Chapter 12
C aroline Bingley sat in the carriage, seething with rage. How dare they! She nearly screeched aloud, watching the exchange with her brother, Darcy, and the Bennet chits. How could everything go so wrong?
The morning had begun with so much promise. She had been attempting to write a letter— something she never did— in an attempt to impress Darcy whilst in the the library. Instead, all she managed to do was ruin the sleeve of her dress.
She stared down at her arm in fury, scowling at the black mark on her favorite dress, a divine burnt-orange creation. The delicate French lace that had cost a fortune in London was complete ruined.
If only my maid weren’t such a stupid creature .
Caroline had attempted to send the girl into Meryton to fetch some lace to make repairs, but the simple-minded girl didn’t know the difference between tangerine and apricot. Thus Caroline had resigned herself to journeying into the backwater hamlet to personally oversee the purchase.
Bingley and Darcy had offered to escort her, which thrilled her until she realized their intent was to leave her in Meryton and continue on to Longbourn to inquire after the insipid eldest Bennet girl. Once in the village, however, she was quickly abandoned as the very girls she had hoped to avoid were directly in the road.
One of the officers standing with the Bennets had stared at her brother and Darcy, turned pale, and then hastily left the group. “Interesting,” Miss Bingley mused aloud as she watched the scene play out before her.
She watched helplessly as she saw Darcy’s eyes fix on Miss Elizabeth. He dismounted and engaged the impertinent chit in conversation, causing Caroline to nearly tear out her hair in frustration. By the time she had composed herself, the party had disbanded, and Darcy and her brother were nowhere in sight.
Descending from her coach and entering the shop, Caroline sniffed disdain. This is a far cry from the high standards of London.
She made her purchase and left the shop, nearly crashing head-first into the same officer who had practically run from Darcy and Bingley. “Oh!” she exclaimed, dropping her parcel as she stepped back to avoid a near collision.
“My apologies!” The handsome soldier in regimentals dipped a low bow with a flourish, his eyes raking down her body as his head descended. She would have been offended, were she not so flattered. He spied the dropped bundle and smoothly picked it up, handing it to her.
“Thank you, Mr….” Miss Bingley’s voice trailed off.
“Wickham. Lieutenant George Wickham, at your service.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wickham.”
“And you are?”
“Miss Caroline Bingley,” she said, inclining her head regally.
“Ah, yes, the mistress of Netherfield,” he said with a charming grin.
“Why, yes. Do you know the estate?”
“Not exactly; I am only familiar with your brother’s name. He is the good friend of Mr. Darcy, I believe.”
“Yes, our families are very close,” she said proudly, lifting her nose in the air slightly. “Are you acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”
He hesitated, then said, “I am, yes, but…” He paused and looked furtively around, then whispered, “You seem like an intelligent woman. Can I trust you?”
Finally, someone sees it! She thought triumphantly. Preening, she said, “Of course you can.”
He hesitated. “It’s not something I can discuss here in public. Might we, perhaps, meet somewhere more private?”
Her brown furrowed. “What could be so secret that we cannot discuss it here?”
He hung his head. “I promise, I will reveal all in good time. It is a matter of life and death, and everything hangs in the balance. I know no one in this town, and the few people I have met seem to be superficial. I need someone with a keen mind and sharp insight, and I think that you are the person I have been praying for. Only you can help me.”
As he peered at her beneath long lashes, she felt her heart begin to race. “Fine,” she said. “You are right to distrust the people of this backwater village. Even the landed gentry are little more than peasants. Very well .”
“When can we meet?” he asked eagerly.
She paused, thinking. “My brother and Mr. Darcy will be out tomorrow evening. I’m certain I can manage to slip away into the gardens for a walk. Meet me at Netherfield Park.”
“I will. Thank you, Miss Bingley. Until we meet again, and please, keep this just between us.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he reached for her hand, lifted her fingers to his lips, and placed a lingering kiss on her gloved hand. His eyes burned into hers as he whispered. “Farewell, my dear Miss Bingley.”
∞∞∞
Caroline could scarcely wait until the following evening. She fidgeted anxiously as she watched her brother, Darcy, and Georgiana put on their wraps and coats. The Hursts were already in the carriage; Mr. Hurst was anxious to enjoy some of Mrs. Philips’ fine wine.
“Are you certain you do not wish to join us?” Bingley asked as they headed for the door.
“Quite certain, Charles. I have little desire to spend the evening with such rustics.”
“Very well.” He gave her a concerned look, then left the house, closing the door behind him.
The idea that she would be leaving the gentlemen to the attentions of the Bennet chits was insupportable, but she had no other option. The prospect of hearing Mr. Wickham’s secret was more than her curiosity could ignore. He had been charming, enigmatic even, during their brief introduction, and the hint of tension at the mention of Darcy was too tantalizing to ignore.
