The house did not feel the same.
Netherfield was handsome and orderly, built for comfort and hospitality, but today the very walls seemed to listen. Servants moved with that careful quiet that meant they had heard raisedvoices and did not wish to risk drawing attention. Somewhere down the passage, a door clicked softly shut. Somewhere else, a footfall paused and then hurried away.
Darcy’s jaw tightened. This was precisely what he had warned Bingley against: not merely the shame of losing his temper, but the inevitable spread of it. A master’s unrest seeped through a household like damp.
He had nearly reached the stairs when he heard a low voice behind him.
“Darcy.”
Mr. Hurst emerged from a shadowed alcove near the morning room, one hand half-tucked into his waistcoat pocket as if he had been waiting there longer than he cared to admit. His expression was unusually alert. Not sympathetic—Hurst was not a man prone to sympathy—but attentive in a way that suggested he possessed information he found mildly entertaining.
Darcy stopped. “Hurst.”
Hurst’s mouth twitched. “Bingley has finally shown you his teeth, I take it.”
Darcy did not indulge that. “What do you want?”
“Ah.” Hurst lifted his brows. “Straight to it. Very well. I wanted to know whether you were aware of what is happening.”
Darcy’s stomach tightened. “If you mean his finances, then no. Not in detail.”
Hurst’s eyes flicked over Darcy’s face, assessing. “Then you truly do not know.”
“I am beginning to suspect enough,” Darcy said, voice controlled. “You imply you know more.”
“I overheard him,” Hurst replied, like this were the most natural thing in the world. “This morning. In the corridor outside his room.”
Darcy’s gaze sharpened. “Overheard him speaking with whom.”
“With himself,” Hurst said. “Or perhaps his valet. Whoever it is that dresses him and is paid to listen when the master wishes to talk without admitting he needs counsel.”
Darcy’s hand curled at his side. “And you listened.”
Hurst’s shrug was almost elegant in its indifference. “He was not whispering. His door was partially open, and he was pacing like a caged animal. Goodness, he was speaking loudly enough that a deaf grandmother could have followed the conversation. It seemed…unwise not to absorb the information.”
Darcy held his stare. “What did he say?”
Hurst’s expression sobered a fraction, as if even he could not fully turn this into amusement. “He said he had received another letter. From London. He said the creditors would not wait much longer. He said—” Hurst paused, the faintest crease appearing between his brows, “—that he had not understood it could become so bad so quickly.”
The words struck Darcy like cold water.Creditors. It was one thing to be strained. It was another thing entirely to be pursued.
Darcy forced his voice to remain even. “Did he mention sums?”
“No,” Hurst said. “Only that there were ‘demands’ and ‘notes’ and ‘the devil’ and ‘how could they do this to me.’”
Darcy’s jaw tightened at the childishness of that last sentiment. “And his intention to go to town.”
“Oh, yes.” Hurst’s eyes held a faint gleam. “He intends to go at once. He told the valet to have trunks packed for a short stay and to ensure that his curricle is readied, not the carriage, because he wishes to travel quickly and without fuss.”
Darcy began fitting the pieces together. Quick travel, trunks, a man of business. And a refusal to allow Darcy to accompany him.Pride and panic.
Hurst continued, tone turning more deliberate. “I did some snooping.”
Darcy’s gaze snapped. “You did what?”
Hurst did not flinch. “Do not look so moral, Darcy. You would have done the same if you possessed my curiosity and half my leisure.”
“I possess both,” Darcy said coldly. “I simply do not use them to pry into my host’s private affairs.”
