Chapter 8 A Test of Fire

Gliding down the stairs, Elizabeth paused on the landing to look out the oeil-de-boeuf offering a perfect view of the front lawn of Longbourn that led further to a grazing pasture. Walking down the drive was her sister, Jane, on the arm of Mr. Bingley, to take yet another turn in the garden. Elizabeth at once felt jealous that Jane had abandoned her so swiftly, but then smiled as the couple turned and she spied her sister laughing. Mr. Bingley made Jane laugh, and seeing her sister’s happiness banished away any feelings of jilt.

Calling on this happiness, Elizabeth walked with more energy than she truly felt and entered her father’s study after giving the door a strong, sound knocking.

“Elizabeth,” her father said, surprised to see his daughter.

“As I was saying, I believe she has made a full recovery—” Dr. Stevens continued his report and only stopped when Mr. Bennet held up his hand.

“Good morning, Papa. Dr. Stevens,” Elizabeth made each a small curtsy and then turned, “Mr. Darcy.” As she closed her eyes to curtsy once more, she hesitated a moment as she felt slightly light-headed, but steeled herself to keeping to her performance.

“My dear, I did not intend for you to get out of bed,” Mr. Bennet chided, coming closer to Elizabeth to inspect her most closely.

Utterly annoyed and beyond patience at being inspected, prodded, and treated, she stood on her tiptoes to gawk at her father in the same manner he was in disbelief over her condition. She pantomimed a funny little dance as he tried to walk around her, but she turned to keep her face squarely on his.

“Father, I am well.”

“That is what you said the day Dr. Stevens arrived,” Mr. Bennet reminded her.

Frustrated, Elizabeth retreated from her father and took a seat in her favorite place by the window. She could see Jane and Mr. Bingley had walked around the house already and were clearly in her view.

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “May I get you anything for your comfort, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked.

Elizabeth turned to catch his gaze, intending to act like she had forgotten he was there. But she had not forgotten. If she hadn’t survived the incredible pain of an inferno, she would have thought her skin was on fire anew. Instead, she knew it to be the traitorous response of her heart and body to the man she knew so little about. Even Dr. Stevens had been unhelpful when she had tried to ask him more about Mr. Darcy.

“Are you chilled?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “I am quite warm.”

“And well, she is quite well, in my professional opinion,” Dr. Stevens added.

Elizabeth suddenly realized there was something else going on. “Dr. Stevens, do you have another patient in London that you left to tend to me?”

All of the men in the room focused their attentions on Dr. Stevens, who began to stutter slightly.

“Stevens?” Mr. Darcy asked, and the poor doctor nodded.

“Father, what feat must I perform to prove to you that I am well? A sprint to Netherfield Park and back? Shall I lift a carriage with my bare hands?”

Mr. Bennet held up his hands in surrender and flopped into his chair behind his desk. “Peace, Lizzy, at least I know your sense of humor has returned, even if you look as though you could use three good meals.”

Elizabeth smirked at her father’s comment about her appearance, a face that made Mr. Darcy stifle a laugh.

This made her attention fall to Mr. Darcy. “Sir, please release Dr. Stevens from my care. Settle what matters are between you and know that even if I should fall ill again, we have a most capable apothecary, not a half-hour ride. Besides,” she said, reaching out with her healed, ungloved hands, for the small chess table. “I owe you a game.”

Mr. Darcy stood facing Elizabeth with his back to Mr. Bennet. Catching Miss Elizabeth’s eye, he involuntarily licked his lip, earning a gaze of incredulity from Elizabeth that made him thrilled he could shock her as easily as her behavior often shook him.

“I should be honored to play again if that is permitted?” he asked, turning to receive a nod from Mr. Bennet.

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving off Mr. Darcy while an errand boy brought a stack of letters to the study. Mr. Darcy saw Dr. Stevens out and Elizabeth busied herself with setting up the game. Opening one of the missives, her father scanned the lines and began to shout.

“That fool! I said do not come!”

“Father?” Elizabeth asked, gently, as Mr. Darcy and Dr. Stevens had not gone far and she didn’t want them to hurry back in if the news was unpleasant.

Mr. Bennet held the folded piece of parchment and checked the timepiece he wore chained to his vest. “Franny!” he shouted, rising from his desk and leaving Elizabeth to her confusion and chess pieces.

