Chapter 11
CAROLINE HAD INSTRUCTED the housemaid to air the morning room at daybreak, and the result was a light chill that cut through the smell of the flowers and the heaviness of the cloth on the furniture.
The sun had not cleared the hedgerow, but a wedge of light caught the glass on the tea service and glared against the silver.
She took her place at the head of the small table, her gloved hands resting before her, and surveyed the room before pouring.
Darcy sat to her right, an open letter beside his plate. He was in the room when she entered and greeted her with the same courtesy he offered every morning. Since then, he had divided his attention between the letter and the window, though Caroline had not seen him turn the page.
Louisa sat opposite him, warming her hands around an empty cup while the maid brought in the remaining dishes.
Bingley was late to the table by several minutes and made no apology.
He entered with an air of briskness that was not diminished by his lack of cravat or the dampness in his hair from a hurried encounter with the basin.
He took the seat opposite Caroline and took a piece of toast before the maid finished laying out the boiled eggs and preserves.
“Good morning,” he said. “Do you think the damp will lift? I hope to ride over to Longbourn after breakfast.”
Darcy looked up from his letter.
Caroline poured tea into her cup, then into Louisa’s, who accepted with a small nod and a visible preference for the warmth over the conversation. Bingley tore a corner from his toast and chewed with the enthusiasm of a man whose thoughts had not aligned with his body.
“You saw them two days ago,” Caroline said.
“Yes.”
“And the Bennets were here yesterday.”
“They were.”
Bingley reached for the butter.
Caroline glanced at Darcy, but he was reading again. She set down the pot and waited until Bingley looked up.
“There is a note from Town. Lady Harrowby’s daughter is engaged to the new member for Warwick. They announced it at the Camden House ball last week.” She paused, allowing the information to reach both gentlemen. “They say he is the best catch of the season.”
Bingley nodded, uninterested.
Darcy folded the letter along its existing crease. “They waited until he was engaged to decide it.”
Caroline smiled. “You do not approve?”
“I do not know him well enough to approve or object.”
“You met him at Lord Wilmot’s.”
“Twice.”
“And?”
“He spoke as though Warwick had elected him to govern the country.”
Bingley laughed and reached for the egg cup.
Caroline kept her attention on her brother. “Lady Harrowby’s daughter is a girl of remarkable poise. You remember her, Charles? The cousin of Miss Newcombe, with the pearls. I believe you admired her dancing.”
He nodded without looking up, tapped the rim of the egg cup against his plate, and removed the shell while Caroline waited. “She danced well.”
Caroline continued, “I hear the ball was everything it should have been. One misses such occasions in Hertfordshire. The entertainments here are simple, with limited charm.”
“Mm,” Bingley said. He spread a thick spoonful of orange marmalade onto the toast, his eyes fixed on the glistening rind, as though he found it more instructive than the conversation.
“Of course, a provincial gathering cannot compare with what we have in Town,” Caroline said. “The society is too different.”
“The difference is not always to London’s advantage,” Darcy said.
Caroline turned to him.
He had returned the letter to the table and was cutting his ham.
“I cannot believe you prefer a country assembly to the best houses in Town.”
“That is not what I said. I said London does not profit by every comparison.”
Bingley gave Darcy an appreciative nod. “That is what I meant.”
Caroline lifted her cup. Darcy had attended the assembly with reluctance, spoken to few people, and danced with no one, yet spent much of the evening watching a room he claimed not to admire. She had expected the recollection to support her argument.
Instead, it had brought his attention into the conversation.
Bingley reached for another slice of toast. “I like the company here. One knows what to expect, and there are no games.”
“There are always games,” Louisa said. “They play them with less skill here.”
Bingley grinned. “Then I have less chance of losing.”
“The difference is one of prospects,” Louisa continued, her voice calm, but the intent clear.
Marriage had made her more conscious of rank, not less.
“The families in Town are better connected, and a good marriage sets the tone for years. A man must consider what sort of connections a match will bring.”
“Connections may enlarge a marriage,” Darcy said. “They do not make it.”
Caroline saw Louisa’s eyes move to him.
