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Chapter Text

Pemberley, July 1815

The library at Pemberley was stuffy and in the afternoon heat, Caroline Bingley fell asleep. The weather had turned wet and humid yesterday, and the persistent drizzle meant the entire party was confined indoors.

Mr. Darcy was helping her brother search for an estate in the vicinity of Pemberley — finally! He and Charles had been gone two days, and were now closed up in Mr. Darcy’s study for nearly three hours now, deep in discussion with the agent who’d accompanied them. Jane was having a rest, as she was increasing with a second babe. Mrs. Darcy had been in conversation with her housekeeper Mrs. Reynolds. Georgiana Darcy was practising in her music room. Bored and silently querulous with everybody else’s sense of purpose, Caroline sought out the most recent issue of Ackermann’s Repository of Arts. Though the fashion plates were thrilling and gave Caroline no shortage of ideas to discuss with her dressmaker, the warmth of the room and the steady tattoo of rain on the library windows caused her head to droop back. Nestled into a sofa in a cosy, secluded alcove, Caroline’s eyes fluttered closed.

She knew not how long she had been asleep when she was awoken by a noise from the other section of the room. Caroline was confused, and took a moment to remember where she was. She still heard the rain falling. But now she heard the voice of a man and woman, low and flirtatious. Though it had been three years since she’d ceased her attentions toward Mr. Darcy, Caroline still knew his voice, still felt attuned to it. Granted, she never knew it like this. And the woman’s voice was none other than Eliza Darcy’s.

Caroline quietly closed the magazine in her lap and set it on the seat next to her. She was debating whether or not to let out a delicate cough to make her hosts aware of her presence when she heard Mrs. Darcy let out a sigh and Darcy make a groan. Caroline blushed to the roots of her hair. They couldn’t be...doing what, exactly? Caroline had only the vaguest of ideas of what to expect from a husband. But Caroline had no notion such a thing would occur outside of a bed chamber. If that is indeed what was happening.

Caroline felt quite trapped, but also quite tempted by the possibilities in front of her. She could embarrass the Darcys by making her presence known, and the thought gave her a flush of vindictive pleasure. Their mortification would be endless and complete. That was one option. The other option was...to see what they were doing. To have some understanding of what being a wife was. She was completely hidden in her alcove. The sound of the rain and the Darcys’ own noise provided adequate disguise. Caroline stood up and moved quietly toward the edge of the bookcases that made up her accidental hiding spot. When she managed to peek around the corner, she had to bring her hand up to her mouth to cover the gasp she started to let out.

Mrs. Darcy’s elegant blue day dress was hitched up around her waist. She sat on the edge of a large table where books and pamphlets were spread out, and leaned back on her hands with her bosom thrust forward. Mr. Darcy’s right hand was hidden under the pooled fabric, at the very center where his wife’s legs met. His left hand was massaging her right breast through the fabric of her dress, and he bent his head to her neck, kissing her as she moaned and sighed.

Mrs. Darcy’s hair had come slightly loose. The little chit doesn’t wear lace caps, naturally, thought Caroline. Her eyes were closed and her head was thrown back in pleasure. The expression on the woman’s face put Caroline in mind of the sensation of eating a piece of chocolate. Mr. Darcy was moving his hand beneath her dress in a steady beat that continued to increase. “That’s it, my Love,” he said, as if to urge her in some way. “Come on, come on,” he told her. Come on where? Caroline wondered. Mrs. Darcy gasped suddenly, and gripped the fabric of Darcy’s coat. Mrs. Darcy’s face suddenly looked as if she were in pain, but her entire being communicated enjoyment. Caroline’s stomach lurched. What does it mean?

Darcy pulled his hand away and brought it out from under his wife’s skirt. Caroline could see a clear sheen on it, like perspiration. “My love,” said Mrs. Darcy, panting, her eyes finally open and looking at her husband. “You give me so much pleasure.” And she put her mouth to his and kissed her husband.

Caroline’s own hand had fallen away from her mouth, and she was embarrassed to find herself leaning forward, as if she herself were to be kissed. She shook herself slightly and repositioned her body as far as she could behind the corner while still spectating. Caroline watched as Mrs. Darcy’s tongue slipped into her husband’s mouth. Instead of being disgusted by this, Darcy’s hands gripped his wife’s waist and pulled her closer to him. As they kissed, Mrs. Darcy’s hands moved down to the flap of his breeches and this time Caroline covered her mouth with both hands.

Mr. Darcy, still kissing his wife deeply and wetly, pulled her derrière closer to the edge of the table. Mrs. Darcy broke the kiss and hitched her skirt even higher. She then touched Darcy near his breeches in a way that caused him to give a deep, shuddering moan. Caroline wondered if it was painful. But, no. He seemed glad. Darcy’s hand went to the flap of his breeches, and then he moved his hips closer to his wife’s, causing both of them to groan. Darcy began to thrust his hips back and forth, and Mrs. Darcy moaned, “More, Fitz. Harder, my Love!”

Mr. Darcy obliged and began to go faster. His wife wrapped her stockinged legs around his waist, pinning him in place. She gasped out a hoarse “yes” every time his thrust brought him closest to her. Darcy seemed to be losing some control now — he moaned and nearly whimpered. “Give me all of you, husband,” Mrs. Darcy moaned, his thrusts emphasizing her words as her body shook.

“Do you need me, wife?” Darcy asked, panting. Caroline could hear the smile in his voice.

“Teasing man! You know I do. I had to satisfy myself while you were away,” Mrs. Darcy said, and she bit his shoulder. Darcy’s thrusts grew harder, and Caroline heard the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Mrs. Darcy squealed and all at once, Mr. Darcy let out a loud grunt, and a long sigh. His thrusting became slower, and then arrhythmic. He slumped over his wife, kissing her neck again, and Mrs. Darcy rubbed his back in long strokes. Darcy let out a small chuckle, and Mrs. Darcy giggled softly against his neck. “I love you so much, Lizzy.”

“I love you, too, darling Will. That was so…” Mrs. Darcy trailed off, and kissed Darcy’s neck. Darcy stroked her hair as she did so, his eyes closed, his face relaxed. The Darcys stayed as they were for a moment or two longer.

Finally Darcy sighed and pulled back slightly from his wife, regarding her fondly. “And do you feel satisfied now, you little Wanton?”

“For right now, yes,” she said smilingly. “But you’ve deprived me for two whole days. Fear not, I will allow payment in arrears as long as you need in order to balance your account.” Mrs. Darcy gave her husband’s arms a few strokes and a final pat, and he stepped out from between her legs. As she pulled her skirt back down and got herself into a semblance of order, Darcy buttoned the flap of his breeches closed. “Were you and Bingley successful in your search?”

“I believe he’s found the perfect place. ‘Tis 23 miles east of Pemberley, and a good situation for a man just beginning to manage an estate. The tenants all seem enterprising and the land is fertile and well maintained. The manor needs some repair, but that is to be expected.” The pair had made themselves presentable again.

“23 miles, truly, Will?” Mrs. Darcy’s eyes shone. “I can scarce believe it—Jane and her family will be but a day’s drive!” She twined her arm into his, and they began to leave the library. Caroline heard Darcy laugh affectionately at his wife’s pleasure as they walked away.

Caroline left her position at the edge of the alcove and staggered her way back to the sofa. She templed her fingers above her mouth and let out a ragged breath, thinking over what she had seen and heard.

Caroline’s mortification upon learning the news of Darcy’s engagement to Eliza Bennet had been great. Fitzwilliam Darcy was everything she could want in a man: rich, handsome, well-connected, and of great property. Caroline was certain that the combination of her beauty, Darcy’s relationship with her brother Charles, her elegant and well-bred manners, and £20,000 dowry would be sufficient temptation for Darcy to propose marriage to her. Caroline had never quite given up hope of this until the news of Charles’ engagement to Jane Bennet, Eliza’s elder sister, reached her.

Caroline had been staying with her own sister Louisa Hurst at the time. The two women huddled over the letter the Hursts’ townhome, while Mr. Hurst slept on a sofa across the room. The rising pitch of Caroline’s upset voice didn’t wake her brother-in-law. Louisa could not soothe Caroline in that moment. “My dear, it is not so bad. Jane Bennet is a sweet girl, and a gentleman’s daughter. Though it could be better, it could certainly be worse.”

However, it had not been Charles’ marriage that was upsetting Caroline. It was the fact that now Fitzwilliam Darcy would be in greater proximity to Elizabeth Bennet. And deep down inside, Caroline knew that Fitzwilliam Darcy felt things for Elizabeth Bennet that he did not feel for her. And for all Caroline’s eligibility, and all Miss Eliza’s ineligibility, she could not overcome what those feelings were.

Three years later, spying a hidden tryst in the library at Pemberley, Caroline now had some idea of what those feelings might be: overwhelming, consuming passion.

This is not what she had been raised to believe a marriage ought to be based upon. Marriages were for the consolidation of wealth and power. They were for creating heirs and elevating one’s circumstances, or at least not denigrating them. It was one's duty to one's family to make the best match humanly possible, not to waste oneself on the unworthy. Caroline certainly thought Darcy had degraded himself through his match to Eliza Bennet.

However, as the first years of their young marriage passed, Caroline was loath to admit Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy was a discredit to neither Pemberley nor the Darcy family. In the few seasons she’d interacted with the Darcys in town, she watched the impertinent country girl win over the ton. Mrs. Darcy did not grovel. She did not simper. She moved with dignity and grace, and spoke with all her usual playful humour. Despite her manners not being quite the thing, they were disarming, and Caroline watched as haughty matrons found themselves charmed, and well-born gentlemen looked at Darcy with envy as he and his wife passed by. Elizabeth Darcy was perfectly sure of her place. She was universally admired and sought out for her company.

Caroline knew when she was beaten, and dropped her metaphorical sword.

That evening at dinner, Caroline could hardly bring herself to make eye contact with either Mr. or Mrs. Darcy. Every time she did, she remembered the looks on their faces in that stolen moment in the library. Caroline was seated next to Georgiana Darcy and across from Charles and Jane. Fortunately, the party was too full of talk about the estate Charles was now purchasing and there was no shortage of conversation. Later, when the ladies and gentlemen parted after dinner, Caroline occupied herself at the piano with Georgiana while Jane and Mrs. Darcy spoke quietly on a sofa. Jane’s stomach was only just beginning to increase. Charles and Jane had a little daughter born about a year after their wedding, a laughing child with both their parents’ fair hair and good temperaments, called Margaret Elizabeth. The Darcys’ had a one year old boy named Henry Fitzwilliam. Caroline assumed the two sisters were discussing childrearing matters. Louisa and Mr. Hurst had a child of their own, young James. Caroline found herself suddenly rich with nieces and nephews.

When Mr. Darcy and Charles rejoined the party, Caroline observed the men’s behavior toward their wives closely. Charles and Jane she had watched many times before, of course. Their behavior toward each other was always affectionate — it took the shape of pats on the arm, endearing nicknames (there was a particularly sickening period of time when Charles referred to Jane as his little Muffin when he thought nobody else was about), and complete consideration where the other was concerned. No move was made without seeking the opinion of the other. When the men came into the room, Mrs. Darcy rose from the sofa and allowed Charles to take her place. Jane and Charles spoke happily and openly to each other, clearly discussing plans for updating the nursery in their new home.

Caroline sat next to Georgiana at the pianoforte, turning pages as the younger girl skillfully made her way through a new piece. From this vantage point, Caroline could easily observe the Darcys. They stood near a window just beyond the piano, looking at the prospect beyond the vast lawn. There was little of the sweetness displayed between Jane and Charles. Rather, it put Caroline in mind of fire. They moved around each other, eyes locked. When Mrs. Darcy handed him a cup of tea, Caroline saw a smirk on Mr. Darcy’s lips. In return, Mrs. Darcy merely smiled and quirked one eyebrow, at which Mr. Darcy laughed quietly. When Mrs. Darcy took her turn at the pianoforte, Mr. Darcy could not be drawn into conversation with anybody else -- he watched her with rapt attention as she sang. Nevermind that her technical skill was inferior to other women Mr. Darcy knew. In turn, when Mr. Darcy walked about the room, Mrs. Darcy’s eyes followed his person with a proud and secure possessiveness.

That night in bed, Caroline was finally at liberty to let her mind return to the scene in the library. The heat of the day had calmed, and Caroline was covered only by a light sheet. She remembered the way Mr. Darcy’s hand moved betwixt his wife’s legs. Caroline did not often attend to her own pleasure. She was caught once at school by another girl, a wretch who fortunately married early and was carted off to Scotland by her elderly husband, else Caroline was sure the girl would have made things unpleasant for her in society. But that night, Caroline lifted the hem of her chemise and allowed her fingers to trail down to her sex. She brought herself with her fingers, meditating on the idea of a man so overcome with passion for her that he would give up all propriety, would take her in broad daylight, in a place where they could be easily discovered. Such a man likely did not exist in her future. But what of it? Passion has nothing to do with marriage, Caroline reminded herself. Well, not normal marriages. She sighed and pushed her chemise back down, then dropped off to sleep.

The next morning at breakfast, Caroline and the others learned more about Charles’ new estate. Caroline heard with dismay how much smaller it was than Pemberley. The land would net him nearly £1,800 a year, rather inconsequential compared to Pemberley. While Caroline could have wished for something grander, Darcy spoke authoritatively on the eligibility of the land. “The house is a fine size for a family, and while it is in need of some improvements, the tenant’s cottages are all well modernized. That is a great advantage. And the land itself is of excellent quality and you may be able to purchase more land over time. It is an excellent beginning, Bingley. Well done.”

Caroline sipped her tea, and stared out the nearest window, considering. It seemed as if Charles had spent just over half of his inheritance on the place. As foolhardy as Charles could be about much in life, Caroline had to admit: he was caution itself with regards to money. This characteristic was no doubt passed along to him by their father, who had amassed £100,000 to leave to Charles, and £20,000 each to Louisa and herself. While there was much to learn about the actual management of an estate, Caroline knew Charles would never run himself aground with poor financial management. Jane Bennet was gentle-born, but poor. Though Mr. Bennet had a wife and five daughters to support, Caroline knew more could have been done with his income to render his daughters richer. She recalled that Mr. Bennet’s estate was about £2,000 a year. Even with five daughters and a spendthrift wife, more could and should have been done. Charles had their father and grandfather’s intelligence when it came to money. Charles was in charge of Caroline’s fortune until she married, and had been forcing her to live on £500 a year, half the annual interest on her dowry. The other half he continued to invest for her. Caroline’s dowry was actually larger than Louisa’s had been by now. It was closer now to £24,000.

Charles could have made a more advantageous match financially, but the connexion to an old landed family and friends such as Fitzwilliam Darcy were an excellent beginning on the path to joining the gentry. With Louisa well married to a gentleman, only Caroline was left to make a match. At age 24, armed with beauty, a soon-to-be updated wardrobe, and £24,000, Caroline determined that the upcoming season would be the year she finally married. Nothing so foolish as passion nor love need get in her way.

Chapter Text

Charles and Jane spent the summer coordinating their move to the new estate, Belham Court. As kind-hearted as both Jane and Charles were, they had given up the lease on Netherfield after a year -- the proximity to Mrs. Bennet was too much for even Jane to bear. They had been spending the season in town, and passing the warm months with the Darcys at Pemberley for the past two years. The newest child was meant to arrive in November, and Charles set about the necessary repairs at Belham with alacrity. The bedrooms and nursery were to be outfitted with all the latest conveniences, and an architect was engaged to update the exterior in the newest fashion. Louisa and Caroline’s anxiety could at long last be put to rest. The Bingley Family had their estate.

Caroline passed the remainder of July and August at Pemberley, listening to Mrs. Darcy and her formidable housekeeper Mrs. Reynolds teach Jane the finer points of estate management. There were at least a dozen more servants at Belham than there were at Netherfield. While Jane had the luxury and comfort of having had her lady’s maid with her since the first days of her married life, all others would be new to her. Mrs. Reynolds assured her she’d heard fine reports of the housekeeper at Belham, and not to worry. Charles was educated by Mr. Darcy on the finer points of managing one’s steward and bailiff, in addition to understanding one’s tenants. The flurry of activity seemed to involve everybody but Caroline, who was growing anxious to be off for Wiltshire, where she would stay with Louisa until the season began. She focused on writing to her mantua-maker in London and embroidering reticule after reticule amid the busyness of her companions.

When September finally came, the Darcys and Jane and Charles bid Caroline farewell at the porte cochere toward the back of the manor, the one reserved for family and friends. As her maid and the manservant saw to her trunks and Mrs. Reynolds tucked a basket of food and drink into the carriage, Georgiana and Jane kissed Caroline’s cheeks and Charles embraced her warmly. When she found herself face to face with Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, she flushed slightly. Mr. Darcy gave her a polite bow and wished her a safe journey. How could this be the same man who she saw in the library? Caroline wondered. So polite and correct. All she could envision was his face screwed up in pleasure.

She turned and curtsied to Mrs. Darcy, who smiled and said, “We enjoyed having you at Pemberley, Miss Bingley. Will we see you up in London after Christmas? We shall be in town just after the new year.”

“That you certainly will, Mrs. Darcy,” Caroline returned the smile with enthusiasm, delighted by this piece of news. Louisa had promised they would be in London in October, giving Caroline a nice, long season. If the Darcys were not to be in London until January, that would give Caroline three months without Georgiana Darcy as a rival. The girl was shy, which worked in Caroline’s favour, but her beauty, connexions, and fortune of £30,000 put Georgiana in a category all her own. It would be difficult for Caroline to compete, and she was relieved that she wouldn’t have to for the whole season. For despite the fact that Caroline had been out since she was seventeen, she meant this to be her season.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and Charles handed his sister into the carriage, bound for Louisa down in Wiltshire at last. She watched the lush rolling hills of Darcy’s estate recede into the distance and envisioned the man who would be her husband. For so long, she had pictured that man to be Mr. Darcy. Without Mr. Darcy in the picture, who would be the ideal?

