Page 22

CHAPTER 22

Plotting

M iss Bingley seized her first opportunity to speak to Lady Matlock after dinner.

Earlier, she had attempted to seat herself beside the countess during the meal, but Aunt Horatia had firmly directed her to the chair at her own left, far from Lady Matlock who was placed in the seat of honour beside their host.

To Miss Bingley’s left sat Mr. Hurst, who offered little conversation beyond asking for more wine, while to Aunt Horatia’s right was Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had occupied much of the countess’s attention throughout the meal.

Thus, despite her best efforts, Miss Bingley had found herself effectively cut off from both her intended targets.

However, when the housekeeper called Aunt Horatia away, Miss Bingley used the opportunity to speak to the countess and Miss Darcy.

“Lady Matlock, I am perfectly delighted to have this opportunity to grow better acquainted,” Miss Bingley simpered.

“We have never had the pleasure of meeting in town, but I was so pleased when my brother informed me that you and Miss Darcy would be joining us here. It is so dreadfully dull in the country—full of little nobodies who believe themselves far more important than they are. Worst of all is that Bennet family, with whom your nephew seems so enamoured.”

She gave a light, affected laugh, oblivious to the darkening expression on Lady Matlock’s face—or to the look of open shock on Georgiana’s.

“I know Darcy claims a connection to the father through his own, but surely that Bennet fellow is making far more of it than truly existed. We shall be a much more agreeable party with you here, my lady. With your presence, my brother will have no reason to call at Longbourn so often, nor need we endure their frequent visits. I cannot imagine you would wish to be acquainted with such a family.” Miss Bingley sniffed with disdain.

Lady Matlock straightened, her posture imposing, and regarded Miss Bingley with a look of icy derision.

When she spoke, her voice was cold and cutting.

“First, when we arrived you addressed my niece by her Christian name without her permission. Now you attempt to imply a familiarity with my nephew by referring to him by his surname as though you were of his intimate acquaintance. It is said you attended a seminary for young ladies, Miss Bingley, yet it appears you mastered none of the lessons taught there.”

The countess drew herself even more erect, her gaze firm and unwavering as she glared at the interloper.

“Were you not instructed that it is for the person of higher rank to initiate an informal address? Did they not teach you that it is for the superior to open a conversation with an inferior, not the other way around? You ought not to have approached me but waited for me to acknowledge you. ”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“My nephew has already informed me that he was obliged to remind you of the proper decorum owed to a gentleman to whom you are not related. It grieves me to see that you have taken no greater care in amending your conduct.”

She let the words hang in the air a moment before continuing, her tone as cool as glass.

“If you are truly determined to raise yourself above your current station, Miss Bingley, I suggest you begin by acquiring the manners to match your ambition. At present, it seems a most unlikely prospect. It is fortunate your sister has already married; otherwise, your conduct might well have jeopardised her prospects. As for your brother—he would be wise to establish a respectable distance once he takes a wife, if he values peace in his household.”

Miss Bingley’s mouth opened, then closed again, no words finding their way past her mortification.

A blotchy flush rose along her neck and cheeks as she struggled to summon a defence, any defence, in front of this woman whom she had hoped to impress.

Before she could stammer out a reply, Lady Matlock turned away with cool finality, addressing Georgiana in a tone of polite warmth.

“My dear, would you care to demonstrate for me the music you have been practising? I am certain your brother will be most eager to hear your progress at the instrument.”

Gratefully seizing on the opportunity to distance herself from Caroline Bingley, Georgiana rose at once, casting the lady a fleeting, pitying glance.

Still reeling from yet another set-down by a prominent member of society, Miss Bingley rose unsteadily and murmured an apology for retiring early, claiming she was suddenly unwell.

Not even her sister acknowledged her departure.

To her dismay, she found her aunt waiting in the hallway.

One look at the expression on her aunt’s face confirmed what she feared most: the conversation had been overheard .

“Caroline Bingley,” her aunt hissed, taking her arm and nearly dragging her into an empty alcove behind the stairs.

“When one does not know how to behave in company, the wisest course is silence. You would do well to remember that.”