The sound of the carriage fading into the distance spurred her into action. She adjusted her shawl, ensuring she looked her best even for the short journey to the garden. It would not do for Mr. Wickham to see her anything less than perfectly composed. Caroline swept through the halls, her heels clicking softly against the polished wood floors, until she reached the back door leading to the terrace.
The evening air was crisp, with a faint scent of autumn leaves and damp earth. Caroline hesitated briefly, glancing over her shoulder to ensure none of the servants were about. Satisfied she was alone, she descended the stone steps and followed the gravel path toward the garden. Lanterns hanging along the path cast a warm glow, their light dancing across the carefully curated shrubberies.
Her heart fluttered slightly as she approached the arranged meeting spot. The prospect of a clandestine meeting thrilled her in a way she would never admit. For all her criticisms of rusticity, there was something invigorating about the rawness of the night air and the daring nature of this rendezvous.
As she rounded a corner, her gaze landed on a figure standing near the fountain, his silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns. Mr. Wickham.
He turned at the sound of her approach, his lips curving into a smile as he took a step closer. “Miss Bingley,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting. “You are even more radiant than I remembered.”
Caroline’s lips curved in response, the flattery soothing her earlier irritation. “Mr. Wickham,” she replied, her tone light and teasing. “I see you have not lost your charm.”
He gestured to the bench near the fountain. “Shall we sit? I believe we have much to discuss.”
She inclined her head gracefully and moved toward the bench, her mind racing with questions about Darcy, Georgiana, and whatever secrets Wickham might hold. The possibilities were endless, and Caroline intended to exploit every one of them to her advantage.
She sat down and smoothed her skirts. “So you are acquainted with Mr. Darcy, sir?” she asked him as soon as she had sat down and smoothed her skirts.
“You will never meet anyone more acquainted with him than I, having been acquainted with him since my infancy. How do you find him?”
“He is the perfect houseguest,” Caroline gushed with a coy look. “Polite and attentive at all times.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Wickham replied, his tone measured, though his gaze flickered with something unreadable. “Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not lack the ability to be an amiable companion when he deems it worth his while. Among those who are his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but with the rich, he is liberal-minded, sincere, rational, and honorable—and perhaps even agreeable, allowing for fortune and figure.”
Caroline preened at this subtle evidence of Darcy’s regard for herself, interpreting Wickham’s words as confirmation that Darcy’s treatment of her had always been exemplary. “This does not describe yourself?” she ventured, her voice soft with interest.
Wickham chuckled lightly, though there was a tinge of sadness in his expression. “We were born in the same parish, within the same park. The greatest part of our youth was spent together—inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements and objects of parental care. My father began life in the law but gave up everything to devote his time to the care of the Pemberley property and the late Mr. Darcy.”
He hesitated, then leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “Forgive me, Miss Bingley. I fear I have been too candid. I have a warm, unguarded temper, which led me to be the favorite of the late Mr. Darcy. It caused his son no small amount of jealousy. He had not the temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference often shown to me.”
Wickham drew in a breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “The fact is, we are very different sorts of men, and he hates me for it. But,” he added, his voice breaking slightly, “until I can forget his father, I cannot wish for anything but the best for my oldest friend.”
Caroline felt a warmth rising in her chest. Though she prided herself on her composure, Wickham’s vulnerability tugged at her. “I am very sorry to hear it,” she murmured, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. “To me, Mr. Darcy has always been the best of men. In fact…” She hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly before she added, “I daresay I am one of the few who can claim his good opinion. The longer we reside under the same roof, the more certain I am of it. Perhaps,” she said with a small, significant smile, “I might even do something to assist you.”
Wickham’s smile widened, and he stepped closer, his gaze softening as he regarded her. “Do you mean to say, Miss Bingley, that Mr. Darcy may be on the verge of making you an offer of marriage?”
Caroline flushed with pride, tilting her chin up slightly. “I have no reason to suspect otherwise,” she said with a satisfied smile.
Wickham’s expression turned warm and admiring. “Then I am very happy to hear that my old friend is capable of winning someone as worthy and beautiful as yourself.”
Caroline basked in his compliment for a moment, her heart fluttering at his flattering words. The moment was short-lived, however, as her thoughts quickly turned to the vexing presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet over the past few days. Her satisfaction dimmed, and she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There is one thing that causes me concern, however.”
“What could trouble someone as capable as you, Miss Bingley?” Wickham asked, stepping even closer, his tone gentle and conspiratorial.
“I fear he may be in danger of a fortune-hunter,” she confided with an air of gravity. “One of the local ladies, a certain Miss Elizabeth Bennet, has been using her arts and allurements—along with her sister—to entrap both my brother and Mr. Darcy.”
