Darcy felt something cold settle in his chest.
“I was scandalized,” Miss Bingley said sharply. “Utterly. I told him that such thinking was beneath us both—and beneath you. I will not be a party to manipulation, nor will I continue to make myself ridiculous by pursuing a gentleman whose regard lies elsewhere. You have made your decision.”
She lifted her chin.
“I left the room after that.”
For a long moment, Darcy could not speak. The implications of her words unfolded slowly, each more troubling than the last.
“Thank you,” he said at last, quietly. “For telling me—for putting me on my guard.”
Miss Bingley’s shoulders eased a fraction, as if she had been bracing for reproach.
“I thought you ought to know. Whatever my faults, I will not take part in such a devious plot, especially after our…discussion.”
Darcy regarded her with new eyes.
Caroline Bingley had long irritated him—her vanity, her barbs, her transparent designs. Yet now, confronted with her composure and clear-eyed rejection of her brother’s scheme, he felt a strange new respect for the lady.
He knew then that she was no danger to him.
She rose.
“I believe I shall play. Music is preferable to silence when I am troubled.”
And with that, she crossed the anteroom and went into the drawing room, seating herself at the pianoforte. Moments later, the opening notes of a restrained, melancholy piece filled thespace—something measured, elegant, and entirely unsuited to idle display.
Darcy remained where he was, his thoughts in disarray. If Charles believed marriage—any marriage—could resolve his difficulties, then matters were far worse than Darcy had feared.
“Extraordinary,” drawled a familiar voice.
Hurst appeared in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp with interest.
“You look like a man who has just been handed a particularly unwelcome truth.”
Darcy did not bother to dissemble. “I have.”
Hurst crossed the room and lowered himself into a chair opposite him without waiting for an invitation.
“Then you will appreciate this.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“I went prying.”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. “I suspected as much.”
“I overheard my brother speaking with his valet before supper,” Hurst continued. “And then I asked a few careful questions of my own. It seems our friend learned something in town that did not please him.”
Darcy’s attention sharpened. “Go on.”
“He cannot access Caroline’s dowry.”
Darcy exhaled slowly. The situation was precisely what he had expected.
“Whatever arrangements were made,” Hurst said, “they were more restrictive than Bingley believed. Her portion is settled firmly—beyond his reach. And his own funds…”
Hurst’s mouth curved faintly, without humor.
