Chapter 3
Netherfield, 1811
T he journey to Netherfield had been long, and the chilly autumn wind whipped at the windows of the carriage as Darcy peered out, his mind uneasy despite Georgiana’s quiet companionship. Georgiana sat beside him, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery. Across from them, little Andrew rested against the cushions, bundled in a thick woolen blanket with a contented smile, his breaths shallow but steady.
Darcy cast a concerned glance toward the boy, whose frailty weighed heavily on him. The winter air in Derbyshire had proved too harsh for Andrew’s delicate lungs, and though the dirty air of London had helped a little, Darcy had found no satisfactory solution—until he had run into Bingley at White’s.
The invitation had been genuine. Bingley’s warmth and enthusiasm shone as he insisted that Netherfield would be the ideal retreat for the family, a place where Andrew might breathe a little easier and Georgiana could enjoy a bit of fresh countryside air. Darcy, after careful consideration had agreed, though he had privately vowed not to let Georgiana or Andrew out of his sight.
The carriage slowed as they neared the entrance to Netherfield and Darcy allowed himself a small sigh of relief. The air felt fresher here, crisper, and he dared to hope that Andrew might find some relief in this gentler climate. As they pulled up to the manor, the front doors opened and Bingley stepped out, his face breaking into a welcoming smile.
“Darcy!” he called out cheerfully as the footman opened the carriage door, offering a hand to help Georgiana down. “Welcome to Netherfield! And you, Miss Darcy,” he added with a kind smile, bowing politely.
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” Georgiana replied, returning his smile shyly.
“And you must be Andrew,” Bingley continued, crouching down to greet the young boy as Darcy lifted him out of the carriage.
Andrew gazed up at Bingley with wide eyes, and Darcy saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face as Bingley chuckled. “Well, I hope you’ll feel right at home here, young sir. We’ve plenty of cozy rooms and warm fires for you.”
“Fank-oo,” Andrew murmured softly, clutching Darcy’s hand tightly as they made their way inside. The warmth of the hall was a welcome change from the chill outside, and Darcy felt a wave of relief as they settled in, his mind finally beginning to ease.
The afternoon passed with quiet contentment. Andrew spent most of his time by the window, watching the autumn leaves fall with fascination, his breath misting the glass. Georgiana explored the gardens and the estate grounds, the gentle expanse of countryside a refreshing change from London’s bustle.
Darcy, meanwhile, spent most of his time close by, dividing his attentions between his sister and Andrew. Wickham’s actions that summer lingered constantly at the back of his mind, a reminder of the danger that seemed to shadow his family’s peace, and he resolved to let neither of them stray far from his sight.
Later that evening, after Andrew had fallen asleep and Georgiana retired for the evening, Darcy found himself in Bingley’s study, seated by the fire. Bingley poured them each a glass of brandy. The warmth of the room, combined with the quiet of the house, gave Darcy a rare sense of calm, and he leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a moment of reflection.
After a quiet moment, he spoke, his voice measured. “Bingley,” he began, pausing as he considered how best to frame his thoughts. “I’ve been considering a change in my life.”
“Oh?” Bingley raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a curious expression. “Are you finally to sell Pemberley so I can purchase it for my sister?”
Darcy gave a bark of laughter. “No, nothing nearly so drastic.” He took a steadying breath. “I believe it’s time I seriously consider remarrying.”
Bingley’s eyes widened in surprise, though a grin quickly replaced his initial shock. “Well, that is unexpected. But certainly, it’s not a bad idea. Andrew and Georgiana would benefit from having a lady about the house—someone who can help raise the boy and be a companion for your sister.” He paused, an amused glint in his eye. “And I suppose you, too, could benefit from a bit of warmth in your life.”
Darcy chuckled, but his tone turned serious as he continued. “It’s true. Andrew needs stability, and Georgiana would benefit from having a mother figure, but the decision is more complicated than that.” He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “If I marry, it must be to a woman who is kind, someone who will care for my family as though they were her own.”
Bingley nodded thoughtfully, then leaned back with a teasing grin. “Well, if it’s a wife you seek, I do know one lady who would be all too eager to volunteer… my sister, Caroline.”
Darcy froze, searching for the right words to let his friend down gently. “Bingley… your sister is… well, she… that is to say…” He paused, floundering for a moment.
Bingley burst into laughter, clapping his hands in delight at Darcy’s discomfort. “Oh, Darcy, don’t look so horrified! I wouldn’t let you marry my harridan of a sister even if you wanted to. Georgiana and Andrew are too delightful to expose to Caroline’s vitriol.”
