Chapter IV
Furious did not even begin to describe Caroline Bingley’s state as she waited in Pemberley’s sitting-room for the arrival of the detestable Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Had anger produced light, Caroline thought she would glow brighter than the sun overhead.
Knowing there was nothing she could do to prevent that woman from fouling the very stones of Pemberley did not make her temper any better.
She had already crossed to the window twice before catching herself and returning to her chair; she would not be discovered watching for Miss Eliza Bennet like some anxious supplicant.
Mr. Darcy would propose to Caroline while she was at Pemberley—no other option was acceptable.
For three years, she had dreamed and schemed to become the mistress of the estate, and she was not about to allow a countrified strumpet such as Miss Eliza Bennet to disrupt her plans.
The question was how she could go about discrediting her rival, though the notion of Miss Eliza rivaling Caroline in anything of substance was absurd.
For a time, she had considered the possibility of claiming Georgiana’s support, but the moment Mr. Darcy had announced the visit, Georgiana had descended into paeans to Miss Eliza’s virtues.
It had turned Caroline’s stomach—Georgiana must be na?ve if she believed even half of what she said of the upstart.
No, it was clear Georgiana would be no help.
The trick, she was certain, was to ensure that Mr. Darcy saw the contrast between Caroline and Miss Eliza.
Once reminded of Caroline’s superiority, this fascination for her fine eyes must give way to more sober considerations.
Miss Eliza could give him nothing—she was nothing.
All she would bring him was an improper family, country manners, and a lifetime of regret.
Once Mr. Darcy saw that, there could be no question of who was the better choice.
When word came of the carriage’s approach, Mr. Darcy, Georgiana, and even Charles left the room to greet them at the entrance, further fanning the fires of Caroline’s fury. That was when Hurst offered his opinion.
“Caroline, Louisa,” said he, his countenance uncharacteristically firm, “it would be best if you reined in your temper.”
“I have no intention of making a scene,” said Louisa.
Caroline did not bother to abuse her sister for treachery. Though they were thick as thieves, Caroline had never considered Louisa anything other than a support. She was far too quiet to be a true conspirator.
“You were never my concern, Louisa,” said Hurst, his gaze falling on Caroline and never wavering. “You are content to follow where your sister leads, but I have never doubted your discretion. Caroline, however, I suspect, is considering actions that will do none of us any credit.”
“I have no notion of your meaning,” said Caroline, proud of the way she kept her temper in check.
“And I am certain you understand me, Caroline,” replied Hurst.
Caroline glared at him, but he remained unmoved.
“Let me remind you,” said he, “that we are guests. Miss Bennet and her relations will also be guests. It is not for us to decide who is welcome at Pemberley—the only one with that authority is Darcy. You would do well to remember that, for an invitation may be rescinded whenever Darcy chooses.”
Her displeasure did not deter Hurst in the slightest.
“Keep a civil tongue, Caroline,” repeated he. “I enjoy Darcy’s company and would prefer to keep our engagement rather than cut it short.”
“I know how to behave,” growled Caroline.
“Yes, you do. Sometimes, however, your anger makes you unwise. Remember this, Caroline—the Gardiners are to stay only a few days by all accounts. Our invitation is for three weeks. If you endure Miss Bennet’s presence for a few days, you will still have the balance of our stay to weave your webs after she is gone. ”
It was a thought Caroline had not entertained in her anger, and she dwelt on it for several moments.
Though the prospect was appealing, somehow it did not give her the comfort she might have expected.
Caroline did not wish to confess that her designs could be threatened by a woman like Miss Eliza, but something told her that her victory would not be so easy as she supposed.
Voices in the corridor and the tread of feet upon the tiles alerted Caroline to the arrival of the intruders.
Determined to meet the stratagems of the interloper with her own measure of fortitude, Caroline straightened her shoulders, ignoring Hurst’s final warning glare.
She was Caroline Bingley, and she would not give way to the upstart.
THE MOMENT ELIZABETH alighted from the carriage, Georgiana stepped forward, impatient to greet them.
“Thank you for coming today, Elizabeth, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner,” the girl said, the only sign of her shyness the bashful smile she offered them. “We are so pleased you have come.”
“As are we to return to Pemberley,” said Mrs. Gardiner. She regarded Mr. Darcy with an appraising sort of smile. “I toured the park when I was a girl. Should the opportunity arise, I should like to do so again.”