Caroline drummed her fingers on her lap as she considered. He would be tall. Caroline’s height gave her an elegant figure, but it also kept shorter gentlemen from approaching her. He would be wealthy, in an ideal world, but what mattered more was his birth, and then his breeding. Louisa had married Robert Hurst, the eldest son of a man who once held a great deal of property in Wiltshire. Mr. Hurst Senior had mortgaged himself to the teeth, and sold off large portions of his land over the years. Mr. Hurst was fashionable and stood to inherit his father’s estate. His manners, though he had his moments, were not terribly pleasing. Perhaps good breeding needs to be higher on the list, Caroline thought. One didn’t want to spend one’s life with a boor. She daydreamed all the way down the road to Macclesfield.

The journey took several days. Though Caroline quite enjoyed travel and had her imagination to keep her company, after a few days the tedium got to her. Normally she would have attempted to break her journey at the home of a friend or two along the way, but in her haste to leave Pemberley and begin planning in earnest for the season with Louisa, she overestimated her stamina.

When she finally arrived at Gastrell Park on a cool September afternoon, Louisa met her with great fussing and kindness, promising a hot bath and tea. Caroline allowed herself to be coddled. They had lost their mother so many years ago, and their father just a few years later. Louisa had stepped into the role of mother for her two younger siblings, and every now and then, it was just what Caroline needed. To be petted and cosseted. At Pemberley, she was nobody’s darling, but with Louisa she was always sure of being the favourite. And so it was for Caroline. There was nobody in the world she could ever love the way she did Louisa.

That evening the sisters took their dinner in Louisa’s sitting room and laughed over letters from friends, looked at fashion plates, and discussed the latest from James, Louisa’s little boy. They talked about Belham Court and the improvements Charles was planning, and studiously avoided the subject of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy. They guessed at whether Jane was carrying a niece or a nephew. They stayed up until Caroline’s eyelids began to droop and Louisa forced herself from the room. As she fell into what she knew would be a deep, restful sleep, Caroline said a small prayer of thanks for Louisa. She knew her sister would help her along in her season’s quest, and laugh with her the whole way through.

Gastrell Park was no longer surrounded by fertile freehold property belonging to the Hursts. It was still beautiful land, full of avenues of trees and verdant pastures. But now only a small amount of the acreage belonged to the family. Mr. Hurst Senior had sold off many of the fields in the decade preceding his eldest son’s marriage to Louisa. The infusion of money into the Hurst coffers from Louisa and Robert’s marriage meant debts could be paid off. While Louisa’s husband was not yet in control of the family estate, and the wretched Mr. Hurst Senior seemed to live on indefinitely to spite Louisa, the younger Hursts practised an economy that was slowly returning the family to plenty.

In addition to several unwise investments over the past few decades, the elder Mr. Hurst had incurred debts from essentially all tradesmen within ten miles of Gastrell and as a result, none would do business with him. They awaited steady payment from the younger Mr. Hurst and then dispatched goods and services for that week. In the early days of their marriage, both Louisa and her husband spent more than they ought, and enjoyed the luxury of life up in London.

When Louisa gave birth to their son, however, she found herself becoming more strict with the family’s money, and her husband grudgingly followed. “What, would I pass along an albatross to little James? No! Things must be taken in hand, and it’s clear the Hursts have no idea where to begin,” she whispered angrily to Caroline when she was still in her confinement.

From there, Louisa had encouraged her husband to sell off a pair of horses as well as to allow her to let some of the servants go. They had no need of a French cook whose accent was false and over-salted the food. Food was Robert Hurst’s one true extravagance, but when Louisa pressed the chef to give exact details of his training in France, it soon came out that the man hailed from Bloomsbury and was merely a clever mimic. Louisa sent him on his merry way and hired two capable local women for one third of the price.

It was actions such as these that Caroline admired about her sister’s work as chatelaine of Gastrell. The dishes at the manor were quite nice– Mrs. Bunting made a ragout that was as good as any Robert Hurst had eaten in London, and Mrs. Carroll was a deft hand at pastry. The housekeeper and butler oversaw a team of efficient, well-trained housemaids and footmen. The remaining horses were well-kept by a groom and stableboy, and the gardener and undergardner kept the grounds looking lovely in all seasons. These were all a great credit to Louisa’s efficiency and understanding of money.

Perhaps this was why Mr. Hurst Senior despised Louisa and the other Bingleys so. Their father and grandfathers before him had risen to prominence in the wool trade in the north country. Their wealth grew and grew while Mr. Hurst Senior’s shrank and shrank. He hadn’t the good sense to maintain his position in life. When his wife died when the children were quite young, all common sense died with her. Every year since he had been slowly running the family fortune aground.

Louisa’s arrival in the family meant Mr. Hurst Senior was more impotent than ever. The old man watched as his daughter-in-law reinstated reasonable restraint, a skill neither of the Hurst men really understood. While Robert Hurst wasn’t extravagant in the way his father and even grandfather before him had been, he rarely thought about money, assuming it would always be there. His wife had taken things in hand fairly early in their marriage, and Robert was happy to leave it to her. Despite Louisa being the saviour of his ancestral home, Mr. Hurst Senior never lost an opportunity to remind her how the Bingley money was obtained. “Never mind that it was the Bingley money that kept him out of debtor’s prison,” Louisa once grumbled to her sister. Caroline was able to avoid the old fool when she made her home with her sister. While Robert coped by simply ignoring his father’s barbs, Louisa indulged in fantasies of hiding the old man’s portrait in the barn after he died and imagined new furniture and wallpaper in all the rooms he had liked best.

A few days after Caroline arrived, she and Louisa were sitting in the drawing room, looking over fashion plates and discussing their strategy for the season. Louisa had just sent off a letter to the housekeeper at the Hurst townhouse in Grosvenor Square. It had been part of Mrs. Hurst Senior’s dowry and was inherited directly by her eldest son, therefore it was unsaleable by his father. Just the night before Louisa had been needling her father-in-law gleefully about new furniture they had purchased, and improvements to the ballroom. She was beginning to give as good as she got with Old Hurst.

The sisters were drinking tea as Louisa was enumerating the entertainments they would hold in town. She intended to give a party about a fortnight after their arrival, and a musicale about three weeks later, where she intended Caroline would perform. There would certainly be morning visits with the neighbours and if the weather was fine, there would be a visit to Hyde Park to view the turning leaves.

“The house is perfectly ready for us, and Mrs. Winthrop assures me parcels have already been arriving from the modiste. In short, my dear, nothing could be more perfect.” Louisa was looking at a plate that showed a charming forest green spencer, and leaned over to make a note on a list she’d been creating. When Caroline made no answer, Louisa looked up.

“Are you not excited, my dear?”

“Oh, yes, of course, of course,” Caroline said distractedly. She was thinking over which casual acquaintances were likely to be in town for the first part of the season.

“I should hope so! One thing I’ve been hesitating to tell you, though, is that we may need to find somebody else to chaperone you in the second half of the season. It’s possible I may be increasing soon.”

“Oh! How wonderful!” Caroline looked at Louisa with interest. It was possible she was fuller in the cheeks, but her stomach showed no swell.

“What makes you believe so?” Caroline collected the fashion plates into a neat pile and set them on the little table alongside the sofa.

“‘The signs are beginning to show themselves,” Louisa said smiling, handing her one of the plates. She muttered quietly to herself, “After all, I had to convince Mr. Hurst to commit to a long season somehow.”

“What was that, Louisa?” Caroline’s curiosity was peaked.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything, my dear.” Louisa waved her hand in the air and returned to her list.

Caroline was quiet for a moment. Louisa had intimated once that she and Mr. Hurst did not meet in bed with regularity. Caroline would not bring up the incident with the Darcys in the library at Pemberley for anything. How could she justify her having stayed and watched? And yet, she was curious to know more about the secret parts of marriage. “Louisa,” she began quietly. “Do you enjoy the married state?”

“Hmm?” Louisa said absently. “I enjoy not having to look for a husband any longer. I’m happy to have a child, and now perhaps another. Perhaps a little daughter.” She trailed off and thought for a moment, tilting her head and staring into the distance.

“I look forward to the day when Robert will take over the estate and I can exert more influence on its management. Perhaps we can purchase the south orchards back from the neighbour. My father-in-law may look down on the origin of our fortune, but no tradesman would dare run an estate with this much ineptitude. He would starve!” Louisa made a few clucking sounds and took up her quill once more.

“But do you enjoy being married to Mr. Hurst in particular?” Caroline pressed.

Louisa finally looked up, turning away from her papers to regard her sister. “Caro, what are you asking?”

Caroline lowered her voice as much as possible. “I mean, do you enjoy Mr. Hurst’s attentions?”

Louisa looked dumbfounded. “What in heaven’s name could lead you to ask such a question of me?” she hissed when her senses returned.

“I...I am sorry,” Caroline said, flushing. “I, um, overheard some things. I shall not enter too deeply into what or where. However, it does have me wondering: is it possible to enjoy relations with one’s husband? Is it natural, or to be expected?”

Louisa cleared her throat with a delicate little cough. The colour was rising in her cheeks, but she seemed to have decided she would answer her little sister. “I should not tell you many specifics. It is simply not proper. I will someday, when you are engaged to be married. A few days before the wedding, as Aunt Constance did for me. It is better not to know too far in advance.”

Louisa cleared her throat, and leaned in closer to her sister, speaking as quietly as possible. “But I can tell you some things. It is fair to say that my ardour is not equal to Mr. Hurst’s. In the first half year of our marriage, he visited my bedchamber nearly every day. I scarce had a rest, with the exception of my monthly courses. Our relations now are nothing like those early days. Truth be told, I do not always encourage him as well as I suppose I could. It is important to encourage your husband, even after a few years of marriage.” Louisa coughed again, her colour rising. “I do not dislike what happens between us the way many women seem to. But nor do I truly miss it when it is absent. There. Is that answer enough for you?” She looked so vexed that Caroline had to check her laughter.

“Thank you, my dear,” said Caroline. “It sets my mind at ease. I am grateful.” Caroline let out a sigh. Marriage was not meant for passion. The Darcys were an unusual case. Caroline need not muddy the waters in her own search for a husband. And this was the year it would be accomplished. She gave silent thanks for whatever Louisa had done to grant her such a long season.

One morning about a week before they were to leave for town, Caroline was on her way back from a walk about the garden. Louisa was visiting with her little son in the nursery, and as much as Caroline doted upon James, he could be quite rambunctious in the mornings. Caroline had begged to be excused, for she had letters to write. There were visits to coordinate with friends, separate from Louisa’s planned amusements. Caroline entered the house through a side door near Mr. Hurst senior’s office and made for her room with a purposeful stride, when she felt herself crashed into by another person. She was beginning to fall backwards when a pair of strong arms caught her, and began to right her. “Forgive me, Madam -- I’m terribly sorry!” came a masculine voice.

Caroline turned around with an indignant expression on her face. The expression gave way to an open-mouthed look of wonder.

He was tall, taller than she. His dress had every advantage, being cut of expensive cloth in the most recent style. He had a full head of thick and fair wavy hair that had become dishevelled from their encounter. It was most appealing. His chest was broad, and his figure well-formed. It occurred to Caroline that she was staring, and she shook her head slightly to clear her daze.

“Madam, are you well? Again, I apologise. I was rushing, a terrible habit of mine, and did not expect to bump into anybody.” His hands were still on her body. She could feel the heat from his palms around her waist and at this realisation, her heartbeat sped up.

Caroline cleared her throat and took a few steps away from the man, twisting slightly to dislodge his hold. He had the good grace to turn slightly red as he let go of her. “I am well, I thank you.”

The man smiled. “Do I have the good fortune of you accepting my apology, despite my brutish behaviour?” He had a dimple on one cheek, and Caroline noticed the pleasing crinkle around his green eyes.

Caroline only gave a small, enigmatic smile in return, as she looked at him sideways. “Allow me to think upon it,” she said, and walked away without a backward glance. She knew the handsome man was watching her, and took care to take long, elegant strides, despite the pounding in her heart.

Caroline made directly for the nursery, where Louisa and Nurse Polly were in conversation over clothes James would need for the upcoming winter. James was now three years old, and Caroline had to admit, the more he could speak, the better she liked the child. As he had grown, he took on the look of Charles. Caroline could tell the boy would grow to be handsome. Lucky James, a handsome, eldest son. She smiled down as the child put toy after toy in her lap. She thanked him as though he were handing her diamonds. When Caroline’s lap became too full, James began to take away his gifts, laughing, only to bring them back to her again. Caroline smiled at him. Finally Nurse Polly left, and Louisa sat down next to her sister.

Caroline pounced. “Louisa, there is a gentleman downstairs. Do you know who he is?”

Louisa let out an exhausted sigh as James made to climb into her lap, but smiled at the little boy. She was trying to spend as much time as possible with him before leaving for the season. “No, indeed. I understand Mr. Hurst and Robert are engaged in business this morning, that a man would be calling, and that they were not to be disturbed. It must be the man with whom they have business…” Louisa’s voice trailed off. “I take it you have seen him, and he is very handsome?”

“And well-dressed. He is taller than I, that’s a good beginning,” Caroline smiled to herself.

“You didn’t introduce yourself to him, did you?” Louisa was suddenly suspicious, and craned her head backward to avoid James pulling at her earrings.

“Of course not! We encountered each other in the hallway when I came in from my walk. I merely wished to know more.” Caroline smoothed down the skirt of her dress and lifted her chin.

“Do you wish me to invite him to dinner?” Louisa asked, smiling.

“Please do,” Caroline’s mouth quirked into a little smile and she arched one eyebrow. Louisa laughed, as she always did at her beloved little sister.

Dinner was, to put it mildly, a disappointment.

Mr. Hurst senior made the introductions. The handsome young man was Mr. John Andrews, and as Mr. Hurst senior put it, “He is in trade, much like your good father was, dear Louisa.” Louisa betrayed no emotion, and merely smiled and curtsied. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. In what line of trade are you engaged?”

Mr. Andrews smiled, and in a deep, resonant voice said, “We are importers of cloth and fabric, Mrs. Hurst. Our specialty is silk. What did your father do?”

“He was in wool, in the north of England. He sold his business not long before he passed away, nearly six years ago.” Louisa kept a prim smile on her face, betraying none of her annoyance at Mr. Hurst Senior.

The group chatted for a few moments about the business that had kept them occupied earlier -- it turned out Robert would be investing in Mr. Andrews’ newest venture, a textile mill in Lancashire. In fact it was Mr. Darcy who had connected Mr. Andrews with the Hursts, among some other men in the south of England. “Are you well acquainted with the Darcys, Mr. Andrews?”

“I am. I knew Darcy at Cambridge, and we met again in town just after his recent marriage. It has been a pleasure to rekindle our acquaintance. His new wife is charming,” answered Mr. Andrews.

“Were you at all in society with our brother, Charles Bingley? He was at Cambridge at the same time,” Caroline asked. She wished to steer the conversation away from the charms of Eliza Darcy.

“I did not have that frequent privilege, Miss Bingley,” Mr. Andrews turned to her, appraising her with a pleased eye.

“How unfortunate,” was all she said. She felt her chest flush under Mr. Andrews’ eye. She’d worn a somewhat revealing evening gown, cut lower than usual, telling herself it was due to the warm September day, and the fact that the dining room windows faced full west, which could make the room unpleasantly hot.

Mr. Andrews was about to ask her something when dinner was announced. Her brother-in-law held out his arm for Louisa, and Mr. Andrews did the same for Caroline. She did not meet his eye, but instead laced her hand gently through his crooked elbow. She felt a small jolt at touching him again, but ignored it. Men in trade had been trying to gain her hand since she turned 17 and was out in Scarborough society. It was not a man in trade she was after. She cursed the coquettish way she had looked at him earlier in the hall.

All throughout dinner, the elder Mr. Hurst continued to find ways to refer to the Bingleys’ origins. Robert Hurst only drank deeply and left most conversation to Louisa and Mr. Andrews, with an occasional snide comment from Mr. Hurst Senior. Caroline was too embarrassed by her original interest in Mr. Andrews to say much. Caroline knew she was a skilled conversationalist. She should have helped Louisa, who was, in fact, shooting her pointed glances whenever she could do so unobserved. But something inside of Caroline wanted to punish the man across the table for tricking her into forgetting herself this morning, though he had no way of knowing she had done so.

As the meal progressed and Mrs. Bunting’s courses marched one by one before the diners, Caroline tried to maintain a calm, indifferent facade. It was difficult in the face of Mr. Andrews’ frank admiration whenever he had occasion to look at her. He did nothing to hide his interest, and Caroline fumed at the impertinence. A gentleman ought not look so…hungry!

And yet, she couldn’t help but make the moves she’d learned over the years: a slight tilt of the head as she listened, which extended the already long line of her neck. The delicate placement of fruit betwixt her lips at the dessert course when she knew she was being watched. Leaving her lips slightly wet with wine when she sipped. These moves were consciously done, they felt nearly compulsive. She was annoyed with Mr. Andrews, but something drove her to act as she did. He caught her eye while the last course was being placed, and it struck her: She wanted this man to want her, and to be unable to have her.

When the ladies retired to the drawing room and the gentlemen to their port in the study, Louisa waited until they were a respectable distance from the dining room before pinching her sister on the arm. “Ouch! Whatever was that for?” Caroline hissed.

“Don’t be a simpleton, Caroline. Why did you abandon me at that dinner, with a guest you specifically asked for!” Louisa hissed right back.

“He’s in trade,” Caroline said quietly.

“Robert tells me he’s quite gentleman-like. He owns a great property in Lancashire, and has connexions in society among some of those in the first circles,” Louisa said defensively.

“Well, that’s not what I want. You and Charles have both married gentle people. I want an exceptional match.” Caroline could feel an unbecoming pout form on her lips as they made their way down the hall.

