Page 33 of Affectations of Candour

“Uncle Baker, you recently taught me to drive your donkey carriage. Might you also teach me to propel your punt?”

Gasps of horror sounded from the Wright family’s vicinity.

“There is an art to it, Niece. And while it may look leisurely, considerable strength is required to push against the riverbed with the pole, which is called a quant.”

“What my brother is trying to say, my dear Bridget, is that delicate ladies are not strong enough for such a Herculean, manly task.” Miss Baker shook her head, and Elizabeth was convinced the woman would have no trouble propelling a punt.

“It is more difficult than it looks,” said Mr Darcy, stepping aboard and straddling a gunwale of each of his two punts. “With practice, and once the skill is mastered and one has a good sense of balance, a man can move a heavy load with relatively little effort. So now, gentlemen, shall we help the ladies aboard? For everyone’s comfort, there are blankets as well as squabs on the thwarts—the seats that is.”

“Aye.” Mr Baker patted his middle. “I wager the only thing more stuffed than those cushions is me.”

“Miss Wright, Miss Margaret, allow me to assist you. You must step over this punt to access the outside one. Hector, move!”

Their father then clumsily followed them aboard.

“Now you, Miss Bennet.” Mr Darcy offered her his hand. Elizabeth considered stubbornly refusing the gentleman’s help, but she did not want to end up in the water. “Thank you, sir.”

“I thank you, madam, for agreeing to appease Georgiana and her overindulged beast. I am afraid we caused a bit of a fuss just so that Hector might paddle about in the stream.” After seeing to Elizabeth’s comfort, Mr Darcy then helped his sister and her dog.

“I concede that Hector may be a little spoilt.” Miss Darcy gracefully sat upon the other cushioned seat and settled the dog at her feet. “But the dear boy deserves some pampering today. Heiress Tottle scratched his nose yesterday, and now he is petrified of her. Literally terrified. He freezes whenever he sees her. And he is such a good boy. After that traumatic wound, I took him down to the beach so he could s-w-i-m, and he tried to rescue a reluctant grey seal from the Channel. Needless to say, Hector had a bad day yesterday.”

When everyone else had boarded and was safely in place, Tom untied his employer’s boat. Then Mr Baker pushed his quant against the riverbed and set the Cliff House punt in motion. His factotum deftly got the middle boat underway and followed.

Standing at the back—or, as he called it, the ‘till’—of the punt, and with a steady grip on the pole, Mr Darcy pushed the last boat away from the dock. “If we get a little wet, it is all part of the boating experience. My land steward says that Willow Bourn’s depth varies from a shallow foot to six feet at its deepest. If we decide to branch off into the wetland, I fear that part of the boating experience might involve horseflies, swarms of gnats or midges, and the odd mosquito. Do not be alarmed, though. If necessary, we have a brazier to produce aromatic smoke, and we shall not linger in such conditions. This far inland there is not much of a breeze from the Channel.”

As they floated along, Elizabeth removed her gloves and trailed her fingers in the stream while watching water beetles and pond-skaters scuttle across its surface. A heron was spotted standing motionless amongst the reeds, waiting for a passing fish. Remembering that there might, indeed, be toothy pike, snaky eels, or lampreys below, she quickly brought her hand to her lap.

“Miss Bennet,” Miss Darcy whispered, “Mr Wright is lounging across the squabs and using a parasol to protect his face from the sun. Can you picture my brother ever doing such a thing?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Certainly not.”

Then her treacherous mind conjured up an image of Mr Darcy and Miss Wright sprawled across cushions inside a cabin scandalously used for privacy. Botheration! Her stomach grew queasy, and she wondered whether one could become seasick on a punt moving along a slow-moving stream.

Her imagination ran wild with a truly unsettling suspicion. Good heavens! Is that the reason for their supposed secret understanding? Were their passions stronger than their virtue? Is Miss Wright with child? Elizabeth scoffed. No, of course not! I cannot believe it of her and certainly not of him. It seems highly improbable that Mr Darcy would behave in such a base and dishonourable manner. She closed her eyes until the queasiness passed.

With drawing paper atop a board on her lap, Miss Darcy made pencil sketches of a pair of mute swans that had just passed by. Her other hand rested upon Hector’s head, reminding him to not jump into the water just yet.

And I must not jump to conclusions. In conflict between her own hopes and her reason, Elizabeth dithered. My head tells me that Miss Wright might act recklessly with some other man and enter into a secret engagement with him. But my heart tells me that Mr Darcy would never be immoral. Never would he condone a secret engagement, and I shall only believe it upon learning so from the gentleman himself.

From the lead punt, laughter rang out amongst the Bakers, Miss Hughes, and Miss Althea. While no fault could be found in such merriment, Elizabeth much preferred the calm quiet of Mr Darcy’s boat.

Her trepidation over spending time in the gentleman’s proximity had vanished, and enjoyment ruled the day. The season, the scenery, the company all were favourable to an afternoon of idyllic splendour.

Under a perfect blue sky, willow trees along the bank looked down at their own reflections in peaceful water. Apple-green and icy-blue dragonflies dipped and darted. Tall grasses and reeds undulated like waves. “How can one not be moved by such verdure and nature as this?” Each moment brought Elizabeth deeper into serenity. “You may think me silly, but I am apt to find myself in a state of wonder and tranquillity that is impossible to define when I am amongst such beauty.”

There having been no response, she turned to look at Mr Darcy. The expression on his countenance spoke of something more than mere politeness. Tenderness, perhaps? Certainly more than friendly admiration. What was he about, looking at her in such a beguiling manner when another woman claimed an understanding with him? I never should have agreed to go on this wretched boat with him.

Oh, stop being irresolute! I highly doubt that Mr Darcy would deceive either Miss Wright or me, and it is becoming increasingly unlikely that he has any sort of interest in her. However, if that is so, then such wild dishonesty and sheer rashness on that woman’s part is beyond belief.

Determined that her trust should be more firmly bestowed upon Mr Darcy and not someone she hardly knew, Elizabeth allowed herself to look upon the gentleman with renewed fondness, hoping against hope that her admiration was not misplaced.

Following the other two punts, he navigated away from Willow Bourn, through a shallow wetland, and onto a mere where throngs of birds sang from its willow-fringed edges. His quant barely made a sound as Mr Darcy pushed the punt along, and he spoke softly. “Somerset means ‘land of the summer people’. But, thanks to improved drainage, residents and livestock no longer have to migrate to the hills during winter flooding to only return when things are drier.”

Such a pleasant, resonant voice. I could listen to him all day. Elizabeth untied the ribbons beneath her chin as her eyelids grew heavy.

With a start, she realised the punt was no longer in motion. Fully awake then, she noticed Mr Baker’s boat was circling round the pond and the one piloted by Tom had stopped on the left-hand bank. By the looks of all their flapping about, Mr Wright and his eldest daughter seemed to be besieged by biting gnats.

Beckoning for Mr Darcy to draw alongside, Tom, at the till, pointed towards the opposite bank. “There’s a couple of otters back there,” he called over, “to your right. I thought the ladies might like to watch them.” Tom then ducked his head to avoid being smacked by the parasol brandished by Mr Wright. “Careful there, sir.”