Belinda Roberts: Mr. Darcy Goes Overboard: A Tale of Tide & Prejudice

So with hugs, kisses, and a profusion of blessings to her mother, father, and sisters, Lydia, her face aglow with The Good News, left, her new life beckoning.

After the shock of Lydia’s transformation, a jubilant Mr Bennet took himself off to Captain Morgan’s for a full slap-up English breakfast of bacon, fried egg, black pudding, beans, sausages, mushrooms, and hash browns, followed by thick slabs of toast spread with thick dollops of butter and marmalade, to celebrate the miracle of his youngest daughter’s redemption.

Mrs Bennet retired to The Wardroom—only to hear gossip that had made her splutter into her cappuccino once more. Mr Bingley was returning to Netherpollock!

Jane nearly choked on her tutti-frutti ice cream when she heard the news, but denied to observers she was at all affected by the rumour. Yet how could she be unaffected? All her hopes and dreams were tied up in that one name. Bingley! How she had fought them, subdued them, pretended to herself that they did not exist, and now all those passions threatened to well up again. It was too much!

A knock on the open door of 3 Island Street early in the evening, however, challenged her strongest powers of composure. Bingley stood there, resplendent in swimming trunks, and towel in hand. The girls were out in the yard at the back, busy making friendship bracelets, so Mrs Bennet welcomed Mr Bingley in. Bingley walked through the little house with a hop, skip, and a jump, and out into the yard. Jane did not dare raise her eyes. She firmly carried on, plaiting yellow over cerise over emerald green, until she became aware of blond hairs tickling her forehead.

“Jane,” said Bingley, leaning over, “are you not going to say hello?”

“But of course,” said Jane, adding her greeting, and she looked up into the bluest, merriest eyes she had ever seen, and hope welled up once more.

“Whom are you making a friendship bracelet for?” enquired Bingley, smiling. “A friend or a lover?”

“I… oh…” Jane was pink with confusion. Who, indeed, was she making the bracelet for? “Mary,” she said for safety. Bingley looked disappointed. “But I could make one for you!” she added hastily, sensing his disappointment. “What are your favourite colours?”

Bingley took the opportunity to sit down beside Jane.

“Cornflower blue, like your eyes.”

“And like your cornflower blue eyes,” said Jane with a giggle, surprised at her own bravery for making a remark of such a personal and intimate nature. But Bingley was clearly delighted at such progress.

“Pink like your lips,” he continued, “and let me see, gold like your hair would be just perfect, more than perfect.”

The young couple felt a shiver as their hands, selecting the coloured embroidery thread, touched.

There was a cough from the front door. The girls peered down the hallway. A figure, also in swimming trunks with a towel slung over broad shoulders, was outlined in the front door frame. Darcy.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs Bennet in a tone quite different from that she had used to greet Bingley.

“It’s that miserable, moody man who always looks as if he’s swallowed a lump of granite,” said Kitty too loudly. “And he’s got a horrible hairy chest. Like a gorilla!”

Lizzy, who had taken such pleasure in observing Jane, was paralysed. Darcy was not invited in by Mrs Bennet, and so his conversation, being conducted from a distance, was restricted, although he did ask Lizzy if she had seen her uncle or aunt of late.

When the time came for the two gentlemen to leave, Mrs Bennet took the opportunity to invite Bingley to join them for a picnic at Starehole Bay the following day.

“Wicked,” replied Bingley, which Mrs Bennet took as a “yes.”

It was a blustery day as the party set off for the little beach, a not inconsiderable walk along the Devonshire coastline. The path was uneven and rocky in places, and Lizzy was happy to note Bingley grasping Jane’s arm from time to time to prevent himself from slipping. They passed Sharp Tor, and crossing the stream, made the descent down to Starehole Bay. Mrs Bennet was all shrieks and alarm as the shaly ground constantly threatened to slip from beneath her and in the end got the better of her, and she tumbled the last forty feet, taking with her Darcy, who had surprised all by coming along, too, and had been leading the way, alone with his own thoughts. Lizzy was mortified to see her mother grasping at Darcy as she fell, pulling him with her down the remainder of the path, onto the beach, where Mrs Bennet fell in a heap. To his credit, Darcy helped her to her feet, and they brushed themselves down and waited for the remainder of the party to make a more genteel entrance onto the sandy shore.

The picnic was spread out, and the girls wrapped themselves in towels, and shrieking, wriggling and hopping about on one leg and then another, changed into their bikinis. Bingley and Darcy coyly retired to the rocks for their changing room. When they emerged in swimming trunks, the girls could not fail to be impressed. Bingley was slim and trim, and Jane had eyes only for him. But as for Mr Darcy! Fit, muscular, glowing. A silent gasp uttered by the remaining group of women left them openmouthed as he approached across the sands. Only Mary was unable to restrain herself, and to her embarrassment, let out a squeak, quickly covering her mouth to prevent further eruptions and then burrowing into her bag for her physics textbook Electric Surges to divert her mind and recover her reputation. Kitty broke the ice and suggested a game of volleyball before lunch. Bingley and Darcy were selected to pick teams. Lizzy was desperate to see if Bingley would choose Jane first, which he did. Jane went and stood by him, both only too aware of the proximity of their nearly naked bodies.

“Splendid!” cried Bingley. “Now, Darcy,” he enthused, desperately trying to divert his own attention from the attractions of Jane, “your turn!”

Darcy stared at the three sisters before him. Three young women in swimwear. It was hard to think with his usual clarity. His eyes moved swiftly from Kitty to Mary to Lizzy, where they stopped, taking her all in from head to toe to head, where they locked with Lizzy’s. After a full two minutes, Lizzy felt impelled to turn away, but Darcy still did not speak.

“Come now, Darcy!” encouraged Bingley. “I must have you choose. I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manner. If you do not hurry, the tide will have come up and drowned us all before we have had a chance to even throw the ball.”

Darcy opened his mouth, and still looking as if in a trance at Lizzy, so tempting, clad in so very little, said very slowly, “Mary.”

Lizzy, it must be said, felt some disappointment but smiled gamely, and in the event, ended up on Bingley’s team. This did give her the opportunity to observe Darcy at length, who was observing her rather than the ball, and this, combined with Jane and Bingley both inclined to say “After you” before hitting the ball, led to a poor standard of play. This, however, could not keep the young people’s spirits down, and once the game was complete, there was a general dash into the sea. Much splashing followed, and Kitty dared them all to a swimming race to Bellhouse Rock and back. Lizzy found herself swimming beside Darcy, and they had a few polite words about Durham until mountains of surf reduced conversation to small exclamations. They all reached Bellhouse Rock successfully and sat to get their breath until someone said, “Where’s Mary?”

“Help! Help!” came a thin cry from the seas.

Mary was in the process of drowning. Bingley and Darcy gamely dived in and hauled her out of the water, and while Bingley pumped her chest, it fell to Darcy, reluctantly some would say, to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Lizzy was ablaze with emotion as she watched. She almost felt it would have been worth nearly drowning herself for such salvation. But she had rejected him once. Who could possibly expect that a man such as Darcy would ever repeat his overtures? No. It was over. Silly girl.