There was also a chance Darcy might find the painting displayed at a gallery or a bidding house. He would have to speak to the director at Sotheby’s. He was an amiable man, fair in his dealings. He would still have to lay out a hefty sum, but the expense was the least of his concerns when he had promised Georgiana that they would go home in one month. Less than that. A day had already passed.
Slipping into the breakfast room, he stopped short. Georgiana sat at the table, absentmindedly stirring a spoon around her teacup and staring at the dark window. What was she doing here? What was shedoing awake? Disappointment ceded to concern. “Georgiana?” he asked softly.
She jolted upright.
Darcy held his palms up. “I did not mean to frighten you. How long have you been here?”
“Only a few minutes.” She pushed her plate away from her, the roll untouched, as were the eggs, as far as Darcy could tell. “I could not sleep.”
Of all the nights she could not sleep when he most needed her to slumber away his absence. Frustration rose in his chest, but perhaps there was still a way… He had to get to London!
She sat forward in her chair, closer to the light, smoothing her hands over the arms of her riding habit. “I thought perhaps you might allow me to accompany you on your ride this morning.” She blinked, her voice getting smaller as she added, “Like we did at Pemberley.”
Darcy felt boorish for not wishing for her company for even a second, for wishing he might steal away to London unseen and unaccompanied. The irony did not escape him; the very sister for whom he must recover the painting was the very reason he could not go. “I would be honored to have your company. Perhaps the exercise will help you sleep better tonight.”
Tomorrow.He would go tomorrow, after his sister had enjoyed a good night’s rest. He sat down at the table, having little appetite but needing to prove to his sister how pleased he was. He motioned to her plate. “You had better eat if you hope to keep up,” he teased.
With a bright smile that soothed him into a more willing resignation, she pulled her plate closer and reached between the teapot and the urn. “Tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”
They were both making a show of eating when Bingley entered the room, his mustached terrier on his heels. “Oh good! I am not too late to join you.”
Darcy cringed inwardly. When had his habits become so predictable? At this rate, he would never make it to London!
Bingley yawned beside him and reached for the coffee urn. “These country hours are killing me. How do you rise so early every day?” He sipped from his cup, his face crumpling in displeasure. “Abominable beverage.” He took another sip.
“If you dislike it so much, why do you drink it?” Darcy quipped.
Bingley swirled the liquid around the inside of his cup, inhaling the vapor with a contented sigh. “It smells the way I wish to feel in the morning.”
“It is an agreeable aroma,” Georgiana said, to which he raised his cup, took another sip, and grimaced.
Talking as he placed several kidneys on a plate, Bingley carried the food over to Archie, who watched his master’s every move intently from his pillow in the corner. “Whatever you do, pray do not say the word W-A-L-K aloud. There is no reasoning with that creature.” His eyes darted to Archie in case they doubted to whom he referred. “I threw his B-A-L-L—there is another word I dare not say aloud—for two hoursyesterday in the hope that I might be able to join you this morning. I even hid his ba— B-A-L-L in the top drawer of my desk for that purpose.” Bingley watched Archie for a reaction, exhaling audibly in relief when his near blunder went undetected. The kidneys helped.
Darcy stretched out his legs and relaxed in his chair. If he had to alter his plans, he might as well enjoy his present company. “How did you come to acquire such a clever dog?”
“Quite by accident, I assure you. A friend asked if I could care for his dog while he was traveling. You know how that goes…”
Given Bingley’s temperament, Darcy could imagine. “How long ago was that?”
“Over a year.”
Georgiana gasped. “Did your friend go to the continent?”
“During the war? I should think not. No, I crossed paths with him at the club in town often. Every time I brought up the subject of his dog, he would change it. Eventually, I quit asking.” Bingley shrugged. “I took a liking to the poor fellow.” He regarded Archie with a proud smile. “I do believe that he is smarter than me.” He ran his fingers across his upper lip. “He certainly has a better mustache.”
Darcy did not comment. Bingley did not lack intelligence, but he was an easy target for those who would take advantage of his kindness. As for his friend’s ridiculously sparse mustache… he could only hope that Bingley would allow his valet to shave it off soon.
Archie made a guttural sound from his corner. His plate of kidneys was cleaned up, and he pranced impatiently in place while pretending that he had made no sound at all.
“It seems that he likes you, too,” said Darcy. “Most dogs are excellent judges of character.” If Archie were to meet Wickham, he would growl at the rascal. Quite unlike the curly-haired dog from yesterday, Remy, who was the happy sort that saw everyone as a friend and was loyal to a fault…much like Bingley.
After the second time Archie cleared his throat, his eyes expectantly fixed on Bingley, Darcy found it increasingly difficult not to be fond of the animal. Georgiana, too, looked on in sympathetic humor.
For his part, Bingley encouraged their appetites and conversation, adeptly ignoring the noises coming from the corner. “You would have enjoyed the Meryton Assembly, I am certain. There were many other young ladies present,” he gushed.
Her mouth full, Georgiana nodded for him to continue.
“In fact, I am of a mind to host a ball—” Bingley smacked his hand over his mouth, his eyes doubled in size.