Mr. Darcy did not hesitate, his expression warming at once. “You are always welcome, Mrs. Gardiner. Are you an excellent walker like your niece?”
“Few can rival Lizzy on that score, Mr. Darcy,” replied she. “I am not a great walker.”
“Then perhaps a phaeton or a curricle would be more to your taste. If you please, I have both at Pemberley and should be happy to provide them for your enjoyment.”
Mrs. Gardiner gave Elizabeth a complacent little smile. “That sounds divine, Mr. Darcy. Should the opportunity arise, it would be my distinct pleasure to accept.”
Mr. Darcy turned to Mr. Bingley and performed the introductions, his friend responding with the pleasure that was such an integral part of his character. Then Mr. Darcy turned to Mr. Gardiner.
“There are servants with rods and tackle waiting at the stream. Shall we convey the ladies to the sitting-room before we turn to our sport?”
“An excellent notion, Mr. Darcy. Let us proceed.”
As she had suspected he would, Mr. Darcy turned and offered his arm to Elizabeth—she accepted and allowed him to lead her into the house.
Behind them, Mr. Bingley walked with Georgiana, while the Gardiners brought up the rear, murmuring together.
Mr. Bingley had yet to say anything, but Elizabeth knew that would not persist forever, not with the man watching her with such interest. Elizabeth fancied he was trying to see Jane in her features—the sight filled her with hope for her sister’s future.
“I see you have noticed Bingley’s behavior,” observed Mr. Darcy, speaking softly to avoid being overheard.
“It would have been difficult to remain unaware,” said Elizabeth. After a pause, she added: “Does he still think of Jane?”
“He does not speak of her,” said Mr. Darcy. He looked uncomfortable, but with visible effort, he continued: “I have said nothing to him about your sister, though I know that I must.”
“You do not suppose it will anger him?” teased Elizabeth.
“No,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Bingley will forgive me, especially if your sister is willing to receive him. But I do not wish to tell him without first considering how I ought to do so.”
Elizabeth regarded him for several moments, then nodded. “Yes, I can see that, Mr. Darcy. Then you believed what I told you in Kent.”
“I would never accuse you of falsehood, Miss Elizabeth. Since you believed it, I have no reason to doubt your account.”
“Then I thank you, sir. Some would think that I have a motive for falsehood.”
The gentleman shrugged, though Elizabeth could see he was anything but indifferent. “You have already told me of your reasons for refusing Mr. Collins. If such considerations govern your own choice, then I must assume your sister is of a like mind.”
“She is, Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Darcy said nothing more, as they arrived at the door leading into the sitting-room.
The annoyance on Miss Bingley’s face was the first thing Elizabeth saw, and it changed to a scowl the moment Elizabeth stepped into the room on Mr. Darcy’s arm.
It was not unexpected. What was unexpected was her silence—Miss Bingley had never been shy about sharing her opinion.
Mrs. Hurst was with her sister, though she gave no indication of her feelings.
Mr. Hurst, whom Elizabeth had always considered a bore, watched it all with more interest than he had ever seemed capable of summoning.
As Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were unknown to the Hursts, Mr. Darcy made the introductions himself.
Miss Bingley’s curtsey, Elizabeth noticed, was so shallow as to be insulting, though her aunt and uncle ignored it.
Mr. and Mrs. Hurst behaved better, as Mr. Hurst made a gruff acknowledgment with his bow, and Mrs. Hurst dropped into a proper curtsey.
“Darcy here tells me that you are eager for a little sport, Mr. Gardiner,” said Mr. Hurst, surprising Elizabeth with his words.
“Living in London affords me little opportunity for fishing,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Yet it is an activity I enjoy—I grew up in Meryton and spent many hours fishing in the nearby stream.”
“You were raised in Meryton?” said Miss Bingley, her question nearly a sneer.
“I was, Miss Bingley,” said Mr. Gardiner. “My father was the solicitor, a position now held by my sister’s husband, Mr. Philips.”
“A solicitor,” said Miss Bingley, with a voice sweetened with vinegar. “Then I wonder why you have gone into business in London.”
Mr. Gardiner understood her, but he did not take the bait. “One must know oneself, Miss Bingley. While I have only an indifferent head for the law, I like to think that business is my forte.”