Page 22 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

"Ha! Very good, sir. Very good." Mr. Collins seemed unsure whether he had been rebuked. He moved toward the wing chair. "Might I sit a moment? I find myself quite restless..."

His hand came down on the back of the chair, inches above Elizabeth's head.

"The horse books," said Mr. Darcy.

The hand paused. "I beg your pardon?"

"Mr. Bingley's library contains four books on horses. You have read one. The other three are on the shelf by the door." Mr. Darcy turned a page with his wrist. "I recommend The Complete Farrier. It is very long. It will put you to sleep in a quarter of an hour."

"Ah! Most thoughtful, sir. Most thoughtful." The hand lifted. The slippers shuffled away toward the door. Elizabeth heard a book come down from a shelf. "Lady Catherine always says that you are the most considerate of her nephews. I shall tell her so. Good night, Mr. Darcy."

"Good night, Mr. Collins."

The door closed. His footsteps went slowly away up the passage, and up the stairs, and then there was nothing.

Elizabeth sat on the hearthrug with her back against the fender, shaking. Now that she could breathe again, the pain came flooding in.

Then Mr. Darcy was on his knees beside her. "Are you hurt? Your ankle..."

"It hurts abominably." She tried to straighten her leg and gasped. "I struck it on the fender."

"Let me see."

"You cannot. You have no hands." She laughed shakily, though her eyes were wet. "We are a very poor pair, Mr. Darcy."

He bent and helped her ease the foot out from under her, slowly, with his forearms. He set it flat on the rug. His face was white. "Better?"

"Better." It was a little better. She looked up at him. "Mr. Darcy. He means to propose to me."

"I heard."

"On one day's acquaintance. Because Lady Catherine told him to."

"I heard." His face was grim. His cravat still hung crooked under his chin, and his hair still stood on end where her fingers had been.

And all at once she began to laugh. She pressed both hands over her mouth, and could not stop. Her shoulders shook. He stared at her. Then his mouth twitched. He sat back on his heels and put his bandaged hands over his face. He was laughing too.

"The Complete Farrier," she whispered, when she could speak. “What Mr. Bingley’s library loses in breadth, it certainly makes up in depth on this single topic. Like my father, my cousin will be an authority on spavin by morning.”

It took a long while for the laughter to pass. When it did, the room fell silent. He was kneeling on the rug beside her, close enough to touch. He lowered his hands and looked at her. She looked at him.

"That was madness," he said softly.

"Yes."

"It must not happen again."

"No," she agreed.

But he did not move away. And neither did she.

7

"Lizzy! Lizzy, he is the handsomest man in the whole regiment, and he asked after Mr. Darcy!" Lydia came into the drawing room at a run, bonnet strings flying.

Kitty came after her. Aunt Phillips was last, puffing, with her hand on her chest.

It was the nineteenth, a little past noon. Elizabeth had come down late, on the farmer's crutch. Her ankle had swollen again overnight, where she had struck it on the fender. Every thump of the crutch sent a jolt up to her knee. She had meant to be settled on the sofa before Mr. Darcy saw her. She had meant to hide her foot under her hem.