Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (24 page)

Reflexively, she took it and then looked to see who had carried it.

The hand was Mr. Rushton's.

Had he come to torment her from a closer distance?

No, his expression, instead of holding mockery, seemed to convey a sort of strength.

She decided she must have wished the expression onto his face out of her need for support, and so she sneered and attempted to return the cup and saucer to him. "I thank you, but I find that I am not thirsty."

He returned her sneer but did not retrieve the teacup, and he said quietly, "Take it anyway. Perhaps it will warm that chilly soul of yours."

Before Caroline could issue the appropriate response, her mother called, "What are you two talking of over there?"

Caroline rolled her eyes, but Mr. Rushton looked at her mother with a pleasant expression. "Why, we were merely discussing how warmth and comfort may often come from an unexpected source."

• • •

Caroline would never admit to experiencing comfort from Mr. Rushton, and she certainly received no reprieve from her own brother when he cornered her in the drawing room alone when the others had been preparing to see their guests to the carriage.

Charles approached her with caution, his questioning eyes immediately meeting hers as he glanced at the open door behind him.

She knew what he was about, but she would not aid him in his quest. She only sat silently and watched him pace the room.

Finally, he said, "Time has passed."

"Yes," she agreed. "Time has a way of doing just that."

He sighed in exasperation. "Time offers the chance of reflection."

Caroline must not seem to give in to him so easily, so she deliberately chose to misunderstand him. "Are you saying that, upon your own reflection, you see how wrong you were to insist on my guilt and removal? That you understand now how you have overreacted by insisting on having your will done?"

Charles turned around, eyes wide, saying, "What? No. I mean only...that...perhaps you had altered your opinion."

She remained seated like a queen on her throne, all the while feeling like a pauper in the gutter, and looked at Charles with feigned superiority. "My opinion remains unchanged, and as long as it remains thus, I shall never apologize," she bluffed.

He appeared surprised. "That certainly makes our visit here awkward." He paced a few steps. "Dash it, Caroline, this will be dismal if you do not relent."

"Well, that is your own fault. I did not ask you to bring the Darcys here, and as you cannot remove me from another gentleman's house, you shall have to suffer the consequences of your own choice."

Charles let out an exasperated sigh. "I had assumed you had seen reason."

"Reason?" Caroline asked a bit too loudly. "There is nothing reasonable about apologizing to someone whom I have not wronged!"

Indeed, Caroline would admit to having wronged Miss Jane Bennet egregiously, but Miss Elizabeth Bennet was another matter entirely. Here, Caroline was still in the right.

"Then I must appeal to your desire to restore family harmony if reason will not tempt you."

"I am not the person responsible for having destroyed family harmony; therefore, I cannot restore it through any action."

Charles shook his head. "That is utter nonsense, Caroline, as you are well aware."

"I am not aware of any such thing."

Tension lanced the air as brother and sister stared at each other.

Charles turned away, and when he spoke again, it was in a soft voice. "Caroline, be logical. Do you not want to retain your invitation to Pemberley?"

"You know I do," she whispered.

"And do you not want to continue traveling with your sister and me?"

"Nothing would provide greater pleasure."

"Then, can you not forget your pride and do what I ask, for my own sake if not for yours?"

"I do not know," she answered honestly.

Charles stood before her, his eyes holding a mixture of pity and indignation, and said, "I know how difficult this must be, Caroline, but it is difficult for me as well. And that is precisely why I must demand that you make your amends before our dinner Wednesday evening, or we will leave London, and your opportunity will have disappeared along with us."

Charles turned to leave the room, and out of desperation, Caroline leapt from her seat.

"Charles...please...wait," she pleaded, but his steps did not hesitate. He walked resolutely from the drawing room and toward the front door where the coach was already waiting.

Caroline yearned to follow her brother, to stop him from handing down such an ultimatum, but she knew it would do little good. His back was stiff and straight with determination as he bid their mother farewell. She would not convince him now.

