A Matter of Murder

Book 0: Lizzie & Darcy Mystery

by Tirzah Price

Genres: YA Historical Fiction

Synopsis

The thrilling conclusion to the Lizzie & Darcy Mysteries duology, following Lizzie Bennet and Mr. Darcy from the Jane Austen Murder Mystery series!

A Bingley family curse looms over Lizzie's sister and Darcy's best friend—but are the dark forces at work supernatural or human?

Lizzie Bennet’s beloved sister Jane has just married Darcy’s best friend, Bingley, and the Bennet family and Darcy are paying the newlyweds a visit at Bingley’s family home, Netherfield Park. It doesn’t take long for their country retreat to turn into an investigation, though, when a long-dead body is discovered stuffed up the parlor chimney.

The locals are convinced that Netherfield is cursed, but Lizzie and Darcy know better than to believe in such nonsense and are determined to uncover the truth about what happened to the mysterious man in the chimney. But as they dig deeper into the history of Netherfield Park, they find that danger is waiting for them around every corner. Soon enough, they’re forced to consider if the curse might have some merit to it, or if there’s something—or someone—far more sinister behind their near brushes with death….

This duology closer is a daring and delightful conclusion to the chronicles of supersleuths Lizzie Bennet and Mr. Darcy!

Release date: November 11, 2025

Publisher: HarperCollins

Print pages: 304

Sample

One
In Which Lizzie and Darcy Arrive at Netherfield Park at Last

“Oh, Netherfield Park at last!” Mrs. Bennet cried as she stepped out of the carriage that had come to a stop in front of the elegant manor house. She clasped her hands beneath her chin as she took in the sight. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

Miss Elizabeth Bennet stumbled out of the carriage after her mother, tripping over her small dog, Guy, as he made his own hasty escape. Mr. Darcy’s strong hand was there in an instant, steadying her as she regained her bearings after six hours of travel. Six interminable hours, during which her mother had barely stopped talking long enough to take a breath. Darcy squeezed her hand gently and gave her a subtle wink, as if he knew that she had been contemplating throwing herself out of the moving carriage just before Netherfield Park came in sight.

She rolled her eyes slightly, then turned to her mother and whispered, “Mama, please!”

But Mrs. Bennet was unperturbed. “Three stories, Lizzie! Have you ever seen such a large and distinguished estate? And to think, my Jane is the mistress of it all!”

Lizzie stepped forward so that Darcy could offer a hand to her best friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, who alighted from the carriage far more gracefully than Lizzie had. Charlotte came to stand by Lizzie and murmured, “Well, it is impressive, you have to admit.”

Netherfield Park announced itself with towering ionic columns, and the entrance was large enough to drive a phaeton through. It was palatial compared to the town house on Gracechurch Street that the seven Bennets—and Guy—shared. Well, six Bennets now that Jane had married Mr. Bingley and left the family home for good.

“It’s very large,” Lizzie conceded. She wasn’t one to be carried away by extravagance, but she was finding it hard to be impervious to the grandeur of the estate when it belonged to Jane, her sister who had, up until very recently, shared a bedchamber with her.

Darcy, however, did not seem fazed in the least. “It’s very well appointed.”

“Well appointed?” Lizzie repeated incredulously, but she didn’t get a chance to say more, for the front door was thrown open and there was Jane herself, coming to greet them with Bingley by her side.

“Mrs. Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet shouted, and fell upon her daughter, kissing and hugging her as though it had been years and not six weeks since Jane’s wedding.

For this display of emotion, Lizzie couldn’t exactly fault her mother—she had missed her older sister more than she had thought possible. She was thrilled for Jane, and a bit in awe of the wealth she now possessed. It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person. However, not a week after her nuptials, she and Bingley had departed from London, creating a distinct, Jane-shaped hole in Lizzie’s everyday life.

