Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

E lizabeth 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 fi t 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.”

Remy walked inside. After a pat of greeting, Mr. Goode pointed to the mat on the floor beside the doorway. “Sit,” he instructed.

Remy complied, his tail swishing contentedly as he waited patiently for his next command. Why could he not behave like that earlier in front of the gentleman and lady?

Mr. Goode cleared his throat. “I do not suppose Miss Mary has said anything to you about the book I lent to her?” His ears burned bright red.

Elizabeth pretended not to notice. “She has not yet started the book you sent.” He deflated, so she quickly added, “However, as is always the case with Mary, she has a remarkably sensible reason for delaying. She did not feel it right to begin another book before she had finished Book One of Sermons to Young Women . ”

That any man should consider himself such an expert on the proper comportment of young ladies that he had sufficient material to fill , not just one , but two volumes was the height of presumption. Why could Fordyce not tell his own sex how better to behave?

“Miss Mary is reading Fordyce?” he asked eagerly.

If Elizabeth was not careful, Mr. Goode would find a way to secure book two of the sermons so he might have something else to lend to Mary. “She has threatened to read it aloud to us. Evidently, that is what Fordyce encourages.”

He nodded. “A young lady who strives to improve herself through extensive reading ought to be applauded for her efforts.”

Dear Mr. Goode. It did not matter what Mary did, he always praised her motive. “I fear that her efforts make her the butt of Kitty and Lydia’s jokes.”

“We cannot have that,” he said thoughtfully, pinching his chin. “What she needs is a diary in which to write the thoughts she would otherwise speak.”

This was an idea Elizabeth had not considered! “Fordyce himself encourages copying passages in writing.” She had been unwilling to lend any merit to the idea, given its source, but now that Mr. Goode had suggested it, she recognized its potential value for Mary.

“I believe I have just the thing.” The young man rubbed his hands together, practically bouncing in place, already planning his next token of affection. Elizabeth prayed that he might get to the point one day. His frequent hints were too subtle for her myopic sister to notice.

“Shall I show you in to your uncle?” he asked.

“He is not too busy?”

“I dare say he will enjoy a reprieve. He has been poring over ledgers all morning.” Mr. Goode turned down the hall. Elizabeth, with a final word for Remy to stay on his mat, followed the clerk to her uncle’s study.

Uncle Philips was just as Mr. Goode had said, hunched over a ledger, one finger running down the page and the other writing figures on a sheet of paper. He had a round face with thick lambchop side whiskers. His sharp eyes snapped up when he heard her enter, his gaze as solid as his steady frame. Immediately, he closed the ledger and placed the paper in a leather satchel, all of which he then locked in one fluid motion inside a drawer. Elizabeth liked that about her uncle. Her aunt might be well known in Meryton for her loose tongue, but her uncle Philips was a master at keeping secrets. He had kept Elizabeth’s secret all these years.

He rose from his chair and motioned for her to sit. “Lizzy, your timing is perfect. I just received a letter from your uncle Gardiner. I will join him in London on the morrow.” Only when Mr. Goode had closed the door behind him did he add in a lower tone, “Do you have any paintings for me to deliver?”

“Thank you, yes, there are three. Did Uncle Gardiner give a reply to my request?”

“To raise your price?” He shook his head, but Elizabeth noticed how he stifled a smile as he pulled the letter from his pocket and pointed at a paragraph on the page in Uncle Gardiner’s bold handwriting. “Only last month, two of your landscape paintings sold in a single day!”

Elizabeth read the lines with bated breath, the details too sparse for her satisfaction. “He says they were purchased by a lady of fashion? What does Uncle mean? Was she of the ton ? Of high society?” If one lady of the ton displayed Elizabeth’s work, demand was certain to grow. This was just the opportunity for which Elizabeth had been working! This changed everything!

Uncle Philips’s bushy eyebrows bunched together. “Do not get your hopes up, dear.”

It was too late for that.

“It is a testament to your skill and persistence that you have accomplished what you have, but is the risk worth the increase in popularity?” he warned.

Elizabeth tried to control the grin threatening to take over her face. “He writes that the lady inquired extensively about the artist. Surely, that means that she has some desire to secure another painting. Perhaps her friends will wish for their own landscapes.”

He looked at her squarely. “Take care not to hope too much, Lizzy. This is a dangerous game you play, and I am not the only one having second thoughts about my role in it.” He looked pointedly at the page she still held. She had skimmed over that part of Uncle Gardiner’s letter, covering it over with her thumb .

