Page 7 of Sweet Caroline
L ouisa and I were thoroughly engaged in dissecting Lady Holland’s latest scandal—apparently, her new turbans were mere French imitations, if you can imagine—when our butler announced the arrival of Miss Jane Bennet and her aunt, Mrs Gardiner. The groan very nearly escaped my lips before I caught it.
“Miss Bennet and Mrs Gardiner,” I simpered, rising with all the enthusiasm of a gouty gentleman forced to dance at Assembly. “What an... unexpected pleasure.”
Jane’s face retained its perpetually serene expression—really, it was quite vexing how the girl maintained such composure. One might think she had been born in a better sphere of life. “Miss Bingley, Mrs Hurst, how lovely to see you both. I hope you received my note letting you know I am in London?”
Louisa, bless her, jumped in. “Of course, Miss Bennet. Though I am afraid you have caught us at an inopportune moment. We were about to go out.”
Mrs Gardiner—wearing a dress that was distractingly elegant for a tradesman’s wife—spoke up. “Oh, we shall not keep you long. We merely wished to pay our respects and perhaps arrange a more suitable time to visit.”
I seized upon this escape route like a desperate debutante spotting the last eligible bachelor at Almack’s. “Yes, quite right. We shall be sure to send word when we are next available. London is so dreadfully busy, you know. One can scarcely find time to breathe between social obligations.”
Jane, ever hopeful, asked, “And how is your brother, Miss Bingley? Is he in Town as well?”
I waved a hand dismissively. “Charles? Oh, he is well enough, I suppose. Terribly busy with Mr Darcy and his sister. They are practically inseparable these days.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed Jane’s face. “I see. And will Mr Bingley be returning to Netherfield soon?”
“Netherfield?” I laughed with all the warmth of a January frost. “Oh, I think not. Charles is talking of giving up the lease entirely. London society suits him so much better, as a man of his position should prefer.”
Mrs Gardiner’s eyes narrowed slightly, but Jane’s smile remained fixed as firmly as my own. “I am sure Mr Bingley knows his own mind best.”
“Indeed,” I said, springing up as though my chair had suddenly caught fire. “Well, it has been delightful catching up, but we really must be going. You understand, of course.”
As we ushered them out, I felt a twinge of guilt at Jane’s crestfallen expression. But it was necessary, I reminded myself. Charles would thank me for this someday.
“Caroline, we ought at least to have offered them tea! You ran them out like they were pedlars!” Louisa shook her head in dismay.
“Are they not pedlars of a sort? I know not what goods Mrs Gardiner’s husband hawks, but she is a tradesman’s wife through and through. As for Jane Bennet, she is determinedly peddling her looks and smiles. I will not have my brother purchasing that particular merchandise.”
Louisa sighed with all the dramatic flair of a Drury Lane actress. “I fear for you when Charles learns of this rudeness.”
“How, dear sister, would that occur? Surely you will not be going to him with the information.” I fixed a hard stare at my sister. She would tattle on me at her peril.
Weeks passed, during which I mislaid Jane’s letters with the skill of a society matron avoiding her creditors. Finally, after nearly a month, Louisa insisted we could delay no longer without appearing outrageously rude.
“Remember, Louisa,” I instructed as our carriage pulled up to the Gardiners’ unfashionable direction—Cheapside, if you can imagine—our wheels splashing through February’s endless puddles. The damp air carried the unmistakable mingled scents of the merchant quarter: tea, spices, and the Thames. “We are to be brief. Ten minutes, no more. Any longer and we risk catching whatever malady causes people to go into trade.”
We swept into the Gardiners’ surprisingly elegant drawing room, which was, irritatingly, furnished with better taste than half the ton’s drawing rooms. That could not be a real Aubusson carpet? Gilt-framed mirrors and terribly elegant furnishings—they must be facsimiles. Jane greeted us with undiminished warmth.
“Miss Bingley, Mrs Hurst, how kind of you to call,” Miss Bennet said, her smile genuine.
