Page 17

T he ball at Netherfield was more lavish, extravagant and opulent than Jane had ever witnessed. Before the Bingleys arrived in Hertfordshire, the Bennets had been the principal family, and were consequently responsible for the fanciest of parties held in their little neighbourhood. Even the biggest parties thrown by Mrs. Bennet did not come close to the ball Miss Bingley had thrown. None of the people of Meryton had ever seen a ballroom so large or decorations so elaborate or food so decadent before.

Jane wanted to appear untouched by it all, but she was not sure she managed to look as serene as she usually did.

The Bingleys, of course, appeared as nonchalant as if it were a regular Tuesday for them. Mr. Darcy even seemed to be valiantly trying to hide how bored he was.

Just to make sure their new neighbours were not the odd ones, Jane turned to her cousin. Elizabeth, too, looked rather unperturbed by her surroundings. Her gaze seemed to wander about the large hall, flitting by all the ornamentation, unseeing, until they landed on an individual and brightened brilliantly.

Jane followed her eyes only to find Mr. Darcy walking towards them with some purpose, his previous ill-concealed ennui forgotten. Ah. Jane thought, not completely surprised. She did not think anybody truly was. Mr. Darcy's interest in Elizabeth had been apparent from almost the very beginning, and though Elizabeth had tried to deny it at the start, it was now obvious that the gentleman's affections were more than mutual.

Jane found it fascinating. On the surface, there was not a lot of difference between her and Elizabeth. They dressed similarly, spoke the same language, and were mingling with the same people. Elizabeth's family was a closely guarded secret so as to safeguard her against fortune hunters, and to make sure that the rest of the Bennet sisters got their fair share of attention from gentlemen even when their much wealthier and better-connected cousin was with them. How then had Mr. Darcy managed to single her out as someone from his own circles?

Were the ridiculously wealthy just different in some obscure, intangible way? Did they have an unspoken method by which they recognized each other even when one of them was essentially in disguise?

Not that Jane was interested in catching the eye of a wealthy gentleman. She was as happy as a creature could be being the object of affection of a well-situated man like Mr. Bingley. Considering how intimidated she already was at Netherfield, she was afraid she would turn into a silent mouse if she was ever left to fend for herself amid people of Mr. Darcy’s or Lizzy's calibre.

“Miss Bennet!”

Jane turned, all useless and wandering thoughts falling out of her head, and smiled. Her own gentleman was making his way towards her,

“Mr. Bingley.” She curtsied when he reached her, “This ball is magnificent.”

Bingley preened, but digressed, “All credit must go to Caroline, of course. As a man, my biggest contribution to the entire event was my wallet and a promise to stay out of her way.”

Jane giggled at his quip, but it also made her wonder how much an event this large could cost. If she ever became Mrs. Bingley, would she be expected to hold her parties and get-togethers on this scale? She did not think she would ever be able to become comfortable spending such a large sum on one evening.

Before Jane could once again spiral into an anxious mess courtesy of her thoughts, the music started, and she sighed in relief as Mr. Bingley collected her for their set. Years of practice had made disregarding her mother’s excited shrieks and squeals as easy as breathing and Jane endeavoured to spend the rest of the night only focusing on smiling beatifically up at Mr. Bingley while he behaved as charmingly as ever.

Caroline Bingley flopped onto the settee in her chamber as soon as the door closed behind her. The ball had been torturous, but it was over. Mr. Darcy had danced only once with her and twice with Miss Braxton, but at least none of the dances he had shared with Eliza been significant in any sense of the word.

Caroline could only credit that to Mr. Darcy not being so very sure of his choice in bride. Why else would he mind the rumours if it was not because he was still hoping to get out of this obviously-contrived betrothal?

The gentleman need not worry. Caroline was ready and prepared to save him from the trap that the scheming, insidious Eliza had ensnared him in. She had spent the past few days lulling Mr. Darcy into a false sense of security, leaving him alone to the point where he probably thought that she had given up. But it was now time to claim her rightful place as Mrs. Darcy.

It was almost four in the morning, and the house was finally empty of all its unwelcome guests. The Bennets had been persistent little pests, thinking she would not notice how they had deliberately delayed their carriage in hopes that their daughters might further claw their way into the hearts of her brother and her Darcy in the extra time. She had never more strongly agreed with her mother when Bertha Bingley had taught her that all men were naive, oblivious creatures. The way both Charles and Mr. Darcy had drunk up all the simpering attention the eldest Miss Bennet and Miss Braxton had granted them had been almost revolting to watch.

Caroline could not wait to leave this cursed little corner of Hertfordshire. As soon as she secured Mr. Darcy for herself, she would cajole Charles into leaving the damned house and join her and the Darcys in Town for the season. Then, if her dear brother and Darcy’s dear little sister happened to form a connection of their own in the midst of London’s romantic winter, well… that would just be all the better.

Satisfied with her plans, Caroline stood, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to do. Calling for her maid, she quickly began to undress,

“Monique, bring me my crimson nightdress. The one with the lacey neck.” She ordered and walked over to the vanity, trying to decide on which scent would be the best.