Mrs. Bennet finally released Jane and moved on to Bingley, and it was Lizzie’s turn to fling herself at her sister, no more gracefully than her mother had. Jane was radiant—she wore a new dress of cream lawn, and her cheeks were pink, and her curls appeared extra bouncy. Lizzie was achy, sweaty, and dusty after such a long day, but Jane embraced her just as

fiercely. Her sister smelled familiar—violet water and fresh linen, but now there was another crisp scent under that familiarity, something that smelled refined and expensive.

“I’ve missed you,” Jane whispered in her ear.

“And I you,” Lizzie said. “Come back to London.”

Jane just laughed as she released her. “I think you’re going to love it here, Lizzie. This old house is full of so many rooms, you couldn’t even begin to imagine.”

Bingley also turned to Lizzie and greeted her with an enthusiastic grin. “Jane said that prying you and your father away from your work would be quite a Herculean task, so don’t think we don’t appreciate your sacrifice.”

“I would do anything for Jane,” Lizzie told him, “even spend a summer in the countryside.”

Her bright smile couldn’t quite hide her sarcasm, however. While it was true that she had missed her sister, and she would most certainly have dropped everything if Jane had called, this summer sojourn had not been her idea—she’d been strong-armed into it, and the chief perpetrator of such strong-arming had been none other than Darcy himself.

Darcy, for his part, looked utterly oblivious to her frustration. When she glanced over her shoulder, he was greeting Jane with the utmost civility. Anyone else might have thought he looked a bit on the dour side, but that was just his permanent expression these days.

The last time Lizzie remembered seeing him truly smile was after solving the case of the Mullins Brothers’ storehouse fire three months earlier. Not only had they discovered the true reason for the fire, but they’d unspooled a smuggling ring, stopped an innocent young lady from marrying a true villain, and uncovered a Crown secret. To be sure, it had been a minor secret, and the Crown’s emissary had made certain that they wouldn’t be able to brag about solving the case, but it had still been a success.

The only dark spot, of course, had been Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

It still gave Lizzie chills to think that the woman was at large, and responsible for yet another murderous plot. Even more so when she thought about how that plot had included her own kidnapping. But Lizzie had been able to push aside her fears and lingering questions and bask in the satisfaction of another case closed, with Darcy by her side.

t had been delivered to Longbourn & Sons a week after the conclusion of the case. It arrived on a creamy expanse of parchment, lavish in its wastefulness considering the brief message it contained:

You’re clever, but not as clever as I.

She’d known who it was from, even without a signature, and she’d shown it to Darcy, naturally. And her father. And Charlotte. And, well . . . everyone, really. She wouldn’t admit it now, but receiving a letter from the woman herself had sent a thrill up her spine not unlike the one she’d felt when she’d first heard the news that Charles Bingley had been hauled off to Newgate for murder. Or when Jack Mullins had grasped her hand and had told her his storehouse fire was arson.

“She’s taunting you,” Darcy had said.

“Baiting,” Mr. Bennet corrected as he studied the missive. “She wants to see how you’ll react. You mustn’t give her the satisfaction.”

“What am I supposed to do, sit on my hands?” Lizzie was thrumming with nervous energy. It wasn’t often that she faced an opponent who even recognized her as an opponent, let alone a moderately clever one.

“Do nothing,” Mr. Bennet told her firmly. He refused to hand the letter back, too. “And let’s hope she grows tired of this charade and moves on.”

But she hadn’t. Several days later, another letter arrived, this one only slightly longer.

My dear Miss Bennet, do you not think that your talents are wasted at such a firm as Longbourn & Sons? After all you’ve accomplished, why do you shackle yourself to men who would have you spending your time on contracts when you could be doing so much more?

And there it was again, that thrill of excitement . . . but there was a pinprick of worry there, too. How had Lady Catherine known that her father had her drafting and reviewing contracts? She had looked down at her desk, busy with tidy stacks of contracts and correspondence. Had Mr. Tomlinson told Lady Catherine about Lizzie’s workload before his arrest? But how would he have known?

Or had Lady Catherine found herself another spy?

