Page 31 of Mr. Darcy’s Diamonds

“What of this one?” Darcy had found a lifelike drawing of Miss Bingley, with her hair down and modestly dressed, he noted.

“Lizzy drew that,” Bingley said. “She had been drawing and painting Christmas gifts for her relatives. She took all the best paintings with her, but you can see some of her practice drawings of her young cousins.” He pushed aside papers at random, revealing a drawing that made Darcy gasp.

“Georgiana!”

“Is it? As I have not met your sister, I thought it was one of her cousins in Hertfordshire.”

Darcy assumed Miss Bennet’s landscapes were also of Hertfordshire. His eyes drifted back to her paintings. How was she fairing living in town, and why had she moved to London? She clearly thought of the countryside. He saw only one painting that could have been London: A canal with children playing near its banks appeared to be St. James’s Park.

Bingley was still looking through the sketches. “Here, Darce. She has made several of your sister, so I am sure she would not mind your keeping one…Ha! She has drawn Hurst and me, as well. What a talent!”

What a talent, indeed. She must have studied for years to be this accomplished. Some of the drawings were heartbreaking, one showing his sister standing alone with shoulders slumped, another of her looking wide-eyed but with tears streaming down her face. He preferred the one of his sister playing the pianoforte and smiling or even the one in which she sat against a bed pillow and held a book, gazing at a woodcut print contentedly. These drawings held the private details of a day he and his sister would never forget, no matter how much they tried.

“I would not wish to anger Miss Bennet again. You know her better than I do, Bingley. I would like to have these sketches of my sister—at least one—but perhaps I will wait to ask her permission. Do you know when she will return?”

Bingley considered. “I know only that Caro said she wanted to host her for Twelfth Night, and Louisa said we could not host a party while we are in mourning. Caro said Lizzy is always visiting, so it made no difference to call this a party and said she wanted to see Lizzy before Caro goes back to school…And then I left the room.”

Chapter Sixteen

January 1808

The festive season with his relatives was better than Darcy had anticipated. Pressure had lessened for him to marry Anne, though his aunt had not given up. He stayed by Georgiana’s side as much as he could while at Matlock House, knowing she was even less comfortable with Lady Catherine and Anne than he was. Brother and sister both relaxed with their Matlock relations once the de Bourghs returned to Rosings a few days after Christmas. They had all been overjoyed when Richard had come home from Denmark just before the holy day. He would remain in London for several weeks, which meant Darcy was in less of a hurry to fight the weather to return to Pemberley.

In early January, he and Richard called on Bingley, as he had not seen his friend in more than a week. Miss Bingley intercepted them before they reached Hurst’s study, so they promised to join the ladies for tea in an hour. Darcy was grateful his cousin was so easygoing, as Bingley and Hurst peppered him with questions about the war from the moment they were introduced. He noticed some tension about his cousin’s eyes, however, so he almost welcomed the reprieve the ladies would offer.

When they entered the drawing room, the first thing Darcy noticed was the soft music coming from the corner, and he saw Miss Bennet had returned to town. He was relieved to see her hair was again in a thick braid. He had worried she would declare herself out as Miss Bingley had done. He would be sure to protect his own sister’s childhood by not pushing her into society too soon.

“Welcome, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley crooned, calling his attention away from the instrument.

“Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst.” He bowed, having barely stopped himself from including Miss Bennet in his greeting. It was sometimes confusing to know which young ladies were out and therefore acceptable to speak to and those who were not. In an informal setting such as this, it was not inappropriate for Miss Bennet to be in the room, but he noticed she remained behind the pianoforte as Bingley introduced his cousin, not omitting his connection to an earl.

“Major Fitzwilliam, have you ever been in a battle?” Miss Bingley asked, eyelashes fluttering.

Darcy scarcely refrained from rolling his eyes. When he did, he caught Miss Bennet’s gaze. She smirked and rolled her own eyes, and Darcy barely restrained a chuckle.

“The most dangerous battle I ever fought was in a ballroom, Miss Bingley,” his cousin replied. “Shall I tell you the story?”

Miss Bingley giggled as Richard made himself comfortable near the girl. Hallelujah! His cousin had gained him a reprieve. He took the opportunity to approach Miss Bennet, who watched him but looked to her music when he got closer.

“Have you come to criticize my fingering, Mr. Darcy? Or perhaps it is my braid you have issue with today. Caroline has insisted I remain in the room and play this instrument, so you cannot blame me for being present—Oh!” She looked up at him as though surprised to see him standing at her side. “I should not have spoken to you. Forgive me.” She looked down at her fingers moving up and down the keys.

“The lines are a bit hazy at present,” he responded. When she did not look up, he continued. “I do not mind your talking to me. In truth, I wanted to thank you again for your kindness to my sister on the day you met her.”

Miss Bennet looked up but only nodded.

“Bingley showed me the art gallery in the parlor.”

Her eyes grew wide, but her fingers did not stumble, and she did not speak.

“You are exceptionally talented for one so young—indeed for an artist of any age,” he said. Being this close to her, it was easier to think of her as a young girl. Her figure was showing signs of womanhood, but her face was guileless and open. She looked as innocent as his sister, though Georgiana’s eyes were now marked by tragedy, as were Miss Bennet’s, he realized.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she said.

Darcy was not good at speaking nonsense to young ladies, but he had little trouble conversing with his twelve-year-old sister. He would press forward.

“I wondered if you might be able to spare one—or more—of your drawings of Georgiana. They are quite fine, and I would be honored to take one with me.”

“Certainly. I apologize for the impertinence of sketching her without your permission.”