Louisa was quiet as the footman opened the drawing room for them. The candles were lit and tea and coffee were set out to be prepared. The room had a rosy pink hue that Caroline was quite fond of. It was one of the few old-fashioned rooms at Hursts’ estate that she didn’t think needed any improvements. It was a cosy room with lovely prospects from the windows. Louisa sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to her. Caroline sat with a questioning look.

“You are nearly five and twenty, my dear,” Louisa said gently.

“That’s hardly an old maid!” Caroline said indignantly.

“Not at all, not at all,” Louisa soothed her. “But I encourage you to think rationally. There is no such thing as a perfect man. I urge you to consider what an exceptional match would look like in your mind. And then I hope you will be flexible.”

Caroline stood up and walked to the footman as he prepared the sherry and motioned for a glass, trying to calm her nerves. She felt she was on a precipice, and all could see it. It mortified her, infuriated her. She, who had tried to do everything right. Louisa wisely said nothing and allowed her words to work on her little sister.

When the gentlemen came back in, Louisa and Caroline had settled it between them that they would entertain the party with music. They prepared coffee for the men and then sat down for duets. When Louisa stepped away from the instrument to sit beside her husband and speak quietly, Caroline could feel how often Mr. Andrews' eyes were on her as she played. The look on his face made her think of the heady sensation of just enough wine. That perfect edge of indulgence that makes one feel giddy, but not reckless. When the evening ended and their guest took his carriage back to his temporary lodgings only a few miles away in Bradford-upon-Avon, Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. She need never see him again.

Still, that evening, Caroline could not get to bed. She let her hands wander, let her mind wander, as she remembered Mr. John Andrews’ eyes, and the look on his face as he watched her.

Chapter Text

The road from Gastrell to London had required a 5 day trip over dusty roads of varying quality, but finally, Caroline and the Hursts found themselves deposited in front of the townhouse on Grosvenor Street. The butler and the housekeeper, the Winthrops, greeted the travellers cheerfully and directed them inside for refreshment while overseeing the unloading of the carriages. Louisa had confirmed that she was indeed increasing, and made for bed within the hour. Mr. Hurst followed her, having become rather attentive to her condition, and Louisa welcomed the coddling.

Caroline had never felt much but indifference toward her brother-in-law until the first time Louisa was with child. Once she saw how Robert Hurst treated her sister during her confinement, however, Caroline began to feel something like a bit of affection for the man. He was caring and attentive, in his quiet, gruff way. Mr. Hurst followed behind Mrs. Winthrop and his wife, concern showing in his eyes. Caroline was satisfied, and made her way to her own bedchamber. Soon there would be a warm bath which her maid would perfume with orange blossom water. Her hair would be washed, dried, combed, and put up into curling papers. Dinner would be served on a tray in her room, and Caroline could luxuriate in bed, look over her letters, and then fall into a long, reinvigorating sleep. Tomorrow, the door knocker would be set out to let the ton know that Caroline Bingley was here.

The next day, Louisa had recovered enough to join Caroline for morning visits in the freshly aired drawing room. They had pleasant half hours of conversation with old friends, and a few quarter of an hour visits from neighbours. Louisa presided over tea and cake, and they shared news and gossip from old friends, and others who would soon be in town for the Season.

As they met their friends, it did not escape Caroline that she was one of the few of her circle who had not married. Mrs. Eleanor Strafford, nee Miss Foster, came with her newly married sister, Mrs. Anne Billingsley. They shared details of Mrs. Billingsley’s new estate in Hampshire. Mrs. Catherine Foxwell had not seen Caroline or Louisa in over two years, when she was but Miss Catherine Archer. She told the sisters of her new son, and the upcoming nuptials of her elder brother, Mr. Philip Archer.

When Caroline and Louisa returned the visits over the course of the week and paid new calls to old friends and associates, more news rolled in: marriages, homes, children, entertainments, stories of wretched mothers-in-law, improvements to be done to the old family homes the women had inherited. Caroline did not feel it begin to wear on her until she and Louisa made their way to Mrs. Foxwell’s new townhouse. Assembled, they found many old schoolfellows, including Miss Evelyn Woodforde, the fiancee of Catherine’s brother, Mr. Archer.

Mr. Archer had not been handsome, and in her heart of hearts, Caroline still did not find him so. However, time had done much for him. His dress was more fashionable, and his complexion seemed clearer. He smiled deeply at Miss Woodforde, who blushed under his attention. Miss Woodforde had a fortune of £10,000, much less than Caroline. Her looks were mousy in comparison to Caroline and Louisa’s -- Miss Woodforde had pale brown hair, and her features had no marked character. Still she was all together pleasant looking and would make Mr. Archer a good wife, Caroline was sure. Their pleasure in each other’s company was evident -- nowhere near the level of affection displayed between Jane and Charles, but they seemed pleased enough. Mr. Archer was the elder son, and would inherit the family estate in Somerset. The income was said to be £2,500 a year, and though Caroline had never seen their family home, she had heard that it was modern and well-maintained.

Half an hour later, after the footman handed them both up into the carriage, Louisa let out a deep sigh. “Remind me, Caroline, what was wrong with Mr. Archer at the time he attempted to gain your favour?”

Caroline’s memory flashed back to a ball four and a half years prior. It was the height of the season, and Caroline was in full bloom, just twenty years old. She and the Hursts were in attendance with Mr. Darcy and Charles. Darcy had just danced the first with Caroline, and the third with Louisa. Mr. Archer asked Caroline to dance, but she made an excuse, instead wishing to remain at Mr. Darcy’s side, remarking on the room and couples, attempting to engage him in conversation while Charles went from one pretty girl to the next.

It had all been for Mr. Darcy, who had never truly once looked at her, Caroline could see now. Pulling her mind back to the present, she felt her cheeks flush with anger at the past, and looked now at Louisa.

“Nothing was wrong with him. I simply thought we would not suit,” she answered, clearing her throat, and moving her gaze to the street scenes passing by through Louisa’s window.

“Do you remember what I asked you to consider before we came to London?” Louisa turned her head and joined Caroline in looking at the people outside their carriage. There was a pleasant chill in the air, as October settled over the town. Louisa tucked her hands into her muff more securely.

“You asked me for my definition of an ‘exceptional match’,” Caroline answered grudgingly.

“And? What is that to you?” Louisa looked back over.

“A gentleman. One who will be able to provide security and will not trifle with our good fortune. One who will keep our family’s rising position in society secure.”

“How rich? Money can always be turned into more money, if a man is prudent,” Louisa supplied. She paused. “Did Mr. Archer not seem wealthy enough? He was interested in you, if I recall.”

Caroline cleared her throat. “I felt I could make a better match.” And she looked out the window on her side of the carriage.

Louisa said nothing for a few beats. “I hope this season will prove you right. But I recommend you be serious, my dear. It will only be more and more difficult every year.”

When the sisters returned home that afternoon, they heard men’s laughter from the library. When he heard their return, Mr. Hurst called out to them to come and say hello.

When the women divested themselves of their spencers and bonnets, they entered the library and were greeted by the sight of Mr. Andrews and two unknown gentlemen, all of whom rose to their feet. Louisa took one look around the room and rang the bell for tea to be brought in. Louisa and Caroline curtsied as they were introduced -- the men were Sir Reginald Stanhope, a slightly balding man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, and his younger brother, Archibald Stanhope. Hurst and Mr. Andrews had been at Cambridge with the younger brother. “And of course, you know Mr. Andrews,” Mr. Hurst said.

Mr. Andrews bowed to Louisa with great courtesy. When he got to Caroline, though, he picked up her hand and kissed it, not breaking eye contact with her. Caroline’s face heated in anger. What cheek! She merely said, “Mr. Andrews, a pleasure to see you again,” and took her hand back as she curtsied and moved away from him.

Tea was soon brought in, and the party began conversing of the ton. Sir Reginald and his wife were planning on a ball in ten days' time, and he took the liberty of hand-delivering the invitation to the Hursts when he heard of their being in town. Caroline and Louisa amused the gentlemen with their stories of the morning, and Caroline could feel Mr. Archibald Stanhope’s eyes on her. She merely poured more tea as it was needed, and continued to make witty conversation in a low, well-modulated voice. Caroline was born to do this.

As the men stood to take their leave, Mr. Stanhope moved to stand next to Caroline as the others made their good-byes. “Miss Bingley, might I engage you for the first?”

Caroline looked down demurely and then fluttered her eyes up to his face, injecting a bit of surprised breathiness into her voice. “It would be my pleasure, Sir.”

“I look forward to it, Madam,” he smiled and looked relieved.

Mr. Andrews had been watching them, and Caroline was sure he had overheard Mr. Stanhope’s question to her. As Mr. Hurst escorted the men from the room, roaring with laughter as he remembered some old story Sir Reginald was recounting, Mr. Andrews caught her eye and looked deeply into her countenance. Caroline drew in a sharp, quiet breath and did not let it out until the men were gone. Caroline turned to Louisa. It was now her first object to learn everything she could about Mr. Archibald Stanhope.

Over the course of the next ten days, she learned much. She pressed her lady’s maid, Sally, to make inquiries when they returned the visit to the Stanhopes and the gossip from the servants’ quarter proved quite useful.

That night as she dressed Caroline for dinner, Sally told her Sir Reginald had married well, to a widow who had inherited all of her husband’s wealth, the former Mrs. Charlotte Browning. Their father had just passed last year, and had been quite reclusive. Their mother had been dead many years, and it had fallen to Sir Reginald and his wife to keep the old man company. Mr. Stanhope, being the younger son, had to seek some type of fortune someplace, certainly, through marriage or profession, but he had held out. Upon his father’s death, he inherited a lesser estate that had belonged to his mother’s childless uncle. Presently it was being leased to a gentleman and his family, and the younger Mr. Stanhope was living off of this income until the lease was concluded. Caroline thanked Sally and promised her the gift of some new fabric if she would quietly continue her intelligence throughout the season.

After dinner Caroline apprised Louisa of what she had learnt, and in return Louisa sat down to write their cousins for more information. Mr. Stanhope’s estate was in Hartlepool, and the Bingleys had a family of cousins who lived not far. Louisa promised the utmost discretion and gleefully took up pen and paper in the corner as they waited for Mr. Hurst to join them.

Sally had been true in her purpose and continued her recognizance on the Stanhope family. When they were next out shopping, Caroline chose a plain sprigged muslin bolt for the maid (Caroline would not be caught dead in sprigged muslin), and pondered what Sally had told her.

The Stanhopes were out of mourning for their father and they had set upon London, meaning to partake of the season and all its diversions. Mrs. Stanhope had inherited a townhouse in Kensington from her first husband, and they had been renovating it for the past year, thus the ball. She was eager to show it off. The elder Stanhopes had not been so fortunate as to have a child yet, nor had Mrs. Stanhope a child to show for her first marriage. She was in her early 30s, and had every beauty but bloom.

Archibald Stanhope was also in his early 30s. He dressed well, had pleasing conversation, and clearly meant to marry now that he was out of mourning. He had briefly considered a commission in the army, but decided against it, holding out for the Kedleston Court estate. He was content to stay in the bosom of his family, but now, being out of mourning for his father, what could be more natural than to look for an eligible wife?

Louisa had a quick response to her letter from the cousins in Hartlepool, received the very morning of the Stanhopes’ ball. The Bingley cousins informed them that Kedleston had been recently vacated by a distant cousin who was renting it from the recently deceased uncle. It was worth £1,500 a year, and was a fine old Elizabethan home. A bit old fashioned, but quite elegant in its way. The Stanhope family had seemed respectable. That was all the cousins could say.

“Well, my dear,” Louisa said to Caroline as they breakfasted. “I dare say it’s a good beginning. A knight for an elder brother who has no heir, despite being married for nearly five years, a small estate, and your fortune. What do you think?”

Caroline buttered a muffin and looked thoughtfully out the window. Mr. Stanhope was well-looking enough, and eligible. He had looked at Caroline with great interest, and was in fact, bold enough to open his brother’s ball with her. “He seems worth pursuing,” said she, and took a delicate bite. She suddenly found herself wondering if John Andrews would be at the Stanhopes’ ball and when she realised she was picturing the man’s face, she nearly choked on the muffin. Louisa watched her in concern as she coughed, and Caroline got ahold of herself. She took a sip of tea and cleared her throat and wiped her watery eyes. Enough, enough, she told herself, and picked up the morning paper with utter composure, even as her eyes still stung.

The afternoon before the Stanhope ball Caroline was practising the pieces she intended to play at the musicale Louisa was hosting in a week. She intended to play to her strengths: Italian love songs. Caroline knew the other young ladies who would be exhibiting had not her vocal ability, and that her time at the pianoforte would stand out.

The sun shone through the filmy curtains as she worked through a particularly difficult passage. Caroline noticed that most ladies could focus either their voice or their playing. She intended to do both. She took a pause and ran her eyes over the bars that were giving her trouble, trailing her right fingers in the air, playing a phantom keyboard, trying to commit the movement to stronger memory.

She sang lightly and without much force as she moved her fingers, “Quella fiamma che m'accende, quella fiamma che m'accende…No, that’s not quite right.”

“It sounded quite right to me,” came a voice from the doorway. Caroline gasped and spun around on the bench. John Andrews leant against the door frame.

“Mr. Andrews! You have a way of turning up when you’re least expected.” The man only smirked and bowed his head, saying nothing, but continuing with that indolent gaze of his. “How long have you been watching me, Sir?” she said, her voice trembling slightly. She thought it was from anger.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room, sitting on the settee closest to the instrument. “That’s a complex question, Miss Bingley. Do you want the complex answer?”

She felt her chin jut out, and answered, “Indeed I do not.”

“Well, then,” he smiled. “I have been watching you for about five minutes’ time, Madam.” She made no response, and they sat for a moment or two in silence until finally Mr. Andrews asked, “What part of your song didn’t feel quite right?”

Caroline cleared her throat and reached for the glass of water on the table alongside her bench. “My fingering on the refrain.”

He held out his hand. “May I see your music?”

“Do you play, Sir?” she said in some surprise, and passed it over to him.

He only hummed in response as he scanned the sheet. “Are you using your second finger at the top of this chord?”

“No, my first.”

“Ah. Try the second. It will allow you to do a crossover with your first on your way to the next chord.” He handed the music back to her.

“Thank you,” she said simply. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of it.

“The flame that ignites me, the flame that ignites me…passionate words, Miss Bingley,” he stood and moved to the curve of the pianoforte. “At whom do you intend to aim them?”

Indignation rose in her breast. “How dare you?” she said, standing. When she rose to her full height, she was still head shorter than he, and though she thrilled at his size and steady gaze, she pushed that thrill down. “How dare you speak so to a woman you barely know?”

“I’d like to change that, Miss Bingley. I’d very much like to know you better,” he smiled again and she felt disarmed by it, but wouldn’t allow her pique to settle.

“Do not you have business with Mr. Hurst?”

“Concluded.”

“Do not you have someplace better to be?” Her voice was exasperated.

“Hardly. I cannot think of a place I would like more at this moment,” he kept smiling like a fool in the face of her irritation.

“Well,” she said, now completely flustered, “I’m certain I can!” And she walked out without a backward glance and with none of her usual elegance or poise. She only knew she needed to get someplace where she could cool her flaming cheeks.

Once she was upstairs in her bed chamber, Caroline flounced over to the chaise near the front window. She watched until she saw Mr. Andrews leave the house and make his way into a phaeton waiting at the curb. How dare he bait and teaze so! She allowed herself to cool down, then she walked over to the dressing table and sat.

She was just weeks away from being five and twenty, but still had some bloom. The encounter with Mr. Andrews had given her rosy cheeks and flashing eyes. Her hair had been drawn up very simply and her pink day dress was one of her favourites, though not many beyond family saw it. This was not how Caroline liked to be seen by others. She preferred total control, and for nobody to see her practise. For nobody to see her in anything but her finest. Nobody to know how she moved when she was aflutter.

Caroline didn’t believe in fate. She believed firmly in guiding one’s destiny in the direction of one’s choosing. Mr. Andrews seemed bound and determined to throw himself in her way. And so Caroline would avoid him as much as was possible. She would make discreet inquiries with Mr. Hurst to ensure if Andrews was to be near. If he was expected at Grosvenor Square, Caroline would be out, or above stairs. She had no intention of forgetting herself.

Chapter Text

“You look very well tonight, Caroline,” said Mr. Hurst. He was laconic in his admiration, and Caroline pressed down the urge to laugh at how underwhelming his assessment of her appearance was. It was in direct opposition to the amount of time she had spent getting ready.

Caroline wore a beautiful silk ballgown, cut just low enough. There was an overlay of pale plue and a pristine white underdress. Pristine. Her stays were well tightened, and she wore pearls at her neck and earlobes. Sally had dressed her hair to perfection – her curls were tucked with a gold and pearl comb which matched the pearl and diamond clusters she wore in her ears. The embroidery at the bottom of her gown was done in subtle gold threads. She intended to make a splash at her first major event in town this season.

Shortly Louisa came down the stairs in a white dress tipped with lovely green embroidery that matched the emerald jewellery that Mr. Hurst had given her last Christmas. Her auburn hair was curled in a new, flattering style, and as she came down the stairs, Mr. Hurst took one look at her and gruffly said, “You are quite beautiful tonight, my dear,” and bussed the back of her gloved hand with a kiss. Louisa blushed becomingly, and Caroline had the wisdom to walk away from them and check her appearance in the hall mirror.

As she looked one last time in the mirror, she gathered her thoughts and took a few deep breaths. Mr. Stanhope was certainly her primary object tonight, but there should be many other eligible gentlemen present. Mr. Stanhope was certainly not a big fish, but a reasonable choice. His family name was quite ancient, and his respectability as a gentleman unimpeachable. She would balance the majority of her attention on him this evening, but keep her fishing net at the ready. She hoped he wasn’t overly fond of dancing. Though Caroline was not a poor dancer by any means, she preferred rational conversation to dancing. She stretched her ankles one by one, tapping the delicate soles of her slippers against the gleaming wood floor, and heaved a sigh. Dancing was the best tool at her disposal this evening. Sally helped Caroline fasten her autumn cloak, and off they went.

