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W hen Lady Catherine’s carriage reached the Darcy House in Mayfair, she did not bother waiting for a footman to hand her down. Positively storming out of the box, she climbed the front steps of the house in a high dungeon and banged the knocker against the door. The gate opened promptly, but when she tried to step in, Hawkins, Darcy’s butler, stood between her and the foyer.

Lady Catherine fumed, “Have you gone senile, you old coot! Do you not recognise who stands before you?! I demand you let me enter at once!”

Hawkins only bowed slightly, and answered primly, “Forgive me, madam. But, the master of the house is currently out. It is Mr. Darcy’s express instruction that I do not allow entry to anybody except Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam when he is absent from the establishment.”

It was clear to Catherine that she was not listed among the exceptions simply because her right to come and go from her nephew’s home as she pleased was so obvious and inherent that it did not need to be stated out loud. She said so to Hawkins, but the impertinent man refused to budge.

“I shall have you thrown out into the streets if you do not obey me, Hawkins!” She threatened,

Hawkins’ expression remained placid and unchanged. He bowed against, barely , “I shall accept any punishment my master considers fit for disrespecting you, Lady Catherine, but until then, I am afraid, I still cannot let you in.”

Catherine could feel the vein on the side of her temple pulsing with irritation. She could also tell that the confrontation was garnering too much attention. Not wanting to give rise to more rumours, she decided to retreat for the moment. Not before inquiring into one more thing:

“And where has your master gone?”

This information, it would seem, she was allowed to be acquainted with:

“He has gone to The Braxton House on Park Lane, Madam.”

Lord Braxton was not at all surprised at the arrival of his latest uninvited guest. His engagement with Lady Catherine might have been brief and had occurred almost forty years ago, but he fancied himself a good judge of character, and Catherine Fitzwilliam had been a fairly quick and easy study.

The woman in question was pacing a path in the Persian carpet laid along the guest parlour when he entered the room. She glared at him hatefully, and Victor supposed there was no affection in his expression as well.

“You.” She almost hissed. Victor rolled his eyes. It would seem her tendency towards theatrics had not abated with her age.

“Yes. I.” He replied languidly, then took a seat on the cushiest Chesterfield. Victor had discovered very quickly in his ‘courtship’ with Catherine that the quickest way to make her lose her marbles was to remain unaffected by her antics, “What are you doing here, Lady Catherine?”

Catherine hmphed, “I am here to see my nephew. I was informed that he was visiting you.”

“To be more precise, he is visiting my granddaughter. You must have heard of it by now. The news is all over town. It would seem fates do love to play their little games, for we are to become family after all.”

The woman’s glares seemed to have become more venomous and hateful with time. If Lord Braxton were not a man of nearly seventy years, he might have cowered under her anger. As it was, his mouth twitched up in a sneering smile,

“Darcy cannot marry your granddaughter. He is honour bound to marry my Anne.”

Victor raised a brow, “That is very strange. Mr. Darcy has assured me that he was completely unattached until his betrothal to my Lizzy and is now wholly devoted to her.”

“I shall not argue with you for a moment, Victor!” Catherine almost shouted, “I demand to speak to Darcy! Summon my nephew this instant!”

The door to the parlour opened, and the man of the hour entered, his colour high and his gait stiff. It was obvious to any who looked that Fitzwilliam Darcy was mortified. “Aunt.” He managed to utter with gritted teeth, though he did elect to forgo the deference to which she was entitled.

“Darcy!” Aunt Catherine huffed, “You must come with me at once. We shall leave for the Fitzwilliam house immediately. I will have Anne travel to London and have a special licence prepared. It is high time that you married.”

It was with infinite patience that Darcy managed to reply, “I agree.” Before his aunt could bask in her success, however, he added, “I have delayed getting married long enough. Which is why I proposed to Miss Elizabeth Braxton a little over a fortnight ago. Since then, I have acquired her guardian’s consent, and the wedding preparations are well on their way. If you had been at Rosings, I can only imagine you would have received your letter informing you of our upcoming nuptials this morning.”

Her nephew’s unmitigated, brazen impudence had Lady Catherine stuttering for a moment, “B- But- what about Anne? You cannot mean to jilt her! And what of the promise that my dear sister and I made over your cradles? Are you refusing to fulfil your dying mother’s last wish?”

Darcy rolled his eyes, “Your emotional manipulations might have worked when I was a child, Aunt Catherine, but it has been many years since they have had any effect on me. Whatever my mother might have said to you, she extracted no such promise from me. As for your daughter, she wants no part of this marriage as well. Anne is very happy living her life at Rosings as the estate’s heiress. The thought of having to relocate to Derbyshire is abhorrent to her.”

