Page 59 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

And she would have said yes. That was the worst of it. If he had finished, she would have said yes before he drew breath. She loved him. She had known it for days, and she had been very careful not to look at it.

So she knew exactly how it would go. She would love him, and he would be kind to her. He would be kind to her for forty years. He was kind in the same way to Mr. Bingley, his sister and his tenants. She would see it in his face across the breakfast table. I have done my duty by her.

Love married to a debt would turn to poison. In a year or two she would hate him for his kindness. She would hate herself for taking it.

Elizabeth would not do it. She would not let him ask again.

She dressed with Jane's help in one of her own gowns. It had been fetched from Longbourn, and it still smelled faintly of smoke. She took up her crutch and went down to breakfast.

Mr. Darcy kept to his room.

Mr. Bingley came down. He was very pale and very cheerful, and he ate nothing but dry toast. "We sat up rather late," he told the table. "Darcy and I. Talking." He winced at the light from the window. "He will be down presently, I am sure."

"Talking," said Mr. Bennet. "Is that what it is called?"

Jane looked at Mr. Bingley across the toast rack, and her face shone. Her mother talked of wedding clothes and of the drawing room at Netherfield. She would miss the blue chamber dreadfully. Mr. Collins explained that he would follow them to Longbourn in the gig, with the trunks.

"And Lizzy," said her mother, "you must thank Mr. Darcy properly before we go. Properly, mind. After all his attention."

"Yes, Mama."

"He carried you a mile, Lizzy. A mile! In the dark!"

"I was there, Mama," said Elizabeth. "I remember it."

Miss Bingley set down her cup. "I am sure Mr. Darcy wants no thanks," she said. "He would have done as much for anyone." She smiled at Elizabeth down the table. "A gentleman is always grateful to whoever nurses him, Mrs. Bennet. But gratitude is not affection. He will be quite himself again, now his hands are healed."

"Of course," said Elizabeth. "Anyone at all."

It is only Miss Bingley, she thought. Miss Bingley would say the sky was green if it served her. But Miss Bingley had not been in the conservatory. And she had said it anyway.

Do not thank me, he had said, the night of the fire. She had thought then that it was pride. Now she was less sure.

Elizabeth ate a little bread and butter. She listened for a step on the stairs.

The stairs stayed quiet. She was so relieved that her hands shook. Then she was disgusted with herself for being relieved.

Coward, she told herself. You will have to look at him sooner or later. You may as well do it with your trunk packed.

After breakfast she went to see to her things.

Sarah had come over from Longbourn to pack for her. There was not much. There were the few gowns fetched from home, and Mrs. Hurst's ruined nightgown, which Sarah folded without a word. There was the book she had left in the library, and had not dared go back for. Jane had fetched it for her.

And there was his coat.

It lay in the bottom of the press where she had put it three weeks ago. It was the coat he had wrapped around her on the grass at Longbourn. One sleeve was scorched brown to the elbow. Nobody had asked for it back, and she had never offered it.

She took it out and held it. It still smelled of smoke. Under the smoke, very faintly, it smelled of him.

She remembered his mouth at her breast in the wing chair. Heat rose in her that she had no right to now.

"Shall I put it in with your things, Miss Lizzy?" said Sarah.

Elizabeth looked at it for a long moment. "No," she said. "Take it to Mr. Darcy's man, please. It is his. Tell Parrish I am very much obliged."

She held it out. Sarah took it away. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her empty hands.

There, she thought. Now I owe him nothing either.