Elizabeth Braxton smelled sweet, but not floral. Almost like brown sugar, or caramel. A completely childish preference, but Mr. Darcy seemed to have taken a liking to it. On multiple occasions, she had caught the man standing dazedly in the wake of Eliza walking away from him. Gritting her teeth, Caroline picked the closest scent she owned to Eliza’s perfume and dabbed it onto her skin generously.

She dressed in the nightgown her maid brought and undid her hair from the intricate updo that had taken almost half an hour to complete. Not one person had complimented her on it. Caroline was certain people in Meryton would not know sophistication if it ever slapped them in the face.

“Mistress, everything is ready.” Monique whispered, handing Caroline a lit candelabra. Caroline nodded, and started making her way to Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber through the servants’ corridor. It was more than a little uncomfortable to be walking outside of her room in her nightdress. The silky fabric was rubbing against her bare skin in the most peculiar way and where it was not covering her, the cold air was causing goosebumps to rise across her body. Caroline tried her best to ignore the discomfort. It would all soon be worth it.

When she reached the room that had been assigned to Mr. Darcy during his stay, she turned to her maid one last time. Monique nodded resolutely back at her. In about five minutes, her maid would go and knock on Charles’ door, worried for her missing mistress. The two of them would then open Mr. Darcy’s room from its proper entrance and ‘catch them in the act’ .

Caroline nodded back, and then, without another thought, blew out the candles and opened the door.

Mr. Darcy had not lit the fireplace in his room. Strange, considering how cold it was in the night, but Caroline assumed the man just ran a little hot. The bedchamber, however, was pitch black as a result. She could barely see a step in front of her. Biting her lip, Caroline tried her best to not make any sound as she walked over to the main entrance of the room. Her eyes adjusted slowly as time passed and she made her way more swiftly. Her nose flared in annoyance when she saw the door.

The blasted man had wedged a chair underneath a handle! Who did he think he was protecting himself from? Did he think she was some kind of a tart, just eager to jump into his bed?! The only reason Caroline was having to go to such lengths was because of him in the first place! If Darcy had proposed to her at any time in the last four years they had been acquainted with each other, she never would have had to stoop to this level!

Angrily, but still trying to make as little noise as possible, Caroline shoved aside the chair and unlocked the door. Huffing, she corrected the crooked neckline of her night rail and then finally tip-toed over to the massive bed in the centre of the room. She could clearly see the long lump underneath the blankets that was undoubtedly Mr. Darcy. She wondered if he shared Charles’ habit of sleeping unclothed. It would certainly make this little act much more convincing if he did.

Quietly, she slipped into the blanket next to him, and just… laid there. She dared not wake him. Not before Charles came in at least. Once her brother had caught the both of them in Mr. Darcy’s bed in a state of déshabillé , their fates would be sealed.

Caroline’s heart was beating a mile a minute. She tried to close her eyes, but was too nervous to keep them shut. Instead, she turned on her side, facing Mr. Darcy’s profile.

… Was his hair always so curly?

The thought had barely registered when the door burst open with all the commotion and gung-ho her brother was capable of making. Caroline shot up in bed, genuinely surprised by all the ruckus her brother had managed to make, but quickly put on her well-practised bashful/scared-but-definitely compromised expression. She felt the lump next to her move, then stumble onto a sitting posture. Caroline still kept her teary gaze on her brother.

Charles’ eyes were almost bulging out of his head. He looked thunderstruck, angry…stupefied…

Truly, was the idea of her and Darcy so very surprising? Why did he look so very dumbfounded? Caroline turned her head just enough to look at her maid instead. Monque’s stunned face looked almost too genuine…

Dread washed over her.

Caroline whipped her head to the side, and a horrified scream almost instinctively bubbled out of her.

Instead of Mr. Darcy, his blasted valet was lying next to her!

“What in the world is going on here, Caroline?!” Charles finally found his tongue for long enough to demand.

Caroline’s scream seemed to have caused even more of an uproar, because before she could clarify anything, the other door attached to Darcy’s bedchamber that led to a small dressing room opened abruptly, and Darcy himself stepped out, face still soft with sleep but eyes as alert as ever. His sharp gaze quickly took in the scene before him, and he shook his head, his mouth frowning in distaste,

“I owe ye a guinea, Alfred.” Was all he said.

His valet scratched his head, but nodded and stood. Alfred was fully dressed. In fact, he was still wearing his dress coat and shoes. This only served to further highlight Caroline’s own undress. A man would have to be both dumb and blind to not understand what had transpired.

Charles Bingley might have been a little slow on some occasions, but he was not stupid. His shock quickly shifted to horror, and he looked at his sister as if she might as well have murdered his dog,

“Good God, Caroline, what in the world were you thinking?!”

Caroline, for perhaps the first time in her life, could think of nothing to defend herself with. She burst out crying.

Darcy sighed, “I shall be in the next room, packing my trunks.”