Darcy couldn’t help but let out a small laugh of relief, shaking his head. “Thank heavens, Bingley. I was struggling to be tactful. I could never… entertain such an idea.”
“Believe me, I know her faults all too well,” Bingley said with a wry smile. “And rest assured, I shan’t be encouraging her ambitions on that score. She’d drive you mad and likely make your sister’s life a misery, too. Caroline has her charms, but they are neither maternal nor compassionate.”
Darcy took a long sip of his brandy, feeling a weight lift at Bingley’s easy dismissal. “Precisely. I need someone with far more depth of character than the usual society miss. She must have a true capacity for compassion, as well as the ability to manage the demands of both Pemberley and Rosings.”
Bingley leaned back, swirling his brandy thoughtfully. “Then you’ll need someone with a good heart and some experience, I think. But I daresay,” he added with a wink, “you may not find her in the circles of London. You’re nothing more than the heir to Pemberley there.”
Darcy sighed, conceding the truth of Bingley’s words. The London social set had shown little interest in his role as a father and guardian. “I had hoped that among the more well-connected families, I might find someone suitable—someone who at least understands the responsibilities of a great estate. But in truth, none I have met seem suited to the demands of Pemberley, let alone to being the acting mistress of Rosings.”
Bingley tilted his head, a thoughtful smile on his face. “And what of Meryton?”
“Meryton?” Darcy echoed, scoffing. “Whoever I choose will be mistress of Pemberley, and she must manage both it and Rosings from afar. Some country miss is unlikely to be familiar with such duties.”
Bingley raised a hand to stop Darcy’s protests. “I know, I know… you’re looking for someone exceptional. But,” he continued with a light grin, “I wouldn’t rule out finding such a lady among the hedgerows and heather. Sometimes, the most extraordinary people come from the most ordinary places.”
Darcy scoffed, giving his friend a skeptical look. “You cannot be serious. The mistress of Pemberley, and an acting mistress of Rosings, must have a great deal of experience and refinement. The position requires a specific type of woman—one who has been trained to manage large estates.”
Bingley shrugged, an easy smile spreading across his face. “You never know, Darcy. Perhaps someone here in Meryton may surprise you.”
Darcy shook his head, still unconvinced. “Here? In this small part of the country, I highly doubt I’ll find anyone there suited to the responsibilities I require.”
“Well,” Bingley replied, undeterred, “it’s fortunate that we’ll have the opportunity to see, as I accepted an invitation for us to attend an assembly in Meryton tomorrow evening. You must come, too.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed, a hint of annoyance in his gaze. “An assembly? You know how I detest such gatherings. They are little more than an endless parade of shallow social displays.”
Bingley laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Perhaps, but you mustn’t be so quick to judge. Besides, you might find something of interest—or someone—at this particular gathering.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. “And if I do not?”
“Then at least you can be assured of some amusement,” Bingley replied with a grin. “But consider this—if you don’t attend, my sister Caroline will almost certainly stay behind with you to keep you company.”
Darcy winced, the thought of a solitary evening in Caroline’s company sending a shiver down his spine. He took a resigned sip of his brandy, setting the glass down with a sigh.
“Very well,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I shall attend. But do not expect me to find any revelations there.”
Bingley clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unrelenting. “We shall see, my friend. We shall see.”
∞∞∞
Caroline stepped back from the study door and felt a flush of humiliation. She had never expected to hear herself discussed in such a… dismissive tone. Darcy, the man she had set her sights on since the beginning of the Season, the man whose fortunes, status, and refinement matched her ambitions precisely, had just declared her unsuitable. And Charles had laughed—laughed!
How dare Charles speak so poorly about me to his friend?
Her embarrassment was quickly replaced by a steely determination. The nerve of Darcy—to speak of her as though she were some mere upstart, incapable of fulfilling the role of his wife and mistress of Pemberley. And Charles—her own brother—dismissing her so glibly, calling her a harridan . The insult gnawed at her, leaving her seething.
I’ll show them! I’ll show them all!
As the voices inside quieted, Caroline stepped back, schooling her features into a mask of calm. She had known that winning Darcy would not be easy, and that he would require convincing; after all, his expectations were notorious. But this… this was beyond what she had anticipated.
In her mind, Caroline Bingley could already envision herself at Pemberley, dressed in the finest silks, her name spoken with reverence by those she entertained, her influence stretching across Derbyshire and beyond. Mistress of Pemberley… it was her birthright as much as it was Darcy’s; it was simply a matter of time before he realized it. She had all the accomplishments, the breeding, and the elegance to fit the role. Who else could possibly embody the poise and sophistication required for such a position?
