The Deception At Lyme m&mdm-6 Page 2

  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 tanned his skin to a rich hue and bleached to pale gold the long hair tied back beneath his hat. The result was not unfavorable; in fact, he possessed a mien of health and vigor superior to most of the other sailors they had passed as they walked through Lyme. He nodded politely at Elizabeth and Darcy as they reached the bottom step—a civility they returned—but when his gaze shifted behind them to acknowledge Georgiana, a spark entered his blue eyes, and an expression of patent admiration overtook his countenance.

  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 bonnet had brightened Georgiana’s eyes and loosened tendrils of honey-blond hair that fluttered becomingly around cheeks pinkened by the persistent sea breeze—or perhaps by consciousness of being the object of so admiring a look. No one could be insensible of such attention from a handsome gentleman, certainly not a young lady of nineteen.

  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 manner, his interest put Darcy on guard. It reminded him all too vividly of the last time he and Georgiana had been at the seaside, and the evil she had so narrowly escaped. Darcy had thwarted the designs of one fortune hunter, but scavengers of Mr. Wickham’s breed flocked in watering-places like gulls.

  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 manner and dress, he is a gentleman. I wager he is a naval officer, as Gerard was.”

  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.

  —Persuasion

  “Lily-Anne, stay with mamma and papa!” Elizabeth called after her daughter. Her admonition, however, was spoken in vain; her voice drowned in the crash of waves against the Cobb.

  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-Anne had given her mother a scare. They were on the upper Cobb, which rimmed the lower Cobb on one side and fronted the open sea on the other; beyond either of the upper wall’s edges was a sheer drop—onto merciless pavement or into the ocean itself.

  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-Anne nodded, and when Darcy set her down, she remained at his feet.

  “So, you have decided to be obedient, have you?” Despite her stern tone, Elizabeth was not cross with her daughter. Lily-Anne was normally a well-behaved child; her sprint had been inspired by the novelty of new surroundings, and in truth, Elizabeth remained as eager as her daughter to see them. In fact, it had been Elizabeth who suggested walking to the Cobb shortly after breakfast. Despite sharing Lily-Anne’s exuberance, however, Elizabeth longed for the day when her little girl would possess sufficient understanding of the world to have a care for her own safety.

  The great seawall had two levels. The lower Cobb—the harbor side of the wall—was level with the shore, and as the Cobb stretched into the sea, maintained a height equal to the harbor’s water level at high tide. It served as a broad walk upon which pedestrians and horse-drawn carts could access the harbor and reach the quay at its mouth. The lower wall was edged by the upper Cobb—the ocean side of the wall—which rose some nine feet higher than the lower Cobb to shelter the harbor from the sea’s great waves and winds.

  Because of its height, the upper wall blocked much of the sea from the view of anyone on the lower. A broad stone staircase where the Cobb met the shore provided access from the lower wall to the upper, and upon their arrival, Elizabeth, Darcy, Lily-Anne, and Georgiana had climbed it to look upon the sea. Lily-Anne, however, had immediately gone charging to the wall’s edge.

  Lily-Anne now wrapped one arm around Darcy’s leg and pointed with her other toward the ocean. “Sea.”

  “Yes, Lily, that is the sea,” Darcy said. “And we would rather you not topple into it.”

  The clouds that were building during last evening’s walk had settled in thick masses overnight. Mist hung heavy in the air, obscuring the horizon and coating the Cobb with a thin film of moisture. “She could slip on these stones,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps we should turn back and resume this walk another time, when the sun will have dried the pavement.”

  “We are on a seawall, Elizabeth. There is a good chance these stones never entirely
dry. Lily-Anne will be safe; we shall keep a close hold on her.”

  “Sir Laurence did particularly recommend the view from the upper wall,” Georgiana said as she reached them. “Surely he would not have advised us to walk on it were it not safe.”

  The top of the Cobb indeed offered an impressive view, even if at present the mist obscured it. They could no longer see the Portland lighthouse to the southeast that had been visible last night, and even nearer objects proved difficult to distinguish. Two ships approached port. The closer one, about to enter the harbor, appeared to move as if in a dream; the more distant vessel was barely discernible.

  Elizabeth assessed the sky. Despite the rising sun, it was not growing lighter. However, the rain threatened by the clouds seemed to be holding off. She allowed herself to be persuaded.

