CHAPTER 18
That morning, after breakfast, Darcy accompanied Mr. Kewley toward the harbor once again.
The repairs had progressed steadily, and within a day or two, vessels could safely depart.
Darcy had grown accustomed to the islanders' surprise at his willingness to work alongside them.
He found their gratitude unnecessary and their admiration uncomfortable.
He was not doing anything extraordinary, but was merely doing what any man ought to do when he possessed the ability to help.
It was only when he had stepped away from the harbor to inspect a damaged storage building that he encountered Mr. Callow.
The old fisherman was known throughout the village.
His back was bent with age, and his hands bore the unmistakable marks of a lifetime spent at sea, yet his eyes remained sharp.
The man called to him gruffly, "Mistah Darcy, sir."
Darcy turned, "Mr. Callow, good morning."
The old man glanced toward the harbor before lowering his voice, "I've been meaning to speak wit' ye, sir."
Something in his tone caused Darcy's attention to sharpen, "Is something wrong?"
Mr. Callow hesitated, "Perhaps not." He paused. "But I have lived on this island for seventy years, sir. And I have learned to pay attention when something does not belong." The old man looked around to ensure they were not overheard, "There were strangers here before the storm."
Darcy's expression changed subtly, "Strangers?"
"Aye, two men. English.” The story came quickly. "At least one of them was. The other spoke little."
Darcy's mind immediately began sorting possibilities, "What did they want?"
Mr. Callow frowned, "Questions about visitors. Travelers from England."
A silence followed, "What kind of travelers?"
Mr. Callow studied him, "Men of wealth."
Darcy's face remained composed, but inwardly his thoughts moved quickly, "And what made you think they were asking about wealthy travelers?"
"Because they did not ask about travelers generally." The old fisherman lowered his voice. "They asked about estates. Families. Names. They asked whether anyone important had recently arrived."
His jaw tightened, "What else did they ask?"
Mr. Callow looked troubled, "They wanted to know whether any gentlemen were traveling with a lady.”
Darcy went still.
The old man watched his reaction carefully, "You know nothing of these men?"
"No." Darcy looked toward the sea. The water stretched endlessly before him, calm now, almost deceptively peaceful.
Mr. Callow removed his cap, running a hand through his grey hair, "I thought you ought to know."
Mr. Darcy turned to the old sailor and nodded, "You did right to tell me."
The old man studied him, "Is the lady safe?"
"Yes," Darcy answered immediately. Then, after a moment, said, "And, I intend to keep it that way."
***
When Darcy returned to the cottage, he found Elizabeth near the hearth, speaking with Mrs. Kewley.
She looked up as he entered. And immediately, she knew something had changed.
But she had learned, over these past strange days, to recognize the smallest signs.
The tension in his shoulders, and the quietness of his manner.
"Mr. Darcy?"
He looked toward her. And, for a moment, he considered saying nothing.
But Elizabeth had never been a woman who tolerated being sheltered from the truth.
And he had promised himself he would not make that mistake again, "Elizabeth," he began, then corrected himself with quiet formality, "there is something I must tell you, Mrs. Darcy. "
The warmth of the cottage suddenly seemed to diminish, and Elizabeth set aside what she was holding. "What has happened?"
"Would you join me in our chamber?" The request was quietly spoken, yet it carried enough seriousness that Elizabeth did not question it.
They excused themselves from Mrs. Kewley, and walked through the familiar corridor to their bedroom door. Mr. Darcy opened the door, and gave way for her to enter first, before he closed the door behind him.
Once they were alone, Darcy remained silent for a moment, looking at her, and before he answered, one thought became perfectly clear.
Whatever this false invitation was, it had never been merely about bringing Elizabeth to the Isle of Man.
For days, he had considered the possibility that the mystery concerned only Anne, some misunderstanding that would eventually be explained.
But the evidence now pointed toward something far more deliberate.
His expression must have changed, for Elizabeth watched him with increasing concern, "Mr. Darcy, what is it?"
He forced himself back to the present. "I fear," he said carefully, "that we may need to exercise considerable caution."
Elizabeth's expression changed immediately, "Caution?"
Darcy nodded, "I have learned that there may be individuals upon the island, or perhaps those passing through it, who have taken an unusual interest in wealthy English travelers.
" He chose his next words carefully, unwilling to alarm her unnecessarily while knowing she deserved the truth.
"Smugglers, perhaps. Or men of similar character. "
Elizabeth looked toward him, “They know of us? Here on the Isle?"
"Yes."
A silence settled between them. Elizabeth thought of the mysterious letter, of Anne's careful words, of the strange certainty that had drawn her across the sea. What had once seemed merely unusual now appeared far more troubling.
"But if they were seeking wealthy Englishmen," she said slowly, "why involve me?"
Darcy's expression tightened, "I fear, Miss Bennet, that may be the very reason I am most concerned."
He paused, "Because they understood that you were the one person whose circumstances would compel me to act."
Elizabeth stared at him. "But how could they know that?
" The question came quickly. "You had planned to come here long before you knew of my invitation.
You intended to inspect your estate. You had no knowledge that I would be here, and I certainly had no knowledge that you would be.
" She shook her head slightly. "It does not make sense. "
Darcy was silent. In truth, he had been asking himself the same question.
However, the answer did not lie in Hertfordshire or in Meryton, where their first impressions of one another had been formed, nor in the brief encounters that had passed between them among familiar faces and familiar expectations.
It led back somewhere else, Kent. His thoughts returned unwillingly to those weeks at Rosings.
To the walks they had taken through the countryside, and the conversations that had begun with disagreement and slowly revealed something far more complicated.
And, most painfully, to the evening when he had offered her his hand and his future, only to have her refuse both.
