Page 41 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

"Well! He said nothing of the kind to me." Her mother sounded torn between offense and importance. "But if Mr. Jones said it to you, sir..."

"Allow me to see you back up, madam. The stairs are dark, and you have had a great shock today."

"Oh! Mr. Darcy! You are too good." Her mother's voice went up. "But your hands..."

"I have an arm, madam. It is at your service."

Elizabeth put both hands over her mouth.

Their voices went away up the stairs. Her mother's went on and on, about the lane and the copper and Lydia and her nerves. Mr. Darcy's came only now and then, low and patient. A door opened above. Her mother cried good night to him several times over. Then the door shut.

The house was silent.

Elizabeth sat alone by the fire. She tried to tie the ribbon at her throat. Her fingers shook, and she made a hopeless knot of it. She gave it up and pulled the wrapper close instead.

He gave Mama his arm, she thought. He gave my mother his arm, in her nightcap, on the stairs.

She laughed a little, and cried a little.

After perhaps half an hour, his step came back down the stairs and along the passage. The door opened.

He stood on the threshold and looked at her. His face gave nothing away. "Your mother," he said, "is in bed."

"I heard." Her voice wobbled. "You told her Mr. Jones said it was imperative."

"He said you were not to take a step for a week. I took a liberty with the wording."

She laughed then, helplessly, into her hands. He came and stood over her chair until she had done. He held out his arm.

She took it, and he brought her up. It was ten hops to her door. He took them at her pace, in the dark, without a word.

At her door he stopped. He did not cross the threshold. He waited while she found the doorframe, and then the wall inside. "Good night, Miss Elizabeth," he said, very low.

The Miss was back. He used it when he was holding himself in check. At her bedroom door, in the dark, she was glad one of them could.

"Good night, sir." She hopped the four hops to the bed and fell into it.

She lay in the dark with the knotted ribbon in her fist. Outside, his step stayed by her door a moment before it went away up the stairs.

She put her hand over her mouth and laughed until the bed shook.

By nine o'clock Elizabeth was installed on the morning room sofa with her foot on a cushion. Her mother had come down to breakfast full of Mr. Jones's orders. She had them from Mr. Darcy himself, she told the table, and he had given her his arm on the stairs. Lizzy must rest. It was imperative. Mrs. Bennet had sent for a shawl, a hot brick and a basin of gruel. Elizabeth was not to move.

She minded it less than she expected. She was tired. And she had a great deal to think about.

Jane had gone out after breakfast to walk in the shrubbery with Mr. Bingley, with Mrs. Hurst trailing behind them. Elizabeth had watched them go from the window. She had not seen Jane's face so pink since the assembly.

At ten, Mr. Collins came to the door.

He had a look she disliked. He had brushed his hair with great care. He bowed to Mrs. Bennet, and then, by some mischance, to the hot brick. "May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth," he said, "when I solicit for the honor of a private audience with her in the course of this morning?"

Elizabeth sat up.

"Oh dear! Yes, certainly!" Her mother was already on her feet, gathering up her work. "I am sure Lizzy will be very happy. I am sure she can have no objection. I shall be upstairs."

"Mama, do not go," cried Elizabeth. "Please. Whatever Mr. Collins has to say, he can say it in front of you."

"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I desire you will stay where you are."