Chapter XII #2
Caroline had appeared after breakfast that morning, entering the sitting-room without comment and with no apparent rancor.
Bingley could sense her discontent, to be certain, but it contained a distinct quality different from her usual displeasure—it was softened in some way he could not define.
He might be reading more than he should, but he thought it was a good sign.
“Are you set on this path?” asked Caroline not long after entering.
Bingley had not been expecting the question, but it did not surprise him either.
It was the natural time for her to argue her point if that was what she wished to do—Louisa and Hurst were sitting together not far away speaking quietly, and the Darcys had disappeared after breakfast. She would not wish to appear anything less than composed before Darcy, so now was the most opportune moment to raise the subject.
“Yes, Caroline,” replied Bingley, “I believe that I am.”
Caroline watched him as if trying to find some angle she could exploit to carry her point. “She is most unsuitable, you know.”
Instead of anger, Bingley felt nothing but weariness and disappointment.
“Miss Bennet is not unsuitable, Caroline—she is the daughter of a gentleman. Perhaps she does not possess untold wealth and high standing, but I have seen enough of society to know that finding such a woman who will consider me is nigh impossible.”
The way she watched him, Bingley could see her disagreement simmering. That sight told Bingley he had best speak without disguise.
“Caroline,” Bingley said, infusing a firmness into his voice that he did not always feel, “my affection for you is undiminished, but in this matter I must put a higher dependence on my own wishes than your ambitions. To be blunt, I cannot permit you to govern my happiness.”
Though she did not give any outward sign, Bingley felt rather than saw a slight deflation of her confidence. “Your happiness is bound up in Miss Bennet?”
“It is,” said Bingley, knowing that any hesitation would provoke Caroline to argue her point.
“Though I suspected it when we departed after the ball, I know it now—I wish to have Miss Bennet for a wife. I do not require your agreement, only your acceptance. The choice is mine and I mean to have it.”
Caroline appeared lost. “There are many beautiful women in London.”
“None are Miss Bennet.”
“Oh, because she is the only one who possesses such gentility and sweetness of character.”
Bingley saw under the comment both sarcasm and wounded pride. It would do nothing to call her on it, so he ignored it.
“There is nothing you can do to alter my purpose. I hope, Caroline, that you will attempt greater civility toward Jane and all the Bennets.”
When Caroline’s jaw tightened, Bingley said: “If that is beyond you, then refrain from talking to them. As I recall, you were civil with Jane when we were last in residence. Remember, Caroline, that Jane has always been the very soul of kindness. I would have you return that kindness—to her if no one else.”
Caroline blanched and looked away. Bingley was not so foolish as to believe he had altered her outlook—Caroline was Caroline, after all. It was, however, enough to unsettle her certainty, and for the moment, that was enough.
“WELL, MY DEAR, YOUR little scheme has succeeded beyond even what you hoped to achieve.”
Louisa, engaged in watching her siblings from across the room, did not deign to reply. Gerald, though he rarely required a response, had no intention of allowing her silence to persist.
“Do you have nothing to say?” teased he. “Perhaps you wish to crow about your success or bask in a scheme well executed. After all, you have nearly rearranged all Hertfordshire.”
“Nonsense,” said Louisa. “All I have done was give Charles the chance to make his own choice.”
“And Darcy?” asked Hurst, skepticism staining his voice. “What about the neat way in which you dealt with the absent and unlamented George Wickham?”
“Merely a trifle,” insisted Louisa.
“Louisa,” said Gerald, his tone warning.
With a sigh, she gave over her consideration of her brother and sister’s discussion to focus on her husband. There was, she supposed, more than a little truth in his words, though Louisa did not consider herself a schemer, nor was she one who manipulated others to gain what she wanted.
The thought struck her as amusing, and she raised a hand to stifle a laugh, even as Gerald waited for her response. He was not as patient as he appeared.
“A stray thought,” explained Louisa. “Though I have never considered myself one who manipulated others, I suppose in this instance I cannot claim innocence.”
