The dog looked up at him with large brown eyes brimming with adoration, his mouth open in what looked like a smile. His thick tail thwacked between the cushions and the ladies’ legs.
“Oh, Brother, I know you promised me a puppy, but I did not expect you to find one so soon! Look at his face! What a sweet boy!” Georgiana gushed. “See how pleased he is to make our acquaintance? Is he not delightful?!”
The moment Darcy released his hold on the trespasser, the dog twisted itself around, his hind end wiggling and his muzzle nestled between Georgiana’s knees, directing those heart-melting eyes at her.
A young lady halted to a stop at his side, her hair threatening to tumble out of its pins, eyes bright, cheeks red—from exercise, or embarrassment, or both. She bore none of the usual peculiarities of a bedraggled nanny in charge of a troublesome child. This was a woman who was impossible to ignore.
“My deepest apologies for my dog’s horrendous display of poor manners.” The bright-eyed maiden offered no justification, uttered no excuse. Just a simple apology, sincerely given.
Darcy was inclined to approve of her and excuse her beastly dog’s behavior. Still, he would notencourage her. He frowned and made himself look away.
Georgiana spoke. “Pray, do not trouble yourself on our account. He is a perfect gentleman and has kept his muddy paws to himself.”
He grimaced. His sister’s skirts might have been spared, but the carriage carpet had certainly not been.
The young lady’s voice rebounded with humor. “The coachman will not agree when he sees the mud on the carpet. Again, I must apologize. Remy, come!”
The dog, a curly haired retriever, looked at her askance, eyebrows furrowed as if to ask,Do I have to?
The young lady reached inside and tugged on his collar, tying a lead to it.
With an impressively loud sigh of resignation and an apologetic glance at the ladies that nearly broke through Darcy’s gruff affectation, Remy obeyed, making clear with every dawdling step away that he did so against his will.
Georgiana shoved her hand toward Darcy, graciously giving him something to do, and he helped her out of the carriage. He held up his arm, ready to guide her to the shops. Instead, she addressed the lady. “Remy is very friendly.”
The young lady turned to face them, brushing a rogue strand of hair off her shoulder as she did. She had a firm jaw softened by plump, wide lips that curled at the corners in a most beguiling manner. Her nose was thin and straight, and her eyes… Darcy stopped at her eyes. They sparkled like the fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens.
“Exceedingly so! He believes everyone wishes to be his friend and welcomes his company… even strangers in fine carriages.” She bobbed a curtsy and tugged on the lead. “Come, Remy. We must go.”
Darcy bowed, wishing her gone. Her chaotic entrance into his life knocked him off balance, and he needed his senses about him to find Georgiana’s painting. Besides, the young lady looked to be in a hurry, and as they had not been introduced, it was not proper to engage in any further conversation. He should have kept his eyes diverted, but he chanced one more peek to ensure she had, indeed, departed.
“I wonder who she is,” Georgiana mused. He wondered the same but kept the thought to himself. She wrapped her arm around Darcy’s and shivered. “She seems to have taken the sun with her.”
Her observation might have been a mere poetic turn of phrase, but just as the sun had burst upon them moments before, it had made an equally sudden disappearance. He held his sister closer, lending her as much warmth as he could and taking the proffered umbrella from the footman to hold over their heads as the rain began to fall.
“Remy is a charming name for a dog, though I daresay I am partial to his namesake,” she continued.
Of all names! Rembrandt!Darcy had never been inclined to look for signs, and he was not about to start now. The Rembrandt painting, the dog’s name, thebright-eyed young lady who brought the sun with her and carried it away when she left… all incidents independent of each other. None of them would produce the stolen painting. The very thought was ridiculous.
Yet, while Darcy could deny any connection to the string of events which had led him to Meryton, he could not shake the sensation that something significant had transpired.
CHAPTER 5
Elizabeth resisted the urge to look back. She had done her best not to stare at the gentleman, but never in her life had she wanted to sketch an individual as badly as she wanted to sketch him. Brilliant berry purple bruise aside, he was striking. Who was he? Was his injury the result of a heroic action or the consequence of roguish behavior?
Who was the young lady with him? She was light to his dark, agreeable to his fractiousness?which was understandable, given Remy’s behavior. As distinct as they were in appearance, there had been something remarkably similar in their air and bearing. Perhaps she was a sister? They might be the guests Mr. Bingley had expected to join his party, or they might be passersby. Either way, thanks to Remy’s overly friendly nature, they would have no reason to remember her favorably… if they remembered her at all.
She looked down at her walking gown. The once-blue fabric had faded to a dull gray that did nothing to complement the warm brown of her hair or the gold tinge in her eyes. Her coat sleeves were worn at the edges. Her bonnet was plain because, although Elizabeth adored vivid colors, she saved her precious coins for Longbourn. There was nothing memorable about her person aside from her inability to control her dog—a dog that, even now, looked remarkably pleased with himself for having made new friends. She jostled Remy’s lead. “What am I to do with you?” Shaking her head, she had to smile at his self-satisfied expression. She never was able to remain cross with him.
At the dress shop on the corner, she cast a hungry glance at the rich fabrics on display. Once she secured Longbourn, she would have a gown made. She knew exactly which fabric she wanted: the shimmery peacock blue that had arrived four months ago.
She looked down at Remy. “Should I ask the dressmaker how many yards remain?” It was a futile question. Elizabeth would not spend her savings on a gown before she had secured her family’s future, and the ladies of Meryton would have bought all the fabric by then. At least she could admire their gowns… Dreaming of square necklines, twirling skirts, and soft textures gliding over her skin, of music and dancing and engaging conversation, Elizabeth turned down the lane to her uncle Philips’s house. Uncle’s clerk, Mr. Goode, met her and Remy at the entrance.
Mr. Goode was a polite young man, hardworking, always in possession of a good word… and too tall to fit into a crowd. He was as tall as the striking gentleman Remy had discomposed, but that was where any similarities ended. There had been no fault to be found with the gentleman’s dress, while Mr. Goode’s coat sleeves never quite covered his wrists. Kitty and Lydia mocked him for his gawky appearance, but Elizabeth recognized that he had good bones. He would be handsome once he filled out.
More significantly and far more surprisingly, Mr. Goode was hopelessly in love with Mary—a distinction Mary might benefit from if she would look up from her books long enough to notice him. “Miss Elizabeth, it is always a pleasure to see you. I pray you are well?”
“I am well, thank you, as are the rest of my family.”
