“I suppose I must,” Elizabeth said. She tried to keep her voice bright. “If I am to be trampled, I should at least do it in spectacular fashion.”
The solicitor’s letter saidnothing new.
It said it at greater length than the last, with more flourishes and more formal wordsmithery, but the meaning was the same: no legal action could proceed against Wickham’sblackmail without exposing Georgiana. And exposure, Darcy had made clear, was not an option.
He folded the letter once, stripping the fold to a crisp line with his fingernail as if he could punish the letter for his frustration, and laid it aside. The edges refused to stay even.
There was a knock on the study door—too brisk to be Mrs. Griffin, too polite to be the dowager.
“Come,” he said.
Charles Bingley stepped in, cheeks ruddy with the chill and his usual good spirits trailing behind him like a loyal dog. “Darcy! I hope I am not intruding?”
“You are.”
Bingley blinked, then smiled more cautiously. “Oh. Shall I come another time?”
Darcy set the rest of the post down and gestured vaguely toward a chair. “As you please.”
Bingley sat. “You are in a mood.”
“I am occupied.”
“So I see. Solicitors?”
Darcy only grunted.
Bingley leaned back. “You should have joined us last night. Lady Frances brought out a set of antique riddles from her father’s library. Only two people solved more than five. I was not one of them.”
“I am not surprised.”
Bingley grinned. “Nor am I. But I did find that cavalry major you wanted to meet—Willard. The one with the Greek nose and the scandalous sister. He’s dull as a sermon and twice as long-winded. Cannot for the life of me think why you would be interested in either him or his sister, but I promised an introduction the next time I can manage it.”
Darcy said nothing.
Bingley shifted. “I do not suppose this mood is related to the art gathering two nights ago?”
Darcy’s eyes lifted. “Why would you think that?”
Bingley took that as encouragement. “Only—I seem to have missed a great deal. Lady Matlock said you were looking for me half the evening.”
“You were difficult to find.”
“Well—yes. I went to the back rooms to see the puppies Sir Frances had mentioned. Charming little things. There was a black spaniel with a crooked ear, and then afterward I found myself in a discussion about horse breeding with that fellow from Wiltshire—what is his name? With the waistcoat? Anyway, time rather ran away with me.”
“Indeed.”
Bingley frowned slightly. “I hope no one thought I was being rude. I do recall a crush near the conservatory... a great many ladies, I believe. Did I miss anyone worth missing?”
Darcy did not answer immediately. “Your absence was noticed.”
Bingley’s brow furrowed. “I had not meant to be absent. Only—well, there was rather a great deal to see. I daresay I missed half the room entirely.”
Darcy drummed his fingers on the desk and sighed.
Bingley waited, then shrugged lightly. “I see. No matter. These things come round again, do they not?”
Darcy’s gaze returned to the post. “One hopes.”
