Darcy drew a slow breath. “Then he paid three-quarters of his fortune for Netherfield.”
“Just so.”
“That leaves him with twenty thousand in capital,” Darcy said, his mind already moving. “At best.”
“And not all of that is producing income,” Hurst added.
Darcy closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Good heavens.”
Hurst folded his arms. “You begin to see why I am less amused by his indifference.”
“The estate cannot support his manner of living alone,” Darcy said. “Not at the rate he spends. Netherfield might yield two thousand a year, perhaps a little more if well managed—but it cannot sustain London habits, improvements, and Miss Bingley’s extravagances besides.”
“Nor can his remaining capital,” Hurst replied. “Especially when it is treated as a bottomless purse.”
Darcy opened his eyes and fixed Hurst with a sharp look. “He must stop spending from it at once.”
“He will not,” Hurst said flatly. “At least not without persuasion.”
Darcy turned away, pacing a few steps beneath the trees. “This explains much. His reluctance to involve himself. His eagerness to place everything in a steward’s hands. He is avoiding figures he does not wish to see.”
“Bingley has always preferred cheer to caution,” Hurst said. “When the numbers become unpleasant, he simply ceases to look at them.”
Darcy stopped and faced him again. “And Miss Bingley?”
Hurst gave a humorless laugh. “She has never concerned herself with what a thing costs, only with whether it looks as it ought. I do not even know if her fortune is intact. And it will do no good to attempt to rein her in. Louisa made an attempt andfailed. Since we do not know the exact state of Bingley’s finances, we have no leverage.”
“Her improvements may undo him,” Darcy said sharply. “He cannot afford them.”
“No,” Hurst agreed. “Nor can he afford a single bad harvest, or a year of poor rents, or the loss of a major tenant. Despite cautioning him, he behaves as though none of it touches him.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “He is responsible for more than his own convenience now.” The reiteration sat bitterly on his tongue.
“I told him as much,” Hurst said. “He laughed and said that everything would be very well once the house was properly settled.”
Darcy let out a breath, slow and controlled. “A house may be settled in a season. An estate takes years.”
“And discipline,” Hurst added.
Darcy nodded grimly. “Which he does not yet possess.”
Silence fell between them, broken only by the wind through the leaves.
“At what point,” Darcy said at last, “does he realize the danger?”
Hurst’s expression was bleak. “Usually, my dear Darcy, just after it can no longer be ignored.”
“And what of you? Have not you and Mrs. Hurst lived on your brother’s charity for years?”
Hurst laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, we have. My father is ailing but continues to stubbornly refuse to give up the ghost. Louisa’s dowry is safely invested, and we spend the interest frugally. By living with family or visiting friends for several months out of the year, we can live well on that income. And when my father dies, the interest will be invested for any children we may have. Unlike Bingley, I was raised to manage an estate and know how to avoid financial ruin.”
Darcy regarded Hurst in a new light. How had he missed the man’s calculating shrewdness, his subtle comprehension of what happened around him? It was simple: Darcy had not bothered to look closely, relying on what was readily apparent rather than the truth. It was poorly done of him.
“What is to be done? Bingley is his own man—I cannot force him to see reason.”
Hurst nodded. “Neither are you required to rescue him when he inevitably fails. Remember that. For now, we must simply watch and wait. His actions and decisions moving forward will inform our reactions.”
“That is a sensible plan.” Darcy’s stomach churned at the new information he now possessed. There was an urge in him to save his friend from the coming disaster, but there was, in reality, nothing he could do.
