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

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

D arcy hardly looked at the paintings. He was too irritated to see beyond his distaste at Miss Bingley’s endeavor to manipulate a compliment from him. Georgiana looked uncomfortable, and Miss Elizabeth looked… Was she ill?

Vexation forgotten, he drew closer to where she sat, noting the pallor in her complexion. “Miss Elizabeth, are you well?”

Immediately she stiffened her posture and smiled, though the spark in her eyes had dimmed. “I am only concerned about my sister.”

Darcy could sympathize. There was no worse feeling than the helplessness one experienced when a loved one suffered.

“You must be fatigued. Longbourn is a considerable distance over hilly terrain,” Bingley said, showing how little he knew the young woman. Darcy might not know her much better than Bingley did, but he understood her to be an excellent walker. Every encounter he had ever had with Miss Elizabeth had been out of doors. Far from tiring her, the exercise seemed to agree with her.

Bingley frowned. “I do not see any refreshments on the table. Did you not send for tea, Caro?” He looked at his sister, completely unaware of how he had just shone a light on her negligence.

His sister was quick to recover. “I do not know why the maid has not returned yet with a tray. As soon as Mrs. Nichols informed me that Miss Elizabeth was here, I asked for one to be sent in.”

Darcy doubted the veracity of her claim.

Miss Bingley requested a repast, showing proficiency at prevarication as she cast the blame on the maid, whose forbearance was notably greater than that of her mistress. The girl could not defend herself without giving offense and losing her position. It was the parlor maid who had brought in buckets of warm water for Remy’s bath. If only he could recall her name…

“Thank you, Molly,” Miss Elizabeth said softly as the girl passed by.

Molly. Darcy committed the name to memory, his estimation of Miss Elizabeth growing at this evidence of her interest in one accustomed to being overlooked and berated.

Once tea had been served, polite conversation exchanged, and the comfort of their guest attended to, Hurst and Bingley invited Darcy to a game of billiards. However, he was disinclined to leave Georgiana in Miss Bingley’s company without him, so he declared his chair too comfortable to part with and sent for a book to read. Mrs. Hurst retired to rest before dinner.

“We are happier in your company, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley purred, misunderstanding his purpose for remaining behind. Reaching out, she petted his sister’s arm. “Are we not, Georgiana?”

Her presumption vaporized the last of Darcy’s patience. He refused to allow Miss Bingley or any other lady to assume a friendship with his sister to get closer to him. “My attention is reserved for my book. If my presence does not interfere with your plans, I assure you that yours will not interrupt mine.”

Miss Bingley arched her neck, her voice flirtatious. “We are equally adept at ignoring you, sir. Georgiana and I have determined to make Miss Elizabeth our protégée. Together, we shall turn her into an accomplished artist.”

Had Miss Bingley possessed any discernment, she would exercise caution lest the flame burning in Miss Elizabeth’s eyes scorch her. Such expressive eyes Miss Elizabeth had! Was she aware of how well her thoughts displayed themselves on her face? Or was she too honest to disguise them? He ought to stop looking, but she turned to him, the fire in her eyes now aimed at him.

“Is there an art room here at Netherfield? I could benefit from the advantage of your exemplary instruction more fully without Mr. Darcy staring at us from his chair,” she said.

Darcy blinked and looked away, hot and singed. He had been staring.

“The windows in this parlor are superior at this hour. As any proper artist knows, we need all the natural light available to us,” Miss Bingley said. “I shall have our paper and paints brought in.”

Her suggestion seemed to disappoint Miss Elizabeth, leaving Darcy to wonder why she wished to leave the parlor. She was clearly not intimidated by him. Was she ashamed for him to witness her lack of skill with paints? She need not concern herself on his account. Young ladies accumulated all sorts of senseless accomplishments when they would benefit themselves and those around them more by strengthening their character. From what he had seen thus far, Miss Elizabeth did not lack in that!

Before he could offer any reassurance, a footman arrived with his book at the same time as the maid, who bore a large tray stacked with paper, paints, and clattering water jars. Darcy held the tome in front of him, shielding his eyes and pretending to be engrossed in its pages while the ladies set out their tools.

Although Miss Bingley tried to direct the instruction, Miss Elizabeth aimed her questions at Georgiana, who replied knowledgeably and encouragingly. His sister’s confidence grew with every question she asked, and Darcy struggled even more to apply himself to his reading .

Miss Elizabeth was proving to be the sort of lady he would encourage Georgiana to befriend. She was clearly an attentive sister. Remy adored her, and Darcy would choose to trust a dog’s loyalty over society’s opinion any day. She had reacted like an innocent maiden would at the sight of him wet and in a state of undress. While the memory made him want to sink deeper into his chair, the devil in him wondered if she liked what she had seen.

