Page 122 of Near Pemberley

Bingley stared at the table for several moments. He pushed aside the untouched plate and looked up. “Why tell me this now?”

Darcy frowned slightly.

“You have just informed me that Miss Bennet cared for me. You have informed me that I was a fool. You have informed me that her family is in disgrace. What am I supposed to do with such information?”

Darcy regarded him steadily. “If your feelings have changed, nothing.”

Bingley stared. “And if they have not?”

For the first time, Darcy hesitated. Then he said quietly, “Then perhaps you can still save her.”

The words seemed to strike Bingley speechless.

“Save her?”

“Yes.”

A short laugh escaped him. “Darcy, have you entirely lost your senses?”

“Possibly.”

Darcy had intended the answer to sound dry, even dignified. Instead, hearing it aloud, he realised it bordered on the ridiculous. Bingley, unfortunately, seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

“You have just spent an hour explaining why connecting myself to the Bennets would now be considered madness.”

Darcy’s expression grew serious again. Taken together, he knew his arguments bordered upon incoherence. Unfortunately, they also happened to be true.

“Why are you even involved with this?” Bingley rose and began pacing. He stopped beside the window and looked out without seeing anything. “How could I possibly offer for Miss Bennet now? Her sister has run away. Half of Hertfordshire will consider the family shamed.”

“Hertfordshire is not the whole world.”

“No. Only the part in which they live.”

That answer gave Darcy pause. Hertfordshire. Earlier that morning, Miss Elizabeth had said almost the same thing – that they would never have a clean slate there.

Bingley’s voice receded as an unfamiliar thought began to take shape.

“… Miss Bennet does not deserve this. She is innocent in all of this. Damn. It is unjust that she should bear the consequences.” His voice faltered. “Miss Bennet deserves better than that.”

For several moments, Darcy said nothing. Then he spoke slowly. “I am working on a solution.” His gaze remained fixed upon the fire, though he no longer saw it.

Bingley stopped. “A solution?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of solution?”

Darcy looked towards the window.

“I do not know yet.”

That answer clearly satisfied nobody. “Darcy.”

“I cannot explain further.”

“Because there is no plan.”

“Not yet.”