Chapter 2
TWO
Elizabeth
The pavement below was already animated when Elizabeth and her aunt stepped into the street.
Beyond them, the market had begun its morning industry, and Elizabeth watched as the traders pursued their several occupations with quiet diligence.
A milliner's apprentice arranged ribbons within a shop window, while a tradesman lifted his shutters with practised ease.
Around them, voices blended into a low and agreeable hum.
Mrs. Gardiner took Elizabeth's arm as they passed a modiste's window.
"You must not watch over her so anxiously," she said gently, "that you deny her the chance of moving beyond it all."
Elizabeth did not need her aunt to elaborate to know that she was referring to her not pushing Jane to come out with them on the walk.
She gave a short laugh. "Moving past it is easier said than done. Not with how much she thought he cared for her."
"I know," her aunt returned. "That is precisely why she needs to try. Otherwise, she will not allow any other gentleman to pay their respects towards her with this incessant desire to stay melancholy and indoors."
Elizabeth only grunted in agreement, but made no further attempt to reply.
They continued, almost in silence, enjoying the scenery of Bath. They had nearly reached the turning toward Trim Street when the cry came, sharp and unmistakable.
"Fire!"
Another voice echoed it just as Elizabeth and her aunt made to turn towards the shout. A few shop owners hurried to close their shops, as if someone had said the fire was on its way to visit. Behind them, people scattered as smoke rose beyond the roofline, dark and immediate.
Mrs. Gardiner tightened her grip. "We must not approach too near."
But Elizabeth had already quickened her step, tearing from her aunt's grip. Mrs. Gardiner followed in tow, perhaps to restrain her, perhaps to see for herself and maybe help.
They turned the corner and found chaos.
Flames burst from the upper windows of a narrow lodging house.
The door below was entirely engulfed, fire licking up the frame and across the lintel, rendering entry impossible.
Smoke billowed outward in thick, choking waves.
A woman stood in the roadway, wringing her hands and crying that her maid and a child remained trapped above.
Men shouted over one another, forming a bucket line at the pump.
The heat pressed forward, fierce and suffocating.
Two gentlemen moved at the centre of the disorder. Elizabeth squinted through the smoke as what was visible of the men rushed toward the fire.
One stood near the pump, issuing directions with brisk authority. The other dragged a ladder toward the facade, his movements swift and unhesitating.
Elizabeth scarcely marked them at first. Her attention fixed upon the window where smoke thickened, where someone might be dying while the street below descended into useless panic. Without thinking, she moved closer, drawn by the desperate cries of the woman.
Then the second gentleman lifted the ladder into place directly before her, and something in the set of his shoulders made her breath catch.
She could not have said what arrested her—the height of his figure, perhaps, or the economy of his movements. He mounted without waiting for assistance, one hand steady upon the rail, the other shielding his face as smoke poured around him.
The crowd murmured. Someone cried out that the roof might fall.
He did not pause.
For one terrible instant, he disappeared entirely into the blackened window.
Elizabeth's breath stopped.
"Lizzy," Mrs. Gardiner called sharply from somewhere behind her. "Come away from there!"
She did not answer. Could not.
The gentleman reappeared, a little girl of about five years gathered against his shoulder.
A murmur of relief rippled through the crowd as he descended carefully, each step measured despite the press below.
The man at the pump stepped forward at once to receive the child, his face lifted in anxious gratitude.
Elizabeth watched, transfixed, as the gentleman on the ladder vanished into the smoke again. When he emerged moments later, guiding a coughing maid toward safety, the crowd erupted in applause.
He descended steadily, shielding the maid with his body. When his boots struck the ground, he removed his coat and draped it over the maid's shoulders, speaking briefly to someone near the pump. Soot marked his shirt. A faint line of blood traced his temple where glass must have struck him.
Then he turned slightly, and light struck his profile through the smoke.
Elizabeth's heart stopped.
No.
The word formed silently, desperately.
It cannot be.
But even through the haze, even at this distance, she knew that face. Knew the precise angle of that jaw, the set of those shoulders, the way he moved with that particular economy of motion.