In the entry hall, Caroline hesitated. Politeness required her to join Mr. and Mrs. Newton on the stairs of Mr. Rushton's house to bid adieu to her brother and his party, but she simply could not do it. Instead, upon exiting the drawing room, she turned in the opposite direction and fled upstairs to her bedchamber.

Finally, shutting the door solidly behind her, Caroline threw herself onto the bed and buried her face in the linens. She had expected to burst into tears the moment she gained some privacy, but she could not cry.

Her emotions had endured such wild changes that her body seemed no longer able to react properly. She had passed so quickly from anger to horror to sorrow and back again that she seemed to have run through all her reserves, leaving her completely and utterly numb.

As she lay with her face hidden against the soft bed coverings, she tried to take stock of her situation. Lavinia despised her, and Mr. Charlton would certainly not propose marriage now. Her brother had arrived and demanded her final decision regarding her apology to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Her mother seemed suspicious, Rosemary was absent, and Mr. Rushton seemed to be enjoying her circumstances entirely too much.

After enduring the day's events, Caroline felt as if she really ought to be suffering from nervous complaints and demanding smelling salts, but she felt nothing. In the space of one day, the entire world had crashed around her, and yet she was a void. Her only concern now was to think of what must be done in order to extricate herself from the rubble and debris.

But what could be done to remove herself from the wreckage of her own life?

She knew very well that nothing could be done.

Lavinia would never allow her into Mr. Charlton's sphere again. Caroline had not the least hope of becoming the wife of a baron, thereby raising herself out of the mire of trade and into the glory of polite society by her own actions.

She must again depend on others.

She turned her head and sighed. She was glad that Rosemary was not at home, for this was just the sort of time when the woman would appear and moralize over the situation. She would gloat about having accurately assessed Lavinia's motives in taking her brother to London, and she would remind Caroline that her current circumstances were entirely of her own making.

She did not need to be reminded of these truths, for she was all too aware of them as it was.

Now, the prospect of returning to Kendal loomed before her. Once the Fairmont Bridge was comfortably in progress and their sojourn in London ended, her exile in the north would continue indefinitely.

But upon her return, her situation would be altered. Lavinia would ensure that she was no longer welcomed into good society there, and Caroline would be forced to explain matters to her mother, which she could not bear.

She could not admit her failures--either of action or of character--to her mother. She would not. She did not want to see the shame and sorrow in her mother's eyes when she discovered that Caroline had been the cause of the split between all her children. She, who saw no real value in associating with the wealthy and titled, would look upon her daughter with new eyes. She would see Caroline for who she was.

Yes, Caroline could admit it. She always wanted to be seen as better than she was.

It was a failing indeed.

This was too much. Truly, Caroline ought to be shaking or crying or screaming.

But she was just lying on the bed. Her body had given up, and now her mind was beginning to yield as well.

She may as well face the painful truth of her circumstances and concede defeat. It was time for her to surrender. Her desires in the matter were irrelevant. Whether or not she believed in her own guilt, she must now capitulate. She had no choice.

Tomorrow, she must make amends with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Twenty-one

Caroline repeated this truth to herself as she fell into a fitful sleep, and when she awoke, they were the first words that entered her mind.

Today, she must make amends with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Yes, it had to be done.

Caroline sat up slowly, feeling unbalanced, and attempted to orient herself. She had dozed off precisely where she had thrown herself the night before and had not bothered either to position herself correctly on the bed or pull back the linens. She lay exactly as she had fallen.

She managed to stand and look about her. The curtains had not been drawn, and light streamed into the room. It was later than she had expected, probably well after noon.

Caroline sighed and turned from the window only to be faced with her own reflection in the mirror. Her hair, which she had not bothered to take down or brush, resembled a bird's nest, and wrinkles marred the fabric of her dress.

She ran her hands down the front of her skirt, but her efforts were to no avail. She shook her head, ashamed at herself for having fallen asleep in the clothing she had worn the night before.

What was becoming of her?

Caroline supposed that this is what happened to women once they reached such a hopeless state. They simply fell apart.

