Page 22 of You Willfully Misunderstand Me

Elizabeth soon discovered that both gentlemen possessed considerable skill, though Mr. Kewley delighted less in victory than in conversation.

Mr. Kewley eventually said, "Check."

Darcy regarded the board, "I believe not."

The older man frowned, "So you do."

Mrs. Kewley looked over her husband's shoulder, "You've left your bishop undefended."

The man let out a gruff, "I was testing him, Mrs. Kewley."

"No, no, Mr. Kewley, you were forgetting him," she said with affectionate amusement. "There is no shame in it. Indeed, it is a very good thing to own one's mistakes before one's opponent is obliged to point them out."

"I knew perfectly well where it was," Mr. Kewley instituted.

"My dear," she replied affectionately, "so did Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth laughed aloud, and Mr. Kewley sighed dramatically, "I live surrounded by critics, Mrs. Darcy." He looked at Elizabeth with a warm smile.

By the third evening, Elizabeth decided that the evenings were the most pleasant part of the day. She enjoyed the fire burning brightly while the wind battered the windows beyond, now so familiar that Elizabeth was no longer anxious hearing a particularly strong gale or moaning timber.

In the evenings, the tea was poured and candles were lit. And, the two couples, one genuine, and one fictional, would gather together in the cottage, isolated from the world, which seemed to grow smaller and warmer with each passing night.

Elizabeth no longer felt compelled to fill every silence. And, she noticed that Darcy did not either. Between them, there existed a comfortable ease, one very different from the strainedreserve that had marked their first meeting before boarding the Liverpool Packet. Together, they simply sat, read, remarked on a passage in a book, or answered the other. And, it surprised Elizabeth how agreeable such simplicity could be.

***

Where the evenings were the most comfortable, the nights were the least. During the day, there was always something to occupy the mind. Mrs. Kewley could invariably discover another household task requiring attention, Mr. Kewley another story about the island, another repair to be made, or another hopeful visit to the harbor. Even the storm itself provided endless conversation, for no two days seemed precisely alike.

But nighttime admitted no such distractions. The cheerful fire was banked for the evening, the teacups cleared away, the chessboard returned to its cupboard, and the little household gradually retired. Mr. Kewley would take up his candle with a familiar, "We'll hope for calmer seas tomorrow," while Mrs. Kewley never failed to remind Elizabeth that extra blankets had been left in the owner's chamber should the wind turn colder before morning.

Then came the moment Elizabeth had begun to dread, together, they would walk down the narrow passage, their footsteps softened by the worn runner beneath their feet. Mrs. Kewley, carrying her candle before them, invariably paused at the door to the owner's chamber.

"I've left the fire well laid," she would say. "It should keep you warm until morning."

Each evening Elizabeth thanked her with increasing sincerity, and each evening Darcy offered his own quiet expressions of gratitude. Then the door would close, as they entered the master and mistress's chamber. SIlence would descend, and with it the familiar awkwardness would return the instant they found themselves alone.

Darcy was always the first to start, "I shall retire."

"As shall I," Elizabeth would reply.

Then, they would wish each other a goodnight.

"Good night, Mr. Darcy."

"Good night Miss Bennet.

The borrowed name, spoken so naturally by their hosts, still possessed the power to unsettle her. He then crossed into the adjoining chamber, pausing only long enough to ensure the connecting door remained unlatched.

"Should you require anything during the night..please retrieve me."

Elizabeth said demurely, "I shall knock."

Beyond the hearing of others, he never once addressed her by the name she borrowed.

It was, she gradually realized, his quiet acknowledgment that beneath every appearance, she remained exactly who she had always been.

"And good night, Mr. Darcy."