Chapter 13
Study
Netherfield Hall
Some Minutes Later
The door opened, and Charles Bingley, who had been trying and failing to write a business letter, lifted his head as his mother stalked into the room, her face stiff with outrage.
“Where is Caroline?” she demanded irritably. “The butler informs me that she left with Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana some time ago!”
“Yes, they decided to call at Longbourn this morning,” he said, straightening his back and forcing his voice to remain calm.
Lady Bingley harrumphed indignantly, walked over to the chair near the fire, and sat down.
“I know Caroline is hiding from me,” she said, “but it matters not. When she returns, she will do as she is told! She and Mr. Darcy are destined for one another, and given this absurd display of selfishness, I intend to have Darcy purchase a license in the next week. We will all return to London, and they will be married at Darcy’s parish church. ”
Bingley fought to keep his expression neutral even as his heart sank. He had hoped that perhaps his mother would accept Caroline’s declaration with, if not joy, at least a modicum of sense and grace, but obviously that was not to be.
He rose from his chair behind the desk and walked over to add a log and stir the fire, as it was dying down a bit, and then took the leather chair across from his mother.
“Mother,” he said, “I spoke to Caroline and Darcy this morning, and neither is wishful of marrying. There is nothing to be done about it.”
Lady Bingley’s eyes bulged unbecomingly at this statement, and she snarled, “Nothing to be done about it? I had thought better of you, Charles! You know as well as I do that your father’s greatest wish was for the Bingley family to rise high in society.
Sir John could have died when he saved Darcy and his father from those brigands and… ”
“All of that is true, Mother,” Bingley interrupted, “but I am certain that Father would wish for Caroline to be happy in her marriage, and she does not…”
“Happy? Happy? Do not be absurd, Son! We are not characters from a vulgar romance novel. Your father and I did not work so hard all of our lives for Caroline to behave in such a dreadful way. You and Louisa did your duties in marrying well, and I will not permit Caroline to throw away Pemberley!”
Bingley blew out a breath and said, “Mother, I do not know how Louisa and Hurst feel about one another, but I genuinely love Georgiana. Caroline thinks of Darcy as a brother more than…”
“It does not matter,” his mother interposed, her nostrils flaring, her eyes blazing. “She will marry Darcy, and you will assist me in convincing her. Do you understand?”
He did understand very well. His mother was absolutely set in her ways, and indeed, now that he was considering the situation, it was preposterous, even insulting, that Lady Bingley was so certain that he, the heir to the Bingley fortune and a man of four and twenty years of age, would meekly fall in line with her schemes.
It said as much about his own character as Lady Bingley’s, and he felt it. He had long been cheerful and genial, but also far too willing to bend his wishes in favor of those more strong-willed than himself.
“Well, Charles? Do you understand?” his mother demanded.
His fists were clenched, and he took a moment to relax them as he literally and metaphorically straightened his spine.
“I understand what you are saying, Mother, but I reject it entirely. Caroline and Darcy do not wish to marry, and your insistence that they do so is, frankly, disgusting to me. I am confident that neither my sister nor my friend will change their minds on this matter, but Georgiana is a sensitive creature and Louisa is with child, and I will not have tempest and fury in my home. You need to leave, Mother.”
She stared at him with wide eyes and a slightly drooping mouth, and he felt a brief surge of guilt. Was that too harsh? She was his mother, after all.
“Charles Bingley!” she suddenly shouted. “Never in all my life have I ever heard anything so ridiculously absurd and horrible. How dare you…”
***
Darcy Carriage
En Route to Netherfield
A Few Hours Later
The morning and early afternoon of visiting friends had done much to restore Caroline’s equilibrium.
Though they had stayed for far longer than the socially correct half-hour at both Longbourn and Lucas Lodge, the families of those two worthy houses and the inhabitants of Netherfield mutually considered one another to be such excellent friends that the breach in etiquette was entirely superfluous.
Departing Lucas Lodge, Caroline’s spirits had been quite high, lifted by good and valued company.
Now, as the slate roof and red brick of Netherfield Hall came into sight through leafless trees, her heart sank again.
She was acutely conscious of traveling inexorably towards a battlefield, with the entire rest of her life the embattled prize.
Her life’s happiness rested on her standing firm in the face of all her mother’s strident, hurtful protests.
That there would be a fight, even a whole series of fights, was not in question.
Lady Bingley had already proven that she would do all within her power to make her daughter miserable and coerce her into an unwanted marriage.
Caroline would not back down. As surely as the sky was blue and the sun rose in the east, she would not give in to her mother’s pressure.
It was still a daunting prospect to spend weeks under duress, and an exhausting one.
It was heartening to know that Darcy would vocally support her decision, but even his support could only go so far in mitigating the agitation of being the full recipient of Lady Bingley’s severe displeasure.
Caroline thought of the prospect of choosing her own husband and firmed her resolve and her chin. Come what may, giving in was not an option.
“I wonder where Bingley is going,” Colonel Fitzwilliam mused aloud.
