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

Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

D arcy was going mad. After four days of incessant rain, he had caught up on all his correspondence, played countless games of cards, marbles, and spillikins, and exhausted his supply of reading material. None of it was distraction enough.

To make matters worse, Miss Bingley seemed to be under the delusion that he enjoyed her company. He was running out of polite excuses to avoid her.

All he could think about was Elizabeth.

Consumed with finding a solution where there was none, he tried again and again, reliving his disappointment with every failed idea. And yet, he hoped. He continued trying.

Finally, just before Darcy’s patience reached its end and he would certainly have told Miss Bingley in no uncertain terms what he thought of her selfish conceit and pomposity, the rain stopped. The earth might be a sodden, mucky mess, but he did not care. Nothing would keep him indoors.

That morning, he went down to the breakfast parlor in search of sustenance and company. Richard arrived shortly thereafter, followed by Georgiana, and then Bingley.

Georgiana tapped her boiled egg with a spoon. “It is too wet out of doors to ride or walk, and yet I cannot remain indoors another moment.”

Bingley tugged at the corner of his mustache as though pulling on it would encourage the hair to grow. “I have some business to attend to in Meryton.” He looked about and lowered his voice. “Caro thinks the food is being delivered from London.”

Richard scoffed. “Because London fare is far superior, no doubt.”

“Who wants to eat freshly made food, anyway?” added Georgiana. Darcy had not known she possessed so much sarcasm. Four days trapped indoors must have been difficult for her, too.

“Precisely!” Bingley agreed wholeheartedly. “Which is why I made arrangements locally. All will be well so long as she does not find out.”

“And you experience no delays getting your supplies to the kitchen,” added Darcy.

Bingley rubbed his upper lip. “Well do I know it! If one of my plans fails, Caro will never let me hear the end of it.”

Richard drained the last of his tea. “How long have you been growing that mustache, Bingley? ”

“A month.”

Darcy controlled his surprise. If he had gone a month without shaving, his facial hair would rival Archie’s!

The clever canine looked up from his place on the mat, his plate of kidneys empty. He tapped it with his paw, requesting more. Darcy filled another plate and took it over to him.

Bingley tugged on the ends of his mustache again. “Is there any hope it might fill out a bit more before the ball?”

“In two days? When this is the work of a month?” Richard shook his head.

Crestfallen, Bingley bowed his head.

Darcy shot Richard a glance. What he said was true, but he could have been gentler. “Why do you want a mustache?”

“It looks dignified and mature.” Bingley glanced once again at the door and lowered his tone. “Caro teases me all the time that I look younger than my years. I had hoped it might make me look older.” He angled his chin from side to side as though to prove his point.

If anything, the thin whiskers made him look much younger. Like a boy trying too hard to look like a man.

Bingley must have read Darcy’s expression clearly enough. He grimaced. “How often do you have to shave?”

Darcy sighed. Comparison was the thief of contentment. “ Every morning. It is a nuisance. You are blessed to not have to shave so often.”

Unconvinced, Bingley turned to Richard. “And you?”

“And me… what?”

“How often do you have to shave?”

Richard groaned. “Twice every blasted day.”

“Twice a day! I can go a week without anyone noticing.”

Richard grumbled. “I envy you.”

“And I envy you! In a week, you would have a full mustache, something I apparently will never have.”

Now both Richard and Bingley were discontented with their lot. Georgiana leaned closer to Darcy. “I thought only girls my age had conversations like this! Curly hair or straight, tall or short, plump or lithe… we are never content with what we have.”

He grinned at her, happy that she now felt comfortable enough to share the confidence with him. Every day, she surprised him with something new.

“Tell me the truth,” Bingley implored. “Does it make me look mature, or should I shave it off before the assembly?” He would not let the matter go until he had their opinions.

If they were to depart from Netherfield before the rest of the household awakened, they had best not waste time. “That is a question best directed to the only individual at this table qualified to give advice on fashion.” Darcy looked at his sister. “What is your opinion? Should Bingley keep or shave his mustache? ”

Georgiana took a deep breath, visibly weighing her words. She would be kinder than anyone else, which is why Darcy had asked her. “It is a pity for any gentleman to hide his features behind whiskers. It makes it terribly difficult for a lady to see whether he is handsome, or purposely disguising a weak chin, or hiding that he has no lips.”