The crush at the Stanhopes’ townhouse was great. Though the windows were open to allow air to circulate, the competing smells of ladies’ perfume, smoke from the candles, and intermittent whiffs of perspiration told Caroline the evening would be uncomfortable if guests continued to arrive. She greeted Sir Reginald and Lady Stanhope at the receiving line, and when she reached Mr. Stanhope she once again gave a demure smile.

“Sir, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Caroline began.

“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine, Miss Bingley,” said Mr. Stanhope. He leaned in a little closer. “You are quite lovely this evening.”

She fluttered her eyelashes shyly and then looked up directly at him, the candlelight giving her skin a beautiful glow. “Thank you, Mr. Stanhope. I’ve been looking forward to our dance. Until the first,” she said, and gave a little smile as she walked away. She knew his eyes followed her. Caroline stood demurely and fluttered her fan beneath her chin as she waited for the Hursts. It wasn’t meant to be a coy gesture. She was simply sweltering. She never let her smile drop, even as she wondered at Lady Stanhope’s planning skills. The Hursts met her on either side and glided into the ballroom, Caroline’s eyes scanning the perimeter of the room. The transoms of the windows were open, and a pleasant, mild chill pervaded the room. Caroline felt her skin cool as she breathed in the sweet smell of the dying autumn leaves. There. Now the manoeuvring could begin in earnest.

Caroline saw many friends around the room. It was her first object to avoid undesirable partners, therefore it was crucial that she position herself well. She saw the Woodfordes and Mr. Archer hovering attentively at Miss Woodforde’s side. She smiled magnanimously at them and nodded her head, internally cringing. That truly was a missed opportunity, she told herself, but what’s done is done. Should she stand near the Woodforde-Archer party? They might attract other eligible gentlemen and it could be a good spot.

She slowed her steps and continued to scan while Mr. Hurst provided the cover of chatting with an old schoolfellow who lived in Wiltshire and was in town for the season with his wife. Caroline kept a smile on her face while feigning interest in the conversation and continued to look about the room. The Straffords were across the way and they had gathered about them a few single-seeming gentlemen. Perfect, she thought. She nudged Louisa gently with her elbow and subtly angled her head toward the Straffords on the opposite wall. Louisa caught Caroline’s eye and understood her role perfectly.

“My dear,” she told Mr. Hurst in the first available pause in conversation. “Caroline and I simply must greet Mrs. Strafford. I owe her a visit and I don’t wish her to think me neglectful. So wonderful to see you, Sir,” she said, curtseying to the Wiltshire Neighbour. With nothing but the utmost purpose disguised cleverly as elegance, the sisters made their way across the floor to their target.

The Straffords turned out to be an excellent strategic position. Louisa was able to commandeer a comfortable chair by the Strafford matriarch where they exchanged tidbits of gossip and Louisa forwarded the cause of Caroline as a desirable young lady, casually intimating that her dowry was larger by several thousand pounds thanks to their brother.

Caroline, for her part, was thrilled to be able to drop the phrase “My brother’s estate in Derbyshire” as frequently as possible into conversation with the clutch of ladies and gentlemen surrounding her. Among the group were two eligible young gentlemen, one of whom was the cousin of the Earl of Harrowby. Caroline tilted her head and smiled as he in particular spoke. After a quarter of an hour of chat, both men had engaged her for dances. She accepted graciously, and her purpose served, stood serenely and contributed here and there to the discussion about the latest exhibition of Egyptian sculpture at the British Museum. Caroline hadn’t been, but was well-versed in participating in conversations in which she had no share.

Not long after the musicians began tuning their instruments in the balcony above, Mr. Stanhope came to find her amongst the Strafford crowd. Caroline was careful to extend her limbs gracefully, grace being the most important marker of good breeding, or so their parents had told the girls as they were growing up and planning the Bingley children’s elevation in society.

Caroline churned over these lessons as Mr. Stanhope led her to a prominent position in the large set of couples. She smiled as he chattered on about the company and entertainments planned for the evening, all while hearing her governess’ voice in the back of her head. “Miss Caroline, you are adept in the country dance, but anything more complicated seems to quite do you in. Therefore, your mother has engaged a master…My child, it is not enough to merely repeat the steps I show you. Cannot you see the difference between flinging one’s arms about and gracefully arching one’s limbs?” Caroline had learned the differences, had learned that grace and education in conjunction with wealth could cover some of the less desirable aspects of her eligibility. She knew every rule and how to play up every advantage and obfuscate every disadvantage. She focused her thoughts on the steps of the quadrille and how she would move through them as Mr. Stanhope spoke.

As the set filled in and they waited for the opening notes of the song, Caroline delicately cleared her throat. “The season is young, but I hope you are enjoying yourselves so far. Do you find London amusing, Sir?”

“I do indeed, Miss Bingley. My brother and sister and I have been starved of society for a few years now. It would take very little to please me, and yet I have found much to go beyond even my greatest hopes for this new time in life.”

The musicians began to play the quadrille and Caroline and Mr. Stanhope reached for each other’s hands. “How delightful! What are some of the diversions you have most enjoyed so far?”

“Oh my, where shall I begin?” Mr. Stanhope asked, but they were separated by the dance for a moment. When they touched hands again, he said, “I have recently been accepted into a club that is taking a good deal of my time.”

They stepped apart to wait their turn in the square. When they came back together, Mr. Stanhope said, “It’s the Husbandry Club.”

Miss Bingley schooled her face to show no surprise, and asked, “And what is its guiding purpose, Sir?”

They promenaded and with some breathlessness Mr. Stanhope described how the members’ greatest passion was the exchanging of ideas on the breeding of dogs, namely Pugs. Caroline’s dismay grew, but her smile stayed fixed as Mr. Stanhope waxed poetic about…pugs. A ballroom full of the most elegant members of the ton, Caroline in a most becoming gown, a night completely full of promise and the man chose to discuss animal husbandry. She let him prattle on and nodded her head as he regaled her with the latest advances in the subject.

The dance finished and Mr. Stanhope delivered Caroline back to her party, where she curtsied and took the hand of the Earl of Harrowby’s cousin. The man was a stiffer conversationalist, but his thoughts and pursuits were less eccentric. After a half an hour moving through the set, he returned Caroline to her party and went to fetch a glass of lemonade for her.

Before she was to dance the fourth with the other new gentleman she met, Caroline chatted to the newcomers in their little cluster of friends around the Strafford party. They had chosen well. The most popular people in ton were gathered about her, and she found herself caught up in a conversation with the two Clermont sisters and their fashionable cousin, Mr. Saunders, who was just back from his Grand Tour on the continent and was regaling them with tales of crossing the Swiss Alps.

Caroline felt he was too young for her (in fact they were the same age), but Mr. Saunders was captivating. When he asked if she would dance the supper dance with her, she agreed immediately. She knew the least about his connexions and this would be an ideal time to fish for more, as he would walk her into supper and sit beside her. Mr. Stanhope came by after she finished the fourth to inquire if she was free for the supper and seemed disappointed when she answered in the negative, inclining her head toward Mr. Saunders.

All of this is very good, Caroline told herself. Louisa was planting seeds about the ballroom for her, and she had Mr. Stanhope’s interest as well as a few other irons in the fire. She was putting herself forward for attention, but maintaining her elegant and removed demeanour. It will happen this year, if not this autumn, she said to herself, taking her position in line with Mr. Saunders. I shall find the best match possible and begin my life.

The music for the Cotillion began and as she began to move, Caroline found herself lost in thought, forgetting to count the steps, forgetting to compare her limbs to others’. She simply moved, feeling herself smile. This was the year she would marry. She could feel it.

Le Grande Chaine started, and Caroline’s attention was called to the dance again. She took Mr. Saunders’ hand in her own and began the steps that would take her away from her partner. She needed to return her attention to the steps and to correct behaviour. She took a deep breath and began her way around the circle. A few steps beyond her position and she found herself face to face with Mr. John Andrews.

Caroline let out a gasp as they quickly passed each other and he smiled at her. It was but a moment, and they were both off to the next partner. She refused to turn her head to follow his trajectory.

When she returned to Mr. Saunders she smiled and tucked her chin, saying, “Where did that gentleman come from?” Rolling her eyes to indicate Andrews.

“Oh, did not you notice? Percy turnt his ankle, and Andrews was on the side. He stepped right in for the young lady with the injured partner. Twas but the work of a moment.” She and Mr. Saunders began the promenade.

“I must have been too focused on the steps. It’s been an age since I danced a Cotillion!” Caroline covered for herself. “Now, you were telling me of the Italian coast, Sir. I am very fond of Italian music. Did you hear much whilst in that country?”

Mr. Saunders spoke enthusiastically of a concert in Naples, and she gave him her attention. It was torturous not to look behind her where Andrews was, reminding her of the sensation of having an itch one could not scratch. Mercifully she got through the dance, and Mr. Saunders led her off the floor, waiting for the doors to the dining hall to be opened.

Caroline took his elbow and allowed him to lead her to the table where his cousins and friends sat. She caught Louisa’s eye and indicated with a lift of her chin that she would stay with the Clermont-Saunders party. She certainly was not looking anywhere else in the room.

Mr. Saunders continued to entertain the group with more stories of his travels. He was…sprightly, Caroline determined. Not the serious sort of man she thought she might like to be with. Yet Saunders gathered good company about him. As the white soup was served, their table was gay and bright, and there was no shortage of travel stories brought forward by other gentlemen. A few ladies even chimed in with stories of sea bathing on the southern coast of England.

Caroline had never left the country, and wasn’t necessarily sure wanted to. She had been so long in pursuit of a home that the idea of being uprooted did not necessarily appeal. Louisa had finally found her home at Gastrell and now Charles at Belham Court. She had imagined herself at Pemberley so often that it had been rather a rude shock to see another woman presiding there.

The Stanhopes served two elaborate courses and although Caroline might have chosen different dishes and articles of plate, she found no fault with the long meal. The venison and ham were cold, certainly, by the time they reached the table, but all was turned to perfection. When the dessert course came, Mr. Saunders turned to Caroline and said, “What tempts you this eve, Miss Bingley?”

“Oh, the trifle. My favourite,” she fairly purred. She was tired and had consumed a third glass of wine by the end of the second hour of the meal, and her body felt languid, her appetite ravenous.

“And mine,” said Mr. Saunders in return, handing her a little glass coupe of her favoured dish. He looked her in the eyes, and his puppyish demeanour had fled.

Caroline merely smiled and took up her spoon. She had just taken an overly large mouthful of cream and berries when she heard, “Miss Bingley, I beg your pardon,” in a deep voice. She knew that voice.

Through sheer power of determination, Caroline did not choke. Rather she finished her bite and turned to look behind her where the sight of Mr. Andrews bowing greeted her. He nodded to her companion. “Saunders, how goes it?”

“Wonderful! Just back from the continent. You’ve been on a Grand Tour, have you not, Andrews?” Caroline noticed with annoyance that Mr. Saunders’ voice was unattractively high and reedy in comparison to Mr. Andrews’. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Indeed I have, just after Cambridge. Some years back now,” he turned back to Caroline once more. “Miss Bingley, if you are not otherwise engaged, will you give me your hand for the Boulanger?”

Caroline coloured. She could not refuse as she had no other partner for that dance, and could not give the excuse of being disinclined to dance as she had accepted another for the second to last. “It would be my pleasure, Sir,” she said, but could hear the sourness in her voice.

“Wonderful. I look forward to it, Madam,” and he smiled again. His grin was wolfish and Caroline felt her chest flush. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She returned to her trifle but set it aside after two bites more. She feigned interest while the high-pitched Mr. Saunders traded stories of mountaineering with another fellow at their table. She did not turn around to see where Mr. Andrews went.

When the supper was complete, they adjourned to the ballroom once more. Caroline danced once more with the Earl of Harrowby’s cousin, though his invitation seemed almost absent-minded, as though he knew should dance, rather than he would.

She had another with Mr. Stanhope, who peevishly said, “I rather wish I’d been able to engage you for the supper dance, Miss Bingley.” The wine had made Caroline rather tired and loose-tongued, so it was quite a miracle that she didn’t snap back in return, “Then you should have asked me sooner, you bloody great fool.” Instead she smiled demurely and said, “Perhaps at the next ball. Are you attending the Straffords’ in November?”

She danced the lively Scotch reel with Mr. Harrington, their brother’s old friend from Scarborough. Mr. Harrington was barely two generations out from trade, but had been burning through his fortune at an alarming rate, and would likely need to go back to trade to support his failing estate. Not every man was lucky enough to have a Louisa Bingley-Hurst in his life to save him from ruin. Caroline would not be that for him, but smiled through the dance for old times’ sake.

Finally, exhausted, it was time for the Boulanger. The steps were simple and allowed for the tired dancers to close the evening, to be a little more sluggish in their movements. She waited on the side of the room, where Louisa and Robert sat tiredly. Caroline could see Louisa leaning heavily against her husband’s side, and for once, Mr. Hurst did not complain about the late hour. He did not even seem to be terribly deep in his cups. Caroline once more wondered what magic Louisa had worked on the man to save them both from his complaining.

Slowly the floor filled, yet Caroline stood alone. She felt an odd flash of sadness that she could not understand. It was brief, and she’d not felt anything like it before. Where was Mr. Andrews? Had he left early? That would be the height of ill-breeding, and Caroline was just beginning to suspect him of it when she felt a presence at her side.

“You’re late,” she said haughtily, turning to look at the man. The odd moment passed, the overwhelming feeling of despair that sat in her chest had fled.

“A thousand apologies, my dear Miss Bingley,” he said. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Determined to remain in control, Caroline merely gave him a level glance and took his hand. Mr. Andrews lifted a corner of his mouth in a half smile and led her to the floor.

The energy in the ballroom was subdued. Slightly drunk and happy. As they heard the opening notes of the dance and took their first steps, Caroline looked about the great room. She could see the Lord and Lady Stanhope in the corner, surrounded by a small throng of friends who were congratulating them on a wonderful evening. A cluster of sleepy dowagers sat on the wall opposite Caroline, reminding her of a clowder of old tabby cats. They waited for the nieces and granddaughters they were chaperoning to finish the evening.

Across the way, Mr. Saunders was still energetically telling tales to the few in the room who had not yet heard them. The Earl of Harrowby’s cousin made lazy steps in the circle next to Caroline’s. She watched him keep the whole party out of rhythm and had to hide a smirk.

Mr. Andrews’ hand in hers felt the same way a perfectly oval stone felt. The fit was right, the weight was reassuring. She pushed this feeling down as they skipped round the circle. They stood together as the first lady in the set skipped out to take the hands of the men in the round. As they waited, Mr. Andrews asked, “And did you have a successful evening, Miss Bingley?”

“In what sense, Sir?” Caroline felt a little flush of fury at this. Why was this man always acting as if he knew her?

“Did you accomplish what you came for?” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“I came to enjoy a pleasant evening in the society of my friends,” she said.

“And to perhaps to make new acquaintances?” He stepped away to dance in the centre of the circle with the first lady in the round. Caroline watched as he turned her, his figure elegant and his steps sure and steady. It gave her a moment to compose herself.

“Naturally. There are members of the first circles here tonight. Why wouldn’t I wish to meet them?” Caroline had the oddest sensation she was speaking to somebody she had known for years, somebody who knew something secret and deep about her. She despised the feeling.

He returned to his place by her side. “What can the members of the first circles do for you, Miss Bingley?”

She turned to look at him, her voice cool. “I’m sure I don’t know. I am here because I seek only the best company.”

“And what makes them the best company?”

“Are you always so impertinent?” she asked. The dancing young lady took her place again in the circle and the set joined hands and began their skipping again.

“Certainly not, Miss Bingley. Well, it was never called impertinence before you at any rate.” He chuckled, and Caroline saw Mr. Stanhope looking at her from the next set over.

“Well, allow me to be the first to see you clearly,” she said in rejoinder. When they landed back at their original position in the circle and the second young lady began her skip through the men in the group, Mr. Andrews pressed her again. “I truly wish to know, Madam. What makes the people gathered here tonight the best company?”

“Well…” Caroline began. “Their opinions, their education. Their pursuits.” She found she was staring off into space and shook herself to. She was so tired, so footsore. Yet Caroline knew it was her lot to dance every dance possible this season, and to do so with a smile.

Mr. Andrews said nothing, as the lady in the circle was making her way toward him. He smiled at her when she reached him and made his bold sure steps, moving the girl about as if she was a feather. The girl blushed and moved along to the man on Caroline’s other side.

“So whomever in this room who is closest in rank to the King automatically has the best opinions and pursuits? And from there it all flows downward?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and Caroline did not refrain from rolling her eyes this time.

“Certainly not, and I’ll thank you not to make me out a simpleton.” The young lady took her place in the circle and the whole party joined hands again. The bouncing steps were agonising to Caroline’s abused toes, but her anger spurred her on.

When they finally came to a stop again, she turned to Mr. Andrews once more. “Gentle people are the most able to pursue knowledge and culture. They are the most sophisticated and refined in our society and as such, one should wish to surround oneself with this sort of person. Self-improvement is important.”

Mr. Andrews no longer looked teasing, but rather earnest. “Self-improvement to what end, Miss Bingley?”

“A woman should gain knowledge and accomplishments to elevate the life of those around her, that she may brighten her family’s home life, and raise her children well. She should always pursue improvement for that reason alone.” Caroline knew she was repeating lines from her Governess now, but was desperate, for she had never had to explain the unexplainable before. She was startled when the next lady came for her turn with Mr. Andrews, and watched him lock forearms and spin the woman round.

When he came back, Caroline marvelled that his cheeks were not flushed like the other men in the set. He seemed fully in possession of himself at all times. It reminded her of Darcy, in a way. She placed her hand in his and the circle began again.

