Chapter 39
Caroline Bingley had been obsessed with Pemberley ever since her brother told her about his new friend at Cambridge.
She did not need to see the estate to nurture her affection; her admiration was for it as a possession, not as a prospect.
Pemberley was beautiful and had a great deal of history, but it might have been a windowless prison for all she cared.
Caroline knew it as a profitable estate with a veritable army of servants to wait on its owners.
Her dream, from the moment she learned of it, was to be Pemberley’s mistress.
The barrier to this obsession was, of course, Pemberley’s owner. Mr. Darcy was far less appealing than his home. Indeed, after he became a drunk, Caroline knew for a fact that he did not deserve it.
It was not a new idea. Even before she knew of Darcy’s addiction, she had little love for the man. The respect that she gave him was due to his fortune, not to his character.
Caroline assumed that any man who sought out her brother’s company must be lacking in some way.
Charles was weak-willed and tedious, and so must his friends be.
It was a great surprise to Caroline that Mr. Darcy seemed both intelligent and discerning.
Her initial prejudice thus disarmed, she proceeded to advance.
What a surprise, to be rejected!
Caroline was quite astounded. The snide asides of Louisa, by then safely and smugly married, did not help.
It seemed that Mr. Darcy had a counter to every strategy she knew.
Her governess had not prepared her for such lamentable common-sense.
Caroline firmly believed that all men became mindless with adulation when a fetching woman took their arm.
It was expected! How, then, did this man dare to confront her with something as boring as logic? It was breathtakingly rude.
Darcy danced with Caroline, on occasion. He was obedient to the music, and his hand never lingered past the appropriate beat. If they were placed beside each other at dinner, he had the audacity to look away from her to speak to her brother!
Even when Bingley was absent, Darcy did not fall for any of her ploys.
If she fluttered her eyelashes, he politely asked if she was suffering from styes.
She could not elegantly swoon into his arms, for a doctor would be called at once.
Even her seductive, husky voice was attributed to a sore throat.
Darcy kindly suggested sending for a salt gargle.
Caroline realised that she was painting herself as either an invalid or a hypochondriac. Neither condition was particularly romantic.
Wondering if Darcy’s continuing disinterest was due to his belief in her apparent frailty, Caroline tried a new approach. She adopted a hale, strong persona that was almost mannish. Her fearless wit was unleashed, along with her enviable opinions and faultless, refined observations.
This did not work either!
How infuriating!
Caroline’s assault upon Mr. Darcy took up her every waking moment.
She was certain that one day it would bear fruit, if only out of respect for her dogged persistence.
As the years passed, he progressed from aloof indifference to grudging conversation, which Caroline celebrated as a sure sign of his inevitable proposal.
A week after he deigned to smile at her for the first time, Darcy changed entirely.
Caroline could not understand it. What was particularly aggravating was that Bingley could. There was a secret which she was not privy to. A secret so profound that it (apparently) gave the illustrious Fitzwilliam Darcy permission to be a drunk, uncouth and despicable lout.
This man - this man! - was the one she had wasted her talents and her youth trying to impress!
Seething, Caroline left him to wallow in Netherfield Park while she stayed in the London townhouse. She danced, laughed, and shone amongst the elite. Then, when she returned to awful Meryton, Mr. Darcy was gone. Married and gone.
Oh, how she hated him!
Caroline was ready to refuse outright when Darcy wrote to her for assistance.
Admittedly, he had not addressed the letter to her, but to Bingley.
It was staggeringly rude to be spoken about in the abstract!
Still, she thought snidely, it was quite in character for the pathetic creature Darcy had become.
It was curiosity which, in the end, convinced her to help.
Whatever was happening between the vile Darcy, his opportunistic, scheming wife and poor deluded Bingley, Caroline wanted to know.
No longer would she suffer any secrets! If they refused to enlighten her, then Caroline gave herself leave to discover the truth by any means possible.
Caroline felt a pang of regret when she saw Pemberley for the first time. If Darcy was so desperate for a wife, why did he go to that grasping little Bennet wench? Why not his loyal, trusted Caroline?
She could have been mistress of this long drive… those green fields… the towering trees… oh! And the house…!
Caroline gaped inelegantly out of the carriage window. The mistress of Pemberley would have to put up with a great deal, but it was clearly worth it!
She envied Elizabeth Darcy, then, with a raw and burning passion.
No longer could Caroline see her as a pathetic creature, hopeless enough to marry the first drunken sot who asked her.
Now, she was the witch who had stolen poor, stricken Mr. Darcy from Caroline’s caring hands.
Caroline, so overlooked and underappreciated.
Caroline, who by rights should have taken him under her nurturing wing months ago.
Putting herself into her role with the unconscious arrogance of a preening cat, Caroline swept into Pemberley like a battleship, determined to make waves.
Nothing was beneath her notice. Where Mrs. Darcy failed, she would triumph.
Caroline Bingley would show Mr. Darcy exactly what he had thrown away.
Her frosty welcome to the house had not made her like Mrs. Darcy any more.
Caroline knew that Darcy would never have offered her such discourtesy before.
He was truly under another woman’s thumb.
Even at his worst, Darcy had always been painfully polite.
Mrs. Darcy, on the other hand, did not bother to welcome her guest at all.
She did not even thank her for her role in bringing the milksop Jane out of captivity.
The women went in one direction, the men in another, and Caroline was left in the middle.
After that, Caroline could not bring herself to be polite to the servants.
One of them had whispered something that made his companion smirk.
Caroline was sure that it had been about her and concluded that all of the servants had been directed to make her stay as unpleasant as possible.
Concluding that there was some conspiracy against her (no doubt it was Mrs. Darcy’s feeble attempt to discredit her in Darcy’s eyes), Caroline grew cold.
The friendly smile the fat old housekeeper gave her was ignored. The helpful footmen who brought her luggage were not even acknowledged. Caroline shut the door behind them and seethed.
An hour later, she sat elegantly in front of her mirror, running her fingers along the jewellery she had brought with her.
Expensive necklaces and earrings, befitting the mistress of a house like this.
She thought of rectors and arranged marriages, cow-eyed girls and selfish wives.
She thought of brothers keeping secrets from sisters, and a household full of liars.
She would make her mark on Pemberley. Oh yes. She would learn every freckle that defaced its beauty and reveal them to the world.
Was it not the duty of a jilted woman to unmask her duplicitous love?