A Daring Proposal and ArmchairTravel

Hi, and I hope you’re safe and well! Since most of us are still stuck at home, how do you feel about a spot of #ArmchairTravel? If #ArmchairTravel sounds tempting, you can find the book previews and Amazon links at the end of this post.

But while you’re deciding where you’d like to go, I hope you’re up for a spot of armchair sailing too.

My first post in this month of proposals – the good, the bad and the ugly, as Nicole put it 😊 – is a scene from the end of THE FALMOUTH CONNECTION. By this point in the book, Mr Darcy had already offered marriage twice. So I thought you might like to read about Elizabeth having her own say – and her own daring proposal.

THE FALMOUTH CONNECTION

A cry of delight escaped her lips when the suddenly stronger breeze swelled the sails above, making them flap wildly as they trapped the welcome gust. The ropes grew taut, adding their hum to the muted tune of straining wood and the ship leaned windward, altering its course.

Instinctively, Darcy gripped the spokes to keep the wheel from spinning further than it should, and the much-missed thrill coursed through him yet again as the full power of the wind in perfect synergy with the manmade craft was channelled into his tightened muscles.

The primeval joy reminded him once more of long-gone days out sailing with his father, but flashing memories of those distant times paled before the glory of the moment: the all-powerful sea, the breeze – and her proximity. She was before him, between him and the helm, hands clasped alongside his on the well-worn wood, her back warm against his chest, her scent intoxicating.

The old Cornishman, the skipper, had willingly relinquished the ship’s wheel in his keeping and had made no comment other than a smirk half-lost in his greying beard when Darcy had chosen to share the privilege with his betrothed. He had left them to it and had withdrawn to the bow alongside his crew, who were now going about their business tightening ropes and adjusting sails, with the odd covert glance towards the quarterdeck.

For once, this was insufficient deterrent and Darcy leaned closer, inhaling her sweet fragrance mingled with the salty air. She had long relinquished her bonnet and the strong breeze was blowing freely through her auburn tresses, ruffling them into an adorable tangle that swayed to and fro, in turns concealing and exposing the whiteness of her neck. Temptation swelled like the high winds above them, wild and tantalising, until resistance became unthinkable. Impossible.

He lowered his head to press his lips against the fragrant skin and, with a breathless gasp, she tilted her head sideways, aiding and abetting him in taking the delicious liberty. His lips drifted to the corner of her jaw, then slid further to find a small velvety earlobe. A soft sigh left her lips, sending his senses spinning wildly – just as the ship’s wheel might have done, had Darcy not tightened his grip on the spokes, as much to keep control of the craft as of himself.

“I love you,” he murmured against the creamy skin, then leaned back in a futile quest for sanity that was destined to be thwarted even before she let her head rest on his chest.

“As I love you,” he heard her whisper, and was thoroughly undone. A blessing and a curse, this day together, alone but for a few weather-beaten Cornishmen!

Surprisingly – or perhaps not so much so, after their recent rapprochement – Mr Bennet no longer felt compelled to shadow Darcy on the proposed outing. More surprisingly still, his views remained unaltered even when it had emerged that his second daughter and her betrothed were to sail alone. […] Alone and free. More so than ever. Not merely free from the constraints of convention or the reserve imposed by her family’s presence, but one with glorious nature, feeling the sun on their skin, the wind in their faces, tasting life as it must have been before so-called civilisation had put its stamp upon it, to adulterate it into something tame and bland. A man, a woman, before the open world in all its glory, answering to no one – just the call of the sea.

Yet this freedom had its insidious dangers. Such as finding it devilishly hard to countenance returning to everyday constraints. Devilishly hard to subdue his yearning for her, and for the time when they would be allowed to be together every God-given moment.

