Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (12 page)

"Sherry was the first decanter available, and I do so despise waiting." He leaned forward, his dark hair falling in his eyes, and continued. "Generally, I prefer brandy, which has a much more calming effect on the stomach, especially after a questionable meal."

"You found the meal questionable?" Rosemary inquired.

"No indeed, and that is why I found it perfectly acceptable to have sherry in the place of brandy. My stomach did not require calming." As though to demonstrate proof of the quality of the meal, he finished the sherry in one long sip and then placed the glass on the side table. Then he glanced at Caroline with meaning. "My mind, however, did require a little soothing."

He was referring to his tedious conversation with the Dowager Lady Kentworth no doubt.

"I quite know how you must be feeling," Caroline said with a quick glance at Miss Brodrick and Mr. Rushton, who were engaged in conversation nearby.

He followed her gaze and then smiled. "Ah," he said. "Yes, we are not always free to associate with those of our choosing, are we?"

Mr. Charlton paused as he seemed to contemplate Miss Brodrick or perhaps his lack of freedom; Caroline could not be certain. Then, without preamble, he turned his lean body back to them and said, "And now, ladies, shall we not discuss a socially acceptable subject of great import and dreadful dullness?" He grinned, clasped his hands behind his back, and rose briefly to his toes. "What topics are of interest to you? Politics? War with France? Travel? Farming? Literature? What is your pleasure?"

"I am certain that you shall find Miss Bingley is well versed on any subject," Lavinia said, having descended unseen upon them. Apparently, they had left their flank unguarded. "But she is much in demand at the pianoforte."

Though Caroline was ordinarily appreciative when her friends offered her the opportunity of exhibiting at the pianoforte, she could not have been more displeased at Lavinia's timing. She wished for nothing more than to continue conversing uninterrupted with Mr. Charlton. "Oh, it is very kind of you to ask, Lavinia. But I beg you not to require it of me, for I am not in the humor for music tonight."

"But you must play for us, my dear. I shall appeal to your mother to persuade you if you will not agree."

And upon those words Lavinia called Mrs. Newton to join them, saying, "Caroline says she shall not play tonight. Do convince her."

Mrs. Newton appeared surprised. Her eyebrows were raised upon her plump face. "Oh, I would be so disappointed not to hear you this evening."

"You are both very kind," Caroline said as she glanced toward the pianoforte, which was settled far to one side of the room. She happened to glance at Mr. Rushton, and after recalling his vague insults regarding the rehearsed nature of her playing, she felt even less inclined to exhibit. "I had not the least intention of playing tonight."

"Nonsense," Lavinia said, as she pulled Caroline from her place beside Rosemary and led her toward the instrument. She leaned in close and whispered, "Do not be cross, my dear. Not only will this show your talents to their best advantage, but it will ease some tensions that are developing between Mr. and Mrs. Palmer."

She nodded in the general direction of the hearth, and Caroline observed a couple, the Palmers, obviously in the throes of some sort of heated debate.

"That," Lavinia continued with a sniff, "is why I am so thankful that Mr. Winton is so often away. We have no time to develop tensions."

Though she doubted that a few musical notes would do a thing to improve the course of the Palmers' marriage, Caroline relented. "If you insist, I shall play."

Lavinia did insist. In fact, she practically shoved Caroline onto the stool and then called out to the room in general, "Miss Bingley, my oldest friend, will now delight us all with a song."

All eyes in the room were now upon her, and Caroline began to feel a prickly, heated sensation radiate across her body. It felt strangely akin to nervousness, which was ridiculous, for she knew several appropriate pieces by heart.

Nervous? No. It was Mr. Rushton.

His oblique insult to her playing had shaken her confidence. That was all.

Caroline closed her eyes and took a moment to compose herself. Then, with purposeful hands, she arranged her skirts, which had wrinkled when Lavinia pushed her onto the stool, and finally made a great pretense of riffling through the music books before her.

