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

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

E lizabeth closed the door and leaned against it. What had she done? She knew the answer: she had exposed herself to inquiry and Miss Bingley’s ire! And for what? To satisfy her own pride!

She ought to have allowed Miss Bingley’s superiority to become inflated at the imposter’s own peril. Time always revealed the truth. But Elizabeth’s vanity had made her impatient, and she had sought to even the balance. Due to her lack of self-control, her secret was not as safe as it had been before that stupid challenge.

Thank goodness Archie and Remy had interrupted when they did!

Jane softly chastised Remy for mangling Miss Bingley’s stuffed bird before she switched to justifying him for acting as nature demanded. Besides, the bird was already dead. What kind of lady thought it fashionable to adorn herself with dead birds? It was atrocious, she concluded, and Remy had gallantly spared her from a terribly cruel faux pas .

Hastening over to Jane’s side and determined to do nothing else to draw attention to herself, Elizabeth helped her sister pack their trunk. They did not need to discuss her intention to depart to agree that they must go. They had little to pack and would be ready to leave as soon as the carriage was brought around. Elizabeth tucked her sketchbook inside her reticule.

The sketch! Where had it gone? Mrs. Hurst had been holding it until Mr. Bingley took it from her. Mr. Darcy had studied it for a long time, but had he taken the paper from Mr. Bingley? Elizabeth tried to remember, but she had been too full of pride to notice until Miss Bingley started asking questions and Elizabeth realized her folly.

An image of Mr. Darcy sitting at the writing desk, his brow tense with concern, his eyes full of sadness and hurt as he gazed at his letter… The expression had been too intimate and revealed too much. Elizabeth did not need to know what Colonel Fitzwilliam’s news was to be certain that it troubled Mr. Darcy greatly. She had not wished to commemorate his pain, so she had drawn him as she preferred to remember him—as he had been after she had caught him bathing her muddy mongrel, all kindness and boyish playfulness.

A bold, vain hope seized her. What if Mr. Darcy had it? She had seen his shock and then his smile. He had liked it. Had he understood its meaning? Had it made him remember the moment that inspired the drawing?

Leaving Remy in Jane’s care, she looked in the drawing room while the footmen carried their trunk to the entrance hall. Her sketch was gone. Drat.

The damage had already been done, but she did not wish for the drawing to be shown to anyone who had not already seen it. Perhaps Miss Bingley had snatched it, in which case it had already been tossed into the fire.

Or maybe Mr. Darcy had kept it…

The stiff paper of Miss Elizabeth’s sketch rubbed against Darcy’s pocket as he returned downstairs. Everyone except Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had gathered in the entrance hall to send off the Misses Bennet. The Bennet sisters appeared surprised to have such a friendly send-off after their dog’s destruction, but Bingley was quick to reassure them that Archie was most certainly the mastermind behind the incident.

The rain had calmed since Darcy had found Miss Elizabeth out of doors, but the butler still handed over two umbrellas for the gentlemen to hold over the ladies. Bingley took one, and before Richard could take the other, Darcy grabbed it.

Bingley handed Miss Bennet into the coach, uttering the niceties that flowed so smoothly from his tongue and which were received with amiability equal to his own .

Darcy was wholly conscious of the pressure of Miss Elizabeth’s hand on his arm and disturbingly aware of the moment she removed it so he could hand her into the conveyance. This was a dangerous game. He hardly knew Miss Elizabeth, though he believed she knew a great deal about him. She saw everything, and she remembered―things he would rather hide. That she had chosen to draw him happy when he had been sorely troubled was a kindness he appreciated.

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”

He met her glance, and his soul caught on fire. When she released his hand and sat back against the dark interior of the carriage, he stood frozen in place, thoroughly shaken. He turned and walked inside the house without looking back, even though his every sense was aware of her departure and the crunch of the carriage wheels on the gravel as it started down the drive.

Georgiana waved from the top of the steps under the portico, a ray of sunshine on this dreary day. Not since before last summer had she appeared so cheerful, and Darcy knew he must credit Miss Elizabeth with this favorable change.

He went to his sister’s side, only then turning toward the departing carriage. Together, they watched as it disappeared down the lane. She wrapped her fingers around his arm in the same way she had when she was much younger. It was so nice, Darcy dared not move lest she realize what she had done. He held her closer, wishing this moment could last forever and hating that he would have to ruin it.

“I shall miss them. And Remy,” she said.

“Me too!” added Bingley with a sigh.

It was too cold to remain out of doors, and they quickly moved inside. As they warmed themselves by the fire, Richard sidled closer. “Georgie looks too happy today. I do not have the heart to spoil it. Let us give her some time.”

Darcy nodded. “Very well, but we must tell her soon.”

