Itwasstunning. Elizabeth had heard of painters who copied original works, most of them to practice and improve their own skills, but she had never seen one before. She had thought them audacious and overreaching for selling their imitations. However, now that she stood directly in front of one of their reproductions—and an exceptional reproduction it was!—she could only feel gratitude. Only royalty and established families with connections and great wealth displayed original art in their galleries. She never would have had the chance to see this beautiful painting had the artist of this work not taken the time to copy it so expertly. “It is a skillful reproduction. How did you come upon it?”
“Would you believe I bought it from a vendor on the street?”
Elizabeth gasped. “Sacrilege!” She dared not ask how much he paid. Any sum was too much.
He took her hand between his, his touch comforting and warm. “We are saved, Lizzy. All is well.”
She wanted to believe him so badly it hurt. Art had always been his solace, much as it was hers, but he didnot paint anymore. All he had were his books… and now, this painting.
Not a trace of worry wrinkled his brow or scrunched his eyes. At that moment, her father looked happy and free of the fears that had buried him and his estate under a mound of poor decisions and debt. She could not bring herself to ruin it by inquiring any further about the banker.
Her own worry, however, intensified.
CHAPTER 4
Georgiana felt miserable. She had wanted to leave London, had thought that if they accepted Mr. Bingley’s invitation, everything would go back to normal, to the way it was before. But they had been in Hertfordshire for three days, and everything was a mess.
Fitzwilliam was trying too hard to make her happy, and her guilt was unbearable. She did not deserve such an attentive brother—not after what she had nearly done. Not once had Fitzwilliam uttered a cross word to her. He was all concern and understanding. It was a dagger to her heart!
She tried to appease him as well as she could. She sat at the instrument and practiced the pieces he brought her, but she found no joy in playing. She smiled brightly and thanked him sincerely for the powders and brushes he purchased for her. Uninspiredand not knowing what else to do with them, she painted some flowers on an old table. He brought her books and fashion plates, and she flipped through them, trying unsuccessfully to find something that would lift the tremendous guilt and uncertainty his attentiveness heaped on her.
Her brother pulled the shade aside, and her companion, Mrs. Annesley, pointed at the view visible through the carriage window. Georgiana looked to see what they smiled about when all she saw were sodden fields and gray clouds.
It was her fault they were here. Surely, normalcy would return if only they could go home. Why could they not go back to Pemberley? She sucked in her breath and clasped her hands together to hold her tears in. She wouldnotcry!
“Do you want a puppy?” Fitzwilliam asked. His expression was so sincere, so desperate and eager to please her.
She felt tears pour like fat raindrops down her cheeks and hid her face behind the handkerchief clutched in her palm, pretending to laugh. Once her tight throat loosened its chokehold enough for her to speak, she said as gaily as she could, “I love puppies.”
“Then we shall get one.” He looked through the window, already beginning his search. She knew he would stop the carriage and adopt the sorriest-looking mongrel if she expressed the slightest interest in it. That was the sort of brother he was. The best.
Georgiana’s throat squeezed again. Her brother was a man of action. He always kept his word, even if it came at great inconvenience to himself. She never heard him complain, nor did he make her feel like an imposition… which only made her feel even more wretched for disappointing him as badly as she had. To attempt to elope with George Wickham! Oh, how she wished they could return to Pemberley! George would not dare show his face there. She prayed she never saw that man again!
Although she had hinted at her desire to return to Pemberley several times, for some reason her brother had not understood them. Aunt Matlock said that even the most astute of men were inept at understanding hints. She had encouraged Georgiana to state her wish plainly. Perhaps she ought to give her aunt’s suggestion a try. Watching her brother carefully for his reaction, she said, “I would much rather select a puppy from the kennels at Pemberley.”
He took a deep breath, but his expression was unreadable. She could not understand why he seemed intent on lingering in London when he preferred the quiet of the countryside. Of course, he had a great deal of business to tend to. He was always away, too often busy.
Her worst fear was that he would see George again—all the more reason to return to Pemberley! George would provoke him, as he had a talent for doing, and Fitzwilliam would demand satisfaction. When he hadsat down at the breakfast table with a bruised eye and split lip three days before, she had nearly given in to hysterics until Richard had reassured her that he was responsible for her brother’s state.
The claim had calmed her at the moment, but now it troubled her. Had they fallen to blows overher?It might be silly to assume the blame when she knew they frequently sparred together at the boxing club, but she could not ignore the thought. Nor could she ignore the bold, vibrant purple hue under Fitzwilliam’s eye.
He caught her looking at him before she could avert her gaze. Gingerly, he pressed his fingers against his cheek and smiled at her. “Is it really so noticeable?”
“Not at all,” she lied.
He gave her an incredulous look.
“It is better today than it was yesterday.” Another lie.
“I am bruised, not blind, Georgie.”
“Mr. Bingley says the color is just the thing for a new waistcoat.”
He drew his brows together. “Bingley would find a trait to praise in the devil.”
“He is hard-working.”
Fitzwilliam laughed. “Who? Bingley? Or the devil?”
