She arched an eyebrow. “By forcing a servant with other, more urgent tasks to perform to accompany me? I assure you, while Remy is a friendly dog, he would not hesitate to protect me should he sense I was in any danger.”
Remy would sooner lick an assailant than bite anyone. This was a bird dog that made friends with ducks, for heaven’s sake! “We would be happy to escort you wherever you are going,” Darcy offered.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I would expect no less froma gentleman. However, I am not going much farther, nor am I ready to return to Longbourn, so I really must decline your kind offer.”
“I thought Longbourn’s tenant houses were on the other side of the property,” Bingley commented. He braced himself to receive both dogs, who were running straight at him. Archie’s short coat bore no clues as to where they had gone to retrieve the ball, but twigs and leaves adorned Remy’s brown curls.
“They are, but that is not where I am going.” Miss Elizabeth offered no further information, no destination. Instead, she pointed toward the water. “You see that white duck fishing in the middle of the pond? That is Jemima. She and Remy have been friends since she hatched, and he thought he would pay her a call.”
“How charming!” Georgiana exclaimed.
Bingley, eager to return to the conversation, no doubt with another question about Miss Bennet, threw the ball a little recklessly. It landed with a plunk in the middle of the pond.
The dogs raced after it, Archie coming to a stop at the water’s edge and giving his master a look of reproach. Remy, however, plunged once again into the murky water, resurfacing with the ball secured in his mouth. Archie’s legs quivered and he barked impatiently until Remy gained the land and, like the best sort of friend, dropped the ball at Archie’s feet. After lunging for the ball, Archie turned away and chewed on his prize without a thank you.
“He looks rather pleased with himself,” Miss Elizabeth commented.
Bingley shook his head at his dog and clucked his tongue. “You let your friend fetch your ball for you just so you do not have to get wet? Such sacrifice on your ungrateful behalf deserves to be rewarded. I suggest we give Remy one of those meaty bones Cook usually saves for you.”
Archie posed as though he were considering Bingley’s suggestion and arming a brilliant rebuttal. Then Remy widened his stance and shook the water off his fur, splashing the other dog from top to bottom with pond water. Archie’s disgruntlement was priceless.
“That did not quite go as you had planned, did it?” Bingley teased his dog, whose woeful expression only made his master laugh all the more. Archie glared at a happy, clueless Remy.
Darcy could not recall the last time he had laughed so hard. He struggled to catch his breath, and his stomach ached. Perhaps the Hertfordshire countryside was not so bad after all.
CHAPTER 8
Elizabeth lengthened her stride and quickened her step. The clouds were dark and heavy with rain. Mama was so certain the downpour would begin before dinner that she had denied Jane the use of the carriage to convey her to Netherfield Park. According to her, when Jane arrived for tea soaked through, she would inevitably receive an invitation to stay the night, thus guaranteeing that Mr. Bingley would see her. If Miss Bingley thought herself clever to arrange Jane’s visit when her brother was absent, she was a fool for underestimating Mama!
Reaching the stone path leading to the front door of the hunting lodge, Elizabeth turned to confirm that she had not been followed. Reassured that it was safe, she pushed the worn door open and let Remy inside. The squeak of the hinges was a welcome sound that narrowed her focus and signaled it was time to create. It was cold, but she did not feel it. Taking off her redingote,she draped an old blanket over Remy, donned her apron, and lost herself in a world of color and hope.
Hours later, the first drops started to fall, and Elizabeth raced home with Remy. She needed to bathe him before he would be allowed beyond the kitchen, but there was no sense in making the chore more difficult by adding muddy fur to the task.
She found her mother watching the clouds through the window, mumbling to herself that if they would rain, they could at least have the decency to do a proper job of it. She was still there when Elizabeth emerged from the still room with a clean Remy. When the time came for Jane to depart for Netherfield Park, the rain was merely a slow and light drizzle—soft enough for Elizabeth to hope her sister would not arrive dripping wet. Unfortunately, Jane had not been gone more than five minutes before the heavens opened and the rain poured in earnest.
Mama had punch made in celebration.
Nobody would expect Jane to venture out to return home in this downpour. At the least, she would have to spend the night. If she were really fortunate, she would catch a mild cold or gently twist her ankle when she dismounted from her horse, thus extending her stay by necessity. Elizabeth hoped for no such thing, but their mother certainly did. Mama would presume on the Bingleys’ hospitality, forcing Jane to do so in a blatant fashion that would mortify her.
Unable to retreat to the lodge to continue painting, Elizabeth grew increasingly restless with each minute.She calculated how much she needed to accomplish before Uncle Philips’s next trip to London and retired to the privacy of her room, where she opened her sketchbook.
Mr. Darcy’s intent gaze stared back at her—somber with a hint of blitheness, aloof but capable of warmth, mysterious but not by design, tormented but not without hope…
It was her best work to date, though she had sketched him from memory. The depth of emotion in his eyes was emphasized by the firm set of his lips. This was a gentleman who pursued his purpose to its completion, who felt deeply and completely but had learned restraint. The memory of his booming laughter made her smile.
She hoped to see him again soon so that she might study the lines of his nose and the angle of his jaw, the height of his brow. She feared she had made his features too symmetrical. With the exception of her dear sister Jane, Elizabeth knew that most people were not so equally balanced. Her own features were uneven—one eyebrow arched higher than the other, and only one cheek dimpled when she smiled—but she liked to think that the differences added character. Not that Mr. Darcy lacked character. She traced her fingers over the light and shadows of his face, careful not to smudge the charcoal.
On the next page, she began to sketch Miss Darcy. She, too, had a look of melancholy about her. There was a gauntness to her face and figure which bespokeof a recent hardship. Did that account for the gravity in her brother? That he doted on his sister was apparent; Elizabeth had noticed how he watched Miss Darcy’s reactions, his gaze alert to protect and encourage.
She was too given to happiness and humor herself to allow for much sorrow in her sketchbook; therefore, Elizabeth curved Miss Darcy’s lips and tilted the corners of her eyes upward, duplicating the girl’s expression when Remy had showered Archie with pond water.
It was a pleasant memory, and it led to pleasurable dreams. She awoke the following morning as the first rays of the sun touched the horizon, eager to work. Donning her walking dress and redingote, she tiptoed downstairs to take Remy out for his morning walk before the household stirred. With Jane at Netherfield Park, Papa in his study with his new painting, Mary memorizing sermons, and everyone else planning to celebrate Jane’s success with new trim for their gowns, nobody would notice Elizabeth’s absence.
She painted without the slightest distraction of conscience for three glorious hours before she cleaned and stored her things to return to Longbourn. One more day like this, and Elizabeth’s goal of doubling her production did not seem so out of reach!
Exhilarated and light with success, she nearly tripped over Remy when Mary met them at the back door, a note in her hand. “This arrived from Netherfield Park. Jane has taken ill.”
Elizabeth’s heart plummeted. She took the pagewith Jane’s pretty handwriting covering the page, devouring the words for any clue to her sister’s true condition. Jane would never ask directly for Elizabeth to come to her, but the fact that she had written at all convinced Elizabeth that she must do so. Within a quarter of an hour, she would depart for Netherfield Park.