Her father and Darcy were made even more uneasy by this note, but they said little. Lizzie was in favor of going to the Dashwoods to see if they could track the letter’s origin, but Mr. Bennet had not wanted to involve them, preferring to write to Mr. Graves, the aforementioned emissary of the Crown, for answers. Mr. Graves had written back a curt Do nothing, and that had been that until Lizzie had come home from a fitting at the modiste—Mr. Bingley had proposed to Jane by this point, and the Bennet sisters were all to have new dresses—to find a letter in the front hall, addressed to Lizzie.

Remember, Miss Bennet, that women always have more choices than they think they do. You can either spend your days toiling for men who don’t appreciate your talents, or you can do something that will leave a far more lasting impact. Intrigued? Meet me behind St. Clements three days hence, midday. Come alone.

Lizzie’s heartbeat had thrummed in her ears when she’d read the words, and she’d wasted no time in summoning Darcy and her father to Gracechurch Street to show them the message. “This is it,” she’d told them. “Our chance to finally catch her.”

But neither Darcy nor her father had been convinced. “It’s a trap,” Darcy said, real fear in his eyes as he skimmed the note. “After all she’s done, she’ll hardly just meet you in broad daylight!”

“I concur,” her father said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked more tired these days, and Lizzie wasn’t certain whether it was because of the threat of Lady Catherine or Mrs. Bingley’s constant chatter about Jane’s upcoming nuptials. Perhaps both. “That woman has tried to kidnap you not once but twice.”

Logically, Lizzie knew they were right to be worried—and Lady Catherine’s multiple kidnapping attempts notwithstanding, she knew it wasn’t the best idea to simply comply with a summons from a stranger, even if they had been properly introduced. But Lady Catherine had evaded her twice now, and Lizzie didn’t want to give her a third opportunity.

“Graves has been tearing London apart for weeks with no luck,” Lizzie argued. “Agreeing to a meeting may be our best chance at apprehending her.”

“Perhaps if we all went along and hung back—” Darcy began to say.

“You mean to use my daughter as bait?” her father demanded, and Darcy shook his head. 

“Yes,” Lizzie said. “Use me as bait.”

“Absolutely not! I forbid it!”

Mr. Bennet didn’t often go to the trouble of forbidding things, so Lizzie was genuinely shocked when he showed no sign of relenting. He did write to Graves, of course, and the shadowy man came to Gracechurch Street and left with Lady Catherine’s note and a promise that he himself would stand in the church all afternoon if he had to. But Lizzie knew it wouldn’t work.

And she’d had the bitter satisfaction of being proven right days later when Graves returned to tell them he’d waited six hours, but she’d never shown. After that, Lady Catherine had gone strangely silent. Mr. Bennet had been satisfied that they’d finished with the whole dreadful business, and Darcy had been somewhat sheepishly relieved . . . but Lizzie had only grown more and more frustrated.

None of them imagined what would come in the next letter.

And that was why Lizzie, her mother, Charlotte, and Darcy now stood before Netherfield Park, a carriage with Mr. Bennet and the rest of her sisters not far behind.

“Don’t be fooled,” Darcy said now in response to Bingley’s remark about Lizzie’s unwillingness to leave London. “We practically had to force her into the carriage.”

Lizzie shot him a sour look. “You’re one to talk about forcing me into the carriage.”

She pretended not to notice her sister or Charlotte wincing at her tone.

Mrs. Bennet was, as usual, oblivious to the mood. “Oh Lizzie, don’t be cross with Mr. Darcy for insisting that we all get out of London! I’ve been trying to convince Mr. Bennet that we ought to take this trip weeks sooner.”

“Be happy you had what little honeymoon you got,” Lizzie said in an undertone to Jane.

Jane looked desperate for a change of subject. “Speaking of Papa, where is the other carriage?”

“Oh, they weren’t a quarter mile behind us last time we stopped,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Mr. Darcy’s horses are far superior to those that Mr. Bennet rented for the journey.”

Lizzie scowled at her mother’s indelicate praise. Ever since Jane’s engagement had been announced, her mother had not been subtle about her compliments to Darcy, and at least half the comments touched upon his wealth, as if insinuating to Lizzie that she must not let such a suitor slip from her grasp. It was a wonder Mrs. Bennet hadn’t proposed marriage to him herself.

