Darcy, the Admiral
Mr. Darcy, senior, has his heir — and a spare. No need to waste a gentleman’s education on the third son. Packed off to sea at the age of twelve, young Fitzwilliam Darcy discovers three things.
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The youngest Darcy boy discovers a love for life at sea. His talent for anticipating what's going to happen leads to rapid promotion. He also discovers that sailors and naval officers see women only rarely.
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Rescued from a sudden storm, soaked to the skin, and her gown clinging to the contours of her body, Elizabeth Bennet unwittingly causes a storm of emotion in a man starved of female company.
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Darcy must get her off his ship. He must discover if his feelings for the extraordinary Miss Bennet are here to stay. Then, when disaster strikes the Darcy family, he must prevent it causing the loss of all he's dreamed of.
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Can each discover their love? And will the shocking circumstances of their lives help, or hinder, the passage to a truly happy ending?
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‘The Diverse Lives of Fitzwilliam Darcy’ is a series of quick-read novellas exploring what might happen if Elizabeth and Darcy had different backgrounds to that of the original book. Will their love shine as brightly as ever?
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Darcy, the Admiral is a sweet and clean Regency novella of over 44,000 words.
Darcy the Admiral
Harriet Knowles
Copyright © 2019 by Harriet Knowles
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.
This book is set in Regency England. It is written by an English author, using British English words and spelling.
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Edited by JW Services
Proofreading by LBD
Every heart sings a song,
incomplete,
Until another heart
whispers back.
Plato
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Thank You
About the Author
1
Darcy raised his head. The steady rolling of the ship as she beat against the wind had subtly changed while he studied the charts.
There were shouts on deck and he listened intently. This was the worst part of his promotion; he felt like a passenger. No longer captain of his ship, he must leave the day-to-day management of the ships to their captains.
He felt the change in motion as Hibernia brought her head up to the wind, and heard the shouts of the men become fainter through the open hatch as they swarmed into the rigging to furl the sails.
Darcy couldn’t wait below; automatically he placed the weight on the chart to prevent it sliding off and reached for his old, seagoing coat. The bright new epaulettes contrasted with the old, worn fabric, and he grimaced.
With a muttered exclamation, he left the coat hanging, ducked his head under the centre beam and headed for the deck.
“Sir!” His servant hurried after him with the coat and hat.
“I don’t need them, thank you, Maunder.” From the shouts, he’d deduced a sail had been seen, and there’d be some time before any further action was needed. But principally, it was because he didn’t like being reminded of the newness of his promotion.
“Sir.” Hargreaves crossed the deck and saluted.
Darcy nodded. “What ship, Captain?”
“Sail to the north, sir. The lookout states she’s one of our brigs, probably Orestes.”
Darcy stared to the north. The sail was only visible from the deck as a slight flaw on the horizon, but he had no trouble believing the lookout’s report. Hargreaves would have sent a midshipman up to check if he’d had any doubts of the man’s reliability.
It must be Orestes. The fastest of the four little brigs under his command, he’d set her to patrol between the ships spread out along the French coast, enforcing the blockade.
There weren’t enough ships, he knew that. Thousands of miles of sea to patrol. Mist and fog to shrink their view, storms and the fickle wind to contend with. And all the while, the enemy lay comfortably in harbour, waiting for the line to fail; ready to dash out and break the blockade. He scowled. Ready to cross the Atlantic, and parlay with the Americans, or ready to swing south to Spain and make tempting promises. It seemed the whole world was against them. And he was in command of twenty ships; several thousand men. He needed to trust his captains to obey his orders, but also be imaginative and flexible enough to take action if necessary when their admiral was not immediately available.
He watched the sail grow as the brig dashed down on them, and the seamanship of the young commander. He would know his admiral’s eyes were on him. He felt a twist of envy, remembering his own first command. That had been a fine time. Then barely twenty, he knew he’d been fortunate to live through so many battles before and since that time. Promotions were swift in wartime for those who survived.
Brightly coloured flags rose from her mast. Darcy clicked his fingers, and a thin midshipman hurried forward with his telescope.
Darcy raised it to his eye and slowly swung it to find the brig. Before he had found her, the lookout hailed the deck.
“Dispatches for the Flag. She bears the code.”
Darcy snapped the telescope shut and returned it to the boy beside him. Orders, then. And his private code, the signal that the ship was not an enemy decoy. He could relax for a moment.
He glanced at Hargreaves. “Signal the captain to repair on board. I’m going below.”
“Aye, sir.”