It was a point of view Darcy had never considered. Georgiana was not the only one whose education was expanding.

Richard rubbed his side whiskers. “Would you suggest that I trim these higher, to better feature my handsome mug?”

She smiled widely. “You will make the ladies’ hearts flutter.”

“Do most young ladies agree with you? I mean, did Miss Bennet, perhaps, happen to share her view on facial hair?” asked Bingley, more to the point.

Darcy did his friend a favor and removed his doubt. “Everyone will agree that you appear to greater advantage without the mustache.”

“Really? Because Caroline?—”

Richard interrupted him. “That is your problem, Bingley.”

Darcy had been meaning to bring this up with Bingley, and now was as good a time as ever. “She manipulates you to get what she wants. She would rather cast the blame on another instead of taking responsibility for her own mistakes. ”

“Caro is not so bad. She means well,” Bingley defended weakly.

“If proof is what you require, I suggest you ask the maid your sister scolded harshly to cover over her own negligence.”

Bingley was not so ignorant of the goings on in his household to deny the proof presented to him.

Darcy leaned forward, making certain he had his friend’s full attention before he spoke. “If you do not correct her, she will find ways to make the lady you admire feel inferior, confident that you are too affable to suspect what she is doing until the damage has been done.”

Bingley’s first act of defiance toward his sister was to shave his mustache before they departed for the village on horseback, leaving the carriage for his sisters to make calls.

While Bingley saw to his business, Darcy and Richard took Georgiana to the haberdashers. Richard conversed at length with the shopkeeper while Darcy followed Georgiana as she perused the frills and trimmings with which the ladies would garnish themselves for the ball.

Lady Lucas was there and greeted them cordially, if not a touch apologetically. “I pray you will not judge all of Meryton society based on the few to whom you have been, most unfortunately, exposed.”

Her comment took Darcy aback. “There is no one here I consider myself unfortunate to have met. ”

Georgiana, too, struggled to reply. “I, too, have enjoyed everyone I have met here.”

Lady Lucas smiled knowingly. “As spoken by a true gentleman and lady. You have been brought up well.”

After that strange exchange, it was difficult not to notice the side glances and sympathetic smiles that marked their morning. Georgiana leaned closer to Darcy. “Why is everyone looking at us as though we have been fooled by someone?”

“I have not the faintest idea.” Unless Georgiana confided her story in someone unreliable… “You have not told anyone about Ramsgate, have you?” he whispered.

Her eyes widened. “Only Elizabeth, and she would never tell anyone. Besides, if that were the case, I would have their judgment, not their pity.”

True. However, this revelation made Darcy’s stomach twist. “Did you tell her about the painting?”

Georgiana blinked. “It is part of the story. I did not explain the painting’s history in detail, only George’s role in its loss.”

“She knows I promised it to you?”

“Yes.”

Darch exhaled, the tension he had carried around for days releasing. Elizabeth knew.

It was a relief that she would realize he was not acting out of stubborn unwillingness to compromise. Were it dependent solely on him, he would agree to Mr. Bennet’s terms. He trusted Elizabeth to approach him first to purchase the painting when the sad time came. But it did not depend on him, and now she knew it. His hands were bound, just as hers were.

He wished they would see her. Surely, Mr. Bennet could not object if their paths happened to cross. Darcy looked for her, listened for her voice.

At least he would see her at Bingley’s ball. Mr. Bennet would have to attend—his wife would see to that! And the gentleman could not object to Bingley’s guests attending.

Of course, being Bingley’s guest came with certain obligations. Darcy would have to dance. The first set was reserved for his sister—that was hardly a difficulty; Georgiana was an excellent partner. Then would be the obligatory dances with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. After that, Darcy planned to stick to Georgiana’s side and perhaps convince her to retire early so he would not have to see Elizabeth dancing without him. Or see her and be unable to approach.

Mr. Bennet’s strictures were senseless, but Darcy refused to put Elizabeth in the awkward position of having to choose between them. He had not done enough to earn her loyalty and could only expect his pride to be crushed when she chose her father.

Could he earn her loyalty? From afar? If only he could see her again!

But though Darcy lingered in the doorways and watched through the windows, he did not. He left Meryton feeling disappointed and just as disposed to madness as he had been before.