Chapter Two #2
Perhaps it had been the bravery Miss Elizabeth Bennet had shown in the face of Lady Catherine’s wrath which impressed Darcy
so much. Perhaps there had been other moments to which Caroline had not been privy, where Miss Bennet had bewitched the gentleman
with unsuitable and unladylike attributes. Confidence where there ought to have been coyness. Wit where there ought to have
been demurity. Truculence where there ought to have been obedience.
Seduction where there ought to have been modesty.
Caroline scowled, then remembered she was supposed to be listening with rapt attention and corrected her expression to one
of polite wonder. To think that all these traits might have combined to form a woman which Darcy thought not only pleasing
but actually desirable was baffling in the extreme. Really, it was deeply frustrating not to know precisely how or why the
pair had made their match.
And why did it not happen with me?
Caroline downed her second glass of wine, then picked up a third. By the time she was halfway through yet another piece of
spiced honey cake, the green irritation festering in her stomach had blossomed into full-grown maggots, wriggling around in
pale discomfort. When the guests had begun to disperse in twos and threes, shaking hands and calling farewells to their neighbours,
Caroline approached Mr Darcy with a sunny countenance plastered onto her face that she certainly did not feel.
He turned, a half-drunk glass in his hand. “Ah, good evening to you.” He made a short bow, his eyes flitting around the room.
“Have you had a pleasant time at the party?”
“Good evening. Indeed, I did.” She waited until the last few stragglers had crossed over the threshold, leaving them alone.
Georgiana was nowhere to be seen, for which she was exceedingly grateful. A solitary fox was more easily cornered than a pair.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”
“It has been a delightful evening,” he confirmed. “Though I confess I am now rather tired and have a long ride ahead of me
tomorrow.”
He bowed again, but before he could bid her goodnight she found herself blurting a question she had never dared voice before.
“Why not me?”
Darcy blinked, his lips parting in surprise, and it took him a moment to find his own voice again. “Excuse me?” His hand went to his hair, fingers running through the thick curls, a habit she had seen only on occasions when he was truly unsettled by something or someone.
“I would like to know”—and perhaps she’d had a little too much wine and cake, for now the words were spilling out of her in
a tumble—“why you never saw me as a real match?”
“Come now, Ca—Miss Bingley,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, as if he’d like nothing more than to
flee from the room at top speed. “It is best not to ask questions when one does not really wish to hear the answers.”
Miss Bingley, she seethed. Never mind that it was appropriate for a now-married man to keep other women at arm’s length—she was not just
any woman. She had known him for years. She had eaten countless meals with him, had hundreds of conversations. She had stayed
in his beautiful home several times and walked his grounds often enough that she could do it in her sleep. “I am all astonishment,
sir! What on earth makes you think I do not wish to hear the answer if I asked the question in the first place?”
At this, he made no reply.
“I am not some wilting flower who cannot abide the slightest gust of wind,” she pressed. “Pray, tell me honestly.”
Darcy quirked an eyebrow. “Trust me, you do not wish to—”
“I bloody well do,” she retorted, startled by the heat of her own temper.
A flush had risen in his cheeks, his dark eyes reflecting the sparkle of the candlelight. Lord, but sometimes he was almost
as pretty as his sister, though he had far less patience.
“In that case,” he said, his voice tight, “let me list the reasons.” He lifted a hand into the air between them, raising a finger for each item on his imaginary list. “You are vain. You are arrogant. You are stubborn. You consider yourself superior to most, and while I admit you have good reason to do so, you do not possess the ability to humble yourself. You are haughty and frequently uncharitable, and—” He’d run out of fingers, though he didn’t seem inclined to start again.
Instead, his hand curled into a fist and dropped to his side.
“You do not know when to hold your tongue.” Darcy took a deep breath, then bit his lip.
“In short, you reminded me far too much of myself.”
Caroline’s jaw dropped. She certainly had not been expecting that answer.
“It took Lizzy to show me the darkest, most bitter parts of my soul. Then, once I was . . . well”—he cleared his throat—“made
aware of my faults, it was up to me to decide whether to work on them or not. And I chose to do so, because I wanted to be
a better man for her.” He stepped towards Caroline, his voice lowering. “Look, neither you nor I would have made each other
better people. In fact, in all likelihood, we would have made each other much worse. We never would have made a good match,
for all that you have convinced yourself of the fact. Search your heart and tell me if you find my words false.”
Caroline ground her teeth together. She had meant only to needle him, not to feel the pierce of his words like a thousand
arrows. “I am glad, sir,” said she, her voice cracking only slightly, “that you feel yourself so much improved compared to
me. How low I must look to you from your lofty position.”
“You misunderstand me,” Darcy complained, his fingers flitting once again to his hair, smoothing it back. “I simply—”
“Thank you, but I need hear no more,” she said, putting up a hand to stem the flow of his words. “You have said quite enough, sir.”
“But as a friend, I must insist on making my meaning plain. For we are friends, are we not?”
She did not feel particularly friendly, and so, chose not to respond. He mistakenly took her silence as encouragement.
“It is my strong belief that if you do not mend the error of your ways,” he continued, “then you will never find such happiness
as I have done. A love match, no less, supported by respect and perfect understanding on both sides.” His eyes were sincere
and glittering in the candlelight. “It is a lonely life without love, Miss Bingley. Trust me. I lived it. Fortune and a good
name can only take one so far forward.”
“And you think that if I were more like your wife, then I should land myself a happy marriage?”
“I did not say that, precisely, although you would do well to mark her behaviour and character. There would be worse ladies
to emulate.” At this, his lips twitched. “Forgive me, but I cannot think of two women less alike than you and Lizzy.”
“Nonsense! I could be just like her if I wanted to,” Caroline insisted. “Better, in fact. I am exceedingly capable of falling
in love. I could do so at any moment I choose.” She ought to stop there, but anger had taken the reins and was driving her
tongue inexorably onwards. “And you need not act as if your wife were perfect. She is far from it.”
Any trace of amusement vanished. “I did not claim she is anything of the sort. But you shall have to forgive me if I doubt
the veracity of your declaration. I have never seen you in love with anything apart from your own good opinion.”
She bit back a gasp as the arrows in her soul twisted, digging their barbs in more deeply. Caroline pulled her shoulders back and fixed him with her iciest glare. “Goodnight, Mr Darcy. I wish you the utmost happiness. Both of you.”
Darcy bit his lip, regret already pooling in his dark eyes, but Caroline spun on her heel and fled the room before he could
catch sight of the tears spilling down her cheeks.