I summoned my most practised society simper—the one reserved for particularly tedious social obligations. “Miss Bennet, Mrs Gardiner, how lovely to see you again. I do apologise for the delay in returning your call. London has been a positive whirl.”
Louisa nodded in agreement. “Indeed, one can scarcely find a moment to oneself.” The looks she cast my way rather belied her words, but if I cannot withstand my sister’s ire, I am nothing.
After a minimum of the requisite pleasantries, Jane opened her mouth, undoubtedly to inquire after Charles, but I cut her off faster than a modiste’s scissors through last season’s muslins.
“I fear we cannot stay,” I said. I sprang up with unbecoming haste. “We have an engagement with the Darcy family. You remember our speaking of Miss Darcy, of course? Such an accomplished young lady. Charles is quite taken with her, I must say.” The lie rolled off my tongue smooth as Lyon silk.
A flash of pain crossed Jane’s face like summer lightning. “I am... I am glad to hear Mr Bingley is well. Please give him my regards.”
Not if I were the last messenger in London, my dear.
“Of course,” I lied smoothly. “Well, we really must be going. It has been delightful, Miss Bennet, Mrs Gardiner. I wish you good health!”
As we departed, leaving Jane looking as deflated as the cook’s soufflé, I felt triumph marred only slightly by an annoying prick of conscience. Louisa had lingered in the hall, speaking all manner of good wishes to the two ladies. As she joined me, she was fairly trembling with disapproval.
“Caroline. That was unaccountably rude. You might as well have given her the cut direct.”
Would that I could .
“What could we possibly have to say to such lowly people? We returned the call, as manners require. Now, we need not be at home to them again. Charles will be the better for it.”
“Mark my words, sister. Should Charles learn of this, he will be exceedingly displeased. Not simply because it is Miss Bennet. Because you injure his reputation in the world when you display such ill-mannered actions. Our society has rules—calls are returned; calls last fifteen minutes; one accepts refreshments when offered. Rushing in and out of the house as though you fear a pestilence paints us as lacking in social graces. Should you behave so again, I will not comply.”
Had I not known Louisa was increasing, albeit she had not yet felt the quickening, I would have suggested she was indisposed from her courses. I refrained from responding, instead I was distracted by the enormous, very prosperous-looking warehouse across from the Gardiner abode—a four-storey brick edifice with grand Portland stone columns framing its entrance and a series of handsome arched windows. The loading bays were crafted of solid oak, and if I was not mistaken, the crest on the carriage waiting outside its impressive double doors was that of Lady Sefton.
∞∞∞
I was reclining in the drawing room with all the studied carelessness of a cat pretending not to watch a mousehole, idly flipping through fashion plates while keeping one ear tuned for approaching carriages.I heard the distinctive sound of Mr Darcy’s well-sprung equipage—perhaps I happened to glance out the window at that precise moment, but really, who could mistake the sound of such superior horseflesh?—I hastily arranged myself into a tableau of elegant repose that had only taken three hours to perfect in front of my mirror that morning.
As Mr Darcy entered, I favoured him with my most dazzling smile—the one that had once caused poor Mr Grantley to walk into a potted plant at Lady Jersey’s ball. “Mr Darcy, what an utterly delightful surprise! I am afraid Charles is out at present.”
He frowned slightly. “I see. I had hoped to speak with him on a matter of business.”
“Oh, but surely you can spare a few moments for me,” I simpered, patting the seat beside me with all the subtlety of a matchmaking mama. “I have some rather interesting news that I simply must share with you.”
Mr Darcy’s expression remained as readable as an ancient Greek tablet, but he inclined his head marginally.
“Very well, Miss Bingley. What is this news?” His tone suggested he would rather hear the local banns being read.
I leaned forward conspiratorially, ensuring my figure was displayed to full effect. “It concerns Miss Jane Bennet. Did you know she is in Town?”
His eyebrows rose by approximately half a hair’s breadth. “Indeed? I was not aware.”
