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“You assume that Lieutenant St. Clair’s income is limited to his naval earnings, when in fact we know little about the man beyond the fact that he served with your cousin. However, I expect any discussion of his fortune, or lack thereof, is irrelevant in regard to Georgiana, as her thoughts seem to be occupied by Sir Laurence Ashford since our arrival in Lyme. Did you observe how much more interested she became in attending last night’s public ball after Sir Laurence enquired whether she was going? I believe she would have danced every dance with him, had decorum allowed. And I am begun to think he might have asked her to, could he have done so. As it was, they spent a considerable portion of the evening in conversation with each other, not dancing with anybody.”
“Georgiana does appear to have become the object of Sir Laurence’s particular attention—and to be receptive to it,” Darcy said.
“Are you?”
“An object of the baronet’s distinguished notice? No. He did not ask me to dance even once. Which is just as well. I would not want to compete with my sister for his regard.”
Elizabeth laughed at his unexpected jest. “Did I just hear my husband approve of a gentleman—any gentleman—courting his sister?”
He would not give her the satisfaction of a firm reply. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps? The Darcy I know is more decisive than that.”
He met his wife’s gaze, held it a moment … and conceded. “It is time Georgiana considered marriage. Probably past time.” He returned Gerard’s diary to the sea chest and went to sit beside her. “Sir Laurence possesses tangible assets—a title, fortune, property, family, co
“Sensible—now there is a romantic word, from a man whose own choice defied the expectations of his entire acquaintance, not to mention his own judgment. I hope your preference for a sensible match for Georgiana does not mean you regret our experiment.”
“Indeed not.” He spoke softly, and she moved closer to hear him. “In fact—” He brought his hand to her cheek and bent his head toward hers. “I would say it has worked out rather well.”
Twelve
“I am quite convinced that, with very few exceptions, the sea-air always does good. There can be no doubt of its having been of the greatest service to Dr. Shirley, after his illness.… He declares himself, that coming to Lyme for a month did him more good than all the medicine he took; and that being by the sea always makes him feel young again.”
Although the weather had cleared and the morning dawned su
The two ladies had reserved a bathing machine, one of the curious vehicles lined up on the sand like hackney cabs in Covent Garden following a theatre performance. Essentially small wooden huts on four wheels, they were designed to go where no ordinary carriage ought—straight into the water. This was to be Elizabeth’s first experience seabathing, and she looked forward to it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She wondered what it would feel like to completely immerse herself in the water, but also doubted the wisdom of doing so. After all, neither she nor Georgiana knew how to swim. She did not want to drown, of course, but she was almost equally fearful of making a public spectacle of herself.
Georgiana, who had bathed at other seaside resorts, assured her she had nothing to dread. “The whole process is quite safe and civilized. We will climb steps to enter the machine, and once inside, change into our bathing costumes. Then a horse will pull the machine into the water to the proper depth. The dipper—our attendant—will assist us into the water.”
“Will the water be very cold?”
“Compared to the indoor baths, yes, though it is August, so the sea will not be as cold as at other times of year. I have also gone in November and February, as physicians advise winter seabathing as most efficacious, but I could not bear to stay in the water above ten minutes. I much prefer the hot baths in winter.”
“What does one do once in the sea?”
“I mostly move around trying to keep warm.”
“Even in summer?”
“Even in summer. Depend upon it, by the time the machine takes us back to the sands, you will be grateful for this morning’s sun.”
Their machine was not yet ready for them, it being still in use by another patron who, the attendant informed them, was changing out of her bathing costume. At last she emerged, dressed in a modest but neat gown, a heavy shawl draped round her shoulders. She was a thin woman, with an angular face that looked to have been pretty once, before illness etched premature lines upon it. Her untied bo
She was accompanied by a plump woman of middle years, who attended her with warm solicitude. The two were in high spirits as the large woman helped the frail one down to the sand. They had apparently enjoyed their morning’s bathing, for they laughed and chattered almost girlishly, and thanked the dipper for a fine outing. “I was happy to immerse myself in the water again after the recent days of rain,” the slender woman said. “Provided the weather remains fair, we will return at our usual time tomorrow.”
They walked a few steps away from the machine, so that the next patrons could enter it, but the woman with the cane moved so slowly that Elizabeth and Georgiana held back so as not to make her feel rushed.
“The sedan chair is late,” the plump woman said to her companion. “If you wait here, I shall engage another.” She departed, walking as quickly as one can over shifting sand. In a few minutes, she had left the beach and disappeared from sight, headed toward Broad Street.
The breeze strengthened. The gust lasted only a moment, but in that moment it caught the thin woman’s bo
Elizabeth and Georgiana rushed to her.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, yes.” The woman laughed self-consciously. “Merely clumsy.”
The bathing attendant retrieved a stool from inside the machine, and Elizabeth and Georgiana helped the woman onto it. She thanked them profusely, rubbing one of her calves through the fabric of her gown.
“Are you certain you are not injured?” Elizabeth asked.
“I will be fine. I suffer from rheumatic fever in my legs,” she explained. “Earlier this year I could not even walk, but having benefited from the hot waters in Bath, I have come to Lyme in hopes that the sea will advance my recovery still more. I try to bathe every morning, but with the recent rain, I have missed several days, and I suppose I overexerted myself.” She sighed. “I think when my nurse returns, I shall tell her I wish to go directly home. Usually after bathing we sit a while looking upon the harbor, simply inhaling the saline air. Both my doctor and Nurse Rooke claim it is quite medicinal.”
“Apparently, it can also be quite strong,” Elizabeth said.
The woman laughed. “That, it can. I do love to feel it on my face, though. It reminds me that despite ill health and other difficulties, I am yet fairly young, and among the living, and that is something to be grateful for.”