B006O3T9DG EBOK (28 page)

“
Yes
,” repeated Caroline. “They now call it Howgrave Hall.”

“How droll!” laughed Bingley. “As we have reclaimed “Deering Lodge,” I fancy it would not do for Howgrave not have his name upon an estate somewhere.”

The Bingley sisters had come to Pemberley ostensibly to admire the newest Darcy. In truth, Lady Caroline had quickly run out of people to curry favour with in London and had repaired to the country in anticipation of Lady Howgrave’s f
ê
te. (While her gown was being stitched, she came to visit the Darcys as much to amuse herself as to avoid her brother’s children.) Upon taking in Elizabeth’s aspect, her usual disdain was set aside. Suddenly, she was taken in paroxysms of true delight.

“Your pearls!” shrieked Caroline. “Your pearls are divine! Where ever did you get them?”

Without a moment’s thought, Caroline reached out and took them in her hand. Startled, Elizabeth took a step back, fearing such ungentle behaviour might cause them to need another restringing. Caroline, however, had whipped out her quizzing glasses and peered at them as she rolled several between thumb and forefinger. Abruptly, she ran them across her front teeth.

“Superb,” she admitted.

Observing Elizabeth’s startled expression, Caroline explained, “The front of the teeth—that it is the surest way to gauge their genuineness.”

Stumbling to alter their discourse, Elizabeth bid, “Does your husband stay much to London?”

“Yes,” replied Caroline. “Sir Beecher remains dedicated to the card tables. He became reacquainted with them whilst we were abroad.”

That information was unheralded by any ovations. Not long before their engagement was formed, Beecher was on the unhappy end of a duel over a gambling debt. Word had it that, whilst professing himself a Christian, Sir Beecher was worshiping other gods. It had long been known that he bowed regularly to the throne of Bacchus. However, whilst recuperating from an acute wound to his posterior (received in the duel over a string of ponies that he had put up against a card debt), he had gained an affection for laudanum. Caroline took it away from him, but he repaid her dedication by attempting to bed every chit who spoke to him. Caroline soothed the deprivation of her husband’s constancy by sharing his wine.

Caroline could be obliging when she chose, but over time her heart’s generosity continued to decline. Living all her life with a doting brother and enjoying the exceptional kindness of her sister-in-law, she was unprepared to reside with a husband who considered his own wishes well above those of his wife. But then, the gift of marriage rather than that of love had been her design. Her match with Beecher brought her both the title of lady and of wife. Hence Caroline was, largely, happy. If anyone thought otherwise, she attempted to convince them of their marital felicity by reciting how they dined in the first circles.

“We have twice dined at Carlton House and sat within earshot of the Prince Regent and his retinue at the Argyll Rooms. Charles could have come had he wanted, but chose to stay away.”

She shook her head at his audacity.

“Charles favours nothing above the race park. As Beecher lost his ponies—he used his prize racing ponies as collateral and lost them—Winton no longer enjoys going there. My husband blames me for his bad luck at cards, so what am I to do with myself but come to Derbyshire with Charles? Whilst in Italy, we came across Winton’s friend, Alphonse—you recall, Mr. Darcy, the man who shot Winton in the great duel?”

“I thought he was shot in the hindquarters,” interjected Bingley.

Not wanting her aside to Darcy interrupted, Caroline gave her brother an angry glare. She then looked back at Darcy, still awaiting his reply.

Darcy said, “I recall the man.”

She continued, “It was right of Beecher to have slapped him across the face with his glove, he is a beast. But he has made a great deal of money in trade. You should do business with him, Charles. You are certain to double your fortune.”

Said Charles, “I do not care for Alphonse’s business practises for they include evicting old women and sick children from his properties.”

“Oh, why care? I see these people in the street. They are simply lazy. Would they just take work, they would be well-fixed.”

Bingley opened his mouth as if to reply, but she proceeded on to another subject more appealing to her senses.

“Vauxhall Gardens!” she gushed. “With every visit they have added new entertainments. Concerts, plays and I do not know what all—every night there are fireworks as one has never seen since Madrid. Dirty little place, that. I abhorred every minute of our stay there save for the fireworks. I should have stayed abroad forever had not my dear Winton become homesick for London. He is such a dear. I could not allow him to take his leave alone.”

As Caroline continued to prattle, Bingley turned to Darcy. Behind his hand said, “I believe Caroline is a bit in her cups. Ere long she, her husband, and Mr. Hurst will all snore through dinner.”

Darcy smiled his consolation. That was all he could do.

———

When they retired for the night, Elizabeth felt a great exhaustion envelop her.

“What tires you so?” Darcy bid. “Is it Caroline or the thought of the Howgrave invitation?”

“Both of them—all of it,” she sighed. Finally at leisure to talk, she added, “I am surprised Caroline can tolerate our company, she liked her time abroad so very much....”

“’Abroad’,” he sniffed. “That fine place where ruined reputations find a home.”

She nodded, quite witting of the truth of his observation.

He said, “Beecher came home when Lady Catherine’s endowment gave out. They are living solely on Caroline’s funds now. At the rate he is gambling, they shall be in the poor house before year’s end.”

Truly worried, Elizabeth asked, “Who shall see to them? Lady Catherine has washed her hands of them. Jane and Bingley cannot cover his losses. They have not yet recovered from their own reverses.”

