Then came the night at her lab. A shiver went up her arms at his description of how he was drawn by her warmth and animation. In one of the few departures from actual events, the story of his uncle was replaced by one of his parents' adultery and near divorce. Had he really imagined it to be a sign of growing intimacy between them?
Little did she know that he was only playing devil's advocate when he defended the university system. He was actually in agreement with much of what she said; going to Harvard had been the last decision he had allowed his family to make for him. Darcys always went to Harvard. But he was supposed to major in economics and then go to business school, preparing to take over his role in the family business. There had been bitter fights that had lasted for years when his parents discovered he was majoring in philosophy and had no intention of going into business. He had little doubt that he would have been happier at the kind of liberal arts college Elizabeth was describing. But it gave him such pleasure to watch her animated debate, to see her eyes sparkling as she countered his points, to listen to her quick wit and lively responses, that he kept the discussion going by debating points he actually agreed with. God, she was beautiful when she was like that.
Beautiful? He must be joking. Erin was beautiful, not her. But she had misjudged him so badly, if this version was the truth. She turned the page to see what came next.
He had asked himself at least six times that morning why he agreed to do this. The simple answer— because Bingley asked him to—was deceptive at best. He could easily have pleaded a need to work or for some quiet time, or even an errand elsewhere. But he had not; he had agreed, saying it might be interesting to help gather specimens in the salt marsh.
Interesting
indeed—the only thing that truly
interested him at the moment wa
s the sight of Elizabeth Bennet's lively features and animatedly moving body, and the chance to gather more fodder for his fantasies. There had been a time, after that evening in her lab, when he tried to convince himself it could be more than fantasies, but he could not fool himself for long. He knew, no one better, that she did not belong in his world. If he was an outsider and a disappointment to his family and their society, she would be a disaster. She was too independent, too determined, too disinterested in the importance of appearance. Her mocking wit would win her enemies in a world where saving face was paramount. No, they would try to eat her alive, and they would fail. He knew enough of Elizabeth's strength to know that, but they would destroy any affection that lay between the two of them. Their poison was insidious. Yet he could not convince himself to stay away from her. It was as if she mesmerized him. Merely watching her gave him such pleasure—her energy, her contagious enthusiasm for life, and the native kindness that could not be completely disguised by her teasing and occasionally sharp-tongued manner. It had been a revelation that night in her lab when he realized that she was enjoying watching
him
enjoy the game. He could not recall anyone taking pleasure in his enjoyment of anything before. It was a novel experience, and it was hard to resist wanting more of it. Then there was that awful moment at the end, when he realized that he had won and she had lost. Losing was unacceptable in his family. Losing was failure, and failure was not to be tolerated. Losing meant facing harsh criticism on his performance, and winning meant losers taking out their anger on him. He expected her hostility, and it did not come. Instead, she seemed only amused. It made him want to sit at her feet and bask in her presence.
And so he found himself squeezed in a van loaded with sampling equipment and three vivacious people. It was relaxing to listen to them talk and laugh together; they seemed to expect nothing from him, which was just as he liked it. Elizabeth, as always, talked with her hands as well as her voice, even when limited by driving the van, providing a visual delight for him. His mind drifted into wondering how she would use her hands while making love, and whether her entire body would express her mood the way it did when she was excited by something. It was all too easy to imagine her hands exploring him, that striking intensity of hers focused on nothing but him. He let his imagination run free as they traveled along. It was the only part of himself he intended to make free with. Soon they pulled into a small parking lot. Elizabeth and Jane hopped out of the van and began unloading boxes of equipment from the back. Bingley hurried to help them, while Darcy held back, willing to assist but not wanting to intrude. Elizabeth gave him an amused look as she shouldered a backpack and picked up a box. "I hope you don't think we invited you along for your good looks. Make yourself useful." Her teasing manner took any sting of demand from her words. "And here I thought it was for my charming personality." He wanted to keep her interest for a moment longer.
"No, just your strong back and your scintillating conversation." She started along a narrow trail through a bank of trees. "Watch out for the poison ivy. It's thick here."
As he watched Elizabeth's lithe body sway ahead of him, he reflected that poison ivy was not the only hidden danger for him there. Elizabeth was not conventionally pretty the way Jane was, but there was something about her air that enchanted him. He was so caught up in his admiration of her that it came as a shock when they emerged from the trees into a totally different world.
At first glance it was completely flat, a sea of deep grass unbroken by trees or bushes. Looking more closely, he could see variegation in the height and color of grasses in different parts and dark areas which appeared to be streams cut through the marsh. Underfoot, it was not what he expected at all; it was dry and solid as they walked along a path of darkened dirt leading into the grass. Twice they came to winding channels of water cut straight down into the peat of the marsh, too narrow to be called a river yet too wide to jump across, with simply constructed wood plank bridges allowing them to cross. Eventually they reached a side path, leading to a small, roped-off area marked with a grid. "Here we are." Elizabeth set down her box and backpack. Instead of beginning to unpack as he expected, she stood and stretched and then gazed at their surroundings, a slight smile on her face. In all too short a time, she recalled his presence. "Sorry, I'm a salt marsh fan. Some people find it monotonous, but I think it's extraordinarily beautiful. I chose my field of research so I could spend more time here."
He enjoyed watching her pleasure in her surroundings. She seemed more relaxed and free here, in a very appealing way. "You must like grass then." "The
Spartina?
That's what most of the grass here is, different
Spartina
species. Yes, I like it. And I admire it."
"You admire the grass?" He was sure he had misunderstood her.
