Chapter Seven #2
"Caro." He had not called her by her childhood name in some time and an unexpected lump rose in her throat. She pretended to examine her fingernails to allow the feeling to pass. He rested his forearms upon his knees and looked at her with an earnestness that immediately put her on her guard.
"This is about last night, I suppose," Caroline said.
"In part," Charles replied, looking down at his hands for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "But it has been troubling me for longer than that, and I think I have avoided saying anything because I did not wish to quarrel with you."
That made her wary. Charles disliked quarrels and usually trusted that patience would carry them past whatever difficulty stood between them.
There was also no anger in his voice. Charles had always been kind to her, sometimes maddeningly so.
He forgave her sharpness before she apologised for it—which she rarely did.
Even when she turned her temper upon him, he rarely answered in kind.
He simply looked hurt and let out a long sigh.
"You were unkind to people who had done nothing to deserve it," he said. "I know you did not enjoy the assembly, and I know what these occasions are like for you. But you went into that room determined to despise everyone in it."
"Not everyone," she said peevishly, trying to cover her rising panic with insolence. "Your Miss Bennet was a gentile sort of thing I suppose… but her mother…"
"Enough." He said the word sharply enough to make her jump, and she began picking at an imaginary thread in her lap.
Caroline tried another tack. "Country assemblies are rarely inspiring and there is no one of consequence to be found in Hertfordshire."
He stood then, raking his hands through his hair as he paced back and forth.
Again, he spoke more sharply than was his want.
"Perhaps not, but these people are our neighbours.
I should like to know them without having to apologise for my sister every quarter of an hour.
I have tried not to interfere. I know Papa handled some sort of youthful romance badly, and I did not want to become another person telling you what your life ought to be.
But you have made it very difficult to stand aside.
Every time a gentleman shows the smallest interest, you find the quickest way to make him regret it.
You do not even wait to discover whether he deserves your contempt. "
Caroline stared at him, the rest of what he had said fading beneath that one careless phrase.
"Some sort of youthful romance?"
Charles stopped pacing and turned towards her. "That is how Papa described it. He said you had formed an attachment in Scarborough to a young man who was in no position to marry you, and that he had intervened before matters went too far. He never told me much more than that."
"Of course he did not."
She rose from the chair, fury and pain twisting in her stomach.
Usually, when Caroline felt cornered, she reached instinctively for the woman she had spent years creating.
This time she was too exhausted and sad to put on a show.
"Youthful romance," she said again, but the words broke as they left her.
"Is that what you believe it was? A foolish attachment Papa was obliged to end before I came to my senses? "
"Caro, I only know what he told me."
"And you never thought to ask me?"
The first sob escaped with such force that Caroline turned away, furious with herself for allowing it. She pressed one gloved hand against her mouth, but the tears had already begun and years of silence seemed to come apart with them.
"I loved him, Charles. Papa took every choice from me. Then he told you some softened little story in which I was foolish and he had acted for my good, and none of you ever asked how I felt about any of it." She was sobbing in earnest now, ugly, painful, gulping tears that would not be held back.
Charles crossed the room at once. Caroline tried to step away when he reached for her, but he caught her gently by the shoulders and drew her against him.
For a moment she resisted, striking once against his chest before her anger gave way.
Then she clutched at his coat and wept with all the violence she had denied herself for years.
He held her for a long time without attempting to quiet her, one hand resting against the back of her head while the silk flowers crushed beneath his palm.
He had comforted her in much the same way when they were younger, after bad dreams and punishments and the terrible months after their mother's death.
The familiarity of it undid what little composure remained.
"I am sorry," he said at last, his voice low beside her hair. "I did not know how badly you had been hurt. Papa should have told me more, and I should have asked you before accepting his account of it."
Caroline pulled away and wiped angrily at her face. "Do not say that merely because I am crying."
"I am not." Charles kept hold of one of her hands, his thumb moving once across her knuckles. "I cannot change what happened, but I am sorry that you carried it alone."
His kindness made the pain worse, because she knew he meant every word. For a little while, they stood together in silence, Caroline struggling to steady her breathing while Charles watched her quietly.
When he spoke again, his voice remained gentle.
"But you cannot continue as you have been, Caro.
I do not mean that you ought to forget what happened, only that shutting everyone out will not undo it.
You have spent years making certain that no gentleman comes close enough to know you, and I cannot believe it has made you anything but miserable. "
Caroline's hand went still within his.
"I promised Papa that I would see you settled well, and I intend to keep that promise, but not because I regard you as some duty he left behind. You are my sister. I want you to have a good man who will value you properly and make you happy."
She looked at him blankly, but Charles had already begun to gather hope from his own words.
He went on with more enthusiasm. "Mr Goulding may be exactly that sort of man.
Everyone I have spoken to describes him as steady and considerate, and he has managed his estate very well since inheriting it.
He is said to be reserved at first, though I am told he becomes much easier once he is comfortable.
I think you might like him if you allowed yourself the chance. "
The warmth left Caroline by degrees, as if cold were seeping through her boots on a winter's day.
Charles went on, encouraged now, telling her what he had heard of Mr Goulding and how well respected he was in the neighbourhood.
Caroline drew her hand from his and smoothed the crushed flower at her temple.
When she looked at him again, the anger had gone from her face, and the cool, unfeeling mask she normally wore returned.
"Very well," she said in a dry, steady voice. "I shall meet Mr Goulding. You know what is best for me, Charles. Papa always did."
He recoiled as though she had struck him. "No. Caro, that is not what I meant."
"Is it not? You have chosen a respectable gentleman and explained why I ought to give him a chance. I have agreed. What more would you like from me?"
"I do not want your obedience."
"Then you should not ask for it while I am standing here telling you that I love someone else."
Charles went pale. "I was trying to help you."
"I know." Her voice broke slightly, but she forced it steady. "That is what Papa said too."
She turned towards the door. Charles rose at once and came after her, but stopped when she reached the latch, as though he no longer trusted himself to touch her.
"Caro, please do not leave like this."
She opened the door and stepped into the corridor, closing it quietly behind her.
Mr Darcy stood a short distance away beside the tall window at the end of the passage, an unopened letter hanging loosely from one hand. His attention was fixed upon her, and although his face betrayed little, Caroline knew at once that he had heard more than she would have wished.
She became painfully aware of her swollen eyes and the crushed flowers in her hair. For once, no insult came readily to her.
Mr Darcy inclined his head. "Miss Bingley."
Caroline lifted her chin. "Mr Darcy." And with that, she swept past him before the last of her composure deserted her.