“I can’t say I agree with that opinion, Miss Bingley,” he said, but she was saved an answer by an outburst of laughter from the next set over. Everybody looked as a tired young girl in her first season tripped and was caught up by her partner. She blushed and kept going, but was giggling somewhat hysterically. Caroline again fought the urge to roll her eyes. She could envision the scolding the girl would receive from her mama on the carriage ride home.

When the circle stopped it was her turn to skip about with the men in the set. She took a deep breath and summoned all the grace and elegance she had remaining. She made her steps light and the angle of her neck long as she reached out her arm to connect with each man. She smiled in a way that she had practised, that she knew to be bewitching. Each man smiled at her in return, and when she looked at the men gathered round her circle, she felt her evening had been a success.

When she reached Mr. Andrews, her smile faltered. They grasped each other’s forearms and he looked deeply into her eyes as they twirled around each other. “No, Miss Bingley. I can’t say I agree with that opinion at all,” he said.

Caroline felt a squeeze just below her elbow, the heat seeping through her glove. They twirled around each other, and in his low, deep voice Mr. Andrews spoke again. “I have a feeling, Madam, you’re made for so much more.”

Chapter Text

Mr. Andrews was not present at the musicale hosted by Louisa. Caroline played and sang beautifully and powerfully, yet still put on a show of demure humility before the assembled crowd. She knew full well her skill had trounced the other exhibiting ladies, yet acted the part of a modest little miss. The Stanhopes had been there, along with many in the Strafford crowd. Caroline had made the acquaintance of some of the Strafford cousins, and knew their impression of her had been quite favourable based on the talk the next few days. Still, she had gone to sleep that night feeling as if something was missing.

Mr. Andrews was not in attendance at the Straffords’ ball in November. Caroline wore out yet another pair of slippers that night and danced the supper dance with Mr. Stanhope, who seemed even more eager. He had requested Louisa and Mr. Hurst’s permission to call upon Caroline and it was granted with guarded enthusiasm. Louisa had received a full recital from Caroline on the Husbandry Club and how it was likely to be a topic of dinner conversation for the rest of Caroline’s life. Louisa held only tentative optimism for Mr. Stanhope’s success with her sister. However, a cousin of George Strafford’s seemed quite interested in Caroline that night. Perhaps there was something there.

Mr. Andrews did not frequent Almack’s, at least on the evenings when Caroline and the Hursts attended. Caroline danced once more with Mr. Saunders and was introduced to a widowed squire. The man was a bit older than Caroline would have liked, and he had an eight year old daughter, which was not something she had imagined for herself, but he owned an estate in Berkshire. She would be close to Louisa, and surely she could figure out what to do with an eight year old child.

Mr. Andrews was not seen at the card party hosted by a Cambridge friend of Mr. Hurst’s, nor the theatre when she and Louisa were in attendance. They met several of Mr. Hurst’s friends that evening, but several sweeping glances through the crowd were useless in turning up Mr. Andrews.

In short, the man had apparently vanished and Caroline had nobody she could ask about it. Still, November passed quickly and Caroline felt she had been doing quite well in town. She had narrowed down her list of eligible gentlemen, and planned to focus her attention on Mr. Stanhope, Phillip Strafford, and Squire Nesbitt.

Mr. Stanhope certainly was a solid choice. His looks were pleasing, his manners open, if a bit guileless, and Caroline’s maid’s intelligence as well as Louisa’s investigation told Caroline she’d be in no danger with him.

Squire Nesbitt was more of an unknown quantity, but once again, Sally was of great use here, and Caroline threw in a few plain feathers as payment for her discretion. The first time Squire Nesbitt paid a morning visit, Sally set herself upon the Squire’s footman as he was warming himself with a cup of tea in the kitchen. Sally was a very well-looking girl – buxom and with pretty features, and curly raven-coloured hair. With promises of bolts of fabric and feathers in mind, she flirted with the flustered footman until he would have given her the key to the Nesbitt family silver.

Sally’s flirtations netted Caroline a great deal of useful information. The Squire’s late wife had been his cousin and rather a plain thing. Their marriage had secured the Squire’s fortune and now he could afford to please himself. He was not yet forty, but how close he was the footman could not say for sure. His daughter was a bonny little girl and quite good-natured. The Squire often had hunting parties and liked to entertain a great deal, but never in town. His estate in Berkshire was of a decent size and worth about two thousand a year, now that his late wife’s fortune had allowed him to get out from under the mortgages on his property. He was certainly in the market for a second wife, which was why he was in London now. Normally he hated the city and preferred to be home in the country.

The Squire had called three times now and escorted Caroline and Louisa to Vauxhall Gardens once. His conversation was, well, not wholesome, per se. Just very focused on country pleasures. One evening he was invited for dinner along with some other friends and he and Caroline were strategically placed near each other at the dining table. Caroline decided to press him more on the subject of the ton. “And are you enjoying the season thus far, Sir?”

“Oh, aye,” he said, taking a hearty sip of his wine. “I’ve never much enjoyed coming up to London, but this year is an exception.”

“Oh?” Caroline said, looking down demurely.

“That it is. I’ve purchased rather superior guns for the hunt this spring. Normally I’m forced to go to Bath to find anything out of the common way, but I found a capital gunsmith not far from my lodgings.” He tapped the rim of his glass and the footman filled it with claret.

“I see. Nothing else that you’ve enjoyed thus far?” she pushed a little more and dropped the demure posture.

“Well, I grant you Vauxhall was pleasant. I’m sure it’s quite a fair prospect in summer.”

“Now that you are out of mourning do you plan to come every year?”

“Oh, likely not!” He huffed in amusement. “If I’m fortunate, I won’t even need to bring my daughter in a few years when she’s out. She has a cousin she may do well to marry in ten years’ time. If not him, there are a few local boys who might do down the line.”

“And no masters for her education?” Caroline couldn’t imagine having never come to London to learn pianoforte from Signore Moretti, or drawing from Mr. Whitman. It was a fond memory of hers, sharing the city with her mother and Louisa. They visited the shops and strolled Hyde Park, imagining the lives the girls would live one day. London had never failed to give Caroline the same thrill as it did the first time she visited.

“Little Mary does well enough in her subjects. Her governess is a good sort. She gets a good bit of education on running the household from the housekeeper. That ought to set her up well enough for her future.” The squire set about attacking the pheasant on his plate.

Caroline made a little hum in response and sipped her wine, watching as the Squire ate. He certainly had a hearty appetite. Caroline shrugged her shoulders at the idea of little Mary Nesbitt never tasting the delights of the ton as she grew into a young lady. Perhaps if Caroline were to marry the Squire, she could convince him that it was necessary. She could leave the old fool at home in Berkshire while visiting the ton under the guise of Mary’s education, and give the poor child a glimpse of life beyond the country.

Caroline eyed the man surreptitiously as he started in on a fourth glass of wine, observing the way his slightly out of date waistcoat strained at the buttons. Perhaps the Squire could be brought up to fashion by the right woman. Perhaps she could wheedle a visit to town every season. Perhaps she could preside over stately country visits from highborn acquaintances in the estate in Berkshire, leaving her old friends behind. Give birth to the Squire’s sons, take his possibly lonely child in hand.

I have a feeling, Madam, you’re made for so much more.

Mr. Andrews’ words sometimes burst upon her at the most inconvenient moments. If she was still and in a quiet place, she imagined she could feel the heat of his hand through her glove, could feel the lingering squeeze he gave her. When his words repeated in her mind, she found herself asking: what does more mean?

Caroline looked down the table at the gathered party. There was Louisa, presiding like a duchess. Caroline knew the babe had “stuck”, and Louisa was at the part of her time when she felt energy and desire to move, to eat, to be lively. She watched as Louisa flawlessly engaged her dining partner, and gestured to the servants to bring this, that, or the other to her guests.

On the opposite end was Mr. Hurst, who was engaged with old Mrs. Stafford. They discussed favourite dishes and the wines. Young Mrs. Strafford and her husband George sat opposite each other, but engaged merrily with their neighbours on the upcoming Christmas season. The Wiltshire neighbour and his wife turned up and were deep in conversation further down the table from Caroline. She about their conversation, what gave their expressions such earnestness as they ignored their immediate dinner partners.

The candles blazed and the smells of the dinner table wafted around Caroline. The bumble of chat competed with the noise of the fire roaring at the end of the room. This was how life was supposed to be: a symphony of elegant domesticity.

What was more even meant to look like?

Louisa and Caroline were thrilled to receive an invitation for the month of December to the Straffords’ country house just outside of Brentwood. Twas barely 20 miles, and therefore would not be an arduous journey for Caroline and the Hursts. But more than that, it was three weeks for Caroline to see if she would suit with the Strafford cousin. She hadn’t had such unfettered access to a potential beau since Mr. Darcy stayed with the Bingleys at Netherfield and Caroline intended to make the most of it.

Caroline spent the remainder of the weeks before their departure preparing for the country. She had a new fur lined cape and a fetching new bonnet, as the Straffords had promised sleigh rides in the snow, if the weather cooperated. She purchased gifts for Louisa and Mr. Hurst and wrote a letter of congratulations to Jane and Charles, for word had finally reached them on the birth of the second babe. Jane had given birth to a fine, healthy son named Thomas Walter in honour of Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley senior. Jane was in good health and good spirits, and Louisa and Caroline could breathe a further sigh of relief that Charles’ estate was secured.

After St. Nicholas’ day arrived and Caroline exchanged gifts with the Hursts, they spent a few days more in London and were off for the country. They set off quite early and arrived just before dark to the Straffords’ country home. They were met on the front steps with effusive greetings and brought inside quickly where they were met with mulled wine, much to Mr. Hurst’s delight, and foot warmers, much to Louisa’s. To Caroline’s particular delight, Phillip Strafford sat down beside her on a sofa and smiled at her. His reception warmed her as much as any fire or wine could do.

Mr. Strafford was handsome, and about eight-and-twenty. He was her height and had a lithe, graceful set of limbs. “So, tell me, Miss Bingley. Just how much of a bore was the ride from town?” he asked.

“Oh, completely tedious! But who would object to any journey that led to such charming friends?” She smiled back.

“Oh, you flatter us. I can barely stand the country, myself,” Mr. Strafford continued, twisting his face in affable disgust.

“Really? What displeases you so?” Caroline was curious. She had never been the greatest fan of the country, and yet the pleasure of town meant nothing without its counterpart of country life.

“For one thing, I hate sporting. So that makes me rather a poor fit for the estate. The society is rather stale, present company excluded, of course. Our closest neighbours here are nearly ten miles off. Well, neighbours worth knowing. When we know we’re to be country bound, we always try to invite as many friends as possible to make up a good party of the right sort of people.” Mr Strafford looked amused at his own boredom. Caroline felt a shiver of pleasure at being thought of as “the right sort of people”. It was a pursuit of many years, and it was finally starting to seem true.

“Quite right. The country can be rather a bore without the right sort gathered together. We’re fortunate to find ourselves in exactly the right situation,” Caroline answered. “Now, do tell me about the house. Will there be a tour?”

Mr. Strafford went on to enumerate the qualities of the house, who had stayed there in years past, and what they’d do to amuse themselves over the Christmas season. Caroline felt her lips curl into a little cat-like smile as she heard noble name after norble name recited. It was a very promising stay indeed.

What Caroline came to learn about Mr. Phillip Strafford over the next fortnight was that he was rather a complaining sort. Very little seemed to please him but the pursuit of fine things.

When she joined the party at breakfast the morning after their arrival, she took the place next to him. Mr. Strafford wore nothing but the finest and latest fashions, and his cravat was tied with so many twists and flourishes that it bordered on the foolish. Nevertheless, she smiled at him and complimented his lovely peacock-coloured waistcoat.

“I thank you, Miss Bingley. And you’re looking quite lovely this morning yourself. That dress is most fine. It’s silk, of course. I’ve often noticed that you accept nothing but the best.”

“Why thank you,” she blushed prettily. It had been some time since she had been so frankly appraised. “I do enjoy the latest fashions. Only a complete ninny could leave London less fashionable than when they arrived.”

“I totally agree. So many ladies are content to make over the same dress half a dozen times, as if they won’t be caught out. One ought to prioritise staying au courant. Which, by the by, have you seen the latest at the Opera House?”

“Oh, The Devil to Pay? I thought it quite outstanding. Which parts did you most enjoy?” Caroline picked up her teacup and turned her body toward Mr. Strafford’s, settling in for what she hoped would be a robust conversation.

“Oh, Lord! I couldn’t tell you. Beau Brummel had the nerve to show his face on the night I attended! So many debts of honour, the fat old buffoon. I could scare pay attention to the stage with such a show as that in the box next to ours.” Mr. Strafford laughed, a nasal, somewhat cruel sounding titter, and he turned to his bacon and egg in earnest.

Caroline took it as a sign that conversation was at an end.

Caroline rarely liked to think of it, but she’d heard it said that it took three generations for a family to become truly gentle-born. The Staffords were an ancient family, and numerous. Louisa had been close with Charlotte Billingsley when they were back at school together, and now Charlotte was Mrs. George Strafford, wife to the heir of the Stafford seat. Though her mother-in-law lived with them, she was a kind old lady, and Charlotte did not take her good fortune for granted. There were many worse mothers-in-law about, many families who were not so warm or kind as the Straffords. Generation after generation of Straffords came forth into this world, all seeming to be the very best of the best. Their opinions so correct, their society so engaging.

This was why Phillip Stafford mystified Caroline. Every other Strafford was perfectly charming. Phillip was perfectly small in his opinions, educations, and pursuits.

When the turkey was brought out for Christmas dinner, Mr. Strafford leaned over to Caroline and said, “My, my, my. Rather puts me in mind of dear Aunt Fanny’s neck, wouldn’t you say?” He had gestured with his chin toward Old Mrs. Stafford toward the end of the table. Caroline was too shocked to do anything but adopt a small, enigmatic smile. What if he had been overheard? What if her hosts thought she had started slinging insults? But he went right on to tap his wineglass for a refill and talk more of the beauty of the party, or lack thereof, while the rest of the party dissolved into happy, merry chat. Caroline was stuck with him while the rest of the party enjoyed the dinner.

During the promised sleigh ride, Mr. Strafford looked around in misery and took a flask from his hip pocket. He sneered as his cousin, Charlotte’s husband, drove the team of horses faster, and pulled an extra fur rug off the lap of his little nephew. “Good God, how much longer must we scamper about the bloody countryside to prove we’re having fun, George?” he yelled over the singing and laughing. The man gave the whole party an instant chilling effect.

One day Caroline came upon him in the library. She had come in search of a book of music one of the girls mentioned, and she came upon Mr. Strafford reading through the papers and making feverish notes in a little book. “Oh, I did not mean to disturb you, Sir,” Caroline began, moving with haste toward the music section.

“Oh, tis nothing, Miss Bingley. I’m only preparing for the horse races in spring. There are some excellent bits of prognostication on the likely winners and losers, and I intend to pad my accounts through extensive study.” He actually rubbed his hands together, and Caroline gave a tittering laugh. He looked up at her and she realized he was serious.

“Oh,” she said lamely. “How amusing. And are you quite interested in horses?”

“Only in how fast they go, and how rich they can make me!” He looked back down at his notebook, and Caroline dropped a curtsey and moved to the music section without further comment.

One night when preparing for dinner, Caroline was in Louisa’s room. The maid left to gather cool compresses for Louisa’s swelling feet, and Louisa took the opportunity to ask Caroline how she did with Mr. Strafford.

“Oh, he’s fine, I suppose,” Caroline said, musing and staring without focus through a window. “He’s…very fashionable. Quite au fait on all the latest gossip and doings in town. Rather hard to please, I would say.”

Louisa moved from her dressing table to the chaise lounge, putting up her feet with a huffing sigh of relief. “Do you find him difficult to please, Caro?”

Caroline turned and came to sit alongside the prostrate figure of the exhausted Louisa. “I think I please him well enough. He certainly keeps seeking my society. I suppose I mean that I rarely hear him speak of anything he finds pleasing.”

“How odd. He must like something,” Louisa said, placing a hand under the small of her back and massaging it. “Actually, do you know,” she grunted as she tried to turn her body. Her stomach was beginning to show, despite some well placed shawls and fans. “He always rather reminded me of you, dearest.”

“What?” Caroline was shocked at this notion. “Me? How on earth can you say so?”

“You’re both so fashionable and…discerning. You want only the best around you,” Louisa tilted her head and looked deeply into Caroline’s eyes. “Does that comparison displease you? I meant no offense.”

Caroline paused. “Well, no… I don’t know. I don’t feel displeased by your observation. It’s just a surprising one, I suppose.” Caroline twisted her body and moved her hands to Louisa’s lower back and gave some firm, circular rubs, smiling and chuckling a bit as Louisa groaned her enjoyment. The maid returned, and Caroline left them to it as cold compresses were applied to her sister’s aching, swollen feet.

In front of her own dressing table mirror, Caroline stared as Sally put the finishing touches on her hair. The idea of being like Mr. Phillip Strafford was mortifying, and Caroline’s first instinct was to defend her character against such slander.

But that night at dinner as she listened once more to the man’s dismissive and haughty tones as he drank more than anyone else at the table and made a complete cake of himself, Caroline looked around the table. She saw the joy in everybody else’s faces, saw the way they ignored their blathering cousin Phillip while feigning interest when they had no other choice.

Was she like Mr. Strafford?

The thought bothered her for the rest of the Christmas visit, drifting in and out of her mind at inconvenient times. She wondered what really made a gentleman and if blood had as much to do with it as she had previously thought. As the carriage pulled Caroline and the Hursts back to Grosvenor Square, she came to a conclusion. She wasn’t exactly like Mr. Strafford. She didn’t drink to excess, and she certainly didn’t gamble an already meagre allowance, or steal furs from little children. But the cruel haughtiness the man displayed felt sickeningly familiar. Caroline saw what his manners cost him among his own relations, and she began to wonder what her own had cost her out in the world.