“No, you cannot,” replied Hurst. He shifted his weight to face her more directly, his expression pointed.
“To own the truth,” said Louisa, finally surrendering, “at first, my motivation was to learn for myself the truth of Jane’s sentiments and repair the damage if I found what I expected.”
“Yes, I remember that explanation. What changed?”
Louisa considered this for several moments before she replied. “When I had the truth, I reflected on how Caroline’s ambition had become our defining characteristic as a family. Caroline has become a selfish woman, caring for nothing more than assuaging her lust to climb the heights of society.”
“That is a harsh denunciation, indeed,” said Gerald.
“Perhaps it is, but I do not think it is incorrect.”
Gerald shrugged—Louisa knew he agreed with her. As her husband set little stock in excessive civility, he might have made the same point himself. Only two months ago, Louisa would not have made that point—the thought might not even have crossed her mind.
“It has, I think, damaged our position in society.”
This time it was her husband’s turn to consider what she had said.
“That is likely the truth, though perhaps especially among the higher sets. Those of lower standing do not look down on ambition, though they may do so if it upsets their own. The higher sets would not appreciate an upstart trying to rise above her station.”
“It is not irreparable,” asserted Louisa. “Should Caroline set her sights on a more realistic match, I think she can find a husband. There are enough benefits to her situation for the right man.”
“That is true.” Gerald pondered her for a moment. “Do you regret it?”
“Only that I did not act sooner.”
In time, the tête-à-tête ended, and Charles drifted toward the fireplace to stack more wood on flames that had burned low.
The glances that Caroline directed at Louisa suggested a wish to speak, and as Gerald noticed them too, he rose and crossed to Charles.
Soon they were speaking in low tones, leaving Louisa alone with her sister.
“Are you satisfied?”
As openings went, it was as cold as Louisa expected, and blunt enough to encapsulate Caroline’s peremptory manner perfectly.
Though the past years of Caroline assuming she was in control of the family flashed before Louisa’s eyes, it did not bother her at all.
Caroline had not yet acknowledged it, but her time of insisting and getting no resistance was at an end.
“Perhaps I am,” Louisa said, keeping her temper in check. Caroline’s expression darkened, but she took no notice. “I am satisfied that Charles will follow his heart. If you think about it, that is all that matters.”
Caroline glared at her. “She will be an impediment in society.”
Louisa’s amused snort came of its own accord. “In what way, Caroline? Jane is so sweet and obliging and incapable of giving offense that I cannot imagine how she could possibly embarrass us.”
“You know what I mean,” snapped Caroline.
“I do not,” said Louisa. “Perhaps you should explain.”
Though her mouth worked, the muscles bunching in her jaw and temples, Caroline did not pursue the subject.
“You have betrayed me, Louisa. Not only did you call Charles back to Hertfordshire, but you encouraged Mr. Darcy and Miss Eliza, and you waited to do all this until I was engaged elsewhere.”
That was nothing less than the truth, and Louisa had no desire to protest otherwise. The timing of her return to Netherfield had been calculated so that Caroline could not interfere.
“Perhaps it was beneath me,” said Louisa, “but I cannot repine my actions. I offer my apologies in advance, Caroline, but had you been present, you would have done whatever you could to interfere.”
Caroline’s stony expression did not alter a jot. “It is hard to listen to a beloved sister explain her betrayal.”
“What if I do not consider it a betrayal?”
“Dress it up however you like,” growled Caroline. “I know the truth.”
Louisa sighed, becoming weary with the conversation.
Gerald, she could see, was watching them, expecting Caroline’s poor behavior—it was not an unreasonable assumption.
Yet Louisa knew she could handle her sister, could prevent her from doing something she should not.
Now that events had proven her strength, Louisa knew she had always had it.
Unfortunate though it was, she now knew that it had always been easier to appease Caroline—Louisa would not make that mistake again.
“Caroline, I apologize in advance, but this must be said. These past years a certain lust for advancement in society has crept into our characters.”
Louisa paused to allow her sister to consider it—that Caroline understand what she was saying was essential. When Caroline stared at her, unblinking, Louisa spoke again.
