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

Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

E lizabeth stood in front of the easel, vision blurred, mind unsettled. Not painting. Wasting precious time.

This would simply not do. She had a landscape to finish and futures to provide for. Reaching for a clean rag, she dried her eyes, blew her nose, straightened her shoulders, dabbed her brush in blue paint, and reached again toward the canvas. She held her arm steady for a long while, waiting, but no image crashed into her consciousness. “Come on, Lizzy! Paint!” she demanded, but no good came of it.

How was she to purchase Longbourn if she could not work?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind of the emotions clouding her thoughts, forcing her mind to think of anything except Mr. Darcy.

She would think of Longbourn. Did she need to purchase Longbourn? Keeping her father’s estate had been her aim for so long that she had considered no other alternative. Every penny she earned had always been to safeguard Longbourn for her mother and sisters. It had been their best option. Was it still?

The sale of the Rembrandt would provide more than enough for their needs. It gave them more options, which meant that their choice of residence would not be confined to rundown, indebted Longbourn.

Which also meant that her mother and sisters did not depend on her work anymore. Her breath caught in her throat. There was no need to rush to complete a painting.

She lowered her hand but kept a firm grasp on her brush. She no longer needed to earn an income. In fact, she did not need to paint at all. Elizabeth steadied herself against the easel. No more long walks in the cold and rain. No more hours on her feet in a lodge with a leaky roof and damp walls. No more scrubbing paint off her hands until they chafed.

Elizabeth sank to the floor. Remy crawled into her lap, nudging her with his nose and resting his paw on her shoulder in a sort of doggy embrace that warmed her heart and made her cry.

What else would she do? She felt empty… purposeless.

She buried her face in his furry neck. “Oh, Remy, I am being nonsensical!” Just because she no longer needed to sell her paintings did not mean that she had to abandon her art altogether! She could still paint. She could still do what she loved.

Then why was she so miserable? This was not relief. This was loss.

Tears came in earnest then, her breaths in sobs. Remy stood still, ever loyal in his affection, a steady, trustworthy companion. Her only companion, when she had hoped…

And there it was. What had been a beautiful, hopeful glimmer was lost. She would never see Mr. Darcy again.

She had convinced herself that he would understand and that their friendship was as important to him as it had become to her. She had expected too much when she never should have dared to hope for anything at all.

Probably she ought to be grateful that their friendship had ended while he could still hold her in some regard. Had he learned her secret, she would have lost his esteem forever.

Elizabeth prayed her father would live many years more, and she had every intention of offering the painting to Mr. Darcy first when that sad day came, but today, she mourned the loss of the future that might have been.

Loosening her hold on Remy, she dried her eyes against her sleeve and ruffled his fur. “What are men to loyal canine companions?”

Remy licked her cheek, and Elizabeth stood before he was encouraged to shower her with more slobbery affection.

People came and went, some of them unaware of the impact they made in one’s life. Mr. Darcy was such a man. She refused to allow one disagreement to cast a shadow over all the kindnesses he had shown her.

She looked at the two finished landscapes waiting to be collected by her uncle Philips, knowing now that they would be her last as Mario Rossi. She did not have to pretend anymore. There was some relief in that. She ought to hide them, to eliminate all evidence of her secret, but who would find her here, this last day? She had kept her secret safe for years. It would keep for one more day.

The change would allow her to paint as herself, and Elizabeth Bennet could paint whatever she wanted. It was an exhilarating thought, but the spark failed to light a fire in her veins.

Too heart-sore for enthusiasm, too numb for creativity, she decided to paint something Mario Rossi could not paint. Something meaningful and familiar.

She should paint Longbourn. It seemed appropriate to finish this chapter of her life with the very thing which had motivated her down this path.

Grabbing a pencil, she began sketching a soft outline of the home she had worked so hard to save. However, after several minutes, she stopped. Her heart was not in it.

Remy jumped up to his feet, barking and scratching the door with his paw. “Is it time to leave already?” Elizabeth called over her shoulder, careful not to lose her focus when she had a problem to solve. Remy barked again, and Elizabeth spun around to shush him at the same moment the door sprung open.

In bounced Archie, and behind him was Georgiana. She stumbled forward, her cheeks stained with tears and her eyes wide with fear.