“Alone.”
Mrs. Hurst turned to her sister, who offered a faint shrug, then turned to go. Her skirts whispered indignantly as she swept through the door.
The latch clicked shut behind her.
Only then did Miss Bingley turn toward them fully. Her mouth formed something like a smile. “This feels dramatic,” she said lightly. “Have I done something worthy of interrogation?”
“Sit,” Bingley said.
She did not.
She turned to face the fire instead, brushing an invisible thread from the sleeve of her gown. “Well, if this is about the salmon, I must assure you it was the cook’s choice entirely.”
“Miss Bingley.” Darcy’s tone was quiet.
She froze, but had the temerity to smile sweetly. “Yes?”
“I believe you know why you are here,” he said.
Bingley moved to the hearth, resting one hand on the marble mantel. “You have something to say,” he told her. “Say it.”
“I have said nothing,” she replied, too quickly. “I do not know what you mean.”
Darcy stepped forward. “Then allow me to clarify. The pamphlets.”
Miss Bingley tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What pamphlets?”
“You know very well what he means, for you published them,” Bingley growled.
Darcy watched her carefully. No visible startle. Only a narrowing of breath. The briefest stillness.
Miss Bingley turned, slow and smooth. “If you mean those amusing little publications everyone has been whispering about—surely you cannot think—”
“We do,” Darcy said.
Silence again.
Miss Bingley’s mouth curved, barely. “You give me too much credit.”
“Do not insult us both,” Darcy said. “You had Miss Elizabeth’s journal. You knew what it contained. You twisted it. You published it.”
Miss Bingley’s brows lifted. “Her journal? Oh, come now. Those were scattered notes. Disjointed phrases. I merely thought the world might appreciate her wit as I did.”
Darcy did not move. “You stole her words.”
Miss Bingley’s gaze flicked toward the fire.
“You twisted them.”
Nothing.
“And you made them a weapon.”
Miss Bingley turned from the fire with a slow breath, chin lifted. “If Miss Bennet was so eager to conceal her cleverness, she ought not to have left it so readily at hand.”
“Among friends?” Darcy said.
“That is generous,” she replied, “given what she wrote of them.”
