“I’m only doing it for Scott and the sake of the blind officers awaiting someone like you to give them hope.”
“You’re generous in your compliments. But I must confess, while we were in London I resubmitted my application for foreign service. I expect it won’t be long before I’m called—probably before the duke’s visit. With my imminent departure and the return of your hearing, there’s no real need for me to stay in the adjoining room. I may as well stay here.”
“I understand. I expect I’ll be leaving for St. Dunstan’s just after the dinner and concert as well.”
A gap of silence opened between them.
“I’m sorry.” She sniffed, her voice quavering. “It’s just that things will be so...different without you.”
He swallowed over a swell of emotion. “It will be different for me too.”
Like a tentative knock on the door of his heart, her fingertips brushed his uniform sleeve, then grazed his hand as her fingers fell away.
Something answered deep inside him.

That night Darcy set his toothbrush on the bathroom shelf, then padded across his room and climbed into bed. The clock ticked over the silence.
In the ten odd days since his hearing had returned, he’d become accustomed to the sounds of Miss Thomas in the room next door—floorboards creaking under her footsteps, the springs of her bed gently squeaking—and he missed them. He missed her.
Darcy released a heavy breath. She’d be gone soon. He would too.
He couldn’t deny the spark that had passed between them tonight. Was he coming to care for Juliet, or did she just remind him of Elizabeth? If only he could see her. See her form and features, her gestures and mannerisms. Then, perhaps he could truly consider her apart from Elizabeth.
Did he hear himself? He was considering another woman! But Elizabeth was gone—and had been for some seven months. She herself had encouraged him to get on with his life. And Scott had said blind men who had a woman to come home to had an easier time making the transition.
But he needed more time. Time for his grief to fade. And time to sort out his feelings for Juliet.
But he didn’t have time. Miss Thomas would be leaving in a matter of weeks, maybe sooner. So if he wanted to maintain any sort of connection, he’d need to suggest they correspond. Should he pursue her?
He didn’t want to assume Juliet was interested in him because he was Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of the great Pemberley estate. He was now blind. Hardly a recommending characteristic. And she certainly seemed anxious to serve overseas. But if she did have feelings for him....
Was he willing to risk his heart again?
Yes. He was thirty-one and lonely. Elizabeth had accustomed him to the idea of marriage, and he was ready. And he liked how he felt around Elizabeth and Juliet.
Could he see Juliet as his wife?
Yes—and no. On the positive side, there was attraction between them, they enjoyed each other’s company, and she would be an excellent partner, both in life and business. But her family.... In some respects it was less appealing than Elizabeth’s had been.
Could he see her as mistress of Pemberley?
He tried to picture her beside him at Pemberley, then released his breath with a huff. He couldn’t see her at all!
But he was running out of time. He had less than three weeks until his departure, and even less if her summons came before then. He needed to make some sort of decision and stick with it. If he pursued her and she rejected him, their remaining time could be very awkward. But if things went well, it would allow them more time to explore a future together.
Perhaps he could have his cake and eat it too. He could try to be open with her about himself without overtly pursuing her, and then re-evaluate as things progressed.
He rolled over and sighed. He’d met hundreds of eligible women in the past decade, but none he’d considered marrying. Then he fell in love with a country girl from Hertfordshire, and now he was contemplating a working-class woman he’d never laid eyes upon. Five years ago their lack of money and station would have rendered them inconceivable choices.
But war had an uncanny way of stripping the superficialities from life.
~THIRTY-SIX~
A few days later
Darcy rested his knife and fork on the edge of his plate. “All right, let’s give it a go.”
Every morning after breakfast since their return from London earlier in the week, he’d been practicing different aspects of the dining ritual with Juliet—navigating a trio of wine glasses, using an oyster fork, and now learning to serve from a footman’s platter. Dinner party or not, these skills not only bolstered his confidence, but they would enable him to socialise in society’s upper circles.
“Learn to listen and feel for the presence of objects and others,” Miss Thomas began. “It may be nothing more than a shift in air or the sensation of a barrier beside you. At the dinner party, you’ll have some clues the footman is coming around just by the clank of the serving utensils on the platter and perhaps a shift in the floorboards. But when he comes to you, you’ll just have to know he’s there.”
“I’m ready.” Darcy sat up, listening.
The floorboard creaked and he detected her beside him, then rumbled a laugh. “You tricked me.”
“I didn’t say I would serve you first,” she chuckled, rounding to his other side. “But you’ll know your turn is next when you feel the footman on your right serving Sarah. And if you’d like, we can have her cue you when it’s your turn.”
He swivelled towards her, gently feeling for the serving utensils. “I’d prefer to manage unaided if I can.”
“You can always discreetly ask her if the need arises.”
“Of course.” He served himself the mock Potatoes Lyonnaise.
“Well done! We’ll practice once or twice more, and then I have a surprise.”
“A surprise? Please don’t tell me we’re practicing with strawberry mousse at this hour of the morning.”
“No, and it’s not strawberry mousse in our picnic lunch either. But I think you’ll enjoy it nonetheless—after we finish braille and your business correspondence at the pond.”