Darcy sank into the heavy chair he’d had placed looking out through the great stern windows of this large three-decker he’d had the honour of taking as his flagship.
His servant quietly padded in with a glass on a silver tray. Life was very different now. That thin midshipman on deck — he was just as Darcy had been, all those years ago, a frightened boy of twelve, in a strange, fearful world.
He sipped his whisky. Sixteen years from that day to this. Promotion had been rapid, but he was still much too young to have attained flag rank. It must have made him many enemies. He sighed.
The marine guard outside his door snapped to attention.
“Commander Lang of Orestes, sir!”
Lang entered and saluted, still stooped from moving around the low decks of his little brig; his arm outstretched, holding the stained canvas bag with the dispatches.
“Thank you. Sit down and take a drink.” Darcy nodded at him. “I want to speak to you when I’ve glanced at these.”
“Aye, sir.” Lang l
et no trace of his puzzlement show. Darcy approved. The man must have expected to sling the dispatches aboard on a line; it wasn’t usual for the captain to be summoned aboard unless there was a full captain’s conference. But Darcy liked to know the men who were serving beneath him; he wanted to know how they’d react when far from orders.
He threw the letters down onto the table. Three from his sister. He smiled. He’d read them later. Nothing else new. No new orders. No sign they may soon be relieved by another squadron.
He turned to Lang. “Tell me what you’ve observed since I saw you last, Mr. Lang.” It had been nearly two weeks, and he ached for variety.
“Aye, sir. There is little to tell at present. The dispatches were transferred to me from the Skylark of the northern squadron. I was informed they left London on the sixth of this month.”
Darcy nodded, watching Lang. He must resent that Darcy, more than five years younger, had been promoted so fast. But no trace of it was in his voice.
“Yesterday I exchanged signals with two schooners in company, sailing north. They’re returning to England with passengers from their grand tour. They were outside the blockade patrol area, sir, just within the west boundary of the Iroise.”
Darcy nodded, picturing the chart as he’d seen it last. “Will they reach sanctuary before the weather turns?”
Lang glanced at him. “I doubt it, sir. They did not seem to understand how fast the storm is building.”
Darcy grimaced. They might be distracted with a rescue mission. “Very well. Show me on the chart where they were and their course. I will take Hibernia to be nearby in case of need. Wait on deck and I’ll write orders for you to take Captain Haines on the Bellona.”
Lang bowed. “Aye, sir.”
Darcy stared contemplatively after him before turning to the task of drafting orders for Haines. These schooners might regret their foolishness at sailing back from the Mediterranean. The weather was turning and storms could blow up very quickly in the Iroise Sea. With the open Atlantic hiding pirates to the west, and the blockade ships to the east, they’d have nowhere to run.
He shrugged. Even merchant seamen needed to earn a living.
He jumped to his feet and hurried on deck. After handing the dispatch bag to Lang, he turned to Hargreaves. “Walk with me a while.”
The two men strolled up and down the length of the deck. Sailors glanced at them incuriously as they passed; they were well used to the behaviour of their new admiral.
“You’ve heard about the schooners?” Darcy said abruptly.
“Yes. I believe you’re right to think they may end up in need of assistance.” His flag captain smiled humourlessly. “We may find some good seamen who can be persuaded to take the King’s shilling. I doubt any of the passengers will be suitable.”
Darcy laughed. “And their families would have something to say about it, too.” Sometimes, he regretted that, as the third son, he’d not had the opportunity to go to Cambridge or take his own grand tour. But he was satisfied with his life. Good luck had kept him safe until now, and made him a fortune of his own in prize money. Two of the ships in his own little flotilla were prize ships he’d taken from the French, and now flying the British flag.
He looked up. “Did you get the location from Lang? And what’s your estimated time of sighting them?”
Hargreaves followed his gaze. “Depending on whether they’ve changed course, we ought to sight them tomorrow forenoon.” He sighed. “But we might have to heave to for the storm to pass us. It will be upon them before we can get within signalling distance.”
Darcy nodded. “Well, let us make the best speed we can while we still have the chance.”
2
Elizabeth stood on the tiny poop deck, gazing astern. The gathering clouds caused her some anxiety, and the winds, trying to rip the hat from her head, were straining the sails as the schooner rushed for the north. She felt very vulnerable on such a ship in the vast, empty ocean.
But it had been well worth the trip. She’d come with Charlotte and her father because, obviously, a lady couldn’t travel unchaperoned. The opportunity had been too good to miss. Elizabeth had marvelled at the sights in Venice and explored the ancient streets of Rome and Naples. She had a journal full of notes and little sketches of what she’d seen. Perhaps Kitty would help her improve her drawings later on; she was more artistic than Elizabeth would ever be.
