Chapter 16 #2
Caroline was quick to recover. “I hope we may become so. You are Jane’s sister, and I value Jane.”
“Then perhaps your warning concerns her.”
“Jane requires no warning.”
The answer came too fast. Caroline heard it and tried to repair the mistake. “Her situation is different.”
“In what respect?”
“My brother declares his regard in everything but words.”
Elizabeth said nothing. Caroline had not intended to admit so much, and her sister’s expression confirmed it.
Caroline set her cup down. “Mr. Darcy is not my brother.”
“No.”
“He keeps to himself by nature. His notice may seem significant when he means nothing by it.”
Elizabeth understood the insult now, despite its polish. Caroline meant her to understand that Darcy’s attention was too valuable to be interpreted by someone of Elizabeth’s position and too slight to carry the meaning she might assign to it.
“You fear I have misunderstood him,” Elizabeth said.
“I fear others may believe you have.”
“Which others?”
Caroline gestured toward the windows, as though all Hertfordshire waited beyond them with ears pressed to the glass. “People observe. They repeat. A walk, a conversation, an accidental meeting may become something else before it reaches the next drawing room.”
“You know of no walk.”
“No arranged walk.”
“And no private conversation.”
“Not private by design.”
Elizabeth almost admired the distinction.
“The lane was public enough for six sheep and a frightened horse,” she said. “Mr. Darcy helped and I thanked him. If anyone constructs a courtship from that, the fault lies with the builder.”
Caroline’s color rose. “I do not speak of courtship.”
“No. You speak around it.”
Louisa stood. “I believe I shall see whether the fire in the morning room is lit.”
Caroline looked at her sister. “There is no need.”
“I find this room cold.”
She left without waiting for an answer.
Elizabeth watched the door close. “Your sister has been less fortunate than I in surviving the conversation.”
Caroline drew herself upright. “Louisa dislikes disagreement.”
“She must find the world exhausting.”
For a moment Caroline’s composure slipped, and Elizabeth saw not contempt but alarm. It vanished beneath a smile.
“You think me interfering.”
“I think you have taken a lot of trouble to protect me from an expectation I never expressed.”
“A woman need not express an expectation for it to become visible.”
“Then mine should be difficult to see, as I do not possess it.”
Caroline studied her. “You mean to say Mr. Darcy’s attention is of no consequence to you?”
Elizabeth could have answered at once. Instead, she remembered him standing in the lane with dirt on his cuffs, asking what she wished him to do. She remembered the ease with which he obeyed and the greater ease with which he judged.
“Mr. Darcy’s conduct is his concern,” she said. “My opinion of it is mine.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I am going to give you.”
Caroline rose and crossed to the mantel. “You mistake me. I do not presume to direct your feelings.”
“Only my understanding of his.”
“I know him well.”
“So you have often told us.”
“I have known him for years. I know his family, his habits, and the expectations attached to his position.”
There it was at last, stripped of concern. Elizabeth did not need Caroline to say Pemberley, rank, fortune, or connection. They stood between them as plain as furniture.
“And because you know those expectations,” Elizabeth said, “you have appointed yourself their guardian.”
Caroline turned. “Someone must speak with honesty.”
“Honesty does not require disguise.”
“I have disguised nothing.”
“You began with country manners, moved through reputation, and arrived at Mr. Darcy when I insisted upon knowing whom you meant. That is not honesty, it is an insult delivered slow enough that you hoped I would thank you before recognizing it.”
Caroline’s face hardened. “You are determined to take offense.”
“No. I am determined not to accept condescension as kindness.”
The room fell silent. Beyond the windows, a gust moved through the yews and sent a scatter of dry leaves across the terrace.
Caroline looked toward the lawn. “I had thought you less susceptible to wounded pride.”
Elizabeth stood. “And I thought you more skilled at concealing your own.”
Caroline faced her again.
Elizabeth had no desire to continue. She had answered the warning, and anything more was cruelty. Caroline’s object was plain now. She was frightened, not because Elizabeth had claimed Darcy’s regard, but because Caroline had noticed it herself and could not control what it might become.
“I should find Jane,” Elizabeth said.
“They have not returned.”
“Then I shall meet them.”
Caroline moved toward the bell. “A servant can fetch your cloak.”
“I left it in the hall.”