With that final pronouncement, Aunt Horatia turned and walked away, leaving her niece standing alone in the hallway.

Miss Bingley remained frozen in place for several moments, her pride stinging and her thoughts spinning.

The muffled sound of the gentlemen rejoining the ladies in the drawing room reached her ears—a sharp reminder of this group of people she had so desired to be a part of continuing without her.

Mortified, she gathered her skirts and fled up the stairs, retreating to her room with as much dignity as she could muster.

She seethed with anger at her treatment that evening, in truth the treatment she had been subjected to ever since she had come into this part of the country.

It is often said that angry people are not wise, and Caroline Bingley was no exception to that.

Rather than reflect upon her own behaviour or make any attempt to amend it, she chose instead to direct her resentment towards the easiest target: Elizabeth Bennet.

In Miss Bingley’s eyes, it was Eliza Bennet who had ruined all her hopes of securing Mr. Darcy, and it was her influence that had altered his manner so completely.

Returning to her room in silence, her face burned with humiliation as she entered it.

Her maid was waiting, but she quickly dismissed her, telling her to return when she rang.

Once the door was shut behind her, the stillness of her thoughts shattered.

She tore off her gloves and flung them onto a chair, annoyed further when they missed and landed on the floor beside it, and then she began to pace.

Her eyes flashed, and her expression was tight as she seethed .

How dare they say those things to me?

What right does the countess have to scold me as if I were a mere child?

She may be higher placed in society than I, but I have heard whispers about the earl’s habits.

Everyone in town knows of his mistress, but she thinks to tell me that I will never rise above my station.

If anyone had expected her to amend her behaviour and gracefully retreat—well, they were fools to think that.

No, she would do what she had always done when denied what she wanted: find another way to have it.

She no longer wanted Mr. Darcy; he had proven too intransigent.

He was not worthy of her .

However, her thoughts turned, as they always did of late, to Elizabeth Bennet.

That chit—smug, sharp-eyed, too clever by half—she has ruined everything.

How dare she engage Mr. Darcy, challenge Mr. Darcy, yet no matter what she said to him, he only seemed to fall further under her spell.

That grated on Miss Bingley.

Mr Darcy’s affections, his attention, his changed manner…

all of it could be traced back to that Bennet chit.

From the moment she appeared in their company, everything had shifted.

Miss Bingley could see it plainly, even if the others refused to acknowledge it.

Well. If Elizabeth Bennet thinks she has won, she will soon learn otherwise.

I will ensure that she will not obtain the prize she expects.

Her steps began to become more frantic as her mind lit with possibilities.

If she could not ruin the Bennet family in truth, she would do so in the eyes of those gathered at Netherfield.

Let them see how vulgar she is.

How low. How ill-suited she is to everything he represents.

She cannot possibly be Mrs. Darcy; she is unworthy of the name.

If I cannot have the title I covet, then neither will she.

Miss Bingley could whisper doubts, sow discomfort, raise the sorts of questions that would linger in an insignificant little village such as this one.

She knew the power of gossip, and she would shine a light on every weakness the family displayed—lack of connections, rural ignorance, improper manners—anything that might turn admiration into disdain.

Let her stumble. I will be there when she does.

With luck, I will set the rock in her path that causes her to fall.

Of course, Miss Bingley was no longer content to ruin just the Bennet family.

If she could damage more than that Eliza —if perhaps there was something that could be done that would cause Georgiana’s image to suffer, or if word of Lord Matlock’s liaisons made their way more prominently into gossip and embarrassed the family—so much the better.

However, those would be only additional highlights to her master plan: to separate Darcy and Elizabeth, causing each to despise the other, and if she could, to ruin Elizabeth entirely.

A slow smile curled at the corners of her mouth as a thought occurred to her.

The missing sister. Her smile turned even more vengeful with this final thought: I may have failed to win him , but I will not fail to destroy the one he has chosen over me.

The following morning, Miss Bingley rose with renewed purpose—and a plan.

She needed to learn more about the elusive Bennet sister and begin quietly raising doubts about her conduct.

If she could find someone willing to assist her in discrediting Elizabeth Bennet, all the better.