Lady Catherine gritted her teeth, “Anne will do her duty despite whatever wishes she may have. Unlike you, she is a good, filial child.”

Darcy’s face was stone, “ Anne may owe you filial loyalty, but you are not my mother. My parents have passed and I answer to no one but myself. I have chosen to marry Elizabeth and so I shall. You have wasted your time by barging in here in such a shameful manner. If you have no intention to attend my wedding, I suggest you return to Kent.”

Without another glance, Darcy turned around and left the room. Lord Braxton, who had until then, been a silent spectator, slapped his thighs and stood up as well, making Catherine look at him with an ugly scowl on her face,

“I have to say, I never thought I would ever like a man who shared your blood. Seventy years on this earth, I am glad there are still things that surprise me.”

With that parting remark, Lord Braxton too left the room, but not before tasking one of the footmen standing at the threshold to ‘escort Lady Catherine to the front door’.

Caroline Bingley sat sullenly in her brother's carriage as Charles, for what felt like the millionth time, iterated the new regulations and rules that would now bind her for the rest of her life. Caroline's ears ached from hearing the same lecture again and again. She was now prohibited from interacting with any of Charles’ gentlemen friends; she was prohibited from introducing herself to any of the friends he might make in the future; she was prohibited from speaking to a single, eligible gentleman for any length of time without the presence of one other person.

Even though Caroline had to admit that the ridiculous rules were warranted, they were unnecessary. She was not an idiot. She was not going to make the same mistakes again. What happened with Mr. Darcy had simply been a miscalculation. She had seen him paying court to another woman, and irrationally, she had become desperate. She was immensely lucky that not many people had witnessed her disgrace. Mr. Darcy was too honourable of a person to spread the tale himself, and the servants who had been present at the time of the- incident had all been bribed to keep quiet. Their collective silence was the only reason why Caroline was still able to accompany her brother to London to spend the rest of the winter in Town.

Mr. Darcy was getting married, it would seem, and he had at least forgiven the Bingleys enough to have sent Charles an invitation.

Pemberly was well and truly out of her reach now, but Caroline endeavoured to repine the match no longer. She knew herself to be better than Elizabeth Braxton in all the aspects that mattered. If Mr. Darcy refused to see the woman's deficiencies, well, it was his loss. At least his wedding had managed to accomplish the one thing Caroline had not been able to do on her own. It had pulled Charles away from Hertfordshire and the 'angelic' Jane Bennet. Expectations may have been raised in the little village, but Charles had, through the sheer grace of God, not yet proposed.

He had also, when Darcy’s wedding invitation landed on his desk, been so desperate to restore his friendship with the older gentleman that he forgot about everything else and ordered everyone’s trunks packed.

Caroline had taken the opportunity to instruct the housekeeper to close down the house and had sent a single passive-aggressive note filled to the brim with insinuations of a match between her brother and Miss Darcy over to the Bennets’ house so that the last of the loose ends were tied up. Caroline might not have been able to achieve her dream on this eventful little trip to the quaint little Hertfordshire, but at least she had managed to avoid becoming a social pariah.

She would have to be satisfied with that for now.

The hullabaloo of the Town relaxed Caroline, quietening her racing thoughts as they entered London. The cold, wet streets, the crowded sidewalks, even the rowdy street urchins and the perpetually potent smell of sweaty horseflesh made her feel like she was home. Caroline found she could not help herself; she stopped the carriage as soon as it entered Bond Street,

“Caroline? What are you doing?” Charles asked, confused and suspicious. Caroline rolled her eyes, what did he expect her to do? Flee from the carriage now that she was in London? Caroline was not an idiot. She knew that without her brother, her place in society would only fall further. It was true that she did have a few influential friends of her own, but those women were only her friends because of Charles and his connections with renowned gentlemen. Without her brother, Caroline would once again become a plankton in the vast sea of aristocracy.

“I only want to visit my modiste before we continue to head on over to Grosvenor Square. You can return first if you want, Charlie.”

The old nickname did soften some of her brother’s resolve, though, not enough for him to readily assent, “I am not leaving you alone, Caro.”

“Not alone, of course. One of your footmen can stay with me. I shall walk back to the Hursts’ residence before the afternoon.” When it seemed like he was on the verge of wavering, she added in the sweetest voice she could manage, “Please, brother?”

Charles sighed, rubbing his head as if resigned, “Very well. You shall take Tommy with you. And I swear, Caro, if you do not come back by the afternoon, I shall send a search party after you.”

