Mr. Darcy understood his cue to leave. Elizabeth did her best not to look, but she might have turned a moment too soon and seen him just before he turned the corner to the stairs. Mrs. Nichols noticed. “He cutsa fine figure,” she commented under her breath. Elizabeth’s face flamed. All she could do was nod and try not to grin. Mr. Darcywasvery fine.
With a knowing smile, Mrs. Nichols called for Molly and whisked Elizabeth away before she could protest or insist on helping. As Elizabeth had no extra change of clothes, it would have been a foolhardy offer, but her wits were feeling a bit tangled at the moment with the memory of Mr. Darcy in his shirtsleeves and open collar. She followed Mrs. Nichols down freshly painted halls and polished floors into a parlor with enviable lighting. Elizabeth could paint for hours in this room.
“I shall return shortly. The fire is warm, and you should be comfortable here until Miss Bingley joins you.” With that, Mrs. Nichols departed, leaving Elizabeth alone. There was nothing to do but explore, which Elizabeth was happy to do. The furnishings were stylish and elegantly arranged. A large mirror hung over the fireplace.
Two paintings on the wall immediately caught her eye. She knew those paintings! She knew them well, indeed, for they werehers!With a skip in her step, Elizabeth drew closer. How lovely they looked paired together on the wall. Clearly, Miss Bingley took pride in her surroundings as well as her person. She must be the fashionable young lady her uncle had mentioned!
Elizabeth had thought Miss Bingley to be stuffy and haughty, but she was prepared to amend her opinion.She could not think poorly of a lady who favored her art.
Stepping closer, making certain she was not dreaming, Elizabeth found the initials she always hid in her work. There they were:E.B.was hidden in the tree branches in the first painting and in the curve of a bird’s wings in the second. This was real! Not just one of her works was proudly displayed in a fashionable family’s front parlor, but two of them! Did Miss Bingley also display the paintings in her brother’s London townhouse?
What did Mr. Darcy think of them? He was a gentleman of firm opinions and good taste. One good word from him, and Elizabeth would not be able to paint fast enough to keep up with demand!
She tilted her head to the side, appreciating the view from another perspective. The frames were thick and gilded, a touch too extravagant for Elizabeth’s taste, but so long as they were on the wall, she would never voice her opinion aloud. Taking a step closer, she angled herself in the other direction.
There, at the bottom right, was her signature… or so it should be. Blinking, she looked again. Her heart stopped, and as comprehension came, her blood simmered. The space on the bottom, right-hand corner where Elizabeth always signed her pseudonym was covered over. Oh, it was expertly done, which only added to her ire, for written over the rightful artist’s signature was the name of another lady, Elizabeth’s new sworn enemy—Caroline Bingley.
CHAPTER 11
Elizabeth wanted to scream! Never in her life had she harbored violent inclinations toward anyone, but had Miss Bingley walked into the room right then, Elizabeth would have enacted on her every savage scene she had ever read about in her father’s books and newspapers. This was blatant thievery! To have the work of Elizabeth’s heart claimed by another person as her own… it was unconscionable! It was immoral! It was… it was unfair and wrong and all the horrible adjectives she could name.
And there was nothing Elizabeth could say or do about it.
Heated ire deflated into bitter resentment in a breath. To reveal Miss Bingley as a thief would be to expose Elizabeth as the original artist and certainly not the Italian male she pretended to be in order to sell her paintings… yet another sin in Elizabeth’s growing list of offenses.
She dismissed the venom just as quickly as it had filled her. Spite would get her nowhere. This was the path she had chosen, and for her family’s sake, she would see it through. She would buy Longbourn and, once they were secure, she could paint for herself under her own name for the pure pleasure of it.
Her heart lifted despite all the obstacles standing between her and her dream. It was not the recognition she sought, although a little praise was always welcome. Elizabeth loved to paint. She loved blending and spreading colors into shapes and figures, creating bursts of vibrancy where there had been nothing before. She loved the possibilities of a blank canvas. Miss Bingley could steal her art, but she could not take away Elizabeth’s passion and joy.