“I shall continue to be cautious, Uncle. I owe everything to you and Uncle Gardiner.” She really was very fortunate to have two uncles with progressive views. When she had made her initial appeal for their assistance four years before, she had pointed out how a certain financial independence would benefit them upon the unhappy event of her father’s death. If she could use her talent to earn enough to purchase her family’s rundown estate, her uncles would not need to provide for their needs out of their own funds. As it turned out, neither uncle had needed such self-serving justification. Their reason was more sentimental.

Uncle Philips rubbed his eyes and tugged on his whiskers. “How long do you intend to carry out this… deception?”

Elizabeth’s hackles rose. Deception was too harsh a word when it was necessity that had moved her to act. After all she had already done, would he suggest she stop just when fashionable society was taking notice of her work?

He held up his hand. “I think only of your future. If anyone were to find out…” He paused, and a shiver ran up her spine. She was well aware of the risk she took. It was the threat she had lived with every day over the last four years. As real as it was, she could not dwell on it. Her mother and sisters needed her.

Too stiff to shrug, Elizabeth jutted out her chin. “What? A gentleman’s daughter cannot earn an income from the labor of her heart?”

“No. She cannot. Nor dare she impersonate a man, no matter how honorable her intentions are.” He spoke with the firm precision of a skilled solicitor with law and logic on his side.

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her waist. Just the thought of stopping something she loved, something that gave her so much joy and satisfaction… it made her chest ache and her eyes burn. “It is not right, Uncle.” She cleared her throat, speaking more steadily. “What other option do I have? Longbourn is hanging on by a thread. My mother and sisters’ futures are in peril. Papa has tried, but you know better than I do how that has gone.”

Uncle nodded. “You need not defend your father to me, dear. My sympathy toward him is as great as my friendship was with his father. It is my loyalty to his memory and concern over your welfare that convinced me and Gardiner to assist you in this ruinous scheme.”

“It is only ruinous if I am found out,” Elizabeth interjected.

He leveled his steady gaze at her. “You are far from amassing enough to purchase Longbourn from your father’s heir presumptive.”

“The entail ends with Mr. Collins.” Elizabeth clamped her mouth shut before she offered any more useless information. Uncle Philips had been the one to explain how Longbourn’s entailment worked, how it must pass to her father’s nearest male relation. It was a desperate situation for a household full of women except for one detail: the entailment ended once Mr. Collins inherited. Given the poor condition of the estate, he might not want to keep the property.

She took a shaky breath. “I do not need very much, only enough. Once he sees the repairs left too long neglected, the lack of management in dire need of regulation, he will be happy to part with it.”

It pained Elizabeth to see her father’s childhood home fall into disrepair and loss, but it was her only chance. She could fix everything later. Once her uncle purchased it with the funds she had worked hard to secure, then her mother would never have to worry about being cast out into the hedgerows, and Elizabeth could apply her mind to estate management. She would make mistakes, but she was a fast learner and eager.

“It is a risky plan at best, a disastrous scheme at worst.”

“I shall paint twice as much! The profits will double in no time. And this is without considering a raise in price.”

“I fear it is already too late.”

Elizabeth’s heart stopped. “What is it? What is wrong?”

He took a deep breath. “The bank refused to extend your father’s loan.”

The blow took her breath away, but she had already considered the possibility and was ready with a solution. “Papa has a little money set aside. It is not much, but it is enough to buy seed for the spring. ”

Uncle’s expression remained unaltered. “Your father spent it. There is nothing left.”

“Nothing?” Elizabeth’s voice sounded small in her own ears. And then she remembered her brief conversation with her father the day before, and her heart sank. “The painting?”

“Gardiner tried to talk him out of purchasing it, but he would not listen.”

That something so beautiful could lead them to ruin was too painful to consider.

Uncle continued, “If any of Bennet’s remaining tenants abuse his understanding as they have done in the past, you will have no laborers to help you plant. And now that there is no hope of purchasing seed…” His words trailed off, but his meaning was clear. Longbourn might be lost to her already.

“I will do the work,” she said.

Uncle Philips only held her look.

“We will retrench,” she said, wilting under his sympathy.

Elizabeth knew despair then, but she refused to bow in surrender. She would buy the seed and, if need be, she would plant it herself. She would dedicate every waking minute to her art. She would defy the weather and take walks in the rain. She would skip meals and paint by candlelight and will the oils to dry faster.

Thanking her uncle, she stood, bid her farewell, and left with Remy for the abandoned lodge where her paintbrushes waited for her to get to work.