The door shut behind him.
A thick, ragged silence followed.
Jane still had not moved. Her hand clutched at Elizabeth’s sleeve.
Mrs. Gardiner inhaled. “I shall… call for tea.”
She slipped from the room as Mr. Bingley stepped forward. “Forgive me,” he said again. “This visit is not what it seems.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps you ought to explain it.”
Mr. Bingley looked to Jane, then away, his throat working. “I have spent a fortnight trying to reason with her.”
“Charles,” Miss Bingley snapped. “Do not be dramatic.”
“I am not being dramatic,” he said, more heat behind the words than Elizabeth had ever heard from him. “I am being honest. Which is more than can be said for—”
“I do not see how this parading about to Cheapside will solve anything,” she cut in. “You may as well have hired a trumpet.”
“You agreed to come.”
“I agreed to come because you threatened to make a scene at Mrs Henshawe’s soiree if I refused.” She turned her gaze—direct, sharp—toward Elizabeth. “And now that I am here, I see little point in pretence.”
Elizabeth did not blink. “Then by all means, do not pretend. Let us speak plainly.”
Miss Bingley raised her brows. “Plain speech from Gracechurch Street? How perfectly on theme.”
Jane shifted beside her, breath audibly drawn.
Mr. Bingley shook his head, visibly agitated. “Caroline—enough.”
“Enough? You dragged me to this… this house—”
“To make amends!”
There it was. The moment snapped taut. Miss Bingley reeled, as though the very word offended her ears.
“I am not the one who committed a fraud upon society,” she hissed.
“No,” Elizabeth said, stepping forward. “You only spread it.”
“Elizabeth—” Jane touched her arm, but she did not stop.
“You took my words,” Elizabeth said, gaze locked with Miss Bingley’s. “Twisted them. Published them. And now you dare to speak of fraud?”
Miss Bingley did not answer immediately. Her face was composed, but her eyes glittered. “You fancied yourself a writer. I simply helped you find an audience.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “How generous of you to elevate petty theft into public service.”
“I call it honesty,” Miss Bingley said smoothly. “Society should know the minds of those who presume to enter it.”
“Then let us begin with yours,” Elizabeth said. “A narrow kingdom, but very well-defended.”
Miss Bingley’s eyes flashed. “You always did overestimate your own cleverness, Miss Bennet. Wit is not the same as wisdom.”
Elizabeth took a step forward, the air between them crackling. “And malice is not the same as manners, though you have made a career of confusing the two.”
“You wrote the words,” Miss Bingley snapped. “I merely exposed them.”
