Chapter 20
CAROLINE BEGAN WITH Jane Bennet because Jane presented the simpler danger.
Bingley had spent breakfast discussing a visit to Longbourn as though the matter required no decision.
He wanted to return a book, ask Mr. Bennet about a neighboring tenant, and learn whether Jane had recovered from a headache mentioned the previous afternoon.
Each reason could have stood alone but together, they exposed him.
Caroline waited until Louisa left the breakfast room and Darcy went to the library. Hurst remained at the table, but he had opened the newspaper and would ignore any conversation that did not involve horses, cards, or dinner.
“Charles, you have called at Longbourn three times this week.”
Bingley looked up from the note he was writing. “Have I?”
“You know you have.”
“I remember going, but I did not count.”
“That is part of the problem.”
He set down his pen. “What problem?”
Caroline took the chair opposite him. “You are allowing attention to become expectation.”
“Whose expectation?”
“Mrs. Bennet’s, for one. The neighborhood will soon share it, if it has not by now.”
Bingley smiled. “The neighborhood expects rain whenever the sky clouds. It survives the disappointment.”
“This is not weather.”
“No, Jane is much pleasanter.”
Caroline ignored the answer. “Her mother watches every word you speak to her. Every visit strengthens her belief that you have formed an intention.”
“And what if I have?”
The question came without embarrassment, and Caroline had to keep her face still. “Then prudence requires you to know more than you do.”
“I know Jane.”
“You know her sweetness, which is not the same thing.”
Bingley’s expression changed. “What do you think she conceals?”
“She may conceal nothing at all, but gentleness can look like affection when it is no more than good manners. You have admired women before.”
“Not Jane.”
“You cannot know that distinction after a few weeks.”
“I know how I feel.”
“That is what concerns me.”
Hurst lowered the paper. “You will not persuade him by telling him he is in love.”
"That is not what I said," Caroline replied.
“You came close.” He raised the paper again. “Close will serve.”
Bingley looked amused, which made Caroline’s task harder. She had approached him as a sister and offered caution; he treated the warning as a joke because Jane made him too happy to imagine danger.
“Give yourself time,” she said. “There is no injury in postponing today’s visit.”
“There is also no injury in making it.”
“You have business in Meryton.”
“I can do both.”
“The steward expects you at the east lawn. You said you wanted to inspect the summerhouse before the work begins.”
Bingley glanced at the clock. “That can wait until tomorrow.”
Caroline had intended the summerhouse to provide an ordinary claim upon his attention. His readiness to postpone it confirmed what she feared.
“The men cannot begin until you approve the repairs.”
“They can begin on the roof. The report was clear.”
“You should see the building yourself.”
“You volunteered to oversee it.”
“The interior, not the structure.”
Bingley returned to his note. “Then ask Darcy. He understands such matters better than I do.”
The suggestion gave her a second opportunity. Caroline rose before her eagerness showed. “A sensible arrangement.”
“I am glad you approve.”
She left him to finish the note and found Darcy in the library with Stewart’s letter open beside him. He had made several notes in the margin of a separate sheet, and his attention did not leave the page when she entered.
“Charles has abandoned the summerhouse to us.”
Darcy looked up. “Us?”
“He asks that you inspect the structure, and I shall consider what the interior requires.”
“Your brother asked me?”
“He suggested you when I reminded him that the repairs cannot proceed without direction.”
Darcy folded Stewart’s letter and placed it beneath the other papers. “The steward says the walls are sound.”
“The roof, door, and floor still need decisions.”
“Which belong to Bingley.”
“Charles intends to visit Longbourn.”
Darcy’s face gave her little, but he did not return to the letter. “Today?”
“He has discovered three reasons to do so.”
“He may have three.”
“Jane Bennet is reason enough.”
Darcy stood and moved toward the window. Beyond the glass, the east lawn sloped toward a belt of trees that concealed the summerhouse. “You object to his visiting her?”
“I object to haste. Charles mistakes ease for certainty and kindness for devotion.”
“Miss Bennet appears attached to him.”
“Appears.”
Darcy turned. “You doubt her?”
“I doubt what I cannot see. She smiles, listens, and agrees with him, but she is just as kind to everyone else.”
“Miss Bennet does not look at everyone the way she looks at Bingley.”