Well, she may have no hope of rising in society or of ever attaining any control over her own life and fortune, but she would go into her hopelessness with as much pride as possible.

She would go to Grillon's and be done with her apology, but she would do so looking like a queen.

Caroline rang the bell, first for nourishment and then again for assistance in her preparations for the day.

As the maid arranged her hair, she sat listlessly at her dressing table and attempted to compose her speech to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but the words simply would not arrange themselves.

What could she say?

Yes, I attempted to separate your sister from my brother, but they are now married and I must accept her as one of my family.
That at least was the truth.

Yes, I disliked you, but it is all over now.
That was less true.

Yes, I wanted your husband and his home for myself.
That was true, but far too humiliating to admit.

Caroline sighed aloud and realized that the maid had completed her coiffure and left the room while she had been engaged in her own thoughts.

Well, she may not know how precisely she would issue the apology, but she may as well go and be done with it.

She stood, opened her bedchamber door, and crept down the hall. She felt quite foolish creeping about during the daytime hours, but she greatly hoped to sneak out of the house and complete her errand with no one, especially her mother, the wiser.

Caroline met no one in the hall or on the stairs, and she had the front door within her sights. She must only walk a few more paces to be out of Mr. Rushton's home and into the anonymity of London's streets.

"Miss Bingley," a male voice said.

Curse it! She had been caught.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Caroline turned slowly to discover Mr. Rushton's butler standing at the foot of the stairs regarding her with scarcely concealed curiosity.

"Yes?" she demanded in her haughtiest tone. "What is it?"

"A letter, miss," he responded.

"Well, bring it to me."

He crossed the room and handed her the letter. Caroline did not thank him, but simply snatched the folded paper from the silver tray he held and disappeared into the sitting room, shutting the door behind her.

Out of habit, Caroline crossed to stand beside the escritoire as she stared at the unfamiliar handwriting and wondered who could have possibly written. The lettering was bold and neat, but she could not place it. She tore open the seal and began to read.

My dear Caroline,

Long hours did I await you in the ruins that night at Vauxhall. Did you become lost? Or did you meet another gentleman instead?

It matters not, for nothing could prevent me from composing this letter to you, my darling, not even my sister's ire. I refuse to concede to her wishes, for my desire for you overwhelms me and I cannot restrain myself from speaking. Will you marry me, my dear, and run Oak Park?

If you wish to make me the happiest of gentlemen and answer in the affirmative, then you must come away with me immediately. Meet me at dusk where first we encountered each other in London

All my affection,

William Charlton

Caroline plunked down onto the wooden chair beside the writing desk. Her breath was coming short and quick, and for a moment she thought she might swoon.

Laughter bubbled within her, and though Caroline covered her lips with her hand, a giggle escaped.

Mr. Charlton had proposed!

Last night, Caroline had lost all hope, and suddenly, with the dawning of a new day--or at least with the noontime sun--her dreams and schemes had come to fruition.

Here was her salvation, and it came at the last possible moment. No longer would she be required to apologize to Miss Elizabeth Bennet in order to rise in society. She could ascend on her own and under her own power.

Caroline sat for a moment, basking in this sudden turn of events.

Of course, there was the question of Charles. He would be angry at her disappearance, but eventually, he would relent and welcome her again into his company. And if he did not, she would at least gain her own place in society.

Caroline smiled at her next thought: she would have the additional benefit of evicting Lavinia from Oak Park.

The laughter suddenly died on her lips.

If she married Mr. Charlton, she would have all these things, but at what cost?

Her husband would be unfaithful always.

Proper society would look away, but could Caroline?

And she would run Oak Park, but Mr. Rushton had hinted that he gambled as well. Was she capable of risking her only power, her money?

But finally, she would have a home of her own.

She would always have her own place.

She did not know how long she sat at the writing desk contemplating her situation before she heard the door to the sitting room open.

Caroline glanced over her shoulder at the new arrival.

Rosemary Pickersgill.

