Page 35

Dock

The Thames River

The carriage door swung open, and Wickham clambered carefully down, casting a nervous glance at the servant waiting a few feet away. The man was tall and broad and strong, obviously chosen for his ability to subdue Wickham if necessary. It did not truly matter, as Wickham did not dare try to escape. Even if he successfully made a run for it now, he no longer trusted that London's fetid underbelly would be enough to conceal him from Colonel Fitzwilliam's wrath, and he well knew what fate awaited him should the earl’s son catch him up again.

The morning matched his mood. A gray, glowering sky hung heavy over the London rooftops and warehouses that lined the docks, and a chill mist curled over the Thames. The cobblestones beneath Wickham's feet leached cold through his boots, and water slapped wetly against stone pylons and wooden ship hulls. A canvas bag slumped limp and dejected at his feet, looking as forlorn as he himself felt. Inside it was a change of clothes and a small piece of soap, the sum total of his worldly possessions that remained to him. Wickham hugged his coat about his shoulders, miserably grateful for its warmth.

He stood a moment, straining his eyes to see the tall masts through the fog. Behind him, Richard Fitzwilliam spoke in a soft tone, but Wickham tuned him out. He had no desire to listen to Fitzwilliam in his last few moments in England. Dear England! He could still hardly believe he was being shipped away from his native shores. The colonel was cruel indeed, banishing him all the way to another continent a hemisphere away.

Sorrow and fear choked Wickham, and he shivered against it and the cold wind blowing in from over the river. The journey would be dangerous, as there could be pirates, storms, or illness. Wickham and the sea did not like each other – he remembered vividly the school holiday when he had gone with a classmate at Cambridge to spend a few weeks in Sussex. Oldcastle had loved the sea and had spoken with such passion and excitement of his yacht that Wickham had looked forward to the sailing trip with almost as much delicious anticipation as his companion.

The journey had been an unmitigated disappointment. He had taken ill almost as soon as they had cast off, and the height of the waves had terrified him. Oldcastle had been exhilarated, standing up on the prow with a rope in his hands, shouting that the sea was as calm as glass while they plunged up and down watery mountains and salt spray whipped them like thin sharp cords. Wickham had clung to the side for dear life, and as soon as they returned to land, Wickham had stumbled onto the sand and vowed never to set foot in a boat again.

Now, he was forced to break that vow. Fitzwilliam had made no secret of the fact that he would like to see Wickham at the end of a hangman's rope. The journey to New South Wales would be perilous, but death was a guarantee if he stayed in England. There might come a time, when he was cheek by filthy jowl with coarse unwashed sailors and criminal ruffians in a heathen land, scrabbling for his subsistence in hard labor, that Wickham would regret his decision, but for now, he still held life too precious to carelessly throw it away.

***

Carriage

Two Hours Later

Lady Catherine opened her eyes and looked around herself with confusion. A moment later, memory returned. She was in her carriage, on her way back to her beloved estate, and had just enjoyed a pleasant nap .

She looked out the window absently. The sky was clearing, and the sun was already well up into the sky. She consulted the watch in her reticule and noted that it was nine o’clock and they ought to be to Rosings within the hour.

But wait, something was wrong. She was sitting on the right side of the carriage, facing forward, and the sun was a blazing ball to her right. But it ought not to be there. They were traveling south, and it was morning, so the sun ought to be on her left!

She frowned and stared at the countryside. Now that she was paying attention, she realized the countryside also looked wrong. Somehow, it did not look like the familiar, beloved fields and forests of Kent.

She turned a bewildered look on her brother, who was calmly gazing at her, and said, “Brother, where are we? This is not Kent!”

“It is not,” Matlock agreed. “It is Bedfordshire.”

“Bedfordshire? That is entirely the wrong way!”

“From Rosings, yes, but we are not going to Rosings, but to Milton Wray.”

She gaped at him in disbelief before crying out, “Milton Wray? Your hunting box? Are you mad? Why are we…? ”

Matlock interrupted her without compunction. “Did you really imagine that I would allow you to return to Rosings after you attempted to have Darcy’s fiancée abducted? I care for you too much to cast you into Bedlam, but I would not be out of line in doing so, and I pray that you do not force me to reconsider that decision. I am taking you to Milton Wray, and you will be staying there for the foreseeable future. It is too far away from any towns to permit you to escape.”

Bewilderment gave way to rage. “How dare you? I was doing only what needed to be done in separating Darcy from that trollop! I could never have imagined that my own brother would be so weak as to give way to the pernicious machinations of a young Jezebel. Now I order you to turn this carriage around at once!”

Matlock’s countenance was rigid. “I will not.”

She threw her reticule at him in a sudden, violent move, and screamed, “You have no right, absolutely no right! Stop the carriage! Stop! Stop!”