“On the morrow.”

“Not a day later.”

Their agreement resolved, Darcy listened to his sister extol Miss Elizabeth’s artistic skill until she moved her attention to practicing her instrument, allowing him to return to his unfinished correspondence before dressing for dinner. Georgiana’s happiness continued throughout the evening, multiplying his torture with the knowledge that he would have to disturb it on the morrow.

He tossed and turned that night, hardly sleeping a wink before it was time to rise. He dressed, making his way to the morning parlor, expecting to see his sister in the breakfast room in her riding habit, and preparing what he would say during their morning ride. However, she was still in her bedchamber when he returned after going on his ride alone.

It was not until the Hursts and Miss Bingley took the carriage into Meryton to call on Miss King that Georgiana joined them in the billiard room. Darcy and Richard were attempting to distract Bingley from his misery and convince him that it was too soon to call at Longbourn.

Georgiana walked right up to Bingley. “Excuse me, please, but I could not sleep for concern for Miss Bennet.”

For not being able to sleep, she had slept away most of the morning. Still, at the mention of Miss Bennet, she had a captive audience in Bingley.

“Me too!” he said.

She nodded gravely. “She could not have sufficiently recovered from her cold before undergoing such a trip.”

A distance of three miles bundled up in a comfortable carriage with blankets and heated bricks at her feet and Bingley’s own footmen to carry their trunk indoors and hold umbrellas over their heads? What was Georgiana about?

Her eyes glistened. “What if Miss Bennet has taken a turn for the worse? I would feel positively wretched.”

“As would I,” agreed Bingley. “I asked my sisters if they would call with me, but they had other plans.”

Georgiana lit up. “Perfect! I would be pleased to accompany you, my brother, and Cousin Richard to Longbourn.”

Darcy nearly snapped his cue. He had cut his morning ride short and refused to venture out of doors in hopes of speaking with her about Wickham’s ghastly fate. To delay a moment longer was unacceptable, and yet they could not very well tell her the bad news now.

She circled the table, resting her hand on his arm and blinking up at him through her dark eyelashes, a trick that always got her what she wanted. “You did agree that I may make a quiet debut in the country. I would very much like to make my first social call at Longbourn with the Bennets.”

He stifled a groan, knowing he could not refuse her. When he looked to Richard for help, the coward merely rubbed his jaw and looked away.

All the way to Longbourn, Darcy cursed himself. Their horses’ hooves sank in the mud in the poorly drained fields. Grass and weeds spotted the gravel drive. The walls at the top of the house were water-stained, a sure sign that the roof needed repair. Only one boy came to take their horses. An elderly servant opened the door, soot on his cheek from the fire he no doubt kept burning and slivers of wood on the arms of his patched wool coat. He saw them into the front parlor while he called the master of the house.

Mr. Bennet joined them shortly, polishing his spectacles as he entered the room and stopping before them to make his bow. “Mr. Bingley! How good to see you, sir, and your guests.” He was a lively man with silver hair and clever eyes that crinkled at the sides as though he were laughing at a joke. Darcy could see where Miss Elizabeth’s humor came from.

Bingley performed introductions, after which Mr. Bennet turned to Darcy and Richard with a twinkle in his eye. “I trust you are enjoying the wet weather?”

Richard laughed. “So much so that we decided to tempt fate by riding out in it!”

“So I see. Shall I send for tea to warm you? I fear I have precious little else to offer you but weak tea and my own company. Mrs. Bennet and the girls are in Meryton.” This he said more for Bingley’s benefit than anyone else’s. They could rest easy that Miss Bennet was hale enough to walk into the village, thus accomplishing the purpose of their call.

Georgiana tried to hide her disappointment, but Mr. Bennet, negligent as he was with his estate, was too often surrounded by females not to notice. “It is a pity, as I am certain that my younger daughters would be enchanted to meet you, Miss Darcy. Whether the feeling will prove mutual or not, I shall let you decide.”

His comment was meant to be humorous, but Georgiana did not know how to reply. The conversation having taken an uncomfortable turn, Bingley inquired further about Miss Bennet’s health. Once he was satisfied that she was not on death’s door, they rose to take their leave.

Mr. Bennet bowed. “I wish you greater success next time.”

The clouds parted, allowing a burst of sunlight through the windows. Mr. Bennet cackled. “The weather wishes you a prompt return! And I shall do likewise to my study.” He gestured down the hall to a door that had been closed when they arrived but which was now wide open.

Light flooded the room, illuminating a painting hanging behind the desk. Darcy’s heart lurched in his chest. Even from a distance, he knew Georgiana’s painting.

Joy and relief overcame him… and then panic. He turned to hurry his sister away, but it was too late. She stared at the painting, the color draining from her face.