“Good.” Richard pulled the man’s hands behind him and tied them with a bit of rope. “Let us see what we can do about that wound.” He pulled the double agent to the boat’s stern, where he proceeded to make bandages out of silk shawls from one of the smuggled packages.
The coast of France was nothing more than a shadow on the horizon. The captain made his way to the back of the boat. His face was so red that he was in imminent danger of an attack of apoplexy. “You told me there would be no trouble!” he shouted at Richard, waving an arm in his face. “You said the French would not bother us!”
Calmly, Richard continued to bandage Dreyfus’s wound. “I believed they would not, but I am afraid I was mistaken.”
This admission did nothing for the captain’s temper; he drew back an arm as if to strike Richard. “Now I won’t be able to ever return to Gravelines,” he bellowed, a Kentish accent strong in his voice. “You have ruined me!”
Darcy hastily reloaded his pistol from the kit in his pocket. If they had to fight off the captain, would the crew join his side?
Richard did not seem worried. “Actually, I have saved your business,” he said calmly.
“The hell you have!” the man scoffed.
“After all, by returning us safely to Ramsgate, you are ensuring my goodwill. A clever move, sir. Otherwise I might be tempted to report your illegal activities to my superiors at the War Office. They take a dim view of smuggling, and they know whose boat I shipped out on.”
“Your superiors at the—” The captain spluttered. “Well, devil take you!” he shouted, and turning on his heel, he stomped to the front of the boat.
Richard put the final knot in the bandage and grinned at Darcy. “It should be smooth sailing after this, Cuz.”
Darcy’s gaze traveled to the figure of Elizabeth, huddled miserably on a bench near the front of the boat, ignoring everything happening around her. “Maybe for you, but not for me.”
***
Now that the captain had stopped shouting at Colonel Fitzwilliam, silence had descended over the galley. There was only the squeak of the oars and the grunts of the rowers, the slap of water on the side of the boat. Nobody spoke. Dreyfus appeared to be sleeping. Beside him, the colonel kept a watchful eye, pistol at the ready.
Before retreating to the stern once more, Will—Mr. Darcy had provided Elizabeth with a blanket that once might have been white but was now a dingy gray. Despite its uncertain cleanliness, Elizabeth welcomed it. As the wind dried her clothing, she felt truly chilled for the first time in days. Thank goodness they were not making this trip during the wintertime. The blanket kept out the worst of the cold, but she still shivered as the wind whipped the ties on her bonnet and lashed stray strands of hair into her eyes.
A fine mist had started to fall; in minutes everything she wore would no doubt be soaked through. Wonderful. But there was nowhere to go on this boat. Built for speed and maximum cargo space, the galley had no shelter.
Huddling deeper under the blanket, Elizabeth reminded herself that she would soon be home. I will soon see Longbourn again…and Papa and Jane… It was far better to dwell on those images than to think about her current circumstances. She would even prefer to focus on her current misery than to contemplate the state of her relationship with Mr. Darcy.
She had been so gullible. He deceived her for days, telling her
she was his wife. She had grown accustomed to the idea, to anticipating a future with him once they returned to England. Now her future seemed like an empty hole. Elizabeth dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. How he must have been laughing at her ignorance!
Of course, she could have allowed Dreyfus to strangle Mr. Darcy, but in the heat of battle she had not even considered it. Her only thought had been to save Mr. Darcy at any cost; the prospect he might be hurt had horrified her. I cannot fathom how I managed to hit the man! Her shot had been lucky indeed, but she was very happy he would live.
Now that she reflected on it, her need to save Mr. Darcy only made sense. For a week, she had relied on him to get her safely home. It was only sensible to worry what would become of her if he perished. Her reaction was quite rational and had nothing to do with her personal feelings for the man. Nothing.
Mr. Darcy had been very solicitous of her wellbeing; she could hardly repay him by ignoring him in his hour of need. She had done what any good Christian would do.
She pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. He said he loves me, she reminded herself yet again. But what did those words mean to him? Men could mean so many different things by the word “love.” She could not trust that it meant the same to him that it did to her. She would never lie to someone she loved.
She deliberately bit down on the inside of her cheek, focusing on the pain. I will not cry. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
Instead she conjured up an image of Longbourn’s drawing room: her father sitting by the fire, Jane embroidering, Lydia and Kitty squabbling. The muscles in her back began to loosen. How lovely it would be to sit in her father’s study and discuss books. Her sisters would be amazed to hear about her adventures in France, although there would be much she would need to conceal. And Jane…her embrace would be a balm. To Jane, at least, Elizabeth could confess everything without fear of judgment or consequences.
If only Jane were here now…
Darcy interrupted her as she was recreating Longbourn’s dining room in her mind. “Eliz—Miss Bennet, allow me to thank you for saving my life.” He took another place on the hard, narrow bench but as far from her as the plank would allow.
Drat the man! Of course, he must utter the exact words she could not reject with an angry retort!
She took a quick, involuntary glance in his direction. His clothing was as damp as hers, and he had no blanket to shield him from the wind. An occasional shiver betrayed his chill. I will not feel sorry for him, she vowed silently.
But civility demanded that she at least acknowledge his words. “It was the least I could do. After all, you saved my life, Mr. Darcy.”
He winced when she emphasized the last two words. Was she being too harsh with him? After all, she would not have escaped France without his assistance. “I truly appreciate all that you have done for me, Mr. Darcy. My family will be eternally in your debt.”