Chapter 4
CAROLINE’S INNOVATIONS
The morning after the tea, Darcy descended to breakfast already uneasy.
He had not slept well. Every time he closed his eyes, Miss Elizabeth's laugh echoed through his thoughts—that bright, surprised sound she had made when he joked about poetry recitations.
Her expression when he admitted to judging country society too quickly.
The warmth in her eyes before Caroline had swept him away like a silk-clad storm.
He had intended to regain his composure by morning. Instead, he found himself more unsettled than ever, his thoughts circling back to her with the persistence of a dog worrying a bone.
Bingley, in contrast, was incandescent with joy.
“Was it not the most delightful afternoon?” he announced, buttering his toast with the enthusiasm of a man who had discovered the meaning of existence.
“Miss Bennet looked particularly well, did she not? That shade of blue suits her admirably. And her conversation! So gentle, so sensible, so perfectly—”
“We were all present, Charles,” Caroline interrupted, her voice brittle as winter ice. “We observed Miss Bennet's many virtues firsthand.”
Bingley beamed, entirely missing the sarcasm. “Then you agree! She is everything a young lady ought to be.”
Caroline's teacup clattered against its saucer. Mrs. Hurst developed a sudden fascination with her eggs.
Darcy said nothing. He was thinking of Miss Elizabeth standing by the mantelpiece, examining that hideous shepherdess with barely concealed amusement.
The gleam in her eyes when she teased him about Lord Ashworth's poetry.
The flush on her cheeks when he admitted the company here was more engaging than expected.
He had meant it. That was the troubling part.
He had meant every word, and she had known it, and something had shifted between them in that quiet corner, something he was not prepared to examine too closely.
“And Miss Elizabeth was in fine form,” Caroline continued, her gaze sliding toward Darcy with pointed significance. “Such animation! Such... liveliness. One can hardly imagine such manners in Town.”
Darcy's jaw tightened. “Miss Elizabeth conducted herself with perfect propriety.”
The words came out sharper than intended. Caroline's eyebrows rose. Mrs. Hurst's fork paused halfway to her mouth.
“I meant no criticism,” Caroline said smoothly, though her smile suggested otherwise. “Merely an observation. Country manners can be so... refreshing.”
“They can indeed.” Darcy returned his attention to his plate with deliberate finality.
The silence that followed was thick enough to slice.
Bingley, oblivious as ever, launched into a detailed account of his plans for the holiday entertainment. The guest list was expanding. Musicians had been engaged. He had written to London for additional supplies: candles, ribbons, imported delicacies Caroline had deemed essential.
“And the greenery,” Bingley added, warming to his theme. “We must have greenery everywhere. Holly and ivy and—what was the other one?”
“Mistletoe,” Mrs. Hurst supplied, with the air of a woman who had answered this question several times already.
“Mistletoe! Yes. Very festive.”
Caroline set down her chocolate with exaggerated care. “Speaking of festive traditions, I have written to a friend in London about the newest holiday fashions. There is talk of a new custom—quite modern, very exclusive. I believe it will astonish all Hertfordshire.”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. Caroline's devotion to novelty rarely ended well.
“What custom?” Bingley asked.
Caroline's smile turned mysterious. “You shall see.”
Darcy felt a faint premonition of doom settle over him. Caroline with a secret was never a comfortable prospect.
The breakfast concluded with Bingley still rhapsodizing about Jane Bennet's perfections and Caroline still dropping hints about her mysterious London fashion.
Darcy escaped to the library the moment courtesy allowed, determined to bury himself in correspondence and forget—at least temporarily—the existence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He failed.
The library was quiet with the fire crackling softly, the shelves lined with books he had no interest in reading. He sat at the desk and stared at a blank sheet of paper, his pen idle in his hand.
Miss Elizabeth's face rose unbidden in his mind.
The arch of her brow when she challenged him. The curve of her lips when she tried not to smile. The way she had laughed—really laughed—at his jest about composing features into expressions of rapt attention.
She had not expected him to be amusing. That much was clear. She had expected pride, formality, and the stiff disapproval he had shown at the assembly.
And he had surprised her.
He tried to focus on his correspondence. He managed three sentences before his thoughts drifted back to the tea.
“Did,” she had pressed. “I did judge too quickly.”
And he had told her the truth. The company here was more engaging than expected. She was more engaging than expected. She was—
He set down his pen with more force than necessary.
This was absurd. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a country gentleman's daughter with no fortune, a family whose behavior ranged from embarrassing to mortifying, and a sharp tongue that ought to have repelled him entirely.
Instead, it intrigued him.
He replayed their conversations in his mind, searching for hidden meanings, wondering what she truly thought of him beneath all that wit and challenge.
He reached for the pen again, determined to compose at least one sensible letter but was interrupted by Caroline.
He started. Caroline stood in the doorway. “I hope I am not interrupting. I hoped we could talk for a moment.”
Darcy smothered a flash of irritation, but Caroline was his host’s sister, and not poor company before she had gotten it into her head there might be some romantic agreement between them.
“Come in,” he said, waving her towards the chair opposite him
Caroline sat, smoothing her skirts. Her expression was softer than usual—almost contrite. “I confess I have been doing some thinking since yesterday.”