Elizabeth's expression changed as though she, too, had followed the same path of thought, "Kent," she said quietly.
Darcy looked at her, "Yes. Everything points there. My cousin is there, and my aunt. And, it is where you established an acquaintance with my cousin.”
"We were not together often," Elizabeth said slowly. “And, it was only afterward that your cousin and I began corresponding."
Darcy nodded, "And I proposed to you there." He cringed to speak of it, and they both felt the weight of it.
Elizabeth looked toward the fire, "Then whoever arranged this may not have known of our present circumstances."
"No." Darcy's voice was thoughtful, "They may have known only what occurred in Kent."
A silence followed. It meant the scheme was not as perfectly designed as they had feared.
But it also meant someone had been paying attention.
Someone had noticed the connection between them.
Darcy looked toward the closed door that separated their chambers.
The mystery had begun with a letter from Anne de Bourgh.
But perhaps its true origin lay weeks earlier, among the gardens and paths of Rosings Park.
For several moments, neither spoke, as the implications of what they had uncovered remained between them, heavy and uncertain. And, the terrifying possibility that someone had been observing the both of them long before either of them had realized it.
Elizabeth was the first to break the silence, "Then what are we to do?"
Darcy considered his answer carefully, "First, we must not allow anyone to know that we have cause for suspicion.
Because if someone has gone to the trouble of arranging this, they will be watching for our reaction.
" He moved toward the hearth, his expression thoughtful.
"Until we understand who is responsible and what they intend, we must proceed as though nothing has changed. "
Elizabeth looked at him, "You mean we must pretend to not know anything?"
A faint expression crossed his face, "We have acquired some experience in that regard."
Despite the seriousness of the moment, Elizabeth could not prevent the small smile that touched her lips, "Indeed, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy continued, "We will be cautious. We will not travel alone. We will not discuss this matter where we might be overheard. And if anything unusual occurs, we will tell one another immediately."
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows slightly, "One another?"
He looked at her, "Yes." The answer came without hesitation.
And, Elizabeth thought of his words. Mr. Darcy did not say, you will tell me, or I will protect you, but we.
They were no longer two individuals caught in the same unfortunate circumstance, each attempting to navigate it alone.
They were not merely acquaintances bound together by necessity, nor were they simply acting out a role for the benefit of others.
They were partners. He was a man who trusted her.
Finally she replied quickly, "I agree.”
And then, for a moment, they simply regarded one another, before Mr. Darcy nodded his head before shifting his gaze to their door. "Shall we return to the parlor? Before Mrs. Kewley determines that something terrible has occurred because we have been absent too long?"
A hint of amusement touched his expression, and Elizabeth replied with a slight smile. "That is a very fine idea. She has a remarkable ability to discover things without ever intending to pry. And if we return looking as though we have uncovered a dangerous conspiracy—"
He finished her sentence with confidence, "She will know."
Elizabeth nodded, her smile widening, "Within the hour; you can count on it, Mr. Darcy"
They shared a brief look of understanding. They would walk into the parlor together, speak of ordinary things, and allow the Kewleys to believe their Master and Mistress had spent a small part of the afternoon discussing nothing more alarming than the weather and the repairs at the harbor.
Darcy opened the door, but before stepping through, he lowered his voice, "One more thing."
Elizabeth looked up to his face, "Yes?"
"Whatever happens, you must not place yourself in unnecessary danger,” he looked grave in that moment, and Elizabeth gave him a look that was unmistakably Elizabeth Bennet.
"Mr. Darcy, I fear your advice would carry considerably more weight if you were not so determined to provide me with examples of precisely what not to do."
For a moment, Darcy simply looked at her. Then, to her surprise, the faintest trace of amusement touched his expression, "I cannot determine whether I ought to be grateful for your concern or apologize for having given you so many opportunities to express it."
Elizabeth's lips curved despite herself, "Perhaps both."
"Perhaps," he agreed.
She regarded him with some suspicion, "You do not intend to argue with me then?"
"Would it improve my position if I did?"
"No, it would not," she replied tartly through a smile.
"Then I believe discretion recommends silence."
The answer was so unexpectedly sensible that Elizabeth could not help but laugh. "There, Mr. Darcy. That may be the wisest decision you have made all morning."
His brows ever so slightly lifted, but only shook his head, and a quiet smile passed between them.
Darcy inclined his head, finally deciding to respond, "Then I shall attempt to provide fewer examples of what not to do. Though I should warn you," he added, his expression returning to its usual seriousness, "I cannot promise perfection."
"How fortunate," she replied. "I should dislike discovering you were entirely without faults. It would make conversation exceedingly difficult."
For once, Darcy did not attempt to deny the charge, "Then I am relieved to know I remain suitable company."
Elizabeth looked away to hide her smile, "Do not become too confident, Mr. Darcy."
"Mrs. Darcy," he corrected softly.
The reminder of their false arrangement lingered between them. Yet, strangely, neither found it quite as uncomfortable as they once had.
By the time they entered the parlor, Mrs. Kewley looked up from her sewing with immediate curiosity. "There you are! I had begun to wonder whether you had both become lost in your own conversation."
Elizabeth smiled, "Only discussing our delayed travel plans.”
"Ah," Mrs. Kewley replied, entirely unconvinced. "And was it a very serious discussion?"
Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged the smallest glance, then Elizabeth answered with perfect composure, "Not at all. We simply cannot leave tomorrow, as he thought we might.”
And for the remainder of the afternoon, they played their parts beautifully.
They discussed books and assisted with household tasks.
They listened patiently as Mr. and Mrs. Kewley debated the proper method of preparing a summer stew, and they behaved exactly as they ought; as a gentleman and his wife, and as a couple enjoying a quiet day at home.