She selected a volume of Italian airs. This particular collection was unknown to her, but as she studied the tiny black notes that danced across the page, she felt a little thrill of delight.

If Mr. Rushton believed her former performance had been too studied, then she would unleash upon him her talent for sight-reading. He would soon see that her accomplishments went far beyond simply memorizing a few show pieces.

No, she was truly a musician.

As she placed her fingers on the keys, her vision seemed to contract, and the music became her whole world. Gone were the arguing Palmers. Forgotten were Mr. Charlton and Lavinia. Even Mr. Rushton and his snide remarks receded.

Energy washed through her, and she began to play.

Perhaps her performance lacked a bit of polish and--though she was unwilling to admit it--her fingers did misplace themselves on occasion, but her listeners did not seem displeased. When she chanced a glance away from the page, she noticed several toes tapping.

She played three tunes and decided to stop, for it seemed an appropriate number. It was always best to leave one's audience desiring to hear more.

As Caroline sounded the final notes, she happened to glance at Mr. Rushton, who was looking at her with an odd expression. He was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, feet crossed below him. He was studying her, but she could not discern any criticism in his expression.

Excellent.

A smile of victory spread across Caroline's lips.

Yes, her proficiency had impressed Mr. Rushton, and that gave her great pleasure indeed.

The rest of the room's occupants looked upon her with admiration, except for the Palmers, who were glaring at each other across the mantelpiece. At least they were no longer arguing.

"Shall you not delight us again, Caroline?" Lavinia asked.

Caroline knew that this was a query born more from politeness than a true desire for her to continue, so she declined. The interlude had served its purpose. The Palmers were silent, and it was time for her to relinquish the stage, which she did.

Caroline had many flaws--indeed, she admitted it--but the propensity of exhibiting too long was not among them. As she lifted herself from the stool, she looked over her shoulder at Mr. Rushton. He was yet watching her, and though she could not explain it, she felt herself blushing under his gaze.

Nine

Mr. Rushton should not be Caroline's concern. Her hopes lay in an altogether more superior object, and as she made her way back to the sofa, she discovered that her object, Mr. Charlton, awaited her there.

Mr. Charlton had engaged Rosemary in conversation. Much to her surprise, he seemed more than willing to condescend to her, waiving the privileges of his rank to hold what appeared to be a pleasant conversation with a paid companion.

As Caroline walked as gracefully as she could across the room, hoping to offer just the right amount of sway to her hips and allure to her gaze, Mr. Charlton stopped mid-word. He smiled overtly at her, and she knew she had accomplished her aim. Perhaps Mr. Darcy did not discern the merits of her movement, but Mr. Charlton apparently did.

Strangely, the thrill she had hoped to feel at catching the gentleman's interest did not spark within her.

But she smiled at him anyway as he stood to make room for her to sit.

"Ah! Miss Bingley, I had forgotten how well you played. The years have only served to improve your abilities, I think."

"I thank you, sir," she said as she lowered herself to the sofa, made great pretense of arranging her skirts, and met his eyes. "I do find much enjoyment in music."

"And it certainly was evident in your performance this evening. I do not believe my sister's pianoforte has ever sounded quite that lively."

Caroline lowered her gaze. "I thank you."

She smiled to herself. Mr. Charlton, thank heaven, seemed much more easily impressed than the dreadful Mr. Rushton.

"And I was just saying as much to Mrs. Pickersgill." He turned toward her. "Do you play as well?"

"I play a bit, sir, but very ill," she replied.

"Yes," Caroline interjected, "I am certain Mrs. Pickersgill would do well to avail herself of my mother's instrument while we are in Kendal."

Mrs. Pickersgill gave Caroline a bland look. "I do not believe any level of practice could improve my playing. I was not born to it, but I thank you for your kind offer."

The party was silent for a moment, and then Mr. Charlton spoke to Mrs. Pickersgill. "I do not believe you have yet had the opportunity to see much of Cumbria."

