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

Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

A bird chirped outside the attic window, and Elizabeth set down her paintbrush to appreciate her new surroundings more fully. The roof was sound, the windows faced east, providing the best light she could hope for, and she had not had to trudge down a muddy path in the cold but had only to slip from her bedchamber and up the stairs. The hunting lodge was empty; Elizabeth did not need it anymore.

She had not ventured inside the attic since she stopped playing dress-up in her grandmother’s old gowns, but she had been pleasantly surprised at the space available to her once she moved the trunks and unused furniture away from the windows. She had even found her father’s easels and canvases, which had been covered by a dusty sheet. It had taken her four days to clean and arrange the room, slipping her own art supplies inside little by little as she worked. It had been a happy occupation... and a worthy excuse to avoid Mr. Collins.

Elizabeth shivered. Mr. Collins had arrived two days before. Already, he had worn out his welcome. He did not care to hear anyone’s opinion other than his own, and even that was lacking; he only repeated the opinions of a lady none of them knew, his esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. To Mr. Collins, her opinions were sacred and the standard by which he measured all things.

Lady Catherine had apparently tasked him with the charge of finding a wife, and so he must do lest he displease Her Ladyship and lose the favor he lived to maintain. He had told them this with the obvious expectation that they would swoon at his feet. For a gentleman with no opinions or ambitions of his own to be proud of, he certainly exhibited a great deal of pride.

Shoving all thoughts of that unpleasant man from her mind, Elizabeth grabbed her brush and added more color to the canvas. Jane’s hair shimmered like golden wheat beside Mary’s thick, chestnut-colored hair. Elizabeth’s heart swelled, filling her chest.

“Lizzy!” called her mother. “We are going into Meryton!”

Jolted out of her contemplation, Elizabeth began untying her apron. She could not hide in the attic all day, no matter how badly she wished to.

“Mr. Collins is waiting!”

Elizabeth’s fingers tangled in the apron strings. Why her mother believed that Mr. Collins could make any of her daughters happy was beyond Elizabeth’s comprehension. Rather than hasten to join the departing group, Elizabeth slowed down. She did not need a new gown so badly, did she? Her slippers did not need shoe roses, and the gloves she reserved for Sundays were suitable enough for Mr. Bingley’s ball...

But Mr. Darcy would be at the ball. As Mr. Bingley’s guest, he had to be. While Elizabeth held no hope or expectation toward him, she was vain enough to wish him to see her at her best, certainly not in the drab, faded gowns he had seen her wear.

So long as Mr. Collins did not mistake her care in her appearance as encouragement toward him!

“Lizzy! We are leaving!” called Mama.

Checking her hands, Elizabeth descended the stairs. She did not change her clothes but passed her bedchamber quickly to join her mother and sisters downstairs. A walk into the village would be just the thing to keep her mind and body occupied.

As she should have suspected, she was ready before her mother and sisters had put on their hats, coats, and gloves. Elizabeth walked down the hall to her father’s study to ask if he wished her to get him anything. She slowed when she heard Mr. Collins’s voice. “Lady Catherine is an expert in all things related to the arts. Had she ever learned to paint, she would have been quite the proficient. The paintings lining her staircase walls alone are valued at twenty thousand pounds.” This he said with awe .

Papa said dryly, “Beauty is better appreciated once its value can be priced.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Beauty was priceless and measured by the eye of the beholder, much like art. A painting or sculpture was only as valuable as the sensations it provoked in its viewers... and the price they were willing to pay to capture and re-create those emotions.

Mr. Collins continued, “That painting is fine enough, and I daresay it does Longbourn credit.” Fine enough? Was he so ignorant he would insult a Rembrandt? “However, I assure you that you will find much finer works gracing the smallest chamber at Rosings Park. Her Ladyship insists on the best.” Apparently, he was that ignorant.

Father’s voice had an edge. “How fortunate for you that this painting is my personal property, and as such, will not be passed on to you with the estate. Perhaps your patroness will condescend to recommend a painting more to her liking to replace it for you.”

Impervious to the sarcasm in her father’s tone, Mr. Collins replied, “I can only hope she would be so kind.”

To spare her father from any further insult, Elizabeth opened the door fully and addressed him, ignoring Mr. Collins. “Is there anything you would like me to bring to you from the village?”

“I thank you for asking, my dear, but there is nothing I require. Only things I wish to be rid of.”

Mr. Collins jolted out of his chair, upsetting the furniture and tipping over the pile of books and papers stacked on the corner of her father’s desk. He held out his arm.

Before he could speak and make his intentions unignorable, Elizabeth turned to him innocently. “Is there anything we might fetch for you in the village, sir?”

He did not know how to reply to this but sputtered and shuffled his feet. “No, indeed, but I had thought I ought to accompany you.”

It had been worth the attempt. “Very well. We are leaving now.” She quit the room before he could offer his arm again. Of course, once they were out of doors and under the watchful, encouraging eye of her mother, she would no longer be able to avoid him.

Elizabeth sighed and braced herself for a sermon on all the ways Longbourn paled in comparison to the glorious grandeur of Rosings Park. She determined she would return to her hiding place in the attic as soon as their shopping expedition ended.

