Page 8 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

Then she moved her foot, and she remembered everything.

She lay still until the pain settled. Jane was asleep in an armchair by the hearth, still in last night's gown, with her head against the wing. Somebody had covered her with a shawl. Somebody had also laid Mr. Darcy's coat over the foot of Elizabeth's bed, neatly folded, with the scorched side turned down.

Elizabeth looked at it for a long time.

He had put out the fire with his hands. He had thrown himself over her in front of half of Meryton. He had carried her up those steps with his arms shaking. And when she thanked him, he had flinched. His face had closed, and he had gone.

Do not thank me.

She could make nothing of him. She liked that even less than she had liked disliking him.

By noon the whole house knew the Bennets had come to stay.

Mrs. Bennet was in raptures. She had toured the drawing room twice before breakfast. She had admired the silver on the sideboard and the draperies in the hall. She had informed Mrs. Nicholls that Longbourn's own draperies were nearly as fine, before the fire. "Such a house, Lizzy!" she cried, sweeping into the morning room. "Such rooms! Mr. Bingley has put your father and me in the blue chamber, and there is a dressing room, and a view of the park. Jane, you must go up and change at once. Mr. Bingley will be down directly."

Jane rose, blushing, and kissed Elizabeth's forehead. "Will you be all right, Lizzy?"

"I shall be magnificent. Go and be admired."

Mrs. Hurst sent down a morning gown of her own, with a note in Miss Bingley's hand. It was much too long in the hem. Mrs. Hill had come over from Longbourn with a bundle of Elizabeth's things, but everything in it smelled of smoke. She had taken it away again to air.

Her father came at eleven, with a newspaper under his arm and ash still on his boots. He had ridden over to Longbourn at first light.

"How is it, Papa?"

"Wet." He sat down on the end of her bed. "Hill says the kitchen wing will do very well, and the west rooms. The east end wants a new roof, new floors, and a great deal of money I do not have." He unfolded his paper. "I have sent to Mr. Phillips about the builders. We shall be Mr. Bingley's guests for some weeks, I fear."

"And the library?"

He was slow to answer. "I have saved what I could. It is drying in the barn." He shook out the paper. "Mr. Bingley's library, by the by, contains eleven books. Four of them are about horses. I have read them all this morning and I now know a great deal about spavin."

She laughed, and he looked pleased. He left soon after. He always did.

Miss Bingley paid a call on the invalid at two o'clock. She remained standing. "You are comfortable, I hope, Miss Eliza? We are quite overrun, as you may imagine. But we must all make sacrifices." She glanced at the borrowed gown. "Louisa's things never did fit anyone but Louisa."

"You are very kind to lend them."

"Oh, it was Charles's idea. Everything is Charles's idea." Miss Bingley smiled. "Mr. Darcy is resting, you know. He has not come down all day. The poor man cannot so much as hold a cup. I offered to read to him, and he would not hear of it."

"How strange," said Elizabeth.

"He is very proud. He cannot bear to be fussed over." Miss Bingley went to the door and paused. "I shall try again this evening."

After she had gone, Elizabeth sat with her foot up on a cushion and hated everyone a little.

She could not walk. She could not dress herself properly without help. She could not so much as reach the bell pull without hopping across the room. Every hour, someone had to come in and wait on her. Every hour, she had to thank them for it.

Late in the afternoon, the door stood ajar. Voices drifted in from the hall. Her mother's voice, and Mrs. Hurst's.

"And now the house is burned, and we are a burden on Mr. Bingley! I am sure I do not know how I shall bear it." Mrs. Bennet sighed. "It is always the same with five girls and no fortune. When Mr. Bennet dies, they will be a burden on somebody. I have always said so."

"I am sure your daughters will do very well, ma'am," said Mrs. Hurst. She sounded far from sure of it.

"Jane will. Jane is a beauty. But Lizzy, with that tongue of hers, and now a lame foot! Who will take her?"

The voices moved away down the hall.

Elizabeth sat very still. It was nothing she had not heard a hundred times. Her mother said such things every day of her life. There was no reason for it to sting.