For a few moments, she sat pleasantly patient for Mr. Darcy’s return. But a few minutes turned into ten, then turned into nearly a quarter-hour. Unwilling to go out and see what was taking so long to dispatch Dr. Stevens from their midst, Elizabeth stood up to find a book on her father’s shelf. She recalled that he once had a tome on chess puzzles and decided she could amuse herself while she waited. Spying the worn, green cloth book she was sure was the title up high on a shelf, she stood on her tiptoes. Reaching above her head for the book she discovered it was just out of her grasp.

“Allow me,” a deep, baritone voice offered, his hand lightly brushing hers as he brought the book down. Elizabeth felt a jolt of passion when her skin touched his and she pulled her hand back as though it had been burned. Turning around, she was staring directly into the chest of Mr. Darcy, watching his cravat pulse with each breath the man took.

“Thank you,” she managed, tilting her chin up to see his face more clearly. She marveled that like her, he appeared to have been spared any kind of pox marks, and his jawline stood in stark contrast to the longer sideburns he sported. The proportions of his forehead, nose, and lips were what she would have dearly loved to paint as they were nothing short of beautiful in her opinion. And his eyes, always slightly sad and searching, for what she could not decide. But when she looked directly at him, she felt exposed as though he could see all of her down to her very thoughts.

Nodding his head, he took a step back and looked down, allowing Elizabeth to slip by him and back to the window seat.

“Could you look out the door and see if you spy a maid or footman?” she asked.

“You do not have a bell system?” he asked, looking around the study.

Elizabeth laughed. “Not in here, my father won’t allow it,” she said, her stomach rumbling to remind her that she had given it precious little in the way of sustenance. “As you offered earlier, I would like a tray of food and tea,” she said, suddenly realizing that she was asking Mr. Darcy, a man she was told had an income of over £10,000 per annum an order like he was a common hallboy!

“Of course, you must be famished. I once was ill for a week and thought I could eat an entire buffet upon my recovery,” he related, before going to the doorway and then stepping out until he discovered the housekeeper, Hill, and made the request for Miss Elizabeth.

Feeling impressed by his manners, when he returned, she held out her hands palm down with two pawns, one of each other color, in them. He clasped his hands behind his back and appeared to inspect them very closely as he made his decision.

“And did you?” she asked.

“Did I what, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Eat an entire buffet,” she reminded him.

“Err, no,” he said, with a blush, before tapping her right hand. She opened to reveal a black pawn, enjoying the easy time she had with this man. But as he plucked the piece from her palm, he suddenly spied the angry red gash that raced from one edge of her pinky finger to her thumb.

“For a sister,” he whispered.

“A folly,” she replied, cross with herself.

Without another word, Mr. Darcy sat down and their game commenced. After a few moves, he realized that Mr. Bennet was not back. So he politely inquired.

Elizabeth counter-attacked with a bishop. “He opened a letter, called someone a fool, and then went in search of my mother.”

“Ah,” Mr. Darcy said, reaching for a piece, then pausing to think better of it and placing his finger to his lips to think. Elizabeth watched his mannerisms with such interest, she began to wonder what his lips felt like if she touched them with her fingertips. Would they be smooth and velvety, as they appeared? Or dry and leathery from the harsh sun?

“It is your move,” he politely pointed out as he caught Elizabeth staring directly at him.

“Yes,” she said, looking down at the board and trying to realize what piece he had moved. She blinked a few times and couldn’t bring her mind to the task at hand, finding herself so utterly overwhelmed suddenly by the man’s presence.

“Mr. Darcy! Mr. Darcy! How fortunate you have not left us, yet, sir! You owe us a dinner, you do!” Mrs. Bennet barged into the study with Mr. Bennet close behind her.

Both chess players abandoned the game to witness the comedic sparring of Elizabeth’s parents.

“Madam, I merely asked you about dinner this evening. I did not ask for us to hold a dinner.”

“But you said we should have guests!” she countered, and Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged glances.

Mr. Bennet closed his eyes and laid the piece of parchment Elizabeth saw him leave with on top of the desk. “No, I said we would have an unexpected guest.”

Elizabeth could not resist her curiosity. “Who? Who is our unexpected guest?”

“His cousin! The one who will throw us all out when Mr. Bennet dies. But Lizzy! Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet cooed, rushing to the desk to lift the letter and read it for herself. “He writes that he was most troubled by news of the fire and comes earlier than planned to offer consolation and,” she paused for dramatic effect to read the line she was most affected by. “He finds the settlement of the estate to be a great hardship for his fair cousins and comes with hopes of admiring one of you!” she finished, clutching the letter to her chest and looking up at the ceiling as though her prayers had been answered.

