“You would rather bring him into court?” Dyer asked slowly.
Darcy did not answer. His silence was answer enough.
Dyer’s voice gentled, though it lost none of its caution. “Mr. Darcy, if you proceed in that fashion—if you make this matter public—you risk implicating yourself. He was once your father's ward. A man known to your family. The court may view it as an internal dispute, not a criminal act.”
“He stole,” Darcy said flatly. “He manipulated a child.”
“And you paid him to go quietly. So now, should you reverse that course, the court will ask why.” Dyer held his gaze. “And they will not like the answer.”
Darcy crossed to the window and stared out at the square. The day was grey, the sky low with threat. “Georgiana is sixteen. She does not leave the house without a chaperone,” Darcy said, the words strangled. “And yet they speak of her as if she had run to Brighton with her dancing master.”
He slammed a hand against the window frame. “They are punishing a child. For trusting. For being kind.”
“Itiscruel,” Dyer admitted.
“It is more than that.” Darcy turned, his voice colder now, each syllable honed to a point. “It is calculated. Wickham knew what he was doing when he passed those letters. He let her words—private words—fall into the hands of a woman who would weaponize them for her own advantage. And I gave him coin for it! As if it were a transaction—as if her trust could be bartered like a parcel of land. And Miss Bingley did not hesitate. She carried them into my uncle’s drawing room like a gift for a Roman emperor.”
Dyer winced. His hand curled around the edge of the ledger, though he did not speak.
“Do not mistake this for a fit of sensibility. I do not seek sympathy, Mr. Dyer. I seek a remedy. There must be some—”
“There is no legal path for vengeance,” Dyer said carefully. “Not for gossip. Not without you dragging Mr. Bingley through the mire as well, and I believe that would strain more than yourconscience. You cannot both pay the blackmailer and prosecute the crime. The court will not let you be hero and victim both.”
Darcy said nothing, but his mouth tightened.
“You said Mr. Bingley has… removed his sister?”
“He has,” Darcy said. “He sent her to Bath under some pretext. But I cannot ask him for more. Not without losing the friendship of a good and innocent man, which is a thing I am unwilling to do.”
“And you cannot afford to lose Lord Matlock,” Dyer added.
Darcy’s eyes narrowed.
“I mean politically. Not personally. His influence carries weight with the court. Should he withdraw support from your guardianship, or begin to whisper about impropriety within the family, you will find yourself defending more than your sister’s honor.”
Darcy’s fingers flexed once at his side.
Dyer hesitated, then cleared his throat. “I must caution you—formally—that any motion filed now, any attempt to press the matter publicly or legally, will delay your trust settlement. The court will not release funds if the estate is under dispute. Your father’s terms require the full administrative release and your marriage to coincide.”
Darcy’s voice dropped to a murmur. “I am aware.”
And he was. All too painfully.
“If this proceeds and the court delays review…” Dyer hesitated, studying Darcy with narrowed eyes. “You may miss your window.”
Darcy did not answer.
Dyer shifted, his tone sharpening. “Forgive me, sir, but you are scheduled to marry in less than forty-eight hours. You have moved heaven and earth to align every term, every condition. And now, the day before the license is to be signed, you summonme on a Sunday to demand a legal action that might ruin the timing entirely.”
Still, Darcy said nothing.
Dyer leaned slightly forward. “Unless… you no longer intend to go through with it.”
A muscle jumped in Darcy’s jaw.
Dyer exhaled. “That is what this is, then, sir. Not a strategy. A hesitation. I trust you recall—”
“I assure you,” Darcy said, then stopped. His throat worked. “My plans remain unchanged.”