She recalled the very moment she had first conjured up the idea of her scheme. She had painted a landscape for the wall above Uncle Philips’s desk—a small, bright path lined with the hedgerows Mama so feared as their future shelter. On the path, a child walked with her dog carrying flowers in her hands. Though Elizabeth could tell no one that the child was racing home before the blooms wilted, a gentleman who had seen the painting in her uncle’s study had asked where the young lass was going in such a hurry. The gentleman had smiled, and every time he turned to the painting, his smile returned. He had asked Uncle where the painting had come from, and Uncle had been proud to declare that he had an artist in his family.
That was when Elizabeth had realized the power ofa simple image. It had made the man happy. It was not simply the beauty of a piece that mattered, but the feelings it provoked. People were willing to pay to experience certain emotions, and Elizabeth had the skill to fill that need. She also needed the money for her family. Here was the perfect solution.
It had taken months of constant persuasion, but Elizabeth was relentless. Her uncle eventually agreed it could not hurt much to allow her to try—providing they take precautions to protect her name and reputation.
And now someone was stealing her hard work! Try as she did to make peace with what had happened, bile burned her insides. With one last look at that vile name occupying the bottom right corner, Elizabeth turned away from the painting.
At that moment, Miss Bingley sashayed into the room. Elizabeth tensed, her hands clenched into fists and held tight at her sides lest she lunge at her with her claws drawn. Just when she would have been forced to mutter some pleasantry she did not mean, Miss Darcy entered the room. Hers was a welcome face. Focusing on her, Elizabeth smiled and did her best to ignore the other woman until she had gained mastery over her expression. She had resolved to keep her composure, but to say it was a challenge to do so would be a blatant understatement.
Mr. Bingley followed Miss Darcy, with the Hursts filing inside the room behind him. It would seem thatElizabeth’s self-possession would be tested in front of an audience. She could not afford to make a misstep.
Then Mr. Darcy entered wearing a fresh pair of breeches with a dry shirt and a different coat. It was wicked of Elizabeth, but she had an advantage over Miss Bingley, and she was angry enough to take it. Knowing that the lady would take notice of anything he did, Elizabeth met his gaze. She did not need to feign pleasure at seeing him, although for his sake, she selected her words carefully. “I cannot thank you enough for taking such good care of Remy.”
She heard a sharp breath coming from Miss Bingley’s direction. Good.Shehad been the one to send Elizabeth out to the stables, content to leave her for hours in the cold. Instead, she had unwittingly thrown her into Mr. Darcy’s path, and Elizabeth wished for her to know her mistake. It was a small barb, hardly sufficient, but it felt gloriously satisfying.
Mr. Darcy had yet to look away from her, and Elizabeth was not shy.Let him look away first.Just then, a devilish glint sparked in his eyes and the smallest smile erased all disagreeable thoughts of Miss Bingley from her mind. “I have never known a dog who enjoyed his bath more.”
Elizabeth choked back a laugh.
Bingley exclaimed, “He must stay as long as you do, Miss Elizabeth. It will do Archie good to have a friend.”
Stay?Elizabeth gave a start at the idea. “I do not wish to impose, Mr. Bingley, unless my presence is required to nurse my sister.”
“Your presence would give her much comfort, and for that reason alone I hope you will agree to stay here until she is fully recovered.”
Oh, the daggerish looks his sisters cast his way! Whether he saw their vexed expressions and chose to ignore them or was blissfully ignorant of their displeasure, he continued on as jolly as ever. Clapping his hands together, he pronounced, “The more, the merrier! We shall send a note requesting that your maid pack a few things to send over as soon as you like. My household is entirely at your disposal.”
This incited another glare from his sisters. Miss Bingley especially did not look at all pleased. “We would be glad to entertain another Bennet,” she said through clenched teeth.
