As the gentlemen walked back to the house in silence, Darcy realized something else. Bingley was intent on courting Elizabeth’s sister. The family was under the impression that their daughter, one of the gentry, was being courted by a wealthy man. Had not Elizabeth stated that their estate was entailed? A marriage to a man of fortune would save them.
Before they entered the house, he paused again. Hurst followed suit. “How long are we to remain silent before it becomes necessary to protect others from this folly?”
“That remains to be seen. You speak of Miss Bennet, do you not?”
Darcy nodded. “I do not know if Bingley is aware—she has no fortune. She cannot prop up his estate.”
“Caroline has already informed Louisa that the family is penniless. It is a matter of time before she tells her brother. But her motivation will not be because Bingley needs money. No, she is unaware—or willfully ignorant. She will gleefully inform him because she does not wish for her aspirations to be hurt.I suspect Charles will ignore his troubles until he cannot. His actions will leave Miss Bennet heartbroken and the topic of gossip when he withdraws.”
It was despicable in every way. Darcy frowned in displeasure. “It is intolerable,” he said at length, “that a young woman should be encouraged—however innocently—under false impressions of security.”
Hurst’s mouth twisted. “You assume Charles encourages her deliberately.”
“I assume,” Darcy replied, “that a man who allows affection to deepen while concealing material truths is culpable, whether by design or neglect.”
Hurst studied him for a moment. “You speak as though you already see the end.”
“I see the direction,” Darcy said. “And I do not like it.”
They stood there a moment longer, the house looming before them—Netherfield, handsome and orderly, betraying nothing of the instability beneath its polished surface. Darcy thought again of the tenants, the servants, the tradesmen whose fortunes rested upon a man who preferred charm to calculation. He thought, too, of the Bennet family—unguarded, hopeful, and wholly unaware of how fragile Bingley’s position truly was.
“At present,” Hurst said, “there is nothing to be done without causing greater harm.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I know.”
But knowing did not still the unease within him.
They resumed their walk, and as they mounted the steps, Darcy resolved upon one thing only: he would observe more carefully henceforth. He had misjudged Hurst by accepting appearances; he would not repeat the error with Bingley. Friendship did not absolve folly, nor did good intentions excuse negligence.
Inside, the sound of laughter drifted toward them from the drawing room—light, untroubled, entirely at odds with the realities Darcy now perceived. He paused before crossing the threshold, struck by the strange dissonance of it all: prosperity balanced upon imprudence, affection shadowed by consequence.
Netherfield stood secure for the moment. But foundations, once cracked, did not announce their failure until it was too late.
Darcy straightened, schooled his expression, and entered the room—bearing the weight of knowledge that could not yet be spoken, and might, in time, prove impossible to ignore.
Chapter Eleven
“Really, Charles, must we entertain the Bennets? They are in every way objectionable.” Miss Bingley’s voice grated on Darcy’s ears, sharp as a poorly tuned violin. She sat very straight at the table, chin lifted, every line of her posture announcing her displeasure. Already conflicted after his conversation with Hurst, Darcy wished he could retreat to his chambers and contemplate the mess his friend had created of his life. He moved his spoon around the soup bowl without lifting a bite to his mouth, watching the pale surface ripple with each idle motion.
The dining room at Netherfield was handsome enough—high ceilings, polished mahogany, a well-laid table gleaming in candlelight—but the air felt thick with irritation. Darcy could not recall another evening on which Miss Bingley’s voice had seemed so persistently intrusive.
“Yes, Caroline, we must. They are the first family of the area—”
“You mean they were.” Miss Bingley smirked and lifted her wineglass, the ruby liquid catching the light as she took a delicate sip, as though punctuating her remark with disdain.
“Be that as it may, the Bennets are a family of longstanding. They have already earned their acceptance. I am new here and thus must make the effort to be pleasing.” Bingley grinned, entirely untroubled, his good humor as irrepressible as ever. “Any of that aside, Miss Bennet is delightful company. I would enjoy knowing more of her.”
Darcy felt his jaw tighten, though he kept his expression neutral. He did not know whether to be relieved or concerned by his friend’s enthusiasm.
“Yes, Miss Bennet is a pretty girl, I grant you that.” Miss Bingley sniffed disdainfully. “She is a classical beauty—the perfect example of an English rose. But her family and her circumstances! My dear brother, I have it from Miss Long that the Bennets’ estate is entailed. Marriage into such a family would do nothing to raise your consequence.”
Darcy ceased listening to the brother and sister squabble. Their voices faded into a dull hum as his concern for Bingley’s fortune and future pressed heavily upon his mind. He had watched his friend drift from one enthusiasm to the next before, guided more by inclination than prudence. Had he not been raised to help those who needed it—to offer assistance in any way that might relieve burdens? It was a principle instilled early and reinforced often. Yet principles were of little use when they were resented.
Bingley does not truly wish for my aid,he mused, finally putting some soup into his mouth. He winced slightly—it was far too salty for his liking. The small discomfort mirrored his larger dissatisfaction. Darcy placed his spoon back into the bowl and reached for a soft, brown roll, tearing off a piece absently.
“Louisa, I do wish you would help me convince our brother of this folly.” Miss Bingley’s voice broke his attention once more, her gaze flicking pointedly toward Mrs. Hurst, seemingly in expectation of an ally.
“On the contrary, dear sister, Charles is correct. He must form friendships with his neighbors. Hurst has told me all about it.”