Wickham’s brow furrowed as he feigned shock, though his eyes betrayed a spark of interest. “A fortune-hunter, you say? But surely Darcy would not be able to tear himself away from someone as exceptional as yourself.”
“I would like to agree,” Caroline said with a haughty sniff, “but this girl seems to have ensnared my poor Mr. Darcy. Her impertinence, her lively eyes…” She trailed off, her tone dripping with disdain. “He may not see her for what she truly is.”
Wickham’s expression hardened, though his voice remained gentle. “Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy is indeed fortunate to have someone as perceptive and caring as you in his circle. Together, perhaps we can ensure that he avoids such a regrettable mistake.”
Caroline straightened, her chin lifting. “I should hope so. I will not stand by and watch that upstart ruin all that is good and noble about him.”
Wickham inclined his head, his smile sly. “Then, Miss Bingley, it seems we have a common goal.”
Caroline opened her mouth to say more, but the faint sound of footsteps approaching from the direction of the terrace stilled her. Her head snapped toward the noise, her heart leaping into her throat. Wickham’s expression shifted in an instant, his easy charm giving way to an alert wariness.
“Someone’s coming,” he murmured, his voice low.
Caroline’s pulse quickened, torn between the thrill of secrecy and the fear of discovery. Before she could decide on a course of action, Wickham stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “We mustn’t be seen together. Mr. Darcy… well, he may not take kindly to it.”
Her breath hitched slightly as he lifted her hand, his touch warm and deliberate. “Forgive me, Miss Bingley,” he said, pressing his lips to her gloved fingers in a gesture both gallant and intimate. “Until we meet again.”
Before she could respond, he released her hand and turned, disappearing into the hedgerows with practiced ease. Caroline stared after him, her heart racing as the footsteps grew louder.
She barely had time to compose herself when a gardener rounded the corner. He startled upon seeing her, then tipped his hat and gave a bow. “Sorry to bother you, miss. Just on my way home for the night. Can I help you with something?”
Caroline straightened her shoulders, smoothing her skirts with one hand as she waved him away with another. He bowed again and retreated, leaving Caroline alone once more.
She glanced toward the hedgerows where Wickham had vanished, her thoughts swirling with the memory of his parting gesture. Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, certain now that she had found an ally in her quest to protect Darcy—and, perhaps, to secure her own place at his side.
∞∞∞
The parlor at the Philips’ house buzzed with lively conversation and bursts of laughter, the air filled with the faint scent of tea and candle wax. Elizabeth stood near her aunt, chatting idly with Charlotte Lucas and a few neighbors. Across the room, Lydia and Kitty were the center of a small group of officers, their flirtatious giggles carrying over the hum of voices.
Elizabeth’s gaze flickered toward her younger sisters, shaking her head in mild amusement at their antics. “Kitty and Lydia appear to be enjoying themselves,” she said to Charlotte.
“Indeed,” Charlotte replied, her tone dry. “Though I doubt they’ll leave without monopolizing every officer present.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly but couldn’t help noticing the absence of the handsome officer they had met the day before. Her thoughts lingered briefly—his easy charm, the way he had paled at the mention of Darcy—before the sound of the door opening drew her attention.
The Netherfield party had arrived.
Mr. Bingley entered first, his warm smile and genial air instantly drawing the attention of the room. Mr. Darcy followed, his tall, composed figure cutting a striking presence. Elizabeth’s gaze, however, landed on the younger figure at his side, her arm resting on his.
A grin crossed Elizabeth’s face. She came after all!
Georgiana Darcy, with her wide blue eyes and shy demeanor, looked hesitant as she scanned the unfamiliar faces. Elizabeth could see her clenching and releasing the hand that hung at her side, and a protective instinct stirred within her.
Excusing herself from Charlotte, Elizabeth made her way over to the newcomers, curtsying as she greeted them. “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, Miss Darcy,” she said warmly. “How wonderful to see you all this evening. Miss Darcy, I trust the drive over from Netherfield was pleasant?”
Georgiana offered a tentative smile, her gaze darting briefly to her brother. “Yes, thank you, Miss Elizabeth. It was quite… pleasant.”
“I am delighted you’ve joined us,” Elizabeth said. “Such gatherings can be daunting, but I assure you this company is as welcoming as it is lively.”
Georgiana managed a small smile, but her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. Sensing her discomfort, Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy. “I must thank you for bringing her. It’s a pleasure to have her here.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, a flicker of relief in his eyes at her words. Turning back to Georgiana, Elizabeth gestured towards Charlotte and Maria Lucas. “May I introduce you to some friends?”
Georgiana once again looked hesitantly at her brother, awaiting his approval. He nodded, prompting Georgiana to say in a quiet voice, “I… I would like that very much.”
As Elizabeth led the younger girl across the room, she whispered in her ear, “Maria is rather shy, like Jane is, and Charlotte is one of my dearest friends. I think you will feel comfortable with them.”
