“How many paintings have you completed?” Georgiana asked.
“One a month over four years with an extra here and there.”
“Over fifty? Where do all your ideas come from?”
“Fifty-three, to be precise. Ideas are everywhere. One only needs to notice them.”
“I am going to see how many of your paintings I can find, and I am going to convince my brother to purchase all of them. My aunts and uncles, too. We shall make you famous!”
She heard Elizabeth sigh. “Not me. Mario Rossi. Besides, your brother said that my painting is merely tolerable. I doubt he would wish to pollute Pemberley’s walls with them.”
“He only said that to avoid complimenting Miss Bingley.”
That made Elizabeth smile. “There is one little thing that I do with every one of my paintings. It is wicked ofme, I know, but I had to leave my mark on my work before I could sign Mario Rossi at the bottom.” Georgiana was all attention. “I hide my initials in every painting. If you look closely, somewhere in the branches of a tree or the curve of a bird’s wing, you will find E.B. as plain as the nose on your face.”
It pleased Georgiana to know this, but it also made her sad. Elizabeth spoke of helping her sisters, but her friend obviously possessed the passion of a true artist who must create. Georgiana felt the same way about music. If she went too long without playing her instrument, she became distracted and gloomy. “It must have been difficult for you… to make something beautiful, to bring others joy… and not be allowed to take credit for it.”
“Someday,” Elizabeth said in a far-off tone, “I will paint for the pure joy of creating something to brighten someone’s day, and I will proudly sign my name at the bottom. When I am the mistress of my own life, and my sisters are happily settled.” She blinked several times, her smile shy after sharing her dream.
Georgiana felt the privilege of her confidence. Guarding this secret would be easy, as she had experience guarding her own.
She could trust Elizabeth’s ability to keep a secret, too. After all, she had one of her own.
“I agreed to elope with a man.”
Elizabeth gasped. “You are under no obligation to say what you might later regret.”
Already, Georgiana felt lighter than she had in a long time and would not stop now. “Iwantto tell you. I have nobody to talk to like this, not since my father died.”
“You miss him.” It was a statement rather than a question.
Georgiana nodded in response, and she was happy to provide some context. “Father and I used to spend all day out of doors riding horses and fishing in the pond near the bridge. My brother was away at school. As our father had little taste for London, I had him all to myself at Pemberley. He told me stories of my mother and how they fell in love. When he died, Fitzwilliam was busier than ever with the estate.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It was! Fitzwilliam surrounded me with cousins and friends and tutors, but they could not replace my father… or my brother. It felt as though I had lost him, too.” She stopped to steady her breath.
Remy and Archie seemed to sense her gravity. They walked quietly ahead of her and Elizabeth, guiding the way to Netherfield and frequently checking that they followed.
Elizabeth did not fill the silence or offer a clever observation intended to lighten the mood. For this, Georgiana was grateful. She lacked practice putting her emotions into words, but the relief she felt at having an understanding friend to listen patiently to her ramblings was a treasure.
When she felt ready, she continued, “There was ayoung man, George Wickham, the son of our steward and the godson of my father. He was all too happy to give me the attention I so craved. At first, George was another brother to me. He lavished me with time and then with gifts. He made me feel like I was his sole reason for existing.”
“A heady sensation for a young lady.”
“But not practical. My brother sensed my unhappiness, and as is his habit, he tried to fix things. He installed me in my own establishment at Ramsgate, granting me a freedom and independence I did not yet deserve. George joined me there and convinced me to elope with him. I am forever indebted to my brother’s diligence and concern for my welfare, or I would have gone through with it. Fitzwilliam intercepted before any real damage could be done, and I learned that George had only wanted me for my dowry.”
“The rat!”
“If you only knew.” Georgiana had tip-toed around the subject of her painting, but she wanted Elizabeth to understand her brother’s motive for insisting on its return.
“To exploit the heart of a grieving young lady is indecent!”
Georgiana patted Elizabeth’s arm to calm her. She had made it this far, and she was determined to continue. “That is not the worst of it.”
CHAPTER 27
Elizabeth could hardly believe the dastardly tale Georgiana told her. George Wickham belonged in a novel where he could play no other part than that of the lecherous villain. To steal the heart of a vulnerable girl barely out of the schoolroom was reprehensible, but to take her inheritance and flee across the Atlantic Ocean was indefensible. It made her sick to learn that the painting hanging in her father’s study was Georgiana’s inheritance, and when Georgiana spoke of the memories attached to the painting and her brother’s motive for giving it to her, it twisted like a dagger in Elizabeth’s gut.