The gentleman beside him—the one who had taken the child—turned as well, animated and earnest, and Elizabeth felt the air leave her lungs entirely.
Mr. Bingley.
Which meant—
A tremendous crack split the air before she could complete the thought.
Elizabeth looked up in time to see the roof buckle, timbers groaning as flame consumed the last supports. The crowd screamed. People scattered backwards.
She stood frozen near the building's facade, staring upward as a section of burning roof broke free and plummeted directly toward her.
"Miss Elizabeth!"
She heard the shout, saw a figure running toward her, and then something struck her shoulder—a hard shove that sent her stumbling sideways. She fell awkwardly, her hands scraping the cobblestones as she caught herself.
The crash of falling timber was deafening. Heat and sparks erupted where she had stood only a moment before.
For several seconds, she could not move, could not breathe. The acrid taste of smoke filled her mouth.
Then hands gripped her arms, helping her to her feet with urgent care.
"Are you hurt? Miss Elizabeth, are you injured?"
The voice was breathless, rough with alarm.
She looked up.
Mr. Darcy stood before her, his expression stark with concern. Soot streaked his face and shirt. His eyes searched hers with unmistakable anxiety.
"I—no. No, I am not hurt." Her voice came out shaken but steady.
He released her arms immediately, stepping back with visible effort to compose himself. "Forgive me. I did not mean—that is, there was no time—"
"You pushed me out of the way," Elizabeth said, her mind still struggling to comprehend what had just occurred. "You might have been struck yourself."
"Better that than—" He stopped abruptly, seeming to realize the impropriety of finishing that sentence.
Around them, the crowd surged forward, exclaiming over the fallen debris. Mrs. Gardiner appeared at Elizabeth's side, pale and shaken, reaching for her with trembling hands.
"Lizzy! Thank God you are safe. I thought you would move the moment the roof began to fall. If I had known you would not, I would have dragged you away myself." She pressed a hand to her temple. "This was precisely why I said we should not move too close."
"I am fine, Aunt." Elizabeth managed to say.
Mrs. Gardiner turned toward Darcy, clearly uncertain whom she was addressing. "Sir, I cannot thank you enough—"
Elizabeth cleared her throat, though it came out rougher than intended from the smoke. "Aunt, may I present Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Mr. Darcy, my aunt, Mrs. Gardiner of Gracechurch Street, London."
Darcy bowed properly. "Mrs. Gardiner. I am glad I was near enough to be of service."
Mrs. Gardiner curtsied, her expression shifting to recognition. "Mr. Darcy. I believe my niece has mentioned you."
Elizabeth felt heat rise to her cheeks despite the chill of shock still settling over her. What precisely had she said about Mr. Darcy? She could not recall—only that it had been nothing too kind.
"I hope favourably," Darcy said quietly, though his attention remained primarily on Elizabeth, as if assuring himself she was truly unharmed.
The silence stretched a beat too long.
"You saved my niece's life, sir," Mrs. Gardiner said firmly. "That speaks more favourably than any words could."
Another voice cut through the moment—shocked, delighted, breaking the tension entirely.
"Miss Elizabeth? Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"
Elizabeth turned to find Mr. Bingley approaching, his face alight with astonishment and pleasure.
"Mr. Bingley," she managed, attempting a curtsy despite her shaken state.
"I can scarcely believe it! What brings you to Bath? I had no notion—that is, I never imagined—" He looked between her and Mrs. Gardiner with evident confusion and delight.
"We arrived only yesterday," Elizabeth said. "My sister Jane and I are visiting with our aunt and uncle for the summer."
At the mention of Jane's name, Bingley's expression transformed. "Miss Bennet is here? In Bath?"
"She remained at the house this morning. She was—tired from our journey."
"Of course, of course." Bingley seemed hardly able to contain himself. "And you are staying—that is, where might I—if I may be so bold—"
"We have taken a house in Camden Place," Mrs. Gardiner supplied, clearly reading the young man's eager confusion. "Number fourteen."
Elizabeth noted the way Bingley's face lit at this information and felt a sharp confusion rise within her.
