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

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

P lop! A trail of water streamed down the back of Elizabeth’s head, soaking into her collar and sending a shiver down her back. Her stomach groaned in protest, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten. She blinked, no longer in the bright, sunlit fields of Longbourn right before an ample harvest that shone on her easel. She was in the cold, gray hunting lodge. Rain fell in sheets from heavy clouds.

Moving quickly, she placed her easel against a wall where the floor was dry. There were shockingly few safe places for her work. Fewer than last winter. Would the lodge make it through another winter? Where would she paint when the lodge was no longer suitable?

Remy slept soundly on the carpet beside her easel. “Some watchman you are!” At this, the dog sat up and sneezed. “Why did you not tell me it was raining?” Elizabeth plopped her hands on her hips exaggeratedly. At this, he stood and barked. “Fine, you tell me now, for all the good that does us.” She ruffled his ears, began cleaning her brushes, and tried not to worry about how much time might have passed. Perhaps the worst of the rain might pass by the time she finished.

It did not. She could hardly see ten paces in front of her face, so thick was the rain and fog. How was she going to slip back inside Netherfield Park unnoticed? And with a muddy dog! What a sight they would be, and what a ruckus they would cause! Wrapping her coat tightly around her and holding her skirts up, she took off at a run with Remy loping along beside her.

Within five minutes, her clothing was clinging to her in heavy folds of fabric that wrapped around her calves and made it difficult to walk without tripping. The ground, already soaked from the recent rains, became soggy where there was grass and slippery where there was nothing to protect her half boots from the mud. After another few minutes, the leather of her shoes began to stretch. They grew so loose around her feet that she feared she would have to return to Netherfield Park barefoot. Oh, if only she had not lost track of time!

Just when she thought her situation could not become more desperate, Remy took off at a run, barking into the dense midst and leaving her alone. “Remy! Remy!” she called after him, her frustration mounting. It was not like him to run off and ignore her calls. “Remy!” she tried again .

She heard his bark through the fog and what sounded like a higher-pitched echo. Echo… or another dog. Archie? What was he doing out of doors in this weather? A large shadow emerged from the gloom. Her heart leapt out of her throat, stifling her instinct to scream.

All for the better, for in the next gasp of breath, she saw it was Mr. Darcy atop a dark horse. He said nothing. One minute, Elizabeth was standing on the ground, and the next, she was flying up onto the horse. And then she was warm and safe in Mr. Darcy’s arms.

The horse rocked under her, carrying her at a brisk pace toward the only place they could go—Netherfield Park. It did not, however, outpace her wits which, as scattered and disoriented as they were, finally caught up with her. She was sitting on Mr. Darcy’s lap! Every bump and sway brought their bodies together in what would most certainly be frowned upon by polite society. Not even her own mother would approve!

Elizabeth was wrapped inside his greatcoat, the thick wool draped over her shoulders, his arm holding it snug around her and pressing her against his chest. She tilted her chin, her nose close to his neck. He smelled like shaving soap and spices. His side whiskers tickled her cheek. They were softer than she would have thought. The intimacy of the moment made her ignore the cold of the rain, though her chin shook and her teeth clattered.

Relief at being found and relief that he did not demand an explanation overcame her embarrassment. She relaxed against him, burrowing into his warmth. She could not remember the last time she had felt so protected. Not since she was a small girl. For the short time it took them to arrive at Netherfield Park, she gave no thought to her concerns. She was safe with Mr. Darcy.

He rode to the back of the house by the kitchens. His groom was already there to assist them. Mr. Darcy held her close, and she did not know how he dismounted without dumping her on the ground, but he managed expertly. To his groom, he said, “Thank you, Craig. You know what to do.”

Mr. Craig nodded. “Aye.” With a low whistle, he summoned both dogs to follow him and Mr. Darcy’s horse. For once, Remy obeyed and did not attempt to run to her side.

Elizabeth did not know what to do. She should walk herself into the kitchen, but she was in no hurry to leave Mr. Darcy’s arms. She would be perfectly content to hide there all day. Sense won. She pushed against his chest, trying to straighten herself. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, but I am perfectly capable of walking.”

“Not until we are inside.” His voice sounded gruff, like he was coming down with a cold.

The door opened. When the cook called over two maids and proceeded to make such a fuss as would soon alarm the entire household, Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to bury her shamed face in Mr. Darcy’s neck cloth.

“Miss Elizabeth requires the expertise of your care. She will need a hot bath and a dry change of clothing,” her rescuer instructed in a low tone. She felt his voice vibrate in his chest. He still had not put her down.