“I have not spoken amiss—that defect has appeared in both our characters. It is not your burden alone.”
“Is it so wrong to wish for something more?” demanded Caroline. “Do you suppose we should forever be content with less than is our due?”
Louisa shook her head with exasperation. “Listen to yourself, Caroline. ‘Less than our due’? What exactly is our due?”
When Caroline did not answer at once, Louisa knew she had penetrated the web of self-importance and entitlement with which her sister had wrapped herself. For the first time, she had some hope that she could induce Caroline to see sense.
“The truth is that we are due nothing,” said Louisa reasonably. “We are who we are, and cannot become someone else. To much of society, we are imposters, those who seek higher rank through our wealth, not birth. Many will not consider us acceptable, even if we were to marry the Duke of Devonshire.”
“What are you trying to say, Louisa?” asked Caroline, her irritation emerging in her curt question.
“Just that we should not confuse superiority with discernment. This pursuit of standing and wealth only makes one grow harsh—we no longer know when we wound others.”
Caroline blanched as the importance of Louisa’s assertion struck her. Again, her confidence rose in response. Louisa had not thought her sister’s heart had become so hardened that she did not care that she stepped over others to achieve her ambitions, but she had not been certain.
“To wish to marry gentlemen and raise our consequence is not, I think, an evil. However, clawing and scraping for every inch of prominence is not admirable. When we act in such a way, we are no better than the highest of society who look down on those below them because they can.”
Raising a weary hand, Caroline massaged her temples. “Have I become so despicable?”
There was a plaintive note in Caroline’s question that tugged at Louisa’s heart. She reached out and took Caroline’s hand, squeezing it to impart comfort.
“No, I do not think we are beyond amendment. But I think it is high time we remembered what we should value and act accordingly.”
Caroline did not reply. It was difficult for her, but Louisa knew that a little pointed conversation now would avoid further heartache later.
“I shall allow no one to make Charles unhappy, Caroline. If his choice is Miss Bennet, he will have her, despite anything we might say. To own the truth, I have given myself over to much reflection this past month, and I have realized that Charles and I both allowed you to take the lead too often because it was easier than opposing you. That cannot continue.”
“Then you expect me to follow you like a good little sister?” grumbled Caroline, though she did not speak with the heat that had long been her custom.
“Not at all,” replied Louisa. “All I expect is that you treat others with kindness, moderate your ambitions, and show respect to your siblings.”
Louisa paused, uncertain whether to say this next bit. In the end, she decided there was no reason to hold back.
“To own the truth, it is good that Mr. Darcy will no longer be an option for you.”
Caroline looked up, fire in her eyes again, though not the raging inferno it might have been before.
“I must assume you will explain yourself.”
“My reasoning is simple,” replied Louisa.
“When you cannot aspire to marry him, you must set your sights on other prospects. Your situation is excellent—you have a dowry, a connection to the Darcy family if you are wise enough to keep it, and you are pretty enough for any man. There are others who have expressed interest in you, despite it being common knowledge that you wish for Mr. Darcy’s attentions.
If you consider it, Miss Elizabeth is exactly the sort of woman who suits Mr. Darcy. You are not.”
Caroline appeared shaken, and well she might be—not that she would not have Mr. Darcy, but that Louisa believed that Miss Elizabeth suited him better.
This doomed pursuit of Mr. Darcy had ruled Caroline from the moment she had made the man’s acquaintance.
Losing the prospect, as she had long thought of him, was painful, but necessary.
“Please consider it, Caroline,” said Louisa, softening her tone to convey compassion. “There is still plenty of time for you to find a man who wishes to have you for a wife, who will make you happy. I hope you agree that it is for the best, but in the end, it is your choice.”
With that, Louisa stood and moved away from her sister. She had done all she could
Caroline would have to choose who she was. Louisa hoped she would choose wisely.
As she was walking away, the sitting-room door opened and the housekeeper stepped into the room, leading several ladies. The Bennets had come for a morning visit.