To her incandescent fury, the coachman ignored her shouts, and the carriage continued its journey north, the wheels rolling along behind the trotting horses, and in the midst of her anger she felt a growing chill in her bones at the reality that she was, for the first time in many years, no longer in control of everything and everyone around her.

** *

Caroline’s elegant handwriting had been the pride of her penmanship tutor, Miss Wattles, at seminary. The thought still pleased her, on occasion, when it occurred to her. She was not thinking of it now, however, as her pen flowed across the paper on the desk before her. She was writing a note of acceptance to an invitation to dinner the following Thursday, received but an hour previously. Despite it being cold and dreary in London and not yet the Season, with but few families in residence, Caroline had found herself with a delightfully full itinerary.

Of course, Louisa and Hurst accompanied her to most of these quiet dinners and card parties and evenings at the theater, but Caroline was self-assuredly aware of who was really desired to shine at the thinly populated tables. Louisa was well enough, but Hurst could not truthfully be described as anything but dull. It was Caroline who was witty and charming and congenial, along with being wealthy and refined and, above all, available. Already she had been introduced to several sons or brothers or cousins of her acquaintances. All of them were eligible young men, and Caroline had been graciously pleased with their attentions .

She and the Hursts had attended one such dinner party two days previously, and later that evening, Louisa had come into Caroline's dressing room as she prepared for bed that night. The two sisters had exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before Louisa had ventured, “Mr. Suffolk seems a very genial young man.”

“He was,” Caroline had agreed equably as she tied the strings of her night cap. It was a familiar routine by now as Louisa gently urged Caroline to encourage the most eligible of her potential suitors. Caroline did not mind her sister's mild suggestions since Louisa, while not as ambitious as her younger sister, genuinely wished for Caroline to find a good husband.

But Caroline had decided long ago that she was going to marry Mr. Darcy. True, it had seemed that all hope was lost when he had announced his engagement to the hussy Miss Eliza, but now hope had returned. There were whispers about Town, delicately encouraged by Caroline herself, of some impropriety at the ball at Netherfield in Hertfordshire. Should the scandal become too great, the engagement might yet be broken. What fortune would be hers then!

Caroline paused her writing to contemplate the possibilities before her. If the engagement were broken and Miss Eliza return to Meryton, poor Mr. Darcy would be left reeling … and alone. Even Charles would be entirely occupied with Jane and thus unable to comfort hi s friend. Caroline had come to the sorrowful conclusion that her brother’s impending marriage was almost inevitable, but therein lay an opportunity for her. Might not a suddenly available Mr. Darcy welcome the gentle affections of an old friend, who was handsome and kind and rich and refined? She would be able to offer Mr. Darcy everything that pert, impecunious, hoydenish Miss Eliza could not. It was a glorious daydream, and one Caroline earnestly intended to see reality, if she could.

Behind her, the door opened, and she glanced back at the sound of the butler's stately tread. He was bearing the familiar silver platter, with a single card lying in the very middle of the polished surface. Caroline put down her pen and reached a languid hand for the card, noting with interest the snowy white paper and gold embossing.

All indolence vanished from her mind as she read the gilded name. Lady Matlock was here to see her? Mr. Darcy's countess aunt? How very exciting! Caroline had long desired to become acquainted with members of the higher nobility, and for Mr. Darcy's aunt to honor her with a visit – well, it was intriguing indeed!

“Pray bring Lady Matlock in,” she said, rising to her feet and brushing out her skirts.

“Yes, Miss,” the butler replied stolidly and retreated .

Caroline walked over to the fire to ensure that it was burning well, and then turned toward the door with her hands clasped in front of her, her lips stretched into what she knew was a courteous smile.

The lady who appeared behind the butler was dressed extravagantly in silk and furs, and her feathered hat was an exotic creation which made Caroline’s heart twist with envy. She looked every inch the countess, and Caroline curtsied deeply before rising and said, “Lady Matlock, it is a great honor to meet you.”

“I am pleased to meet you as well, Miss Bingley,” the lady replied. “Shall we sit down?”

“Of course.”

She turned to the butler and said, “Send in tea.”

“Yes, Miss,” the man replied and retreated out of the room

Caroline waited until her guest was well settled and then sank gracefully into a chair nearby. “I hope you are having a pleasurable Christmas Season, Lady Matlock?”

“It has been more interesting than pleasurable,” the countess stated coolly. “As I am certain you are aware, my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy, is engaged to a young woman from Hertfordshire named Elizabeth Bennet. ”

Caroline could not help but grimace slightly. “Yes. I am aware.”

“I understand that you are acquainted with the Bennet family and that your brother, Mr. Bingley, is engaged to the eldest Miss Bennet.”

“Yes, my lady,” Caroline replied, her lips thin.