The threat was strong, but Caroline was not planning to disobey her brother so soon after her blunder anyway. She nodded eagerly, and then stepped out of the carriage before he could change his mind. Tommy was a large-built man with an ugly scar running down his ear to his neck that tended to make people keep their distance from him. He would certainly not have been Caroline’s first choice for an escort, but she was not simply visiting her modiste for a cup of tea and a chat.

Caroline needed gossip.

A woman like her could not survive in this society if she did not know what was happening at all times, and there was no one better than Madame Ellofe when it came to keeping track of the rumours circulating amongst the ladies of the ton. The woman was the best dressmaker money could buy, and plenty of duchesses and marchionesses were said to be part of her regular clientele. Caroline had to part with a little more than half of her quarterly allowance biannually just to be a part of that list. It was an expense she would not be able to afford if she ever decided to set up her own establishment, which was why Caroline was determined to live with her brother until she married an even richer and more powerful man.

Caroline walked down the busy streets, her posture graceful and demure. It was still a little early for the footpaths to be truly crowded, but there were still plenty of ladies and gentlemen that she had introduced herself to, or had at least taken notice of at prestigious events in the past. She greeted the ones that stopped to greet her first, and smiled at the ones that did not. Madame Ellofe’s shop was too exclusive to ever be crowded, but looking through the glass today, it appeared unusually empty. Caroline could only make out the back of one woman sitting on a settee and reading a magazine. Curious, she walked a little further down to the entrance, and stepped into the store,

The woman looked up from the magazine, and Caroline recognized her instantly, “Oh. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I have booked the store for the day. My granddaughter is getting married, you see.”

Caroline did not hear a word. She just saw that elegant, soft face, those clear bright eyes, and the fine wrinkles that seemed to add more character to the woman’s beauty rather than take anything away from it and blurted out, “Lady Braxton!”

Lady Braxton, for it was the elusive Lady Roseline Braxton, raised a brow, “Are we acquainted?”

“No, of course not.” Caroline was on the verge of losing her senses as she walked closer to the older woman, “I am so sorry, this is very rude of me. It is only- I have admired you from afar for so long! I never thought I would ever be able to meet you.”

The lady’s face did not change in the slightest. Caroline's legs were trembling under her skirt.

“You had better introduce yourself, young lady.”

“Of course. I am Miss Caroline Bingley, my Lady.” Caroline curtsied, “My brother is Mr. Charles Bingley. He is a very close friend of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

Lady Braxton’s face cleared, and her expression warmed, “Mr. Darcy, you say? He is a lovely young man.”

It was the first time Caroline had ever heard Mr. Darcy be described by anyone as ‘lovely’, as jarring as it was, she kept her smile plastered on her face and agreed readily. Perhaps that lady had only heard of Darcy and had never had the occasion to talk with him. Then, Lady Braxton continued to speak, and Caroline’s world shattered once more,

“He is to be my grandson-in-law, you see. If you are the sister of one of his close friends, I suppose I shall see you at the wedding?”

Hot and cold flashes ran through Caroline’s body simultaneously. If she was of a weaker constitution, she might have swooned. As if God was playing with her, just as the words left Lady Braxton’s mouth, one of the changing curtains in the shop swished open and out came the dreadful Miss Elizabeth Braxton, looking an absolute vision in a masterpiece of an ivory gown, followed by Madame Ellofe herself, who was fixing the back of the lady’s veil.

Miss Braxton was smiling widely at her grandmother, though it wilted slightly when her gaze rested on Caroline, “Miss Bingley?”

Only through years of experience in pretending to be nice to people she genuinely loathed was Caroline able to salvage the situation she found herself in, “Miss Braxton! You look absolutely lovely in that dress! Oh, but I am sure I have never seen a young lady more beautiful.”

It grated on Caroline’s delicate nerves, how honest that statement was.

“Thank you, Miss Bingley.” Elizabeth relied, looking befuddled at the other woman’s change in attitude.

“Lizzy? You are acquainted with this young lady?” Lady Braxton asked her granddaughter,

“Yes, ma’am. Miss Bingley’s brother was the young gentleman I told you about who took possession of Netherfield during my stay at Longbourn.” Here, she gave Miss Bingley a bright, insincere smile, “It was all thanks to the Bingleys that I was able to meet with Fitzwilliam.”

It took a herculean effort to keep her smile from twitching, but Caroline managed to keep her expression pleasant. Though only moments before she had been ecstatic at the idea of having a private conversation with Lady Braxton, suddenly, she wanted to run away from the store, the street, the city. If Eliza ever even whispered to her grandmother about how contemptuously Caroline had treated her at Netherfield, she would no longer have a place in society. She would have no choice but to move to Scarborough and discard all her dreams of ever becoming the belle of Almack’s ball.

By her own sheer folly, Caroline realised, she had managed to offend one of the most powerful women in the making.