“Papa? What is this?”
He shrugged. “Jimmy Simmons found work at Netherfield Park. The lad left it with me moments ago.”
“Is it for Jane?”
“I do not believe so. If Mr. Bingley’s sisters were responsible, they would have included a name on the address. If Mr. Bingley sent it… Well, he would not have sent it via courier since he would have brought it himself.”
“I see.” Elizabeth bounced it in her palm, weighing it and trying to guess its contents. Too light for a book. Too flat for jewelry. “You think this is for me?”
“I suspect it is, though we have no way of knowing until it is opened.”
Curious, she pulled the string holding the packet together. Turning back the outer paper, she exposed what was inside.
Her breath caught. Her free hand went immediately to her throat.
“What is it, Lizzy?”
“I do not know for sure, except…” Elizabeth studied the heavy paper carefully, barely the size of her palm, before handing it to him. “Papa, this is not the work of a casual artist. Look at the precision. The detail. The shading. The fine ink lines within a subtle watercolor.”
“Hmm.” Her father studied it, then handed it back to her. “Interesting. Whoever drew this took their time. Althoughit is smaller in scale, the chessboard has the same border embellishment as the one we took to the field.”
“That is my sleeve. The exact shade of blue. The trim captured perfectly. My wrist. From the duel.”
“So it would seem. Either Mr. Darcy or Colonel Fitzwilliam paid very close attention, indeed.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth breathed. “Why would he…?” She stared at the drawing. Why would he notice? Why would he remember? Why would he care enough to recreate it?
“I think the better question is: Why go to such effort?” Her father’s eyes twinkled. “I suspect we shall discover the answer in time since this appears to be one small piece out of a larger picture.”
Clutching it to her chest, she asked, “May I keep this, Papa? At least until we see if more pieces arrive. It might get lost in all your books and papers.”
Chuckling, her father granted his permission.
Elizabeth hurried to her room.
The artist noticed her, her every detail. He remembered, recreating it with precision.
This was personal, deliberate. Intimate.
She could not stop looking at the drawing. With this, he changed the rules of the game to something she did not understand. He was no longer playing with pieces on a board but with her mind. Possibly even her heart. Her curiosity ignited despite her determination to remain merely civil.
What was he trying to say? And why did part of her want so desperately to know?
Infuriating man!
She set the drawing carefully on her dressing table, propping it against the mirror. Soon, a gathering was scheduled at Lucas Lodge. Charlotte mentioned earlier that Mr. Bingley and hisparty were invited. Mr. Darcy would likely attend. She found, despite everything, that she rather hoped he would.
She needed answers. Nothing more.
The gameof cat and mouse began as soon as Darcy entered the drawing room at Lucas Lodge. Ignoring the raucous laughter of Elizabeth’s younger sisters and her mother pointing to Bingley, he sought the woman who held his attention for two days.
Mr. Bennet was not present. Darcy would have liked to have a word with him, to get his response to the artwork delivered to him. That would have to wait for another time.
His attention turned solely to the second Bennet daughter. Had she deciphered the meaning behind the first piece? He sincerely hoped so, since the second piece of his puzzle was sitting on his desk, completed. He could not give it to her in company.
When she moved to a corner to speak privately with Miss Lucas, he followed.
“What does he mean, eavesdropping upon our conversation, Charlotte?” she teased. At least, he hoped she was teasing.
