Page 9

Caroline’s Bedchamber

Netherfield

Caroline Bingley drew back the curtains to stare out her window at the rolling fields beyond. Her pretty face was set in a petulant frown, a luxury she could permit herself in the privacy of her own chamber. The land was a patchwork of browns and ambers and duns of harvested stubble and dying grass, with fallow crop fields interspersed with pastures of cattle and sheep and horses. It was pastoral and idyllic and sleepy with the promise of winter, and she despised it. Some people liked the country, claiming that it was restful. Caroline found it boring. She much preferred the busy bustle of London, the people and the parties, and the cobbled streets that were never truly deserted.

She wished, not for the first time, that Mr. Darcy had agreed to return to Town. It seemed impossible, but the elegant master of Pemberley obviously favored this benighted backwater to the glories of the Metropolis, and thus they were all stuck here for the foreseeable future. It was a dreary prospect, and entirely unreasonable for ladies of true refinement. If Charles truly cared for her, he would take her to where she was happiest. After all, business could be conducted by letter, and Charles could easily return for a week, or perhaps two, to hunt next autumn. It was completely ridiculous to spend months at a time here.

Movement in the lane below caught Caroline's eye, and she looked down, then scowled. It was especially imperative that they spend no more time here if Charles was going to insist on falling in love with some bumpkin female. It had been some two hours since the departure of the familiar gray gelding and his rider, and Caroline was certain that Charles had indeed been at Longbourn all this time.

It was unconscionable. As sweet a girl as Jane Bennet was, she was far from desirable as a sister-in-law. Unquestionably, something had to be done. Usually Charles folded beneath Caroline's ire, but he was being infuriatingly stubborn this time. She preferred straightforward methods to subtlety, but she could , if absolutely necessary, be subtle.

“Clara?” she said, turning around to look at her maid, who was currently inspecting one of her mistress’s gowns. The woman, who was almost forty years of age, had been serving Caroline for a full decade now and was a trusted confidant.

“Yes, Miss?”

“I have a problem which requires some delicacy. ”

Her maid stared at her for a moment, turned to hang the dress back up, and then turned back, her hands clasped in front of her. “How can I help, Miss Bingley?”

Caroline took a few steps closer to the woman and said, “My brother seems to be thoroughly infatuated with Miss Bennet of Longbourn.”

“I have observed that.”

“Yes, and while Jane is a sweet girl, she is hardly an appropriate bride for my brother.”

“I quite agree. Your mother’s greatest wish was that you would all ascend high into society, and Miss Bennet will not assist you or your brother in that way.”

“Exactly!” Caroline agreed, her brow furrowing in outrage. “Really, Charles can be so selfish sometimes! He simply must marry well so that Mr. Darcy will offer for me! The master of Pemberley would not wish to be tied to family with such ghastly connections, not to mention behavior!”

“I entirely agree, Miss,” Clara said. “What would you like me to do?”

Caroline compressed her lips for a moment and then said, “The behavior of the younger Bennets is truly dreadful in public, such that I am confident that if a rumor were to spread that Miss Lydia, for example, had been seen in a compromising situation, it would be believed.”

“I understand, Miss.”

“You will need to be careful, of course, that the rumor cannot be easily disproven.”

Clara produced a wintry smile and bobbed her head. “I will start by learning more about the Bennets from the servants, though I already know quite a bit about them. When I have more information available, I will consult with you.”

“An excellent plan,” Caroline said approvingly.

***

Pig in the Poke

Meryton

Evening

George Wickham leaned back in his chair and took a luxurious bite of a heavily buttered roll. The food in this establishment was not fancy, but it was both tasty and ample, and the proprietor seemed happy to allow him to run up a large tab. Yes, his current situation was pleasant enough, though it would be better still when he had succeeded to sink Darcy’s reputation even lower than it currently was.

He was surrounded by his fellow officers and had managed to get the conversation around to the Bennet ladies, although that was no great difficulty given that four of the five were the prettiest women in the district.

“It is a great pity that none of them have any money to speak of,” Captain Denny remarked. “Miss Bennet is one of the most handsome women I have ever seen in my life, and she has a kind and gentle temperament to match.”

“Not that we ever had any hope with her,” Lieutenant Smythe grunted. “Based on Bingley’s behavior at the ball at Netherfield, I am confident that he will soon make the lady an offer.”

There were mournful sighs from the other officers, along with nodding heads, and then Denny said, “In truth, I prefer Miss Elizabeth. She is not quite as handsome as her sister, but she is such a lively and intelligent lady, and a most charming dancer.”

“By all means, make her an offer, Denny,” Wickham said lazily. “You deserve a pretty and intelligent wife. ”

“If she had any sort of dowry, I might,” Denny said, rather to his surprise. “She is a fascinating lady with a lively and perceptive mind, while also being perfectly honorable in her dealings with everyone.”

Wickham snorted softly. “I certainly agree about the former, but I am not entirely convinced about the latter.”

This, as he intended, drew the attention of his fellow tablemates, and Lieutenant Pratt leaned forward and said, “Whatever do you mean, Wickham?”

“I mean that, well, I am not certain of myself, of course. I ought not to say anything, I suppose.”

This had the obvious and natural result of his fellows begging him to speak on, and he finally said, with supposed reluctance, “Well, I saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet leave the ball room surreptitiously during the latter part of the evening and happened to see her climb the stairs to the upper floor, which seemed odd. Then, when she returned an hour later, she was both flushed and her garments, erm, well, I am certain you know what I mean.”

