An (Un)believably Artful Theft (Love’s Little Helpers #4)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

“ S it, Remy,” Darcy commanded, struggling to keep his expression as stern as his tone. Remy obediently sat in the tub surrounded by the little that remained of the warm, soapy water. “Now, I am going to take one step toward you, and you are going to stay seated.” Darcy did not know why he thought reasoning with the dog might work when nothing else had for these last few minutes.

Miss Elizabeth had said that Remy enjoyed his bath. What she had not mentioned was how much Remy enjoyed them. That was not the problem, however, and Darcy had no wish to lessen the dog’s delight. No, the difficulty was that Remy seemed to want him to share in the fun, which meant that what should have been a brief task was turning out not to be brief at all.

His coat and waistcoat hung from a peg inside the door of the scullery room, the only dry articles remaining of his clothing in the room. There was more water around the tub than there was inside it. Darcy’s linen shirt clung to his skin, and he smelled of wet dog. At least he had some privacy. None of the members of Bingley’s household would think to look for him below stairs, and the servants had cleared out, too polite to laugh in front of him.

He ought to have left the dog in the stable for the stable boy to wash. The dog surely would not have minded the cold water as much as the lad would have, but Darcy had thought it best to bring Remy inside. Miss Elizabeth already had one ailing sister to concern her; she did not need her dog to fall ill, too.

Taking another step toward the tub, Darcy reached for the pail of water to rinse the last bit of soap from the animal’s fur, and Remy rose onto all four legs to show his appreciation. Darcy gave in. He was sopping wet anyway. “You big, lovable oaf,” he said, rubbing Remy’s belly and checking his paws to make certain all the mud was gone. Remy leaned into Darcy, rubbing against him and smearing wet dog water all over his shirt and breeches.

The door creaked, and light brightened the room. Mrs. Nichols turned away, and Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened before she did the same. Darcy stood, water streaming down his forearms from his pushed-up shirtsleeves. He must look scandalous.

“I did not know you would still be here, Mr. Darcy. My deepest apologies,” Mrs. Nichols called over her shoulder.

Decency demanded that he cower behind the tub until the ladies departed or don the coat hanging on the back of the door they had just opened. Lunging for his coat, he twisted and writhed to put it on, straining to pull it past the bunched-up fabric above his elbows. With a mighty tug, he yanked it up his arms and peeled it over his shoulders.

He should have hidden behind the tub.

Elizabeth spun around to grant Mr. Darcy a measure of privacy, but not before she had seen a great deal more of him than she had seen of any other man. He had hair on his chest! And strong-looking arms. She fanned her face with her hand.

It occurred to her that, with the absence of his valet, he would benefit from some assistance into his coat, but an offer to help seemed even more inappropriate than her current predicament. Should she leave? It did not feel right when her dog was also in the room and had caused Mr. Darcy’s current state.

Now she understood the giggling maids. They were not laughing at her at all but at Mr. Darcy’s kind attention to a cold, dirty animal. She strongly suspected that Mrs. Nichols had known precisely what she was doing when she had brought her to the scullery room, and Elizabeth did not know what to make of it.

For the moment, she felt it imperative to appease Mr. Darcy. Turning her head slightly to the side but not so far that she would see him, she said, “I had thought to find Remy in the stables.”

“No sense in the stable boy—or the dog—catching a cold in this weather.”

What a perfectly wonderful concern to have! Was there a gentleman kinder or humbler than this one? “I thank you, sir.”

Mrs. Nichols offered to have a maid rinse off the dog and see him dry by the kitchen fire. While her offer was incredibly kind, Elizabeth felt she had caused the household enough trouble already.

“I do not wish to impose on you more than we already have.”

Mrs. Nichols lifted her chin, her tone firm. “Mr. Bingley would insist on the comfort of his friends, including their pets. Your dog is welcome inside Netherfield Park so long as he is clean. I will not allow dirty paws to drag mud and debris over my clean carpets.”

“Of course not. I would not allow it, either.”

“Very good. Then we agree to allow Molly to see to your dog. She likes animals, knows where everything is in the scullery, and she knows how to keep her mouth shut. Now, I shall show you into the front parlor while I send for the ladies of the house. They will wish to entertain you until you can join your sister.”

Mr. Darcy understood his cue to leave. Elizabeth did her best not to look, but she might have turned a moment too soon and seen him just before he turned the corner to the stairs. Mrs. Nichols noticed. “He cuts a fine figure,” she commented under her breath. Elizabeth’s face flamed. All she could do was nod and try not to grin. Mr. Darcy was very fine.

With a knowing smile, Mrs. Nichols called for Molly and whisked Elizabeth away before she could protest or insist on helping. As Elizabeth had no extra change of clothes, it would have been a foolhardy offer, but her wits were feeling a bit tangled at the moment with the memory of Mr. Darcy in his shirtsleeves and open collar. She followed Mrs. Nichols down freshly painted halls and polished floors into a parlor with enviable lighting. Elizabeth could paint for hours in this room.

“I shall return shortly. The fire is warm, and you should be comfortable here until Miss Bingley joins you.” With that, Mrs. Nichols departed, leaving Elizabeth alone. There was nothing to do but explore, which Elizabeth was happy to do. The furnishings were stylish and elegantly arranged. A large mirror hung over the fireplace.

Two paintings on the wall immediately caught her eye. She knew those paintings! She knew them well, indeed, for they were hers! With a skip in her step, Elizabeth drew closer. How lovely they looked paired together on the wall. Clearly, Miss Bingley took pride in her surroundings as well as her person. She must be the fashionable young lady her uncle had mentioned!

Elizabeth had thought Miss Bingley to be stuffy and haughty, but she was prepared to amend her opinion. She could not think poorly of a lady who favored her art.

Stepping closer, making certain she was not dreaming, Elizabeth found the initials she always hid in her work. There they were: E.B. was hidden in the tree branches in the first painting and in the curve of a bird’s wings in the second. This was real! Not just one of her works was proudly displayed in a fashionable family’s front parlor, but two of them! Did Miss Bingley also display the paintings in her brother’s London townhouse?

What did Mr. Darcy think of them? He was a gentleman of firm opinions and good taste. One good word from him, and Elizabeth would not be able to paint fast enough to keep up with demand!

She tilted her head to the side, appreciating the view from another perspective. The frames were thick and gilded, a touch too extravagant for Elizabeth’s taste, but so long as they were on the wall, she would never voice her opinion aloud. Taking a step closer, she angled herself in the other direction.

There, at the bottom right, was her signature… or so it should be. Blinking, she looked again. Her heart stopped, and as comprehension came, her blood simmered. The space on the bottom, right-hand corner where Elizabeth always signed her pseudonym was covered over. Oh, it was expertly done, which only added to her ire, for written over the rightful artist’s signature was the name of another lady, Elizabeth’s new sworn enemy— Caroline Bingley.