“Come, we’ll call for tea so that it’s ready by the time they catch up,” Jane said, gesturing toward the entrance to the house.

It was about then that Lizzie remembered she’d dropped Guy’s leash upon arrival, and now she turned about, looking for the dog. “Guy!” she called. “Guy, here!” Not five minutes at Netherfield, and she’d lost him already!

Darcy nudged her arm. “He’s not gone far, see?” He pointed to the pristine lawn beyond the drive. The small dog was lounging on his back in the grass, tongue lolling. The sight brought a smile to Lizzie’s face. Aside from a few public parks, there wasn’t much grass in Cheapside—that is, not any that Lizzie would want him rolling in—and the Bennets didn’t have a large garden back home. The little dog rolled back onto his belly as Lizzie continued to call his name, and then reluctantly got to his feet and trotted over to Lizzie. “Good boy,” Lizzie told him, then added more quietly, “Now don’t go running off. We might not ever find you again in this large a park.”

Lizzie and Guy trailed after Charlotte and Darcy toward the entrance of the house, but not before passing by the line of servants standing off to the side. In all her excitement to finally be free of the carriage and hug her sister once more, she hadn’t paid much mind to the receiving line. They hadn’t moved from their severe formation, except for the footmen who were now scurrying to the luggage with a sharp nod from the butler. Lizzie tried not to look shocked at the sheer number of them—more than twenty people, all for this old house and their small house party! Lizzie smiled, trying to catch anyone’s eye, but everyone from the lowliest of maids to the housekeeper kept their eyes downcast. Lizzie recognized a number of faces—Grigson, the Bingleys’ butler from London; Mrs. Reed, the housekeeper; and Jane’s lady’s maid; and more than a few of the maids and footmen. Lizzie felt her smile falter as she moved past them—the stiff formality of the finer houses in London was not what she was accustomed to. At home, they had a maid and a cook who’d chat idly with Lizzie and occasionally shoo her along if they were busy.

But Jane was a Bingley now, with all the

accoutrements of wealth to show for it.

“You brought many of your London staff with you,” Lizzie remarked to Jane.

“We had to send for Mrs. Reed and a few others not long after we arrived,” Jane said. “Charles’s great-aunt had only one servant at the end, can you believe it?”

Lizzie could not—especially when she stepped inside the house. The entrance hall of Netherfield Park was even grander than the façade, if possible. It was all gleaming dark wood and polished marble, and Guy’s toenails clicked daintily as he followed her into the house. There was a gently sloping grand staircase leading up from the ground floor to the first floor, wide enough that one could steer that hypothetical phaeton right into the house and up the stairs—that is, if horses could pull carriages up staircases.

Mrs. Bennet gasped, and the sound echoed. “Mr. Bingley, what a fine house! And to think this was in your family all this time and you never knew!” She shot Jane a conspiratorial wink, which Jane pretended not to see. “How fortuitous for you!”

“Mama, I hardly think you can call the death of Bingley’s great-aunt fortuitous,” Lizzie hissed.

“Oh, he knows what I mean,” Mrs. Bennet said with a wave of her hand.

One thing Lizzie appreciated about her new brother-in-law was his ability to blithely ignore Mrs. Bennet’s more impolite remarks. “I’ve always known of the estate, but had no reason to believe it would ever pass into my possession. The entail was broken ages ago, and it was never a guarantee that Great-Aunt Honoria would leave it to me, although my father certainly hoped she would. He named Netherfield Shipping after the place.”

“A bid for her good favor?” Darcy asked.

“Likely, although it didn’t do him much good. We never had an invitation. I grew up hearing stories about how she’d married my great-uncle for his wealth, taken over the family home, and left us all out in the cold.”