Although she had not engaged with the local society at the events she had attended, she had listened closely.

In villages like Meryton, gossip flowed freely, and Caroline had already noted a telling coolness between Lady Lucas—the only titled woman in the area—and Mrs. Bennet.

That , she thought, might prove useful.

With this aim in mind, she informed her maid they would be going into the village that morning “to shop,” offering no further explanation.

She did not trouble herself to tell her brother or sister, merely summoned the carriage and ordered it to take her to Meryton.

Since she had never ventured into the village before, no one thought to question her instructions.

None of her relations imagined she might act independently—and so no one forbade her from doing exactly as she pleased.

As she strolled through the streets, she recognised several faces from past assemblies.

A few greeted her with distant civility, but none went out of their way to engage her.

Still , she thought, no matter.

I do not need their friendship—only their tongues.

While she was looking for her target, she noticed the prevalence of redcoats in the area.

Oh yes, she thought, the militia was to quarter in Meryton for the winter.

She smiled to herself.

One of these men will do nicely.

The only question is which of them might be persuaded to indulge in a little ruin—for the right price.

The problem there would be getting her brother to give her the funds in ready cash.

Still, she had some hidden away, preferring to save some of her allowance while allowing her brother to cover the overages.

While she contemplated this, she looked about for Lady Lucas.

“Ah, there she is,” she said aloud, surprising her maid.

They turned in the direction of the haberdasher, where Lady Lucas and her younger daughter stood.

Miss Bingley could not remember the girl’s name.

When Lady Lucas turned around and saw Miss Bingley approaching her as if she wished to speak, her brows lifted in mild surprise.

However, she inclined her head with polite reserve.

“Miss Bingley,” she said.

“I had not expected to see you in Meryton. I had heard you had guests arriving yesterday; your brother mentioned the newcomers to my husband a few evenings ago at Lucas Lodge. ”

Miss Bingley offered the lady her most practiced smile.

“I confess it is my first time venturing into the village. I thought it might be refreshing to escape the house for a short while. One can only speak of weather and wallpaper so long before one longs for fresh air—and news. My sister and aunt were busy this morning, so I struck out on my own to see what I could find in Meryton. Surely you must know of all the best shops and where all the best wares are to be found?”

Lady Lucas chuckled faintly.

“That I do, Miss Bingley, but I am afraid there is little to be found in Meryton that cannot be procured in London. I doubt someone of your...” here, she hesitated over the word, “ taste would find much to her liking here.”

Miss Bingley laughed at this jest, believing the lady to be complimenting her.

She did not waste time, however, and quickly turned the conversation to the topic she wished to discuss.

Tilting her head, she asked, “I understand, Lady Lucas, that your family is long acquainted with the Bennet family.”

“Yes, indeed. We are neighbours, after all,” came the tart reply.

“How fortunate for you all.” Miss Bingley’s tone was smooth.

“They are such a lively family. Mr. Darcy seems most taken with the second daughter, Miss Elizabeth though I understand there are five daughters in all. I confess, I have only been introduced to four. I do hope nothing is amiss with the fifth?”

Lady Lucas blinked.

“Oh—Lydia. She has been away at school these past few years. Poor girl had little inclination for learning from her governess, and eventually her parents thought it best she continue her education elsewhere. She returns now and again, and it is always…eventful when she is at Longbourn.”

Miss Bingley nodded slowly, as if hearing a revelation rather than something the neighbourhood likely knew well.

“How curious. So, she is rather—rebellious? Unrestrained?” Her tone carried the edge of barely contained satisfaction .

“Not exactly,” Lady Lucas replied, her expression turning more guarded.

She tilted her head, studying the other woman with mild caution.

“The family simply concluded that it would be best for her to continue her instruction away from home.”

“How old is the young lady?”

Lady Lucas glanced towards her daughter.

“I believe she has recently turned fifteen—or will, quite soon.” Maria gave a small, uncertain nod but did not speak, clearly unwilling to address Miss Bingley directly.

“Surely there’s a story behind it,” Miss Bingley pressed, her tone growing overly eager.

“A family would not send a child away for a mere childish offense.”

