Chapter Seven
My dearest Caroline,
I hope this finds you the picture of health and happiness. We are already having the most splendid time, and we have not even
left Meryton yet! I do so love being around a large family—Jane and I are both of the opinion that a sizable brood of our
own would be a wonderful thing. Mrs Bennet is extremely fervent vehement conscientious about the happiness of all her children, which must be admired as one of the great traits of motherhood. I
have been shooting with Mr Bennet twice, though neither of us had much success.
I look forward to meeting Darcy and continuing our journey, as I think Miss Elizabeth Mrs Darcy must be missing him so very much. I know if I were to be parted from my sweet Jane for even a moment, it would
be hard, yet the idea of our meeting again after a period of longing would be so sweet that I confess myself torn between
the two. Oh, how wondrous strange love is!
Please send my best wishes to Georgiana. Such a sweet girl. I am so glad that you have become friends.
Your devoted brother,
Charles
A red-haired maid held out a silver tray as the ladies finished breaking their fast. “A letter for Miss Bingley, ma’am,” the
girl said, performing a neat, if rather shallow, curtsey.
For a moment, Caroline froze, half-expecting a follow-up from her mother, but the address on the front had been written in
an effusive, rounded hand which she recognised in an instant. “Charles,” she said, in answer to Georgiana’s questioning look.
“Look, even his alphabet is unbearably cheerful.”
Georgiana snorted before requesting more tea. The maid curtseyed again, much deeper this time, and trotted off to fulfill
the order while the ladies made their way into the library. Despite Caroline’s complaints about the worn upholstery the day
before, she found herself rather glad of it now. Nothing at Hadley Hall would ever be permitted to remain long enough to endure
the rigours of daily life, which meant that nothing from Caroline’s younger years had survived to wax nostalgic about. Not
even her precious dolls, which had been given away without her consent and replaced with more stylish ones as soon as her
mother saw fit to do so. Appearances, after all, were everything, while attachments were only temporary.
“What says your brother?” Georgiana asked.
Caroline unfolded the letter, cleared her throat, and began to perform a perfect impression of Charles, which had Georgiana in actual tears by the end.
“The fool,” she said fondly, folding the letter back up.
“Mrs Bennet could stand over him in the marital bedchamber, issuing the sternest and most detailed instructions, and he’d only smile and thank her for all her maternal attentiveness. ”
“Caroline, really!” Georgiana dissolved into another helpless fit of giggles. “He is not that bad.” She had said nothing further
about the letter from Mrs Bingley during breakfast, for which Caroline was grateful, and apologised now before disappearing
afterwards for a couple of hours, reappearing in the parlour mid-morning with ink-stained hands that had evidently already
been scrubbed repeatedly. Georgiana did not explain the state of her hands, but neither did she complain when Caroline asked
to take a turn around the garden. Caroline had spent the morning alone, accompanied only by two slices of Mrs Addlecombe’s
delicious fruitcake; the taste of candied lemon peel, both bitter and sweet at once, lingered in her mouth as they strolled
down the path towards a cluster of rosebushes.
“We ought to discuss the next stage of the Great Endeavour,” Caroline said.
“You read my mind. I was engaged with the scheme all morning.” Georgiana waggled both hands at Caroline, though the ink stains
were now hidden by beautiful white gloves.
“Really? In what manner?”
“Writing letters to my acquaintances to discover what balls and parties are forthcoming over the next month.” She flashed
a satisfied look at Caroline. “I am certain that you will find suitors enough at such events. Therefore, we ought to work
now on your . . . on those traits which you feel you may be lacking. Particularly your sweetness and your humility. You shall
have a chance to practice them this afternoon.”
“I do not recall that I mentioned anything about my humility,” Caroline said, sensing a trap. “Which, in any case, I— Wait, what do you mean? Where are we going?”
“You must have forgotten,” Georgiana said, as they rounded a corner, “that I promised you an outing. Or else you would have
already harangued me about where and when we were going.”
It took Caroline a moment to remember what she was talking about. “Oh, the outing!” she exclaimed. “Why, yes, I did forget.”
“You astonish me,” Georgiana teased. “What happened to all your enthusiasm for the Grand Endeavour?”
“The Great Endeavour,” Caroline corrected. “Although I’m sure it will also be grand. I was merely a little distracted this
morning, but my commitment to the Great Endeavour never wavered, I assure you.”
Miss Darcy’s gaze softened. Not wishing to be pitied, Caroline rushed on, “Are you going to tell me now? Withholding details
of an outing is not merely cruel, it is impractical. I must know our destination in order to decide how best to dress. Will
what I am wearing now suffice, or ought I change?”
“If I tell you, then you may decide for yourself. We shall take the carriage and call upon a friend of mine, Miss Beatrice
Merryhill,” Georgiana said. “In my opinion, the visit will require nothing more than an ordinary dress, so you need not go
to any—”
“Merryhill?” Caroline screwed up her face. “I never heard you mention the name before.” She caught sight of Georgiana’s expression
and quickly corrected her own, smoothing it out into a passably civil one. A completely ridiculous name, and no doubt a completely ridiculous person, she thought. Surely none of the gentry have ever been called Merryhill. “And where precisely does she live?”