"Yes, I do. It's incredibly tough, and it survives conditions that would kill any other plant." She squatted next to the boxes and began opening them. "This is an unbelievably harsh environment for plants, where the freshwater river meets the saltwater bay. As the tide comes in, the salinity of the water increases, then decreases again as it goes out and the river water moves in. Most normal plants would be killed by salt water. Only a few species have undergone the enormous adaptation they need to survive and thrive in the presence of salt. And salt marsh plants have to go one step further. They have to be able to tolerate fresh water from the river as well. These grasses you see—they're survivors in a harsh world." She paused as she lifted out the coring equipment. "There are less than a dozen plants that can survive in this kind of environment, but do you know what the strange thing is? These grasses, as they decay and die, create the foundation for one of the richest ecosystems we know. On the surface, we only see a few types of grass, but below, where we can't see, there are all kinds of bacteria, fungi, and algae, then the insects, worms, crabs, snails, and fish. And it's all interconnected in one big web." She was silent for a moment. "That's part of what I love about salt marshes. They look so plain and simple on the surface, but underneath there is more going on than you can imagine. Even the simplicity is deceptive. It doesn't let you see the incredible feats of adaptation the grass has performed."
She glanced up at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to lecture you. It's an occupational hazard, I'm afraid." "No, it's interesting." He wished he could express himself more articulately. If only he could somehow capture her vibrancy and open contentment to savor and enjoy later.
Bingley and Jane arrived with more boxes, as well as chatter that disrupted the peace of the moment. It was probably just as well. It kept him from doing something stupid, which was definitely a risk when Elizabeth was as full of life and as open as she was at the moment. Her enthusiasm for her work was contagious, and he liked listening to her all too much.
For safety's sake, he reverted to quietly following instructions, trying to smother his impulse to watch Elizabeth constantly. Her teasing manner when she spoke to him kept undermining him. It made him want to smile back at her.
"I'm sorry," she said at one point when he was particularly quiet. "I'm forgetting that you're volunteer labor here, not a grad student I can order around."
"I've always wondered what it would be like to go to grad school."
"Oh, it's a little better than being tortured and a little worse than indentured servitude. But don't listen to me. I actually liked grad school, which shows you how disturbed I am. Tell you what, though. When we're done with the sampling, I can show you around the marsh. Of course, not everyone appreciates the marsh the way I do, so that might not be a privilege."
She was irresistible when she was in this kind of irrepressible mood. He probably would have agreed to a tour of hell if she suggested it. Bingley and Jane declined to join them, preferring to sit and enjoy the sunshine, but Darcy followed Elizabeth deeper into the marsh. "The part we've been in, the dry peat, isn't really all that interesting to the casual observer," she explained as she led him to one of the stream banks near the ocean. "Now here there's quite a lot to see. Look over there." She pointed to the opposite bank where he could see an amazing number of small crabs scurrying sideways between little dark holes in the peat. "Those are fiddler crabs—if you look at them, you'll see that one front claw is much bigger than the other. That's how they get their name. It's like a fiddler whose bow arm is stronger than his fingering arm." "Quite a lot of them," he said.
"They're an important part of the ecosystem. They aerate the peat, as well as a number of other functions. Sorry, I'm lecturing again," she added with an apologetic smile. "Don't worry, I like it," he said impulsively.
She looked surprised at his words. "Well, let me show you some of the other critters that call the salt marsh home," she said. She rolled up the legs of her shorts and began to clamber down the nearly vertical bank of peat. She slipped halfway down, landing on her feet in the water, laughing. "Always happens," she said cheerfully. "I don't know why I don't just give up and jump in."
The water was just above her knees, and she looked down at it as she walked through it. She dipped her hand in and pulled out a larger crab. "Green crab," she said, holding it out toward him. He watched the creature's claws flailing with apprehension. "This is the kind you can eat for dinner, though this one's too small." She tossed it casually back in the water and dredged out a handful of small snails. "
Littorina littorea,
or the common periwinkle—an invasive species that has pretty much overrun the coast here. It came here from Europe, probably in the ballast water of a ship. Oh, and here we go—this one's my favorite.
Pagurus longicarpus,
the hermit crab. I did my first salt marsh research on these, looking at their diet in differing habitats." She waded over to him, holding what appeared to be an empty shell. "Here, take it," she said. A little nervously, he did as she asked and could just barely see tiny legs folded up inside the shell. "Now hold it in your palm," she directed. "Just watch for a minute."
As he did, the legs suddenly emerged, along with a tiny head and antennae, and the tiny creature began to scuttle around in his hand, tickling slightly. He smiled; it was an appealing little thing in an odd sort of way.
"They don't grow their own shells; they have to take another animal's discarded shell," she explained. "Here in the marsh, you'll see a lot of them in periwinkle shells, like that one. They're creatures of the intertidal zone, so they can survive for quite a while out of the water."
He sidestepped to a lower part of the bank to return the hermit crab to the water.
"Not there!" exclaimed Elizabeth as he moved, but it was too late. His shoe was already several inches deep in black mud. She tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "I'm sorry; I should have warned you. That's why I went straight down the bank instead of that way—the black stuff is mud a foot deep."
Darcy was off-balance in more ways than one. He did not like feeling embarrassed in front of the woman who had been inhabiting his fantasies. With an effort, he pulled his foot free, looking with some distaste at the dark mud clinging to it.
"Here, take that off and give it to me," said Elizabeth matter-of-factly. "I'll rinse it off. You'll want to clean it again with fresh water again when you get home, but salt water's still better than mud." She reached out her hand for it.