Darcy met her gaze, mildly surprised. This was not the Caroline who had schemed and needled just days ago.
“I fear I may have been too harsh in my assessment of Miss Bennet.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Charles is clearly devoted to her, and she does seem to return his regard with sincerity. I sometimes forget that my protectiveness for my brother can make me appear unkind.”
Darcy felt something ease in his chest. Perhaps his pointed remarks yesterday had made an impression after all.
“I am pleased to hear it,” he said, and meant it.
“I have resolved to be more welcoming.” Caroline smiled. “After all, if Miss Bennet is to be my sister, I should make every effort to know her better. And Miss Elizabeth as well. She is... spirited.”
“She is,” Darcy agreed.
It was a relief, frankly, to have Caroline speak of the Bennets without venom. And if she was turning her attention toward being a gracious hostess rather than... other pursuits... so much the better. He had grown weary of deflecting her more pointed attentions.
“I do hope you will enjoy the holiday entertainment.” Caroline's tone brightened. “I have been planning some special traditions. Festivities that I learned of from a friend in London. Very fashionable. Very modern.”
“That sounds pleasant,” Darcy said, only half attending. His thoughts had already drifted back to Miss Elizabeth—to her laugh, her wit, the way she had looked at him when they spoke of perspectives changing.
“I think they will make the evening quite memorable.” Caroline rose, smoothing her skirts. “Do let me know if there is anything particular you might wish for at the entertainment. I want everyone to feel welcome.”
“That is kind of you.”
She paused at the door, offering him one last smile. “I am glad we had this talk, Mr. Darcy. I feel we understand each other better now.”
“As do I.”
She swept from the room, and Darcy returned to his thoughts with a sense of cautious optimism. Perhaps Caroline had finally accepted that her brother's heart was fixed. Perhaps she had decided to make the best of the situation rather than fight it.
Perhaps this holiday season would be more pleasant than he had anticipated.
He allowed himself a small smile and went back to contemplating the far more agreeable subject of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The rest of the morning passed in cheerful chaos.
Bingley's enthusiasm for the holiday entertainment had infected the entire household; servants bustled through the corridors carrying linens and silver, the housekeeper consulted endless lists, and the gardeners were dispatched to gather holly and ivy from the grounds.
Darcy attempted to help but found himself hopelessly out of his depth. He knew nothing about table arrangements or the proper placement of candles. When Bingley asked his opinion on ribbon colors, he stared blankly until his friend laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Never mind, Darcy. I forget you are hopeless at such things. Caroline will manage it.”
Caroline, who had not spoken to Darcy since their exchange in the library, was indeed managing things—with the fierce determination of a general preparing for battle. She issued commands to servants, critiqued flower arrangements, and spoke at length about the importance of elegance and refinement.
Darcy stayed out of her way.
He was crossing the entrance hall when voices drifted from the morning room—Bingley's cheerful tones mingled with others, lighter and more musical.
He paused.
Through the half-open door, he glimpsed movement: the flutter of a familiar blue pelisse, the gleam of dark hair caught in winter light.
The Bennets had returned—or some of them, at least. He could hear Miss Bennet's gentle voice, Bingley's eager replies, and beneath it all, the bright thread of Miss Elizabeth's laughter.
Darcy stepped back from the doorway before he could be seen.
He should join them. Courtesy demanded it. Bingley would welcome the company, and Miss Bennet—Jane—would not object to another guest.
But Miss Elizabeth was there.
Miss Elizabeth, with her quick wit and knowing eyes and the way she looked at him as though she could see straight through his careful composure to the confusion beneath.
He was not ready to face her. Not yet. Not when his thoughts were still tangled, his feelings still raw from a night of unwelcome self-examination.
He retreated to the library instead, telling himself it was prudence rather than cowardice.
From the window, he watched the Bennets depart an hour later—a flash of blue pelisse, the sound of feminine voices, the crunch of carriage wheels on gravel. Miss Elizabeth glanced toward the house as she climbed into the carriage, and for a moment, Darcy thought she looked directly at his window.
He stepped back into the shadows, heart pounding.
This was ridiculous. He was behaving like a schoolboy with his first infatuation, hiding from a woman who probably had not thought of him at all since yesterday's tea.
Except she had thought of him. He had seen it in her eyes—the curiosity, the reassessment, the dawning awareness that he was not entirely the proud, disagreeable man she had believed him to be.
She was beginning to see him clearly.
The thought was terrifying.
Late in the afternoon, a carriage arrived from London bearing a parcel addressed to Miss Bingley.
Caroline received it with barely contained excitement, whisking the package upstairs before anyone could examine its contents. Darcy glimpsed only a flash of pale green leaves tied with crimson ribbon before she disappeared.
“What do you suppose that is?” Bingley asked, watching his sister's retreat.
The word ‘trouble’ sat at the tip of Darcy’s tongue, but he bit it back. Caroline seemed to want to make amends. Instead, he said, “A London fashion, she said.”
Bingley laughed. “With the wealth of greenery around us, I do not see why we must import more from Town. But if it makes Caro happy…” He shrugged.
Darcy only hoped the heavy feeling of dread settling over him was nothing more than imagination.
He had never been particularly imaginative.