Chapter Twenty-Four
M iss Bingley had been to Netherfield Park before, of course, when she had attended her brother’s wedding to an unknown country girl, a Miss Jane Bennet. Caroline had not stayed long, as the entire event had been sadly lacking in fashion. And Miss Bennet’s family! Heavens! What a motley collection of rude, loud, unfashionable people!
She specifically recalled Jane’s next younger sister – Elizabeth, was it? – as being particularly objectionable. She was pretty in a typical good-country-air sort of way, being athletic, fresh-faced and forthright in her speech and manner. Jane was somewhat better, being soft-spoken and modest. At least Charles had not married Miss Elizabeth!
But none of the Bennet sisters were fit to grace a London drawing room; why Charles had to marry into such a family was beyond Caroline’s comprehension. Such a connection must seriously injure Caroline’s chances with Mr. Darcy, but had Charles cared about that when it was pointed out to him? No, he had not!
Caroline had wanted to be alone with her thoughts in the carriage, so she had had her maid, Nancy, ride on the box seat with the coachman. Nancy had bitten her lip and looked unhappy upon being told how she was to travel, but Caroline had been adamant.
Upon arriving at Netherfield Park, Caroline allowed the coachman to help her out. She directed, “Bring my trunks in,” as she walked up the steps.
There was a new knocker on the front door, she saw, which she employed immediately. The door was opened by a man she had never seen before. “And you are?” she demanded, irritably.
“I am Mr. Bingley’s butler, Mr. Hughes. And you are?”
“Miss Bingley,” she snapped.
Mr. Hughes’ eyes narrowed. “Is the master expecting you, Miss Bingley?”
“Expecting me? Whatever can you mean? I am his sister!”
A soft voice interrupted the conversation. “All is well, Hughes. We were not expecting Miss Bingley, but of course she is most welcome.” Jane Bingley did her best to put a welcoming smile on her face, but it did not reach her eyes.
“I should think so,” Caroline said, trying to contain her temper. “I have been traveling these three hours, and would like to wash before receiving refreshments.” She turned to see the coachman bringing in the first of three heavy trunks. “My usual room?” she asked.
“Had I known of your arrival, I would have made certain that all was in readiness for you, Caroline, but I am certain that the room you prefer is clean,” Mrs. Bingley replied.
“You will unpack and lay out my lilac gown, Nancy,” she informed the unhappy and windblown maid who had just entered the house.
Mrs. Bingley put out a hand to stop Nancy from following Caroline up the stairs. “Nancy, go down to the kitchen first; Cook will have a cup of tea and some sandwiches for you.”
As Caroline opened her mouth to object, Mrs. Bingley said, firmly, “Caroline, it is clear that the poor creature has been made to sit on the box; she must be parched. Do you want her passing out as she tries to unpack your belongings? In my house, the servants are cared for.”
Caroline simply stared at her hostess; where had Jane Bingley gotten such backbone? “Very well,” Caroline said, curtly.
“Hughes will show you where to go, Nancy,” Mrs. Bingley continued. Nancy dared a quick glance at her mistress before following the butler to the kitchen.
“Come, Caroline, I will accompany you to your room and make certain that nothing is lacking. I do hope that in the future you will send us a note informing us of your intentions, so that we may welcome you properly.” Mrs. Bingley’s voice was calm.
The two women continued upstairs in silence.
***
“Caroline? Here? I do not believe it,” Charles Bingley groaned.
“You do not want to believe it,” his wife countered. “But she is in the Gold Room, even now, haranguing her poor maid.”
“But why?”
“I know not. Is it possible she learnt of Mr. Darcy’s presence here?”
“I can think of no other reason for her visit,” poor Mr. Bingley grumbled. “What will I tell him?”
“To lock his bedroom door,” Mrs. Bingley suggested.
***
Mr. Darcy returned to Netherfield from an afternoon visit with Miss Bennet. He thought his unofficial courtship was going well. He wished she would allow him to ask her father for an official courtship, but she still insisted, after a week of daily visits, that she did not know him well enough. Though she did allow him to take her hands in his when they walked in the garden! He knew her well enough to know that permitting such a liberty was a certain sign of affection.