Bingley certainly didn’t need the inheritance now. Although his family was of good standing, they’d fallen on hard times two generations previously. It wasn’t until Bingley and his late father had built up Netherfield Shipping that they’d been able to restore their family to the upper echelons of society. Bingley had good manners, a good business (even better ever since Lizzie and Darcy had solved the small piracy problem that had been plaguing him more than a year earlier), and very favorable connections. He hadn’t needed a family estate in the country, but two weeks 

 before Jane and Bingley’s wedding, he’d received word that Mrs. Honoria Bingley, the wife of his grandfather’s brother, had passed away and bequeathed the entirety of her estate to the only living male Bingley heir.

Darcy had handled the legalities with Mrs. Bingley’s solicitor, naturally, so Lizzie knew a bit more about the matter than she likely would have otherwise—there hadn’t been very much money, but the true value had been Netherfield Park and its surrounding farms, which had been in the care of a steward for as long as anyone could remember while Netherfield Park sat closed up to all except its elderly mistress and a small handful of loyal servants whose numbers had dwindled to just one at the time of her death. Lizzie had expected a dilapidated old country manor house with drafty windows and soot-stained walls and perhaps mice. Lots of mice.

She hadn’t expected vaulted ceilings and gilt-framed artwork.

“We had no idea what we were walking into when we arrived,” Bingley continued, smiling fondly at Jane. “Not quite the honeymoon we’d imagined.”

“Nonsense,” Jane said with a faint flush as she smiled back at her new husband. “I didn’t mind in the slightest.”

Lizzie didn’t know whether to grin or roll her eyes.

“The house was built in the sixteenth century,” Bingley continued as he led them deeper into the echoing hall. “My great-grandfather constructed the west wing and made repairs to the central areas of the house, but I’m afraid the east wing suffered a fire some decades back and has fallen into disrepair—my great-aunt wasn’t one for renovations, apparently. For everyone’s safety, we’ve closed it off.”

Lizzie couldn’t help the arch of her brows at that. Jane caught her look and said, “Don’t worry, it’s not as though the entire wing is about to collapse.”

“So you claim,” a voice said, echoing through the hall. They all looked up to see Caroline Bingley floating down the grand staircase. The sun shone through the windows, casting a warm glow on her golden hair, and if Lizzie had been the betting type, she’d have put money on Caroline planning her entrance. “I can hear the entire house creaking throughout the night, as if it’s going to tumble down with a stiff breeze.”

No one laughed, which was just as well because judging by Caroline’s sour expression, Lizzie didn’t think she would take kindly to it. 

 before Jane and Bingley’s wedding, he’d received word that Mrs. Honoria Bingley, the wife of his grandfather’s brother, had passed away and bequeathed the entirety of her estate to the only living male Bingley heir.

Darcy had handled the legalities with Mrs. Bingley’s solicitor, naturally, so Lizzie knew a bit more about the matter than she likely would have otherwise—there hadn’t been very much money, but the true value had been Netherfield Park and its surrounding farms, which had been in the care of a steward for as long as anyone could remember while Netherfield Park sat closed up to all except its elderly mistress and a small handful of loyal servants whose numbers had dwindled to just one at the time of her death. Lizzie had expected a dilapidated old country manor house with drafty windows and soot-stained walls and perhaps mice. Lots of mice.

She hadn’t expected vaulted ceilings and gilt-framed artwork.

“We had no idea what we were walking into when we arrived,” Bingley continued, smiling fondly at Jane. “Not quite the honeymoon we’d imagined.”

“Nonsense,” Jane said with a faint flush as she smiled back at her new husband. “I didn’t mind in the slightest.”

Lizzie didn’t know whether to grin or roll her eyes.

“The house was built in the sixteenth century,” Bingley continued as he led them deeper into the echoing hall. “My great-grandfather constructed the west wing and made repairs to the central areas of the house, but I’m afraid the east wing suffered a fire some decades back and has fallen into disrepair—my great-aunt wasn’t one for renovations, apparently. For everyone’s safety, we’ve closed it off.”

Lizzie couldn’t help the arch of her brows at that. Jane caught her look and said, “Don’t worry, it’s not as though the entire wing is about to collapse.”