Why should he appear so delighted to learn where they were staying?
He had made no effort to see Jane in London, had not called even once despite knowing she was there.
And yet now he looked as though he had been given the most welcome news imaginable. It made no sense.
An awkward pause followed. Mr. Bingley glanced uncertainly at Mrs. Gardiner, clearly wishing to address her but uncertain of the propriety without a formal introduction.
Mrs. Gardiner, in turn, looked expectantly at Elizabeth, waiting to be properly introduced to this gentleman she had heard so much about—and none of it good.
Elizabeth cleared her throat softly. "Aunt, may I also present Mr. Bingley properly. Mr. Bingley, my aunt, Mrs. Gardiner."
Bingley bowed hastily. "Mrs. Gardiner, I am honored. Your nieces—that is, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth—I had the pleasure of their acquaintance in Hertfordshire last autumn."
"So I understand," Mrs. Gardiner said, her tone considerably cooler than it had been with Mr. Darcy.
Her expression remained polite but guarded, and Elizabeth did not miss the way her aunt's eyes assessed the young man with careful reserve.
An awkward silence fell as the gentlemen seemed uncertain how to proceed.
Mrs. Gardiner, ever practical, collected herself. She looked at Mr. Darcy, then at the smoking ruins behind them, then back to Elizabeth.
"Mr. Darcy," she said warmly, "I find myself quite in your debt.
I shudder to think what might have happened had you not acted so swiftly.
" She paused, then added, "We are staying in Camden Place for the summer, as I mentioned.
I wonder—that is, we would be most honored if you and Mr. Bingley would join us for dinner.
Tomorrow evening, perhaps? It is the least we can do to express our gratitude. "
Elizabeth's pulse quickened. She had not expected this, though she should have. Her aunt was nothing if not proper, and the debt they owed Mr. Darcy was undeniable.
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, his expression careful, searching. "That is very kind, Mrs. Gardiner, but I would not wish to impose—"
"It would be no imposition," Mrs. Gardiner said firmly. "Indeed, I insist. From what I have heard, you are more often in London or at Pemberley than in Bath. We must seize the opportunity while we have it."
Darcy's brow lifted slightly. "You know Pemberley, madam?"
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. "I grew up in Lambton, Mr. Darcy. I know the estate well, though I confess it has been many years since I visited the neighbourhood."
"Lambton," Darcy repeated, and something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or interest. "Then you must be familiar with the country round about."
"Very familiar. My father was a solicitor there before his retirement. I spent my childhood rambling those hills." She glanced at Elizabeth with a small, knowing smile. "I have been promising Lizzy a tour of my old haunts for some time now."
Elizabeth felt a sudden, irrational panic. She had not thought—had not considered—
Pemberley. They might have visited Derbyshire, but her aunt had chosen Bath instead.
The idea struck her with unexpected force.
"Then I hope you will allow me to be of service during your stay in Derbyshire," Darcy said quietly. "Pemberley's grounds are open to visitors, and I would be honored to receive you there."
Mrs. Gardiner beamed. "How gracious of you, Mr. Darcy. But first, dinner tomorrow. Shall we say six o'clock? Number fourteen, Camden Place."
Darcy bowed. "We would be delighted, Mrs. Gardiner."
Bingley, who had been listening to this exchange with barely concealed eagerness, spoke quickly. "Yes—yes, of course. Most delighted. And Miss Bennet—that is, I hope Miss Bennet is well?"
"Quite well, Mr. Bingley," Elizabeth assured him, watching his face carefully.
Mrs. Gardiner took Elizabeth's arm with gentle firmness. "Excellent. Now, I think we must get this girl home. She has had quite enough excitement for one morning, and I suspect her sister will be anxious when we tell her of this adventure."
Elizabeth allowed herself to be guided away, but not before glancing back.
Mr. Darcy stood in the middle of the smoking street, his shirt stained with soot and blood, watching her go with an expression she could not quite read.
Mr. Bingley stood beside him, already speaking with animation, though his friend seemed only half-attentive to whatever he was saying.
And in Mr. Darcy's eyes, she saw something she had not expected.
Hope.