Page 91 of Triumph at Pemberley

Jane’s brow wrinkled. “Surely there must be some misunderstanding. He would never do such a thing. He is all kindness and loyalty.”

“There is no doubt, I am sorry to say. One of Granny’s mage powers is truth-casting, which means no one can lie to her. I heard him admit it himself. He said you were trapped by French spies, and they would not release you until he promised to help them.”

“No, no, no! That is not what happened. It was poachers, not spies, and he simply gave them some money and promised not to prosecute them.”

“That may be what he told you, but it is not true.” Elizabeth tried to sound both sympathetic and firm. “When you are ready, we will have him tell you himself, in front of Granny where he cannot soften the truth. I cannot imagine how hard this is to hear. The only thing I can say in his defense is that he seems to have agreed to it only to keep you and his sisters safe.”

Her face crumpled. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” How she hated breaking her sister’s heart this way!

“I do not understand!” Tears began to pour down Jane’s cheeks, her shoulders shaking.

All Elizabeth could do was to hold Jane while she cried, trying to push away her own anger at Bingley for now. How could she, though? Napoleon had been pursuing Darcy ever since his journey to France, so that was nothing new. But now Bingley had exposed her beloved Cerridwen and all the Pemberley Nest to their great enemy. Her dragon, who would now be hunted, and could be forced into violent servitude.

She would never forgive that.

Darcy crumpled another attempt at a letter and threw it into the fire. It would have been easier to put it in the rubbish, but he needed the release of watching the flames leap up. It was the only satisfaction he could find.

How could Bingley have done this? Amiable, trusting, generous Bingley, of all people?

Now Darcy had no choice but to report his crimes, even though the War Office had also betrayed him.

Elizabeth stepped through the door he had left ajar for that reason. She slipped behind his chair and began to rub his shoulders methodically. “You look as if that piece of paper has personally offended you,” she said lightly.

He leaned his head back against her. How was it that her presence could calm him, even in a situation like this? “The War Office tried to turn me over to Napoleon, after everything I risked for them. I cannot trust them.” He let out a hiss of frustration. “I am well aware Bingley has brought this on himself, but still, it also feels wrong.”

She kneaded his tight muscles silently for a moment. “Would the War Office even read such a letter right now, when they are fighting off the invasion? If the War Office still exists, that is. If Napoleon has not taken London.”

He groaned, both from the release in his muscles and at the thought he tried so hard to avoid. “They do have other things on their minds. But still…”

“Is there no one else you can tell, someone who could handle it more privately? Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam? You could even report it directly to the King, since he claims to be in your debt.”

A strange thought. “Or my Uncle Matlock, I suppose. He could tell the Prime Minister. Even though Bingley is guilty, I would rather it be handled privately. He may well escape a charge of treason, since his crimes were primarily against me. But this will hang over his head forever. He will never be able to hold up his head in public again. I am signing away any hope for his future. Your sister will not escape the social repercussions, either.”

“Must this be done immediately? He cannot be allowed to go unpunished, but I wonder if we could turn this to our advantage in the meantime.”

He tipped up his head to look at her. “What do you mean?”

Her brow was furrowed. “He has made our dragons a target. What if we told him to write another letter saying the dragons had left? They would have no reason not to believe it. There might be other misleading things we could ask him to say, too.”

“That would keep his sisters safe, too,” Darcy said slowly. “If his letters stop, they would be in danger.” He had no great fondness for Bingley’s sisters from the rare occasions he had met them, but they did not deserve to die because of this. “It is worth considering.”

“Where is Bingley now?”

“For the moment, in one of the guest rooms, with footmen guarding the door and another below the window. The butler is looking into more secure arrangements.” Darcy could not bring himself to lock Bingley in an empty attic as Hobbes had first suggested, not when he still had nightmares about being imprisoned and helpless in a French cellar. “How did your sister take the news?”

“She is distraught, of course, and furious with him. Somehow, though, she did not seem completely surprised he would crumble under pressure from the French, nor keep it a secret from her.” She raised her hand to stroke his cheek. “It made me realize how fortunate I am in my husband. You are far too stubborn to give in to persuasion!”

He leaned his head into her hand. “And I have finally learned not to keep secrets from you,” he said with a smile. “Unless I can blame a dragon binding.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before resuming their kneading. “I look forward to the day when bindings are no longer necessary.”

So did he. Fervently. And how desperately he wished now that he had asked for a binding on Bingley.

Darcy stepped into Bingley’s room after a footman unlocked the door for him. Not a bad place to be imprisoned; it was one of their smaller guest rooms, nicely furnished, with a window overlooking the park. It was a far cry from the French cellar he had been locked in, but it was still a prison. Bingley was allowed to go for walks with a guard each day.

Bingley had changed in his three days of imprisonment. He slumped in an armchair, his usually tidy attire wrinkled. A decanter and a half-full glass sat on a small table beside him. He raised his head for a moment, and then looked away. “What do you want, Darcy?”