And then—
“Caroline!”
Bingley’s voice cracked like a whip, and Darcy’s head whipped around to stare at his friend.“Enough.”
Miss Bingley faltered mid-breath. She turned, startled, and saw him standing tall in the doorway, eyes blazing. “But Charles—”
“No!” His voice was sharp with an authority that Darcy had never heard from his friend before. “Not another word.”
He moved forward the last few steps to the staircase and stood beside Elizabeth, facing his sister. “Howdareyou speak to her so? How dare youbehaveso?”
“I was only—”
“You were cruel. Deliberately, shamefully cruel. I have excused you for years. I allowed your vanity, your pretensions, your pride to go unchecked for the sake of peace. But this?” His hand swept toward Elizabeth. “You left a sick woman to shiver alone in a cold room, and now you insult her sister—who came here out of nothing but love and concern—with slander? What happened to you?”
Caroline stared, mouth agape.
“You were not always like this,” Bingley continued, his voice thick with restrained fury. “You were once kind. But now all I see is arrogance and envy. And for what? Miss Bennet is gentle, lovely, and gracious. Everything you are not.”
Miss Bingley’s mouth quivered. She glanced to Darcy for rescue, but he stood with arms folded, gaze cool and steady.
“Donotlook at Darcy,” he snapped, when her gaze flicked desperately in that direction. “He will not protect you. He only tolerates you for my sake. You have chased him like a fox in a hound pack. But he will never offer for you. You are not what hewants—he values affection, kindness, sincerity. None of which you possess.”
Caroline looked at Darcy with a mixture of horror and disbelief. He met her eyes without blinking and nodded slowly. “Your brother speaks the truth.”
It was a death blow.
She staggered back a step, hands pressed to her mouth, eyes brimming.
Darcy was vaguely aware of the housemaid still halfway up the stairs, gripping the banister as if it were a lifeline. Another servant had come in from the side corridor and was now standing stock still, eyes wide, clearly enjoying the spectacle more than decorum permitted.
In another circumstance, he might be urging Bingley to lower his voice, to be more discreet, to conduct the conversation in privacy.
But now? Now he did not care.
Bingley’s voice was cold steel now. “As of this morning, you are no longer mistress of Netherfield. Your accounts are closed. I will no longer pay your dressmaker, your perfumer, your modiste, your—your absurd little book club subscriptions. You may remain here only so long as you are silent and penitent. The next outburst, Caroline, and I will send you to Scarborough to board with Aunt Thistlethwaite and her cats. Or better yet, to Town, to live on your own—without my support.”
Caroline gasped. “You wouldruinme.”
“I do not need to,” he said, voice soft now. “You have done it yourself.”
Bingley stood unmoving. Darcy could see the trembling rage beneath his friend’s stillness, and he could only wait with bated breath.
Chapter 14
Elizabeth stood very still.
For a moment, she could neither speak nor move. The force of what had just occurred seemed to press against her chest, stealing her breath. Her hands were clasped before her, and she felt the chill of the floorboards rising through her stockinged feet, but still she stood—rooted.
She had expected sharpness from Miss Bingley—had even braced herself for it. The accusations at first had been so outrageous they bordered on absurd. Trapping a gentleman? Sneaking into the house? Such nonsense might have been laughed away under other circumstances.
But then the word had been spoken.
Hussy.
The sound of it still rang in her ears.
Elizabeth felt heat rush to her face, fury tightening her chest until breathing became an effort. She had never, in all her life, been spoken to in such a manner. Not by a stranger. Not by an equal. Not even by those who disliked her. The insult had struck not merely at her pride, but at her honor—and for a terrible instant, she had been certain no one would intervene.
