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“We have met occasionally at White’s,” Darcy said.
Georgiana, noting the unaltered state of Elizabeth’s bo
“It can wait. I am impatient to reach the waterfront.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the i
In but a few steps more they passed the Assembly Rooms and arrived at the beach. From here they could see the Cobb half a mile southwest. Small boats bobbed in the harbor created by the semicircular breakwater, which extended at least a thousand feet from mouth to shore. The seawall met land near a cluster of buildings their landlady had referred to as Cobb Hamlet. Separated from Lyme proper by an undeveloped cliff prone to landslips, the harbor and hamlet were linked to Lyme by an elevated promenade known as the Walk, which ran parallel to a cart road that skirted the beach.
Elizabeth, Darcy, and Georgiana ambled along the Walk, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the sea. Dusk approached, and waterfront activity both on- and offshore was winding down. Vendors packed up their wares; sailors finished unloading goods from recently docked ships; horses pulled the last of the carts toward the Customs House for clearance. Four bathing machines, having long since completed their service for the day, were parked on the beach out of reach of the lapping tide.
A set of steps led from the Walk down to the cart road and the beach itself. The rising tide brought the water quite close, and Darcy asked whether Elizabeth would like to go down and dip her hand in the seawater breaking onto shore. She responded enthusiastically.
At the base of the stair, a young gentleman who had been about to ascend moved aside to grant them clear passage. Even in the fading light, his features evinced considerable time spent at sea. The sun had ta
Elizabeth turned to regard her sister-in-law. A well-favored, graceful girl even in ordinary moments, Georgiana at present appeared altogether fetching. The wind that had played such havoc with Elizabeth’s bo
And certainly not her brother.
Darcy glanced from the sailor to Georgiana, and saw his sister through the stranger’s eyes—the eyes of a man. A man who was not her brother, not her protector, but a warm-blooded buck who could not help but respond to the sight of a beautiful woman. Worse—a man turned onshore after months at sea entirely deprived of women’s company. Decent women’s company, anyway.
Though there had been nothing improper in the sailor’s expression or ma
Before Darcy could offer his hand to assist Georgiana’s descent, the stranger offered his own. She accepted his aid, placing her hand in his. She negotiated the stairs without incident, but as she stepped onto the beach—her attention entirely upon him, to the neglect of her own feet—a small mound of shingle shifted beneath her, throwing her out of balance.
The gentleman quickly caught her, preventing a fall. Darcy stepped forward to help steady Georgiana, relieving the sailor of any need—or excuse—for further contact with his sister. Georgiana took Darcy’s arm, but required it for only a moment. She had regained her equilibrium. Her composure, however, was not so easily recovered. She cast her gaze about, fleetingly meeting the stranger’s, then shifting it to look at anything but the man’s countenance.
His face reflected amusement. Hers was in high color. She stammered a few halting words of gratitude, by all appearances directed at the wall behind him. The edges of his mouth upturned to a half-smile.
He tipped his hat—“Your servant, miss”—and continued on his way.
Though she had refused to meet his eyes, Georgiana watched his back as he nimbly cleared the stairs and hastened along the Walk.
“He thinks me a careless featherbrain.”
Darcy, too, observed the retreat of the man who had found his sister’s discomposure charming. “The opinion of a common sailor you will never again set eyes upon should cause you no distress.”
“He is not a common sailor. From his ma
Indeed, there were enough ships in the harbor that the stranger could well be an officer on one of the small naval vessels, if not the master of a merchantman. Darcy doubted, however, that the man could ever wear a uniform as proudly as their late cousin had worn his the last time Darcy and Georgiana saw him. A newly commissioned lieutenant of the Royal Navy, Gerard Fitzwilliam had died three years ago in action aboard the Magna Carta.
“Even if that fellow is an officer, neither dress nor stripes make a man a gentleman,” Darcy said. “Put him from your mind.”
They strolled along the beach a little way, but the sun soon dropped so low that the filtered light faded quickly. The wind picked up, and the temperature, which had dropped decidedly since they began their walk, caused both Georgiana and Elizabeth to shudder. Electing to postpone the pleasure of their first promenade on the Cobb itself until the morrow, they headed back toward their lodgings.
Darcy looked at the sky once more. Clouds obscured the young moon. Perhaps a storm was gathering after all.
Two
There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobb pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower.
“Lily-A
Darcy pursued their racing toddler. His strides overtook the child’s short steps well before Lily reached the edge of the seawall upon which they walked. Built to hold back an ocean, the breakwater was wide enough for their whole party—and then some—to comfortably walk abreast. Nevertheless, Lily-A
As Darcy’s arms closed around Lily and lifted her, the child squealed in delight, oblivious to the hazard toward which she had raced. He brought her close and bent his head to her ear. Elizabeth could not hear his words as she left Georgiana’s side to catch up to them, but Lily-A
“So, you have decided to be obedient, have you?” Despite her stern tone, Elizabeth was not cross with her daughter. Lily-A