Caroline started and leaned over to look out of the window. The Bingley carriage, with Charles’s prize grays in harness and a coachman in the seat, was standing in front of Netherfield Hall. How very odd.
A moment later the situation grew even odder, as she spied her mother through the window of the carriage, and since her eyesight was excellent, she could see that Lady Bingley was scowling hideously in their direction.
What was happening?
“Let us drive to the stables,” Darcy suggested, and Caroline, while bemused, did not argue. If her mother was leaving Netherfield Hall, she did not wish to put anything in her way, least of all herself.
The party alighted in front of the stables, with Darcy handing out Caroline and Georgiana, and Colonel Fitzwilliam exiting last. The sound of clopping horses' hooves drew all their eyes, and they watched as the Bingley carriage rolled away toward the road leading to Meryton.
Caroline felt her chest ease at the sight.
For now, anyway, her mother was not at Netherfield Hall.
“Shall we go indoors?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, holding out his arm to Caroline while Darcy did the same for Georgiana.
“Of course,” she said and allowed herself to be guided to a side door, where two maids were waiting to take their outerwear.
By the time Caroline had divested herself of hat and pelisse and heavy gloves, the butler had arrived, and Caroline looked up to discover the man holding out two sealed letters, one in each hand.
“Mrs. Bingley, Miss Bingley, the master wrote these for you,” he said, extending his hands to allow the ladies to take them.
“Thank you, Bates,” Caroline said with a smile, and quickly broke up the letter.
Dear Caroline,
Mother has been informed has decided that she wishes to return to London, and I am escorting going with her. The Hursts are kind enough to permit her to stay at Hurst House, so I will help her settle in and return by tomorrow as soon as possible.
With much love,
Charles
Caroline squinted at the blotches and crossed lines on the page, and she relaxed once she was confident that she had deciphered it.
She looked up at Darcy and Richard, who were both staring at her curiously, and mindful of the listening ears of the servants, she said, “Lady Bingley has decided she is tired of country life and is returning to London, and Charles is escorting her there, and he will return as quickly as possible.”
Both gentlemen displayed relieved expressions at this news, and she turned to her sister-in-law and said, “Georgiana, were you able to read the letter? I fear my brother does not write legibly at the best of times, and when he is in a hurry, it is often such a mess of blots and lines that the letters convey no information at all.”
To her surprise, Georgiana blushed at these words and folded her letter back up.
“I can read it well enough,” she said quietly.
Caroline, realizing that her brother must have written something romantic to his young bride, smiled and said cheerily, “Well, that is wonderful. Shall we go into the drawing room and warm up with some tea?”
***
Elizabeth’s Bedchamber
Longbourn
Midnight
28th December, 1811
It had long been Elizabeth’s habit to brush her hair well in the evening, and she did so now, dressed in night gown and robe, sitting in front of a pleasantly crackling fire.
She had much to occupy her mind this night.
It had been a very full day, with the visit in the morning from the Netherfield party, and then an evening of merriment.
The Lucases had come over to dinner to enjoy the Gardiners’ last full day in residence at Longbourn, as they would be leaving for Cheapside in the morning.
There had been little time to reflect on any new revelations, such as the end of Caroline Bingley and Mr. Darcy’s engagement.
Elizabeth lowered her hairbrush, the candle beside her wavering with the shift of air from her movement.
Mr. Darcy was no longer engaged to be married.
He was free to choose his own bride. Elizabeth had heard enough about the glories of Pemberley and the Darcy connections, had received many winks and nods and hints about the income, that she was well aware that he was a most eligible parti.
The Darcy name was an old and respected one, and many a young lady in Town would be eager to grace it.
In light of all of this, it was absurd to think that Mr. Darcy might for even a moment notice a mere country miss.
Elizabeth sighed disconsolately and began to brush her hair again, forcing herself to consider the matter carefully.
She liked and admired the gentleman very much, enjoyed his conversation, and respected his intelligence and his character.
Certainly they had shared many lively and interesting conversations, but there was nothing in that to indicate that he might, now or in the future, view her in any other light than that of a friend.
It was, Elizabeth told herself sternly, best to keep strict control over her own thoughts to avoid getting her hopes up.
It had been easier when she could remind herself that he was engaged to another woman and wish, in a vague and nebulous manner, to one day meet an unattached gentleman who exhibited many of the same qualities, but now Mr. Darcy was unattached, and Elizabeth’s wayward heart tended to patter a little faster at the mere thought of him.
She sighed and told herself to stop being silly.
Just because his engagement was at an end did not mean that she had much of a chance of drawing his attention and attraction, and it was absurd to tie herself in knots about it.
She put down her hairbrush, tied on her cap, and blew out her candle.
The two unobstructed steps to her bed were easy, even in the dark, and Elizabeth slid gratefully under the blankets.
The warming pans, so recently removed, had done their jobs well, and she snuggled in comfortably.
The clock on the mantel ticked its way to half past eleven, and by the time in chimed midnight, Elizabeth was long asleep.