The words hung heavily in the room.
Dangerously close.
Darcy thought suddenly of Rome again. Not collapse through catastrophe, but collapse through long neglect while those responsible insisted everything remained splendid.
Outside the solicitor’s windows, London rolled onward in complete indifference.
At last Darcy nodded once. “Very well,” he said quietly. “Every legitimate debt shall be paid.”
Bingley turned toward him immediately. “Darcy—”
“No.” Darcy’s voice remained calm but immovable. “The name Darcy will not become synonymous with dishonor.”
And so the coffers began slowly emptying.
Each week more money disappeared.
Jewelry accounts.
Wine merchants.
Stable debts.
Furniture makers.
Tailors.
Printers.
Servants’ delayed wages.
Darcy paid them methodically one after another while the numbers in the estate ledgers dwindled lower and lower beneath his hand.
At night, exhaustion settled so heavily upon him that even sleep became difficult. He often remained alone in the study long after midnight surrounded by candlelight and account books while rain whispered against the windows of Grosvenor Square.
Sometimes he caught himself staring at his father’s chair with a strange mixture of anger and grief so tangled together he could scarcely separate them.
Bingley remained as long as he reasonably could.
Long enough to help restore order to the townhouse. Long enough to quietly intercept several particularly aggressive creditors before Darcy lost patience entirely. Long enough to coax actual meals into him when he became too absorbed in work to notice hunger.
But eventually obligations called him northward again.
His father remained heavily involved in trade, and Bingley’s sisters required escorting through a seemingly endless parade of social engagements and family visits.
The evening before his departure, Bingley found Darcy alone in the study once more, sleeves rolled back and candlelight illuminating the exhaustion carved sharply into his face.
“You look dreadful,” Bingley announced.
Darcy continued scanning a ledger. “Thank you.”
“I mean it seriously.”
“So do I.”
Bingley sighed and crossed toward the desk. “You cannot continue at this pace indefinitely.”
Darcy finally looked up then.
