!" he exclaimed warmly with a bow. "We had expected you earlier, I hope you are well, sir.”
"I regret the change in plans, Mr. Kewley," Darcy replied, stepping down from the carriage. "I had business in town to attend to.”
"Aye, sir, so it seems," the elderly man said, as he looked in surprise at the woman sitting across from Mr. Darcy.
The old man's cheerful expression had shifted toward curiosity as his eyes settled upon Elizabeth, and Mr. Darcy offered his hand to assist her from the carriage, which she accepted.
Mr. Kewley's gaze lingered on the couple, feeling uncertain how to address the lady before him, before Darcy spoke plainly, "Allow me to introduce my wife.
" Elizabeth felt her breath catch. "Mr. Kewley, this is my wife, Mrs. Darcy.
" He then turned towards Elizabeth, “Mrs. Darcy, this is the caretaker of our property on the Isle of Man, Mr. Kewley.”
For one dreadful instant, she feared she might betray them by failing to respond. However, somehow Elizabeth managed a gracious inclination of her head, "How do you do?"
Mrs. Kewley appeared in the doorway just then, wiping her hands upon her apron before hurrying outside. "Oh!" she cried delightedly. "You never wrote that you'd be bringing your lady, Mr. Darcy."
"The decision was made rather suddenly," he replied with perfect calm.
"Well, then, you're doubly welcome," the elderly woman cried in delight.
Mrs. Kewley clasped Elizabeth's hands with unaffected warmth, "We've little enough excitement here, and it's a rare pleasure to receive just highly titled folk."
Elizabeth nearly looked toward Mr. Darcy, but she forced herself to smile and somehow managed a tease, “It is delightful to meet you. And, I assure you, we are not so high and mighty.”
This made the elderly woman chuckle, "We've the fire going," Mrs. Kewley continued. "And supper can be warmed in no time at all."
"Thank you, madam, that is most thoughtful," Darcy replied.
The elderly caretakers led the young couple toward the cottage, and Elizabeth became acutely aware of every movement.
Should I walk beside Mr. Darcy, or slightly behind him?
Would a wife naturally take her husband’s arm after a long journey?
Every ordinary action suddenly seemed to demand careful consideration.
As though sensing her uncertainty, Mr. Darcy quietly slowed his pace until they walked side by side.
That was a small kindness, she thought. And, Elizabeth thanked him silently with a nod.
Inside, the cottage proved unexpectedly comfortable.
Exposed oak beams crossed the low ceiling, their dark timbers polished by generations of smoke and sea air.
A generous hearth dominated the main room, its cheerful fire chasing away the damp chill that had settled into their clothes during the day's crossing.
Shelves crowded with well-worn books lined one wall, while polished pewter, carefully tended furniture, and embroidered cushions hinted that the cottage had long been a cherished home rather than an occasional retreat.
Nothing within it was grand, yet everything spoke of years of faithful use.
Mrs. Kewley wasted no time in seeing to her guests' comfort. "If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Darcy," she said with an encouraging smile, "I'll have your chamber ready in only a few moments. Fresh linens are already warming before the fire."
Elizabeth could do no more than return the smile, "Thank you. You are exceedingly kind."
"Nonsense. It is the least we can do."
Meanwhile, Mr. Kewley had already seized one of the trunks before Darcy could object. "Now then, sir, leave these to me," he declared. "I've carried heavier burdens than this over these old shoulders."
"I cannot permit you to trouble yourself," Darcy protested, reaching for the handle.
The elderly man waved away the objection. "And rob myself of the satisfaction? Certainly not." He lifted the trunk with surprising ease. "Besides, a guest ought not begin his stay by doing his host's work."
Darcy recognized the futility of further argument and inclined his head, "You are very generous."
"So my wife tells me, whenever it suits her."
Mrs. Kewley laughed from the passage, "I tell him no such thing! I merely remind him that stubbornness and generosity are cousins."
"Then I come by both honestly."
Elizabeth found herself smiling with genuine ease for perhaps the first time since arriving on the island.
"You must both be exhausted," Mr. Kewley continued as he disappeared briefly down the hall with their luggage. "Crossing the sea is weary work, even for young folk."
"Yes," Elizabeth replied. "It has certainly been... eventful."
"That it has!" he said heartily upon returning. "Though we're pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Darcy. It was a brave notion, undertaking such a journey together. Not every lady would willingly venture across the Irish Sea."
Elizabeth felt her smile falter for the briefest instant. She knew her title as Mrs. Darcy was an absolute farce, and she dared not glance at Mr. Darcy. Finally, Elizabeth replied, "It has been... rather more adventurous than I anticipated," hoping her voice betrayed none of the confusion she felt.
"I'll warrant it has," Mr. Kewley replied. "Still, you'll find the Isle of Man worth every inconvenience. Once the weather clears, there is no finer place in His Majesty's dominions."
Darcy, sensing Elizabeth's discomfort, quietly guided the conversation elsewhere, "You have lived here many years, Mr. Kewley?"
"All my life. My father before me, and his father before him. We've nowhere finer to be."
Before long, Mrs. Kewley reappeared, "Everything is ready. You may settle yourselves at your leisure."
She hesitated before adding, "I've also put together a little supper. It is nothing grand, only vegetable broth, fresh bread, smoked haddock, and a bit of cheese, but a warm meal does wonders after a rough voyage."
Elizabeth's heart swelled with gratitude, food would be a welcome distraction to the prickly tension of her farce, "You have already done far more than we could possibly deserve."
Mrs. Kewley dismissed the thanks with a wave of her hand, "A traveler who goes to bed hungry sleeps poorly."
Within minutes, Mr. and, the faux, Mrs. Darcy were gathered around a small oak table before the hearth. The meal was simple, and Elizabeth and Darcy spoke little. Mrs. Kewley acted as server, pouring wine, or removing dishes from the table to offer more room.
Each time Mrs. Kewley addressed Elizabeth as Mrs. Darcy, or spoke of "your husband," Elizabeth became acutely aware of the gentleman seated opposite her.
Darcy, for his part, bore the fiction with admirable composure, responding naturally whenever spoken to, though she fancied she detected the slightest tightening of his jaw each time the falsehood was repeated.
At last, seeing fatigue written plainly upon both their faces, Mrs. Kewley rose. "You've had enough excitement for one day. Tomorrow will look much brighter after a proper night's rest."
Mr. Kewley gathered the remainder of dishes while his wife took up a candlestick, "I'll show you to your chamber."
Elizabeth instinctively looked toward Darcy, as they arose from their seats. For the first time since agreeing to their extraordinary masquerade, they were about to face its most awkward consequence.