  They strolled on the upper wall at a leisurely pace. People from all strata of society left their footprints on the damp stones. Looking down to their left, they saw sailors on the lower Cobb hustling about their duties. A woman sat on a bench, resting her hands on the handle of a walking cane, watching the harbor—observing the dockmen at work, the carts headed toward the Customs House, the bobbing of fishing vessels and larger boats as the incoming tide freed them from their sandy groundings. The upper Cobb was less populated than the lower, doubtless due to its height and more weathered surface that pitched toward the open sea at a daunting angle along some stretches. Nevertheless, they were not the only pedestrians venturing upon it.

  The thick mist seemed to suspend time and movement, yet the wind that buffeted them was anything but gentle. Completely exposed to the sea, those atop the high wall had no shield from the elements, and last night’s determined breeze had become this morn’s full gale. The damp air held a chill, enhanced by the sea spray that cascaded onto the wall when particularly forceful waves crashed against its base. Elizabeth was grateful that she had dressed Lily-Anne warmly, and wished she had thought to wear a spencer over her own muslin dress. She envied the foresight of a solitary woman standing near the harborside edge of the upper wall, away from the worst threat of the sea spray. The lady wore a long grey cape that ballooned about her in the wind.

  The woman’s back was to their party, but as they passed, she turned her head. Her gaze met Elizabeth’s. There was a hardness in her countenance at odds with the fluid billowing of her attire, almost an embodiment of the unforgiving stone on which she balanced. Immediately discerning that Elizabeth and her companions were nobody of interest to her, the lady returned her attention to the shoreline.

  At this point the lower Cobb forked. The branch along the harbor was a quay which hosted several buildings that seemed to primarily serve those loading and unloading docked boats. The southern arm, running behind the quay, extended the outer seawall at both upper and lower levels by an additional few hundred feet.

  Another large wave crashed against the wall, sending up the highest spray of seawater they had yet seen. Cascading droplets christened them and fell in their path, forming rivulets that ran across the Cobb’s surface to puddle in the stone’s many depressions. Lily-Anne giggled, delighted by the unanticipated fountain.

  Though not soaked, Elizabeth shivered. “Perhaps we should turn back.”

  “We are almost to the end,” Georgiana said. “And Sir Laurence said—why, look! I believe there is the gentleman himself.”

  A small stone staircase offered access to the lower wall at this end of the Cobb. Considerably narrower than the stairs Elizabeth and her family had used to mount the upper wall, these were hidden from view along most of the Cobb by the serpentine curve of the seawall and the buildings on the quay. Elizabeth might have entirely overlooked them had Sir Laurence’s ascent not drawn her attention.

  When he reached the top and glanced in their direction, the baronet appeared as surprised as they to be meeting thus. “Miss Darcy!” He came immediately to them. “I did not expect the pleasure of escorting you on the Cobb until later today.”

  “Nor I.”

  Now that she had a closer view of the baronet, Elizabeth’s earlier impression of his good looks was confirmed. He had dark hair and eyes, strong, well-formed features, and an agreeable demeanor that was aristocratic but not pompous. Though he stood a little shorter than Darcy, he was his equal in handsomeness. From her sister-in-law’s demure smile and manner, Elizabeth suspected the bloom on Georgiana’s cheeks had little to do with the wind.

  Sir Laurence greeted Darcy, who introduced Elizabeth and Lily-Anne. The baronet was all courtesy, expressing his happiness in meeting Elizabeth, and acknowledging the child with kind attention.

  “Sea.” Lily pointed, in case the baronet had not noticed the vast expanse of water.

  “I do see the sea,” he assured her with all seriousness—save a good-humored brightness in his eyes. He then turned to Georgiana. “And while this is not ideal weather, I think the sea exhibits a different sort of beauty—a wild magnificence—on days such as this. Did you walk down to the very end of the Cobb?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then I beg you to allow me to accompany you.” He spoke to Georgiana, but his gaze extended the invitation to them all.

  “I should like that very much,” Georgiana said.

