The Journey (33 page)

“No,” I said quickly, looking away. “We are not to marry. Please — I pray you do not speak of it again.”

“Very well, Miss. Must say I’m surprised. Didn’t think Darcy was a fool, not by a long shot, but any man who’d give you up must be, especially a man as much in love with you as Darcy.”

I turned and stared at him. “Why do you persist in saying that? How do you know who Mr. Darcy cares for?”

“Don’t, Miss, except even a blind man couldn’t mistake the way he feels for you. The way he looks at you. The way he speaks about you. The way he’d give up his life for you. No way could he make it plainer except perhaps to shout it in the street for all to hear!”

Could that be true? Could I have been mistaken all along? Did Mr. Darcy truly care for me? I could not believe it and found I could not speak. After several moments’ awkward silence, I finally said, “I wish you well in America. Will you be in confinement there?”

“Have to work seven years for a smithy. By the time I’m done, I should be a right good blacksmith.”

“And Gert? What will she do during that time?”

“She’s got a job in the smithy’s house, and I’ll be living there, too, so I can look after her.”

“That sounds promising. I hope you will apply yourself. You now have the opportunity to make a new life for you and your sister.”

“Aye, and I figure the years will go by fast. Who knows, perchance I can slip away before the sentence is up and make me fortune. I hear America’s rich in land.” He laughed and winked at me.

“Mr. Morgan! Do not jest in that manner. This is the chance you need, the opportunity to change, to make a new man of yourself.”

“Leopards don’t change their spots, Miss.”

“Men change their ways, though. Remember your mother’s admonition. This could be the occasion to prove her true — to grow into your name.” I looked him directly in the eye, imploring him to be serious minded and heed my warning.

“Ah, yes, but you see, I go by Nate. Have for so many years I can’t recall being called Nathanael since my mother died.”

“Then why not alter things when you reach America? Why not tell people your name is Nathanael Morgan?” I leaned forward across the rope, hoping he would see how earnestly I felt.

“You know, if you came with me, Elizabeth, I just might do that,” he said softly, taking my hand in his. For some reason, I did not snatch it away this time, perhaps hoping he could see that someone cared what became of him.

“You know full well I cannot.”

He sighed and smiled, raising one eyebrow. “Aye, but a man can dream, can’t he?”

He lifted my fingers to his lips and kissed them. Then, raising his azure eyes, he frowned at what he saw over my shoulder.

“Darcy again!” he muttered, and I whirled around to see the gentleman alight from his carriage. He stared at us, his mouth open, a deep frown across his brow.

“Guess he’s come to make sure I get on the boat.” Then, his voice louder, he called to him. “Don’t worry, Darcy! I’m just saying me good-byes. Farewell, Elizabeth! Don’t be forgetting me! May you dream of me every night ’til I see your bonny face once again.”

I suppose Morgan boarded the ship then. I do not know, for I remained transfixed, my eyes on Mr. Darcy. I watched him quickly turn and open the door to his carriage, climb aboard, and signal the driver to depart. They made short shrift of the distance between the ship and the end of the street, disappearing from view while I stood watching.

When I came to myself and looked around, the highwayman had vanished onto the sailing vessel, and I never saw him again.

My uncle returned not long afterwards, and I joined him in his carriage. I listened patiently as he directed my attention to various points of interest, the different warehouses with which he conducted business, and two or three ships importing goods for his trade.

When at last we left the port, I told him of meeting Morgan, and how Mr. Darcy had caused the sentences of the highwaymen to be commuted to transportation. I questioned him as to how this had come about, and he assured me it was not unusual at all, that men of wealth and status were often able to influence the courts’ decisions, especially when it provided labour for plantations in Australia and the West Indies.

He was somewhat surprised that Morgan was being sent to America, for since the war, England rarely transported convicts to the colonies. However, a man of Mr. Darcy’s means could purchase passage and make it possible for Morgan and Gert to leave England for America.

“There is little a man as wealthy as Mr. Darcy cannot have if he truly wants it,” my uncle said.

Once again, I was amazed at the ways of the world and with what ease the rich could have their way. I did not spend much time concerned with it, however, for a greater worry besieged me.

What had Mr. Darcy imagined when he saw me with Morgan at the shipyard? Surely, he did not think I had gone there to bid him farewell! Why, how was I even to know he was sailing? If he thought that I was in love with the highwayman, though, would I not have moved heaven and earth to find out where he was? Would I not have questioned my uncle until I learned that he was to be transported?

Oh, what must Mr. Darcy think of me? I could not bear to imagine him thinking so ill of me, believing I could possibly care for a man of Morgan’s character!

All afternoon I stewed about it. When my mother and sisters returned from the warehouse, I questioned Jane as to whether Mrs. Hurst had invited Mr. Darcy and his sister to their house that evening for the betrothal dinner. She did not know but hoped that he had. She understood that the dinner party consisted of family, but since the Darcys were such close friends of Mr. Bingley, they might well be included.

That did not pacify me, for that meant there was just as much chance that Mr. Darcy would not attend. If only there were some way I could meet with him, could talk to him, could make him understand what had happened that morning, how it had all been nothing more than coincidence.

The afternoon wore on forever. After bathing, Jane and I styled each other’s hair. Mamá insisted my sister try on four different gowns so she could select the most flattering for the evening. I reminded my mother that Jane was already betrothed. She did not have to appear perfect in order to secure Mr. Bingley — he was already hers — but it did little good. She still fussed and fretted over every detail of my sister’s wardrobe.

How relieved we were when she, at last, retired to her own chamber to dress for the evening!