They reached the two Lucas sisters, and Georgiana curtsied as introductions were made. “It is a pleasure to meet you both.”
Elizabeth motioned to another figure who stood nearby. “This is my sister Mary. Like you, she is very fond of music.”
Mary inclined her head politely, her tone measured. “I do enjoy music, very much indeed. Do you prefer playing or listening, Miss Darcy?”
“I enjoy both,” Georgiana said shyly, “but I find great comfort in playing.”
“You and Mary will have much to discuss,” Elizabeth in a playful whisper to Georgiana. “As for my younger sisters, Kitty and Lydia, they are currently quite occupied with the officers. I think it best to introduce you to them another time when their attention is not so… divided.”
Georgiana let out a soft giggle, her posture relaxing further. Maria Lucas, emboldened by the levity, confided with a blush, “They are quite handsome in their red coats, are they not? Most of the girls in Meryton are wild about the officers.”
“Yes, it seems to be the fashion of the season,” Elizabeth said with a smirk.
The group shared a quiet laugh, and Elizabeth felt a warm sense of satisfaction as Georgiana seemed to settle into the conversation.
Shortly afterward, Mr. Philips began arranging tables for cards, and the room filled with cheerful movement as chairs were gathered and partners chosen. Elizabeth found herself partnered with Mr. Darcy, a pairing that sent a subtle thrill through her, though she strove to appear unaffected. Georgiana partnered with Mary, completing their table.
However, just as Darcy was about to deal the cards, a loud voice broke through the gentle murmur of the room.
“Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr. Collins exclaimed, bustling over with an air of exaggerated importance. “Your excellent mother had promised me that you would be my partner for the evening.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed as several heads turned their way. Darcy, seated across from her, stilled, his face growing stern as his gaze shifted to Mr. Collins.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Collins,” she began in a quiet voice. “I was unaware of my mother’s desires, and I have already committed myself to being Mr. Darcy’s partner.”
Mr. Collins’s eyes widened in exaggerated affront. “Miss Elizabeth, it is hardly becoming for a young lady of your station to impose upon a gentleman such as Mr. Darcy! I must apologize on your behalf, sir, for any presumption my cousin may have shown. She is, of course, well-meaning, but sometimes lacks the refinement to—”
“Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth began, her voice steady but tinged with discomfort, “I assure you, Mr. Darcy has made the request himself. I am merely—”
“Nonsense, cousin!” Mr. Collins interrupted, his tone bordering on condescension. “It is not fitting for you to monopolize the attention of a man so above your station. I insist you join me at another table.”
Elizabeth looked around helplessly for Jane, but her sister was deep in conversation with Mr. Bingley across the room. Her eyes darted to Charlotte Lucas, who appeared at Elizabeth’s side with a serene expression and her firm voice.
“Mr. Collins,” the elder girl said smoothly, “I was hoping you might join us at our table. My father has been eager to hear all about Rosings Park and Lady Catherine. He believes he may have crossed paths with her at St. James’s court, and no one could enlighten us better than yourself.”
Mr. Collins blinked, momentarily thrown off course. “Lady Catherine, you say?” His chest puffed out with pride. “Why, of course, I would be delighted to oblige Sir William and share my humble insights.”
Charlotte looped her arm through his and steered him toward another table, throwing Elizabeth a quick wink over her shoulder. Elizabeth mouthed her gratitude, her tension easing as Mr. Collins’s booming voice receded into the background.
Mr. Darcy rapped the cards against the table. “Shall we continue, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked with amusement.
Elizabeth nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “By all means, Mr. Darcy. I believe we have all waited long enough.”
As the games commenced, Elizabeth found herself increasingly aware of Darcy’s presence beside her. He was attentive, his reserved manner softening slightly in the intimate setting. Their hands brushed once as they reached for the same card, and Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm at the brief contact.
Georgiana and Mary also appeared to be enjoying their game, exchanging occasional smiles and murmured words. Elizabeth’s heart warmed at the sight of Georgiana beginning to come out of her shell.
The evening passed in a haze of easy conversation and gentle laughter. Elizabeth, to her surprise, found herself increasingly at ease in Mr. Darcy’s company. His wit, though subtle, revealed itself in unexpected moments, and his occasional smiles felt like small victories.
As the final hand was played and the tables began to disperse, Elizabeth turned to him with a bright smile. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. You make an excellent partner.”
He inclined his head, his expression warm. “The pleasure was mine, Miss Elizabeth.”
Her heart fluttered at the sincerity in his tone, and as the evening drew to a close, she felt a quiet contentment settle over her. The warmth of their brief exchange lingered with her long after she retired to bed that evening. As her eyes closed, she fell asleep to the image of Darcy’s eyes gazing deeply into her own.