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

Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

“ T hat color suits Elizabeth beautifully.” Georgiana circled Darcy.

Elizabeth would look beautiful in a flour sack. Darcy’s eyes and thoughts too frequently drifted over to her. He had to concentrate more than normal on the steps. “She is handsome,” he commented.

That arrogant oaf she danced with trampled on her toes again, and Darcy’s nails dug into his palms once more, his hands formed into fists. He did not care if Elizabeth’s partner was a clergyman—his own aunt’s, at that, as Richard had reminded him. If the insolent man hurt Elizabeth one more time, Darcy would haul him out of Bingley’s house by the ears and kick him down the stairs.

Georgiana frowned, scolding him with her eyes to behave. Until he learned who the toad was to Elizabeth, Darcy could not pretend to feel anything other than bone-penetrating jealousy. He had already promised the next two dances to Bingley’s sisters and he had never broken a promise in his life, but he did not feel like behaving tonight.

The look in Georgiana’s eyes intensified. “Whatever you are thinking, stop!” she hissed at him. She looked so much like their mother that terror gripped Darcy and restored a degree of sense.

He had to gain control over himself or risk acting like a brute. He could not injure Mr. Collins, no matter how badly he wished to. And if he snubbed either of Bingley’s sisters in favor of Elizabeth, he would only put her in the path of their retaliation; she would pay for his lack of self-possession.

By the time Richard tapped Darcy’s shoulder to claim his spot on Georgiana’s dance card, Darcy had gained enough mastery of his self-control to do no more than clench his jaw and fists yet again when he saw Mr. Collins and Elizabeth standing for another dance.

He hardly spoke to Mrs. Hurst, and when he claimed his next dance with Miss Bingley, Darcy was relieved to see Sir William sweep Mr. Collins away from Elizabeth. Anyone could dance with her except the clergyman… or so Darcy told himself.

“You take a particular interest in Miss Eliza.” Miss Bingley smiled coyly at him.

Darcy was in no mood to mince words. “Yes, I do.” He did not want Mr. Collins to pay Elizabeth any special regard, but he did not like to see her standing alone without a partner. Nobody would ask her now .

“I am all astonishment!” Miss Bingley exclaimed, falling silent for some time when Darcy did not react to her opinion. Truth was, he did not care what she thought. Still, no gentleman approached to dance with Elizabeth. It was too late now.

After several turns and figures, Miss Bingley’s vexation boiled over. “I had not thought that a young lady with no accomplishments or connections would catch the eye of Fitzwilliam Darcy—” She looked as if she would be all too glad to continue enumerating what she considered to be Elizabeth’s many faults, but Darcy had heard enough.

“I admire her more than any other woman of my acquaintance.”

“More than any other?” Miss Bingley scoffed.

She was baiting him now, and Darcy refused to reply. He had said what he meant to say.

“You would not admire her so much if you knew what I do about her.”

Darcy’s gaze snapped to Miss Bingley, his spine rigid, his pulse thundering in his ears. “You dare imply to me that you possess some secret knowledge about Miss Elizabeth that would lessen her in my admiration?”

She did not reply, but there was smugness in her innuendo and ensuing silence that put Darcy on edge. “What do you think you know?” he demanded. He shivered to think that Elizabeth’s reputation might be at the mercy of one like Miss Bingley. The damage she could do …

“Oh, it is nothing. I should not have said anything.” She shrugged one shoulder as though the matter were not of the gravest importance.

“You did speak, and now I will hear what you intended to say.” Another shrug. She looked away. His stare made her uncomfortable, but Darcy would not back down. Not after what she had implied.

She squirmed and was about to give when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a gentleman bow. “I believe I have the next dance.”

Darcy shot Miss Bingley a look to let her know that their conversation was not done. She swallowed hard and then turned to her new partner with a wide smile.

Richard was already dancing with Miss Lucas and Bingley with Miss Mary. Elizabeth stood beside her father, watching her sisters dance. Nobody approached her. People stood in clumps whispering and glancing in her direction, but not one person approached.

Miss Bingley’s recent interest in socializing with her neighbors, all the calls she made without Bingley or Georgiana accompanying her… A sick feeling settled in Darcy’s gut. What had she done?

Hastening to the nearest writing desk, Darcy scribbled a note for Mr. Bennet and followed the footman he asked to deliver the paper.

Something is wrong. Please allow me to dance with Miss Elizabeth. —F. Darcy

Mr. Bennet read it, looked directly at Darcy, and tore the note in half. That he knew precisely where to look confirmed Darcy’s suspicion that the only reason the gentleman had not installed himself in the quieter library was to ensure that Darcy kept his distance. So intent was Mr. Bennet on Darcy, he did not notice how everyone seemed to be avoiding his own daughter.

What could Miss Bingley have planted in the minds of the Bennets’ friends and neighbors to poison them against Elizabeth?

He sent another note. Pray allow me to use my influence to help her. I will say nothing about the painting. Only please let me dance with her.

Another wasted paper torn to bits.

Gentlemen were drawing near to exchange partners, and Darcy had a choice: demand answers from Miss Bingley or intervene the only way he could for Elizabeth. Making his decision, he ran over to Richard before his cousin could claim his next dance. Thank goodness it was with Georgie.

Squeezing his shoulder, Darcy leaned close to Richard’s ear. “For God’s sake, dance with Elizabeth. Where you lead, others will be encouraged to follow.”

Richard nodded; mission accepted. Darcy rushed to the writing desk once more to draft another message.