Sarah, the maid, had just fastened the back of my dress when we heard a knock at the bedroom door, and she answered it, retrieving an envelope addressed to me. Jane slipped her dress over her head and did not see me open it, for which I was grateful. Inside, a separate sheet of paper fluttered to the floor.

I dropped to my knees to discover a single ticket made out in my name for passage on the
Laconia
, sailing for Virginia on May 29th. There was no other message enclosed, not even a sentence of explanation, or a name indicating from whom it had been sent.

I knew immediately from whom it had come.
Mr. Darcy!
Who else would send such a thing? But why? Why on earth should he send me a ticket to America?

I sank down on the far side of the bed. My hands suddenly felt icy cold, although my face began to burn. He must assume I wished to go with Morgan, to join him in his new life, and he was providing my passage! There could be no other explanation.

I could not believe it. Could he insult me in any greater manner? I was shocked, horrified, and angry beyond belief! My hands began to shake as I crushed the ticket and envelope into a ball.

“Lizzy, are you ready?” Jane asked, peering into the mirror. “Do you have your gloves?”

“What?” I said, not comprehending. “Oh, yes, here they are.”

“Then come along. I can hear Mamá calling to us from the hallway.”

I rose and faced her, keeping my fist hidden in the folds of my skirt. “Jane,” I began.

“Yes, what is it? Why, Lizzy, are you unwell? Your face is quite pink.”

“I — I do not feel well. I believe I must beg to be excused and remain here.”

I continued to offer explanations, pleading a sudden headache and sick stomach to my mother after Jane had hastened to find her. My aunt offered to stay with me, but I refused. I agreed with my mother that I would be fine by myself and would send one of the servants if I grew worse. I assured my family that it was nothing serious and was greatly relieved when, at last, they all trooped out the door and climbed into my father’s and uncle’s carriages.

From an upstairs window, I watched both vehicles turn onto the next street, then grabbed my cape, and flew down the stairs. Firkin stood at the front door. He asked if he could help and could not hide his shock when I told him I wished for him to call a hackney coach from the Spread Eagle stand on Gracechurch Street.

“But Miss Elizabeth, surely you do not plan on leaving the master’s house alone tonight in public transportation!” he declared.

“I do and if you will not secure a coach, Firkin, I shall do it myself.”

I refused to look away and stared him down. The poor man was in a terrible dilemma, and I should have felt sorry for him if I had been sensible, but I had only one destination on my mind, and nothing would keep me from it. The servant pleaded that he would lose his position once my uncle learned what he had done, especially if he allowed me to leave the house alone. After more argument, I at last struck a bargain with him. If he would call for the hackney, I would allow Sarah and him to accompany me.

Within moments, he had the maid fetched, dressed in her coat, and waiting at the front door. Shortly thereafter, she and I climbed into the hired coach while Firkin rode on top after giving the address to the driver.

I knew that what I was doing was wrong, unacceptable, and improper, but I no longer cared about what was right, acceptable, or within the rules of propriety. London society already shunned me. What was one more transgression?

I proposed to call on Mr. Darcy alone. Nothing would do but that I meet him face to face that very night!

It took some time to cross the city and reach the fashionable section of London in which he lived, time that might have caused me to reconsider and return to my uncle’s house before I made a fool of myself, had I not been livid with anger and far too upset to think clearly. I wanted nothing except to meet with Mr. Darcy and to take him to task for shaming me in such a manner!

At his townhouse I announced that I was calling on
Miss
Darcy, of course, but that did little to erase the questions in the butler’s eyes. He admitted us, explaining that Miss Darcy had gone out for the evening with Colonel Fitzwilliam. When I asked if her brother was in, his raised eyebrows provided the only clue as to his disapproval. He was well trained and made no verbal notice of my unusual request.

Firkin and Sarah stood behind me in the vestibule, and I knew they were mortified to have to attend a young lady asking to see a gentleman alone, much less calling at his house at night. I gave it little thought and no concern. I was long past caring about appearances. I wished only to confront Mr. Darcy.

I should have waited in the vestibule, but out of fear that Mr. Darcy might refuse to see me, I followed the butler down the great hall. I was properly impressed with the understated elegance of the house. If I had not been so caught up in resentment, I might have given it greater notice. For the moment, however, all I could take in was that it reflected his natural grace, just as I expected.

The servant opened double doors to a large library, entered before me and announced my name. Determined to gain admittance, I slipped in right behind him. The butler then withdrew and closed the doors, the muted noise resounding in my ears.

It was a vast room. Bookcases lined with volumes covered the walls from floor to ceiling. Across the room a huge fire roared. A solitary candle provided the only other light. In consequence, the room was dark. The fire caused shadows to dance about the walls and over the rows of books.

I blinked several times, adjusting my eyes to the dim light, unable to locate Mr. Darcy’s presence anywhere in the room. I cleared my throat and advanced two steps before he spoke.

“Miss Bennet.” He emerged from the shadows near the windows on the far wall, holding a brandy glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. His voice seemed slightly subdued. Walking slowly toward the light, he bowed somewhat unsteadily. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I — I wish to speak to you,” I said, taken aback. “Have you been drinking, sir?”

“I have.”

“How much — that is, are you inebriated?”

“Not yet.”

I turned around, heading for the door.

“Miss Bennet, will you leave so soon?”

“I shall not attempt to have an honest discussion if you are in your cups,” I declared, not even stopping to turn around.

“I just told you I am not yet drunk. Sit down.”

I stopped and turned, suddenly somewhat afraid of the tone of his voice. He had spoken the last words like a command, loud and hard.

“I shall stand,” I said, willing my voice not to tremble.