“Are you well, Mrs. Hammond?” At her affirmation, he added, “I beg your forgiveness for bringing you out in this weather. Had I known, I would not have done anything to put you in danger.”
She patted his hand. “Do not fret, Mr. Darcy. I would have sat home wishing I was here. If we use good sense, I have no doubt we will survive. I have weathered far greater storms.”
Placing his other hand over hers, he gently squeezed. “You are a woman among women, Mrs. Hammond.”
“I am not alone.” Nodding at Miss Elizabeth and glancing at Miss Bennet. “You have help should you need it.”
Descending the staircase, Darcy heard the men before he saw them. Bingley sang at the top of his lungs while Sir William Lucas attempted poorly to harmonize. Turning the corner after the final step, he noticed Richard pacing in the limited space, Mr. Hurst silently emptying another bottle, and Colonel Forster had a book. Mr. Collins sat sermonizing to the room.
“How are things in the kitchen?” Richard asked.
“As expected.” Asking Bingley for help was pointless. He was already well into his cups. “The ladies are fearful, and for good reason. I have never been in a storm this fierce, not even at Pemberley, where, as you know, the wind blows down from the mountains.” He stepped closer to his cousin. “This building is not stable. If it were not dangerous and dark outside, I would see how much of the roof has blown off. Any moment, I expect rainwater to make its way down to the kitchen.”
The colonel nodded. “We are fortunate that the stable is close enough to the main house that this monstrosity should serve as a windbreak, at least for as long as the house stands. That will keep the horses and those who are sheltering inside safe. If it is needed, we can move everyone to the dower house.”
“Can you really see the Bingley sisters sheltering with the stable hands, the tenants, and the servants even in the old house?”
“You know them far better than I, of course, but I suspect that any one of them would do whatever it took to keep themselves alive. But then, I am far too jaded to believe they would automatically look out for others.”
“Miss Elizabeth is…”
A bloodcurdling scream from the kitchen sent chills down his spine. He sped up the stairs. Before he reached the door, the terrible smell of burned cloth and hair offended his sensibilities. He feared what he would find.
The kitchen was in an uproar. Mrs. Bennet had her hands pressed over her eyes as her eldest was attempting to comfort her. Darcy wished they covered her mouth instead. The others pressed against the far wall away from the fireplace. Twisting and turning, Miss Lydia screamed while Miss Elizabeth used her bare hands to smother the sparks in her hair. Scalding vapor hissed from the tongues of flames taunting Miss Lydia’s damp garments.
His cousin grabbed a bucket.
“Thank heavens!” Elizabeth grabbed the handle and poured it over the side of her sister’s head.
Elizabeth peered up at Darcy without halting her task. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her fingers…Blast and damnation!Her fingertips were blistered.
Darcy took her hand gently in his.“Richard, some strong spirits for the ladies and some cold, clean water for Miss Elizabeth, please.”
“My hair!” Miss Lydia turned in a circle in a futile attempt to see the damage.
Darcy was grateful that she could not be too seriously injured if all she could think about was her damaged tresses. Dark, sootpooled under her eyes leaving her looking like a pathetic animal he saw once in a picture book from the Americas that he thought might be a raccoon.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst came out of the stillroom curious about the uproar. Others stood with their fingers over their mouths. When Miss Jane Bennet removed a few hairpins and a lengthy strand of shriveled hair came away with it, Mrs. Bennet fainted. As soon as her youngest child saw the damage, she turned away from the others, crying to her most responsible sister, “Lizzy, help me.” Her slim body shook with a violent sob.
Relief at being guidedby Mr. Darcy to the now empty stillroom surged through Elizabeth. Her fingers throbbed. She felt like crying with relief and anger and pain.
Lydia, who clung to her arm, stopped cold when she saw the flickering flame of the lone candle, screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Come, Miss Lydia. You have nothing to fear,” Mr. Darcy assured them both. “This candle shall remain on the table. If you will be seated here, then it would be impossible for any harm to come to you.”
Lydia sobbed. “You are too late, sir. The harm is already done.” Using the back of her hand, Lydia swiped at her eyes, leaving a trail of sooty black.
Elizabeth worried for her sister. And she was frustrated. Had Lydia only listened, the damage would have been avoided. At the same time, she was relieved that things had not taken a turn for the worse, which it easily could have done.
Gratefully, Mr. Darcy ignored the chaos, stepping aside to allow his valet, carrying a small leather case, to join them.He softened his voice, knelt, and spoke to her like he would to a scared child (which she was). “I believe you can be fully confident in Parker’s ability to repair any damage to your garments and your person. When I was much younger, my cousin and I used to climb up and down the tall trees in one of the groves at Pemberley. When we returned to the house with pitch stuck in our hair, Parker was able to cut it away while concealing the damage, so our parents remained unaware of our exploits. Unbeknownst to me at the time, he had to do the same to my father when he was a lad. He even has experience with my sister’s coiffeur when she was too long in the stable with kittens and she did not want to cause more work for her maid.”
“Very well.” Lydia hiccupped as she endeavored to stop crying.
The scent of drying herbs and flowers was a stark contrast to the bitter smell of Lydia’s hair.
As he opened his case, Parker asked, “Do you have any burns?”
Elizabeth hid her fingers behind her back even though she knew he was asking Lydia.
