Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“No,” Jane replied. “Not directly. But the implication was unmistakable. He suggested that some families might prefer discretion to honesty.” Her eyes shone, though no tears fell. “Lizzy, it was unkind. And when I objected, he seemed…angered.”
Elizabeth drew her sister to the settee and made her sit. “You did nothing wrong. You never do. But your honesty—your openness—sometimes invites others to assume they may push where they have no right.”
Jane gave a faint, unhappy smile. “I know. Forgive me. I wish I were less transparent. I could not hide my uneasiness at the interrogation, and I fear he noticed.”
“He noticed because he was looking for it,” Elizabeth said firmly. “And because he suspects more than he knows.”
Jane’s fingers tightened on Elizabeth’s sleeve. “Do you think Papa will act soon?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “I hope so. We can only hope he chooses what is right—before circumstances force his hand.”
Jane nodded, though uncertainty lingered in her expression. “I dislike secrets. They weigh upon me. And you have borne it far longer than me.”
“As they do upon us all,” Elizabeth murmured.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, followed by the familiar cadence of voices. Mrs. Hill’s announcement came moments later.
“Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, ma’am.”
Jane leaned close as the door opened, her voice barely more than breath. “When,” she whispered urgently, “will you tell him?”
Elizabeth did not answer at once. She rose as the gentlemen entered, schooling her features into composure even as her heart quickened.
Soon, she thought. Very soon.
Darcy’s gaze found Elizabeth almost at once, as though drawn by instinct rather than sight.
Fitzwilliam bowed to the room with easy charm.
He was promptly claimed by Mrs. Bennet as she entered the room and ushered him toward Jane with barely contained enthusiasm.
Darcy lingered only long enough to exchange polite greetings with the others before moving closer to Elizabeth, lowering his voice.
“You seem troubled,” he said quietly. “Have I arrived at an inopportune moment?”
Elizabeth managed a small smile. “Not at all. We are glad to see you.” It was true; however, the weight of what had just passed made the words feel thin. “Jane has only just returned from a ride.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. “With Bingley?”
“Yes.” She hesitated, then added, “It did not go well.”
His expression darkened at once, concern sharpening into something closer to anger. “In what way?”
Elizabeth kept her tone measured. “He pressed her with questions—about the recent discoveries, about the neighborhood, about matters that were not his to pursue. Jane does not respond well to…forcefulness.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I feared as much.” He glanced briefly toward Jane, who was speaking with Fitzwilliam, her posture still a little stiff but easing as her future cousin-in-law listened with genuine attention. “I am very sorry. I should have intervened sooner.”
“You could not have known,” Elizabeth said gently. “But I thought you ought to know how matters stand. Jane was made uncomfortable, and that is no small thing.”
“No,” Darcy agreed. “It is not.” He was silent for a moment, clearly weighing something. Then he looked back at her, his eyes intent. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”
The question was softly spoken, but it landed with unmistakable weight.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, she thought she might say everything—that the secret was poisoning her peace, that her father’s indecision frightened her, that the ground beneath their feet quite literally hid the truth.
She saw the crate again, the gold gleaming by candlelight, her father’s conflicted face.
Instead, she shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “Nothing more.”
Darcy studied her, not with suspicion, but with careful attention—an awareness that did not accuse yet did not accept the answer without reservation. She could see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes, in the way his hand flexed once at his side.
“I believe you,” he said at last, though the words were chosen with care. “And I also believe there is more you are not yet ready to share.”
Elizabeth felt both relief and a pang of guilt. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice soft. “For not pressing me.”
“I would never force your confidence,” Darcy said. “Whatever you choose to tell me, you shall do so freely—or not at all.” His mouth curved into a faint, reassuring smile. “I trust you, Elizabeth.”
The words settled over her like a promise. She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
Across the room, Fitzwilliam laughed at something Jane had said, and the sound seemed to draw Jane fully back into herself. Elizabeth watched her sister’s shoulders relax, her smile grow more genuine, and felt a small easing in her chest.
Darcy followed her gaze. “She seems more at ease now.”
“She is,” Elizabeth said. “That is not insignificant.”
“No,” he agreed again. “It tells me much.”
They stood in companionable quiet for a moment, the unspoken stretching between them—not strained, but full. Elizabeth knew Darcy sensed the truth hovering just beyond her silence. She also knew that when she did choose to speak, he would listen.
For now, his restraint was a gift she did not take lightly.
Darcy had scarcely settled himself into the rhythm of the ride back toward Purvis Lodge when the groom from Netherfield overtook him, breathless and red-cheeked, bearing Mr. Hurst’s summons.
With a frown of faint apprehension, Darcy turned his horse and retraced his path.
Something in the urgency of the message sat ill with him.
He found the estate in a state of uneasy quiet.
The house, once so animated by Bingley’s exuberant hospitality, now felt subdued, as though the walls themselves were holding a breath.
Darcy handed off his reins and entered at once, where he was met not by Bingley, but by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst—and, to his surprise, Caroline Bingley—assembled together in the smaller drawing room.