The notion that Darcy saw her as unfit—that he wanted someone of kindness and warmth , someone who could be a devoted mother to his sister and nephew—was laughable.
Kindness and warmth, she thought with a faint sneer. What does kindness have to do with running a vast estate?
Darcy was deceiving himself. He needed a woman of control, someone who could maintain the legacy, not a little milkmaid full of tenderness.
Her mind raced. Darcy had spoken of wanting a wife who would “care for his family like her own.” Well, Caroline could do that. She would fawn over Georgiana, sing her praises, accompany her at the piano, even listen to her tedious conversations, if need be.
As for that sickly child Matthew, or whatever his name was… surely, with time Darcy would see that the boy’s health made him an unfit heir, and he might turn his attentions to a son of his own. Still, she could charm the child if that was what it took. Caroline’s mouth pursed at the thought of fawning over Darcy’s fragile son, but it was a small price to pay if it softened Darcy’s heart. Children were simple creatures; a few sweets, some lavish gifts, and the boy would think of her fondly.
A shadow of a smile touched her lips as she considered her plans. Yes, she would befriend Georgiana and dote upon little what’s-his-name, until Darcy could not imagine a more affectionate mother figure. In his eyes, she would be everything he professed to seek.
Yet a quiet, unrelenting voice in the back of her mind lingered on Darcy’s words: “She must be someone loving and kind.” She pushed down her frustration, but a niggling doubt remained. What if Darcy refused her attention outright? What if, despite all her efforts, he still deemed her unfit?
A chill shivered down her spine, and she straightened her back. She would not wait on chance alone. No, if all else failed, she would find a way to ensure her position.
A compromise.
Caroline felt her determination harden, her gaze focusing on a single point in the hallway as her plan solidified. If subtle charms and careful manipulation failed to sway him, there were other, more… drastic measures she could take.
Her lips curled into a smile at the thought. A compromise was all it would take to bring about an engagement. A slip of the foot, an innocent mishap… even a brief scene that would arouse suspicion, and Darcy would be honor-bound to protect her reputation. And he was far too upright, too concerned with his family’s name, to allow a scandal to touch them.
“Yes,” she murmured to herself, her voice low and resolute. “If Darcy cannot be convinced by persuasion, he can be convinced by obligation.”
Her plan was settled; its logic as flawless as the lacework on her gown. Darcy may have believed she wasn’t suited to his expectations, but she would rewrite those expectations to suit herself. She would ensure her place in his life, one way or another.
With a final glance at the study door, Caroline straightened, a cold glint in her eye. Yes, she would be Mrs. Darcy, and she would enjoy the luxury, status, and power that title afforded her. She would not accept any other outcome. Whatever Darcy might think now, he would soon see that there was no woman better suited to his life and his ambitions than herself.
She, Caroline Bingley, would be the next Mrs. Darcy, and no one—not her brother, not Georgiana, and certainly not Darcy’s own misguided ideals—would stand in her way.
∞∞∞
Darcy adjusted the cuffs of his coat, straightening the fine fabric one last time before stepping quietly into Andrew’s room. A soft glow from the small candle on the nightstand illuminated the child’s gentle face, his pale features peaceful in sleep. Darcy leaned down, brushing a tender kiss to his forehead, and felt a surge of gratitude at his son’s steady breathing.
Leaning over, he pressed a tender kiss to Andrew's forehead. "Sleep well, little one," he whispered.
The nurse, Rebecca, stood nearby, her eyes watchful yet soft. She offered a reassuring smile as Darcy straightened, casting a last look over Andrew.
“Don’t worry, sir,” she said softly, her heavy brogue apparent even in a whisper. “I’ll keep a careful eye on him. Enjoy your evening.”
Darcy nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Rebecca. His health seems better here, but we can't be too careful."
"Indeed, sir," she replied. "The country air does him good."
Darcy felt a pang of reluctance as he left the room. With one last glance at Andrew, Darcy quietly left the room and made his way down the corridor to Georgiana's chambers. He found his sister seated comfortably by the fire, a book open on her lap. Across from her sat Mrs. Annesley, Georgiana’s new companion, whose warmth and intelligence had quickly earned Darcy’s trust— along with the credentials he had meticulously verified. She looked up from her knitting as he entered, giving him a polite nod.
"Fitzwilliam!" Georgiana exclaimed. She set aside her book and rose to greet him. “Are you leaving for the assembly now?”
“Indeed,” he replied, returning her smile. “I wished to say goodnight. I trust you’re enjoying Mrs. Annesley’s company?”
Georgiana’s eyes brightened as she glanced at her companion. “Very much. Mrs. Annesley is helping me with my studies, and she’s promised to read with me.”
