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“This blanket is too coarse,” Miss Bingley complained.

“A fortnight,” Elizabeth whispered, and even Jane could not appear sanguine.

CHAPTER 6

Darcy had spent the better part of his morning planning what to say to Bingley. It was not that the subject was difficult. The facts of the matter were simple enough.

Miss Bennet was in London by now. Darcy knew it, had known it, and had not revealed it to Bingley. It had been wrong. The problem was in determining how to tell Bingley in a way that did not make Darcy appear as badly as he deserved.

By the time his carriage stopped before Bingley’s residence, he had devised and discarded three different plans, each of them possessing the same flaw. They began with explanation rather than apology, and after their meeting yesterday, Bingley was unlikely to accept that.

As difficult as it was to admit it, Darcy knew he owed Bingley that apology. Not for his advice, which was sound, but for hiding Miss Bennet’s plans from him.

He was shown into Bingley’s room. His friend did not stand when he entered. He was seated at a writing desk, penning a letter.

Even from here, Darcy could see the blotches.

“If Caroline has sent you,” Bingley said without turning, “you may tell her I have not changed my mind.”

“I have not spoken with your sister, Bingley, nor do I carry her messages.”

“Louisa, then?”

“She is also your sister.”

“Hurst?”

“I do not believe Hurst has sent anyone anywhere, ever, unless it was to bring him his dinner.”

Bingley did not laugh the way Darcy had hoped he might, but he did set his pen down and turn. “Then why are you here?”

“Yesterday you said you planned to return to Netherfield.”

“I still do.”

“That would not be wise.”

Bingley’s voice hardened. “If you mean to stop me, you are wasting your time.”

He had not been offered a chair, and so Darcy remained standing. “If you wish to make the journey, do so by all means. But if you are returning to the country for Miss Bennet, you need not go. For she is already here.”

The change in Bingley’s expression was remarkable, moving from anger to surprise to hope—and then to something far less pleasant.

“What did you say?”

He cleared his throat. “That Miss Bennet is in London, staying with her relations in Gracechurch Street.”

“When did you learn this?”

Darcy braced himself. “On Saturday.”

“Before you spoke to me?”

“No, you had already departed. Your sister received a letter, which she asked me not to mention.”

“So you kept a promise to her but not to me?”

He had not made a promise to Bingley but thought saying so would not be well received. “I believed her to be in the right, Bingley. I admit I still do, given what Miss Bennet told her. But . . .” He took a breath. “I realised, at Jackson’s, that I could not in good conscience allow you to travel to Hertfordshire when I knew it was unnecessary.” He held out the folded bit of paper. “I did not know the number of the house, yesterday,” he said, “but I have since learned it.”