“Oh yes,” I continued, my voice sweet and demure. “She called upon me some weeks ago. I have since returned the call, of course, as propriety demands.” Much like propriety demands one acknowledge a tradesman’s bow—briefly and with minimal encouragement.
Mr Darcy’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I see. And does Bingley know of this?”
I waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, heavens no. My simkin of a brother must remain blissfully unaware. And I must insist, Mr Darcy, that you do not breathe a word of this to him.”
“Miss Bingley,” he began, his tone cautious, “I do not believe it is wise to keep such information from your brother. Nor is it my custom to disguise.”
I fixed him with a steely gaze. “Mr Darcy, I must have your word that you will not disclose this to Charles. Promise me you shall not tell him.”
He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “Miss Bingley, I cannot in good conscience—”
“Promise me,” I insisted, my voice taking on a sharp edge. “Surely a man of your honour would not go back on his word once given?”
Mr Darcy’s expression hardened. “Very well, Miss Bingley. I give you my word that I shall not volunteer this information to your brother. However, should he ask me directly, I will not lie.”
I smiled, satisfied. “That is all I ask, Mr Darcy. We cannot have Charles falling back into the clutches of that family. He has been playing the complete gudgeon over Miss Bennet, and it simply will not do.”
“I believe your brother is capable of managing his own affairs,” Mr Darcy replied coolly.
I laughed lightly. “Oh, Mr Darcy, you know as well as I do that Charles can be a veritable nodcock when it comes to matters of the heart. We are simply looking out for his best interests.”
Mr Darcy’s expression remained stern. “Is that all, Miss Bingley? I believe I shall take my leave now.”
As he turned to go, I called after him, “Remember your promise, Mr Darcy. Not a word to Charles about Miss Bennet’s presence in Town. We cannot have him acting the mooncalf over her again.”
He paused at the door, his back to me. “Good day, Miss Bingley,” he said stiffly, before striding out.
I sank back onto the sofa, feeling both triumphant and uneasy. Mr Darcy’s promise would hold, I was certain, but I could not shake the feeling that I had somehow overplayed my hand. I certainly could not displease the greater prize of Mr Darcy himself to ensure Charles escaped that fortune hunter. It was for Charles’s own good.
If my machinations happened to keep me in close proximity to Mr Darcy, well, that was merely a fortunate coincidence. Rather like my neckline’s tendency to spontaneously lower itself whenever he was nearby.
The oppressive heat of a London summer day had driven us all indoors, and I found myself idly picking out stitches in my embroidery. My thoughts were rather more occupied with certain tall, proud gentlemen than with mere needlework. The door creaked open, admitting Charles and Mr Darcy, the latter looking particularly sour.
“Come, Darcy,” Charles was chattering away like an optimistic sparrow, “you really must shake off this dark humour. What happened during your travels to leave you so cast down? You look as though you have been forced to dance with every wallflower at Almack’s.”
Mr Darcy merely grunted in response, his eyes downcast. I seized the opportunity to insert myself into the conversation.
“Mr Darcy,” I simpered, “how distressing to see you so glum. Perhaps the prospect of our upcoming visit to Pemberley might cheer you? I, for one, am counting the days.” And the hours. And the minutes. I may have had a small accounting hidden in my reticule.
Darcy’s eyes flicked to mine, a brief spark of... something... passing through them before the shutters fell once more. “Indeed, Miss Bingley. The invitation stands, of course.” My, that was less than an enthusiastic endorsement.
I set my book aside with practised grace, rising to approach the gentlemen like Venus emerging from the waves—if Venus had been wearing the latest fashion from Paris and had spent two hours arranging her hair. “You are too kind, Mr Darcy. I do hope nothing has occurred to dampen your spirits about the visit?”
“Not at all,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction. “If you’ll excuse me, I have promised Georgiana an outing.”
As he strode from the room, I turned to Charles with a practised look of concern. “Oh, Charles, what can have happened to leave Mr Darcy in such a taking? He is exceedingly gloomy.”
