Darcy righted the chair and then sank into it. “I…I fear for her. For them.”
“I will also share with you that Mrs. Bell caught the whisper of a name from one of the merchants. He referred to the traitor asL’Ombre.”
“The shadow.”
“Yes. Although it is a risk, it seemed prudent to take Mrs. Bell into my confidence. I will never be able to succeed without the valuable knowledge of the ports and languages she is willing to share.”
“She has proven herself remarkably capable.”
The memory of Mrs. Bell’s patient work with the fishermen, her respectful manner earning their trust and encouraging them to share information they might otherwise have kept private, encouraged Richard. While her competence was impressive, her genuine interest in their stories and concerns revealed depths of her character that he found compelling.
“The political situation here appears stable, at least for now,” Richard continued, forcing his attention back to his report. “The Portuguese remain committed to their alliance with Britain, though there are economic pressures that bear watching. With this in mind, I believe we can expect safe passage to Gibraltar, provided we maintain vigilance.”
Darcy nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent information. You and Mrs. Bell have already learned much. Your superiors will certainly be pleased to have this intelligence.”
As Richard closed his notebook, his thoughts drifted again to the unexpected pleasure he found working alongside someone whose intelligence matched her practical skills. And he also noted how the sun reflected on the golden highlights in her hair and how vibrant her tanned skin appeared. She was the very definition of loveliness. The remainder of their journey would provide additional opportunities for collaboration, a prospect that filled him with anticipation he was not prepared to examine too closely.
For now, they needed to speak to Captain Morrison about…well, about something. Perhaps while on theMary Catherine,he would catch sight of Mrs. Bell.
14
Elizabeth stood at theMary Catherine’s rail in the midday light, observing the bustling activity of Porto’s harbor as dockworkers made the final preparations for their departure. The tide was turning, and Captain Morrison had made it clear they would catch it whether his passengers were aboard or not. The ship sat noticeably lower in the water than it had when they had arrived, her hold heavy with the Portuguese goods Uncle Gardiner’s agent had negotiated during their stay.
She suspected port wine was the cargo most desired for their stop in Gibraltar. The British garrison there would pay handsomely for quality British and Portuguese goods, especially given the uncertain wartime supply lines from home. According to her aunt’s report, Uncle Gardiner had always possessed an uncanny ability to turn every voyage into a profitable venture. The thought made her happy.
As she waited for the captain’s order to cast off, Elizabethglimpsed inside one of the other passenger quarters during her morning walk below the deck. The bunks were covered from one corner to the next with crates stacked upon more crates. These must contain more of Uncle Gardiner’s trade goods. It appeared that Elizabeth, her father, and Mrs. Bell were to continue as theMary Catherine’s only passengers for the next portion of the journey, a prospect that was both lonely and oddly liberating.
“Miss Bennet!”
The cheerful call drew her attention to the dock below, where she spotted the colonel and Mr. Darcy. The colonel was dressed casually, while Mr. Darcy was attired in his customary black.
The sun blazed down on Mr. Darcy's dark hair, catching hidden depths of gold she had never noticed. He appeared relaxed and content, newly shaved and clean, without the rigid lines of tension that usually marked his face. He looked open—almost boyish. And when he smiled at her, something inside Elizabeth turned over.
That same gaze that had so often regarded her with cool reserve now burned with an inner fire. Tall and elegantly dressed, he cut a striking figure against the colorful backdrop of Porto’s harbor. Elizabeth stared. Had she never noticed how extraordinarily handsome he was?
Blinking, she willed her focus away from him. “Mr. Darcy. Colonel?ah, I beg your pardon,Mr.Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth leaned over the rail. “How wonderful to see you both looking so well this morning.”
“We could not let you depart without wishing you a safe journey,” Darcy replied.
“I thank you, sir.” Elizabeth’s senses continued torespond to the kindness in his voice. Gone was the stiff formality to which she had grown accustomed. She had steeled herself for Mr. Darcy’s usual polite civility, but his surprising behavior was crumbling her defenses.
“We look forward to seeing you at the British garrison.” His gaze met hers, and Elizabeth’s cheeks heated. She could not look away.
“All hands! Prepare to cast off!” Captain Morrison’s voice boomed across the deck, causing Elizabeth’s heart to lurch in disappointment. “Ready the dock lines fore and aft. Prepare to slip the moorings!”
“Boa viagem,” Mr. Darcy called out, his pronunciation careful but enthusiastic. The simple words sent a shiver down Elizabeth’s spine that had nothing to do with the sea breeze. “Safe travels.”
“Boa viagem,Mr. Darcy, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
As theMary Catherinebegan to slip away from the dock, the two figures grew smaller. Porto’s red-tiled roofs faded into the haze, but Elizabeth remained. Whatever she had expected to feel upon leaving the gentlemen behind, this hollow sensation was not it.
She pressed her lips together, trying to understand her flutter of anticipation at the thought of Gibraltar. What was happening to her ordered opinions? After all, she hated Mr. Darcy for his previous poor behavior in Hertfordshire and what he had done to Mr. Wickham. The colonel’s warning, however, had to be respected. Obviously, there was more to the story she did not know, and it seemed likely to paint Mr. Wickham in an unfavorable light.
Why was she willing to accept this drastic change in her judgment? Was it because she witnessed humility inMr. Darcy, not only when he got off theMeridian,but when he spoke with her father? His respect?even deference?for Thomas Bennet had been completely unexpected.
What was the truth about Mr. Wickham? Who was this Mr. Darcy? And why did the thought of Mr. Darcy's changed manner unsettle her in such a thoroughly inconvenient way?
Three days later,a storm rose from the western horizon like the wrath of Poseidon himself. One moment, theMeridianhad been sailing smoothly through the Atlantic waters; the next moment, she was fighting for her very existence against towering waves and howling winds that seemed determined to tear her apart piece by piece.