Georgiana hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
“I am merely ascertaining the location, geographically speaking. A question confirming facts, nothing more.” Nothing could
be further from the truth. If she knew the name of the estate, she would be able to glean several important details which
would furnish her with enough interesting topics to keep the conversation going. There were several large estates nearby,
though as far as Caroline had been aware, none of them had been let out to anyone with such a silly name.
Georgiana’s expression had gone carefully blank, exactly the sort of look she wore at balls and parties while moving through
a crowd of people. “She lives on the outskirts of the village, in the house across from the church. Is that a problem for
you?”
Caroline bit her lip. She could not bring such a house to mind immediately, but she knew exactly the sort of place it was:
small, ugly, inhabited by those with neither fortune nor status. Mrs Bingley had always impressed upon her children the need
to appear only in exalted company, and never to mix with any of the lower classes, far less visit any of their houses. One
did not simply call upon the peasants. “Poverty is not catching, is it?”
It was only half a jest.
“Not as far as I know.” Georgiana raised an eyebrow. “Did you think this plan to reform you into an amiable and darling creature
would only take place in the most elite of social circles, and would never induce you to step out of your comfortable life
for even a moment?”
“Well, I . . . Hold on. Am I not darling already?”
“God forbid that you breathe the same air as people who have less than one thousand a year,” Miss Darcy said, neatly sidestepping the question. “If you do not feel yourself ready, then we can delay, of course. I merely thought that your boast about being a star pupil—”
“Yes, yes,” Caroline interrupted. “You’ve made your point. I did make the claim, and as such, I shall stand by it.”
A Merryhill, though! she thought, with no little scorn.
Who lives in the village, of all places!
Ordinarily, Caroline would never have been caught dead there.
Unbidden, Mr Darcy’s words rose to her mind: It is my strong belief that if you do not mend the error of your ways, then you will never find such happiness as I have
done.
A lonely life, he’d said.
She pictured herself an old lady, sitting alone in a vast and empty room filled with glittering objects inherited from her
mother. Going nowhere. Speaking to no one. Visiting Charles only twice a year and seeing his happy family, only to come home
to an empty house of her own. Or rather, empty with the exception of her mother, which was somehow a much worse thought. Seeing
Louisa in London, surrounded by children. The thought made her want to cry again, but thrice in the span of a single week
was certain to bring on sad eyes, an affliction from which one might never fully recover. “Besides, I have often longed to
visit the . . . the outskirts of the village,” she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful.
“Have you?” Georgiana’s dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “It’s only three miles away.”
“One rarely purposefully visits one’s own back garden,” Caroline declared, hoping it would sound like profound words of wisdom.
“Or in this case, the back garden of one’s dear friend. And has this Miss Merryhill sent us an invitation?”
“She has.”
“Wonderful. Wonderful.” She considered risking a third wonderful, caught sight of Georgiana’s expression, and subsided.
Clearly this Miss Merryhill was not wealthy or well-connected, therefore Caroline couldn’t see any reason for the friendship
to exist in the first place. She had been prepared to do quite a lot to achieve the Great Endeavour, but bestowing her time
and attention on a charity case seemed like asking rather a lot. Unfortunately, she had agreed and now couldn’t back out of
the deal without losing face, or worse, losing Georgiana’s mentorship. Besides, Miss Elizabeth Bennet would probably have
been delighted to spend hours upon hours with the local poor, talking of . . .
Caroline frowned. What on earth do poor people talk about?
She supposed she was about to find out.
In the privacy of the guest room, Caroline changed into a pretty cornflower-blue dress, which brought out the bright shade
of her own eyes, and paired it with fashionable blue kid-leather shoes which her mother had assured her were all the rage
in London. Not that anyone from the village is likely to recognise high fashion, far less appreciate it, she thought gloomily. She would have to be on her guard today, though surely Georgiana was not such an unforgiving teacher
that a slip-up or two would convince her to call off the entire Great Endeavour. Or would it? No, she thought, shaking her head. She claimed she would only take me on as a pupil as long as I did what she said. None of her conditions were dependent upon
my success in every area. The thought relieved her slightly, though perhaps it would be best to come up with a few words of praise now, and practice them while she could, so as to give the impression
that she had devised them on the spot.
“What a lovely home,” she said into the looking glass, and produced her sweetest smile. “I particularly like your, um . . . the . . .”
What did people compliment? It was hard to say without actually seeing the house in question, though all houses had certain
things in common. “Your front door,” she finished, feeling rather pleased with herself.
Surely that would impress her friend long enough for Caroline to pass this ridiculous test. She was almost certain that no
one had ever taken Miss Elizabeth Bennet to a village and demanded that she mix with people below her station. Really, the
whole thing was rather unfair, though she was equally certain that making such an argument to Georgiana would result in Caroline
failing the test before she had even begun, which felt even more unfair.
Well, it is only one afternoon, she consoled herself. How bad can it possibly be?