Charles shrugged, his usual good humour undimmed. “I am sure it’s nothing, Caroline. Darcy is never best pleased when he has been at his aunt’s estate.”
I nodded sagely, though my thoughts were already racing ahead.
“Well, we must do our utmost to lift his spirits during our stay at Pemberley. I shall make it my personal mission to see him smile again.”
Charles wandered off in search of refreshment. I allowed myself a small, triumphant smile. Mr Darcy’s current disposition was but a minor setback. I could not imagine how anything could truly disturb a man of his stature—surely it was a minor matter he would resolve promptly.
Upon Louisa’s arrival, her complexion bearing a slight greenish tint, poor dear, I brought up the curious change in Mr Darcy’s demeanour. After his absence for several weeks, upon his return, he seemed positively lugubrious. Then, he had always been taciturn, but this was something altogether different.
“Louisa,” I murmured to my sister, watching her struggle with some miniature garment for an infant, “have you noticed how terribly out of sorts Mr Darcy has been since his return?”
Louisa glanced up briefly from her endless construction of baby clothes. “Indeed, he does seem rather subdued. Perhaps he encountered some difficulty in his business affairs.”
I waved my fan dismissively. “Oh, it matters not. What concerns me is his invitation for us to stay at Pemberley this summer. We must ensure that nothing interferes with those plans.”
“Of course,” Louisa agreed placidly. “Though I doubt Mr Darcy would rescind such an invitation.”
I leaned forward, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “This is my opportunity, Louisa. With several weeks at Pemberley, I shall have ample time to demonstrate to Mr Darcy what an excellent mistress I would make for his estate.”
Louisa raised an eyebrow. “And how do you propose to do that, Caroline?”
“By any means necessary,” I declared. “I shall be the very model of grace and sophistication. I shall charm his sister, impress his housekeeper, and prove myself indispensable to Mr Darcy himself.”
“You seem most determined,” Louisa observed.
“Indeed, I am,” I replied, straightening my spine. “I have not spent years cultivating this acquaintance to falter now. Mr Darcy may be acting melancholy, but I shall rouse him from it. By the end of our stay, he shall see that I am the only sensible choice for a wife.”
Louisa sighed with the weight of one who has heard this particular speech rather too often. “Well, I wish you success, sister. Though I caution you. Mr Darcy is not one to be pushed.”
I waved away her concerns like an extra single gentleman at a dinner party. “Fear not, Louisa. I shall be the very soul of subtlety. Mr Darcy will find himself thoroughly conquered before he realizes the campaign has begun.”
As I sat back, a satisfied smile playing on my lips, I began to plan my victory in earnest. Pemberley would be mine, and with it, the estimable Mr Darcy. And his ample purse. His current mood was but a minor obstacle, one I would overcome with all the charm and wit at my disposal. Let him play the curmudgeon now; soon enough, he would see reason. And I, Caroline Bingley, would emerge triumphant as the new mistress of Pemberley. After all, what could possibly go wrong?
∞∞∞
Our carriage rolled through the picturesque Derbyshire countryside, like a particularly well-sprung ship navigating waves of sheep and picturesque hills. I examined the girl seated across from me, Miss Georgiana Darcy. The shy, impressionable girl was the perfect source of intelligence about her enigmatic brother, if I could only coax her out of her shell.
I leaned forward with an expression of maternal concern I had spent weeks perfecting. “My dear Georgiana,” I began, “how delightful to have this time together before we arrive at Pemberley. I do hope you will consider me a confidante during our stay.” And a sister-in-law shortly thereafter, God willing.
Georgiana smiled timidly. “That is very kind of you, Miss Bingley.”
I waved away her formality like an unwanted suitor. “Oh, please, call me Caroline. Now, tell me, how has your brother been faring? He seemed rather out of sorts when last we met in Town.”
“Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana’s brow furrowed slightly. “He has been... preoccupied of late. Though I confess I know not why.”
I pounced on this morsel of information. “Preoccupied, you say? How intriguing. Has he spoken of any... particular interests that might have captured his attention?”