She endured Miss Bingley’s condescension with a gracefulness that lent her dignity. She did not seek his company… Now, that bothered him more than it should. Until now, he had never met a young lady who would rather quit the room he was in rather than linger longer than she should. That was his vanity speaking, though. Once he set aside his own pride, he found it refreshing.

Her disinterest piqued his curiosity. He tried to convince himself that his inquisitiveness was practical; that Miss Elizabeth’s arrival provided a promising solution to his current predicament. Her presence would keep Georgiana happily occupied, and Georgiana could help Miss Elizabeth entertain Miss Bennet as she recovered. Both stood to benefit from each other’s company, leaving Darcy free to steal away to London.

Contrary to Mrs. Hurst’s claims, London was not far. Darcy only required half of a day. He would return well before dinner on the morrow.

Once again, he caught himself staring over the top of his book at Miss Elizabeth. And so it was that when she raised her head from her paper to look past him at the paintings on the opposite wall, he saw on her expression the same concern he had noticed earlier. Georgiana, too, noticed. Setting down her brush, she said, “I am certain your sister will wake up much improved after she has rested.”

Miss Elizabeth pulled her gaze away from the paintings, recovering her smile by the time she met Georgiana’s eyes. “I am certain you are right. While I would love to allow you to ascribe my wistfulness to sisterly affection, I fear I must admit that my thoughts are not at all altruistic.” She sighed dramatically, a contrast to the humor in her tone. “I am frustrated at my ineptitude.”

Darcy prayed the pages of his book covered his face. The frankness of her confession and absolute lack of embarrassment in her admission were designed to provoke laughter, and that is very nearly what he did.

“You are not being fair to yourself, Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley insincerely encouraged, proving herself immune to playfulness. “Georgiana and I have benefited from years of advantages you have not been privileged to have. With a great deal of practice, you will eventually gain the skills of a novice.”

“I would call your first attempt very promising—far better than that of a novice!” Georgiana added. “Look how well you blend and mix colors. They are so vivid!”

Vivid colors. Perhaps she had taken inspiration from the paintings on the wall. Was that why she looked up at them?

Miss Elizabeth shook her head. “You are generous with your praise, but I clearly lack enough talent to merit your time and instruction. If there is some white work to do, perhaps my hands might be put to better use with some embroidery.”

Setting aside her box of paints, Georgiana began to rinse her brush. “My basket is in the drawing room?—”

Miss Bingley interrupted. “Georgiana has the loveliest alabaster-handled scissors in her basket. You really must see them. I was quite in raptures when I first saw them and simply must find their equal.”

“They were a gift from my brother,” Georgiana said with a blush.

Darcy lowered his book. At this point, he did not know why he bothered to pretend to read at all.

“Really? Where did you find such a prize, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley asked.

He was disinclined to reply. She would never believe he actually set foot in the middle of Seven Dials anyway.

Miss Elizabeth’s eyes fairly danced with merriment. “Would that every young lady could have a brother to bestow such useful gifts upon her.”

As though every young lady dreamed of embroidery scissors! Darcy understood her double meaning very well and dearly wished to disabuse her of the notion that he was incapable of a more fitting gift. Why could Miss Bingley not have mentioned the books and music he frequently brought Georgiana?

“My brother is incredibly thoughtful. He has increased my collection of music substantially over the past few months.”

Her reply pleased him more than he could express and certainly more than he was willing to admit. Why should he care what Miss Elizabeth thought of his gift-giving skills? Still, when she smiled and opened her mouth to speak, Darcy was all anticipation of a charming retort.

“If you please, miss,” interrupted a maid from the doorway. “Your sister is awake.”

Whatever Miss Elizabeth had been about to say would have to go unheard. In the blink of an eye, she quit the room, soon to be followed by Georgiana and Miss Bingley.

Finding himself alone in the parlor, he followed his curiosity to the watercolors left drying by the windows. He identified Miss Elizabeth’s immediately. Her paper was filled with colors that gradually blended one hue into another in a manner that could easily pass as a sunset reflecting on the surface of a glassy lake.

Georgiana had painted several flowers in full bloom. Darcy could almost smell them.

Miss Bingley had begun to paint two horses grazing in a field. There was no fault in her technique, but there was nothing captivating in them either. Perhaps she would layer in the eye-catching details as the work progressed .

Finally able to give proper attention to the two paintings on the wall without their artist there to observe him, Darcy crossed the room to inspect the landscapes more intently.

So vivid were they, he half expected them to jump off the wall and come to life. Miss Bingley must have had a master hovering over her shoulder, guiding her through every brush stroke. They were not Rembrandts by any stretch of the imagination, but they were pleasing to the eyes. They made Darcy smile.