The man stirred, aware of Mr. Gardiner’s presence. He staggered to his feet, then slumped once more onto the bench.
“Lost…” Cambridge accent, well-spoken, even as he mumbled. Somehow, the voice seemed familiar.
“Sir, let me assist you. Have you been assaulted? Are you unwell?”
Suddenly, the man lurched upright, towering over him. Startled, Gardiner took a hurried step back, hand tightening on the pistol. Recognition came in a rush.
“Mr. Darcy! Whatever is the matter? Please, sir, let me help!”
At that moment, the hackney arrived, a familiar face holding the strings. “Eh, Guv’, is ther’ a problem?”
“Thomas, help me. Assist this gentleman onto the seat. Then away to my home, as quickly as your horse can fly!”
With Thomas’s help, Mr. Gardiner eased the stricken gentleman into the hackney. The ride through rain-slicked streets was silent, save for the clatter of hooves and Darcy’s muffled grief.
Darcy sat huddled before the glowing fire, yellow flames and red coals attempting to displace the drear chill of the December evening.
“Lizzie…” Surely, when he awoke, she would be here—laughing, her bright smile warming him as no fire could.
“Sir, Mr. Darcy. Please, take this tea; it’s well-sweetened. If you wish it, I’ve brandy.”
“No. Yes… tea is perfect. Mr. Gardiner? Your house? I recall nothing after leaving that accursed ship, theGrosvenor.”
“TheGrosvenor—moored at my wharf?”
“I came for Lizzie. She was… should have been… onboard.” Once again, tears overwhelmed him. Darcy slumped in the chair, uncaring that Mr. Gardiner would see him so distraught.
Then a soft voice, so similar to Elizabeth’s, drew his gaze. His eyes jerked open, hope surged.
“Lizzie was your wife?” Mrs. Gardiner looked to her husband. “Edward, is it Lizzie, our Lizzie? Mr. Darcy, what has happened?”
Darcy struggled to maintain his composure. He gripped the trembling teacup with a fierceness that threatened to shatter the delicate porcelain.
“She’s lost. They struck a rock during a fearsome storm. Swept into the maelstrom, together with a young girl.”
Mrs. Gardiner clutched her husband. Tears filled her eyes, ran down her cheeks, her face flushed with grief. She leant into his comforting arms, her distress magnified by that of the gentleman staring blankly into the uncaring flames.
They sat for above an hour. Darcy roused himself, looking forlornly about the drawing-room, decorated as Elizabeth would have—understated, elegant. Unsteadily, he arose from the chair, his voice rougher than he expected.
“My apologies, Mrs. Gardiner. I’ve imposed too long.”
“Certainly not. Please, it is we who seek your forgiveness—there is much we don’t understand. Is it our niece, Elizabeth Bennet, to whom you refer? Are you married, for we know nothing of it?”
She looked to him with such hope that it was another who had been lost in the storm. He met their anxious eyes, and in that moment, knew he must shatter their solace.
“We’ve been married these past three years and a half, since May ‘10. We wrote of the news, Elizabeth and I, but the letters were aboard theCato, which was lost. We never knew.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s grip tightened in her husband’s hand. So, their Elizabeth was gone, not just over the seas, but swallowed up.
He was persuaded to remain the night—Darcy wasfamily. There was much to learn, to discover how their niece came to marry the gentleman. And tomorrow, Mr. Gardiner would seek out Captain Coxon and learn of Elizabeth being on the vessel, the storm, the coast on which the ship struck… Was there hope she had survived?
***
Mrs. Gardiner regarded the gentleman sitting opposite on the backward facing bench. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. Such a fine, handsome countenance, now lined with sorrow. How much could one man endure? To have lost his brother in such an egregious way, then his father just two months ago, and now his wife—he had loved Elizabeth with such passion. To be loved by such a man! Their Lizzie—he spoke about her, of their time together in New South Wales. An image grew of a woman who had risen far above her origins as the second daughter of an insignificant squire in Hertfordshire. Here was a lady who cared deeply and had become, in so short a time, the respected and admired midwife to the regiment, matron of the orphanage, warden of the female school, and vice-regal hostess at Government House. There were none whom Mrs. Gardiner knew who had ascended so high from such modest origins and not yet attained their majority.
“You think of her? I can tell when your face becomes wistful, you’ve a smile on your lips. ‘Tis best to remember the happy days, for they support you on the road ahead.”
“Ah, Mrs. Gardiner… Madelaine, you know me only too well.” Darcy smiled—genuine, reaching his eyes.