Georgiana shifted uncomfortably. “I... I should not...”
“Oh, come now,” I pressed, patting her hand with all the encouragement of a matchmaking mama, “I only ask out of concern for your brother’s welfare. You know how dear he is to me.” About ten thousand pounds a year dear, to be precise.
The girl’s cheeks flushed pinker than my newest ball gown. “Well, he has been spending a great deal of time in his study, poring over letters. And he’s taken a renewed interest in improving the estate.”
“How... fascinating,” I replied, trying to mask my disappointment like a gentleman concealing his gambling debts. “And has your brother expressed any intention of... seeking a mistress for Pemberley?” Apart from myself, naturally.
Georgiana’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Oh! I... that is not something my brother would discuss with me, Miss Bingley.”
Realising I had pushed too far, I quickly changed tack. “Of course not, my dear. I never meant to pry. Let us discuss your musical studies. What new piano forte music will you delight us with this month? You play so divinely.”
As Georgiana mumbled a description of her latest acquisitions, I leaned back, my mind whirring. Mr Darcy’s preoccupation remained a mystery, but I was determined to unravel it. Perhaps his renewed interest in the estate was a sign that he was indeed considering marriage. I would need to redouble my efforts to show him that I, Caroline Bingley, was the only suitable choice for mistress of Pemberley. And this was my chance to show him my best.
The carriage rolled on towards our destination. I began to plot my strategy. Georgiana Darcy had proved a less useful source of intelligence than I had hoped, but no matter. I would find other ways to glean the information I needed. I occupied myself more agreeably by conjuring the jewels I might acquire as mistress of the Darcy purse, er estate.
At last, we arrived at the magnificent grounds of Pemberley. As soon as Georgiana perked up in recognition of her home lands, I began a careful inventory of my appearance. It was essential that I appear the picture of elegance and poise, to impress the staff and, or course, Darcy. I averted my face as I surreptitiously applied Pear’s Almond Bloom to my travel weary face—guaranteed to give one the complexion of an angel, or so the advertisement claimed. Next, a touch of Bloom of Roses in carmine to suggest a becoming flush. Finally, my secret weapon—a personally concocted lip salve mixing Rigge’s Liquid Bloom in vermillion with rose balm to enhance my lips. I slipped the silver cachou box into my reticule and extracted my pocket mirror. The light in the carriage was poor, but I caught a reassuring glimpse of my perfected complexion.
The sight of Pemberley itself nearly stopped my heart—though sadly not from the romantic sensibilities one might hope for in a future mistress. Rather, my first thought was calculating how many new drapes I’d need to order. The current ones were hideously understated.
I was thoroughly put out to be handed down by a mere footman—surely an honoured guest and future mistress deserved the attention of either the master or at least the butler. But Darcy was entirely occupied with greeting his sister, displaying an unseemly amount of familial affection. Note to self: that would need to be corrected once I took charge. A slight nod would suffice for all future greetings.
I swept into Pemberley’s grand entrance surely looking as though I had just emerged from Madame Devy's salon in Paris. Charles and Louisa trailed behind me, gawking at the surroundings like farmers at their first glimpse of St. Paul’s. As we approached Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper— mental note: start compiling a list of servants to replacement —I overheard mention of visitors to the estate.
Rounding the corner with all the grace I could muster—which was considerable, having practiced this particular entrance for weeks—I stopped dead in my tracks. There stood Mr Darcy, looking more animated than I’d seen him since... well, ever. Perhaps his return to his palatial estate had cheered him. It certainly cheered me.
“Mr Darcy!” I exclaimed, “We had no idea you allowed visitors to your estate! Your housekeeper must surely manage them, without your needing to be involved.” A pointed hint for the future, when I would be directing such things.
Darcy turned. As he took in my appearance an expression of surprise crossed his face, which he quickly controlled. He was cool as he regarded me. “Miss Bingley. Yes, I arrived early to attend to some business with my steward, and encountered Miss Bennet and her relations visiting. They will join us tomorrow.” There was no acknowledgement of my assistance. My entrance fell flat.
