Page 55 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

He knew he ought to stop. But once he had begun speaking, the rest came in an inexorable torrent of wrong. He could not make himself stop. "After everything you have done for me," he said, "it is the least I..."

The fiddles went on beyond the glass. A lemon leaf turned on its stem above them. Elizabeth drew back from him, sitting up very straight on the bench. She brought her shawl up around her shoulders and held it closed at her throat with both hands.

She looked at the lamp in the orange tree.

Her face was entirely calm now. It was a face for company, polite and pleasant and closed. She had never once turned it on him at two in the morning.

Her throat moved. "The least," she said. "I suppose... yes."

"That is not what I meant. Elizabeth, I..."

A shriek rang through the glass doors. It was high and piercing and wildly happy, and Darcy knew the voice. A man's voice came, nearer, calling his name.

"Darcy! Darcy, where the devil are you?"

Elizabeth was already smoothing her hair. Darcy rose and stepped back to the lemon tree. He had got his left glove on when Bingley burst through the doors.

Bingley's face was scarlet. His hair stood up on end. He looked at Darcy and at Elizabeth and saw nothing whatever, except that they were there. "Darcy! There you are. Miss Elizabeth! Good, you must come at once. Your mother is quite overcome." He drew a great breath. "She said yes. Jane said yes! I spoke to your father in the card room, and then I went straight to her, and she said yes!"

He seized Darcy's hand and wrung it. It was the bare one.

Darcy's palm burned, and he let none of it reach his face. "I give you joy," he said. "I do, Bingley. Truly."

Elizabeth rose on her good foot. She held out her hand to Bingley. "Mr. Bingley," she said. "Will you give me your arm? I must go to Jane."

"Of course! Of course you must. Here, lean on me, Miss Elizabeth."

She took his arm. She did not look back. Darcy stood among the orange trees with one glove on. He listened to her uneven step go away across the tiles.

The glass doors swung shut behind them. The music swelled for a moment and faded again.

One of her hairpins lay on the stone where she had sat. He picked it up. His bare fingers closed around it.

A quarter of an hour ago these hands had held her face. They had made her shake and gasp and hide her face in his coat. He could still feel the warmth of her in his palm.

Now she would not look at him.

He sat down slowly on the bench. He heard his own voice again, quite clearly. It is the least I...

He had held her in his hands at last. And then he had told her what it was worth to him.

His palm began to sting. He looked down. He was gripping the pin so hard that the new skin had gone white around it. He did not loosen his fingers.

For three weeks he had had no hands, and he had not felt helpless. Now he had both of them back. And there was nothing in the world he could do with them.

15

Darcy put her hairpin in his waistcoat pocket. He drew on his right glove, over the hand that had held it, one finger at a time. He went back to the ballroom.

She would not come near him for the rest of the ball.

He tried. He crossed the ballroom when the next set formed. She was in the middle of her family. Jane held one of her hands, and her mother wept on her other side. He could not reach her through them.

He tried again after the sixth set. She saw him coming. She turned to Mr. Collins, who sat beside Charlotte, and asked him about his parsonage.

Mr. Collins was delighted to be asked. Lady Catherine herself had suggested shelves in the closet upstairs. The closet faced south, and the shelves were of deal. Lady Catherine had condescended to recommend the deal. Darcy stood ten feet away and heard all about the deal. Elizabeth kept her eyes on Mr. Collins and nodded at every board.

She had her crutch with her now. She did not need anyone's arm.