With a rueful smile, Darcy could not fail to ponder on human nature, insatiably craving more. A while ago a ‘yes’ was enough to render him wild with joy. Now he was struggling through every hour that separated them from the fulfilment of that promise; through every hour when he could not see her – or could see her, but not hold her. And hours loomed. Not hours, days! Too many. There was another month at least until the wedding. The banns would be called once they returned to Longbourn. A special licence could be obtained of course, but then there were those lengthy preparations to contend with, as Mrs Bennet’s daily effusions claimed. Wedding clothes. Wedding breakfast. Invitations. Visits. Incursions to the warehouses. The whole assortment of hindrances and delays – a curse on them all!

“Fitzwilliam?” her pensive voice drew him from his frustrated musings.

“Yes, my love?”

“I once heard it said that seafaring captains can read marriage vows. Is that true?”

Breath caught in his throat. What was she saying? His stark surprise melted into tenderness at the discovery that they were thinking the same thoughts. His chest swelled and fanciful imaginings took flight – then Darcy stopped the mad rush in its tracks, before he allowed himself to hope.

“I think so,” he cautiously replied. “On merchant ships, they can.”

“And is The Rashley a merchant ship?”

“Hardly,” he said and forced out a chuckle.

“But Mr Tregarrick is a seafaring captain.”

“Of sorts.”

“Then can he marry us?”

“Elizabeth!” he whispered, then pulled himself together.

With a glance and a nod, he summoned the helmsman, who was quick to come and take on his duties, thus freeing Darcy from the suddenly cumbersome task of paying attention to anything but her.

They left the quarterdeck and withdrew to lean against the starboard rail. Their eyes met – his questioning, hers smiling. Before he could put his questions into words, Elizabeth spoke:

“I would very much like to be married today, Fitzwilliam,” she said softly.

“You would?”

Still smiling, she clasped his hands in hers.

“I would.”

It was only with considerable effort that he resisted the wild urge to kiss her – especially when she playfully arched a brow:

“Unless you think me forward. If you would rather not…”

She trailed off and Darcy retorted promptly and with feeling:

“You know there is nothing I want more.” The role of the devil’s advocate was something he wholeheartedly detested, yet in good conscience he felt compelled to add, “Still, I cannot vouch that having it performed by old Tregarrick would be in keeping with the law of the land…”

“We are not on land. But need I worry that you might be tempted to use this as an escape once we are ashore?”

“Minx,” he smiled and kept to banter, yet the concern was real. “Your father might very well ask for my head on a platter. I am not saying it would not be worth it, but I imagine it defeats the purpose.”

“My father need not know,” Elizabeth replied, soberly this time. “No one need know. It shall be our secret. For everybody else’s benefit, the wedding will be held at Longbourn. Yet you and I will know that we were united here and now, just off the very shores where we have reached our understanding.”

The beauty of the thought and of her exquisitely romantic choice touched his soul – but, bless her sweet innocence, did she not know what she was asking? Married – but not quite. In word, but not in deed. How was he to leave her – his wife – at Landennis tonight as if nothing had happened, and return to his empty chamber at the inn in Falmouth?

“You do not wish it,” Elizabeth observed matter-of-factly, and before any mistaken notions of rejection could take hold and pain her Darcy forced all selfish thoughts aside. He would do anything for her, anything to make her happy – and by all that was holy, frustrated desire would not get in the way!

Darcy put an arm around her and called out:

“Mr Tregarrick? A word, if it pleases you.”

The old sailor looked up from the bow.

“Would you be so kind as to marry us?” Darcy asked, his voice carrying over the loud flapping of the mainsail.

The man’s bushy beard, thick enough to lose a ferret in, split widely into a toothless grin.

“Bless ye, m’ludd, Ah thort ye’d never ask.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I hope you had fun on the sailing trip and that the sea wasn’t too choppy. Thanks for reading, and please follow the links below if you’d like to travel some more with our favourite couple.

Happy armchair-travelling, keep well and see you again on 27 April for an original-never-before-seen proposal. Not sure yet if it’ll be swoony, mushy, funny or a ‘run like you’re chased by Mr Collins’ kind of proposal, but I’ll go and self-isolate on the back step with a Biro and a notepad and we’ll see how it goes from there 😊. Take care and see you in a week and a bit!