Brisby frowned slightly, the expression of a man unsettled by gaps where there ought to be answers. “No one seems to know who the aunt is. I spoke with Mrs. Goulding’s housekeeper. She has been in the area for nearly thirty years and prides herself on knowing the affairs of every respectable family within ten miles. Apparently, Mr. Bennet was…persuaded to give up complete guardianship of his niece. No one knows why. Most assume her father’s family wished to play an active role in her upbringing.”
“Her father’s family?” Darcy repeated, turning sharply. “I thought Miss Elizabeth was a Bennet.”
“Her mother was a Bennet, sir. As a child, the girl insisted on sharing the name with her cousins, and the habit appears never to have been corrected. Locally, she is known only as Miss Elizabeth. Some assume sentiment, others convenience. I have sent out inquiries regarding her surname and have yet to receive anything conclusive.”
That, at least, rang true. Country society was forgiving of eccentricities, especially when introduced early. A child calledby one name might retain it into adulthood if no one thought to challenge the custom. And yet—
Insistence,he thought.Even as a child.
“And fortune?”
Brisby hesitated before answering. “I learned only that her father’s will provided for her. No one knows the extent of it. There is no evidence she draws upon Mr. Bennet’s income, nor that she lives as a dependent relation. Her expenses in Hertfordshire are modest, but in Town…” He trailed off delicately.
“In Town?” Darcy pressed.
“She is said to be well provided for. Not extravagantly—but comfortably, and without constraint. She rides her own horse. She keeps servants. Her education is considered unusually extensive.”
Darcy exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Enough,” he said at last. “You have done what you can. Continue your inquiries discreetly, but do not press where it would invite notice.”
“Yes, sir.” Brisby stepped back and withdrew, closing the door softly behind him.
Darcy stood for several moments without moving.
He told himself—firmly—that his curiosity was born solely of prudence. Bingley’s infatuation with Jane Bennet was obvious to any observer, and Darcy would be remiss in his duty as a friend if he did not ascertain the family’s true circumstances. Bingley needed someone who loved him for himself, not for what he could provide. A marriage of convenience would destroy his spirit.
The Bennets might be more financially well-off than others suspected, but that did not mean they were not mercenary. That did not mean they would not seek a wealthy gentleman to increase their standing and bolster their coffers.
And yet,a treacherous voice murmured,this investigation is not for Jane Bennet.That thought irritated him deeply. The more he knew, the less sense Elizabeth made.
She behaved neither like a poor relation nor like a fortune-hunter. She possessed confidence without entitlement, polish without ostentation, independence without defiance. Her guardianship had been altered by means unknown, yet not under a cloud of scandal. Her fortune existed but was not discussed. Her name was used by choice rather than law.
She lives as if protected,he thought.Not hidden—protected.That distinction mattered.
It was likely, he reasoned, that Miss Elizabeth possessed a moderate fortune of her own, settled upon her by her father, and that her uncle merely oversaw matters in the country. Perhaps her father’s family—whoever they were—preferred privacy, or resided abroad, or moved in circles that did not intersect with Hertfordshire society.
None of which alters the fact,he reminded himself sternly,that she is still unsuitable.
Whatever mystery surrounded her origins, it did not elevate her into his world. She was not of his circle. She had not been raised with the expectations or obligations that governed his life. Her opinions—however intelligently expressed—were formed without experience of the responsibilities that accompanied rank.
She speaks as if she understands them.
That was the danger. Darcy straightened, discarding the thought with deliberate force. Regardless of wealth, guardianship, or concealed circumstance, Miss Elizabeth remained entirely unsuitable. He would remember that. Hemustremember that.
Supper at Netherfield, as usually, promised refinement and delivered noise.
Darcy had scarcely taken his seat before Miss Bingley assumed command of the table as if it were her personal stage. She spoke with animation and volume, guiding the conversation with an air of practiced ease, her voice rising and falling just enough to ensure attention never strayed far from her person.
“…and Lady Westmorland quiteinsistedthat the supper be taken in the smaller dining room,” she was saying, arranging her napkin with delicate precision. “She claims intimacy improves conversation, though I cannot imagine anything improving Sir James’s opinions. One hears the same sentiments repeated wherever one goes.”
Darcy inclined his head politely, offering neither encouragement nor discouragement. He had long learned that Miss Bingley mistook silence for admiration.
“And then, of course, there was Mrs. Ainsley,” she continued, casting a quick glance in his direction. “You remember her, Mr. Darcy—sodevotedto propriety that she once declined an invitation because the hostess’s cousin had eloped some twenty years earlier.”
I remember avoiding her for precisely that reason,Darcy thought.
Bingley smiled faintly, though his attention seemed elsewhere. His gaze drifted repeatedly toward the empty chair across from him, the one Jane Bennet had occupied during her last visit.