Chapter Text

By the time they returned to London, Louisa estimated that she was about half a year into her time of carrying the child. “I am becoming very easily fatigued these days, Caro,” she said one day as the sisters took their afternoon tea. They looked out over the snow dusted mews as the late January winds whipped the bare tree branches back and forth. “I fear we may need to have you chaperoned at some of the evening events by a friend.”

Caroline poured more tea for herself and chose a beautiful little iced lemon biscuit from the platter. “I understand, of course. Do you have anybody in mind?”

“The Straffords are still down in the country, so going along with Charlotte to most events won’t work. Catherine Foxwell might do. If we could convince her to leave Bath, Aunt Constance would be ideal, but with her health so indifferent…” Louisa trailed off.

“Catherine would be quite alright,” Caroline agreed.

“I have one other idea,” Louisa cleared her throat and set down her teacup. “What about Mrs. Eliza Darcy? They’re to be in town by Tuesday next.”

“I will pretend I didn’t hear that,” Caroline said, jamming the remainder of her biscuit in her mouth and glaring at sister.

“Come now,” Louisa protested. “She isn’t so dreadful as all that!”

“Louisa! To be chaperoned by one’s former rival? It is not to be borne!” Caroline’s glare gave way to frank astonishment. “Can you imagine the humiliation of being guarded by an impertinent, mouthy little piece such as that? Put such nonsense out of your head!”

“Caroline,” Louisa said, her tone admonishing. “Only consider! The Darcys will gather the best company around them. I know you’re not thrilled with Squire Nesbitt or even Mr. Stanhope. And it seems Mr. Strafford is totally out of the running now, and I cannot blame you. Keep company with the Darcys. If nothing else comes of it, make your choice of Nesbitt or Stanhope.”

As she spoke, Louisa’s tone turned placating, and Caroline, once she had taken a deep breath, could see the sense in it.

In reply, Caroline finally tilted her head and shrugged, which Louisa took as permission to press on. “It doesn’t have to be for every event. We can still ask Catherine to chaperone you at some affairs, and see if Mrs. Darcy will offer her services for a few others. I still have a little time where I can be out and about. So it won’t be so onerous as all that, dearest. And remember what I said: one last look about the marriage mart, then I suggest you make a choice.”

Caroline looked once more out into the snowy mews and squared her shoulders and sat up straighter. Louisa was right, and Caroline’s revulsion must be set aside. The Darcys would move in the first circles, and Caroline was determined to marry this season. There was no room for pride right now.

Mr. Stanhope was in the country with cousins and meant to return to London in a fortnight, and the Squire was back in Berkshire, but planning to return in mid-February. Caroline certainly had no understanding with either man, but she had not yet turned her full powers of pleasing on either of them. This left her a two week window of searching in the Darcys’ circle, and she would not waste it. Finally she spoke: “You’re quite right. Will you write Mrs. Darcy and let me know what she says?”

A few notes back and forth between Louisa and Eliza Darcy determined that Caroline would accompany their party to a card party at Danforth House, hosted by Mr. Darcy’s good friend Lord Coltharp. Louisa pointed out to Caroline that this was a handsome gesture, as the Coltharps were a rather exclusive invitation. Caroline only grumbled and went to her dressing room to determine her outfit for that night. Although she put on a show of reluctance for Louisa, this was quite a coup. Card parties were intimate gatherings, and if one positioned oneself correctly, the opportunities to engage the opposite sex were ample.

On the eve of the card party, Caroline was affecting disinterest, but truly, she had put Sally through her paces that day. Caroline’s dark curls were adorned with a stunning pearl and gold band that Charles had sent for her last birthday. She had been saving it for a special occasion. Sally had dressed her in a lovely cream underdress with gold embroidery and at the last minute, Caroline had chosen a dusty pink overdress. All the restfulness of the past few weeks in the country had done her good, and the cold kept her cheeks pink – she hardly needed her rouge pot in winter. Sally readied the fur-lined cape, and Caroline waited in the drawing room for the Darcys to collect her.

Caroline need not pretend in her own home, but for Louisa’s sake, she tried to calm her pounding heart. She fiddled with her reticule, looked through a piece of music, checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. What an odd situation! To be waiting for Mr. Darcy to arrive, to pick her up to carry her away to a party. It was what she imagined for herself for a good many years of her life, ever since she met Mr. Darcy.

With the gift of time, Caroline could now see that she never would have been his first choice. Her fortune was excellent, and while her birth was not ideal, her looks were quite in fashion and she had ample accomplishments. But Darcy wanted passion, apparently, and that was something Caroline could not supply for him. Still, the feeling of waiting for him put her spirits in a flutter. When she examined further, she had to suppress the feeling of humiliation that kept wanting to rear its head: to be chaperoned by her old quarry’s new wife! It was now her lot to mimic easy companionship, and she had imagined herself in the role several times in the last few days.

She heard a knock at the front door, and a few moments later, the butler arrived to tell her the Darcy Party arrived. Caroline took one last steadying breath, kissed Louisa’s cheek, and walked out to meet her fate.

The carriage ride through the slushy streets of town took a mere quarter of an hour, and in that time, Caroline heard snippets of news from the Darcys’ family party over the holidays, and intelligence of Jane and Charles’ new son. He was evidently a jolly babe, and this Caroline could only attribute to the boy’s cheerful parents. Caroline shared news of her winter adventures in Brentwood. Georgiana told Caroline of some amusements they had enjoyed at Pemberley over the winter, and the myriad friends and neighbours who had attended. All in all, Caroline’s spirits were lifted by this brief interview. The Darcys were all civility. If any of them saw ulterior motive in Caroline’s joining their party, no one was cruel enough to give a hint of it.

When the coach pulled up to the Coltharps’ enormous townhouse, Caroline took in the merry blazing of candles through the windows and felt her heart lift a bit higher still. Perhaps a match would be found tonight. Perhaps I might be saved from a dull future, she thought, and immediately she was startled by the notion. Dullness had never been something she had feared before. Where did that idea come from? She was jostled from her thoughts by the opening of the carriage door. Mr. Darcy handed out all the ladies and when the business was done, held out his arm for Eliza Darcy to thread her hand through. He covered her fingers with his own, and Caroline and Georgiana trailed behind them to the great torch-flanked door.

Lord and Lady Coltharp met them with great pleasure in the entry hall. Caroline curtsied deeply as she was introduced to the couple, thanking them for her inclusion in the Darcys’ invitation. Lady Coltharp smiled and insisted that she and Caroline find each other for a bit of chat later, and Caroline felt a small thrill up her spine. To befriend the great Lady would be rather a coup, no matter what man she chose to pursue, and Caroline would do her best. The woman was known for her taste and elegance, and if Caroline were to receive the Lady’s approval, well. Just one more step toward establishing herself as a force to be reckoned with in the ton.

Caroline stood to the side with Georgiana as Mr. and Mrs Darcy caught up with the Coltharps. Georgiana was describing a new piece of music she had just begun to learn, and Caroline was engaged in watching the two couples with each other. Darcy and his wife stayed in constant contact, once they had done their duty toward their hosts. Caroline focused for a moment on Darcy’s hand clasped on top of his wife’s. From her vantage point, Caroline could see him discreetly stroking the side of Mrs. Darcy’s wrist and she was filled all at once with a longing that discomitted her. What was it like to know such adoration of another?

“Miss Bingley? Pardon, Miss Bingley, are you well?” Georgiana’s voice broke in on Caroline’s thoughts and she did her best not to startle. If she was not careful, Caroline was going to come across as quite mad.

“I apologize, Miss Darcy. My mind wandered for a moment. I was trying to recollect the name of another sonata by the same composer. Do tell me more about your practise of the piece. Might we hear you perform it soon?”

The two women chatted a bit more until the Darcys joined them and they entered the drawing room. The company gathered together was excellent, and the surroundings were everything that was elegant and charming. Once again, the thrill of pleasure that Caroline felt while meeting Lady Coltharp ran down her spine. She belonged here, or rather, she was beginning to.

After making a circuit or two of the room with the Darcys, the ladies were served wine, and Mr. Darcy port. They settled themselves at tables, Miss Darcy choosing to stay with Miss Bingley at the Loo table. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy joined another couple playing at whist. Loo was an excellent choice for the night – a game in the round without a fixed number of players. More players, more access to the potentially single men of the party. A new round began and Caroline and Georgiana were dealt into the game, a shilling an ante.

Caroline was a rather good card player. She learned from her grandfather, the man who had grown his business into a small empire, large enough to leave his assorted descendents well over 175,000 pounds in total. Caroline’s grandfather, Charles Bingley Senior, was an ambitious, ruthless sort of man, but quite kind to his children and grandchildren. Even her father’s siblings who were not directly in line to inherit were taken care of – their excellent educations paid for, their beginnings in life secured.

Caroline’s two aunts had excellent dowries and married well, though only her elder aunt had produced children who were now settled in Scarborough. Her uncle was a successful solicitor in Edinburgh who grew more and more rich every year, but was thankfully out of the way of any society who might look down upon his profession. Most of Caroline’s cousins were now gentle people, though of little distinction. Grandpapa had set out to achieve greatness and translate it into a lasting legacy for his children, and it was in the three Bingley siblings that the dream would finally be realised, that nobility could possibly be chased.

To win at cards or at life, one had to be strategic, swift, and ruthless. Caroline watched her Grandpapa and learned.

All in all, she was doing quite splendidly at the loo table. Georgiana had long since bowed out and moved onto a table of young ladies and a gentleman playing casino. Other players came and went. At one point, Lord Coltharp complimented her on the rapidity of her thinking, and she merely smiled with a demure bob of her chin. Just as she was about to deny all claim to the compliment, Caroline heard a deep voice from behind her say, “Yes, Coltharp. One must strike rapidly in a game of chance, mustn't one?”

“A game of chance, do you call it, Sir?” Caroline forgot herself for a moment, forgot to be demure and alluring. Heat rapidly blushed across her chest. She would know that voice anywhere.

Mr. Andrews walked around the table, coming to a stop just between Caroline and Lord Coltharp. The latter stood and gave Mr. Andrews a hearty clap on the back as they shook hands. “Andrews, you devil! We quite despaired you’d been kept back in the wilds of the north after all.”

“And miss a rout such as this?” Andrews laughed.

“Don’t let Marianne hear you utter such nonsense. A rout! She’d have your head for even mentioning the word in connection with one of her entertainments.” Lord Coltharp lowered his voice as though genuinely afraid of his wife, but still laughed softly. “I see you know Miss Bingley?”

“I do indeed. I had the pleasure of first meeting her many months ago in Wiltshire,” Mr. Andrews nodded and turned to Caroline. For the first time in her recollection, his voice was not teasing. “How do you do, Miss Bingley? Are your brother and sister in good health?”

She cleared her throat and willed her colour to go down. “I thank you, Sir, they are both in excellent health. I attend this evening with the Darcys, but I shall pass along your compliments tomorrow morning.”

Mr. Andrews merely bobbed his head, then smiled. It seemed wolfish to Caroline. “Perhaps we shall play a hand together later, Madam?”

“Perhaps,” Caroline said, and looked pointedly at the table, where cards were being dealt once more.

“I’ll leave you to it, then, Coltharp. Miss Bingley.” Mr. Andrews gave a small bow and walked away. Surreptitiously, Caroline followed his progress through the room.

First he greeted Lady Coltharp, who seemed delighted by his attendance. He chatted with her for some minutes, and she insisted on personally bringing him a glass of what appeared to be the very best port.

From there, he spoke seriously with two young gentlemen near the fireside. They seemed to try and tempt him over to the Vingt-et-un table, but he was not to be persuaded. Finally, he encountered Mr. Darcy near the refreshments, and the two men lit up, laughing and talking a great deal. Caroline deftly played another trick, but her jealous eye kept her distracted from her victory.

Georgiana joined her brother and Mr. Andrews, and when the young girl bobbed a curtsey to the man, Caroline felt a rush of fury such as she’d never experienced over a man. Not even Mr. Darcy. The pool was being paid out, and Caroline was being presented with her winnings. She tried to smile, to look away from the scene, but just then, Eliza Darcy then walked up, and Mr. Andrews kissed her hand. Mrs. Darcy merely laughed, those bright eyes twinkling in the warm light. She gestured to the whist table, and Mr. Andrews seemed to happily join them. Georgiana once again curtsied and returned to her friends playing casino. The three sat at their card table together, chatting merrily, waiting for a fourth.

Caroline stood abruptly, and the gentlemen at the table quickly pushed back chairs and rose as well. They all began to chime in and congratulate her success.

“Miss Bingley, it was a pleasure!”

“Indeed it was, quite well played, Madam.”

“Aye, we’ll have to play again, Miss Bingley. I wager you’re a dab hand at piquet.”

She smiled and curtsied to the table, and forced herself to turn slowly and walk toward the Darcys. She approached Mr. Andrews from behind and said in a low voice behind his back, “Are you looking for a fourth, Mrs. Darcy?” Caroline took pleasure in the way Mr. Andrews seemed to go still at the sound of her voice.

“Indeed we are, Miss Bingley. Won’t you join us?” Eliza Darcy smiled. Caroline hated to admit it (truly, she hated it), but Eliza’s face was warm and glowing with pleasure, and it made her truly incandescent. Never mind classic, symmetrical beauty. Caroline could admit with an objective eye that Elizabeth Bennet Darcy was a particularly rare creature.

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Andrews stood, but it was Mr. Andrews who walked around to pull out Caroline’s chair. She sat and looked up at him once she was settled. “Thank you, Sir.”

“My pleasure, Miss Bingley.”

“You two have met?” asked Mr. Darcy with some surprise.

Mr. Andrews opened his mouth to respond, but Caroline jumped in. “In fact, we have, Sir. Quite a few times. Where have you been all these months, Mr. Andrews?”

“Why, Miss Bingley, I do believe you’ve missed me,” Mr. Andrews said, and Caroline could feel rather than see Eliza Darcy’s eyebrows raise as such a remark.

“I can’t say that I have, Sir. Though it can be amusing to meet with a shameless character such as yourself, the entertainment does have its limits,” she said in rejoinder. She now felt Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows join his wife’s somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling.

Mr. Andrews let out a rich, deep laugh. “You’ve bested me, Miss Bingley. I have no further comment on our acquaintance. However, I can tell you that I was in the north of England visiting family. I stayed for the holidays, then finally made my way back to town.”

Caroline gave a single nod of her head. Mrs. Darcy delicately cleared her throat and asked, “And how is your newest venture coming along, Mr. Andrews?”

“Quite well, Madam, I thank you. I have got the capital and shall begin in the spring.” They paused while Mr. Andrews shuffled the cards in his sure, confident way. Caroline looked down and watched, well aware that she was mesmerised and needed to get ahold of herself.

Mr. Darcy gestured to a passing waiter, gesturing to Caroline, who asked for more wine. When the business of drink and fresh cards was settled, Mr. Andrews finally dealt in earnest.

“Were you able to procure an appropriate site for your mill? I understood from my uncle that property along the river was rather difficult to come by.” Mrs. Darcy asked while sorting her hand. Caroline nearly huffed in surprise. To bring up Mr. Andrews’ trade seemed a crude jab, and Caroline didn’t expect it of Eliza Bennet.

“We finally came to terms and have found just the right place, Ma’am. I left my foreman in charge with the architects, and I feel quite certain significant progress will be made come the spring.”

“Well done, Andrews. Was your brother persuaded to invest after all?” Mr. Darcy asked. Caroline decided the Darcys were not denigrating Mr. Andrews at all, but were rather curious about his success. It was rather odd. Perhaps Eliza Darcy’s relations in trade were the cause.

“Oh, lud, I’m sorry to say he was not. You know Simon. Too cautious by half. The estate is about all he has the mind for, so I am glad to leave him to it. Let him putter around the manor for the rest of his days, and he’ll be happy. Miss Bingley, will you partner with me? I dare not separate such a formidable pair as Darcy and his clever bride.”

Caroline paused as the waiter returned with her wine, absorbing all that she heard. The Andrews Family had an estate? What on earth was John Andrews about, working in trade, in cotton and imports, of all things? When the waiter placed the goblet and stepped away, Caroline lifted her eyes and merely answered, “Of course, Sir.” She could feel Eliza Darcy’s eyes upon her.

Conversation gave way to the rapid placing of cards and the scoring of tricks. The wine, however, was loosening Caroline’s tongue, and driving up her pique. Mr. Andrews had spent weeks torturing Caroline, whether he knew it or not, and now she wanted answers. She wanted to know this man.

The two of them were several points ahead of the Darcys. As Mrs. Darcy recorded yet another round won by Caroline and Mr. Andrews, she finally took her chance. “Did I hear you say earlier that success in cards is merely a matter of chance, Sir?”

“Aye, you did, Miss Bingley.” He laid his spent hand down on the table for Mr. Darcy to gather up and gestured for more port to the passing waiter.

“You cannot be serious in such an opinion,” Caroline felt herself smirking. “Do you not see how skill comes into play?”

“Naturally there is some skill involved. But there’s no forcing what’s not already there, Madam. You either have something good to work with, or you don’t.” Now Mr. Andrew’s lips lifted in a smirk of their own.

“That is a rather naive opinion, and I’m rather shocked to hear you express it,” Caroline said, lifting her glass to her lips once more. She knew she should start asking for lemonade, but something was so delicious about refusing to stay small and composed. She hardly knew herself. “In most games it is possible to achieve a better hand through skill and work.”

“Naive, do you call me?” Mr. Andrews smiled as though Caroline was nothing but a silly girl and she felt her ire rise.

“You’ve left me with no other choice,” said she. This time Caroline did see Eliza Darcy’s eyebrows lift. “Cards are primarily skill, only a bit of luck.”

“I enjoy cards as well as the next gentleman,” Mr. Andrews said, “But one can only work with what one has been dealt. You won’t find me playing high, or losing my fortune in a single night. Darcy and I knew too many fools at university who lost large portions of their inheritance over the course of a fortnight or two.”