  They walked another twenty yards or so, past the steps up which Sir Laurence had come. Elizabeth looked again at the sky and the churning water. Though she agreed with the baronet’s opinion of the sea’s untamed splendor, at present she would rather appreciate that splendor from the shore—or better still, from the interior side of a window in a room with a fire warm enough to banish the damp chill that had crept into her bones. Yet she did not want to deny Georgiana the pleasure of Sir Laurence’s company.

  “I pray you will understand a mother’s anxiety and let us postpone taking Lily-Anne farther out to the point until fairer weather,” Elizabeth said. “However, do escort Miss Darcy. We will wait here.”

  Sir Laurence bowed. “We shall not be long.”

  As the pair walked away, Elizabeth noticed how closely Darcy observed them. “This is not Ramsgate,” she said, “and your sister is four years older than the last time she visited the sea. I believe it is safe to take your eyes off her for a moment.”

  “It was not the sea that posed danger in Ramsgate.”

  “No, it was one of her oldest acquaintances, someone she should have been able to trust. Would you deny her a new acquaintance now because of Mr. Wickham’s deceit? Surely the baronet is not a fortune hunter.”

  “No, Sir Laurence inherited considerable wealth along with his title, and the sense to protect it. That fellow last night who ogled her on the stairs, however, is another matter.”

  Elizabeth had thought the gentleman’s conduct unobjectionable. “He did not ogle. And what makes you suspect him of being a fortune hunter? He appeared perfectly respectable.”

  “One cannot be too wary.”

  “Sea.” Lily-Anne squirmed in Darcy’s hold. Tired of being carried, she was growing restless, but Elizabeth wanted to provide Georgiana a few more minutes’ uninterrupted conversation. Sir Laurence was pointing toward the ship still approaching port. Though it was a good-sized vessel, with cannons lining its sides, its progress appeared hampered by the strong eastern wind.

  She took Lily-Anne into her own arms. Lily rested her chin on Elizabeth’s shoulder and stilled, content—at least for the moment—to gaze at the view behind her mother, but the tranquility would not last. In truth, the sea had temporarily lost its allure for Elizabeth, as well.

  “Given the weather, we need to cancel our plans to go seabathing this morning and find some other diversion,” Elizabeth said. “Have we any other engagements today?”

  “Only my appointment with Lieutenant St. Clair, but that is not until evening.”

  “Where are you meeting?”

  “He will call at our lodgings at half past seven.”

  Sir Laurence and Georgiana returned, retreating from the Cobb’s point more hurriedly than they had wa
lked out to it. Georgiana held fast to the baronet’s arm.

  “The wind has shifted,” Sir Laurence said. “Storms can arise very quickly in Lyme, and those from the east are the worst. You can see how that ship struggles to make port. I advise walking back to town without delay.”

  Scarcely had he uttered the words than an enormous crack rent the sky. A lightning bolt struck the mainmast of the struggling ship. Aflame, the mast fell toward deck but got caught in the rigging of the foremast, igniting that, as well. Suddenly, the ship was a fiery spectacle of burning sails, ropes, and wood. Smoke billowed up from the lower decks and out the gun ports. The blazing mast, having incinerated the ropes that trapped it, crashed to the quarterdeck.

  But the worst was yet to come.

  In seconds that seemed to stretch to eternity, the flames reached gunpowder.

  The explosion was so forceful that Elizabeth felt its thunder ripple past her. Instinctively, she tightened her hold on her daughter, who cried out and clung to her. Had the ship been closer, all on the upper Cobb would have been in serious danger from flying debris.

  The Cobb erupted in motion. Those who knew the sea hurriedly prepared to search for survivors—futile though their efforts might prove—or to scavenge the ship’s cargo. Everyone else rushed to get out of the rescuers’ way and find safety for themselves.

  Another thunderbolt lit the sky. Elizabeth’s heart raced so hard that surely Lily-Anne could feel its palpitations. “Sea, Mama! Sea!” She practically climbed up her mother’s chest and over her shoulder toward the harbor. Even the child realized that her former source of delight now posed peril.

  Elizabeth felt she could not get off the exposed seawall fast enough.

  Before she even turned to Darcy, he was taking their daughter into his own arms. “Come.” His voice was calm, but she heard the underlying urgency. He motioned toward the steps Sir Laurence had ascended but a few minutes ago. “We must move to lower ground.” Georgiana and Sir Laurence were right behind them.