Elizabeth gulped and silence hung in the air of the study, sucking all of the joy she had felt just a moment before.

Mrs. Bennet abandoned her silent murmurings of thanksgiving and then looked directly at her daughter. “You, Lizzy, you are the most clever. He is a parson and you will be sure to catch his interest,” she said, bustling over to her daughter to urge her to stand up. Noticing Jane’s frock on her, she scowled. “Oh, but not this color, it’s more suited to Jane. You should wear a lovely shade of brown, dear, to appear modest.”

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, watching as Elizabeth, horror-stricken, looked to her father for intercession. He waved his hands.

“Your mother has declared you must live here forever, my Lizzy. Who am I to contradict her?” he asked, pouring himself a healthy amount of port.

“Oh, Mr. Darcy, sir, you and Mr. Bingley are most welcome to dinner. I shall be able to balance out the table then, you see,” Mrs. Bennet explained.

Watching Elizabeth get practically dragged out of the study, interrupting their game once more, at her mother’s insistence, he sat dumbstruck by the lack of argument from Mr. Bennet.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Mr. Darcy began, in earnest.

Mr. Bennet smiled, sipping his port.

Mr. Darcy suddenly felt his mouth run dry as he tried to process what had just transpired. One moment, he was blissfully unaware of the world around him, in the presence of Elizabeth, who bewitched him body and soul. The next, she was whisked away, and he held many questions for Mr. Bennet.

“Cat take your tongue?” he taunted.

Miss Bennet and Mr. Bingley entered the study, in another repeat of their ill-timing from before.

“Gentlemen, I believe my daughters have enjoyed your company and look forward to your presence at this evening’s dinner,” Mr. Bennet supplied the farewell that neither Bingley nor Darcy wished to hear.

“Dinner?” Mr. Bingley asked.

“Yes, yes, a grand fete I am to believe to welcome my cousin. The heir presumptive, probably hoping I died in the fire.”

Jane gasped, but Mr. Bennet winked at her. “And please, invite your sisters and her husband,” Mr. Bennet instructed Mr. Bingley. “I will make sure that Mrs. Bennet is aware they are to come.”

Jane looked for Elizabeth, and not seeing her, she looked to Mr. Darcy for an explanation. Despite the man’s stony expression, he glanced up at the ceiling to signal to the observant Miss Bennet where to find and hopefully rescue her sister.

“Goodbye, Mr. Bingley. Thank you for the walking, they were most invigorating,” Jane offered, giving a curtsey before hurrying up to see her sister. Hearing her mother’s voice above stairs, Jane abandoned all pretense of a ladylike cadence, lifting her skirts so as not to trip on the hem.

“There, you see,” Mr. Bennet said, escorting the men to the front door. “My girls have much to do it would appear. We shall see you no sooner than seven o’clock this evening,” Mr. Bennet warned.

“So late?” Mr. Bingley asked, disappointed that Jane did not offer him one last forlorn look before leaving.

“Must give our newest guest time to settle himself, Mr. Bingley. Not everyone agrees so well with travel,” Mr. Bennet stated, reminding the young man that his cousin was likely not of the same means and mode that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy enjoyed.

When finally alone back in his study, Mr. Bennet could hear the heavy footsteps and bustling activity that reminded him of the night of the assembly. Straightening the miniatures of his daughters on his desk, a present from Elizabeth one Christmas, he sighed as he steadied the one of his Lizzy. She had perfectly captured her look of disdain that he knew so well from their hours together.

“Which will it be, my clever girl? The best your Papa can offer to you or the delights of Mr. Darcy? Hmm?” he asked, as though the portrait could answer back. Reading again his cousin’s missive, he cursed the man Collins for arriving a whole week earlier than they had previously agreed. His letter about the fire had intended to put off the visit, not hasten it. Still, perhaps the man would be a good match for one of his daughters and fix the largest regret of his lifetime: that he was without the means or discipline to properly protect his daughters after his demise.

When another loud crash came from above stairs and his wife’s shrill voice yelling commands, Mr. Bennet poured himself another drink. Mr. Collins of Hunsford Cottage held no chance of leaving Longbourn without marrying one of his daughters if his wife had anything to say about it.s