"Indeed, I have yet to see much of the area, sir." Her face had returned to a somewhat distant expression, and Caroline noted her well-moderated tone of voice and the manner in which she held herself. She sat like a lady, ankles crossed, hands in her lap, back erect. She did possess a certain amount of grace. She appeared to be any genteel young lady and not the unwanted companion that she was. "But it is a vast deal different from my home county."

"And from what exotic, mysterious land have you come?" Mr. Charlton asked. "I do not believe I had a chance to inquire when last we spoke."

"No, I do not believe so, sir." Rosemary laughed politely then, and said, "My family hails from the exotic county of Shropshire."

Mr. Charlton threw his head back, exposing a smooth, strong throat, and laughed loud and long. Then he turned his smile again to Rosemary. "I had no idea that Shropshire was so exotic and mysterious."

"One would not think that Shropshire holds many beauties," she said seriously, "but I have found that each county has unique charms of its own."

"Yes," Mr. Charlton said, giving her what appeared to Caroline to be an ironic look. His face was appraising and his eyebrows were raised, but a smile lingered. "Unique charms indeed."

Rosemary did not respond, and Mr. Charlton continued, "And how did you become acquainted with the family? Miss Bingley, I do not recall hearing that your family was connected with that part of the country."

"No indeed, we have no connections there," Caroline said. She was preparing to respond to his question regarding the nature of their first acquaintance, but she realized abruptly that she did not know how her brother had met this woman.

Mrs. Pickersgill said, "I became acquainted with Miss Bingley's brother in London."

"Ah! How very vague an explanation you offer, Mrs. Pickersgill. But of course, I must excuse you, for it is clear why Miss Bingley, who has exquisite taste, opted to make you her companion."

"And why might that be, Mr. Charlton?" Caroline asked. "Do enlighten us."

"Why, because she gives the appearance of a lady of worth, and you would choose nothing less for your companion, would you not?"

Caroline acknowledged his words with a nod, but she greatly wished the conversation might turn in another direction. "I do prefer to surround myself with the best company, and my family holds Mrs. Pickersgill in high regard."

"And well they should," said Mr. Charlton, "for she seems an amiable creature."

The amiable creature in question only offered a small smile.

• • •

The dinner party at Oak Park concluded well after midnight, and the Newtons, Mr. Rushton, Rosemary, and Caroline departed for Newton House through cold and wet darkness. She undressed quickly with the help of a servant, and soon she lay down on the cold sheets and closed her eyes, but she found that sleep would not come.

Having kept these wretched country hours for so many weeks, Caroline ought to have slumbered easily, for early hours, morning calls, and polite conversation with one's neighbors was often more taxing than it sounded.

Caroline rolled to her side and looked out the rain-streaked window. The landscape was barely visible in the semi-dark, but she could see the silhouettes of the trees as they blew in the cold wind.

It was most beautiful, and yet somehow also it caused an ache within her breast.

How she missed Town. How she ached to be returned to those golden days when she had traveled with her brother and Mr. Darcy before the discovery of the Bennet sisters.

But now, she had fallen.

Hers, at least, was a quiet descent. Her family and friends had silently set her aside, but that was enough.

She had once again become Miss Caroline Bingley, the daughter of no one in particular.

By discovering the presence of Lavinia and the advent of a new gentleman to inherit the barony, Caroline's despair at her future prospects had been reversed.

This was her only opportunity.

Certainly, Mr. Charlton and Lavinia knew of her past. They knew precisely from whence her family's fortune came. They were acquainted with Mr. Newton, the bridge builder. And though she had been much frightened by Lavinia's laxity in paying a call and her apparent hesitation to invite her to dine at Oak Park, she was now certain of her acceptance there.

That family represented Caroline's salvation.

She had planned to pursue Mr. Charlton at a leisurely pace, allowing him to fall in love with her and propose just in time for her to join him as his wife for the London season, but after having been at Oak Park that evening and in his company, she was suddenly reinvigorated. She simply did not want to wait.