“Lizzy!” Charlotte’s voice was almost blown away on the wind. “Lizzy! You need to come below deck now. The captain says he wishes to change course and has ordered the decks be cleared.”
Elizabeth clamped her hat more firmly on her head with her hand as she swung round, and the wind lifted her skirts and almost blew her into her friend.
“Sorry, Charlotte!” she gasped, reaching for the edge of the door. “That wind is getting strong.”
Her friend reached out and tugged her inside before slamming the door shut. “You ought not to be outside in winds this strong, Lizzy. You know what the sailors have been saying.”
“What’ve they been saying this time?” Elizabeth was tired of hearing the prognostications of doom. “I know! Women on board ship bring bad luck. It’s my fault there’s a storm coming!” She embraced her friend. “Not at all. It’s the time of year. But let’s join your father and we can wedge ourselves into some chairs.”
She kept her voice light and cheerful. But she was not so sanguine inside.
It’s not a big ship, there aren’t many crew, and I think the clouds portend a fierce storm.
She’d seen the other schooner wallowing some half a mile astern. Their sails were much more tightly reefed than on this ship. Which captain was right? One thing was certain — the other vessel would not be able to assist them if they fell foul of the storm.
Her lips tightened, and she went to get a book to pretend to read, although the lamp was swinging so wildly as the ship rolled as to make it impossible to read.
Sir William was not going to be much help in keeping up the conversation. He looked grey and unwell. Elizabeth wondered if he was regretting eating quite so well at dinner.
When it was time to retire, she staggered along to the tiny cabin she shared with Charlotte, who gazed at her in horror when Elizabeth merely took off her shoes and prepared to climb into bed fully clothed.
“Lizzy! What are you doing?”
“Oh, Charlotte! The rolling of the ship has worried me a little. If there is an emergency, I don’t want to waste time getting dressed — we’ll need to help your father get on deck.”
Charlotte’s expression was troubled. “You don’t really think there’s anything to worry about, do you?”
“No, I don’t think so. The crew must all have experience of storms like this — they didn’t seem concerned earlier, did they?” Elizabeth climbed onto the small berth and pulled the blanket over her. “No, it’s only because it’s new to us.” She peered over at Charlotte, who seemed to have decided to follow Elizabeth’s example. “But isn’t it exciting? What a lot we’ll have to write home about.”
“I like your view of exciting.” Charlotte covered herself with the blanket. “I hope the ship doesn’t roll too much. I don’t want to be deposited on the floor.”
Soon they were lying in silence. Elizabeth listened to the creaking of the little ship as the swell rose. She doubted she would get much sleep, and, as she waited for dawn, she itemised in her mind what would need to be done if disaster came upon them. She must remember the way from the cabin onto the deck, must remember where the lifeboats were stored. Rolling over, she buried her face in the pillow. She wished there was somewhere for them to wait out the night up on the deck; she instinctively knew the cabin was a dangerous place to be.
Even through the tightly closed hatch, the shouts of the men showed increasing strain as they fought to control their ship. It was rushing on blindly through the darkness — she wondered what it would lead to. How could the ship survive such a storm? The fragile hull must surely be cr
ushed by the power of the waves, or perhaps it would be when water poured on board through a broken hatch. How far could the ship be driven? Might it be driven onto a rocky coast, many miles away? Surely they were too far from the shore; it was an enemy coast, after all.
She shivered. If the vessel was lost, would her family back in Meryton ever know what had really happened? What would it be like to drown?
She muttered an exclamation that would have shocked her mother and swung her legs over the side of the berth. She sat, hunched below the underside of the deck that formed the ceiling.
The furniture had slid towards the back of the cabin, and Elizabeth felt her way to find a chair. But it felt no safer. Perhaps she’d be better enclosed in the bunk. Time stopped. It felt as if she was just waiting in the darkness.
When it happened, it was sudden. The whole hull seemed to twist, accompanied by the sound of splintering and a far-off scream of agony. Within seconds, the huge mainmast fell across the cabin, crushing the deck and splintering the bunk where Elizabeth had been a few minutes before.
A single cry from Charlotte stopped, mid-sound, and Elizabeth found herself on her feet and feeling her way towards the other berth.
The ship tipped sideways, and water rushed in, soaking Elizabeth’s feet. Charlotte was unmoving in the bed, and Elizabeth felt her head. It was wet — blood or water, Elizabeth didn’t know. It didn’t matter; they had to get out before the cabin was completely swamped.
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