“Well, let’s get on with it, then. I’m waiting with bated breath.”

A little later
“.... And Isaac said unto Jacob, Come near, I pray thee, that I may feel thee—.” Darcy’s fingers skidded off the raised dots at the uncanny coincidence of the storyline. In the last few minutes he’d become so distracted by the awareness of Miss Thomas’ leg against his, he could hardly concentrate. He cleared his throat and scrabbled his fingers, searching for the line.
“We can stop there if you’d like.” She shifted, and cool air rushed to fill the space between them.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I seem to be having trouble paying attention today.”
Miss Thomas took the braille book from his lap. “You’ve worked hard this morning, and I can’t wait to show you your surprise.”
Darcy chuckled. “Then by all means, don’t let me stop you.”
“It’s over here.” She rose to her feet. “You’ll have to come with me.”
Darcy reached for his cane.
“You won’t need that. But you can bring Spero.”
She certainly had a way of heightening his anticipation.
When he pushed to his feet, she took his hand, and his attention riveted to the juncture of their clasped palms. He’d been reminding himself to look for opportunities to discover more about her and weigh his feelings, but this exaggerated awareness of her touch was more than he’d bargained for.
Tramping through the grass, she tucked his arm through hers. He forced himself to relax and accept the sensations of their entwined arms. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d felt her touch. They’d walked together like this a hundred times before, and her hand had been on his for hours at a time when he’d been deaf. Why did it seem so different today?
A gentle June breeze rippled the pond water against its banks. “We’re not going for another swim, are we?”
“Not exactly. We’re just going over here where the bank isn’t so steep.” She guided him down a gentle slope.
The water lapped with a distinctive thwack. Darcy smiled. “A good surprise indeed. Though my muscles may disagree tomorrow.”
Juliet laughed. “You enjoyed rowing so much at St. Dunstan’s, I thought we should try it here.”
“You’ll tell me where to go?”
“As long as you’ll row.”
Darcy chuckled and leaned over, feeling for the boat.
Miss Thomas guided his hand to the polished wood. “Get in and I’ll shove off.”
Darcy felt for the sides of the rowboat, steadied it, then gingerly stepped over the side. Walking his hands down the edges, he lowered himself onto the rower’s bench. Spero jumped in behind him.
“Ready?” Her voice tinkled with amused expectancy.
He gripped the oars. “Ready.” Her playful good nature was similar to Elizabeth’s.
The boat scraped the bank, then teetered as she stepped in. While they glided away from the bank, she settled on the seat facing him.
Darcy dipped the oars into the water and pulled back. “Where are we going?”
“Hmm. How about the other side?”
“How far is that?”
“Far enough.”
Her teasing impertinence was similar to Elizabeth as well. “What if I don’t have the strength to row back?”
“You will after you have the treat I’ve brought.”
“A treat?”
“A little refreshment. We’ll stop for a rest when you get tired.”
“I suppose we will,” he chuckled.
Darcy settled into a steady rowing rhythm, and the boat glided along. He’d been in bed for so long, it felt good to finally be up and about using his muscles.
They rode in companionable silence for some time as the oars gently bumped and creaked, then rippled through the water, repeating the pattern over and over.
Spero puffed out a breath, then settled to the floor between them. Birds twittered in the distance. A dragonfly swooped by his ear. He breathed in the smell of murky water as the sun warmed his face. It was a symphony for the senses.
Miss Thomas drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s so quiet and peaceful out here.”
“It is peaceful. But I wouldn’t say quiet.”
She laughed. “I should know better than to make such a silly statement to a blind man.”
He let the sounds around them speak his reply.
The tranquillity posed a stark contrast to the Front. His mind instantly conjured the burning village where he’d led his men through a cacophony of exploding shells, tumbling masonry, broken bodies, and shattering glass. It had been his last day as a sighted man. Grimacing, he banished the thoughts. That was the past. His future lay ahead. Would Juliet play a part in it?
He took two more draws on the oars. “Do you think much about life after the war? A family perhaps, or can you see yourself old and grey?”
“Oh, I don’t know that I’ve given myself licence to think that far ahead. Living under the cloud of war has become a way of life. What about you?”
“This dinner party and then St. Dunstan’s are my immediate future, but at present I can’t see much beyond that.” He wasn’t prepared to reveal his musings regarding her.
“Well, congratulations.”
“For what?”
“Successfully rowing across the pond.”
Darcy chuckled. “So you’ll allow me to partake in your culinary indulgence?” He let the oars drag in the water to still the boat.
“I promised I would.” She shuffled in the hamper at her feet, then touched his hand.
He took the moist square she offered and brought it to his nose. “Lemon squares.” He took a bite, savouring the gooey confectionery. “Delicious.” He took another bite and licked the powdered sugar from his lips.
She sniggered.
“Am I funny?” He popped the last of it into his mouth.
She stifled a giggle.
“What?” He sniggered with her.
“Y-your cheek.” The words came out on a titter, then she burst out laughing.
He swiped at his cheek and found a trace of lemony goo. “Was that so funny?” He was chuckling too.