Darcy replied, “They shall make their way as they always have, sitting open-mouthed as if fledgling sparrows, waiting for someone else to feed them.”

“And yet she has the gall to call the poor, lazy.”

Slipping beneath the bedclothes, he altered the conversation, saying, “I shall send round our regrets to the Howgraves tomorrow.”

Turning to him, she said, “Perhaps, you should go without me. Bingley wants you to so very much.”

“I think not,” he said, reminding her, “It is thirty miles. I do like the prospect of a night at an inn.”

“What would one night matter if Bingley be pleased,” she answered (inwardly satisfied that he did not like the prospect of staying the night at Howgrave’s house). “Moreover, if you make Bingley happy, so then is Jane.”

“I do not live to please Bingley or Jane,” he whispered. “I live only to please you.”

“And happy you have made me.”

Then, smiling impishly, she said, “Did you observe Caroline assessing my pearls?”

“I did.”

“I nearly lost my countenance. Had she known their full history, I think she would have not been half so inquisitive.”

Although the notion was diverting, he was not amused. His thoughts had turned decidedly amatory. Once upon that road, his will was rarely thwarted.

“Come,” he said, drawing her to him.

There was a chill in the air, but she was not disposed to believe that he wanted her warmth alone. Placing her hand upon his cheek, she smiled wickedly and pressed him back against the mattress.

With one swift move, she cast the bedcover off and drew herself upon him.

“I do not believe you have escorted me out for a ride since William was born,” she said.

He endeavoured to speak, but placing her forefinger against his lips, she shushed him. Indeed, he did not think he could have commanded his tongue was it necessary. As it was, she held some interest in his tongue, but only to taste, to fight, to accept. There was another outthrust she was keen to enjoy as well. Engirdled and enraptured his flesh responded. He surrendered himself unto her until she cried out in the delicious ache of requitement.

Lost in desire, they did not hear the long off sound of Cressida, howling in unison to their love.

Chapter 38

Solitary Soldier

“And I said, ‘You cannot attend as your child is not weaned?’ What lady is this that does not have a wet-nurse?”

In Sir Henry Howgrave’s house, upon the occasion of the ball held in her brother’s honour, Caroline and her group had a good laugh at Mrs. Darcy’s expense. None were so clumsy as to be in earshot of Mr. Darcy excepting Caroline. She often pointed out that her brother was that fine gentleman’s dearest friend. Her implication, of course, was that she was as well. Any member of her circle who had even a nodding acquaintance with the actors who moved about their particular stage remained unconvinced. Few were of true rank, the others jockeyed constantly for better position. Caroline had gambled when she allied herself with Beecher.

As her marriage was as desperate as it was perceived, she liked to relate how at one time she and Mr. Darcy might have come to an understanding had he not come under the sway of some sort of country incantation. Most were quite witting that Caroline’s recollection was unreliable. They laughed and swatted their fans at each other (much entertained by the absurdity of Mr. Darcy making an offer to Caroline).

The ladies were divided into two camps that evening—those who thought it was a fine treat to have the handsome Mr. Darcy attending without the accompaniment of his wife, and those who knew he kept his reserve in company or not. A few ladies attempted to breach the conversational gap and were thwarted. Licking their wounds, they became a source of jest that they had made such a futile attempt. A saucy girl with dewy lips, short nose, and bumptious bosom was not dissuaded.

Fortified by libations and a distaste for her own escort, she cooed, “There is no man I cannot tempt.”

A friend of Juliette’s thought differently, tugging at the girl’s skirt, she said, “Trust me, my dear, the man would not deign to speak to a woman not of his acquaintance except, possibly, to apprise her that her hair was on fire. He is quite implacable. Spare your vanity.”

The girl shook her away and flounced up to Mr. Darcy. In a moment, he looked down at her and she smiled dazzlingly up at him. Having perfected it over years of practise, he gazed upon her as if a bug had just landed upon his sleeve. He then bowed slightly and walked away. As this entire vignette was watched by a coterie of ladies spanning several social levels and three separate age groups, the girl was mortified.

Her colour reddened with humiliation, the girl could only complain, “He is exceedingly dour.”

Caroline overlooked the exchange. In addition to tending to an increasingly rancorous opinion of Elizabeth and her country ways, she was also hiding two injurious habits. Whilst she took wine in company, she swigged regularly from a flask of whiskey hidden in the folds of her gown. She also harboured a fondness for snuff, but was most attentive to propriety which forbade partaking of the substance whilst engaged in conversation. Scurrying away from her lady-friends, she stopped behind a portiere. Taking out a handsome inlaid box, she consumed a dollop through the agency of a well-filed fingernail. Thereupon, she re-entered the ballroom with a ready supply of quips, gossip, and outright calumny.

Already in his cups, Beecher avoided his wife. Rather, he attempted to gather himself enough to present his person to Sir Henry Howgrave. He hoped to have a private audience with the man. For synchronous to his mounting debts, Beecher had taken a liking to the idea of public office (whereby piles of cash were to be made beyond the report of the tax-collector). Preferably, his appointment would be one befitting his station (and come with a house, he was much in want of a house in town, his apartments were intolerable.)