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Darcy thought that was doing it a bit brown, but Bingley seemed to consider it. “Very well,” he said at last. He stood and made for the door.

Miss Bingley exhaled. Mrs. Hurst settled more comfortably against the sofa.

“Where are you going, Bingley?” Darcy asked.

“I will not return to Netherfield as planned, but neither shall I remain here. Good day, sisters.” He met Darcy’s gaze. “Good day, Darcy.”

Darcy felt a twinge of conscience as his friend departed. Perhaps they had been too honest with him, but at least he had not had to say what he really thought. For his judgement was that while Miss Bennet was kind and Miss Elizabeth was . . . well, best to leave that aside. The point was that no matter the virtues of the two eldest Bennet sisters, they were not enough to render them eligible.

No sensible man could ignore such a collection of relations merely because the woman had beautiful eyes, a quick mind, and an inconvenient habit of challenging him.

He did not like to be challenged. Usually.

“I say,” Hurst said as he entered. “Where is Bingley off to in such a rush?”

“We are not certain,” Mrs. Hurst said. “He is upset about Miss Bennet.”

“Why?” Hurst inquired.

“Because,” his wife said. “He was in danger from her.”

“In danger? What stuff,” Hurst replied, heading for the decanter. “Fine woman, better than any of us, I daresay. Likes riding. Knows a great deal about home gardens.”

“How do you know that?” Darcy asked.

Hurst shrugged. “Talked to her. How else?”

Apparently, while the rest of them had been studying Miss Bennet’s smiles, Hurst had resorted to conversation. Darcy had never seen Hurst speak with anyone outside of his own party during their time in the country. He did not even speak much with his own family.

His fleeting thought was that perhaps he ought to have spoken with Miss Bennet before advising Bingley in the way that he had.

But speaking with her would not have changed her family.

The footman brought in the post.

Darcy thought he ought to take his leave, for he did not wish to be detained here all day and he really ought to try to discover where Bingley had gone. He would invite his friend to dinner.

“I do not believe it,” Miss Bingley said when the footman had gone. “Thank goodness Charles has gone.”

“What is it?” her sister asked.

“A letter from Jane Bennet. Are we never to have any peace?” She scanned the lines. “Oh no.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Miss Bennet is coming to London.” Miss Bingley turned to Mrs. Hurst. “And her sister with her.”

Then she glanced at him as though she regretted mentioning the last part.

“Which sister?” he inquired.

“I am sure I do not know. There are so many to choose from,” Miss Bingley said.

And because Miss Bingley would not answer, Darcy knew. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were very close. If Miss Bennet had come to town in search of Bingley, it would be Miss Elizabeth who came with her. Miss Bingley would not have held back any other name.

It was alarm he felt, he told himself, and not anticipation.

“What is to be done?” Mrs. Hurst asked.