Elizabeth dipped her head. “Thank you for your concern, Miss Bingley. I shall give it the consideration it deserves.”
She left before Caroline could decide whether Elizabeth was mocking her.
The corridor was empty. Elizabeth paused to retrieve her cloak, then crossed the entrance hall and stepped outside. The air had sharpened, but the sky remained clear. She saw Jane and Bingley returning along the south walk, their pace unhurried and their heads turned toward one another.
Elizabeth descended the steps to meet them.
Inside the drawing room, Caroline remained beside the mantel.
Anger would have been easier to manage if Elizabeth had lost her temper.
Caroline could later use a raised voice, a cutting remark, or a show of jealousy as evidence of vulgarity.
Instead Elizabeth had remained composed and left her with nothing she could use without exposing the conversation itself.
She moved to the window and saw Elizabeth crossing the lawn toward Jane. Bingley greeted her with a smile. Jane slipped her hand through her sister’s arm, and the three turned back toward the house.
Caroline told herself she had done what prudence required.
Elizabeth Bennet possessed neither fortune nor connection, and no sensible woman could imagine Darcy overlooking both.
His interest, if interest it was, would pass.
It had passed before. Novelty diverted men, and they returned to judgment when it faded.
She repeated the thought until it sounded almost convincing.
A movement near the book room drew her attention to Darcy, standing in the doorway.
He held the folded letter in one hand, his expression revealing nothing.
Caroline’s breath caught, though she recovered before the silence became an acknowledgment. She did not know when he had returned, whether he had heard only Elizabeth’s departure, the final exchange, or everything since Louisa left. “You finished your letter.”
“Yes.”
“I hope Mr. Stewart approves your instructions.”
“He always does.”
Caroline smiled. “You must find Netherfield very disorderly after Pemberley. Charles is fortunate to have your advice, though he seldom follows it.”
Darcy crossed into the room and placed the letter on the writing table.
“Bingley does not require me to manage his affairs.”
“No, of course not. He is capable when he chooses to be. I meant that your judgment is valuable.”
Darcy turned his gaze to the windows, where Elizabeth had reached the terrace with Jane and Bingley. Caroline followed his gaze and wished she had not.
“Miss Eliza has gone to meet them,” she said. “She dislikes being confined indoors when there is any prospect of walking.”
“So I have observed.”
“She has a great deal of energy.”
Darcy said nothing.
Caroline moved to the pianoforte and rested her fingers on its closed lid. “I have neglected my music since coming to Hertfordshire. Georgiana would scold me if she knew. She is so disciplined, though I believe she enjoys playing more when we are together.”
“My sister enjoys playing whenever she can.”
“We have always understood one another. I often think how pleasant it would be to spend more time with her at Pemberley. The music room there is unequalled.”
Darcy’s attention remained on the terrace.
Caroline opened the instrument. “Do you remember the duet she and I attempted last summer? I have found the missing pages. We must try it again when next we are all together.”
“Perhaps.”
She sat and arranged her skirt with care. No matter whether he had heard nothing or everything, she would remind him, without vulgar assertion, of the world to which he belonged and her place within it.
“I have sometimes feared,” she said, “that country society may make us careless. One grows accustomed to freedoms that would appear strange elsewhere.”
Darcy turned to face her.
Caroline’s hands became still above the keys.
“Do you?” he asked.
The question was mild, but she could not tell what lay beneath it.
“Only in small matters. Informality can be agreeable when everyone understands its limits.”
“And when they do not?”
“One must be cautious.”
Darcy regarded her long enough that she felt every word she had spoken to Elizabeth return in altered form.
“Caution is useful,” he said. “More so when speaking for others.”
Caroline’s fingers pressed one key. The note sounded alone in the room.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Then we do not need to discuss it.”
He took up his letter and left for the entrance hall as Bingley opened the terrace door.
Caroline remained at the pianoforte. She had no proof that Darcy had heard the conversation, and less comfort in the possibility that he had not. His warning might have concerned nothing more than her habit of offering opinions, or it might have concerned everything.
Jane entered first, cheeks red from the wind. Elizabeth followed, calm and unreadable. Darcy stood aside to let them pass, but his eyes met Elizabeth’s for a moment.
No one spoke.
Caroline watched them both and understood that silence concealed more than she imagined.