Darcy’s brows drew together. “You do not know whether your brother can take his sister’s dowry? That is unfortunate.”
Hurst lifted one shoulder. “There is no simple answer, Darcy. It depends upon how it is settled.”
Darcy felt a familiar tension behind his eyes—the frustration of imperfect knowledge when clarity mattered most.
Hurst continued. “If the money is held in trust—if it is tied up with trustees and conditions—then Bingley cannot simply walk into a bank and withdraw it like a man taking coins from a purse. Often, such sums are placed in the funds, and the interestis paid out to support the woman. Sometimes it is controlled by a guardian or trustees until she marries. And to my detriment, I did not take heed of such matters when I married Louisa. My father handled everything.”
Darcy’s mind turned swiftly. In the Bingleys’ case, their father had died, and Bingley as the brother had likely assumed control of many things. Yet even so—
“And if it is not held in trust?” Darcy pressed.
“Then,” Hurst said slowly, “it may be more accessible. If Bingley is the executor and the money is technically under his management until Caroline marries, he may have more power than he ought.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Power is not right.”
Hurst’s eyes flickered. “No. But men rarely refrain from using the power they possess simply because it is unkind.”
Darcy’s stomach turned. He had hoped Bingley’s manner was mere petulance, but this felt like something darker. Not malice, perhaps, but the willingness to sacrifice another’s security to preserve his own convenience. His voice was low. “Do you think he would truly do it?”
Hurst did not answer immediately. He glanced down the corridor, toward the closed doors that hid the family’s private sitting room. “I think,” he said at last, “that Bingley is frightened. And frightened men convince themselves of many things.”
Darcy’s fists tightened again. “This cannot happen.”
Hurst lifted his brows. “Then let us stop it.”
Darcy’s gaze snapped to him. “You speak as though it is simple.”
“It is simple,” Hurst said, and there it was again—his bluntness, his careless honesty. “Not easy. But simple. We force him to confront reality. Then we bring his man of business here. We must insist that we see the accounts. It is essential that weensure his sister is protected. You do what you always do and I will join you.”
Darcy felt heat rise under his collar. “And you think he will allow it.”
Hurst’s mouth twisted. “He will not like it—indeed, he will sulk. Bingley will rage and he may even accuse you of ruining his life. But that is better than the alternative.”
Darcy stared at him a moment, then said, “You dislike him.”
Hurst blinked, then gave a short laugh. “I do not dislike him. I simply do not believe him guiltless. There is a difference.”
Darcy’s expression tightened. “He has always been good to you.”
“Yes,” Hurst admitted. “And I have always taken his hospitality, his wine, and his dinners with gratitude. But gratitude does not require blindness.”
Darcy exhaled slowly. His mind was already moving through possibilities—letters, calls, men to summon, and the discomfiting necessity of acting without Bingley’s consent. Yet one question remained, pressing against everything else.
“You said you suspect,” Darcy said. “What makes you suspect the dowry?”
Hurst hesitated, then said, “Because I heard him say it.”
Darcy went still again. “He said it outright?”
Hurst nodded once. “Not in grand terms. He did not declare, ‘I shall steal my sister’s fortune.’ He said…he said something like, ‘There is money in the family. Money that ought to help the family. Caroline will have to understand. She has no need of it yet.’”
Darcy’s stomach clenched.
Hurst’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if even he found that remark distasteful. “And then he said, ‘If I do not secure it, they will ruin me.’”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to breathe. When he opened them again, his voice was colder than before. “Where is Mrs. Hurst?” he asked, because he needed to know who else had heard, who else might act.
Hurst’s mouth tightened. “Louisa is upstairs. She is not blind and knows something is wrong. She has been watching Caroline like a hawk and watching Charles like a cook watches a pot that might boil over.”