Darcy gave Mrs. Annesley an approving nod, gratitude in his gaze. “Thank you, Mrs. Annesley.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Darcy,” she replied warmly. “Miss Darcy is a most diligent student.”
“Soon you will be accompanying me to these events instead of simply bidding me farewell,” he said with a smile.
She shrank back. “Not so very soon?”
“Of course not. You are to stay my baby sister until you are fifty years old,” he replied with mock gravity.
Georgiana giggled, and he kissed her on the top of her forehead. Returning to her place by the fire, she gave him a small wave as he exited the room.
Having complete his farewells, Darcy descended to the front hall, arriving promptly at the appointed time. Bingley waited by the door, dressed in evening attire, hands folded behind his back. He paced the hall with a slightly bemused expression. “Ah, Darcy," he greeted him with a chuckle. "Punctual as always."
"Is Miss Bingley not joining us?" Darcy inquired, glancing around.
Bingley rolled his eyes, casting a glance up the grand staircase. “Still dressing, I’m afraid,” he muttered, exasperation clear in his voice. “I’ve already been waiting thirty minutes. You’d think it was her own ball, the way she’s carrying on.”
They both stood in silence, a faint tension settling as the clock ticked on. Finally, a rustling at the top of the stairs. Darcy looked up, and his eyes widened involuntarily as Caroline appeared, making her grand entrance with a theatrical flair that was impossible to ignore.
Her gown was an overwhelming sight—a garish concoction of deep green silk, draped with lace and studded with clusters of beads that caught the light at every angle. But the pièce de résistance was the cloud of feathers adorned her sleeves and hem, and a particularly large one perched jauntily in her hair, bobbing with every step. The entire effect bordered on the absurd.
Bingley pressed his lips together, clearly struggling to keep a straight face. He cast a sideways glance at Darcy, whose expression remained carefully neutral, though a slight tightening around his eyes betrayed him.
Caroline descended the stairs with her head held high, her gaze fixed on Darcy. "Brother, Mr. Darcy," Caroline greeted them, her voice dripping with affected sweetness. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."
"Not at all." Darcy offered a slight bow. "We have ample time."
She smiled broadly, stepping forward to link her arm through Darcy's with a familiarity that caught him off guard. "You are too kind," she purred. "It's so endearing to see you as a loving father and brother. Family is everything, is it not?"
He looked at her in astonishment but she continued speaking, her voice dripping with admiration. “I saw you pass my room to say goodnight to both Andrew and dear Georgiana. Such devotion. Any woman would be privileged to be a part of your family.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, offering a polite smile while concealing his discomfort at her overly familiar touch on his arm.
Caroline tilted her head with an exaggerated sigh. “I would have said goodnight as well, but it grew so late and I didn’t want to disturb their rest.” Her tone suggested that, of course, the delay had been entirely out of her control.
Bingley coughed, which Darcy suspected covered a laugh. “Yes, Caroline,” he said with forced calm, “we’re all keenly aware of your punctuality.”
Caroline gave her brother a disdainful glance before turning back to Darcy, her expression flickering back to adoration as she awaited his response.
Darcy inclined his head, extricating his arm under the guise of adjusting his cuff. "Indeed," he agreed. "Family is of utmost importance."
“Perhaps tomorrow evening,” she persisted.
Bingley cleared his throat, stepping forward with a conciliatory smile. "Well then, shall we be off? Wouldn't want to miss the opening dance."
"Of course," Caroline replied, casting a lingering glance at Darcy before allowing her brother to lead the way.
Darcy nodded, falling a step or two behind to increase the distance between them, though she seemed determined to remain close as they made their way outside. He glanced at Bingley, who shot him a sympathetic look that was not without amusement.
As they moved toward the door, Darcy couldn't help but reflect on Caroline's sudden display of familial concern. It seemed a transparent attempt to align herself with his values—a notion that left him uneasy. Her usual demeanor lacked the genuine warmth he sought in a companion, and tonight's performance only heightened his reservations.
Stepping into the crisp evening air, he resolved to maintain his composure for the duration of the event. The carriage awaited, and as they settled inside, Caroline positioned herself beside Darcy, her voluminous gown occupying more than her fair share of space.
The journey to the assembly was filled with Caroline's chatter about the local society and her anticipation of the evening ahead. Darcy’s responses were politely sparse, his thoughts elsewhere. He gazed out the window at the passing landscape, wondering if perhaps Bingley was right—if somewhere among the attendees tonight, he might find someone who truly embodied the kindness and sincerity he desired.
But as Caroline's feathers brushed against his arm for the third time, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of skepticism. The night promised to be a test of patience, if nothing else.