Prologue
Caroline Bingley looked impatiently out her window.
Although she had spent the last hour hoping that the carriage would reach Netherfield Park soon, the little town they rode through was so very…
rustic…she suddenly hoped that they were still far from the estate.
Her brother would not lease an estate with so little of interest in the nearest town… would he?
Her brother-in-law’s voice cut through her agitation.
“This is Meryton,” he said happily. “I had to come through here one time; it is easy enough to recognise from the awful picture of our king, painted on the sign of the inn. Bingley told us that Netherfield was only a few miles away from Meryton, so our arrival will be any minute now!”
Hurst’s voice bothered her every bit as much as it always did.
It was not the accent or timbre of the voice that was objectionable—in fact, Hurst’s Eton education was obvious from his accent, and his pitch was a pleasant tenor.
However, what the man said almost always teased in the most horrible manner or informed her of unfortunate news.
This time, of course, it was unfortunate news. How could Charles lease an estate whose town only had one very modest dressmaking shop?
Caroline straightened her shoulders. She decided that, even if the estate was unsuitable in every way, Mr Darcy was currently staying there.
The news that Mr Darcy had some sort of understanding with a country nobody had raced through London with the rapidity of a million tongues, and it certainly distressed Caroline.
However, an understanding was not the same as a betrothal, and a betrothal was not the same as a marriage…
and, when it came right down to it, wives were not the only ladies who benefitted from the attentions of rich landowners.
That her brother had somehow managed to make friends with the bachelor everyone whispered about, all those years before, still seemed providential to Caroline.
She had tried to push the connexion into something more personally beneficial in the past, but they had been in London, living in establishments in two different neighbourhoods, surrounded by far too many distractions.
This, however—being at Netherfield with Mr Darcy and his sister, along with her own siblings—well, this was the opportunity she had been working for, waiting for, hoping for.
She would not waste her chance to forge a strong connexion with Mr Darcy. She would make plans and contingency plans. She would enact the plans perfectly.
And she would be victorious.