Page 47 of Her Whole Heart
Elizabeth startled awake, her heart banging against her ribs, tendrils of hair clinging to her damp forehead. Gradually, the familiar outlines of her chamber at Carlisle House revealed themselves to her, helping her to focus and replacing the roar of flames with the muted crackle of a dying fire in the hearth. But the terror of her dream clung to her as closely as her chemise.
Jane’s anxious face swam into view at her side, her sister’s gentle hands capturing her own. “You were having a dreadful dream. You are safe now.”
Her words were like water poured over the conflagration, leaving only steam behind. Elizabeth slowed her breathing even as her eyes darted feverishly about the room. The curtains were untouched, the wall hangings intact, the ceiling dark—no flames were consuming it.
“I was back at Mrs. Buxton’s,” Elizabeth said without prompting. “Only it was Georgiana who was left behind, and there was no trellis . . .”
“Oh, Lizzy, that does sound terrible. No wonder you were in such a state.”
“Whynow?” Elizabeth moaned with frustration. “It has been so many years. I hardly ever dream about that night anymore.”
“Lizzy,” Jane said reprovingly. “Think of what happened today. Of course you would dream. And to-night—well, you know what to-night is.”
Elizabeth sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I had forgotten, if you can believe it.”
“It has been four years, Lizzy, and you had a terrible fright today. I think it a very good thing that you forgot.”
“Youdid not.”
“It is the night I nearly lost you, Lizzy. I shall probably never forget that.” Jane took a deep breath. “And I will never forget today, either. It is something of a trial to be the sister of a woman as brave as you.”
“Stop.”
“No, Lizzy,” her sister said, and slipped under the covers next to her. “You never allow me to say this, and on this night of all nights, I must. You are that rarest of creatures, Elizabeth Bennet, whose spirit is too large for her body.”
“Everything is too large for my body,” Elizabeth muttered, and Jane laughed softly.
“And you can never bear for anything to grow too serious, particularly when someone is complimenting you. But allow me, this once, to tell you how much I admire you, dearest, and that I am not the only one.” She nudged Elizabeth lightly. “Even Mr. Darcy must approve you now.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I suspect he must, though he is unlikely to appreciate the necessity.”
Jane laughed a little harder this time. “You cannot tell me that you do not see it?”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth was relieved that the dark would hide her blush.
“He was staring at you as though you were an angel come down to Earth to save his sister. If you were another sort of woman, you could have had him at the altar before he regained his senses.”
She heard the man in her dream again. His voice had been low, rumbling, and familiar. She laughed at herself. She knew who it had been, and it was utter folly to believe he would ever come to save her from a burning building. He would come for his sister, perhaps. But he had been calling for her. She shook her head. It was just a dream, and it had been her dream, not his.
“Nonsense,” she said, both to Jane and herself.
Jane pulled the covers up to her chin and bade Elizabeth to lie down again. Elizabeth shuddered, burrowed deeper under the covers and nestled into her sister’s warmth. She was wrung out in the aftermath of her night terrors, but there was a single thought that would not allow her to rest.
If I had been even a moment slower. . .
Georgiana was unharmed. But for how long? Even putting aside whatever gossip or censure might come, could the girl be left to flounder withoutany female guidance in building her confidence? She simply could not remain so easily hurt or frightened if she intended to be out in London society. Ladies such as her own cousin would eviscerate her.
Elizabeth pondered that thought until sleep finally arrived.
A few days later, while they were preparing for a visit to Diana’s home, Elizabeth heard a discreet rap against the door of her bedchamber.
“You may enter,” she called.
The door swung inward to admit a maid, her face impassive. “Begging your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but you have a caller below in the front drawing room.” Her gaze lifted to Elizabeth's before dropping respectfully. “It is Mr. Darcy, requesting a brief audience with the Miss Bennets, if they are available and receiving visitors. Mr. Bingley is with him.”
Elizabeth could see Jane’s smile in the mirror. Mr. Bingley had come to call here nearly every day this week to see Jane. A Mr. Houghton, a Mr. Thomas, and a Sir John Markingham had also called—but unless they were blind, they would accept that Mr. Bingley had stolen the march on them.
As for Mr. Darcy’s appearance, she was both unsurprised and curious. No doubt he was taking advantage of Mr. Bingley’s call to speak to her about his sister.