“You’re hardly a – “ Caroline cut herself off. She had been going to say “gentleman” and stopped herself just in time. She covered her near gaffe with a feigned cough. “Hardly an unlucky man.”

As if Mr. Andrews knew what she was going to say – though how could he? – he only chuckled. “No, I have my moments. But mostly I choose to work hard. It gives me pleasure to create something out of nothing.”

Caroline found herself unable to answer, but looked into the man’s eyes. Just a moment later, though it felt like hours, Mrs. Darcy said, “Let us begin, shall we?”

Caroline forced her eyes back down to her hand. It was an excellent one, and she knew well what to do with what she had been dealt, knew all the rules and ways to play to her best advantage. So good at games, that Caroline Bingley, she thought to herself. Should she not be winning something bigger and grander at this point?

They began the rapid laying of cards in the centre, and the dangerous chat gave way to the satisfying noise of cards being slid against each other and being set down on the table. The noises seemed to almost lull her into a trance, and Caroline realised the wine had gone slightly to her head. Or perhaps it was something else. She was playing remarkably well. She felt every bit in tune with Mr. Andrews, and they were winning nearly every round against the Darcys. Finally after a third losing round, Mrs. Darcy laughed and said, “Well, we have done now, darling. Mr. Andrews and Miss Bingley are a remarkable team, whether by luck or skill, it certainly matters not when they’ve won so many rounds.”

Mr. Darcy merely smiled at his wife and added more coin to the kitty. “Perhaps a bit to eat, a small intermission?” He turned to look at both Mr. Andrews and Miss Bingley.

Caroline nodded and smiled, and Mr. Andrews stood to pull out Mrs. Darcy’s chair. “By all means. Gather your strength, and when you return, Miss Bingley and I shall do you in once and for all.”

The Darcys laughed and walked toward the refreshments and disappeared into the crowd, smiling and greeting friends.

“Well, Miss Bingley, don’t we make a fine team?” Mr. Andrews turned to her, and though she full expected to see the same teasing face as always, Caroline was struck by the earnest expression as he spoke to her. It was the first time she’d seen such a face on him.

“I suppose we do,” she said, and laid her cards down before her. She had been fiddling with the small stack in her gloved hands, shuffling them over and over again. What was it about this man? She was not the sort to fidget so. She’d had it drilled out of her many years ago.

Mr. Andrews paused. “I have the sense you wish to ask me more questions, Miss Bingley.”

“I,” Caroline began and then stopped. “I suppose all I have for you are questions, Mr. Andrews.” Where have you been? Why do you bother me so? What do you want from me? Why do I feel as if I’ve run mad when I am around you?

“You can ask me anything. Oh, how I wish you would, Madam. I wish I could do nothing but sit and answer your questions all day.” He looked into her eyes and Caroline felt an involuntary gasp leave her mouth.

“Why do you work, Sir?” She blurted it out before she could stop herself. “Your family has an estate, you began life as a gentleman. Why are you engaged in trade?”

Mr. Andrews did not seem surprised at her outburst, though he had every right to be. She had been most impertinent, but then, so had he, for the length of their acquaintance. He owed her at least a bit of honesty. “Why do you ask, Miss Bingley?”

“I simply cannot understand you,” she said, vexation creeping into her voice. She forced herself into control. “You are everywhere, and then you are nowhere. You have a family estate, and yet you work. You are engaged in trade, yet here we are in the first circles. I cannot understand how you begin to get along, Mr. Andrews. It…it mystifies me.”

Mr. Andrews let out a little hum, and smiled as he looked down at the table, gathering up the cards. This pause was dreadful to Caroline’s nerves. Why would anybody answer such impudent questions? But by and by, he spoke.

“I am a second son, you know, Miss Bingley. My brother Simon has inherited everything from our father, and it was up to me to make my own way. The firstborn son holds all the cards, and it is on his wisdom and benevolence we are all dependent.” Mr. Andrews began to shuffle the cards. His hands were sure and deft, large as they were.

“You may understand something about what it’s like to be dependent on the good graces of others. In fact, I am sure you do know that. Sure of your place as you may be,” he paused, and separated the deck of cards into two equal halves. He tapped both halves on the table, looking down in thought, as if wondering how much to reveal.

Finally, he continued, “My brother supported me at Cambridge, but I knew that my choices were fairly limited once schooling was over. It was either marry a woman of fortune, or make my own fortune. I had been saving my allowance for years and had rather a good beginning. So I chose to make my own fortune.”

Caroline was not sure how to answer this intimate speech. So finally she said, “It is astonishing what one can accomplish when one is steady to the purpose, and shrewd.”

“It is indeed, is it not, Miss Bingley?” And he looked at her pointedly. “Any more questions from you?”

She was quiet for a moment, then found her courage again. Caroline could think of no other way of finding out what she really wanted to know, other than setting aside all pretence and asking. “I’ll limit myself to only one, Sir. Why do you teaze me so?”

“Does it make you angry, Madam?” He lowered his voice.

“Occasionally, Sir,” Caroline’s voice came out in a breathy huff.

“Do you wish me to stop?” Mr. Andrews leaned toward her, cards still in hand.

Caroline found herself leaning slightly forward as well, locking her eyes onto his. At last, she said “No.”

Chapter Text

The morning after the Coltharps’ card party, Caroline found she was in a most peculiar daze. She had no attention for anything but her own dreamlike state. After the Darcys had returned to the card table, she and Mr. Andrews had thoroughly defeated them at whist. She had stopped antagonising Mr. Andrews after the Darcys rejoined them. Caroline was experiencing something she’d never felt before: pure, dazzling, stupefying attraction. It made her shy and electric all at once. He had become quiet, too, and they spent the remainder of the evening exchanging glances. His earnest gazes made her cheeks flame, and she tried to calm herself by joining other card tables and walking around the room as needed. Caroline had exposed herself enough for one night.

When she saw Louisa and Mr. Hurst the next morning at breakfast, all was normal. Neither her brother nor sister saw anything new in her. Caroline had looked in the glass that morning and felt like a different woman. The world felt sharper and brighter, and, for lack of a better term, she felt “lifted”. Yet that morning at the table, Louisa poured tea, Mr. Hurst served himself muffin after muffin and said nothing of consequence, all in the presence of a brand new person. Caroline could only laugh to herself and shrug her shoulders.

“Caro, dearest, Mr. Hurst and I discussed it, and we’re planning on hosting a dinner in a fortnight or so. It may be one of the last larger entertainments we can put on this season before I become too fatigued.” Louisa smiled beatifically at Mr. Hurst, whom Caroline was astonished to see blushing at his wife’s adoring glance. Truly, what on earth was Louisa doing to encourage her taciturn husband’s hospitality?

“That is excellent, Louisa. How may I help?” Caroline attempted to rouse herself from her dreamy state, setting down her cup of milky tea and settling into her usual strategic demeanour.

“We shall have to have the Darcys, of course, as a thank you for their assistance. And did you not say they would be taking you to the Matlocks’ ball Wednesday next? That is rather handsome of them. The Foxwells, of course, and naturally Mr. Hurst has a friend or two who will likely attend. More neighbours are returning from the country.” Louisa began enumerating the dishes she intended to serve, and whether or not to borrow the neighbours’ harp for music later in the evening.

Caroline found she could not maintain her usual sharpness for Louisa’s schemes. That sharpness was now focused on the next time she could possibly expect to see Mr. Andrews. Would he be at the Matlocks’ ball? How was their flirtation to be carried on? She fought the urge to bring her thumbnail to her teeth, a habit their miserable governess had cured her of by eventually administering a sharp pinch to the ribs whenever Caroline did it as a child.

Was it a flirtation? Was it something more? She was brought from her now frenetic reverie by Louisa’s question of floral arrangements, which she could only answer with an enigmatic, “Of course, whatever you think is best, Louisa dear.”

When Caroline and the Darcys entered the Matlocks’ ball, it took everything she had not to rush into the room and begin surveying the crowd for a certain fair-haired gentleman. She calmed herself and stood with Georgiana as Mr. and Mrs. Darcy greeted their highborn relations, calling it an age since they had met, and promising to sit to supper together later that night. When they finally moved on from the foyer to the ballroom, Caroline took in the elegant splendour before her, forgetting Mr. Andrews for a moment.

Gargantuan bouquets of hothouse flowers in silver urns sat on the elegant tables ringing the edge of the ballroom. The same flowers were reflected in the chalked designs on the gleaming wooden floor. Caroline had only been to one other amusement where her hosts had seen fit to follow the fashion of chalking the floor to prevent spills and slides while dancing. The artists who had done the Matlocks’ floor had created elaborate arabesques in the centre of the floor, and ringed the edges with roses and trails of ivy. No expense seemed to have been spared.

The walls were a lovely pale pink and the candlelight gave a warm glow to the complexions of all those already strolling about the room. Blazing chandeliers hung from the great domed ceiling. The sounds of laughter and delighted recognition of old friends rang through the room, along with the sounds of clinking glasses and strains of musicians beginning to tune their instruments in the balcony above. Caroline gave a small shiver of pleasure. She and the Darcys took up a position opposite the entrance. Just so. Anybody wishing to speak to one of their party would need to approach as if walking down the great hall to be presented to the King.

A small cluster of friends began to gather round the Darcy party, and as Caroline was introduced to noble after noble, a small nagging thing in the pit of her stomach began to wiggle and make its presence known. As she stood with Georgiana and curtsied to Lord Bancroft and his charming new wife, as she extended a hand to the Honourable Mrs. Charles Marbury, with whom she had been in company once before, and as she listened with pleasure to the teazing repartee between Mr. Darcy and his cousin the Viscount Matlock, the small nagging thing grew bigger.

This was the life she wanted. She’d wanted it as long as she could remember. Her mother had trained her for this purpose, her siblings had made gains toward this destiny. The small nagging thing was not small at all. It was everything she was made of. Lessons in comportment, the finest education that could be provided to her and her siblings. Painstaking calculations on which parties to attend, which friendships to cultivate. It was all for this: to someday stand amongst the Peerage and feel she was a part of it.

She was close. She was so, so close.

And as though Heaven itself wished to increase its amusement on her behalf, she heard Mr. John Andrews’ deep voice enter the arena. He bowed deeply to Mrs. Darcy and complimented her looks. He heartily shook Mr. Darcy and the Viscount’s hands. He kissed Miss Darcy’s hand and she giggled at his attention. Caroline watched as he made his way round the gathered group, making his way toward her. She knew as he did that his ultimate destination was deliberate and inevitable. He was coming to her.

As he made his way toward her, Caroline observed a few ladies of the party, and how they watched Mr. Andrews. She saw how they closed ranks against him, acting as though they were in too serious a conversation to be interrupted. She watched Lord Bancroft merely offer a nod, and not a handshake.

Mr. Andrews may have been born a gentleman, might move through the edges of the first circles, and could dress and act as a man of liberality and fashion, but he was in trade. This fact hung about him the way that the smell of old fish hung in a cloud around Billingsgate. Much like old fish, it wouldn’t be something easily shaken.

Caroline knew from personal experience.

Mr. Andrews finally made his way to her, and presented Caroline with a long, deep bow. She responded in kind with a deep curtsy. When she rose, she was rewarded with a wide smile. “Miss Bingley,” said he. “I have been most anxious to see you again. I did not know if you were acquainted with the Matlocks. I had hoped you might be.”

Caroline tried to school her countenance into something respectable, to suppress the giddiness she felt at his speech. “A pleasure to see you again, Sir. I had not met the hosts until this evening, but the Darcys were kind enough to include me once more. My sister is to be confined in a few months, and finds herself more easily fatigued. The Darcys and my other friends have taken up the mantle of my social calendar as well. I did not know the Matlocks before this eve.” She knew she was rambling and managed to cut herself off before repeating herself further.

“Ay, Hurst mentioned there was to be another child soon. I wish them joy, and include Mrs. Hurst in my prayers.” Mr. Andrews looked in earnest, and Caroline could not be but moved.

“That is most kind of you, Sir,” Caroline answered. “I shall pass along your good wishes to them both.”

“You may, or you may wait and allow me to pay my respects on my own. Hurst invited me to a dinner your sister is throwing in a fortnight.”

“Oh?” Caroline let out a rushed breath. “I look forward to seeing you there.”

“And will we have some music?” Mr. Andrews asked, stepping a few inches closer to her, lowering his voice ever so slightly.

“I...yes. Louisa intends there will be playing.” Caroline could feel her decolletage heating up, but resisted the urge to begin waving her fan like a lunatic.

“And will you play for me, Miss Bingley?” He was looking down into her eyes, and she could scarcely stand to continue looking into his. The idea of looking away was much worse, though. She was fumbling for an answer when another gentleman walked up to the party and called Mr. Andrews’ attention away.

They were drawn apart then, Mr. Andrews enveloped into a cluster of gentlemen who wished to talk business, and Caroline into the fold of ladies who wished to discuss entertainments and the latest news of the ton.

Neither were they able to be together long enough for Mr. Andrews to ask her to dance. No, Caroline moved through the allemande, the cotillion, and country dance after country dance with partners she cared nothing for. Her jealous eye searched for Mr. Andrews at every turn, and she was unable to find him in time to be asked to the supper dance where she had hoped to monopolise his attention, to learn all she could, to flirt in kind.

She was forced to accept Mrs. Marbury’s nephew for the supper dance, and found herself regrettably stuck with a dull companion for the next three hours. Mr. Henry Marbury appeared to excel in nothing so much as blandness. It was evident in his style, taste, and manner of address. He led her through a spiritless rendition of La Belle Assemblee and limply held her hand as he escorted her off the hopelessly smeared chalk dance floor and into the supper.

They were seated with Mrs. Marbury’s party, of course, and Caroline found herself nearest to that grand lady. She had been widowed nearly three years, and Caroline and Louisa had joked at how much it seemed to agree with the woman. She still maintained some refined beauty – her fading gold hair was shot through with silver, and piled elegantly underneath a lace cap, and though wrinkled with crow’s feet and fine lines about the mouth and forehead, her symmetrical features were still very much the fashion. We should all age so gracefully, Caroline thought to herself before taking a healthy sip of wine to fortify herself into coaxing something interesting out of Mr. Marbury, whose one word answers truly were beginning to grate on Caroline’s nerves.

After the next course was served and the plates were cleared away, Caroline happened to catch a loud whisper from down the table, “Oh, honestly, how does Andrews continue to find himself invited to the most select affairs?”

Caroline feigned interest in a story Mrs. Marbury was telling her end of the table, something about a visit to Lyme Regis the summer before. As the woman spoke of the sea bathing wagons and their salubriousness, Caroline kept an ear open toward the end of the table. Three of the younger Marbury cousins were laughing at Mr. Andrews and his vulgarity, shooting the man looks where he sat on the opposite end of the room.

“An excellent question, Penelope. How on earth does Andrews keep turning up? If not for his few noble protectors, you’d never have to encounter the man.”

“Quite right. Darcy and Mellings in particular are quite the attack dogs when it comes to Andrews,” said one of the gentlemen. Caroline observed that the man was hideous, and though he was young, he was balding – barely enough hair to add a dab of powder, she sniffed disdainfully.

“Well, they can bring the costermonger around all they like, but they can’t be at every event. And really, how long until the stink of his factories starts to make him unbearable? I hear he lives within sight of his warehouses down in Lancashire! That he actually built a house for the exact purpose!” The woman apparently called Penelope huffed, but was clearly taking great delight in the aberration that was John Andrews.

“Costermonger, that is too cruel, Pen!” The ugly, bald fellow laughed again. Caroline was reminded of her running down of the Bennets after their first ball in Hertfordshire and felt the most tumultuous mix of shame and entitlement to think poorly of the Bennet relations. Eliza and Jane had never been anything but proud of their Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and indeed, the Gardiners had their noble protectors as Mr. Andrews apparently did. In her heart of hearts, most relatives in trade were preferable to the rest of the Bennet circus.

Caroline surreptitiously swivelled her eyes back to Mrs. Marbury as she concluded her review of the best Inn in Lyme, and provided her hearty recommendation of it to any who would venture to the seaside town. She was thankful as the party began to trade stories of the best hotels and inns, of grand houses they had rented for a twelvemonth, and which towns were worth visiting in the south. The conversation was convenient cover for Caroline as she fretted about what it would mean to encourage Mr. Andrews any further than she already had.

And, truly, she had encouraged him rather far.

She watched Mr. Andrews laugh with his party – Mr. Mellings and his wife and friends. He was easily the most handsome, gentleman-like figure in the whole room. He must have felt her eyes on him, because suddenly, he looked up at Caroline. She fought the urge to see if the other end of her table was still watching him, and now seeing where he was looking, fought the urge to look away herself. Supper was nearly at its end, and she knew Mr. Andrews would come to her, would ask for her hand in the dance, would arouse the whole party’s suspicion against the pair of them. And Caroline found herself without the slightest idea of what to do about it.

Chapter Text

Mr. Andrews did indeed make his way to Caroline’s table, nodding at particular guests here and there, stopping only once to make a low, courteous bow to a dowager, who playfully rapped him on the forearm with her fan as they engaged in familiar, happy chat. This man was capable of making everyone fall in love with him.

Caroline’s thoughts were rather panicked as he came closer. She heard faint snickering from the other end of the table, but knew not whether it was directed at Mr. Andrews or somebody else who had caught the younger Marburys’ disdain. Caroline desired that he would come closer, and desired that he would not – she knew not which she desired most.

Regardless of whatever her truest desire might be, Mr. Andrews did come to her, and did bow. “Miss Bingley, might I engage you for the next?”

“I am sorry, Sir, but I am dancing next with Mr. Snodgrass,” she managed to croak out.

“You are a popular woman. Do you have any dances free for the remainder of the evening?” He smiled gently at her.

“Certainly. I am not engaged after the next.”

“Then please reserve it for me, Madam,” he said in a low voice, and bowed to her, walking away with a smile.

Caroline turned back to the table and tucked her own smile into her wine glass. She did not look to the other end of the table, nor did she look up until Mrs. Marbury said, “Mr. Andrews cuts a fine figure, does he not?”

