Page 8

“She struck her head with sufficient force to draw blood, so I sent for Mr. Jones.”

“Most horrid.” Mrs. Hurst clutched her warming stone as though it might shield her from the very idea. “How much blood? Was there violence? Did someone strike her?”

“Her position when she fainted was quite inconveniently away from the settee or her husband, who might have caught her,” Darcy said.

“I should be there,” Bingley said. “Darcy, why did you send Jones without informing me? Jane—that is, Miss Bennet—must be terribly distressed. If I were there, I would have caught her fall.”

“Darcy, I am shocked.” Caroline clapped her heaving chest, and her feather bobbed at the outrage. “If I were to swoon, I should expect you to dive across the drawing room to come to my aid. Why, Miss Eliza may decide not to marry you and offer her fortune to another gentleman. Indeed, allowing her very loud mother to strike the floor!”

“I am the only gentleman named in the will,” Darcy said. “I believe she does not receive the money unless she marries me, and I have, quite properly, sent Jones to tend to her. The family was in no state to discuss business, matrimonial or otherwise, as Mrs. Bennet was in the middle of calling me the most selfish, prideful, hateful man she had ever had the misfortune⁠—”

Here he stopped, gesturing with his hand to describe the spiraling swoon.

“How gallant of you.” Caroline had not lost her stride. “Turning the other cheek. One might almost think you were eager to preserve her for a lifetime of nervous complaints at your breakfast table.”

“Any gentleman would have done the same.” Darcy took a brandy snifter from the sideboard and reached for the decanter, but Hurst held on firmly and stared at the ceiling, as if oblivious to his want.

“Mrs. Bennet for a mother-in-law,” Mrs. Hurst mused from her nest of shawls. “Can you imagine? All those nerves. All that wailing. I understand she takes to her bed at the slightest provocation and requires the entire household to attend upon her vapors.”

“She will have plenty of beds to take to at Pemberley,” Caroline observed. “Though I wonder if the Derbyshire mud will suit Miss Eliza’s constitution. She loves to tramp through fields. Will you be installing a proper hiking trail for her, Darcy? Perhaps a nice muddy bog where she can ruin her petticoats to her heart’s content?”

“Miss Elizabeth’s walking habits are not under discussion.”

“No, I suppose not.” Caroline lifted her chin with a magistral air. “We are all curious, naturally, why you, dear friend, were named in the will at all.”

“How very mysterious.” Louisa had perked up from her invalid’s pose. “A man names a perfect stranger in his will—and not merely names him, but makes him the condition of his niece’s inheritance. There must be some connection. What business is he in?”

“Shipping of some sort, I believe.”

“Shipping!” Louisa sat forward, her stone, now cool, abandoned. “Well, that explains a great deal. I have heard that contraband moves overland from the Welsh ports through Shropshire and Derbyshire to avoid the London excise men. Perhaps Mr. Henry Bennet had business dealings on the Pemberley lands—routes through your forests, storage in your outbuildings, that sort of thing.”

“There are no smuggling routes through Pemberley.”

“That you know of or would admit to.” Caroline’s smile sharpened. “The great estates are riddled with servants and tenants who supplement their income with a little free trading. Perhaps Uncle Henry was one of your father’s… associates.”

“My father did not have associates of that description.”

“Every man has associates he does not speak of,” Mrs. Hurst said. “That is how Henry Bennet knew to name you—some old debt, some favor owed, some arrangement that neither party ever committed to paper.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Did he know you were acquainted with his niece?”

“He must not have known how you felt about her!” Caroline crowed. “Or how you scowled at her and found her devoid of accomplishment. When she was tending to her dear, sweet sister during her illness, she was most impertinent, always disagreeing with you. Why, pray tell, would an uncle who favored Miss Elizabeth require her to marry a man she absolutely detests?”

“Speculate how you wish, Miss Bingley. I have never met a Bennet before the Meryton Assembly.” Darcy had no more patience with Hurst’s hide-the-bottle maneuver and proceeded to pry the decanter from his rather plump fingers.

“Never met him!” Hurst thundered, his face reddening at the amount of brandy Darcy poured. “How extraordinary that he not only named you specifically, but on the condition of marrying the very same Elizabeth Bennet that you declared not handsome enough to tempt you. It was almost as if he had a grudge against you.”

“Or against her,” Mrs. Hurst offered. “Perhaps he disliked the girl and wished to saddle her with a husband who would make her miserable.”

“Louisa!” Bingley looked genuinely shocked. “That is unkind.”

“It is practical. If I wished to punish a sharp-tongued niece, I could do worse than marry her to a man who disapproves of everything she does. They would make each other wretched for the rest of their natural lives.”

“An eighty thousand pound grudge,” Caroline said, her voice silky with satisfaction. “Many men would jump at the opportunity regardless. But surely a Darcy of Pemberley is not at all tempted. You have ten thousand a year of your own, a grand estate, and no need to marry beneath your station simply because a dead smuggler—I beg your pardon, respectable merchant—commands it.” She paused, letting the words settle. “You are not tempted, are you, Darcy?”

Darcy poured a healthy swallow of brandy down his throat. Any wincing could be attributed to the burn. “I am no fortune hunter, Miss Bingley, and I have not proposed to Miss Elizabeth.”

“Not proposed?” Charles blinked with disbelief. “But Darcy, eighty thousand pounds is nothing to scoff at.”

“Oh, but Charles, your friend is ever so honorable.” Caroline crowed, her ostrich feather wagging in assent. “He will not sully his reputation by appearing to propose for money. Perhaps he is waiting for Miss Eliza to propose to him. That would suit her character admirably, would it not? She is so very forward.”