Page 17 of You Willfully Misunderstand Me

When morning came, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy would awaken believing themselves ready to depart back to England. However, they would soon learn that the sea had other intentions. For the first time in nearly a century, the Isle of Man would stand almost entirely cut off from the outside world, and there would be no leaving for a long time. And, if some present inhabitants had their way, perhaps longer.

CHAPTER 10

Elizabeth woke suddenly to the violent assault of wind against the cottage walls. The shutters rattled in their frames, the windows trembled beneath the force of the gale; the steady roar of the sea had become something far greater than the distant music of waves upon the shore.

For several moments she remained beneath the warmth of the heavy quilt, uncertain whether she was still dreaming. The peaceful little cottage she had entered the evening before seemed transformed. The welcoming glow of the hearth and the promise of an early departure had all been replaced by darkness, rain, and a tempest that appeared determined to tear the island from its foundations.

A sudden crash sounded somewhere outside, and Elizabeth sat upright.Surely no ordinary storm could produce such violence, she thought. Across the communication door, Darcy was already awake. He had just finished fastening his coat when a sudden knock sounded.

The knock had not sounded at his door, but at hers, and he froze for a moment.

Before he could open his door, Darcy heard movement from the adjoining chamber. Elizabeth, clearly startled from sleep, had awakened at the unexpected sound. The circumstances of their arrangement made every ordinary occurrence feel strangely significant, and the knowledge that someone stood outside her door sent an immediate awareness through him.

Still half-dazed from sleep, she hurried toward the communicating door, pulling her shawl around her shoulders as she went. She hesitated only briefly before knocking softly against the wood.

"Mr. Darcy?" The storm nearly swallowed her voice. And, she tried again, leaning closer, "Mr. Darcy, someone is knocking!" The urgency in her whisper made him almost smile despite the circumstances.

He opened the connecting door just enough to see her standing there, her hair lovely and disordered from sleep and her expression caught between concern and confusion.

For one moment, Darcy forgot entirely about the storm, as he took in the beautiful woman before him. Then another heavy knock sounded from the passage, and they both turned.

“Miss Bennet, he looked over her nightgown, would you mind returning to bed? I will see our caller.”

Elizabeth appeared bright red, as she looked down at her gown. She nodded, immediately remembering the role they were required to play, "Yes, of course Mr. Darcy."

As she returned to bed, drawing the warm blankets around her against the chill of the morning, Darcy deliberately fixed his attention upon the closed door leading to the passage. He would not permit himself the indulgence of looking back.

The sight of her, softened by sleep, unguarded in the quiet intimacy of the chamber, was one he had no right to seek. Whatever the circumstances, whatever the strange arrangement that had brought them under the same roof, Elizabeth Bennet remained a lady whose reputation and comfort he was determined to protect above all else. He had already placed her in an impossible situation, and he would not add to it by allowing his own feelings to overtake his judgment.

Waiting only until he was certain she had settled herself, Darcy opened the chamber door and stepped into the passage. Standing there was Mr. Kewley.

The steward's coat was damp at the shoulders, and droplets of rain clung to his grey hair despite the fact that he had clearly made every effort to remain sheltered. His expression, however, was calm and practical rather than alarmed.

"Forgive the early hour," he said, removing his hat. "But I thought it best you know before you made any plans for the morning."

Darcy immediately understood, "The Packet?"

Mr. Kewley shook his head, "Won't be sailing, sir. The harbor master has ordered every vessel secured. The waves have already begun breaking over the lower docks, and no captain with sense would attempt the crossing today."

Darcy looked toward the windows, where the storm continued to rage, "How long before travel resumes?"

Mr. Kewley hesitated, "That depends entirely upon the sea, Mr, Darcy." He paused, his eyes turning briefly toward the unseen harbor. "I’d reckon if the weather eases by tomorrow, the damages might’n be a little more than inconvenience. But if this wind continues..." He allowed the sentence to trail away before meeting Darcy's gaze once more. "Well, the sea decides these matters, sir, not the harbor master."

Darcy had travelled often enough to know that storms delayed ships with unfortunate regularity. A packet postponed until the following day was inconvenient, but hardly remarkable. However, this did not sound like such a storm to Darcy.

"Has much damage been done?" he asked.

Mr. Kewley hesitated, "Not yet."

The answer, strangely, inspired less confidence than if he had admitted the contrary. "Not yet?" Darcy repeated, unclear.

"No, sir. The worst winds haven't reached us. I've lived upon this coast these sixty-three years. My father before me, and his father before him. You learn to read the sea much as a farmer reads the sky."

"And what does it tell you, Mr. Kewley?”

"Tells me she's gathering herself, and she is ready for a battle afore she’s done." He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I've only seen a storm like this once before. The harbor wasn't fit for ships for nearly three weeks."

Darcy absorbed the information without any visible alarm, though inwardly his thoughts had already travelled far beyond the steward's words. If Mr. Kewley's fears proved well-founded; they might remain on the island for three weeks ormore. Three weeks during which every inhabitant would know Elizabeth only as Mrs. Darcy; three weeks before she could be restored to her family; three weeks of sharing the same roof, the same table, and the ordinary habits of domestic life, while carefully maintaining a deception that had seemed, only yesterday, a temporary expedient. The prospect ought to have inspired nothing but anxiety for her reputation, and indeed that concern remained foremost in his mind. Yet he could not deny that another feeling had insinuated itself amongst his reflections.