Page 31 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
Her question was answered the moment they entered, for the room that had been occupied only by Miss Bingley when they departed was now quite crowded with company.
The gentlemen had clearly made good use of their time upstairs, for all three appeared refreshed and properly groomed once more.
Mr. Bingley had resumed his usual cheerful countenance, Mr. Hurst looked considerably more dignified without all the mud, and Mr. Darcy .
. . Elizabeth found herself taking a second glance at Mr. Darcy, who appeared perfectly composed in a fresh coat and newly arranged cravat, showing no trace of his earlier outdoor adventures save perhaps a slight colour in his cheeks that spoke of recent exertion.
Miss Bingley had positioned herself near the centre of the room with an expression of bright anticipation that immediately set Elizabeth's nerves on edge, while Mrs. Hurst sat somewhat apart, still arranging and rearranging her embroidery materials.
"How lovely to find you both returned so promptly," Miss Bingley said with a brightness that struck Elizabeth as thoroughly artificial. "I do hope Sarah was able to assist with the repair?"
"Most efficiently, I thank you," Jane replied, settling back into her seat.
Elizabeth resumed her place and reached for her needlework, but Miss Bingley was already moving towards her work basket.
"I do hope you will not think us presumptuous," she began, "but while you were away, I thought to organize some additional patterns for your consideration. I happened to observe that your baskets seemed rather . . . mixed in their contents."
“That is not necessary, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said mildly. “You have already given us quite—"
"Oh! Oh, my goodness!" Miss Bingley exclaimed, holding the drawing as though it might contaminate her. "Miss Elizabeth, what in heaven’s name is this?"
The room fell silent. Mr. Bingley moved closer with genuine concern, while Mr. Darcy's expression shifted to what appeared to be recognition and then considerable alarm.
"Whatever is the matter, Caroline?" Mr. Bingley asked.
"I hardly know how to say this," Miss Bingley declared, her voice trembling with what seemed to be authentic horror as she stared accusingly at Elizabeth. "Such . . . such inappropriate drawings are hardly what one expects to find among a respectable young lady's needlework!"
Jane’s laugh was high and hearty. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, do forgive me.” She threw an apologetic look at Elizabeth. “It is only that Elizabeth could never have drawn that sketch.”
"The evidence speaks for itself!" Miss Bingley waved the sketch dramatically. "Here, in her work basket! Such intimate knowledge of human anatomy is hardly appropriate for unmarried ladies!"
Elizabeth looked at the sketch again. It was the same drawing she had seen before, an anatomical study of human musculature and bone structure, the work of someone with considerable scientific training, given the intricate depiction of muscles along the spine and across the back and shoulders. Hardly scandalous.
"Miss Bingley," Elizabeth said with growing amusement, "I assure you I have never drawn any such thing. Though I must say, I am rather envious. The technique is quite impressive, far beyond my meagre artistic abilities."
“Elizabeth has a difficult time drawing a straight line,” Jane said.
Elizabeth glared at Jane, who raised her shoulders. “It is true, Lizzy. You are skilled in many things, but drawing is not one of them.” She addressed the others in the room. “None of us are, to be honest. Even Papa. But Lizzy . . .”
“Is the worst. Yes, I believe you have made that abundantly clear,” Elizabeth replied, a little embarrassed but also finding this entire scene rather humorous.
It was then that Mr. Darcy stepped forward, his cheeks taking on a decidedly pink hue. "If I may," he said quietly, his voice rather strained, "I believe that belongs to me."
Miss Bingley's triumphant expression faded as she stared at him. "Yours, Mr. Darcy? "
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek. Had Miss Bingley really thought the drawing was hers despite it being returned more than once? And how mortifying for her to be so mistaken.
"Yes," he replied, clearly uncomfortable. "I have been searching for it these past two days. It must have become mixed with other papers when I was working in the library."
Elizabeth coughed . Oh no. She needed to remove herself from the room before she laughed in Miss Bingley’s face. This little ambush could not have gone worse for her, and indeed, Miss Bingley's face was progressing through several shades of red.
She composed herself, clearing her throat and making a pretence of polite attention.
Mr. Darcy took his sketch from Miss Bingley’s hand without so much as a “by your leave,” and excused himself with considerable haste.