At that, Lady Lucas straightened.

The friendliness slipped from her expression, replaced with polite formality.

“There is no story,” she said evenly.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me—my daughter and I have errands to complete. It was lovely to see you, Miss Bingley.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away, Maria trailing behind her.

Miss Bingley grimaced at her lack of success at this first overture.

She would need to be more careful, moving forward.

Rather than return to Netherfield in defeat, Miss Bingley continued to stroll through the streets of Meryton, casting disinterested glances into the shop windows.

She paused occasionally to examine the wares on display, though always with thinly veiled disdain.

There may have been a few items of interest, but she had long since decided that nothing in Meryton could possibly be worthy of her attention.

Determined not to let the excursion be a complete waste, Miss Bingley was pleased to come upon two militia officers accompanied by a rather handsome gentleman in civilian dress.

She recognised one of the officers—though his name entirely escaped her—and, undeterred by the lapse in memory, approached with a carefully composed smile.

Her tone, lofty but attempting friendliness, did little to disguise the condescension beneath it.

“Captain,” Miss Bingley said with an air of affected warmth, “how do you fare on this lovely day?”

“I am well, Miss Bingley,” he replied, clearly taken aback by her sudden approach.

When they had met before, she had barely acknowledged any of the officers, and it was obvious from his face that he had not expected her to remember him.

“Will you not introduce me to your companions?” she asked, her tone light but expectant, with the air of a grand lady commanding those beneath her.

The captain complied with a polite nod.

“Miss Bingley, may I present Lieutenant Jonathan Sanderson and Mr. George Wickham, lately of London. Mr. Wickham will be joining the regiment shortly—he met with the colonel this morning and is to be fitted for his uniform at the tailor’s now.”

Miss Bingley inclined her head with the regal detachment of a queen acknowledging her inferiors.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, the greeting gracious in form, if not in spirit.

The three men exchanged uncertain glances, silently debating whether they ought to remain or take their leave.

Before any of them could speak, Miss Bingley forestalled the decision with another question.

“And how are you finding the neighbourhood, gentlemen?” she asked, her voice light while concealing her true intentions.

“I myself am newly arrived though my family has been quite social of late—visiting the estate of Longbourn frequently.”

Miss Bingley let the name hang in the air a moment longer than necessary, watching their expressions shift with quiet satisfaction .

“There are four young ladies in the household,” she said smoothly, “all quite charming—and, if local gossip is to be trusted, each expected to bring a respectable dowry. I daresay a regiment stationed nearby might find their company…agreeable.”

She smiled as though the suggestion were no more than a casual observation.

“The second daughter, Miss Elizabeth, is particularly notable. It’s said she assists her father in managing the estate. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he named her his heir. She’s often seen wandering the grounds, more like a steward than a young lady of her station, and quite alone, more often than not.”

She paused delicately, letting the implication drift through the air like a trace of expensive perfume.

The two officers acknowledged her words slightly, departing quickly when they were hailed by another.

The third gentleman, the one in civilian clothing, appeared particularly intrigued by this notion and leant in to whisper: “Intelligent, independent, and unaccompanied? A rare combination in a country miss. But I dare say, she is not one who would be easily tamed.”

Feigning innocence, Miss Bingley tilted her head and offered a light, practiced laugh.

“Oh, but I am sure you will find her…most engaging, Mr. Wickham. Her father’s lack of foresight is to your advantage, I should think,” she said smoothly, though the flicker in her eyes betrayed more of her motives than she realised.

Wickham’s gaze sharpened, amusement gleaming as he caught the edge of jealousy woven into her words.

“Then she and I shall get on famously. Perhaps you might arrange a meeting?”

“I would be delighted,” she replied, her smile curling with satisfaction.

“In fact, I may be able to ensure she is alone—and I could offer an incentive that would make it worth your while.”

Wickham arched a brow at her boldness, intrigued by the offer .

Oblivious to the true nature of the man before her, Miss Bingley congratulated herself on a plan well set in motion.

Let that lieutenant pursue Miss Eliza.

Whatever came of it, the results were sure to be entertaining—at least for her.