Lady Matlock arched one slim eyebrow. “You are not pleased by the engagement?”

The door opened at this moment to reveal two maids who brought the tea service, along with freshly baked scones. Caroline carefully prepared tea as her guest requested and then said, “Jane Bennet is a lovely woman. She is kind and generous and remarkably handsome. I daresay she will prove a charming sister by marriage.”

Lady Matlock took a sip of tea and said, “And yet, I hear a doubtful tone in your voice. Might it be related to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who, I understand, does not have an entirely estimable reputation?”

Caroline took a bite of scone, thinking furiously, and then heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Yes,” she said, her expression sorrowful. “As much as I admire and respect Jane Bennet, I am not enthusiastic about her sisters, who have hoydenish tendencies, not to mention her mother, who is the vulgar daughter of a mere solicitor. It really is a pity that Jane Bennet has such dreadful relations, but alas, one cannot choose one’s family, after all.”

“I find this most disturbing, given that Darcy will soon be married to Miss Elizabeth. It is bad enough that she is so poorly connected, but …”

“But she is also conniving and mercenary,” Caroline said, her outrage lending a sharpness to her words. “Poor Mr. Darcy. He is such an honorable man that he could hardly keep from offering marriage when there was a compromise, but to be trapped into a union with Elizabeth Bennet? It is horrifying!”

“What exactly did happen?” Lady Matlock asked, setting her cup on a small table by her side and leaning forward slightly.

Caroline put down her own cup, bent a little closer to her noble guest, and lowered her voice. “There was a ball at Netherfield Hall, the estate which my brother is currently leasing in Hertfordshire. Mr. Darcy is, as you doubtless know, a fastidious man, and grew weary of the hubbub surrounding the dancing and cavorting of the men and women who pass for society in that area of the country. He repaired to the library, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet followed him there and successfully compromised him to the point that he felt obligated to offer for her. It is dreadful. ”

“Might she be with child?” Lady Matlock demanded.

Caroline blushed a vivid red and said, “Oh, certainly not! Mr. Darcy is far too honorable to, erm, um…”

“I see,” Lady Matlock said, leaning back, and she shook her head. “It really is a pity that I was not familiar with these details earlier. I have, of course, been aware of the rumors floating around London society about Miss Elizabeth, but lacking specific details, I could hardly act.”

“I did the best I could,” Caroline said with a grimace. “I told several of my acquaintances about the situation, but naturally, I could not call on you without an introduction, and…”

“So you admit that you are the one who has been spreading gossip about Elizabeth Bennet here in London?” Lady Matlock demanded, so sharply that Caroline was taken aback.

“I, erm, yes, of course,” she said in confusion, and then, with a little more confidence, continued. “I have known Mr. and Miss Darcy for some years, and have always wished the best for them, and for the master of Pemberley to be tied to such a woman… ”

“You are a complete fool, Miss Bingley,” Lady Matlock interrupted, and Caroline felt her heart sink at her guest’s narrow eyes and rigid countenance.

“I … I do not understand, my lady.”

“Then let me explain it to you. Your brother is engaged to Jane Bennet, and instead of doing your best to hush up any hint of impropriety regarding her sister Elizabeth, you have eagerly been spreading scurrilous details to your friends here in London!”

Caroline quailed under the eyes of the countess and said weakly, “But I … I merely…”

“You wished to marry my nephew, which was never going to happen. You are admittedly handsome and finely educated, along with being moderately rich, but you are also a social climbing harpy, and Darcy has always been able to reach to the highest level for a bride.”

“Elizabeth Bennet is the penniless daughter of a country gentleman,” Caroline spat, her anger overriding her distress at her guest’s sudden change of face.

“That is true,” the countess agreed coolly, “but she is also a gentleman’s daughter with more intelligence and charm in her little finger than you have in your whole body. I have met Miss Elizabeth and find her a fascinating young lady who will be an excellent wife for my nephew Darcy. As for you, I recommend that you either leave London entirely for a few months, or refuse all invitations on the score that you have come down with leprosy or something of the sort. Now, I have had quite enough of you and will take my leave.”

Caroline’s mouth hung open in disbelief, and it was not until her guest had risen to depart that she lurched from her seat and said, “Leave? Leprosy? What are you speaking of? Why should I…?”

“Because I will destroy you socially if you do not,” Lady Matlock declared, glowering into the younger woman’s face. “You have caused us a great deal of trouble, you know, by spreading scandal about Darcy’s fiancée, and if you do not remove yourself from society of your own volition, I will make it my business to have you shunned by all of those in my social sphere, and I promise that your dreams of marrying well will be crushed.”

Caroline felt her throat constrict, and she wobbled in place. Shunned? This could not be happening.

“I will show myself out,” Lady Matlock said and turned on her heel and swished away.