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

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

E lizabeth pulled the brush through Jane’s golden hair one last time and set it down. Combing her fingers through the silken strands, she braided them into a long cord. Jane caught her hand before she tied off the end. “You must be restless, stuck here looking after me when you are so fond of walking.”

Elizabeth nodded toward the window at the torrential rain blasting against the glass. “In this weather?” she teased.

Squeezing her sister’s hand with a serious gaze, Jane continued, “You are always on your way somewhere, always so occupied. I only wish to say that I am relieved to have you here.”

Elizabeth caressed Jane’s cheek. “You look much improved after a good, sound sleep. Do you feel better?”

“I do, and I have you to credit for it. ”

Elizabeth grimaced inwardly. She had done nothing but think of how she could get away to paint instead of attending to her sister. “You give me too much credit. Mr. Bingley has arranged for your every comfort.”

Jane sank into her pillows with a deep sigh. “How can I be certain of the genuineness of my affection for such a generous, attentive gentleman?”

“That you worry about your sincerity is proof enough of its existence.”

“Our situation is desperate, Lizzy. I cannot help but hope that he might make an offer.” Jane wrung her fingers. “I would not hesitate to accept. The only way I can help my mother and sisters is to marry well.” Her eyes filled with moisture. “Does that make me mercenary? Mr. Bingley deserves so much better.”

How differently they went about the same goal! Jane would sacrifice herself, her future. And while Elizabeth’s choice was not without a great deal of risk, she had not considered sacrificing her own freedom and happiness as Jane did.

She did not notice how long they had fallen silent until Jane spoke again. “What about Mr. Darcy?” she asked softly.

Despite her best attempts to control her complexion, Elizabeth could feel her cheeks burning. She could tell no one, not even Jane, about her ride with Mr. Darcy through the rain. How he had ordered her a bath and food. About how well he had taken care of her. That would have to remain their little secret for as long as she lived. It was a memory she would cherish forever.

Instead, she told Jane about Remy rolling in the mud and how Mr. Darcy himself had seen to the dog’s ablutions. She threw herself into the telling, intending to draw the focus away from any expectation regarding Mr. Darcy with her humorous account. But Jane did not laugh. No, her reaction was much worse. She looked hopeful―hopeful for Elizabeth.

Growing increasingly uncomfortable, Elizabeth changed the subject entirely. “Are you feeling well enough to attempt to join us downstairs?”

Jane sat up taller in bed. “I think I might. It is dispiriting to spend so much time abed.”

“Then it is settled. We shall change your gown and wrap your warmest, softest shawl around your shoulders, and you will come downstairs with me.” Elizabeth pulled her sister’s nicest morning gown from the armoire.

The door opened, and Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley entered, followed by a maid carrying a breakfast tray. With one look, they took in Jane’s intention. As though of one mind, their concern grew evident. “What is this? Out of bed already?” Mrs. Hurst clucked her tongue. “It is much too soon, especially with the weather so dreadful.”

“Dearest Jane, you must rest more after the fright you gave us. Pray do not attempt to leave your room before you are fully recovered.” Miss Bingley added her voice to her sister’s. With eyes full of false concern, she turned to Elizabeth, adding, “Miss Elizabeth, you must stay here with your sister to ensure she does not overexert herself before she is well.”

“Yes, you must keep guard over her like a good nurse. We cannot risk her health taking a turn for the worst,” added Mrs. Hurst, in full agreement.

Their goal was all too clear. They intended to keep Jane away from their brother.

Jane sat back on the bed. “You both have been so kind to me! Thanks to your attentions, I am much improved.” The sweetness in her voice made Elizabeth want to snarl at the self-serving vipers. They did not deserve her gratitude.

“Which is why we do not dare allow you to risk a relapse,” said Mrs. Hurst in the voice many used when speaking to a baby.

Flipping the covers over her legs, Jane reached for the book Elizabeth had been reading to her. “I have enough entertainment to last me the day and a beautiful view to gaze upon. Really, you have seen to my every comfort. I shall do as you bid and stay in bed. In fact, I give you my word that I shall not move from here for several hours. However, I insist that my sister not be confined to my rooms with me. I do not require a nurse. Now, if it pleases you, I shall give my attention to the breakfast you have sent up, after which I shall no doubt rest.”

Jane spoke confidently and certainly. Once she directed her attention to the tray, thus dismissing them, her focus was entirely on her meal. All of this was done with so much grace and gratitude that neither lady knew how to respond. Well done, Jane!

The sisters were not pleased. With a stiff smile and a strained voice, Miss Bingley asked, “Care to join us in the drawing room, Miss Elizabeth?”

She departed with them, amazed at how easily Jane had sacrificed her own contentment for her benefit as well as how deftly she had deflected the ladies’ intention to trap them in the sick room. It was masterfully done.

If only Elizabeth could display such mastery when she next saw Mr. Darcy. Already, she was nervous. Would his manners toward her change? She would do her best to appear unaffected, but she feared she would not be successful. How could she ever look him in the eye again without thinking of the softness of his whiskers against her skin, the smell of his shaving soap, or the warmth of his hands around her waist?

When she and the two women came into the drawing room, the subject of her thoughts sat at a writing table by the window on one side of the room. Even when the ladies entered and he stood to bow, Mr. Darcy’s vision remained fixed on the page before him. He must be penning a thought-consuming letter.

Remy and Archie lounged before the fire, soaking in the warmth and twitching in their sleep.

On the other side of the room, Colonel Fitzwilliam played a game of cards with Miss Darcy and Mr. Bingley. The colonel spoke as the gentlemen rose to their feet. “Miss Elizabeth, how good of you to join us. We have been unable to convince Darcy to take a break from his letters. Perhaps you might have greater success.”

