Page 27 of His Dark Heart
“I need no credit. Ye would have thought of it on thy own.”
He gave her a stern look. “You shall have your credit. The people need to know that their future princess is minding them.”
“Ye have not yet announced our engagement.”
“My sweet, this is a small community. How many people do you think it takes for news to spread? I shall indeed make an official announcement, but Mr. Bentley already knows a Princess Intended is within these walls.”
“Oh. Then, pray, give him my regards.”
“He will love that.”
They stared at each other a moment. Sweat beaded against her skin as warmth seeped over her, drowning her. His gaze was so intense that she suspected she might melt beneath it. Her cheeks burned, and she turned away to hide her blush, putting the back of her hand to her mouth.
“I shall see you at dinner, my lady.” His voice was strained, and he shifted on his feet. “I apologise for my earlier curtness.”
“I forgive ye as long as ye accept my regrets for my wretched behaviour these past weeks.”
He nodded and disappeared, leaving Elizabeth with the unwelcome idea that she was affected in some way by her future husband. Ruffled at the thought, she summoned Heather and began preparations to dress for dinner.
Chapter Six
Her impression was as if no time had passed, but when Elizabeth awoke, it was two days before her wedding. The truce between her and Darcy, though tenuous, had lasted the month, and Elizabeth found herself accepting and even, on occasion, looking forward to being High Lady Darcy. She and Jane, with occasional help from Darcy, had covered the entire history of the Darcy line, the intricacies of Northern culture, and the aspects of royal life that would all be prudent to Elizabeth now. The North Country had a rich culture and history that she had never imagined and, combined with the breathtaking scenery around Pemberley, she was falling in love with her new home and its people, who, in turn, were quite smitten with the Princess Intended.
When she was not preoccupied with her studies, she was painting. Darcy had shown her the atrium with its high glass ceilings and luscious green plants, giving her free rein to use the area as she saw fit. After dinner one night, he had given her a new paint set, with the finest paints and brushes she had ever seen, and Elizabeth was so surprised and excited that she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
“What was that?” he had asked warily, pushing her back at arm's length.
“I cannot know. Perhaps gratitude?”
He nodded, bent his head as though he had more questions, but walked away. She was unsure of what she had wanted from him, but the canvas beneath her brush told her soon enough. Darcy's likeness formed across the blank expanse. Jane had explained to her the royal tradition of exchanging wedding gifts before the bridal couple retired that first night, and in Elizabeth’s estimation, a painting would make a good offering.
She bathed and dressed, letting Heather arrange her hair into a simple plaited topknot since a fancy presentation was not necessary. That would come later, and the need to be a showpiece made her uncomfortable right now. After she was prepared, she made her way to the atrium. Sunlight spilled through the thick glass above her, flooding the encased wilderness with unseasonable warmth. Her easel and paints were there, but she went to the cabinet she had had installed, unlocked it, and brought Darcy's image into the light.
She had so perfectly captured him, which was unusual in her opinion. The lines and angles of his face were so realistic, he could be sitting before her. The deep, dark midnight of his eyes seemed to glitter and never quite reveal what he had thought. One difference existed between the living man and the painted version: he looked relaxed and happy. His mouth was slightly upturned and his posture much less stiff. She liked her version of him more than the version she would be marrying. She placed the canvas on the easel and was in the process of securing it when Darcy walked in.
“Am I intruding?”
Swiftly, she threw a cloth cover over her work and offered Darcy a warm expression. “No.”
“Are you ever going to let me see what is beneath that blasted fabric?”
“All in good time, my lord.”
“Are you not coming to breakfast this morning?”
“I offer my apologies. This painting has taken priority. Has Mrs. Berne given birth yet?”
“Nay.”
“That poor woman. She is having a dreadful go of it.”
He walked farther into the room, his hands clasped behind his back, nodding absently in agreement. His eyebrow popped up inquisitively when he gazed upon her.
“Ye walk like that when ye have an important question to ask, my lord.”
“You are an astute observer, my sweet.”
Over the last few weeks, he seemed to have forgotten her name and replaced it with “my sweet”, but she hardly took notice anymore. They had become comfortable, or perhaps accustomed to each other, and she assumed the endearing epithets were as much for the crowd he still played to as they were for her ears.