“I see,” I replied, in shock. What the devil might she be doing here! How had this chit of a girl managed to appear at Pemberley before us? And why did Mr Darcy look so... pleased? I struggled to maintain my composure. “Miss Eliza Bennet! What an... unexpected pleasure.”
Charles, bless his cork-headed heart, chose that moment to join us. “I say, Darcy! Miss Elizabeth! What a delightful surprise! Does she travel with her…er family as well?” Charles spoke to Mr Darcy, but when he turned to glance at me his brows rose as if he was surprised by my appearance. I smiled serenely and permitted the servant to relieve me of my cloak.
Really, what was everyone staring at?
As Charles prattled on, I observed Mr Darcy closely. The transformation in Mr Darcy was positively alarming. The man was practically glowing—like a freshly trimmed lamp. His eyes kept darting about with something approaching glee, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth—and none of it directed at me, despite my carefully crafted appearance. His eyes glided past me, barely arresting, not at all taking in my fashionable compliments to his home.
This would not do at all. I had not come all this way to Pemberley to have my plans thwarted by some country nobody. As the conversation continued around me, I began to plot. Somehow, I would need to remind Mr Darcy of Miss Elizabeth’s unsuitability. Perhaps a few well-placed comments about her family’s vulgarity...
“Miss Bingley?” Mr Darcy’s voice cut through my thoughts. Why did he appear so amused? “Mrs Reynolds will show you to your rooms.”
The housekeeper murmured a greeting. She blinked rapidly as she regarded me, impressed to have a quality lady gracing the estate.
I adopted my most charming smile, the one that had once caused poor Mr Grantley to collide with the gilt pier glass. “Of course, Mr Darcy. How kind of you. I do hope we’ll have ample opportunity to... catch up during our stay.”
As we ascended the grand staircase, I cast one last glance over my much desired future home. I could imagine the transformation I planned, with the traditional entry remade with a Chinoiserie interior and rich colours. The dull, pale blue room did nothing to display the riches of the Darcy estate. The modest country house look was reminiscent of Henry Holland. It would be far more impressive with red floral imagery and imitated bamboo lacquer finishes on the walls, a la Prince Regent.
Once in my room, I removed my cloak and sat at the dressing table. Adèle approached to help me freshen and gasped.
“Ma’mselle! Your face!”
The pier glass revealed the horrible truth. Instead of the elegant future mistress of Pemberley, I resembled nothing so much as a circus performer between acts. The Almond Bloom had turned my complexion a ghastly shade of paste, my cheeks were two perfect circles of alarming carmine, and my lips... well, the less said about that vermillion disaster, the better. I had entered Pemberley not the elegant mistress to be, but as a painted lady worthy of a stage production.
Adèle was silent as she attacked my face with her special concoction, juice of house-leek, mixed with an equal quantity of sweet milk. It took several minutes of odiferous scrubbing of my stained cheeks to return my face to a normal appearance.
Had anyone noticed? I tried to convince myself that the entry hall’s lighting had hidden my painted lady impression, but then remembered posing deliberately under the transom window’s stream of light. That explained Mr Darcy’s expression of barely suppressed glee. I struggled to hang on to the conviction that his joy at my arrival had inspired such delight. Each glance at the ruddy streaks across my skin called that into question. It was not pleasure at seeing Elizabeth Bennet in the neighbourhood—he’d been trying not to laugh at my toilette mishap.
It was essential that I move on. I ceased my redecorating schemes and focused on the next challenge. Elizabeth Bennet may have complicated my plans, but this was merely a skirmish. The battle for Pemberley—and Mr Darcy—was far from over.
The following morning, I sat in the opulent drawing room of Pemberley, sipping tea from a delicate Wedgwood cup and trying to forget yesterday’s humiliation, when Georgiana burst in, practically bouncing with excitement. I raised an eyebrow, curiosity overcoming my usual indifference towards the shy girl.
