She noticed the changes Mrs. Nicholls made while she had been outside. A screen was spread open and pressed against the empty fireplace, blocking any air that might come down the chimney. Two candles in the sconces framing the fireplace were lit. Pillows and blankets were placed around the room. All but one of the side tables and decorations were missing; there was not a doily, a vase, or a picture frame in sight. Instead, on a low table placed just inside the door was a selection of tea cups, a plate of warm bread and ham, a jar containing tea leaves, a pot of jam, and a bucket filled with scalding water. The housekeeper informed her that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had the same in the sitting room. “They are as comfortable as I can make them and as they can be. If you will excuse me, I will remain in the room with them, seeing to their needs,” was her parting comment.
Elizabeth chuckled to herself. She would not want to be Mrs. Nicholls for any amount of money.
“Was there a fire somewhere since you all entered the room like flames were snapping at your heels,” her mother snorted at her own humor.
Elizabeth quickly explained, “Mama, the wind is back.”
“Oh, good lord, no.” Francine Bennet muttered, her hands at her cheeks. “I do hope Longbourn remains standing. I have been there for more than half of my lifetime. What would I do if it was gone? What will we do if something happens to Mr. Bennet?”
Mr. Darcy repeated the report from his coachman who delivered Mr. Collins to the estate, much to her mother’s relief and the relief of others. Along with her mother and sisters, Mrs. Hammond, Mr. Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam were Netherfield Park’s female servants. Apparently, the male servants and any from the stables who dared to enter were sharing space in the cellar with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst or had gone to the dower house.
Cook kept the maids close to her, sitting next to the door as if she would escape at the first opportunity or block anyone from entering. Colonel Fitzwilliam was speaking with Jane. Kitty and Lydia were tormenting their mother with endless questions about their plans should Longbourn not survive, and Mary chatted with Mrs. Hammond. That left Mr. Darcy, who sat next to Elizabeth.
Leaning close to her, he said, “We need to talk.”
Not meaning to be coy, she asked, “What subject did you have in mind?”
“The kiss.”
Her breath caught. Both nervous and excited, and possibly a little scared at what he might say, she replied, “The first or the second, for if I remember correctly, there were two.”
His lips barely moved into a smile before he replied, “If you want to be specific, I would say it was the second one since the first was barely more than an accidental touch if you recall.”
The nerves along her spine quivered. “Oh, I recall it clearly, sir.”
“In detail?”
“Absolutely.” Her fingers picked at the fabric of her gown.Whatever did he mean by his series of questions? Was he hoping she would have forgotten the pleasure or that she would overlook his part in kissing her?
“As do I,” he reassured her. “My question is exactly what your expectations are because of that second one.”
She finally exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. “Sir, whatever can you mean?” She was not coy. Rather, she needed to comprehend what he had in mind.
“Ah, yes, I understand your confusion. You see, I have never been one to incite expectations in a lady. My life’s goal to this point was to avoid the practice altogether. Yet, in truth, I cannot say that I had not given considerable consideration to doing that very thing with you prior to the windstorm.”
Elizabeth spun in her chair to look directly at him, stunned at his admission. “You did?”
“You are surprised, yet I wonder why that is so. Did you not hope? Can you tell me honestly that you did not consider me as a potential husband the night of the assembly when your mother made it obvious that she viewed both Bingley and me as bait for her matchmaking hook?”
She wanted to strike her palm against his mouth despite loathing physical violence. Why had he gone from charming to bitter with his last question? Was this his true nature? If so, then she was even blinder than she suspected earlier that day.Good grief!The question she should have asked was, ‘Who was Fitzwilliam Darcy?’ rather than ‘Who was Elizabeth Rose Bennet?’
“Are you being mean, sir? Is this an attempt to stir my ire until I reject any possibility of a possible attachment to you out of hand, relieving you of any responsibility after our kiss?”
“Mean? Why would you imply that of me? Do you not know me well enough to know that I was attempting to flirt? Something I apparently did poorly.” He ran his hand through his hair.
Good heavens!She wanted to laugh and comfort him at the same time.How adorably awkward of him.
“Elizabeth, my intentions are to offer for your hand in marriage. I want to protect you, not just through this storm, but for all the storms that happen during our lives, metaphorically and real. I esteem you highly enough to want you by my side for the rest of my lifetime.”
“Oh!” She was stunned. He wanted her. He really did. Joy filled her heart. “We shall need to work on your flirting skills, Mr. Darcy.”
“Fitzwilliam.”
His response confirmed he was in earnest, giving her peace. “Very well,Fitzwilliam. I suggest you practice regularly until winsome words flow from your lips. In case I frown after one of your attempts, you might want to soothe me with tender words of affection which will remove the sting, or another kiss.”
Darcy grinned. “Thank you for your suggestion. I shall strive to improve. In the meantime, do you have a response for me?”
“You have yet to ask a question to which I would respond.”
