Encouraged to continue, she teased, “If you are not cautious, you will be asked to pose for the next edition ofLa Belle Assemblée. Not only is your eye an enviable hue, but it lends your appearance a certain rough charm… or so says Miss Bingley.”
He glowered at the name, which pleased Georgiana immensely. She did not think Miss Bingley stood a chance of capturing her brother’s attention, but that did not prevent the lady from attempting the impossible. Since their arrival, she had done little but draw attention to Fitzwilliam’s roughened appearance, calling itdashing, distinguished,andheroic. Georgiana suspected that Miss Bingley’s constant compliments and numerous attempts to discover how he had come to possess such markings were the reasons he had suggested a spontaneous excursion into Meryton that morning.
They fell silent again, and Georgiana mourned the loss of their easy banter. If only she could turn back time and restore things to the way they had been!
Again, Fitzwilliam tried to cheer her. “The fields are the same green as your coat.”
“They remind me of Pemberley.” Her voice choked and her chin trembled. She hated to sound weak when her brother was everything strong and steady, but it had been nearly five months since the disaster that was Ramsgate. Instead of feeling better every day, she felt much worse. Something needed to change. “When can we return home?”
“Are you not content here?” His tone was soft, comforting. It broke her heart.
“I do not mean to sound ungrateful. Mr. Bingley is everything a gracious host ought to be, and his sisters are most attentive…” She bit her lip and twisted her fingers in her lap. “But… do you think that… perhaps… after areasonable time… we might… return to Pemberley?”
He did not reply quickly enough for her to hope. Instead, he seemed torn. She could not understand why. If keeping her from Pemberley was a punishment, she deserved it, but she knew her brother too well to believe him capable of it. Or did she?
Fitzwilliam was away so often. Most of the time, she did not even know where he had gone. He wrote diligently, but he never communicated anything of real import. Their conversations had changed, too. What had once flowed easily was now stilted and restrained.
She held her breath and pressed her eyes closed to hold back her tears.
Blast Richardand his infernal interference!Darcy should be scouring the countryside, visiting every gentleman’s home until he found Georgiana’s painting. Only then could he take her home, where she could be happy.
For weeks, she had been hinting at her wish. He had pretended to be too stupid to comprehend her, but now that she asked point-blank to go to Pemberley with a tremble in her tone and tears in her eyes, he could not so easily deny her.
Winter was fast approaching with its early darkness, harsh rain, and freezing temperatures. They would need to depart from Hertfordshire in no later than a month’s time if they were to travel withoutincident. What guarantee did he have that he could secure her painting in that short time when he had been unable to find it in the last five months? It was impossible!
He saw the moment she gave up hope. Her shoulders slumped, and she squeezed her eyes shut as though she thought he could not see her cry inside. Just like when she was little and he would play hide-and-seek with her. She would stand in the middle of the room and squeeze her eyes shut, firmly believing that if she could not see him, he could not see her.
An overwhelming desperation—much larger than the despair which had prompted the offer of a puppy—seized Darcy. “Of course. Once we quit Netherfield Park, we shall return to Pemberley.”
Her eyes flew open. “When?”
“In one month.”
Georgiana bounced and clapped, her glee too great to contain.
Darcy’s stomach churned. Dear Lord, what had he done? First a puppy, and now Pemberley! He was a fool! One month to find her painting, and he was trapped at Netherfield Park. It was a hopeless quest. And yet, he had to do it. He could not fail his sister again.
Blast Richard! Blast Wickham!He cursed everything and everyone hindering his sister’s happiness. Most of all, he cursed himself.
He heard Georgiana’s voice chattering excitedly,witnessed her spirits lighten, and he managed to return her smile.
Mrs. Annesley nodded her approval. “Yes, there is a great deal of planning to do, so let us make the most of our time here.” She gestured at the view through the pane. “Is it not charming?”
They rolled past cottages with puffing chimneys, bright sashes hanging in the windows lending color where the flower boxes were bare.
“It reminds me of Lambton,” Georgiana declared with all the confidence of one soon to return home and thus free to appreciate her current surroundings.
Darcy stifled a groan. One measly month.
The carriage slowed to a gentle stop, and the footman opened the door, holding an umbrella they did not presently need. In fact, in that moment, the heavens parted as if to express its approval, welcoming them to Meryton with a radiant bath of sunlight. It was the kind of light that inspired one to believe something wonderful was about to transpire. So long as that something wonderful involved finding the painting!
Alighting from the carriage, Darcy held out his hand to assist Georgiana.
“Remy!” a feminine voice called forcefully behind him. He turned, half expecting to see a mischievous boy escaping from his overwrought nanny. “Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn!”
The significance of the name struck Darcy. He stood stunned, his mind reeling, until a flash of curlybrown fur leaped in front of him and inside his carriage.
Recovering quickly, he reached inside, grabbed the intruder by the scruff of his collar, and pulled. “Out!” he exclaimed.