At least I shall not face this alone, Darcy thought grimly, with Richard at his side.
“Darcy,” Hurst said, rising at once. “Thank you for coming so quickly. And Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Of course,” Darcy replied, glancing briefly at Miss Bingley, who stood with her new, uncharacteristic composure near the hearth. “You sent word that something was amiss.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Hurst said. He gestured for Darcy and Richard to sit, though Darcy remained standing, a habit he found difficult to abandon when tension lingered in the air.
“Charles returned from Longbourn in a temper and has since shut himself up in his study. He will neither take tea nor receive company.”
Darcy’s mouth tightened. “Is he well?”
Mrs. Hurst folded her hands in her lap. “He was…unsettled before he left. Whatever occurred has clearly done nothing to improve his spirits.”
Miss Bingley cleared her throat softly. Darcy turned to her, prepared for sharpness, for resentment—for anything but what he found.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said evenly, “we wished to speak with you before matters worsened further.” Her tone was gentle. Measured. Almost humble.
Darcy blinked. Richard’s brows lifted, though he said nothing.
Miss Bingley continued, “It has become clear that my brother’s situation—both financial and emotional—is no longer tenable for continued shared residence. Netherfield is…not a pleasant environment at present.”
“That is putting it mildly,” Hurst muttered.
Mrs. Hurst shot him a warning look, then addressed Darcy. “We wondered whether an invitation might be extended for us to stay at Purvis Lodge. We have no desire to return to town yet. The renovations on our townhouse are still underway.”
The request landed with unexpected gentleness. Darcy felt his shoulders loosen almost at once.
“You would be very welcome,” he said without hesitation. “The lodge was secured precisely to avoid discomfort—to all parties.”
Richard smiled faintly. “And with Mrs. Hurst present, there will be a proper hostess. We may even entertain, should circumstances allow.”
Mrs. Hurst inclined her head. “That was my thought as well. I have no desire to impose, but I believe it may be the most harmonious solution.”
Darcy studied Miss Bingley again. She met his gaze steadily.
“I should like to say something,” she said quietly.
Darcy nodded.
“I am aware,” Miss Bingley went on, “that my former conduct toward you was…overzealous. I mistook civility for encouragement and allowed my expectations to grow where no foundation existed. If I ever caused you to feel uneasy, I regret it sincerely.”
The words were plainly spoken, without artifice. She had already apologized once, though not in so public a setting.
Darcy felt a curious mix of relief and admiration. “You have not offended me, Miss Bingley,” he replied honestly. “But I appreciate your candor.”
Richard shot him an amused glance that said everything: Well, this is new.
Miss Bingley exhaled, visibly lighter. “Thank you. I am content with friendship—and peace.”
For a fleeting moment, Darcy allowed himself to believe that peace might indeed be possible.
The door to the drawing room flew open.
“So,” Bingley’s voice rang out, sharp and incredulous, “this is how it is done.”
All five turned.
Bingley stood in the doorway, his hair disordered, his cravat loosened, his eyes bright with agitation. He had clearly overheard more than was intended.
“You gather in secret,” he continued bitterly, “to arrange your departure. My own family—my guests—abandoning me without so much as a word.”
“Charles,” Mrs. Hurst began, rising at once, “that is not—”
“Do not!” he snapped. “Do not pretend this is anything but what it is. You are leaving because I am inconvenient. Because I am no longer amusing.”
Darcy stepped forward. “Bingley, no one is abandoning you. This arrangement is meant to ease tensions—for everyone.”
“Oh, spare me your benevolence,” Bingley sneered. “You and your cousin have already taken everything else. My household. My neighbors…even my—” His voice faltered, then hardened again. “Even my family now prefers your company.”
“That is not fair,” Miss Bingley said quietly. “And you know it.”
Bingley rounded on her. “And you, Caroline? You stand there and smile while they plan to decamp? Have you no loyalty?”
“I have loyalty,” she replied steadily. “But I will not sacrifice my dignity—or theirs—to indulge your temper.”
Hurst moved closer to Darcy, muttering under his breath, “Heaven help him. He is unraveling.”
Bingley laughed, harsh and humorless. “Very well. Go. All of you. Leave me to manage my affairs alone, as I apparently always have.”
Darcy held his gaze. “You are not alone, Bingley. But you cannot expect others to remain if you refuse counsel, reject support, and lash out at those who care for you.”
Silence fell, thick and uncomfortable. For a moment—just a moment—Darcy thought Bingley might relent.
Instead, Bingley turned abruptly and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the windows.
No one spoke. At last, Mrs. Hurst let out a long breath. “That…could have gone better.”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he said softly. “It could have.”
Arrangements were made for the Hursts and Miss Bingley to remove to Purvis Lodge on the morrow.
Even as concern for his friend weighed heavily upon him, Darcy knew the decision was the correct one.
Whatever storms still gathered around Netherfield Park, he and Richard—and those who chose peace—would weather them elsewhere.
Bingley’s desperation had begun to curdle into something dangerous.
And Darcy feared that unless checked soon, it would cost them all far more than he wished.