Chapter Six #3
“Very well,” Darcy said, rising with fluid grace. “I shall follow your counsel and take every precaution to protect not only myself, but my sister. Thank you, Hurst. Would you and Louisa join Georgiana and me for dinner next week?”
“I shall have Louisa send a note with our availability,” Hurst promised, raising his glass in a small salute.
With that, Darcy called for his carriage.
Many troubling thoughts swirled through his mind on the ride back to his town house, each more unsettling than the last. Though confident in Hurst’s discretion, a half-forgotten conversation with Bingley nagged at his memory.
Upon reaching his residence, he strode directly to his study, where he penned two letters, one to his solicitor, the other to a discreet investigator whose services had proved invaluable during the Wickham affair.
The matter required delicacy; someone accustomed to navigating London’s shadowed underbelly, where gentlemen’s agreements held no sway and truth could be purchased for the right price.
Hours later, after bidding Georgiana goodnight with a distracted kiss to her forehead, Darcy returned to his study.
He poured himself a generous measure of brandy and sank into his leather chair, worn smooth at the arms from generations of Darcy men contemplating family matters.
As he sipped the amber liquid, his thoughts drifted to Hertfordshire.
A specific conversation at Netherfield resurfaced with such clarity, the glass nearly slipped from his fingers as comprehension dawned, cold and sickening.
He recalled an evening alone with Bingley after Hurst had retired, both gentlemen indulging in several glasses of fine port brandy. Bingley, his speech loosened by spirits, had lamented the financial burden of his sister’s extravagance after she had, yet again, exhausted her quarterly allowance.
“These expenditures are beyond my means at present,” Bingley had said, punctuating his complaint with an indelicate belch that echoed in the otherwise silent billiards room.
“Not when my investments are yielding less than anticipated. And yet, I must give in to her demands until she marries, and the purchase of unnecessary fripperies and ghastly feathered monstrosities she calls hats falls to her husband. A damned waste of money, if you ask me. What need has she of more silk and lace, when she will primarily reside in the country?” A self-satisfied chuckle escaped him.
“I do not believe she has thought that far ahead, as she cannot see beyond draping herself in expensive silks and capering about in elegant carriages. She conveniently overlooks that her intended’s estate lies a three-day journey from town. ”
“Your sister has formed an attachment?” Darcy enquired, his eyebrow arching sharply as he straightened in his wingback chair. Bingley had never indicated that she held any gentleman in esteem. “Am I acquainted with the gentleman?”
“I believe you are,” Bingley replied, with a sly grin. “But I shall divulge nothing further. I do not wish to cast misfortune on my sister’s goals and dreams.”
In retrospect, Darcy’s gut recoiled. How could he have been so obtuse?
Bingley could not have been clearer if he had written a treatise on the subject, complete with diagrams, detailing the impending nuptials of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Caroline Bingley.
The invitation to partake in a ‘shooting party’ in Hertfordshire this past autumn now had shades of a Machiavellian intent, a spider’s web spun with careful precision.
Not for the first time, Darcy thanked his lucky stars that both he and his valet always ensured his chamber doors, along with any servant’s access, were securely locked when staying under the roof of an unmarried woman.
Not that he would have offered that woman marriage if she had successfully trapped him. He would fall in disgrace, taking his innocent sister with him, before shackling himself to such a viper as she.
A second vignette dropped in his memory like a pebble in a smooth lake. The night of Bingley’s ball, when Miss Bingley, her face pinched with disapproval, had remarked on her brother’s imprudent attentions to Miss Bennet.
I cannot believe he has strayed so far from our goals and dreams.
Goals and dreams.
The phrase reverberated through his thoughts, hollow as his footfalls had been that night at Netherfield, when he had followed Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst down the shadowed hallway to that secluded parlour.
There, with voices lowered and consciences quieted, they had plotted to sever Bingley from the eldest Bennet daughter.
Little did he know those goals and dreams had also included him.
A week later, Darcy found himself scrutinizing a detailed report covered in neat, damning script. Though the Yorkshire inquiries remained outstanding, the London intelligence alone proved overwhelming in its scope and implications.
Freed at last from their father’s stringent control over the family fortune, the two Bingley siblings promptly embarked on a lavish spending spree that would have made even the most indulgent aristocrat blush.
Their purchases included horses and carriages, entirely new wardrobes, extravagant entertainments where champagne flowed like water, rare wines, port, and brandy, and — even more superfluously — a complete redecoration of their Mayfair town house.
The lease itself cost a small fortune, and although the rooms had already been appointed with elegant furnishings, Miss Bingley insisted on replacing every damask curtain and mahogany side table with items that better reflected her ostentatious taste.
By far the most excessive outlay was Charles Bingley’s one-year lease of Netherfield Park, which he abandoned less than two months after taking possession.
Darcy could not entirely absolve himself of blame; he had deliberately painted Miss Jane Bennet’s affections as tepid, fearing that Charles might succumb to her luminous blue eyes and gentle demeanour.
In retrospect, his intervention had very likely spared the eldest Bennet daughter from a life of genteel poverty, given the alarming rate at which Bingley’s finances were deteriorating.
After scanning the meticulous columns of figures in his solicitor’s handwriting, Darcy was stunned to discover that more than half of Bingley’s inheritance, a sum that had once seemed inexhaustible, was nearly depleted, with twenty thousand pounds of the remainder irrevocably committed to Miss Bingley’s trust. This explained Bingley’s muted reaction when Darcy and his sister cautioned him against Miss Bennet: he was in urgent need of an heiress whose fortune could restore his dwindling resources.
Miss Eldridge, whose dowry reportedly exceeded thirty thousand pounds, would replenish the Bingley coffers which would be depleted when Miss Bingley married.
Setting the report aside, Darcy took up fresh paper and penned three resolutions in his bold, slanting script.
First, he would withdraw Bingleys’ invitation to Pemberley in August, sending a separate invitation later to Mr. and Mrs. Hurst alone.
Second, he would speak again with Hurst, though Darcy suspected that his shrewd friend already comprehended his in-laws’ precarious situation.
Indeed, Hurst had alluded to it earlier that week when he and his wife joined him for dinner.
Finally, with a firm hand that betrayed no hesitation, Darcy resolved to request a discreet review of Bingley’s membership at their exclusive gentlemen’s establishment.
It was Darcy’s endorsement that had secured the young man’s acceptance, and he would not allow the venerated name of Darcy to be tarnished by association with the scandal that loomed on the horizon like a gathering storm if Bingley’s finances continued to hemorrhage at its present alarming rate.