Page 11 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

He stared at her. "You will turn my pages?" he said at last.

"And you will fetch me books from the high shelves, since I cannot stand to reach them. And open doors, with your elbows. And lend me your arm when I must hop somewhere undignified."

"That is not a fair exchange. You would be doing a great deal more for me."

"Then you are in my debt, Mr. Darcy, and I shall enjoy that very much." She held up the book. "Well? Do we have a bargain?"

He looked at her for a long moment. She could not read him. His face in the firelight was grave and tired, and there was soot still in the line of his hair. "We have a bargain," he said.

"Good." She opened the Cowper on her knee. "Where were you?"

"I have no idea. I have read the same four lines since midnight."

She found the place, and she read to him. Her voice sounded strange in the quiet room. After a while it stopped sounding strange. He sat back in his chair with his bandaged hands on his knees and his eyes half closed. She turned the pages. Once she glanced up and found him watching her instead of the fire.

The candle burned down. The clock on the mantel struck three.

Elizabeth closed the book. "I should go back. If the maid finds my bed empty, she will wake the whole house."

She put her hands on the arms of the chair to rise.

"Stay."

She looked at him.

He had not moved. His voice was very low. "Stay," he said again. "Please. Read me one more."

4

"I shall cut it," said Miss Bingley.

"You will do no such thing," said Mrs. Bennet. "I have cut meat for five children and Mr. Bennet. I know exactly how Mr. Darcy likes it."

"You cannot possibly know how Mr. Darcy likes it."

"Small," said Mrs. Bennet firmly. "All gentlemen like it small."

It was the first night Mr. Darcy had come down to dinner. It was also, Elizabeth suspected, the last. He sat at Mr. Bingley's right hand with his bandaged hands in his lap, staring at a slice of roast mutton. Miss Bingley had seized his knife. Mrs. Bennet had seized his fork. They were arguing across him while the mutton went cold.

Mr. Bingley looked helplessly at Jane. Mr. Hurst ate steadily through all of it. Mr. Bennet, at the far end, had given up all pretense of eating and was simply enjoying himself.

Elizabeth sat on Mr. Darcy's other side. Two footmen had carried her in on a chair, much to her mortification. Her mother would not hear of the crutch at Mr. Bingley's table. It thumped, she said, and it was not ladylike.

Elizabeth had meant to eat quietly and speak to no one. But after assessing the situation, which showed no signs of improving, she reached over, took Mr. Darcy's plate, and cut the mutton into neat pieces with her own knife. Then she set it back in front of him and laid a clean fork across the rim.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Bennet both stopped talking.

"There," said Elizabeth. "Now you may both argue about the potatoes."

Mr. Bennet laughed out loud.

Mr. Darcy looked down at the plate, and then at her. He took up the fork between two bandaged fingers, very awkwardly, and began to eat. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Do not thank me," she said. "You are in my debt, remember."

His mouth moved. It was nearly a smile. Across the table, Miss Bingley's face went quite rigid.

After dinner, the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, and Elizabeth was carried with them. Miss Bingley took a book and walked about the room with it, very slowly, with her eyes on the door. When the gentlemen came in, she was at the pianoforte.