She sighed, aware that she was badly mangling the conversation. “I did not mean to imply that you are. I simply am not prepared to make such a momentous decision.”
“Do you still find me so thoroughly objectionable?” he asked softly after a pause.
Elizabeth tried futilely to brush hair from her face. Why was he persisting in asking such difficult questions when she was having trouble enough just marshaling her thoughts? “No. Not at all….I may assure you that you have thoroughly destroyed my previous objections. But, I always promised myself that I would marry for love.”
His expression was bleak. “And you do not love me.” It was not a question.
She could not stand the intensity in his gaze and lowered her eyes to where her hands played with the edge of the blanket. “I…cannot say….I do not know how I feel about you. You were the last man in the world I would marry. Then you were my husband. Then you became the man who had lied to me and made a fool of me.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she bit her lip to prevent them from falling. “I am damp and exhausted and hungry. My family believes I am deceased, and I shot a man today.” His expression softened. “I cannot truthfully say how I feel about you.”
He was silent for a long moment. “It is not what I hoped to hear.”
Elizabeth slouched forward on the bench, desperately wishing for a bed or even a pile of hay upon which she could sleep.
Mr. Darcy touched her cheek with one finger, and she had to fight the impulse to lean into his hand. “You are not telling me no?”
She sighed. “At this moment I am not capable of saying yes or no. You must wait, Mr. Darcy.”
He snorted. “Patience is not one of my virtues, but I have received many lessons lately.” His hand squeezed her shoulder briefly. “I will leave you to rest, but we must discuss this again before we part ways.”
She nodded wearily.
“I will take a room at an inn for you when we reach Kent.”
She could only nod again. “That would be most welcome.”
“Very well.” He hesitated for a moment but then stood and made his way to the back of the boat to join his cousin.
***
Thanks to the choppy waters of the Channel, they did not arrive at Ramsgate until minutes before the dawn. The sun was peeking over the horizon as the sailors finally pulled the boat onto the beach. Colonel Fitzwilliam enlisted two of the sailors to help him take Dreyfus to the nearest magistrate while Mr. Darcy accompanied Elizabeth to an inn. Eager to return to Hertfordshire, she suggested searching for the first mail coach, but he insisted that she required breakfast at the very least.
He was very careful not to touch so much as the fringe on her shawl but remained close enough to demonstrate she was under his protection. He led her to The White Hart, surely the biggest and most expensive establishment in the town.
“I have stayed here before,” he said softly as they entered the building. Only then did Elizabeth recall that Ramsgate was the town where his sister had run afoul of Mr. Wickham. It would not hold pleasant memories for him.
The innkeeper looked askance at the two travel-stained peasants who dared to darken his doorway, but his expression quickly shifted to incredulity. “Mr. Darcy!” the man cried, hurrying toward them as if fearing they would collapse from exhaustion at any minute. “What has befallen you? Highwaymen? Footpads?”
Mr. Darcy grimaced. “Merely a few of Napoleon’s soldiers.”
The man’s eyes widened comically. “Here?”
“No, we are just arrived from France.”
The man nodded sagely as if he understood—when he obviously did not. “Ah. Do you need a room?”
“Two rooms. And we are sorely in need of one of your fine breakfasts.” Elizabeth’s sluggish brain puzzled over the need for two rooms until she realized one must be for Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Elizabeth was immediately whisked away to a back room while Mr. Darcy discussed the particulars with the proprietor. The innkeeper’s wife was just bringing in breakfast when Mr. Darcy entered the room. Elizabeth’s hunger had abated during the night, but the aroma of eggs and sausage awakened her appetite and she ate heartily. Once her stomach was full, she became quite drowsy, giving her second thoughts about her plan for an immediate departure for Hertfordshire.
“Elizabeth.” Mr. Darcy gently laid his hand on hers, affecting not to notice when she pulled it away. “You are not fit to travel today, particularly since you are not recovered completely from your illness. Please take a room here; you need a bed and a warm bath.” Her eyes were so heavy she was not sure if she could make it to a bed before falling asleep.
“My own room?” she asked.
He scowled. “Of course.” He lowered his voice. “If I did not take advantage of you in France, I would hardly do so here.”
Elizabeth’s mind absorbed these words slowly. “I apologize. I did not mean to imply…” Her voice trailed off when she forgot the subject under discussion.
Mr. Darcy chuckled. “You should not travel in your current state. You might accidentally take the coach to Penzance.”