Page 18 of You Willfully Misunderstand Me

There had been a time, not many months past, when he would have regarded three weeks in Elizabeth's company as a blessing beyond his boldest hopes.That such intimacy should now be granted only through falsehood, and at the risk of compromising the very woman I most esteem; itstruck him as a singular cruelty of fate. The thought was scarcely formed before he reproached himself for entertaining it. She had accepted this arrangement from necessity alone, and whatever private gratification he might derive from her presence was both unwelcome and undeserved. His duty admitted of no ambiguity. He had placed her in an impossible situation; he must now devote every exertion to ensuring that, when at last they returned to England, she did so with her character as unsullied as when she had first set foot upon the island. So wholly had these reflections occupied him that he scarcely noticed the silence that had settled between them.

Mr. Kewley, mistaking the cause of his reflection, smiled encouragingly, "Now, sir, don't look so troubled. The cottage has stood here longer than I have, and longer than my father besides. She's weathered worse than this."

Darcy's gaze drifted almost unconsciously toward the closed chamber door behind which Elizabeth remained.

Mr. Kewley's weathered features softened with immediate understanding. "Oh, aye." He lowered his voice instinctively. "A husband naturally thinks first of his wife."

"I should not wish the circumstances to distress her."

"She is like to be, at first, but Mrs. Darcy strikes me as a sensible lady." The steward spoke with quiet certainty.

Darcy could not suppress the faint smile that touched his lips. "On that point, we are entirely agreed."

At that very moment, the chamber door opened softly behind them, and Elizabeth stepped into the passage, her shawl gathered closely about her shoulders against the morning chill. Though she had dressed with her customary care, there remained something unmistakably vulnerable in the traces of interrupted sleep upon her countenance.

Her eyes moved first to Darcy, then to Mr. Kewley. She needed only a single glance to know the news was not favorable. "The Packet?" she asked with uncertainty.

Darcy met her gaze, "It has been cancelled, I’m afraid."

She received the disappointment with admirable composure. "I had feared as much." She turned towards Mr. Kewley. "Do you think it might sail tomorrow, if the weather should improve?"

The old steward shifted uneasily, as though he wished he possessed a more encouraging answer. Finally, Mr. Kewley offered an apologetic bow, "I'm sorry to say, Mrs. Darcy, I don't believe anyone will be leaving the island for quite some time."

Elizabeth turned her head slightly toward the nearest window. Beyond the rain-blurred panes, the sea was invisible beneath a curtain of mist and spray, but its voice filled every corner of the cottage. It no longer sounded merely restless. She finally asked, holding her breath, "Quite some time?"

Mr. Kewley gave a slow nod. "Yes, ma’am, I tried to walk down to the harbor before first light. The sea had already broken across the lower quay, and the waves were striking the western pier hard enough to carry stones clean over the wall. If this wind keeps its strength, and I believe it will, we may lose part of the harbor before the day's out."

"The harbor?" Elizabeth repeated, scarcely able to comprehend such destruction.

"It has weathered many storms," the steward replied, "but this is no common gale." Mr. Kewley's weathered features grew thoughtful. "When I was no more than a lad, a mighty gale came. My father kept us from the windows, fearing the glass would give way. The fishing fleet lost half a dozen boats, and the Packet service did not resume for nearly a month."

Elizabeth looked at him in astonishment, gasping at the incredibility of it all, "A month?"

"Aye, though I pray it does not prove so long this time, ma'am." Kewley looked sorry to deliver the news, assuming the Darcy’s had many fixed engagements.

"So do I," Darcy said quietly.

A tremendous crash echoed from somewhere beyond the cottage, followed by the unmistakable splintering of timber. Suddenly, Mrs. Kewley appeared from the kitchen, drying herhands upon her apron as though nothing extraordinary had occurred.

"That'll be old Jenkins's fence," she said matter-of-factly. "Thomas told him yesterday it would never survive another storm."

Mr. Kewley listened for a moment before nodding, "Aye. Fence, or perhaps one of the sheds."

Elizabeth looked from one to the other in disbelief. Having not had much experience with the sea, let alone a strong sea gale, she was feeling quite alarmed,"You both seem remarkably calm. I gather it must have not been kept?" She hoped it was in such poor condition that even a small amount of water might push it over.

Mrs. Kewley smiled kindly, "We've learned not to waste our strength fretting over what the wind has already decided."

This did not do much to settle Elizabeth’s nerves.

"The island teaches patience, as the seas a poor thing to argue with," Mr. Kewley added.

Elizabeth carefully to the nearest window. Beyond the rain-blurred panes, the world had vanished into a confusion of grey. The sea itself could scarcely be distinguished from the sky, for both had merged into one vast, shifting curtain of mist and driving rain. Every few moments, a great wave hurled itself against the unseen cliffs with such force that the sound reverberated through the cottage floor beneath their feet. The sea sounded alive.

And then, another gust struck the cottage, causing the casement to rattle violently in its frame. Without consciousthought, Elizabeth stepped back startled, and Darcy took a single step nearer to her.

"I am certain it is impossible to argue with the sea; though I confess I had imagined our stay would be measured in hours rather than weeks." Elizabeth replied, forcing a small smile.

Mrs. Kewley, wishing to dispel the growing solemnity, clasped her hands together. "Well then, if the sea has decided to keep you with us, we must see that you are comfortable. There's porridge on the stove, fresh bread in the oven, and enough work in this cottage to occupy idle hands until the weather remembers its manners."