Page 60 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

Thomas met her at the door with a message. Mr. Darcy's compliments, and might he speak with Miss Elizabeth before she went? He would come down directly.

Elizabeth went out to wait on the hall bench. The crutch was soft on the carpet, and her ankle held. She still had no idea what she would say to him. She only knew she would not let him ask again.

Charlotte found her there a quarter of an hour later.

She had come to see Mr. Collins off, she said, and to say goodbye to Netherfield. She sat down beside Elizabeth on the hall bench by the fire. Around them, footmen carried trunks to the door.

"You look very tired, Eliza."

"I did not sleep. The ball."

"The ball." Charlotte smiled a little. "Mr. Darcy sat beside you all evening, you know. The whole room saw it. My mother has you married by Christmas."

"Your mother is very kind."

"I am not my mother." Charlotte looked at her steadily. "I saw his face when you went into the conservatory, Eliza. I saw it when you came out on Mr. Bingley's arm."

"Mr. Bingley was bringing me to Jane."

"Yes. I know." Charlotte folded her hands in her lap. "I am going to say one thing, Eliza, and then I shall go and find Mr. Collins. You refused one man this week because you could not respect him. Do not refuse another because you are afraid."

"Nobody has asked me."

"No," said Charlotte. "Not yet."

Elizabeth looked at the fire.

She could not bear it. She could not bear to be pitied, or hoped for. She could not bear to be watched by every matron in Meryton. And she could not bear Charlotte, of all people, to think she had been taken in.

"Charlotte," she said lightly. "He needed me. That is all it was. He could not cut his own meat, and I happened to be in the house. Now he does not."

She looked up.

Mr. Darcy stood on the stairs. He had come down to find her, as he had sent word he would.

He had stopped three steps from the bottom, with one hand on the banister. He was dressed for traveling. He was very pale, and there were shadows under his eyes, and he was looking at her.

He had heard. She saw that he had heard every word.

She waited. For him to flush, perhaps, or frown, or say her name. For anything at all to cross his face.

Nothing did.

His face went perfectly still. His mouth tightened at the corners and stayed tight. He looked at her, quite blank. It was the way he had looked across the assembly rooms at Meryton in October.

He did not deny it.

Then he came down the last three steps. He bowed to Charlotte, and to her. He went past them into the breakfast room, and the door closed behind him.

"Eliza," said Charlotte quietly.

"Do not," said Elizabeth. "Please."

She had said it to Charlotte. She had said it to protect herself. But she knew now what he would have said, if he had said anything. He would have agreed with her.

He had heard her call it a matter of meat and convenience, and his face had not changed at all. He had not been hurt. He had not been angry. He had been relieved.

Miss Bingley was right. He was himself again.