Caroline did not expect his answer. Darcy had watched Jane enough to distinguish her regard, though his attention during the visit seemed fixed elsewhere.
“You are an advocate for the family.”
“No.”
The answer came at once, and its force revealed more than agreement would have.
Caroline crossed to the desk. “Then you understand why I am concerned. Charles is young, wealthy, and inclined to trust people. Mrs. Bennet has five daughters and no sense of restraint. I am trying to protect him, not insult them.”
“I have not thought otherwise.”
“Yet you defend Miss Bennet.”
“I told you what I saw.”
“And her sister?”
Darcy’s expression changed. “What about her?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Miss Bingley, I do not.”
“This is not only about Charles.”
Caroline had meant to proceed with care, but his refusal sharpened her purpose. “Charles admires Miss Bennet because she is sweet, and Miss Elizabeth holds your attention because she challenges you without trying to please you.”
“She holds nothing.”
“No? She contradicts you, and instead of dismissing her, you keep arguing.”
“You call every disagreement impertinence when it comes from someone you dislike.”
The rebuke landed with the precision she associated with him, but not the fairness. “I dislike no one without cause.”
“Your causes often begin with rank.”
Caroline stared at him. He had never before spoken to her in that manner, and the source of the change was clear.
“Rank matters because the consequences do,” she said. “You may admire intelligence wherever you find it, but that does not make every connection suitable.”
“I am aware of my obligations.”
“Then remember them before admiration becomes habit.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “You presume too much.”
“I see what others choose to ignore.”
“Or what you expect to find.”
He returned to the desk, opened Stewart’s letter, and dismissed her without saying so. Caroline remained long enough to make retreat look chosen.
“I shall inspect the summerhouse alone,” she said.
Darcy did not answer.
Outside the library, she found Louisa near the stairs with a basket of sewing in her hands.
“You spoke to him,” Louisa said.
Caroline continued toward the drawing room. “I spoke to Charles and Darcy.”
“And neither thanked you.”
“They will when they understand.”
Louisa followed. “Charles does not thank anyone for opposing what he wants.”
“He does not know what he wants. All he knows is that Miss Bennet receives him with a smile.”
“And Darcy?”
Caroline entered the drawing room and closed the door after them. “Darcy thinks Miss Elizabeth’s insolence deserves study.”
Louisa set down the basket. “Or he likes arguing with her.”
“Men do not marry women because they like to argue.”
“Some do.”
“Not Darcy.”
Louisa studied her sister. “You sound certain.”
“I know him.”
“Then why are you troubled?”
Caroline moved to the window. Bingley crossed the drive below, pulling on his gloves as a groom led out his horse. Her conversation had delayed him by less than ten minutes.
“Because I do not want him to make a mistake,” she said.
Bingley mounted and turned toward the road to Longbourn.
Louisa joined her at the window. “You could let him decide for himself.”
“He acts on what he feels. Someone has to think about what comes after.”
“Jane Bennet would make him happy.”
“For how long? Her mother treats Netherfield as though it belongs to the family now, and Lydia and Kitty would bring every officer in Meryton through the door if they could.”
“Charles likes people.”
“He does not have to marry them.”
Louisa almost smiled. “And Elizabeth?”
“Elizabeth Bennet would make no man comfortable.”
“Have you considered that is why Mr. Darcy notices her?”
Caroline turned from the window. “He notices opposition. Once the novelty passes, he will remember what she is.”
Louisa picked up the basket again. “You hope.”
“I do not rely upon hope.”
The summerhouse inspection gave Caroline an occupation she could defend as service to her brother. She sent for the steward, changed into walking shoes, and crossed the east lawn with a notebook in hand.
The building stood beyond the trees at the edge of a neglected garden.
Ivy covered part of the brickwork, and damp had darkened the stone beneath the windows.
The roof sagged near one corner, though the walls showed no crack.
A narrow path curved from the lawn to the door and disappeared beneath fallen leaves.
The steward unlocked it. “The frame is better than it looks, miss.”
“So Mr. Bingley was told.”
“He can repair the roof before the next rain. The floorboards near the back wall need replacing, and the door wants rehanging.”
Caroline stepped inside. The room was larger than she expected, with windows on three sides and a small fireplace built into the inner wall. Dust covered two benches and a round table left by a former tenant. The air smelled of damp wood and leaves.
