Page 39 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)

“My sisters must know.”

She stood before him—pale but resolute—her fists tight at her sides. Fear lingered in the stiffness of her spine, in the hitch of her breath—but beneath it, something fiercer had taken root: determination.

“The truth of him must be spoken, Papa—before silence becomes complicity.”

Bennet took in her words, weighing them with care. She had seen something no one else could. As she always had. And as always, he must translate it into plain speech—credible, unremarkable, safe. A father’s mandate.

She would fight him if he denied her—of that he had no doubt. He had trusted her instincts for years. It was no fault of hers that she now pressed the point.

“Very well.”

Relief softened her features.

“But you will not alarm them?”

“I would never,” she said.

His lips quirked, though the weight of the moment held. “That is debatable.”

* * *

Netherfield Park, that evening…

Darcy paced his suite, fists clenched. His thoughts churned, caught between duty and rage, restraint and retribution. Wickham. The name burned through him like poison. Expose him? Fight him? Run him off? Each option carried consequences.

And then there was Elizabeth.

He halted before the writing desk. Could she know what manner of man lurked beneath Wickham’s easy charm? The thought of her, unsuspecting and unguarded, breathing the same air as that villain twisted his gut. If Wickham could charm entire rooms into trusting him, what chance did she stand?

And Georgiana. The one he had already failed. If Wickham slipped away, would she be next?

Darcy reached for the leather-bound volume resting on his desk. He flipped open the first page of The Book.

A gentleman’s first duty is to those he loves.

Darcy took his seat, dipped his pen, and put it to the paper with firm strokes.

Richard,

I would not ask this of you unless the need were dire. Wickham is back—in Hertfordshire with the local militia. I have already encountered him. I will see his commanding officer. He must be ousted.

Go to Darcy House. Stay with Georgiana. Do not let her out of your sight. If he slips away, he may turn to her next.

Guard my sister. I trust no one else.

Darcy

* * *

The drawing room at Netherfield crackled with tension, the air thick with discontent.

Darcy stood near the fireplace, shifting uncomfortably as Bingley and his sister traded barbs.

The atmosphere, heavy with unspoken grievances, thickened as Miss Bingley seized the opportunity to direct the conversation where she pleased.

“I must say, Charles, it astounds me that you find the company here diverting. The people are insipid, the entertainment meagre, and the conversation painfully provincial. To say nothing of the vulgarity.” She looked at her brother. “One must draw the line somewhere.”

“Vulgar?” Bingley repeated, his easy smile faltering. “I find the society most obliging.”

Miss Bingley sighed. “It is hardly a matter of manners, dear brother. It is the lack of refinement, the absence of any true gentility. We may as well be castaways on some faraway isle.”

“Oh, come, Caroline.” He turned to Mrs Hurst. “You were quite content at the assembly.”

“It was quite—”

“She merely endured it, Charles,” Miss Bingley said. “And I have suffered every moment since.”

Darcy, silent until now, lifted his gaze. Keen. Unyielding. A warning.

“I take it, then, Miss Bingley, that you would rather be anywhere but here?”

“You mistake me, Mr Darcy,” she returned with a saccharine smile. “I would rather be anywhere than among certain company.”

Bingley’s face darkened. “Caroline, this has gone far enough.”

“Oh, has it?” she replied. “I think not. We all know why you have lingered in this wretched place, and if you are too blind to admit it, I shall not be.”

Miss Bingley turned towards him with sudden vehemence. “You cannot deny that Charles is making a spectacle of himself. His infatuation with Miss Bennet—”

“Is my concern.” Bingley fixed narrowed eyes on his sister.

“Then let us speak of another Miss Bennet.” She wielded the name like an accusation.

“You defend her at every turn but let us be honest. Is it her mismatched eyes that have ensnared you? Her muddy petticoats, perhaps? Or is it her connections that have so enraptured you? What an excellent prospect! The nephew of an earl leg-shackled to a lady whose one uncle is the town solicitor and the other in trade.”

Darcy squeezed the chair back. “You test the limits of my patience, madam.”

“Oh? I think not. We all saw your reaction upon your first acquaintance. You cut her. If this had been Town, she would have decamped for parts unknown. But not in this county. Apparently, in Hertfordshire, a social cut is not a cut. Here, it seems, even snubs go unnoticed.”

“You wilfully misrepresent the events.”

“Do I?”

Darcy stared at her until she turned away.

Mrs Hurst placed her hand on Bingley’s forearm. “Charles, would it not be a good idea to retreat to our separate corners?”

Bingley seemed to ignore her. “And yet I recall, Caro , you told me you did not care a jot of Miss Bennet’s connections. You spoke quite eloquently on the matter, as I recall.”

Miss Bingley rounded on him in disbelief. “Charles—”

“I am not concerned about their relations,” Bingley repeated. “Nor is Darcy, it would seem.”

Miss Bingley turned to Darcy. “Surely you cannot mean—”

“Have you forgotten the social order? Or must I remind you that birth outranks wealth?”

Mrs Hurst, lips pursed, shook her head.

Darcy did not soften his tone. “You are the daughter of a tradesman.”

He turned to Bingley. “Forgive me, my friend.”

“Of course, Darce.”

Darcy made sure he had Miss Bingley’s attention. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet outshines you in every measure that matters.”

Miss Bingley let out a short, mirthless laugh. “Indeed? I have never known you to be so absurd, sir. A lady of her standing, her circumstances. Why, you cannot be serious. You will lower yourself, your name, your consequence—”

“My standing?” Darcy cut in, his expression darkening. “It is you who mistake consequence, madam. I shall not stand by and listen to slander against a woman who has shown more wit, dignity, and grace than those who claim superiority by nothing but idle fortune.”

Miss Bingley paled, but her anger flared hot. “Then perhaps we ought to return to the matter of family , Mr Darcy. You cannot deny that the Bennets are wholly unfit to be linked with yours. Their relations in Cheapside alone—”

“I mean precisely what I have said.” Darcy set his glass down. “Elizabeth Bennet is not beneath me. In character, wit, and grace, she stands far above those who claim superiority through mere inheritance. It is others who cling to borrowed consequence that ought to examine their station.”

Bingley exhaled. Miss Bingley, for once, said nothing.

“I will retire.” Darcy inclined his head to Bingley. “I trust tomorrow’s company may offer less tedium. ”