“So you claim,” a voice said, echoing through the hall. They all looked up to see Caroline Bingley floating down the grand staircase. The sun shone through the windows, casting a warm glow on her golden hair, and if Lizzie had been the betting type, she’d have put money on Caroline planning her entrance. “I can hear the entire house creaking throughout the night, as if it’s going to tumble down with a stiff breeze.”

No one laughed, which was just as well because judging by Caroline’s sour expression, Lizzie didn’t think she would take kindly to it.

Bingley just shook his head good naturedly. “She’s exaggerating, of course. There are a few odd creaks and moans, but it’s nothing more than an old house settling. And I have a builder coming up from London to inspect the east wing and recommend the necessary repairs.”

“Is my daughter safe here?” Mrs. Bennet asked, placing a hand on Jane’s shoulder.

“Mama, it’s safe as long as we don’t go into the east wing!” Jane rushed to assure her. “We’ve been quite busy renovating the rest of the house. Caroline’s help with the decorating has been invaluable, of course—you must see the paper she picked out for the drawing room. We’ve done the main rooms, and although we haven’t gotten to the bedchambers yet, I think you’ll be comfortable.”

“Even if the décor is a bit baroque,” Caroline added.

Jane winced, and Lizzie felt her protective instincts kick in. “That’s all right. Baroque furniture never killed anyone,” she said with false cheer.

“Is everything always so violent with you?” Caroline asked. “No one said anything about killing.”

“Caroline,” Bingley said reprovingly, and at the same time Mrs. Bennet laughed.

“Oh, don’t mind Elizabeth. She’s been involved in some rather violent business as of late, but that’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Caroline asked. “I’ve seen the papers.”

So had Lizzie. In fact, she was convinced all of London had seen the papers. Although she wasn’t able to publicly claim credit for solving Leticia Cavendish’s murder, her name had been printed in the notice of her death, as she and Darcy had been the ones to discover her body. And then there had been the case that Lizzie had taken after that, which had resulted in a hostage crisis at the Pantheon. Danger and scandal follow the young lady solicitor wherever she goes, one rag had written.

Danger the ton might have forgiven. But scandal? Well, that was much harder to overlook.

“I don’t know why everyone must make a simple case into a grand ordeal.” Lizzie could feel her cheeks growing warm. “It isn’t as though I go searching for danger.”

“Well, you certainly don’t do anything to discourage it,” came Caroline’s muttered remark, just loud enough that everyone could hear it.

this remark cut deep. What did everyone expect—for her to give up her work and just sit idly at home because of some gossip?

Luckily for her, she could always count on her mother to interject with inane questions. “Jane, have you been able to find good tradesmen this far from London? If you need a drapier, I have a recommendation from Mrs. Smith—you don’t want to use the one on Fulton Street!”

Jane led them all to the drawing room, and Charlotte fell back and took Lizzie’s arm. Lizzie squeezed her best friend’s hand. “I wish she’d find a husband already and torment someone else’s family,” Lizzie muttered, which was quite ungenerous of her and she knew it, but if one couldn’t gripe about tedious people to one’s best friend, then what was the point of friendship?

“I’m sure she feels just as trapped as you do,” Charlotte said mildly. “After all, she swears she was within moments of a proposal when—”

“I know,” Lizzie sighed. It had not been on purpose that Lizzie had spoiled Caroline’s prospects with yet another suitor, but the other girl clearly wasn’t ready to forgive Lizzie any time soon. Caroline had been in attendance at the Pantheon, and her suitor had abruptly left London following the resolution of the evening’s excitement. There had been whispers that he’d been involved in the counterfeit art scheme Lizzie had helped her client uncover and he’d left town to avoid arrest. Lizzie was of the opinion that Caroline had dodged an unhappy marriage with an opportunist, but the other young lady clearly did not share that view.

“Ignore her,” Charlotte advised. “Have you ever stayed somewhere so fine in all your life?”

“No,” Lizzie admitted with a small smile. “Repairs and redecorating aside, it truly is very impressive.”