“It could be pleasant,” she said.
“With work.”
“Clear the ivy from the windows, repair the path, and remove everything inside. I want the walls washed before anyone chooses a color.”
The steward wrote nothing down. “Mr. Bingley asked for repairs, miss. Decoration can wait until the building is dry.”
“I know the order in which work proceeds.”
“Yes, miss.”
His agreement lacked respect, but Caroline let it pass.
Through the nearest window she could see the lawn between the trees, while the house remained hidden.
The place offered privacy without distance and could serve for tea, music, or relief from a crowded drawing room.
Her brother would approve once he saw the result.
“Add a proper lock,” she said.
“This one works.”
“It is rusted.”
“I can have it cleaned.”
“Replace it.”
The steward looked at her, then wrote the instruction in his book.
Caroline walked the room again, noting where curtains might hang and where to place chairs before the fireplace.
The project pleased her because it answered to order.
She could dry dampness, replace wood, paint walls, and make a neglected building fit through correct decisions. People resisted such improvement.
When she returned to the house, Darcy’s horse was gone from the stable yard.
“Mr. Darcy left twenty minutes ago,” the groom told her.
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No, miss.”
She found Hurst in the billiard room and asked whether Darcy had mentioned his destination.
“Meryton, perhaps. He took the south road.”
“The south road also leads toward Longbourn.”
Hurst lined up a shot. “Most roads lead toward a Bennet.”
Caroline did not answer.
Darcy returned before dinner, mud on his boots and restraint back on his face. Bingley came in soon after, carrying the book he had meant to return.
“You forgot it,” Caroline said.
Bingley glanced at the volume. “So I did.”
“That was your reason for going.”
“I found other reasons when I arrived.”
Hurst laughed from the hearth.
Caroline turned to Darcy. “And did your ride serve its purpose?”
“It did.”
“Where did you go?”
“Across the southern fields.”
“Near Longbourn?”
Darcy removed his gloves. “Most of them are near Longbourn.”
The answer echoed Hurst’s joke without sharing its humor. Caroline understood that pressing him before the others would fail.
Bingley set down his glass. “Mr. Bennet has asked us to dine at Longbourn on Thursday.”
Caroline looked at him. “Us?”
“All of us.”
“Mrs. Bennet issued the invitation through her husband?”
“Mr. Bennet issued it himself. I believe the distinction matters.”
“It matters less than you suppose.”
Bingley turned to Darcy. “You will come?”
Caroline expected hesitation. Darcy had spent the afternoon riding near Longbourn and could not seek another encounter without exposing his interest, yet he answered before she could offer an excuse for him.
“If you wish.”
“I do.”
“Then I shall.”
Caroline felt Louisa watching her. “We had discussed inviting the Gouldings that evening.”
“We can invite them another time,” Bingley said.
“They may not remain in the neighborhood.”
“They live six miles away.”
“Convenience does not make their plans ours to command.”
“Nor does it make Thursday our only chance to see them.”
His good humor remained, but he had stopped yielding. Jane Bennet had not just gained his admiration; she had taught him to resist anyone who tried to keep him from her.
Caroline turned to Darcy. “You have letters to answer.”
“I can answer them before Thursday.”
“And Stewart may need you to decide.”
“If he does, I shall accommodate him.”
Every practical objection failed because neither man wished to be persuaded. They treated obstacles as arrangements to be changed, though prudence required the opposite: desire should yield when consequence demanded it.
Caroline turned to the one matter in which Charles still accepted her judgment. “I inspected the summerhouse this afternoon. The walls are sound, as the steward reported. He can repair the roof this week, though the interior needs more work than you imagined.”
Bingley took a glass from the table. “Then do what you think best.”
“I intend to.”
“You see?” Hurst said. “At least one courtship in this house proceeds without resistance.”
Louisa told him not to be absurd, but Bingley laughed, and even Darcy’s mouth shifted before he turned away.
Caroline felt the room settle against her. Charles dismissed danger because Jane Bennet smiled at him, and Darcy dismissed it because Elizabeth challenged him. Louisa treated both as harmless, Hurst as entertainment, and no one considered what marriage joined beyond two people.
She had offered prudence and received amusement. That did not make her wrong. It meant caution would have to take a form they could not ignore.