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

Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

“ I am so glad to see you!” Georgiana squeezed her arms around Elizabeth as though her life depended on it.

Some rebel she was! She had thought herself brave when she left Netherfield with Archie (requiring some kind of companion―she had not completely lost her senses). Her boldness had lasted all of five minutes. In that time, she had wandered far enough away from the house to lose sight of it. She walked in the direction of the duck pond, searching for something or someone familiar and, with every step, feeling more foolish.

What had she thought to prove, anyway?

Fitzwilliam and Richard would be worried when they found out… because they always found out. They would be worried, and they would be disappointed in her. Again. Would she never learn?

Elizabeth rubbed her back as Georgiana had seen her do to Jane many times. It was a comforting movement. She wished she had a sister like her.

“I am always happy to see you, but what are you doing here? Alone?” Elizabeth pulled away with her hands on Georgiana’s shoulders, concern wrinkling her forehead.

Had Georgiana kept her composure, she might have shrugged and said she had decided to take Archie for a walk. Elizabeth would have accepted such a reply, as she so often walked alone with Remy. But Georgiana had run into her friend’s arms like a scared child. She could not be flippant about it now.

Neither was she ready to disclose the true reason. She searched the room for an explanation, a piece of the truth without revealing the whole. As she was surrounded by drab gray stones, her vision stopped abruptly at the incongruous sight of two brightly colored canvases leaning against the wall. Each picture told a story in vivid tones and was bursting with such gaiety that she could not help but forget her own troubles and smile.

Georgiana drew closer, her eyes feasting on a banquet of colorful clouds reflecting off swirling water and indistinct figures living in the scene. “These are delightful! So similar to the paintings at Netherfield Park.”

She felt Elizabeth tense beside her. Georgiana finally noticed her artist’s smock and the paint on her hands. “You are an artist!” She glanced at the bottom right corner to confirm her newfound knowledge, and her heart slowed. She turned to her friend. “Who is Mario Rossi?” Elizabeth’s face blanched.

There was a great deal Georgiana did not understand, but Elizabeth’s reaction made her realize she had crossed a line. Her insecurities returned in full force. What a fool she had been to follow Archie here, trespassing where she had not been invited! Fitzwilliam would be livid, Mrs. Annesley would be disappointed to have been purposely left behind, and Richard would threaten to lock her in a tower.

Feeling like an intruder and fully regretting her minor rebellion, Georgiana took a step backward. Oh, how she wished she could disappear! “I should not be here. My apologies?—”

Elizabeth reached out to stop her, her grip firm but her expression soft. “Mario Rossi is…well, me!”

Having prepared to defend her apology, not to hear a confession, Georgiana shook her head. “I do not understand.”

Elizabeth took her hand between her own and expelled Georgiana’s shame with her confidence. “I am Mario Rossi. He is the name I sign so that I can sell my paintings.” She bowed her head. “Until recently, my family needed the income my work provided.”

She earned a living? By assuming a man’s name? Georgiana gasped. She had never known anyone brave enough to defy social norms like that. It was daring. It was outrageous. It was?—

Her friend squeezed her hand and dropped it. “My duplicity must come as a shock to you. I will always cherish our brief friendship.”

Although Georgiana’s mind and heart were too full to explain herself effectively, she could not allow Elizabeth to misunderstand her silence. “It is wonderful!”

Elizabeth’s laugh was dry and painful. “How is this wonderful?”

“For Miss Bingley to copy your style, your artwork must be gaining popularity. Nobody who truly understands color would wear the hues she does.”

Elizabeth pinched her lips together, but the flash in her eyes and the angry red flooding her cheeks told Georgiana that she had unwittingly touched on a sensitive subject.

Miss Bingley’s paintings. Elizabeth’s paintings. They were too similar. “Oh,” Georgiana mumbled.

Once the full impact of this revelation hit her like a bolt of lightning, she firmly took the side of her new friend, exclaiming, “Oh! She did not paint them at all, did she?” She did not look away until she got a reply. “Did she?” she repeated.

Elizabeth shook her head.

Indignation filled Georgiana. “And she was so condescending to you, giving you art lessons! All the while, she had assumed your talent as her own! Oh, I could pull out her hair!”

“You will do no such thing. My days of painting as Mario Rossi are done. If you keep my secret, no harm is done. Miss Bingley will have to paint her own landscapes from now on. ”

It was not enough punishment to suit Georgiana’s maligned sense of justice. “It is not fair! She ought to be exposed! Publicly!”

“If I were to call her out, I would have to admit my own duplicity. It would ruin me, and my family would suffer from my shame.”

“But you are not a thief! If the ton only knew?—”

“It would ruin my sisters. Please, I beg you not to say a word. My injured pride is nothing compared to my sisters’ welfare. I have already come too close to revealing more than I ought to have done.”

The portrait sketch. The watercolor lesson. How had Georgiana missed the clues? “You are the better artist! Your understanding of color, your portrait of my brother?—”

“Please, Georgiana, promise me you will keep silent on the matter.”

She would agree, of course, but Georgiana did not like it at all. She did not know how to capture a mischievous gleam in the eye with charcoal, but Elizabeth had done it. It was an expression Georgiana had not seen her brother make in so many years that she had long since thought him incapable of such playfulness. Somehow, Elizabeth had brought that out in him, and then, somehow, she had captured it on paper. Such a talent deserved to be praised, not hidden.

