The office was silent, except for the sound of Eliot shuffling papers or typing notes on his computer. He hadn’t been able to tell Jane about Bing after his confrontation with Darcy last night. It had felt like too much. The stillness and solitude of the office was exactly what he needed right now.

Liar. Hiding in your work. Eliot’s cheeks burned and he felt the need to burp. Again.

About to let a loud one out, he swallowed the urge as the front door opened with the merry chime of Christmas bells dinging. Jane had put them up the day before, and Eliot was already tempted to murder the cheery little bits of metal.

His mouth fell open when he saw Darcy striding toward him. He stood as Darcy stopped in front of his desk.

“Don’t fear I’m here to try to strong arm you into a dinner with me, or renew our disagreement last night. But you leveled some accusations against me that I feel I must defend. I’m afraid I’m not very good at expressing myself in the moment, so...”

Darcy extended his arm, holding an envelope between his finger and his thumb. “You can throw it away or burn it, but please give me the slightest benefit of the doubt and read it. Then you may do as you wish with the letter and its contents.”

Eliot gingerly took the letter. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” Darcy turned to depart. Hand on the doorknob, he looked back over his shoulder. “Should it matter, Bing has been inconsolable since parting from your sister. She did not seem so pained last night.”

“She’s a professional,” Eliot said stiffly. “We’re able to hide our personal pain when necessary.”

“Would that we all had that gift.” Darcy’s eyes roved over Eliot. He turned and left, the bright tingling of bells ruining his dramatic exit.

Eliot immediately opened the letter, curiosity burning within him. The paper was heavy, soft and unlined, the ink a dark shade of green, the words handwritten.

Eliot,

Before I dig into the meat of your accusations, I feel I must set the stage. Please, have patience with me. I know no other way to tell the story.

From all accounts, there was little love between my parents when they married. My mother was moderately well off but with tastes beyond her means. My father was not, but he had the knowledge and grit to take her modest finances and grow it into a fortune. I like to think they cared for each other somewhat—they did have two children, after all—but I have found no evidence of it. And as you are probably well aware, their union fell apart with a disastrously public affair that I will not recount here. The internet can provide a full account.

I don’t know if I believe in love. To be a brutally honest, and I have never said this before to anyone else, I want to believe. I don’t believe that marriages or gifts even words prove love. Love is something you do. It is a lifetime of proving acts, of flairs of passion sustained by constant vigilance, and I have yet to see it.

It was obvious to everyone who observed him that Bing was infatuated with your sister. In her presence, his eyes rarely strayed, and in her absence, he was constantly thinking of ways to change that. I dare say that I am close enough to my friend to determine that he is a man who is capable of deep and abiding love, if any are. I have seen him “in love” before, but with your sister, he seemed to be forming a deeper attachment. During your stay at his house, I felt that I had enough close observation to ascertain that Jane seemed to return his affections with much less fervor. At best, I thought her indifferent.

I would not have acted had not his siblings stated similar opinions—without me having said a word about my concerns. Bing is one of my only friends in this world, and I protect him as I would a brother. I have no regrets about turning him away from a situation that seemed doomed to failure, but if I have hurt your sister, I am sorry.

With regard to the situation of George Wickham, it is no secret that I now abhor the man. Even now, writing these words, it is hard to keep my hand steady, and so I will keep it short.

We were childhood friends. Our fathers were indeed close business colleagues, and his father died while on a business trip for the company.

My father was determined to honor his friend and paid for George’s education, his housing, even giving him a stipend for various related expenses. Please believe me that it is not out of bitterness or lack of proof when I say he wasted it all on drugs, and flunked out of college.

He was supposed to take a position with the company after finishing his degree, and even with his “mistakes,” my father still urged him to continue to pursue his education, though he wouldn’t hire him.

When I took over the company, he came to me, begging for a job. I was shocked and pleased. The George he had become in his early twenties disdained working. What need did he have to work? My father’s money supplied everything he needed. Impressed, I granted him a position.

Here, the ink smeared, and then started on another line.

My apologies. This is not easy for me. I said I would make this short.

George embezzled from the company. I fired George. He was given a generous severance, despite the firing, for “services rendered.” I could have pursued legal repercussions, but I did not, out of respect for his father and his mother, who still lived.

Four years ago, my younger sister, just eighteen and in her first year of college, began dating an magnetic alpha. Of course, George was the magnetic alpha of Gina’s adoration. She lived with our mother, who only encouraged her fancy, not realizing how George had changed in the years since our friendship. Gina became pregnant with his child, which, in the light of the events that followed, I can only assume was planned on his part. George came to me, in front of Gina, demanding fifty million to waive his parentage.

I refused.

Gina, broken hearted and wanting to solve the problem on her own sought an abortion. I only wish that she had trusted me enough to support her. Instead, she went alone. She is stronger than I could ever hope to be.

I hope, knowing as you now do, why I so abhor George, you do not fault me for my actions. I do not seek him harm, I only wish to banish his presence from my life.

If you wish to verify my interactions with him, I recommend you contact my cousin, Will. He was my personal confidant during these events, and knows everything.

One of the reasons I did not share this with you at our last meeting was that I did not wish to betray the trust of my sister. It is only with her urging and permission that I have conveyed the story to you. I hope you will keep her privacy as you would your own siblings.

Eliot sagged into his chair, eyes staring unseeing at the office and party planning paperwork surrounding him. He had misjudged Darcy. Badly. His hand fell to his stomach as tears threatened his eyes. “How am I going to fix this, baby?”

When he believed Darcy was a monster, the answer had been simple. He would simply keep the pregnancy to himself and never reveal his child’s parentage. But while Darcy’s letter had cleared some issues up, it had suddenly made Eliot’s life much more complicated.