Chapter Nineteen #2
I was not entirely looking forward to that, but my wife spoke to me about making inroads with her brother often. “I do so wish for the two of you to get along with each other.”
I promised her I would do my best.
They arrived, Bingley, Bennet, and Mrs. Caroline Bennet née Bingley.
They settled in from their journey and had dinner with us, and at dinner, Caroline began talking of how she might stay behind here, that she had missed Georgiana ever so much, and that she would just be in the way with the others in the party.
And both her brother and her husband said nothing to contradict her, but instead seemed to think it was a capital idea.
So, I was saddled with Caroline Bennet for the next month.
The journey, at least, since it was only to the Lakes, had been cut in half. If I’d been forced to endure the woman for twice as long, I think I might have lost my mind.
Within two days, we were all waving them off as they left us behind, and I settled in for whatever it would be to entertain Caroline for all of August.
Caroline was her usual self. She spoke mostly of her self and her own interests except when she did things like comment upon how even my handwriting was or how quite amazing it was that I should write so many letters for business and how odious she should find such a thing.
She was entirely exhausting, in other words, and I left her to Georgiana when I could, though Georgiana was not good at conversing with anybody at all, and I began to feel guilty for leaving Georgiana to listen to Caroline go on and on while Georgiana’s eyes glazed over.
Caroline began to appear whenever I was taking morning walks, which was her talent, I had to admit. She had done this back in Hertfordshire as well, appeared when I was walking and come along to talk at me until my ears bled.
At first it was like that, her telling me all about whether or not she thought that women’s skirts should become fuller or whether their waistlines should be lowered (she thought that the style of a high waist line now made everyone look as if she were with child) and whether she approved of the current style of dance cards (she did not).
But one day, she said something entirely shocking.
She started out by mentioning things about her husband and brother. “I am told you know about them.”
I was taken aback but responded in the affirmative, that yes, I knew.
“Well, there aren’t a lot of men who do know,” she said. “There are very few people to whom I could trust with this request, you see.”
“Request,” I repeated. “You have a request for me, madam?”
“It is most irregular,” she said. “Entirely improper, of course. If I were not sort of desperate, I suppose I would not make it at all.”
I was not looking forward to owing Caroline a favor. “What is it?”
“I heard, however, that it was down to you that I was told about it at all. If it had not been for your influence, James says, he would simply have never told me, and then I suppose I would not have even known why I was in a marriage with a man who never touches me, and I truly mean never. Not even kissing, you know, and I—”
“I was afraid of this,” I broke in. “You are not satisfied with the marriage.”
“No!” she protested. “No, the marriage itself is quite a good marriage. He is easy to be around and we are fond of each other. I like him. He likes me. It is only…”
Suddenly, I had a terrible notion what this request of hers might be. “Before you make any requests of me, Mrs. Bennet, you should keep in mind that I am not a man who is free, because I have a wife of my own.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you do, but James says that you were so at odds earlier in the summer that you must likely be at each other’s throats by now, and I thought that perhaps the two of you—”
“We are not at each other’s throats,” I said tersely.
“Oh,” she said.
We walked in silence for several moments.
“Yes, but men don’t care about these sorts of things, and men are unfaithful to their wives all the time, and men are eager for the opportunity if it is simply presented—”
“I am not like most other men.”
She looked me over. “You are not, in fact. You are, however, so very swoonworthy that I had to try.”
That could not really be true.
“So, your answer is no,” she said.
“It is,” I said. “But I see your position, and I told Mr. Bennet, your husband, that it was why he should not propose marriage to you in the first place. I said that it was not fair to you. You should have the chance to know love.”
“Well,” she said, “I do know love, of course. What I wish to experience is the carnal act.”
“Yes, that was clear, Mrs. Bennet,” I muttered.
“Well,” she continued, “only because I suppose it seems monstrous not to ever do it, not for my entire life. I am told that I likely won’t care much for it, and that women do not like it very much—”
“Who tells you this?” I broke in.
She shrugged. “Well, everyone.”
“Everyone?” I said. “You are talking to everyone about this? If it is your husband, you can be quite sure he does not know what he is talking about.”
“True, I suppose,” she said. “But it is not only him. It is also Louisa and several of my maids and a group of women who I was giggling with at an embroidery circle once.”
I stopped walking, thinking that over.
She continued for several paces and then turned around to look at me. “Mr. Darcy?”
“No, sorry,” I said. Had I been blessed with Elizabeth, or was it that I had taken the time to learn her body and what pleased her and she had felt comfortable enough to teach me? I caught up to her. “I do not know what to say about that, I am afraid.”
“Because your wife enjoys it?”
“That,” I said, feeling my face heat up, “is not something I am going to discuss with you.”
She sighed heavily. “I must say, then, sir, I’m doubly disappointed your answer is no.”
“We must cease to talk of this travesty,” I said. “And you must be careful. You cannot go about asking other men to—”
“Do you see any other men?” she said, annoyed. “And anyway, as I said to you, there are only certain men who know. I cannot go around asking just anybody. It might endanger James and Charles!”
She was right, I supposed. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Bennet,” I told her. “I do wish this had not happened to you. But you did choose to marry him knowing he was in love with your brother.”
“Yes, I did,” she said. “I just did not expect to feel thus about it, I suppose.”