“Another woman?” That thought had never occurred to Darcy. The idea made her stomach flip-flop in a horrid way.
“He could be involved in a serious relationship.”
Darcy felt sick. Suppose it was true. He hadn’t attended a single social function. “I d-don’t think so.” But she wasn’t sure.
Beatrice nodded and went back to unwrapping dishes.
“He would have mentioned her,” Darcy said, “if there was someone. At least I think he would have.”
“There’s only one way to know for certain,” said Beatrice, setting another dessert plate on the already tall stack.
“Spy on him?”
“Certainly not! Don’t even think such a thing. The only sure way is to ask.”
Darcy gagged. “Ask? Just go up to him and ask if he’s courting anyone? I suppose you’d also like me to say that I’m wild about him?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.”
“No, no, no.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.”
Beatrice laughed. “What wrong impression? You just told me you might love him.”
“But I can’t think about marriage until I’ve made my great flight.”
“Marriage? That’s a bit of a leap. First you spend time together and get to know each other, and then you decide if you’re compatible. In time, you consider marriage.”
Darcy concentrated on the army of teacups she’d unwrapped. She knew all that. “But what if you already know?”
“Darcy, are you telling me that he’s the one?”
“Maybe.” Even that felt so final.
“But you said you don’t want to consider marriage.” Beattie shook her head. “You can’t have it both ways. Oh, Darcy, if only I could convince you how wonderful marriage is. Why, it’s liberating to have a man take care of you.”
Liberating. Indeed! Darcy turned abruptly and knocked over a half-empty box. She fumbled to collect the spilled contents. “That’s not the sort of liberation I want,” she said, while stuffing tissue and straw and thankfully unbroken china back into the box. “I mean, it’s fine for most women, just not me.”
“You make it sound like torture. I assure you, it’s wonderful. Blake is so considerate, and we work in concert, like a tandem bicycle. Truly, I feel ten times stronger than ever before. With Blake at my side, I can do anything. We can do anything. You and Jack both love to fly. You like the same things. Why not work together?”
As reasonable as that sounded, Darcy knew it wouldn’t happen. “Because married men don’t let their wives fly.”
“Jack might be different.”
She shook her head. “He’s worse than most. He doesn’t think any women should fly. He would never let his wife fly. Besides,” she paused, weighing if she should reveal what Burrows had told her. “His mechanic said that Jack’s not the marrying type.”
Beattie laughed.
“That’s hardly funny. Hendrick Simmons happens to feel the same way.”
That only made Beattie squeal louder.
“What’s so funny?”
“Don’t you know?” said Beatrice, hand cupped over her mouth to stifle the spasms. “Know what?”
“That Hendrick Simmons has been in love with you for years?”
“No he hasn’t.” But Darcy felt a tad uncomfortable. “We’re just friends. You know that. We’ve been friends since childhood. Besides, I haven’t done a thing to encourage him.”
“Haven’t you?”
Darcy stared, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t he helping with the plane?”
“So?”
“He wouldn’t give so much of his time unless he hoped to gain something—your admiration, for instance. He deserves to be treated fairly, Darcy.”
She felt like a child caught doing something wrong. But she hadn’t. Beatrice was the one who was mistaken. “We’re just friends. We’ve always been friends. He knows I’m not interested in anything more. I’ve practically said so.”
“Good,” Beatrice said, handing her another tissue-wrapped bundle. “If you can tell Hendrick, you should have no difficulty telling Jack.”
“Tell him what?”
Beatrice unwrapped a fat little porcelain cupid and pantomimed shooting an arrow. “You know what.”
Darcy blanched. “I could never.”
Jack cut the fuel to the second motor. It wasn’t running right yet. Maybe the cold had something to do with it. The gasoline heater didn’t raise the temperature in the barn very much. He should have bought a new engine, instead of trying to reclaim army surplus.
“Too much oil,” said Simmons. “I’d better pull the head and check the rings.”
“We just did that.” Jack swung out of the cockpit, frustrated. Mid-February, and only one engine ran. If they couldn’t get the second motor running soon, they’d never be done on time. What he wouldn’t give to have Burrows here.
“What’s wrong?” asked Darcy from her position at the worktable. She’d been jumpy all day, and it was wearing on Jack’s nerves. “Nothing.”