They followed the gloomy notes of a dirge to the music room. Darcy sat beside Georgiana on the bench, and Richard leaned against the instrument on her other side.
“Did you get it?” she whispered.
Darcy shook his head, unable to form the words yet.
Her fingers slipped off the ivory keys onto her lap. “This is all my fault.”
“No!” Darcy was adamant. Catching her chin, he lifted her face. Still, she would not look at him. “No, Georgiana. This isnotyour fault. You are too innocent and good to understand the ways of men like Wickham. How could you have known what he would do? I, on the other hand, knew what he was capable of, yet he still found a way to get to you. Not a day goes by that I do not regret not cutting him off much sooner.”
“You would only have succeeded in turning me against you. Perhaps I am too young and innocent to understand many things, but I know trusting him was a mistake, and mistakes have consequences. You cannot protect me from all of them, nor do I wish you to.”
With a calm grace, she rose from her chair. “I have a headache and shall retire to my rooms.” She slipped out of the room silently.
“Is it just me, or does she sound less like a child with every passing day?” Richard dabbed at his eyes.
Darcy’s emotions had reached their limit. “I will be in the library. Do not follow me unless you intend to read in silence.”
Richard bowed and took his leave.
Ten minutes might have passed before Darcy heard heavy footsteps drawing nearer in the hall. He braced himself for another round with Richard, but it was Bingley who peeked inside the library. “Is Archie in here with you?”
Darcy looked about. “I have not seen him.”
Bingley tugged at his mustache again. If he was not careful, he would not have any hair remaining by the end of the hour. “Neither has anyone else.” He shrugged off his anxiety. “He cannot have gone too far. Are you certain you cannot accompany me to Longbourn? Louisa says she has a headache and will stay behind with Hurst. I convinced Caro to go with me, but she is hardly the best company.”
“The Bennets might wish to be spared from your sister’s call if she is unwilling to go.”
“I made it quite clear that if she was not on her best behavior, I would not hesitate to send her off to Scarborough to stay with our spinster aunt and her flatulent pug.”
Darcy was happy to hear Bingley stand up to his sister, but he could not return to Longbourn. Not today?not any day. “My apologies. I am certain your company will be welcome to the Bennet household.”
Bingley smiled brilliantly. “I hope so!” Again, he looked about.“Archie!Let us go for awalk!I have yourball!”He waited, holding his breath just as Darcy did to listen for the sound of the dog’s nails clicking on the hardwood floors or the jingle of his collar. “Oh well. I daresay he will show up before dinner.”
CHAPTER 25
Elizabeth stood in front of the easel, vision blurred, mind unsettled. Not painting. Wasting precious time.
This would simply not do. She had a landscape to finish and futures to provide for. Reaching for a clean rag, she dried her eyes, blew her nose, straightened her shoulders, dabbed her brush in blue paint, and reached again toward the canvas. She held her arm steady for a long while, waiting, but no image crashed into her consciousness. “Come on, Lizzy! Paint!” she demanded, but no good came of it.
How was she to purchase Longbourn if she could not work?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind of the emotions clouding her thoughts, forcing her mind to think of anything except Mr. Darcy.
She would think of Longbourn. Did sheneedtopurchase Longbourn? Keeping her father’s estate had been her aim for so long that she had considered no other alternative. Every penny she earned had always been to safeguard Longbourn for her mother and sisters. It had been their best option. Was it still?
The sale of the Rembrandt would provide more than enough for their needs. It gave them more options, which meant that their choice of residence would not be confined to rundown, indebted Longbourn.
Which also meant that her mother and sisters did not depend on her work anymore. Her breath caught in her throat. There was no need to rush to complete a painting.
She lowered her hand but kept a firm grasp on her brush. She no longer needed to earn an income. In fact, she did not need to paint at all. Elizabeth steadied herself against the easel. No more long walks in the cold and rain. No more hours on her feet in a lodge with a leaky roof and damp walls. No more scrubbing paint off her hands until they chafed.
Elizabeth sank to the floor. Remy crawled into her lap, nudging her with his nose and resting his paw on her shoulder in a sort of doggy embrace that warmed her heart and made her cry.
What else would she do? She felt empty… purposeless.
She buried her face in his furry neck. “Oh, Remy, I am being nonsensical!” Just because she no longer needed to sell her paintings did not mean that she hadto abandon her art altogether! She could still paint. She could still do what she loved.
Then why was she so miserable? This was not relief. This was loss.