Kitty and Lydia linked their arms together and walked briskly ahead, talking excitedly about officers and ribbons and the Netherfield Ball to be held in just six days. Jane and Mary walked together, calming their younger sisters when they became overly boisterous and occasionally attempting to draw Mr. Collins’s attention away from Elizabeth to such neutral and insipid topics as the weather and the state of the roads. That Mary did not mention Fordyce’s sermons even once, a work from which she was known to quote extensively, proved that she wished to avoid his notice. Elizabeth was glad, though it meant that, by default, Mr. Collins’s attentions fell to her.

They saw Lady Lucas in front of the apothecary. Elizabeth raised her hand to greet her, but the lady must not have seen her before she turned to enter the shop. Several times, Elizabeth’s greetings went unacknowledged as they walked. It was strange, but with everyone scurrying about in preparation for the upcoming ball, their reactions were easily explained. She and her sisters were the same. Everyone wanted to put their best foot forward at the grandest event to be held that year.

One by one, they filed into the dressmaker’s shop to purchase the odds and ends they had not acquired on their last visit.

“Get whatever you wish, girls! You must look your best!” encouraged Mama.

Mr. Collins raised a finger. “Within the boundaries of modesty. Remember that greed is a sin.”

For a clergyman who lived by his patroness’s strictures rather than God’s, he had some nerve. Rebellious and in possession of some funds, Elizabeth marched up to the counter. “I will take what is left of the shimmery peacock blue.” Already, she planned her gown. With only six days to complete her work, it would have to be a simple design. Simple and elegant. The color itself would make up for anything lacking.

The clerk frowned. “There is not enough for a gown.”

Another hope crushed. She would not have the beautiful gown she had dreamed about for months. She would likely not be allowed to even dance with Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth shriveled inside but hid her disappointment. This was for the best. Why make a gown in haste when she could now afford to send to London to have one made for her by an expert seamstress… eventually?

Still, she would take what remained of the fabric. “Is there enough for a sash?” She would be content to see the man she loved, knowing that the color complemented her eyes.

While the clerk moved the ladder to reach the fabric, the bell rang behind Elizabeth. She turned to see Mr. Goode enter the shop. He walked straight to Mary. Shyly, awkwardly, he bowed. “Miss Mary, might I be so bold as to inquire what color you intend to wear to the ball?”

Kitty and Lydia skipped and laughed around him, but he did not spare them a glance. It served them right for poking fun at him for being tall and spindly. There was nothing to be done for his height, but Mr. Goode had filled out nicely over the past few weeks. (Not Mr. Darcy nicely, but nobody compared to him!) They got so loud that Mama even scolded them.

“I will be wearing a yellow ribbon,” Mary replied.

He bowed again, ignoring Lydia’s attempt to jostle herself into a better position than Kitty. “Then I shall wear a yellow waistcoat to match.”

Mary blushed .

“May I have the honor of your first dance?” he asked.

She agreed.

“And the dinner set?” he added.

Mary’s smile widened.

“And any other dance you might have free… not that I expect you will have any.”

Before Mr. Goode filled Mary’s dance card, Mama was inquiring about wedding lace.

The clerk handed Elizabeth her wrapped fabric and opened the cupboard beneath the counter to pull out lace samples. Elizabeth had thought to feel more satisfied with her first frivolous purchase, but it was Mary’s happiness that warmed her heart.

Lydia pouted. “It is unfair.”

Kitty poked her in the ribs. “You are only jealous because Mr. Goode is handsome now, and he pays you no attention.”

“He paid no attention to you, either.”

Mama held up a length of Portuguese lace. “If Jane is not careful, Mary will beat her to the altar.” Jane, in her selfless happiness for Mary, would not mind.

This was just what Elizabeth had hoped for her sisters. Mary had Mr. Goode. Jane had Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth had… well, she had her art. Painting made her happy.

They might have lingered longer in the village, but the clouds looked foreboding, and they did not wish to be caught in the rain. Now was not the time to risk catching a cold.

They had just piled all their purchases onto the dining room table to admire, sort, and plan when the rains came. The first day of the downpour passed by with little note. What was a day of rain when they had so much needlework to do for the ball?

The second day was the same as the first. They had enough stitching and embellishing of gowns and slippers to keep them occupied from dawn to dusk.

There was still more work to be done on the third day, but their fingers were sore, and the company was tiresome. Mr. Collins read while they stitched and snipped. As if their work was not tedious enough, he insisted that they listen to him as he read book one of Fordyce’s sermons.

Unable―and unwilling―to engage her mind fully in the edifying literature, Elizabeth thought of her changed circumstances, of her purpose and her independence. She missed painting. She missed the business of sharing her work.

It was unladylike to entertain such thoughts, but Elizabeth had tasted industry and enterprise, and now that she had given them up, she felt the void. She had enjoyed the satisfaction of completing a painting with the knowledge that an appreciative viewer would reward her hard work and creativity with a payment that signified security and stability for her and her family.

Taking a much-needed break from her needlework, she pulled her sketchbook out of her workbasket and began flipping through the pages .

Mr. Collins loomed over her shoulder. “That is very good. Lady Catherine will be pleased to know you possess some artistic talent.”

She slammed the sketchbook shut, angry at his intrusion, and resumed stitching as Mr. Collins flipped to the section in his book that extolled the virtues of an accomplished young lady. Elizabeth prayed the rain would stop before she went mad and turned her creative mind to all the ways she might silence Mr. Collins.