Chapter XV #3
“Or perhaps I shall liberate the lease from you, my friend.” Mr. Darcy grinned. “If matters proceed as I hope, I may need a place to stay in the neighborhood.”
“Oh, to be certain,” replied Charles. “Will you be the only one traveling?”
“Georgiana will join me, though not immediately. Though I have not spoken to him, I suspect Harrington will also wish to spend some months there.”
“By all means,” said Charles. “I wish you the best of it, my friend. The inducement, I suspect, is well worth it.”
Caroline heard nothing thereafter, as she was reflecting on the overheard conversation.
No part of her wanted to accept the truth now staring at her, but she could not avoid it.
Mr. Darcy was lost to her, intent upon making love to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
She could not even summon the will to hate her rival—whatever Mr. Darcy was searching for in a wife, Miss Elizabeth had it while Caroline did not.
“What are you thinking, Caroline?”
Not having noticed Louisa’s presence, Caroline started a little, but she recovered at once.
Louisa, she noted, was watching her with equal parts compassion and caution, though her gaze was steady.
Caroline had little interest in voicing what she now knew, as if doing so would establish a truth she did not wish to confess.
There was little reason to belabor the point.
“Nothing of great import,” said Caroline, only partially trying to deflect. “Tell me, Louisa, and do be honest—do you suppose I could have secured Mr. Darcy had I fixed my attention on him instead of Charles and Jane?”
For a moment, Caroline thought Louisa would dissemble. Then she sighed and met Caroline’s eyes without flinching.
“No, I do not. I agree with Gerald, Caroline. You have chased Mr. Darcy for years, but he has never shown any interest in you.”
“I suppose I deserved that,” muttered Caroline.
“Deserve is not a term I would use,” replied Louisa. “I am not trying to be rude, only honest.”
Caroline nodded, her eyes wandering around the room until they fell on Mr. Darcy, who had come together with Miss Elizabeth.
They were speaking closely, laughing together, showing an ease with each other that Caroline had never quite achieved with the gentleman.
There was nothing in their conversation now, no strain, guardedness, or tension that she had seen in Hertfordshire.
There was also no performance—only genuine comfort and interest.
“She does not seek him,” mused Caroline. “And yet, he is entirely hers.”
“I do not know it is that far developed,” replied Louisa. “But yes, it is a promising connection.”
Caroline wanted to disagree, to let anger and resentment rule her. Yet she was honest enough to understand it, and tired enough to accept it.
“It is most curious,” said Caroline. “I spent months positioning myself, refining my approach, calculating my advantage, but achieving nothing. Eliza has done none of that—yet she has succeeded.”
“That should tell you something, Caroline,” said Louisa. “Mr. Darcy was not looking for a perfect society wife. It seems he values genuine connection.”
With a sigh, Caroline turned away, unable to witness it anymore, the unavoidable truth hitting her right where it hurt—her vanity.
“I did not lose Mr. Darcy. I never had him.”
Louisa did not respond. Instead, she waited for Caroline to speak again, to clarify her meaning. Though she did not wish to humiliate herself anymore, she needed the catharsis a confession would bring in a way she did not understand.
“Mr. Darcy’s attention was never mine to command, no matter how carefully I arranged it. Any ambition I had toward him was not built on understanding—it was assumption.”
Instead of replying, Louisa put her hand on Caroline’s arm, a gesture of support and affection she appreciated more than she could say. It did not make the sting of failure any less, but it made it easier to bear.
“Darcy is not a man who is persuaded, Caroline.”
Caroline had not known Hurst was near enough to overhear their conversation. It was a surprise that he had reduced the matter to something almost comforting. Hurst’s usual response was to sigh with irritation and abuse her for stupidity.
“Well,” said Caroline, “it seems there is nothing I can do. I am not an old maid yet. There will be other men, other opportunities.”
“Yes, there will be,” agreed Louisa. “If you will allow me a suggestion, use what you have learned and remain open to options you might not have considered. Remember that if you choose wrong, a lifetime is a long time to spend married to a man you cannot respect or like. Perhaps felicity is a prize to be valued more than wealth and standing.”
“That is excellent advice, Louisa,” said Hurst.
“Perhaps,” was all Caroline would allow.
The notion was not displeasing, though the thought of giving up years of ambition was. Caroline would have to think on it before she acknowledged Louisa’s point.
Fortunately, she would have the next eight months to consider it.
When she came back next year, Caroline was determined to find a husband.
Whether those motivations that had driven her for so long would remain of the utmost importance she did not know.
At least now she had experience and some context with which to decide.
For the rest of the evening, she held these thoughts at bay. She did her best to show acceptance for her brother’s choice, deflecting more than a few comments made at her expense.
“My brother has chosen,” said she several times. “The match is tolerable—Miss Whitcombe is long known to us, after all. I would not call it ideal, but Clara will make him a creditable wife.
Caroline did not acknowledge error or concede defeat—she was too proud for that. She put the best possible face on it and offered her support. By the end of the evening, it became habit. Caroline had seen the truth. She did not need to like it, but she chose to live with it.