It was Mr. Hurst who, surprisingly, came to the rescue. "Anatomical studies are quite common among gentlemen interested in natural philosophy," he said matter-of-factly. "Darcy has always been keen on such pursuits."
"Indeed," Mr. Bingley added, apparently oblivious to his sister's distress. "Many of our Cambridge fellows maintained such studies. Quite necessary for understanding medicine and natural sciences. Nothing unusual in it at all, except that it wound up in Miss Elizabeth’s workbasket."
Miss Bingley's mortification was now complete, but rather than accept her error gracefully, she turned to her sister with desperate accusation. "Louisa! You assured me you had seen Miss Elizabeth working on such drawings!"
Mrs. Hurst fixed her sister with a look that could have frozen the Thames in July, that expression known to all siblings that said You are sacrificing me to save yourself, and I will remember this betrayal until my dying day .
"I said no such thing, Caroline," Mrs. Hurst replied with dangerous calm that reminded Elizabeth of a few times she had been required to curb Lydia’s enthusiasm for things that belonged to her sisters. "I believe you may be confused."
Elizabeth watched this sisterly exchange with fascination. It was particularly enthralling to observe the carefully controlled warfare of women who prided themselves on their superior breeding.
While she engaged in a bit of self-congratulation, Jane, being the superior creature that she was, steered the conversation to safer topics.
The tension in the room gradually dissipated, though Elizabeth suspected that Miss Bingley's attempt to shift blame to her sister would not be easily forgiven.
But not only had Miss Bingley set her own sister against her, she had embarrassed the man she wished to impress. What a delightful disaster Miss Bingley’s scheme had been!
It was rather wonderful to learn that the seemingly perfect Mr. Darcy had forgotten his drawing somewhere, like an ordinary mortal. Even more appealing was the idea that those capable hands were sometimes engaged in serious scholarly work.
When Elizabeth recalled Miss Bingley's face turning as red as the roses in a summer garden, she felt something ticklish inside her.
But it was the memory of poor Mr. Darcy's mortified expression, seeing his work waved about as though it were something lewd rather than the respectable scientific study it was, that sent the laughter bubbling up from her stomach and into her throat.
Elizabeth bobbed a curtsy to the room, making her escape with what she hoped was a leisurely pace, but the moment she stepped through the library and out onto the terrace, she doubled over with helpless laughter.
She tried to laugh as quietly as she could, but the entire episode had been so magnificently ridiculous that she could barely contain herself.
She was still wiping tears of mirth from her eyes when she heard footsteps behind her.
"Miss Elizabeth?"
She turned to find Mr. Darcy approaching with evident concern, his expression troubled as he took in what he clearly interpreted as signs of distress.
"I beg your pardon for following you," he said quietly, "but I saw you as I returned to the drawing room and feared . . . that is, I should like to offer my apologies for the distressing scene you were subjected to. I am mortified if my carelessness has caused you any discomfort."
Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, then burst into fresh peals of laughter. "Oh, Mr. Darcy," she gasped. "If you could only have seen Miss Bingley's face when she realised her error! I came outside because I feared I might disgrace myself by laughing in front of her."
The relief that crossed his features was almost comical. "You were not upset?”
"Not at all," she confirmed, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.
"The whole scene was perfectly absurd. Poor Miss Bingley, so certain she had discovered some terrible scandal, only to learn she had been horrified by your perfectly respectable scientific studies.
I suppose her brother does not engage in such things. "
Mr. Darcy's lips twitched slightly. "Bingley is not as interested in such things as I am. And Miss Bingley was not wrong to be scandalized. She is a maiden, and I ought not to have left my work where it could be found.”
“Not all maidens are so easily affronted. My father has such illustrations in a few of the books that he reads. Jane and I, at least, are used to them. ”
“But why would Miss Bingley think it belonged to you? That I do not understand.”
“I was making my lists at the writing table in the library while working with Mrs. Nicholls,” Elizabeth said as she thought it over. “I suppose she or Mrs. Hurst might have seen me there.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “Ah. That is also where I was working on the sketch,” he said quietly. “I needed something to distract me while you were ill.”
Elizabeth waited, but he did not explain, and she felt it would be impolite to inquire any further.
He frowned slightly, and his forehead furrowed. “As to how it was placed in your workbasket . . .”