Heaving a sigh, she agreed reluctantly. “Very well, but I do not know how you can stand it.” She could not have endured Miss Bingley’s patronizing art lessons and condescending comments. Gasping, Georgiana covered her face with her hands. “And I was the one who insisted you stay longer for Jane, forcing you to keep company with that envious, conniving, overstepping thief! How can you ever forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive. You did not know, and I love your kind heart for putting Jane’s welfare before anything else. We have only our reputations to recommend us.”

Georgiana made a sound that would never have met with Mrs. Annesley’s approval. “To think of all of the painters, poets, and writers who are able to benefit from their art.”

“They are gentlemen. It is not fair, but it is a restraint by which we live.”

“Why should a gentleman’s daughter not be able to do the same?”

“Take care not to express your opinion to the wrong people. I doubt your brother would share your view.”

Georgiana did not like Elizabeth lumping her brother in with the rest. “You do not know him as well as I do.”

“True, but I know him well enough to be certain he would not approve of you walking unattended.”

Georgiana so nearly pointed out that she was not alone and that Archie was a perfectly appropriate protector, but as her fierce guard was presently chasing his tail, she considered it best to hold her tongue. For a fact, Fitzwilliam would not be pleased to learn she had gone walking alone. Neither would Richard .

Elizabeth offered her arm. “Come. Remy and I shall walk you two back to Netherfield.”

Their walk provided an opportunity for Georgiana to ask just how she had created Mario Rossi. Her own hopes of attempting something similar were quashed when Elizabeth revealed the involvement of her uncles in the scheme. Georgiana only had one living uncle, Richard’s father, and she could not imagine a single circumstance in which The Right Honorable, The Earl of Matlock, would agree to assist her in such a progressive manner.

“How many paintings have you completed?” Georgiana asked.

“One a month over four years with an extra here and there.”

“Over fifty? Where do all your ideas come from?”

“Fifty-three, to be precise. Ideas are everywhere. One only needs to notice them.”

“I am going to see how many of your paintings I can find, and I am going to convince my brother to purchase all of them. My aunts and uncles, too. We shall make you famous!”

She heard Elizabeth sigh. “Not me. Mario Rossi. Besides, your brother said that my painting is merely tolerable. I doubt he would wish to pollute Pemberley’s walls with them.”

“He only said that to avoid complimenting Miss Bingley.”

That made Elizabeth smile. “There is one little thing that I do with every one of my paintings. It is wicked of me, I know, but I had to leave my mark on my work before I could sign Mario Rossi at the bottom.” Georgiana was all attention. “I hide my initials in every painting. If you look closely, somewhere in the branches of a tree or the curve of a bird’s wing, you will find E.B. as plain as the nose on your face.”

It pleased Georgiana to know this, but it also made her sad. Elizabeth spoke of helping her sisters, but her friend obviously possessed the passion of a true artist who must create. Georgiana felt the same way about music. If she went too long without playing her instrument, she became distracted and gloomy. “It must have been difficult for you… to make something beautiful, to bring others joy… and not be allowed to take credit for it.”

“Someday,” Elizabeth said in a far-off tone, “I will paint for the pure joy of creating something to brighten someone’s day, and I will proudly sign my name at the bottom. When I am the mistress of my own life, and my sisters are happily settled.” She blinked several times, her smile shy after sharing her dream.

Georgiana felt the privilege of her confidence. Guarding this secret would be easy, as she had experience guarding her own.

She could trust Elizabeth’s ability to keep a secret, too. After all, she had one of her own.

“I agreed to elope with a man.”

Elizabeth gasped. “You are under no obligation to say what you might later regret. ”

Already, Georgiana felt lighter than she had in a long time and would not stop now. “I want to tell you. I have nobody to talk to like this, not since my father died.”

“You miss him.” It was a statement rather than a question.

Georgiana nodded in response, and she was happy to provide some context. “Father and I used to spend all day out of doors riding horses and fishing in the pond near the bridge. My brother was away at school. As our father had little taste for London, I had him all to myself at Pemberley. He told me stories of my mother and how they fell in love. When he died, Fitzwilliam was busier than ever with the estate.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“It was! Fitzwilliam surrounded me with cousins and friends and tutors, but they could not replace my father… or my brother. It felt as though I had lost him, too.” She stopped to steady her breath.

Remy and Archie seemed to sense her gravity. They walked quietly ahead of her and Elizabeth, guiding the way to Netherfield and frequently checking that they followed.

Elizabeth did not fill the silence or offer a clever observation intended to lighten the mood. For this, Georgiana was grateful. She lacked practice putting her emotions into words, but the relief she felt at having an understanding friend to listen patiently to her ramblings was a treasure.

When she felt ready, she continued, “There was a young man, George Wickham, the son of our steward and the godson of my father. He was all too happy to give me the attention I so craved. At first, George was another brother to me. He lavished me with time and then with gifts. He made me feel like I was his sole reason for existing.”

“A heady sensation for a young lady.”

“But not practical. My brother sensed my unhappiness, and as is his habit, he tried to fix things. He installed me in my own establishment at Ramsgate, granting me a freedom and independence I did not yet deserve. George joined me there and convinced me to elope with him. I am forever indebted to my brother’s diligence and concern for my welfare, or I would have gone through with it. Fitzwilliam intercepted before any real damage could be done, and I learned that George had only wanted me for my dowry.”

“The rat!”

“If you only knew.” Georgiana had tip-toed around the subject of her painting, but she wanted Elizabeth to understand her brother’s motive for insisting on its return.

“To exploit the heart of a grieving young lady is indecent!”

Georgiana patted Elizabeth’s arm to calm her. She had made it this far, and she was determined to continue. “That is not the worst of it.”