“Miss Darcy, you seem rather animated. Has something of interest occurred?” I inquired, setting my cup down with a soft clink.
Georgiana nodded eagerly, her golden curls bouncing. “Oh, Miss Bingley, you will never guess! Fitzwilliam and I went to Lambton this morning to call on Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”
I nearly choked on the last sip of my tea, the fine blend suddenly tasting bitter in my mouth. This morning? It was barely noon, and I had already missed their foray into the village to rusticate with that…. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet? In Lambton?” I managed to wheeze. “Whatever for?” Apart from stalking eligible gentlemen.
“She is touring the country with her aunt and uncle,” Georgiana explained, settling onto the chaise longue opposite me. Her excitement made her oblivious to my dismay. “Fitzwilliam was so pleased to see her. He insisted we visit. I have never known him to be so... eager.”
I forced a smile that felt like it might crack my face. “How... thoughtful of him. And how did Miss Eliza receive you?” Please let her have been caught in her nightgown, or better yet, consorting with a soldier.
“She was most gracious,” Georgiana replied, her eyes shining with admiration. “So kind and attentive. Fitzwilliam seemed quite transformed in her presence. I had been so concerned about his poor spirits, but he smiled more in that one visit than I’ve seen in months!”
I gripped the armrest of my chair, my knuckles whitening. “Indeed? How... fascinating.”
Before I could interrogate her further, Charles burst in like a bull in a milliner’s shop."Caroline! You will never believe who I have seen in Lambton!”
“Let me guess,” I drawled, my voice dryer than last year’s biscuits. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
Charles’s face fell slightly, reminding me of a disappointed puppy. “Oh, Georgiana’s told you already. Is it not marvellous? And Darcy was so eager to introduce me to her aunt and uncle. They seem like capital people.”
I bristled at this, sitting up straighter. “Really, Charles. I’m sure Mr Darcy was merely being polite. We must not read too much into his actions. After all, it would be unconscionably rude to ignore an acquaintance, no matter how... insignificant.”
The news only grew worse. “Oh, I do not think you have the right of it,” Charles replied, his grin returning as he flopped into a nearby chair, oblivious to my barb. “He was positively beaming when Miss Elizabeth agreed to dine with us tomorrow. You remember how lively she is, do you not, Caroline? Such sparkling wit!”
“Dine with us?” I exclaimed, unable to hide my horror. My teacup clattered against its saucer as I set it down with more force than intended. “Surely you jest, Charles. Mr Darcy would never invite such... such provincial persons to dine at Pemberley.” Dinner with that chit and her tradesman relations! This would not do at all. Somehow, I had to remind Mr Darcy of Miss Elizabeth’s complete unsuitability.
But my addle-pated brother merely laughed, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. “No jest, Caroline. Darcy insisted. In fact, he’s instructed Mrs Reynolds to prepare a veritable feast. You shall see for yourself tomorrow how well they get on. I have not seen Darcy so happy in ages!”
As Charles wandered off, still chuckling to himself, I sank back into my chair, my mind reeling. The expensive upholstery suddenly felt suffocating. This was a disaster of unprecedented magnitude. All my carefully laid plans were crumbling around me like a poorly constructed house of cards. How had that impertinent country miss managed to bewitch both Darcy and my brother? And in such a short time!
I stood abruptly, the sudden movement startling poor Georgiana, who had been prattling on about Miss Elizabeth’s kindness. “If you would excuse me,” I said, my voice tight, “I believe I need to lie down. The journey has quite fatigued me.”
As I swept from the room, my skirts rustling dramatically, my mind raced faster than my feet. I needed a new strategy, and quickly. Tomorrow’s dinner would be crucial. Somehow, I had to remind Mr Darcy of Miss Elizabeth’s unsuitability. Her low connections, her vulgar relations, her complete lack of fortune or standing in society - surely these facts would outweigh whatever fleeting charm she possessed.
The future mistress of Pemberley could not be some nobody from Hertfordshire.