“And something to warm her from the inside, poor dear!” Cook clapped her hands and turned to the stove, instructing the scullery maid to start filling buckets to heat and sending another maid upstairs to fetch a change of clothes.

Before the maids departed from the kitchen, Mr. Darcy said, “I trust your discretion. Should anyone outside this room learn of Miss Elizabeth’s incident, I shall know that one of you three was the source of the gossip. Your caution will be appropriately rewarded as a mark of my appreciation.”

Cook nodded. “The scullery room will do nicely. She can bathe in privacy and nobody outside the kitchen need know of it. Even if another servant were to come into the kitchen, the scullery door will be closed, and Molly here can hold her tongue, can’t you, girl?”—to which Molly agreed wholeheartedly—“as can Betsy, can’t you, lass?” Betsy agreed firmly. At that, the three servants set to their work, their lips clamped shut and their eyes bright with anticipation of their impending reward and favor from their esteemed guest.

Only then, when no one was paying them much attention, did Mr. Darcy set her down by the large stove on the opposite side from the cook. He did so gently, keeping his hands around her waist. “Can you stand? Did you hurt anything? It was terribly slippery along the paths.”

Elizabeth could hardly breathe. Standing proved to be more difficult than she would have anticipated, but her weakness had nothing to do with the strength of her limbs. “I am well, thank you.” He removed his hands but stayed close. Grateful, she looked up at him, wishing she could ask what he thought of her and afraid to know the answer.

Cook went into the pantry while Molly prepared the scullery room for Elizabeth’s use, allowing her a moment of privacy with Mr. Darcy. She braced herself for his questions, trying to think of clever ways to reply without revealing why she had been caught in the rain. He just stood there beside her, rather closely, silent.

He had ridden through the rain for her. It dawned on her that he must be just as cold as she was. “Forgive me! You must be chilled to the bone!” She moved over, allowing him more room near the hot stove, which he did not refuse. He took a breath as though he were about to speak, and she enjoyed the last seconds of his good opinion of her, for she would not lie to him. Mr. Darcy deserved no less than the truth after braving the weather to assist her when any other reasonable female would not have ventured out of doors in the first place. She took a deep breath and waited.

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I am relieved to have found you.”

His relief sounded so genuine, so heartfelt, she felt like a doll without stuffing. Nobody worried about her. Most of the time, nobody knew where she was or what she was doing. If she was not careful, she might convince herself that Mr. Darcy cared for her enough to notice those things. Before he could make any further inquiry, Molly proclaimed the scullery room ready to receive her.

Minutes later, Elizabeth leaned against the back of the tub. Her hair had been washed with a lovely-smelling soap, and warm water steamed around her. A table beside her held a tray with a cup of chocolate, warm bread with melted butter, and preserves. She felt like a queen. She dared not linger too long, though. Jane might be awake by now, and Georgiana had probably noticed her absence. She had been foolish to lose track of the time so thoroughly.

With Molly’s help, she donned a dry morning gown and shawl. Having no other suitable shoes, she wore her dinner slippers.

“I’ll put your other gown and coat to rights, miss, you’ll see,” Molly assured her.

“I hate to be a trouble?—”

Molly puffed out her chest. “I have to redeem myself if I want out of the scullery room.” She said no more than that, impressing Elizabeth with her attitude after having suffered unjust accusations from Miss Bingley only the day before. She added proudly, “I had already worked up to being a parlor maid, and I aim to be a lady’s maid someday. There is no garment I am incapable of repairing.”

“I do not doubt your skill, and I wish you success.” Elizabeth smiled at her. “However, I fear that your skills might be lost on Miss Bingley when she will not even know the state of my gown when I returned.”

“I do not wish to serve as her maid, Miss. No, I’ll work my way up and keep my ears and eyes open for a mistress more to my liking.” Her eyes doubled in size, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. “I should not have spoken so bluntly. I am hoping to impress Mr. Darcy so that maybe he will take me on.”

Elizabeth giggled. “Mr. Darcy does not require a lady’s maid.”

“He will when he takes a wife. A man like that cannot stay unmarried for long.” She smiled and sighed.

Any lady Mr. Darcy married would likely already have her own trained maid, but Elizabeth kept the thought to herself. It was a sad thought. Of course he would marry a fine lady. With Molly’s positive attitude and willingness to work, she was certain to find a suitable position, even though it probably wouldn’t be in Mr. Darcy’s household.

Dressed and dry, Elizabeth smoothed her hand over her hair—a simple knot with a braid wrapped around it—and walked up the stairs toward Jane’s room.

What should she say when she saw Mr. Darcy? Would she be able to meet his eyes without remembering the feel of his arms around her? Without her face flaming at the memory?