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And here, he stood back, rocking on his heels and patted his expansive belly.

Hurst’s eyes bulged. Bingley shook his head, bewildered, and Darcy stood like a granite statue, waiting for the inevitable descent of the axe.

“Goes to Darcy!” Caroline surged, clapping her hands. “I knew it! That is why Mrs. Bennet fainted, and the Bennets are in a boil. All Darcy has to do is decline her hand, and he gets the money, is that true?”

“Yes, yes, it is.” Sir William surged also, realizing that he was about to lose the audience. “And there is one more complication. A huge one, and the clock is ticking.”

“Oh, I love me a ticking clock mystery,” Louisa said. “Almost as much as a closed room.”

“All of Meryton shall be entertained until Lady Day.” Sir William drew himself up to his full height. “For if the marriage does not take place before midnight on Lady Day—the twenty-fifth of March next—whether by Miss Elizabeth’s refusal, Mr. Darcy’s absence, or any other cause whatsoever—then the entire fortune passes to Mr. Darcy, absolutely and without appeal.”

“Well then.” Mr. Hurst bounded to Darcy, this time shoving the decanter at him. “Congratulations are truly in order. You shall either have the joy of a bride or, if not, be wealthier than King Midas. Surely a hunting-box subscription is pocket change for a man about to receive eighty thousand pounds by March 26. I shall inform Weston to put you down.”

“You shall do no such thing,” Darcy said, clenching his teeth so tightly he feared they would break.

“Are you sure, Sir William?” Louisa asked. “The Bennets lose all claim to their Uncle Henry’s money should the wedding fail to occur?”

“That is my understanding of the terms, yes.” Sir William beamed at being the bearer of such tasty news. “The entire fortune of one Henry Bennet—all that he owns—goes to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley with no strings, no conditions attached. The will was witnessed and signed only this January.”

“And you never told us?” Bingley crossed to Darcy’s side. “That you can save the Bennet family?”

“I am not a fortune hunter,” Darcy repeated. “I do not glory at the terms of this very irregular will.”

“But it highly favors you.” Caroline turned to Darcy with an expression he had never seen before as she hooked her hand around his elbow. “Why, let us take a holiday until Lady Day. Charles, where shall our merry little party sojourn to? The waters of Bath, perhaps or⁠—”

“But…” Bingley blinked, appearing to have woken from a nightmare. “Lady Day is a little over three weeks away on a Wednesday. A proper marriage requires three Sundays of banns, and the first of them is this Sunday. Which means they would need to speak to the rector by… tomorrow at the latest.”

“They will not be speaking to the rector.” Caroline’s voice had gone sharp with certainty. “Darcy is not going to marry her. Are you, Darcy?”

He disengaged his arm from her and backed toward the door. “I have not decided.”

“Not decided! What is there to decide? She despises you. And now you discover you can have her fortune without having her—why would any rational man choose otherwise?”

“It would be wrong to take her money,” Darcy said. “I must explore other solutions.”

“But surely, you will not marry her,” Caroline exclaimed. “Pride and honor cannot mean being made a fool. Her Uncle Henry is playing a joke from beyond the grave. He chose the two people who most detest each other, and he dealt you every trump in the pack. He must have owed you something in a past life.”

“I do not know Henry Bennet,” Darcy said. “And if he is playing a game, he is doing it to his niece’s detriment. Mr. Bennet informs me that Elizabeth was his favorite niece. I do not feel right in taking her money whilst she loses everything.”

“Then do it and don’t feel right.” Caroline crossed to Hurst, who stood with the decanter, and seized it from his unresisting hands. “We toast your freedom, Mr. Darcy, and your good fortune.”

“Hear, hear.” Hurst, always eager for another round, raised his glass. “Let us go to London and eat, drink, and be merry until Lady Day. Anywhere but here, waiting like a sitting duck for Miss Eliza to come and claim her prize.”

“She will not come.” The words escaped before Darcy could stop them. “She told me to find her if I wished to continue the conversation. She will not present herself at Netherfield.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Caroline’s smile widened. “Simply stay here, avoid Longbourn, and let the clock run out. In a few weeks, you will be richer and entirely unencumbered by sharp-tongued country misses with fine eyes and forward manners.”

Darcy swallowed a surge of bile, his stomach twisting at the thought of never seeing those eyes that had haunted him since that first assembly—the same eyes that had sparkled every time Charlotte’s Irish cousin had taken her on a turn, whether on the dance floor or a walk through Meryton.

“I shall stay in the vicinity—if only to be fair to Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy declared.

“Oh, but what is fair and just?” Caroline waxed eloquently, swirling her brandy. “Charles, do say something. Perhaps suggest your friend go shooting in the Yorkshire moors—woodcock and hare are still in season, and the brisk northern air would do wonders for a gentleman brooding over a rustic inheritance.”

Bingley nodded, looking troubled. “I believe we should ask Darcy what he wants.”

“What I want is to attend to my correspondence,” Darcy said, nearly reaching the door, only to find Sir William’s considerable personage obligingly positioned to allow Bingley to intercept him.

“Darcy, as your friend and the man who would stand beside you at the wedding, I must ask you.” Bingley cleared his throat. “Do you wish to marry Elizabeth Bennet?”