“And can you just imagine how lovely the grounds are bound to be? We can go on long walks every day with Guy, and get far away from Caroline.”

Guy’s head tilted up when he heard his name in close conjunction with his most beloved word—walk. “All right, yes, you’re right.”

They were still lingering in the hall, and Darcy poked his head out of the drawing room. “Coming?”

Lizzie felt her smile slip as she looked at him. He’d been very quiet the entire carriage ride, and nearly impossible to read. In the last week, he’d made a habit of avoiding her gaze, but he didn’t now. Lizzie stared into his eyes—eyes that made her feel deliciously light-headed and breathless when she recalled all their shared kisses, and the quiet moments when he’d drawn her close and she’d lost herself into the depths of his eyes . . .

But she wasn’t thinking about that right now.

“Coming,” she said shortly.

Darcy turned and went back into the drawing room without another word, and Lizzie didn’t need to look at Charlotte to know that her friend was giving her a doleful look. “Oh, Lizzie. When are you going to put him out of his misery and forgive him already?”

“I don’t know,” she responded crisply. “I haven’t decided yet.”

 

Two
In Which Darcy Plays the Part of Chimney Sweep with Disastrous Results

“She’s angry,” Bingley observed as he poured amber liquid into a cut crystal glass.

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Darcy accepted the drink and barely gave the alcohol a swirl before taking a gulp. The whiskey slid across his tongue, smoother than silk. It was down his throat before he felt the burn, but he welcomed it.

Bingley didn’t know the half of it.

His friend stared at him as he sat with the aftereffects of the alcohol. “You’re being sarcastic. You’re hardly ever sarcastic.”

Darcy grimaced. Oh, the joys of long friendship—Bingley knew him almost better than he knew himself. “It’ll blow over,” he said, not sure whether he meant Lizzie’s anger or his sarcasm.

They were dressed for dinner that evening, waiting for the rest of the house party to come down. The carriage with Mr. Bennet and the younger Bennet sisters had arrived with a predictable amount of carrying on, and they’d all made polite conversation in the drawing room while Lizzie had looked everywhere but at him until Jane rang for the housekeeper to show them all to their rooms. Bingley, of course, had missed none of it, and he doubted the rest of the party was oblivious to Lizzie’s cold shoulder, either.

“Doesn’t she understand this holiday is for her own safety?” Bingley asked.

Darcy thought of the (unfortunately, many) examples he had collected since he’d first become acquainted with Lizzie in which she had blithely thrown caution to the wind. “Yes. But while she’s here, she can’t be doing what she really wants.”

And that was to find Lady Catherine. Darcy couldn’t blame her—he wanted the woman found so she’d stop toying with all of them. But he also knew Lizzie. Neither caution nor relaxation were her strong suits. While whisking her away from London might have been the safest thing for her and her family, it was also the thing most likely to drive her—and by extension, him—mad.

“And your father?” Bingley asked. “Have you heard anything more from him?”

Darcy grimaced and took a sip. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew the travel-worn letter that had been sitting next to his heart all day. “He’s responded about how I would expect,” he said, and handed the letter to Bingley.

Charles Bingley was the only one he would trust with the letter. Not that he didn’t trust Lizzie—but he didn’t want her to ever read what his father had written about her. He looked away as Bingley opened the letter, the memory of his father’s words echoing painfully in his head. You’ve shamed me and the firm’s name by taking up with that woman. I expect you to cut all ties with her and her father’s business immediately.

Bingley let out a low whistle.

“What part are you at?”

“The one where your father accuses you of debasing the entire legal profession.”

Darcy finished his drink and got up to pour himself another. “Ah, that entire paragraph was so touching. Second only to the part where 

 he wrote that Darcys are too good to dangle after some base bluestocking, and then said that Lizzie has likely set her cap on me.”

Bingley’s eyebrows went up as he read. “If there is any lady who is the least likely to ensnare a man into marriage, it is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Try telling that to my father.”

“What are you going to do?” Bingley asked, tossing the letter aside.

Darcy poured himself another splash of whiskey—but not too much. ...