“D-do you remember the ca-carrots?” She worked to draw a breath. “And the ro-roast beef?” She finally choked out the words.
“When I lost my temper?” He laughed harder.
“Yes!” she finally blurted.
He joined her in a hearty chortle.
“I’m sorry.” She was finally able to speak. “At the time, it wasn’t funny at all, but that smeared lemon made me think of the squashed carrots on the floor.” She released a gusty sigh, but then a new giggle slipped out.
“What is it now?”
“You missed a spot,” she tittered.
“Where?” He swiped again.
Her laughter broke free again, “At the cor—.” She couldn’t finish.
He licked his lips, but she only laughed harder.
“Where?” He chuckled.
“R-right” — the boat shimmied — “here—. Ahh!”
He stiffened as the boat wobbled violently, and then her laughter was in his face and her body sagging against his.
He collapsed into a spasm of laughter along with her as she tried to shore up her limbs in the rocking boat, but she was so consumed with laughter, she couldn’t right herself.
Finding her waist with his hands, he steadied her on his knee, their chuckles finally subsiding.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice was still bright with mirth as her hands found his shoulders. “If you’ll kindly lend a hand, I’ll retrieve my seat.”
He wouldn’t mind if she’d sat with him a little longer, but it would hardly be proper to say so. He extended a steadying hand, and she took her seat.
“Goodness,” she exhaled, finally composed. “Everyone knows better than to stand up in a boat. I was already giddy with laughter, then I tripped over Spero, the boat started rocking, and I just couldn’t gather myself together.”
“No harm done.” He smiled in her direction.
A sobering silence fell over them, and time stood still—as if they’d just been drawn closer by an invisible cord that stretched between them. He could feel her penetrating gaze.
A moment later her voice broke the silence. “It was good to see you laughing and embracing life.”
Her heartfelt sincerity caught him tight about the chest. “I credit it to your perseverance. You helped me find humour in myself. Thank you. I owe you my life.”
“It’s been my pleasure, Captain.”
Elizabeth would remain a special part of his past, but Juliet just might hold the key to his future.
~THIRTY-SEVEN~
Elizabeth sauntered across the last stretch of lawn that would return her to Hartfield. The rowing excursion with Fitzwilliam this morning had been a delightful success. Unlike his aloof behaviour in the days following the return of his hearing, since they’d been back from St. Dunstan’s he’d been attentive and engaging—today especially. Was he coming to see her as more than his nurse? Just as the humorous tent incident at The Ritz had drawn them together, so their outburst of laughter today seemed to bind them together.
She released a frustrated breath. She hadn’t exactly discouraged him. She’d fallen into his lap, for heaven’s sake! And certainly spending every morning together at a secluded pond made it easy to forget her proper place as his aide. To forget she was entangled in a conspiracy that could cost her life and perhaps his as well.
She needed to leave. Soon.
Tucking a wayward curl under her cap, she opened the door into Hartfield.
“Thomas,” Dashwood looked up from the receptionist’s desk, “a letter’s come from Devonshire House for you. It’s
on the hall table.”
Her VAD summons—it had come! With a word of thanks, Elizabeth brushed by Dashwood and snatched the letter from the silver tray. Would she be on her way to France or Egypt? Tearing open the envelope, her eyes darted across the typed text, but her enthusiasm funnelled away like water down a drain. They didn’t want her. They didn’t need her. How could they not need VADs? She had recommendations from Dr. Scott and Fitzwilliam.
She read the letter again.
Dear Miss Thomas,
Thank you for your recent VAD application for service abroad. At this time, however, there are no suitable positions available. Should you wish to reapply at a later....
Her trembling hand fell to her side, and she lowered herself onto a chair. What now? She couldn’t apply to work at St. Dunstan’s, it was too risky. Fitzwilliam would be there. What if Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared? Or Charles, or Jane? She couldn’t remain at Hartfield either, as Robert Knightley would surely recognise her when he came home on leave next month.
She needed to think. And plan.
Pulling herself up from the chair, she crept down the hallway to the back staircase not wanting to face Dashwood or anyone else. All she wanted to do was nurse her disappointment in the privacy of her room.
Mounting the steps, a thought stopped her in her tracks. Tonight she was to dine at Donwell. Mrs. Knightley would be joining the family to see first-hand how Fitzwilliam’s training was getting on. And Elizabeth was to arrive early to borrow a dress from Sarah since she didn’t own anything suitable to wear. She groaned. Why did it have to be tonight?
So much for an evening of nursing her pain in private.

Just before seven o’clock, Elizabeth climbed the stairs at Donwell Abbey, and then knocked on Sarah’s door. Sarah whipped open the door, her face taut and eyes shooting daggers.
Elizabeth took a half-step back. “Sarah?”
“Juliet.” The word floated out. Sarah’s shoulders sagged, and her face softened. “I’m sorry, I forgot you were arriving early. I thought you were Granny coming back again.” She pressed a hand to her temple, then stepped aside.
Darcy's Hope at Donwell Abbey, a WW1 Pride & Prejudice Companion Page 24