Chapter Twenty-Three
M iss Caroline Bingley nibbled on her scone. Her hostess, Lady Daniels, had already consumed her second scone and was reaching for a third. Had the woman never learnt that it was bad manners to eat so much at tea? Really, it was astonishing that Lady Daniels had managed to secure a baronet! Caroline was glad she had been taught better manners at Miss Minchin’s Seminary for Young Ladies.
She was also glad she was wearing one of her new gowns, created by Madame Belle on Bond Street. Madame Belle had assured Caroline that Coquelicot was the latest fashionable colour, and one that only ladies with red hair could wear successfully. Caroline had seen Lady Daniels’ eyes widen when she had sailed in, head held high, in her new gown. Lady Daniels, with her dark curls, doubtless knew that she could not possibly wear Coquelicot.
Caroline had been rather wrapped up in her own thoughts as the tea and scones were served and consumed, but was pulled out of those mental meanderings sharply when she heard Lady Daniels say “…and Mr. Darcy was seen at Darcy House.”
“Is it certain?” she asked her hostess, sitting forward abruptly. “I cannot recall when Mr. Darcy was last in Town.”
“Oh, quite certain,” Lady Daniels replied, waving a languid hand. “Though I know not how long he plans to remain. Say, did you hear that Lord Easton has made an offer to Susan Carmichael? I must say, I did not expect that!”
Try as she might, Caroline could learn no more about Mr. Darcy, as her hostess was now determined to regale her with the latest on-dits.
But as her carriage headed home, Caroline had a sudden thought. She had never been bold enough to call on Mr. Darcy, but surely it would not be amiss for Caroline to pay a visit to Darcy House pretending to ask for his sister, Georgiana; with any luck, she would find Mr. Darcy in residence.
***
The knocker was off the door at Darcy House, indicating that the family was not at home to callers, but Caroline was not one to be deterred by such a triviality. She knocked on the door firmly, and was rewarded when the door opened, revealing a stern man in a butler’s suit. Nose in the air, he enquired what her business was.
She replied, “I am here to see Miss Darcy.”
The door began to close, as the man replied, “She is not in residence.”
“Truly? My brother, Mr. Bingley, saw Mr. Darcy at their club last night and he asked that I call on his sister,” Miss Bingley insisted, hoping to be given more information.
“Not possible,” the butler replied, curtly. “Mr. Darcy is rusticating in Hertfordshire.” And with that, the door slammed shut.
Caroline Bingley descended the steps and climbed into the waiting carriage, her face wreathed in a smile. Hertfordshire! That could mean only one thing: Mr. Darcy was visiting Charles.