Page 34

CHAPTER 34

Caroline Bingley Plots

A t the far end of the table, Caroline Bingley sat in simmering silence, her eyes fixed on the other end where Darcy and Elizabeth were seated.

Every interaction between them tightened the knot in her chest.

Nothing had gone according to plan.

Her attempt to lure Darcy to the pianoforte failed; he refused to turn her pages, depriving her of the chance to whisper subtle criticisms of Miss Elizabeth’s manners under the guise of polite conversation.

Nor had she succeeded in securing the seat beside him at dinner.

She had planned to place Catherine Bennet on his other side, hoping the girl’s lack of conversation would drive Darcy towards her.

Miss Bingley had not spent much time with Catherine Bennet, but what little exposure she had was enough to judge her dull and easily ignored—a perfect buffer, or so she had thought.

But none of that had come to pass due to her aunt’s interference.

Nothing—not her charm, her schemes, nor her carefully laid plans—had thus far drawn his attention away from Eliza Bennet .

But something might.

After her second meeting with Lieutenant Wickham, she had begun to question the plan he had laid out.

As much as she disliked Eliza, Miss Bingley had not been certain she wanted to go as far as Wickham evidently planned.

Ruining a rival’s reputation with gossip was one thing—she had done so before, and without remorse.

But what Wickham proposed was something else entirely.

It was a seduction—a trap.

With Miss Bingley’s assurance that Elizabeth was often unaccompanied, and Wickham’s confident claim that he knew precisely how to handle the matter, he had insisted it would be simple.

He asked for two hundred and fifty pounds—paid upfront—as a guarantee of his intentions.

He had not spoken the threat aloud, but the implication was unmistakable: he would ruin Elizabeth Bennet completely.

Once that was done, no respectable man would ever consider marrying her.

Miss Bingley had not yet agreed.

But neither had she said no.

At first, she had balked at the idea—at the thought of orchestrating something so permanent.

A ruined woman could not simply fade from memory; she would become a scandal, a warning, a shadow trailing every conversation.

But after tonight, Miss Bingley was determined to follow through with his plan.

She would meet with Wickham on the morrow as arranged and give him the funds to have him ruin that awful Eliza Bennet.

The following morning, Miss Caroline Bingley rose far earlier than was her custom.

After dressing in a dark green riding habit, she slipped out of the house and made her way to the stables where the groom saddled a horse at her request .

She declined his offer to accompany her and remained oblivious to the fact that, once she had ridden out, he saddled a second horse and followed at a discreet distance as instructed.

He was the only one about at that hour, the others being occupied, so he hoped the mistress would not be upset with him for not sending word to her.

Miss Bingley rode for just over half an hour before drawing her horse to a stop near the outskirts of the militia encampment, Wickham’s current post. He was not there, having paid an enlisted man named Farley to take his watch.

Miss Bingley, however, had not been informed of this arrangement, and now sat impatiently atop her horse, fuming at the delay.

It was less than fifteen minutes later when Wickham finally appeared.

Upon spotting her, he murmured a few words and dismissed Farley.

“Miss Bingley,” Wickham greeted her with his usual polished charm, as though he were not late and she had not come to pay him for the ruination of a young woman.

“A fine morning.”

“I have your money,” she said curtly in reply, her voice low and sharp.

Wickham raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

“Capital,” he said smoothly.

“Then I shall begin making arrangements straight away. But tell me—what has this young lady done to deserve such a fate?”

Stiffening, she haughtily replied.

“She has turned the head of a man who, had it not been for her interference, would have proposed to me. She has no fortune, no breeding, no business being in his company. I want her out of the way.”

Wickham studied her for a moment, the faintest hint of amusement curling at the edge of his mouth.

Then he nodded. “As you wish. Would you like me to send you word once the task is done?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“Send a note to my maid as you did before.”

“And who is this man,” Wickham asked, feigning curiosity, “that would drive you to such lengths to eliminate your competition? ”

Of course, he already knew the answer—it was Darcy.

He also knew, with certainty, that no matter what Miss Bingley did, Darcy would never marry her.

The irony amused him.

For the modest sum of two hundred and fifty pounds, he would be ruining the woman Darcy clearly loved.

Miss Bingley might pretend otherwise, but Wickham saw the truth plainly enough.

Despite her wishes, she had no real claim on Darcy.

Nor did the Bennet girl have much to recommend her, at least in society’s eyes—no fortune, no connections, no notable dowry beyond the five thousand pounds to be divided upon her mother’s death.

Some suspected there was more, but nothing was mentioned with any surety.

Regardless, she had captured Darcy’s attention in a way Caroline Bingley never had.