Elizabeth – he could no longer think of her as Miss Bennet – liked him, he knew it. She might even love him, as he loved her. And in truth, her hesitation to allow him to declare himself to her father made him love her all the more, for what other young lady in all of England would have not leapt at the chance to become Mrs. Darcy?
He hummed a cheerful tune as he tossed his reins to a stable boy and all but ran up the steps to the front door. Mr. Hughes opened the door for him, but his countenance was unusually dour. Mr. Darcy paused. “What is it, Hughes?”
“There is a visitor, Mr. Darcy.” The butler’s tone was downright sepulchral.
A visitor! Who could it be, to have Mr. Hughes so obviously out of sorts? Surely his Aunt Catherine would not have – “It is Miss Bingley,” the butler said.
Mr. Darcy stopped. He turned to go back to Longbourn; surely he would be offered a dinner invitation from Longbourn’s obliging mistress.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy.” Mis Bingley’s voice, pitched to a soprano coyness he had always found maddening, accosted him. It was almost as bad as Cousin Anne’s perpetual whine.
Unable now to make good his escape, Mr. Darcy turned and replied, “Good afternoon, Miss Bingley. I confess that I am surprised to see you here.”
“But I hope the surprise is not an unpleasant one,” she said, all but begging for the compliment.
He left it hanging in the air between them, heavy with unmet expectation.
“There you are, Caroline.” Bingley walked into the entryway; he sounded exasperated. “Jane told me you had arrived.”
She scowled at her brother. “No one seems glad to see me,” she said. “But I missed you, Charles, and thought to surprise you.”
“You have succeeded; I am indeed surprised.”
Mr. Darcy was amazed that the woman could not hear the grim tone in her brother’s voice; or perhaps she simply chose to ignore that which she did not like.
“I thought perhaps your new bride might wish for some assistance in learning her new responsibilities,” Miss Bingley said.
“We have done without your assistance these past many months, Caroline, and she is far more familiar with the responsibilities attendant to being mistress of the estate than you. So if that is truly why you are here, you might wish to return to your friends in London at once.” Bingley’s tone was flat.
“Well, as long as I am here…” she drawled.
“I do not think you will enjoy yourself here, Caroline. We live rather simply, you know. No theater, no opera, no entertainments to speak of. And the shopping opportunities in the village are not extensive.”
She lifted her eyes to Mr. Darcy’s and stared him full in the face as she responded, “Oh, I think I shall find entertainment a-plenty.”
At that, Mr. Darcy said, quickly, “I believe I shall rest before dinner,” and ran – yes, actually ran – up the stairs.
But he was still able to hear Bingley tell his sister, “Behave yourself, Caroline, or I shall bring you back to London myself.”
***
After dinner that night, the Bingleys met with the Hursts in the parlour shared by the master and mistress of Netherfield. It was a private place, as even Caroline would not intrude on a married couple’s private space.
Mr. Bingley was direct. “Louisa, did you tell Caroline that Darcy was here?”
“I did not.”
“Then how did she find out? She did not even pretend to be surprised to see him here.”
“I do not know, but it was not from me,” Mrs. Hurst insisted. “I am happy with our small family party and would not have wanted to ruin it!”
“Harold?”
“Who, me?” The man so addressed looked up in amazement. “I do not like the chit, you know that, Bingley.”
Mr. Bingley took a breath to remonstrate with his brother by marriage, but then gave it up.
“She must have learnt it in town,” Mrs. Bingley said. “No one here is to blame, Charles. We all know the house is more peaceful when she is elsewhere, if you will forgive me for saying so.”
“What are we to do?” Mr. Bingley addressed his wife.
“There is nothing to do but to live through it, I fear,” his wife replied. “Unless you are prepared to make good on your threat to return her to London.”
“I do not think I can do that,” Mr. Bingley said. “When all is said and done, she is still my sister. She may stay as long as she behaves herself.”
“You recall that we invited my family to dinner tomorrow night?” Mrs. Bingley asked.
“I had forgotten,” her husband admitted. “Should we cancel it?”
Mrs. Hurst spoke now. “Why should we allow Caroline to alter our social life?”
“She will insult the Bennets, you know she will,” Mrs. Hurst warned.
Mrs. Bingley now faced her husband. “I cannot allow her to upset my family. If she insults them or is rude to them, she will answer to me for it.” Her soft voice was determined; there could be no doubt that she meant every word.