Her failures at the dinner party were the results of chance. Circumstances had hardly allowed her to converse with Mr. Charlton. She had been pulled away by Miss Brodrick, shackled to Mr. Rushton at dinner, and required to play the pianoforte. She had not a moment alone with her object, and that was required to win a gentleman, was it not? She must contrive to find him alone.

Caroline smiled at the thought of being alone with Mr. Charlton. Yes, she would undertake any task, bear any burden, and overcome any obstacle to entice Mr. Charlton.

She sat up in bed at that thought. She felt animated, ready to enact the next phase of her plan, but she could do nothing in the middle of the night.

She lay back down.

She fidgeted with the covers and adjusted her position, but sleep did not come.

Resigning herself to the fact that she was not going to drift easily into pleasant oblivion, Caroline sat up again and struggled to light her candle.

The small flame hardly lit the room, but she could see well enough to move about without crashing into the furniture. In her youth, she had sneaked below stairs to indulge in a bit of biscuit or chocolate and sit by a banked fire alone for a few moments. She longed to do so now.

And so that is precisely what she did.

After donning her wrap and a pair of slippers, she padded to the door, opened it, and peeked down the hall. She saw no one, heard no sound. She could certainly make the trip unnoticed. Of course, she was adequately covered should she come into contact with a male servant, Mr. Newton, or Mr. Rushton.

She did not want to encounter the latter, but she also did not want to remain trapped in her room, unable to sleep.

So Caroline crept down the corridor, feeling like a child in the midst of mischief, and managed to sneak into the kitchen without attracting notice. Caroline did not often enter the kitchen. As a very young child, before her father had made his fortune, she could remember helping her mother with food preparation. She knew that refined young ladies did not undertake such menial tasks. So now, Caroline generally kept as far from that room as possible.

When she had run Netherfield Park, she had consulted with the cook in the library, not the kitchen.

But occasionally, she needed to indulge in a small delicacy, so she would venture in when no one was about to notice, just as she was now.

Newton House's kitchen was designed in much the same manner as the rest of the house. It was arranged for maximum efficiency and comfort, but had little ostentation. Unlike in many of the finer houses, the room was adjacent to the dining room for the convenience of the servants. Mr. Newton obviously gave no thought to the lingering odors a kitchen was wont to produce and their effects on a lady's furniture. But her mother did not complain.

Caroline entered the pantry, rummaged a bit, and produced a tin of biscuits, which she carried to the large pine worktable that stood at the room's center. Placing the candle at a safe distance on the scrubbed wooden surface, she pulled out a heavy chair and turned it so that it was facing the banked fire that smoldered in the grate beside the stove.

She sat down and pulled the lid from the tin, and as she ate, the room seemed to cocoon her in its intimacy. Caroline smiled at the delicious feeling of warmth that spread through her and even stretched her legs toward the fire.

It was in that exact posture that Mr. Rushton found her when he entered the room with a brusque swing of the door.

Caroline looked down at the biscuit in her hand and panicked. She did not want to be caught in the throes of something as uncultured as reclining in a kitchen and eating biscuits. A lady ought to be seen at edifying tasks.

But it was too late now, for Mr. Rushton was already regarding her with a quizzical eye. "Good evening, Miss Bingley."

She returned his greeting, pretending to be absorbed by the play of the fire in the grate, but she allowed her displeasure to show on her face in the hopes that he might behave politely and leave her to herself.

That, of course, was too much to expect.

"What do you do about at this late hour?" he asked.

"Why, cannot you see?" She waved her biscuit at him. "I am penning a great work of fiction."

"Ah," he said. Then nothing more.

Caroline allowed herself to glance up and found him leaning a hip against the edge of the worktable. He was still wearing his dinner attire, but he had removed his coat and loosened his cravat.

And here she sat in her night attire! It was wholly inappropriate. He ought to leave.

She sat up straight and tucked her feet beneath her dressing gown.