If she were to succeed in sneaking away to Mr. Charlton, Caroline must not allow Rosemary to discover the proposal. She turned her back to her companion, intent on concealing the letter as quickly as possible.

"Mrs. Pickersgill," she said as she folded the paper with silent fingers and then slid it under the desk blotter. "I have not seen you since yesterday. Wherever have you been?"

"That is a fine greeting, Miss Bingley, but there is nothing you may say to me today to ruin my spirits."

"Oh?" Caroline asked as she thought of the marriage proposal hidden beneath the blotter. That might shake Rosemary's joy, but Caroline would not speak a word of it.

She turned to face her companion more fully. Yes, she did appear nearly overcome with joy. Her eyes fairly shone with vigor, and she seemed years younger somehow.

"Tell me," Caroline encouraged as she moved to join Rosemary on the sofa, "what has brought you such joy."

"I have just had a most successful meeting with my solicitor."

Caroline could not conceal her shock. "Your solicitor?" She laughed. "Why would you have need of a solicitor?"

Rosemary did not seem at all affronted by Caroline's mocking laughter. She only said, "You recall, Miss Bingley, that I once told you I would share my secrets at the proper moment."

Caroline nodded slowly, unsure whether to continue laughing or give way to the feeling of unease that rose within her.

"This is the proper moment, for Lady Middlebury has spread the news of my arrival and my name will soon be gracing the gossip columns, I fear."

"Tell me then, Mrs. Pickersgill," Caroline said, still unable to believe that anything this woman might say would be worthy of such anticipation.

"I do not mean to shock you, Miss Bingley, but I fear we have not been properly introduced."

"Have we not?"

"No, for before you, you see Rosemary Pickersgill, paid companion and thorn in your side. But not so long ago I was Lady Braye, wife of Mr. John Pickersgill or Baron Braye."

Caroline's eyebrows dropped in confusion. "I do not comprehend..." Her voice trailed off as she stared at Rosemary. Sitting before her, apparently, was the Dowager Lady Braye. She ought to be tucked away in a secure country estate and consuming chocolates, but she was here in London acting as a mere servant. "You? The wife of a baron?"

Caroline meant the question as an insult, but somehow it fell flat.

"Indeed, Miss Bingley, close your mouth. Do not appear so shocked."

"But..."

"How did I come to be your companion?"

Caroline nodded.

"My husband John died two summers ago." A shadow passed over Rosemary's features. "I was devastated, for I truly loved him. He was the kindest and best of men, and he also loved me. You see, Miss Bingley, he married me, the daughter of a country gentleman without a great dowry, land, or any relations of consequence.

"As you might imagine, I was thrown into an utterly new society when I came with him to London those first years, and John was generous both with my inheritance and my allowance. I admit to having indulged more than I ought to have. I had the finest gowns and attended the grandest balls. I had attained the pinnacle of social delights and I reveled in it. Until John died."

"But your inheritance?" Caroline demanded. "What of that?"

"Patience, Miss Bingley." She paused to clear her throat. "We had no children and thus no heirs upon whom to bestow the title after John died, so the barony passed to his brother James. At first, James invited me to remain in his household and was generous with my treatment, but I fear his wife had no wish to share her home with a dowager, and so she used her influence to remove me, inch by inch, from her sphere." Rosemary shook her head sadly. "I feel rather foolish. I trusted them and did not realize what was occurring until I had lost everything."

Caroline could hardly think how to react, and her mind seemed stuck on Rosemary's true identity. It made no sense. How could this woman be the Dowager Lady Braye? How had she lost her fortune and come to this place? And how could Caroline have not recognized a lady of quality in her own household?

Rosemary continued, "James, the new Lord Braye, became quite intoxicated by his power and position--an easy transformation, I can assure you--and his wife preyed upon this weakness. She convinced him that I was a drain on their household and, in fact, that I had extorted John into marriage in order to gain his fortune. Then, through some legal machinations and deceit, I was out."

"Out?" Caroline repeated.