Bingley shrugged. “It depends on what a man wants. Some may care for influence, while I prefer good company and a little quiet.”
Caroline turned back to him. “If you attend the next gathering, you may find yourself at the center once more. Lady Lucas is relentless, and Mrs. Bennet is sure to present her daughters in their best colors. You cannot escape notice, Charles.”
“I have never wished to.” Bingley finished the toast and, instead of reaching for another slice, took from his coat pocket a slip of paper, folded tight.
He turned it between his fingers, then set it beside his plate.
A blue petal protruded from the fold, flattened against the paper, its stem cut short.
Caroline’s jaw closed.
Darcy’s attention went to the flower, though his expression did not change.
Caroline knew, without asking, that it belonged to Miss Bennet. It was in Bingley’s hand during their last meeting, a detail so slight and so well disguised as friendship that Caroline could not mark it as improper, only effective.
“Miss Bennet told me about the wildflowers near Longbourn,” Bingley said, still watching the slip of paper. “She knows every one by its proper name.”
Caroline regarded him. “I did not take her for a botanist.”
Bingley smiled. “She is not, she just likes what grows.”
Darcy’s mouth moved, though he did not smile.
Louisa smoothed the napkin in her lap. “Miss Bennet is an amiable girl.”
Caroline’s mouth curved. “Very.”
She considered how long her brother’s attachments tended to last, and whether Miss Bennet’s gentleness could hold his interest after the novelty faded. She suspected it could, and the thought tightened her throat, but she pushed it aside and pressed forward.
“If you prefer this society, Charles, that is your decision, but it is not a simple matter. The neighborhood may suit for now, but you must consider what will follow. Some choices are hard to undo.”
Bingley picked at the edge of the flower, careful not to bruise it. “I suppose that is true for some people.”
Louisa looked to Caroline. “You think it unwise?”
Caroline kept her tone level. “I think he can marry better. He has the means and every prospect of advancing himself. There is no reason he should choose from what happens to be nearest.”
“Better by whose measure?” Darcy asked.
The question was not sharp, but it stopped her.
Caroline looked at him. “By any reasonable measure.”
“That leaves considerable room for disagreement.”
“You cannot think fortune and family unimportant.”
“I do not.”
“Then we agree.”
“No. I said they were not unimportant.”
Bingley looked from Darcy to Caroline with open amusement.
Caroline said, “Charles has greater opportunities than he appears willing to consider.”
Bingley placed the folded paper beside his plate. “I am not looking above or below, only at what is before me.”
“That is sensible,” Darcy said, “provided you also look long enough.”
“I have no plans to propose before luncheon,” Bingley said, accepting the caution without offense.
“I am relieved.”
Hurst entered unnoticed, his coat thrown over his shirt and his eyes half open. He poured a small glass of spirits and surveyed the breakfast offerings with disinterest.
“I thought the Bennet girls were lively,” he said after a pause. “The eldest is a beauty, the second a wit, and the rest blend together. If the bread is fresh and the mother permits a man to finish his soup, I could endure an evening at Longbourn.”
Caroline did not look at him.
Hurst forked a piece of ham, ate it, and added, “If you want London, Charles, you must return to Town. You will find no better here than you have met so far.”
Bingley took a swallow of his tea. “I do not want London. I want this.” The answer brought quiet to the table. He set down the cup and met Caroline’s eye. “I like it here. I am happier than I have ever been.”
His admission stripped the matter of its harmlessness. Caroline’s mind turned to how she might weaken his attachment before it became fixed. The tea was cooling by the second, and her hand gripped the handle to keep from trembling. “Think of your future, Charles.”
He smiled. “I am. But I am also thinking of my present.”
Caroline turned to Darcy.
“Then remain while that is true,” he said to Bingley. “There is no merit in leaving a place because other people expected you to tire of it.”
Bingley’s smile widened. “Thank you.”
Caroline had no answer for either of them.
Louisa’s hand hovered at the rim of her cup, uncertain whether to refill it or set it down. Hurst returned to his food, his interest in the subject drained.
Bingley pushed back his chair. “I had better make myself fit to call upon respectable people.” He slipped the folded paper into his pocket. “Darcy, will you ride with me?”