“Indeed?” Denny remarked with a lift of his right eyebrow. “Well, perhaps Miss Elizabeth is not a worthy wife for an officer and gentleman, then.”

“But maybe she could be something else?” Smythe suggested crudely, and Pratt elbowed him and said, “ Now, we ought not to assume anything egregious. Wickham did not actually see her do, erm, anything.”

“But why go upstairs during a ball?” Pratt asked. “I have never been on the first floor of the mansion, but surely it is filled with bedchambers?”

This provoked some vulgar sniggering from the men, and Wickham leaned back in his chair, well satisfied. He had lied in claiming that he had seen Miss Elizabeth climb the stairs, but she had obviously been in the library, and thus had climbed the stairs. Moreover, her clothing had not been in disarray when he saw her in the ball room later, but no one would be able to disapprove his words.

And if he knew anything about human nature, it would not be long before whispers about Miss Elizabeth’s honor were spreading throughout Meryton and, if all went well, even beyond.

***

Lucas Lodge

After Dinne r

The door to the drawing room opened and Charlotte Lucas stood up as Mr. Collins entered the room, talking volubly with her father, Sir William Lucas.

Not surprisingly, the subject of his conversation was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, his esteemed patroness, with a few remarks sprinkled in about his comfortable parsonage and garden.

Charlotte stood quietly until he took a breath, and then she smiled and said, “Please, sir, will you not sit down near the fire? It is a chilly day.”

He returned the smile with pleasure and obediently sat on the chair in question, which was the best one in the room, a blue wingbacked chair with good cushioning.

Mr. Collins was an inveterate talker, and thus Charlotte was not required to think deeply as the conversation continued. She smiled a great deal, and asked questions about Kent, and his parsonage, and the de Bourghs, and made a few wistful comments about how fine it all was and how much she wished she could see Hunsford and Rosings.

Her behavior was not subtle in the least, but then Mr. Collins was not a subtle man. He was, she thought dispassionately, a decent man, without a vicious bone in his body, but he was not particularly bright. He would be a good husband for a sensible, intelligent woman like herself, and she could only hope that he would make her an offer before leaving for Kent and his cozy parsonage.

***

Darcy’s Bedchamber

Midnight

The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. It had just struck twelve, and Darcy turned over fretfully, sleep eluding him. Normally he fell asleep with ease, but tonight, his mind would not rest from dwelling on Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her astonishing refusal of him.

It was ridiculous for him to continue thinking of it, but he could not help himself, caught as he was in a mixture of bewilderment and indignation and, yes, disappointment.

Miss Elizabeth had made her disinterest abundantly plain, and Mr. Bennet had been anything but enthusiastic. It was astounding, considering the family’s situation. How could she be disinterested? He was Darcy of Pemberley and one of the most eligible bachelors in the land! His mother had been the daughter of an earl, and his uncle was an earl! He had an income of ten thousand pounds a year! He could have his choice of any woman in the land, save a princess, or perhaps the daughter of a duke.

And, apparently, Elizabeth Bennet was also out of reach. Lovely, clever, vivacious Miss Elizabeth, who was one slender thread from poverty, with vulgar relations and connections in trade, had zero interest in an offer from him ! She found the very idea of marrying him repugnant, no less! She had fled from him and dangerously, no less.

It stung him, which was absurd. There was really no reason at all for him to care for Elizabeth Bennet’s opinion of him. Indeed, it was as well for him that she – perhaps alone of unmarried gentlewomen – had not set her cap at him. He owed it to his name, his family, and his sister, to reach high in society for a bride. He needed an accomplished woman who would grace Pemberley and gently guide Georgiana through the critical strictures of the haut ton.

This pragmatic knowledge did not much lessen the smarting of her blatant rejection. She was intelligent and kind and enchanting, and he valued her opinion highly. That she thought poorly of him hurt. He wondered dejectedly if she at least felt more kindly disposed towards him now that he had revealed Wickham’s perfidy.

Even if Miss Elizabeth had revised her assessment of him, she still openly scorned him as a possible husband. It was not that she, conscious of connections and social standing, believed herself beneath him. On the contrary! She found him lacking. It was both stunning and humbling. Certainly, no other woman had ever indicated that he was less than entirely desirable as a husband.

Darcy rolled over again. This line of thought was utterly unprofitable, and he would be weary the next morning if he did not go to sleep. He shifted his head on his pillow, the linen rustling, so that he could more easily stare over at the flickering fire. Sleep at last weighed down his eyelids and made his eyes gritty, but his mind dwelt yet on the piquant face of Miss Elizabeth. He could not bear that she disliked him, and he wondered drowsily if he might yet raise her opinion of him. It would be difficult, for he had spent so long turning a cold and austere face to the world that to relax into warmth now would take considerable effort on his part. From the time he was a very young man, he had been fending off matchmaking mammas and their ambitious daughters. He had never before had to exert himself to charm a lady, and it was both novel and discomfiting. But Miss Elizabeth was a lady worth charming, and he wished to cultivate her friendship. Only friendship, and his own infatuation would necessarily fade with time, as it must for so many reasons. But friendship, yes, that was a worthy goal indeed.

Darcy slipped into sleep, comforted by his new resolution.