She was trying—and failing—to sketch a landscape.
At least, that was what she wanted people tothink.
Lydia Bennet sat beside her, peering over her shoulder, her brows drawn in a dramatic frown.
“I tell you, his chin is sharper than that,” Lydia declared, gesturing toward the distant group of red-coated officers standing near the refreshments. “See how it angles just so?”
Maria’s pencil hesitated. “You think so?”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. This was not a landscape.
It was a portrait.
And judging by the number of bold, decisive strokes, Maria had drawn him before.
Jane must have noticed as well, for she giggled, then cleared her throat. “You sketch very well, Maria.”
The younger girl sighed. “It is not so bad, I suppose, but—” She made a face and rubbed at the page with her thumb. “I can never seem to get the shape of his face quite right.”
Elizabeth watched her for a moment, then—without thinking—she reached for the charcoal.
Maria’s eyes widened, but she said nothing as Elizabeth kneeled beside the bench and took the sketchpad into her own hands.
“The problem,” Elizabeth murmured, “is that you are drawing what youthinkyou see, rather than what is actually there.”
Maria leaned in eagerly. “How do you mean?”
Elizabeth tilted the pad slightly. “Look at him now. Do not think about how he looks, how handsome he is or the way he laughs. Think about shapes and shadows. Where does the light strike? Where does the line truly go?”
Maria blinked, considering.
Lydia, however, was far less patient. “Yes, yes, but fix his chin first.”
Elizabeth huffed a laugh but obeyed, adjusting the line of the jaw with a few quick strokes.
Maria’s mouth fell open. “Oh! That is so much better.”
Jane, standing beside them, watched with quiet admiration. “You are very skilled, Cousin.”
Elizabeth stiffened.
Cousin.
She had almost forgot that.
She cleared her throat and gave a small, dismissive shrug. “I had some… instruction.”
“Some?” Maria gaped. “This is far more thansome.”
Jane tilted her head. “Your family must have placed great importance on education.”
Elizabeth’s heart lurched. Indeed… that was her father’s fondest indulgence. The finest masters all his money could afford, as often and as long as she pleased. And drawing had been her chief pleasure—a luxury very few in her present circumstances could even dream of.
For a moment, she could not answer.
There was a sharp awareness in Jane’s expression—not suspicion, but curiosity. It was a harmless question. An innocent assumption.
And yet, Elizabeth felt a wave of panic.
