Chapter Twenty #2
“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 we ensure 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.”
“And Miss Bingley?” Darcy said.
“In the drawing room,” Hurst replied, with unmistakable weariness. “Likely composing a list of all the ways the neighborhood has offended her.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. Miss Bingley was odious, but that did not mean she deserved to be stripped of her future. No woman did.
He looked at Hurst then, truly looked. “What concern of mine are your family squabbles? I have tried—Bingley will not listen. Why tell me this? You say we must force him, but I fear there is little I can do to sway him now.”
Hurst’s expression shifted into something almost embarrassed.
“I tell you because,” he said, and the word sounded grudging, “if Charles ruins himself, we are tainted by connection. And if he takes Caroline’s money, he ruins her too.
I do not particularly like my sister-in-law, but I do not wish her to become desperate.
Desperate women become dangerous, and I have enough danger without it. ”
Darcy nodded once. He did not waste words on thanks. Hurst would not want them, and Darcy would not cheapen the moment by making it sentimental.
Instead, he said, “I will speak with him again—one final time. You cannot ask more of me.”
Hurst’s eyes flicked with skepticism. “And if he refuses you?”
Darcy’s gaze sharpened. “At what point does assistance become officiousness?” he countered. “Bingley is his own man, even if he insists on acting like a child. Though I promise to do what I can.” As I always have.
Hurst nodded in agreement but said nothing more.
Darcy’s jaw tightened. A faint sound drifted toward them—footsteps, quick and light. A servant passing, perhaps. The household still moved, still functioned, but Darcy could feel the crack widening beneath the polished surface.
He turned back to Hurst. “Bingley intends to be in London before nightfall?”
Hurst’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes.”
Darcy nodded once. “Then I must act before he goes.”
Hurst pushed off the wall. “Good luck.”
Darcy’s gaze lingered on him. “If you hear more—anything—send word to me at once.”
Hurst hesitated, then inclined his head. “Very well.”
Darcy started down the corridor toward the study again, his steps measured, his expression calm, though inside his thoughts were anything but.
Bingley was not merely courting danger now. He was running toward it, blindfolded by pride, and willing—terrifyingly willing—to drag others with him.
Darcy’s hand tightened into a fist as he walked. He thought of Miss Bennet’s gentle composure, of the way she tried to see only good. He thought of the fevered county—and Bingley—intent on digging up earth with greedy hands, and of the fragile line between excitement and ruin.
And then, with a clarity that burned cold and bright, he accepted what he had resisted for days. This was no longer a matter of advice. It was a matter of rescue. He would do all in his power to save his friend from ruin. Whether or not Bingley would allow it was another matter entirely.