The estate that she supposedly would inherit was something, but that was not guaranteed, merely speculation, and Wickham thought he had heard something said about an entailment.

Wickham acknowledged that the young lady was very attractive.

The elder Miss Bennet was beautiful, but it seemed that this Miss Elizabeth had a spark that her sister did not.

It would be fun to tame her, Wickham thought, particularly when he would get to sample the delights that Darcy would never taste after Wickham was finished with her.

That his actions would benefit him as well was a source of no small satisfaction.

For destroying the chit Darcy held in regard, Lord Matlock had promised to secure his future.

Wickham had every intention of making the most of it.

From his concealed position nearby, Lieutenant Sanderson quietly observed the exchange.

The evening before he had informed Colonel Fitzwilliam of Wickham’s use of an enlisted man to stand in for him at his post—a blatant dereliction of duty for an officer.

Now, having overheard this latest conversation, he had even more to report.

When Colonel Fitzwilliam had first tasked him with befriending the newly commissioned officer, Sanderson had been wary of spying on a fellow lieutenant.

But after several days of close observation, his doubts had vanished.

It was plain that Wickham had no business wearing a militia uniform; in truth, the man posed a danger to nearly every honourable person in Meryton—and likely well beyond.

Although still relatively new to the militia himself, Sanderson had served long enough to recognise the type: a man who viewed the uniform not as a symbol of service, but as a means to advance his own interests.

Wickham was charming—quick with a smile, fluent in flattery—but it was a shallow charm, calculated for manipulation.

Like the night before, he had once again shirked responsibility, relying on others to carry out duties he was unwilling to perform himself.

Once Wickham moved out of sight, Sanderson slipped from the shadows and made his way towards where Colonel Fitzwilliam awaited him.

He did not know what the colonel would do with the information he now carried, but he hoped it would be enough to stop the scheme unfolding before his eyes—and deny Wickham and his accomplice what it was they sought.

Hidden nearby, the young groom who had followed Miss Bingley had also heard every word of the exchange.

Miss Elizabeth was well-liked amongst the tenants of Netherfield, having done much over the last several years to improve their lives and the estate they worked on.

As soon as he saw Miss Bingley begin to depart, he hurried back to where he had hidden his horse and quickly made his way to Netherfield, hoping to avoid her notice .

The stable master was displeased to see the groom returning with the horse so obviously exhausted.

“What the devil do you think you are doing, boy, to treat a horse that is not your own in this way?” he bellowed.

“Miss Bingley, the master’s aunt, told me to keep an eye on the other Miss Bingley in case she rode out—as she did this morning,” the lad explained.

“That Miss Bingley is plotting to cause harm to Miss Elizabeth.”

His brow furrowed, the stable master stared a moment longer at the lad.

“Aye, we mustn’t allow that to happen. The young Miss Bingley has set her cap for Mr. Darcy who has been courting Miss Elizabeth—or so I have heard from the servants up in the house. Very well, son, I will take care of this beast while you wash up before telling the mistress what you heard. Mr. Darcy and the colonel will be eager to hear the news as well.”

The boy did as he was commanded and went up to the main house, entering through the kitchen where he washed his hands and face before seeking out Miss Horatia Bingley.

He was shown into the small study, where he found her sipping tea with Lady Matlock.

It was still early, and they were the only ones awake and within the house.

“Excuse me, mistress, but I have news to tell you,” the lad said upon entering.

He then proceeded to tell the women all he had seen and heard that morning.

“Thank you,” Aunt Horatia replied when he had finished.

“What is your name, young man?” the countess asked.

“John, my lady,” he replied nervously.

“Thank you, John,” the countess said, smiling at him.

“My son and nephew will ensure you are amply rewarded for your service. ”

“It is not needed, my lady,” the boy said, his head held high.

“I like my job here—but mostly, I did it for Miss Elizabeth. Miss Elizabeth is kind and caring, and no one at Netherfield would stand by and allow her to be harmed.”

Colouring slightly at having given such an impassioned speech in front of the women, the boy dropped his eyes to the ground.

“No need to be ashamed, John,” came the gentle reply of the countess.

“It is admirable that you think so well of the young lady. I will ensure she knows of your defence of her.”

“Oh, please don’t do that, my lady,” he cried.

“Whyever not?” Aunt Horatia asked.

“That Mr. Darcy is a rather big fellow, and I don’t imagine he’d think too well of another man offering his lady such praise. I’d hate to lose my position.”

He was surprised when the two ladies laughed.

“Trust me, my boy, after what you have done for our family, you are in no danger of that,” the countess replied, still chuckling softly.

Still not understanding their laughter, the boy allowed himself to be dismissed and returned to the stables, setting about his duties for the day.