Chapter Thirty-Two
Caroline dashed down the corridor and up two flights of stairs, skidding on the corner and almost crashing into an elegant
bust of Vespasian, before flinging herself through the door of her old bedchamber. It looked no different from the last time
she had been here, but even in her haste, she marvelled at how little it showed of its occupant’s personality. It contained
no trace of her childhood, not even a single doll or blanket to mark that she had once been small and in need of comfort.
Entirely unlike Georgiana’s bedchamber, she thought, opening the door of the dresser and grabbing several necklaces which her father had given to her. These were
not the most expensive of her jewellery, but they were the most precious to her.
“What are you doing?” Mrs Bingley snapped from the doorway. “Theft, Caroline? Have you stooped so low?”
“These are mine, Mother,” she said, holding up the necklaces in question. “I can hardly steal that which already belongs to
me.”
Mrs Bingley studied the handful for a moment, her lip curling. “You do not even have the sense to take the best in your collection.”
Only her vast self-restraint stopped her from flinging the necklaces directly at her mother’s face. “Which is it? Am I a thief or am I too stupid to be one? Are these items dear to you, or worthless? It cannot be both.”
“Are you quite finished?”
“Quite.” Caroline pushed past her mother, unsurprised when cold fingers wrapped around her wrist.
“You will regret this, Caroline,” Mrs Bingley warned. “I shall never speak to you again.”
“Oh, Mother,” Caroline sighed, tears already brimming. “Is that a promise?”
Mrs Bingley’s grasp loosened in surprise and Caroline wrenched free. Not daring to look back, she hurried down the stairs,
hot tears already trickling down her cheeks. In the great hall, she picked up her bag, stuffed the necklaces inside it, and
dashed outside, straight into something tall and surprisingly firm.
“Ouch,” she said, reeling backwards. “What the devil—Charles!”
Frowning, her brother held her at arm’s length. “Caroline? Where on earth are you going in such a hurry? Good heavens, are
you weeping? My God, has someone died?”
“What are you doing here?” she cried, embracing him.
“I might ask you the same thing.”
“Then perhaps you might ask me in the carriage,” Caroline said, jerking her chin at his waiting driver. “I fear that my presence
is no longer welcome here.”
His eyebrows rose, but he complied, ushering her forward and taking her bag to pass up to the waiting footman.
“I apologise,” Caroline continued, once they were settled inside and the carriage had begun to move. “You only just got here, and now you are leaving again. Wait—are not you supposed to be in Bath with Jane?”
“I was, but . . .” He hesitated, scratching at his stubbled cheek. Clearly he’d ridden hard for at least a couple of days.
“I think it best that you tell me your tale first. Why on earth is Mother so angry with you?”
“Someone proposed to me. She arranged it all behind my back.” She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “And I turned him down.”
“Ah.” Charles sat back in his seat, grimacing. “Yes, I can see why that might upset her. Was there nothing about him which
pleased you?”
Caroline shrugged. “He is a handsome and wealthy viscount. Everything a young lady ought to want.”
Charles studied her. People often thought him less shrewd than Mr Darcy, perhaps because of his more openly cheerful manner,
but her brother was far from a fool. “But not what you want?”
“Oh, Charles,” Caroline choked out, dropping her head into her hands. “I must throw myself on your mercy, at least for a while.”
“My mercy is yours to use as long as you like,” said he, looking more confused by the second. “Caroline, forgive me for saying
this, but I would have thought a handsome and wealthy viscount would suit all your desires.”
“I am in love,” she confessed. “With someone else.”
“I knew it!” he cried. “That letter you wrote me, asking what love felt like. I knew it could not be simply idle speculation.
With whom are you in love, dear sister? Is it anyone I know?”
Whatever he said, it couldn’t possibly be worse than Mrs Bingley’s response. Caroline swallowed. “I am in love with Georgiana Darcy.”
She braced herself for more shouting, but Charles merely studied her for long moments, head tilted to one side. “And is that
why you’re crying?”
“No. I mean, yes, but not exactly.” She stared at him. “You don’t seem upset. Or shocked. You do understand what I’m saying,
don’t you? I am in love with another woman.”
“Come, Caroline,” he said, with a consoling smile. “Do you think that none of my fellow students at Cambridge ever tussled
with one another under the sheets? I didn’t personally indulge, of course, but I certainly had offers enough. Why, Jane has
even told me in confidence that one of her sisters—” He broke off, then cleared his throat. “I mean, sometimes these things
happen between men and men or women and women. Though I confess I am surprised to hear you say it, since you always seemed
so—”
“Concerned with men?” Caroline suggested.
“Detached,” he finished, looking apologetic.
“Good heavens, did everyone think me made of ice? I do have feelings, you know.”
“I can see that,” he said gently, pulling out a handkerchief and passing it over. “Some of them are leaking out of your eyes
at this very moment. And you love her?”
“Completely and utterly.”
“And she loves you?”
Caroline couldn’t help smiling, though the question brought on a fresh flood of tears. “She does.”
“There!” Charles exclaimed. “What more can you want?”
“Spoken like a man,” she chided him. “Have you forgotten that without Mother’s approval, I have no wealth to speak of? No dowry, either. I cannot give Georgiana what she deserves.”
“I do not think any Darcy needs our money,” he said, smiling at her fondly. “She will not want your dowry. And if she does,
I shall provide it myself.”
Her sobs took a while to subside, but he bore it patiently, patting her on the knee until she was able to speak again. “I
do not deserve you. You are the very best of brothers.”
“I’m sure I don’t deserve such praise.” All at once, he looked uncomfortable. “Speaking of brothers, I now understand why
Fitzwilliam bade me ride like blazes to find you.”
Caroline’s relief turned to dread in an instant. “Georgiana said she would write to him, but she did not say she would reveal
our affair. I had thought she’d wait until he was present, and I had returned, so that we could do so together.”
“I do not know what she wrote,” Charles admitted. “All I can tell you is that he came down to breakfast holding a letter and
told me to ride to Hadley Hall at once.”
“He did not say why?”
Her brother shook his head. “I dared not ask any more. Not when he looked like that.”
“Like what?” Caroline asked, though she had never wanted an answer less.
“By Jove, like absolute thunder.” Charles swallowed. “Take heart, dear sister, for I fear whatever conversation you just had
with Mother is about to look like child’s play in comparison.”
Caroline had imagined that her return to Pemberley would be triumphant, if tinged with grief.
She’d imagined running into Georgiana’s arms, holding her close, and having time to discuss how they might best present their case to Mr Darcy in order to gain his—well, if not his blessing, then at least his agreement to leave them be.
She hadn’t expected three days of panic and dread, only to be greeted on the steps of Pemberley by the man himself, his expression a perfect storm of rage and betrayal.
“I must speak with you immediately, Miss Bingley,” he snarled, then whirled on Charles. “And I must do so alone.”
Charles backed away at once, looking alarmed. “Er, well, I’m not sure that seems entirely—”
“It’s fine,” Caroline muttered. “Go forth. I shall see you shortly.”
“My study,” Mr Darcy said. “Now.”
Ordinarily, Caroline would have met his temper with her own but now did not seem to be the best moment to begin the fight.
“Lead on,” she said, watching as he turned and marched away without a backwards glance.