As though expecting this criticism from his cousin, Mr. Darcy was prompt with his reply. “I have neglected these letters for far too long.” Still, he did not look at Elizabeth. Not even a flicker of a glance.

“Have you not a man of business to assist you in these matters?” the colonel asked.

“There are matters I must attend to personally.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was stiff, guarded.

Elizabeth recalled that he had received some bad news only that morning. Now she felt selfish for worrying so much about how he would receive her after their rain-soaked ride. He was probably not thinking about her at all. She had been a distraction whose situation had pulled him from urgent business, and yet he had taken the time to help her. Elizabeth resolved to help him however she could without distracting him further. She would sit quietly and avoid drawing him into conversation.

She joined his cousin and sister at the table while Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley placed themselves on the settee closer to Mr. Darcy. Resuming his seat, Mr. Bingley commented, “When I purchase my own estate, I am going to trust my steward to make most of the decisions.”

Elizabeth cringed. That had been her father’s first and greatest mistake—to trust their steward implicitly. The man had been dishonest .

The colonel shook his head. “Then you had best hire an honest and capable man.”

“Of course! I would never hire a man who did not have Darcy’s recommendation.”

Mr. Darcy looked up from his letter. “There are many decisions you will have to make on your own. Your steward cannot make them all for you.” His friend waved Mr. Darcy’s warning off in a way that concerned Elizabeth greatly. Fortunately, Mr. Darcy did not allow his advice to be so easily dismissed. “A landowner must know all the ins and outs of his property and his tenants. It is his responsibility to make the best decisions for the improvement of his estate and for the many lives depending upon him. It takes a great deal of time and energy unless he is irresponsible and shirks his obligations.”

Bingley frowned. “What is the use of owning a beautiful estate if one never has time enough to enjoy it with his friends and family?”

The colonel said, “I am certain you will find a proper balance.” He looked at his cousin. “Most other gentlemen do.” There was a lot in the look exchanged between the two men, and Elizabeth wondered at it. Was Mr. Darcy too burdened to enjoy his estate? Several comments popped into her mind, but she gave voice to none of them. She remained silent.

“Enough of this dull talk. It is dreary enough out of doors without allowing it into our conversation.” Miss Bingley turned her smile on Georgiana. “I would much rather hear about the table you recently painted. ”

Georgiana’s eyes widened. “How did you hear about that?”

“An extraordinary talent such as yours cannot be kept secret.” Miss Bingley shrugged. “I must have heard about it from a mutual friend. You know how word spreads.”

The girl was not consoled. “I would rather not be the topic of idle talk.”

“Your modesty does you credit,” said Mrs. Hurst. “You are so much like Caro with her paintings. I encouraged her to bring them here, for if she had left them on display in our townhouse, she would have stirred up a great deal of talk. As you well know, it can get so tiresome hearing endless praise.”

Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap, dropped her head, and pursed her lips in anger. Mrs. Hurst need not worry about her showering Miss Bingley with praise!

Some sketching paper and charcoal sat abandoned on a table near the sisters. Mrs. Hurst looked down at the art supplies and fluttered her hands in the air, apparently seized by an exciting idea. Her exaggerated movement awakened the dogs and sent them barking to the nearest window. “I have the perfect solution to our ennui! We ladies shall participate in a little contest.”

“How delightful!” Miss Bingley responded with an obvious lack of sincerity. Georgiana did not look enthused. Elizabeth wanted nothing to do with anything either Bingley sister would plan—especially if it meant she might inadvertently expose her secret set of skills .

Mrs. Hurst continued, “Caro, Miss Darcy, and Miss Elizabeth will display their artistic talent by sketching a portrait of Mr. Darcy. He may continue writing his letters, and we can have some diversion.” Elizabeth could not think of a worse idea. She had been avoiding Mr. Darcy’s gaze since entering the room, and Mrs. Hurst would have her staring at him and studying his face?

Mr. Darcy did not even bother to look up from his letter.

“What about the colonel and me? Are we to sit and twiddle our thumbs while everyone else is occupied?” asked Mr. Bingley.

“You shall judge the competition.”

The colonel spoke. “I shall naturally select Georgiana’s sketch. It would not be a fair competition.”

“I would rather not participate. I am not very good with portraits.” Elizabeth’s intention was to augment Colonel Fitzwilliam’s argument with her own and hoped that the plan would be abandoned. Unfortunately, their objections seemed to solidify Miss Bingley’s determination.

“We shall not sign our signatures, and the gentlemen will sit on Mr. Darcy’s side of the room so that they cannot peek.” Miss Bingley did not notice the trepidation in Georgiana’s face or the way Mr. Darcy tightened his grip on his pen. Elizabeth expected to hear it snap at any moment.

“It is settled, then,” declared Mrs. Hurst as the clock on the mantle chimed the hour. “When the clock chimes the next hour, you must hand me your unsigned sketches to give to the gentlemen to judge.”

Mr. Darcy looked up to smile softly at Georgiana. After receiving encouraging nods from both her brother and her cousin, she leaned over her paper and started drawing.

Elizabeth watched him, hoping he might look at her, that he might communicate what he thought in a glance. But he did not. She started sketching, giving little thought to proportion or angles, outlining as much as she could from memory.

A snort at her side made her look up to see Miss Bingley regarding what she had drawn. She looked satisfied with herself, as though she had already won. If Miss Bingley thought she could trample all over Elizabeth just to get what she wanted, she was in dire need of correction.

Vanity won over reason. Elizabeth pulled her paper closer to her, angling it away from her adversary, and began to draw in earnest.