Page 49

“‘Native tongue’, Jane? Working as a governess has turned you into a bluestocking!” laughed her aunt.

“That is Lizzy’s phrase, not mine, Aunt, as you should have guessed.”

“And what of novels? Does Lizzy now disdain them?”

“She says she is in no mood for them at the moment and cannot tell if she will ever be.”

Mrs Gardiner mentally resolved to talk to Lizzy on her next trip to Longbourn. She had thought her second eldest niece was coping best with her father’s death, having thrown herself into the business of the estate, but in retrospect she realised that Lizzy would be the one to miss her unsociable father the most.

“But, Aunt,” prompted Jane, “you have not explained the circumstances of Mr Elliot’s expectations.”

“Well, Mr Elliot must wait until probate is granted before he can rely on Mr Delaney’s bequest. Apparently, Lord Wolver was sympathetic, assuring him that he would do his utmost to see that his uncle’s wishes were adhered to.”

“Oh!” said Jane, looking at the materials for her sewing project in dismay. “Perhaps this is premature. But if I do not start it now, I may be unable to finish it in time for the ceremony.”

“If Mary cannot use it, one of your other sisters may, possibly even you. Have you given any more thought to Mr Thorne?”

“Oh, Aunt, I cannot! He is so old!”

“He is only two years older than your uncle. Sixteen years is a large age gap, but it would not be an unusual difference for a couple.”

“Only two years older than uncle? I thought he must be at least twice my age!”

“Granted he looks older. I cannot like those muttonchop sideburns he sports. I believe he cultivated them when he was younger to lend himself an air of distinction. Business is so competitive.”

Jane was silent. Mrs Gardiner knew better than to push the topic.

As the sun sank low in the sky, Jane departed in the Gardiners’ carriage, firm in her decision that life at the Garths’ was preferable to sharing a marriage bed with such a rough man, whatever his riches.

Mr Gardiner drafted an apologetic note to Mr Thorne—Miss Bennet still felt her father’s death keenly and needed more time to recover.

Darcy’s daydream of Miss Elizabeth on the first morning of the voyage had inevitably explained his feeling of having forgotten something—he had not remembered to contact Miss Elizabeth’s uncle to make the offer regarding her dowry. Darcy had fully expected Mr... but he could not remember the name—it was some professional name like ‘Smith’. He had never been able to remember names, an idiosyncrasy his cousin Richard had found amusing.’ All those equations and you cannot remember a name? God must have sneezed when the angels were making your brain, Darcy!’

Darcy had fully expected Miss Elizabeth’s uncle to return or at least write. Now, here he was, miles away and unable to ask Farley to retrieve the gentleman’s calling card from his archives so that he might do so. He pulled out his tablet, fanned out the ivory sheets till he found a blank one and scrawled a reminder with his pencil: “Contact Smith.”

The annotation was made with a degree of guilt. His daydream had been followed by several nocturnal ones. In Darcy’s mind, Miss Elizabeth was a maiden no more. Nonetheless, contacting her uncle would just have to wait until he returned to London. There was nothing he could do about it.

Arriving in Maassluis, the packet made its way across the shallow waters of the bar, which could be treacherous in rough seas. But today the sun sparkled off a flat ocean. Only a few waves indicated the position of the bar before the ship began to glide over its sands, clearly visible under the hull. Darcy watched in wonder as some porpoises abandoned their sport of frolicking in the breakers over the bar and began escorting the ship into the estuary. He called out to Bingley to view the spectacle, but his friend was busily playing cards with Hurst in the stern. Instead, Darcy could only silently share his enjoyment with some of the sailors who seemed to recognise several of the animals from their markings and called out their hellos to them. The porpoises turned their heads and appeared to smile in return. How happy they seemed in their splashing in the sun and water! He watched a pair bunting and twirling about each other, wondering if there were best friends or a couple. How exquisite to be able to choose one’s partner in life based on raw attraction! No clothes, no chattels, just the elements and one’s own strong body!

The porpoises finally abandoned them, leaving the now increasingly murky waters of the estuary to return to the bar. The vessel only docked briefly in Maassluis where packages were thrown back and forward between the ship and the shore. Then they proceeded through the waterways of the lowlands towards their final destination of Rotterdam. Windmills dotted the landscape, reminding Darcy of the Fen country of Lincolnshire.

The earl’s secretary Mr Trevor was waiting for them on the dock, having preceded them from England by one day to be ahead in his arrangements. He had booked very neat overnight accommodations for them not far away. Despite their gentility, Caroline could not like them—she declared the whole city smelt of fish.

In the dining room, they partook of a pleasant repast of bread, sausage and cheese, which, Mr Trevor assured them, represented the best of Dutch cuisine. Caroline replied tartly that someone should give them a book of English recipes. She flashed an ingratiating smile at Darcy.

Afterwards they headed out to view the vessel Mr Trevor had procured for their voyage along the Rhine. It was still being loaded in preparation for their embarkation on the next morning. The style of this vessel in no way satisfied Miss Bingley—the cabins were too small, the paint peeling, the sailors rude.

“Come, Caroline!” cajoled Bingley. “Where is your sense of adventure? What fine pirates we will make in this ship!”

“I have no aspirations to be a pirate, Charles! And nor should you! But I am sure they commanded more impressive ships than this!”

Bingley silently conceded that even a Jolly Roger atop the mainmast could not have rendered the boat formidable.

After the Bingley sisters returned with Hurst to the inn, Bingley asked Mr Trevor whether a more salubrious vessel might be obtained.

“After all, if we are touring the Continent, we ought to do it in style, eh, Darcy? We do not want these foreigners thinking we are English provincials!”

After Mr Trevor explained that the earl’s budget did not stretch to a grander ship, Bingley opened his pocketbook and asked how much more would be required.