Caroline looked at Darcy before he could answer. He glanced through the window. “Not this morning.”
“Another letter to write?”
“Several.”
Bingley appeared disappointed, but only for an instant. “Then I shall give Miss Elizabeth your regards.”
Darcy’s hand stopped beside his cup. Caroline saw it. “That is unnecessary,” he said.
Bingley grinned. “I shall give them to her with great care.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“I understand.”
Bingley left the table in better spirits than he had entered.
Hurst finished his breakfast, gathered two pieces of toast, and followed him from the room without farewell. Louisa drank the last of her tea, then rose. “I should speak to Mrs. Nicholls about dinner.”
Caroline did not ask why the housekeeper required Louisa’s assistance. Her sister’s retreat was transparent, but convenient. The door closed behind her.
Darcy drew the letter back before him. “You encouraged him,” Caroline said.
He looked at her. “Did I?”
“You know how Charles forms attachments before he knows where they may lead.”
“Yes.”
“And how he may mistake kindness for something more.”
“That is possible.”
“Miss Bennet is kind to everyone.”
“So you observed.”
Caroline heard the edge beneath his answer. “Do you believe her attached to him?”
“I have not given the matter the attention you have.”
“You have eyes.”
“Which do not give me access to Miss Bennet’s thoughts.”
Caroline placed her cup in its saucer. “You cannot deny that the family is unsuitable.”
Darcy’s expression hardened by a degree. “They have disadvantages.”
“Considerable ones.”
“Yes.” Relief came too soon. He continued, “That is a reason for Bingley to judge with care, not for you to judge in his place.”
“I am his sister.”
“He is not your son.”
Caroline felt the rebuke more for its quietness.
“You know Mrs. Bennet’s manners.”
Darcy gave a brief smile. “I do.”
“Her daughters have no fortune worth mentioning, and their connections are in trade and the law. Their estate passes to a cousin, leaving them dependent upon whatever marriages they can secure.”
“You have made an extensive study of them.”
“Someone must.”
Darcy folded the letter, though he had not resumed reading it.
“A marriage admits the family,” Caroline said. “You cannot believe otherwise.”
“I do not.”
“Then how can you talk as if these matters have no consequence?”
“I have said the opposite.”
“You defend them.”
“No, I distinguish between them.”
“Between whom?”
“Between Mrs. Bennet, her daughters and relations, circumstances and character. You combine them because the result supports your preference.”
Caroline drew back. “You are generous to Longbourn.”
“No.” His answer came without pause.
Caroline waited. Darcy placed the letter inside his coat. “I am less willing to condemn people for faults that are not their own.” He was speaking of more than Jane Bennet.
Caroline said, “Miss Elizabeth has persuaded you to adopt a charitable view of her family?”
His eyes moved to hers. “She has persuaded me of nothing.”
“She impressed me.” He rose from the table. Caroline wished the words back, but it was too late. His refusal to answer would tell her more than a denial.
Darcy buttoned his coat. “Miss Elizabeth does not require my defense.”
“No. She can provide that herself.”
This time, he smiled. “Yes, she can.” He bowed and left the room.
Caroline remained at the table. The silver caught the light from the window, and the blue damask looked colder than before. Unless she acted, Miss Bennet would soon rule her brother’s household.
That was no longer the whole of the danger. Jane Bennet threatened Caroline’s place with Charles, while Elizabeth endangered the future she intended for herself and, worse, Darcy refused even the simplest invitation to find fault with her.
The maid entered to clear the table. Caroline waited for her to gather the cups, remove Bingley’s abandoned egg, and brush a crumb from the place where Darcy had sat.
When the door closed, she stared at the damask for a count of five, then placed her gloved hand flat on the cloth, the motion as final as a mark on a ledger.
The problem was no longer the charm of Miss Bennet, but the certainty of her. Caroline had to remove her, root and branch, or accept a life spent in the shadow of Jane Bennet’s happiness and her own defeat.
Elizabeth was another problem. Caroline poured another cup, watched the pale liquid swirl, and decided on blue, after all.