“He does, Ma’am. Very handsome, and very clever,” Caroline now looked up and at the elegant older lady. “Are you at all acquainted with the Andrews Family?”

“Not well acquainted at all. I have met the elder brother, Mr. Simon a few times while out and about. Rather a dull character. It is a shame Mr. John Andrews was not the elder son. If only his enterprising ways could have been applied to managing the estate and acting as the head of the family.” Mrs. Marbury spoke distractedly, as she was gesturing to the waiter for more white wine, having spoken loudly of her distaste for claret.

Caroline thought this might be the perfect moment to gather more intelligence. “Mr. Andrews is in trade, but it is a respectable enough line, I believe.”

“Well, certainly, Miss Bingley. He is hardly a fishmonger. But you know, his decision to enter into trade is rather a vulgar one. I can hardly imagine his elder brother was not generous with allowances. Why did he not wait to marry a woman with a good dowry? Patience is a virtue, after all.” The two women paused as a waiter came forth with a bottle of Reinish wine from dinner, and poured a glass for Mrs. Marbury.

Caroline bit the inside of her cheek in thought as the waiter walked away and Mrs. Marbury took a healthy, fortifying sip. “Patience and enterprise do not seem to be well suited toward each other, Ma'am.”

“Aye, true, my girl. So we must ask ourselves which is the greater benefit to a man’s character? When one has not the good luck to be born rich or well-connected, what is the best way forward? Mr. Andrews has certainly made his choice, and it was neither the patient nor virtuous path. Yet, he has the gall to walk amongst us as if there is nothing wrong with it. Where else might this impudence in character arise?” Mrs. Marbury’s attention was called away by her dinner partner, and Caroline was left to sit next to the nearly mute Mr. Henry Marbury. She no longer tried to coax conversation from the fool, lost in thought as she was.

Caroline danced her next with Mr. Snodgrass, a pleasant-enough acquaintance of the Straffords’. He delivered her to the bay of windows nearest the terrace, and Caroline took a moment to rest herself discreetly against a ledge. She was distracted by the view of the garden, and marvelled at the undulating hedgerows dusted in frost. It put one in mind of a country estate. Somehow they had managed it in a crowded, fashionable corner of London. She tucked her chin and gave a little yawn.

“You are quite charming to watch, Miss Bingley,” said Mr. Andrews, who had apparently been watching her from the shadows. As usual, he had surprised her with his sudden presence. How did such a great, tall man move with such stealth?

“And you are a great teaze, Mr. Andrews,” Caroline answered. “Charming to watch, am I?” She tilted her head and knew she looked the coquette. She looked around her quickly to see if they were being observed, and Mr. Andrews seemed to catch her line of thinking.

“I think you must be rather tired of dancing, Madam,” he said, and proffered his arm. “What do you say about a short tour of the library? It is a rather charming room, and some of the party have chosen to play at cards. We shall be quite safe there,” he smiled.

“I thank you, that is a capital notion,” said she in rejoinder, and laced her hand through the crook of his arm. It gave her a shiver. She forgot her miserably sore feet, forgot the exhaustion she felt creeping over her.

They moved along the edge of the chalk smeared dance floor and instead of taking their place among the set, walked through the grand hall toward the back of the house where the library was nestled. The noise of the ballroom receded and gave way to murmuring conversations coming from the drawing room, and the clinking of crystal toasts. After a few moments, they reached the library. Mr. Andrews opened the door and Caroline took in the grandeur of the room. She even let out an unintentional gasp and she took in the three stories of books and elegant chandeliers not often found adorning a room of learning. The room must go up the entire height of the house – the frescoed ceiling showing a heavenly sky seemed to indicate so.

“Are you a great reader, Miss Bingley?” Mr. Andrews asked, taking her astonishment to be aimed at the bound volumes that surrounded them. She removed her hand from his arm and took a few steps into the room, letting her eyes run over the party of four gentlemen playing cards near the fire, and the couples on settees here and there.

Caroline didn’t answer right away, but rather wandered to the corner of the room furthest away from the fire, looking about in wonder. Mr. Andrews followed her and finally she said, “I must confess I am not a great reader. I enjoy some authors and some publications, but cannot call myself a scholar.”

Mr. Andrews caught up with her and was now walking by her side with a gentle hand under her elbow as she continued to look all about. “What is it then that you admire so?”

How could she explain what it was exactly? She admired that generation after generation of Matlocks had made this place, how they had preserved it for the future. She admired the wealth and the taste that had created this home, and knew the Bingleys, rich though they were, couldn’t even conceive of what it would take to make this kind of room. It would never have occurred to them to create a place like this.

“I…” Caroline trailed off, then tried to explain some of what she was thinking. She did not feel like hiding from Mr. Andrews, maybe he was the first man of whom this was true for her. “I think I’m simply overwhelmed by its beauty. This is the work of so many generations. I appreciate how they value knowledge and have wrapped it in as much beauty as possible.”

“Ah, yes. The Matlock Family inheritance,” Mr. Andrews said. Caroline couldn’t quite make out the tone.

“Do I detect a hint of disdain in your voice, Sir?” Caroline asked, finally turning to face her companion.

“Nay, not disdain. No, I would not call it disdain. Inheritance has been the guiding force in my life, Miss Bingley. The Andrews family is ancient, and their legacy rich. On my mother’s side, the Lennoxes, it was the same. One man each generation carries the legacy forward, though many other sons existed. To say nothing of the daughters. Absorbed into other families, carrying their poor portion of the legacy along until it peters out. It is an odd thing for one to pledge one’s loyalty, that which you may never possess as fully as your oldest brother.”

Caroline absorbed what he said, looking at his handsome face as she did. Inheritance was what it all came down to, really. Claiming the noblest thread of your heritage and milking it for all it was worth. She tilted her head and said, “Do not you think all the Matlocks feel the same pride when they gaze upon this room?”

“Ay, perhaps. I can never do the same in my ancestral home without feeling as a tourist,” he replied, and held out his arm again. Caroline slipped her hand through once more and they began to skirt the perimetre of the library, pausing every few moments to regard a rare title behind glass or an elegant ornament.

They stopped to examine a small bronze bust of an ancient poet whose name was unknown to Caroline. Mr. Andrews reached out and gave the figure a small, affectionate tap on the nose and said, “Ah, Virgil, old friend. Rather dusty among this crowd,” and rubbed his fingers to get rid of the spot of dirt he’d picked up.

Caroline couldn’t help the burst of laughter that sprang out of her mouth. Mr. Andrews looked at her, his face aglow at having caused her any sort of merriment. A couple on the settee not far away gave them a look and the old aunt chaperoning them from a chair nearby made a huffing noise, which only caused Caroline to cover her mouth while continuing to laugh. Letting out a low chuckle, Mr. Andrews guided her deeper into the room toward a dim alcove to escape their persecutors.

With a smile still on her face, admiring the way the faint candlelight only served to make Mr. Andrews more handsome, Caroline asked, “Do you wish to discredit me further, Sir? Mocking the intellectual prowess of the assembly and now dashing me off to a dark corner?”

Smiling back, but without the wolfishness Caroline remembered from their early acquaintance, Mr. Andrews merely said, “No, Miss Bingley. I wouldn’t dare lead you anywhere you do not wish to go willingly.” And the smile dropped from her face.

And where exactly was she, Caroline wondered. Once again in a library alcove, just as she’d once spied the Darcys. Pursued once again by a man in trade, just as she had been when first out. Only this one she’d allowed to pursue her. Five and twenty, with a small handful of true gentlemen in her net, deciding which to throw back.

“Miss Bingley?” Mr. Andrews said. Caroline made no answer, and could not take her eyes from his face. It was drawing slightly nearer. “Miss Bingley, are you well?”

“Yes,” she gasped out.

“The evening hasn’t made you too warm? You seem rather flushed,” his voice was low.

“No, I’m, I’m quite well,” Caroline answered.

“Please, allow me to make you more comfortable,” Mr. Andrews said, and took her hand in his. He looked down at it as though holding a precious thing – gold, diamonds, the key to a sprawling manor – and he began to pull at the fingers of her satin evening glove. Caroline’s breath caught, but she made no move to stop him.

“You have beautiful hands, Caroline,” said he, finally sliding off the glove. He looked up from his task into her eyes. She could only stare back.

Mr. Andrews continued. “And you smell divine. Like orange blossoms and tea. And something more. Something I can’t define.”

Caroline’s stomach felt full of clumsy buzzing bees. She was terrified that someone would turn the corner and find them, terrified that he might not do the thing he was planning on doing next, whatever that may be. To surrender control to a capable man was a new feeling for her.

“And your skin, like velvet,” Mr. Andrews looked one last time into her eyes then bent his head down over her upturned palm. Holding her with a confident yet gentle grip, he kissed her palm slowly, then moved up to her wrist. Caroline felt weak in the knees, and began to waver. She was mortified to hear a small whimper leave her mouth as she gazed down at him, watching his ministrations.

As if sensing her need for support, he lightly snaked his other arm around her waist. He dragged his soft lips all the way up to the crook of her elbow and she watched as his full lips parted. He pulled her arm up toward him, held it out straight and tilted his head so he could watch her. Mr. Andrews gave a small lick to the outstretched crook of her elbow and Caroline had to grip the shelf behind her with her other hand. The bees were gone and all that was left was the desire pooling in her low abdomen.

“John,” she said in a low, rasping voice, and she caught the moment of pleased surprise that flickered over his face. He relinquished her hand, but kept his arm about her waist, pulling her within a few inches of his body. Hardly knowing what she did, Caroline felt her head tip back, and Mr. Andrews took her purloined glove and ran the satin along her collarbone. This time her shiver was visible to him, and he let out a small groan.

“You’re perfection, Caroline. You’re beautiful, you’re shrewd. You have a bit of a mean streak I find rather delightful. You play and sing like a siren. I…” He broke off, stumbling for perhaps the first time in their acquaintance. “I desire you deeply. Will you let me court you?” Mr. Andrews kept the glove moving along her now elongated neck and Caroline let her mind wander back to another alcove in another library. It dawned on her that she wanted Mr. Andrews to do to her what Mr. Darcy did to Mrs. Darcy. A marriage of passion could be hers.

Mr. Andrews drew the glove closer to the neckline of her ball gown, the fabric the only barrier between his fingers and her breast, and Caroline’s head fell back while she stifled a gasp. She looked up at the ceiling of the library above them. Rows and rows of books, a priceless oil painting above the settee, crystal wall sconces with unlit candles. The generations it had taken to make this. The Bingleys were only two generations into their journey toward the gentry. How could Caroline be the one to ruin the work? Ruin the prospects of any of her future children, of Louisa's and Charles’ children? Marry John Andrews and become the sister they found themselves compelled to avoid in society? She went still in his arms, and when he realised it was so, he stopped teazing her decolletage with the satin glove.

“Miss Bingley, will you?” Mr. Andrews’ voice now contained a note of worry, of uncertainty.

“Sir,” she began, and let out a whoosh of air that she didn’t realise she’d been holding. “I do not know if I may have permission to court you.”

He took a step back, but kept his hand on her waist. “What, from Bingley? I can’t imagine he’d be anything but delighted. I can’t imagine the fellow would object to me.” Mr. Andrews watched Caroline’s face, and the smile faded from his own.

“It’s not permission from Bingley, is it? Is it permission from yourself?” he asked, and he removed his hand entirely from Caroline’s person. She nearly reeled from the loss of his steadying support. “Perhaps I have been mistaken in your regard for me. I apologise.” Now Mr. Andrews sounded embarrassed.

“No, I…very much regard you, Sir. You are clever, handsome. And I can hardly keep the compliment of shrewdness all to myself. You are very astute…” Caroline trailed off.

“Then what prevents you, Miss Bingley? Is there another gentleman?” Mr. Andrews now took a step away from her.

“No, Sir. I have no understanding with any gentleman,” she said. She debated whether to be completely honest, and decided it was the only thing that would now do. “I cannot marry a man in trade.”

Mr. Andrews then did a rather astonishing thing. He began to chuckle. The chuckle then became a full laugh. Caroline felt her skin flush to the roots of her coiffed hair and hissed, “For Heaven’s sake, be quiet! Anyone could hear you!”

“And then your goose would really be cooked, wouldn’t it, Miss Bingley? To be caught in such a compromising position with such a low person,” he continued with a mirthless chuckle. “Are you really so worried about your status, Madam?”

“I find I must be,” she said stiffly. “Please do not laugh at me. I do not wish to offend you, but I do wish to be honest.”

Mr. Andrews now stepped fully away from her, but held her glove still. He looked down and began to fiddle with it. Caroline’s heart sank. “I do not wish to mock you, Miss Bingley. You are a product of an ascending family, from trade yourself. We find ourselves on opposite staircases, I suppose. You are walking up and I down.”

“You don’t really see it that way,” Caroline said. “You’re proud of what you’ve done.”

“With all my heart I am proud,” he said, looking up from the glove. “I was aware of what would happen when I embarked on my path. I regret it none. I didn’t want to wait for a good marriage to pull me from relative poverty. I think you’re the same. We both want control of our fate.”

“Women don’t have much control, Mr. Andrews. Their only hope is a good marriage, or rich and kind brothers.” Her naked arm was now cold, and hung uselessly at her side.

He looked up at her and held out her glove. “I believe our definitions of a good marriage diverge.”

She reached out for the glove, and willed back the warble she knew wanted to come out with her next words. “I suppose they do. I am sorry. I should not have encouraged you.”

He smiled ruefully. “I should not have taken the liberties I did this eve. I am sorry.” He let out a sigh. “Miss Bingley, we should not be seen leaving this area together. Nor should you truly be seen on your own. There was nobody on the other side of the room. Make your way there, and wait for five minutes. I will walk toward the card tables and distract the party there. Make your way back to the ballroom.”

“I…thank you,” Caroline said. “I wish that circumstances were different." She paused for a moment and looked down, as every feeling imaginable threatened to bubble up through her throat at once. She took a deep breath and got control over herself once more, and lifted her eyes. "I must marry a gentleman. That is my inheritance.”

Mr. Andrews only looked thoughtful and gave her a rueful smile. “Well. I wish you luck. Happy hunting, dear Caroline.” He bowed to her and was gone.

Caroline waited a beat and brought her naked hand to her mouth, and forced herself to take more deep, calming breaths through her nose. She peeked around the edge of the alcove and saw there was no one to catch her. Caroline pulled on her glove and walked with calm, elegant strides toward the other end of the library. She could hear laughter and talking closer to the fire, but maintained the attitude of a studious young lady who absolutely had to conclude her tour of the Matlock collection.

When she was finally near the door to the hallway, she looked over and saw Mr. Andrews regaling a table of card playing gentlemen, Mr. Darcy among them. He kept their focus on himself, and Caroline slipped through the door and headed back to the party. The noise grew louder as she approached the ballroom, but she found it all a dull, throbbing hum, found she could hardly focus on the faces ringing the room, the music blasting from the balcony. She made her way to the lemonade and gulped down a first cup, then a second. When she had fortified herself at last, she turned, and went to look for any familiar, aristocratic face in the crowd that she could find.

Chapter Text

The Matlocks’ ball went on longer than most, well past 7 in the morning. Despite the darkness of winter mornings, the sun was well on its way to rising when the Darcys’ carriage was finally called up to the Matlocks’ front door. Mr. Darcy handed in all the ladies, and sat next to Caroline, as Georgiana had immediately cosied herself against Mrs. Darcy’s side, pulling a rug up to their chins. Though the carriage rattled along the street, Georgiana fell asleep immediately and Mrs. Darcy looped a protective arm around the young girl and rested her chin upon her golden curls.

Caroline took a surreptitious look at Mr. Darcy and her heart ached at the warm smile he had for his wife. She felt tears prick and sting the corner of her eyes and looked up quickly at the roof of the carriage, trying not to draw attention to herself as the feeling passed and her eyes cleared. When she brought her eyes back down, she saw Mrs. Darcy was observing her and cursed internally.

“And did you have a pleasant evening, Miss Bingley? I confess, the crush was so great I lost sight of you after the supper dance.” Mrs. Darcy’s voice was sleepy, but kind. She had to have seen how Caroline teared up, the momentary flash of sorrow that had to have crossed her countenance. It was odd to be on the receiving end of that kindness.

Caroline, however, would never allow weakness to rule her. She despised the feeling of exposure. She gathered the last shards of civility and gratitude she had remaining and said, “I thank you, it was most pleasant. And it was an honour to make the Matlocks’ acquaintance. Such an elegant evening.”

“Yes, the Matlocks are always at the height of fashion when it comes to their events, wouldn’t you say, my dear?” Mrs. Darcy lifted her chin from Georgiana’s head, and looked over to her husband. Clearly Caroline had trod upon a well worn point between the Darcys.

“They were not previously so bent on trends,” Mr. Darcy grumbled. “But ever since James inherited the title from Uncle Matlock, it’s clear he wants to be the first to exhibit the latest trifles and fashions. London life suits him.”

“Dearest, don’t make sport of him,” Mrs. Darcy warned, but she said it so smilingly that Caroline could not tell if she meant to encourage or discourage Darcy’s mirth.

“Indeed I do not make sport of him. He does perfectly well on his own,” said Mr. Darcy, a faint smirk tugging at his handsome mouth. Mrs. Darcy muffled a giggle so as not to wake Georgiana.

“Oh, dear James. Well, somebody has to be the first to try these things. Then all the others may copy him blindly, turning his inventions into old news while he is onto the next.” Mrs. Darcy shivered and tucked the rug more closely around her side.

“What an odd way to spend one’s time as a man,” Darcy spoke with amusement, but no contempt.

“It gives him — and his guests — pleasure,” said she in response.

“James would do better to seek purpose over pleasure. He’s always been this way,” Darcy seemed to shrug his shoulders slightly.

“Perhaps. A wife might make him happy. It would certainly make his mother happy, now that his dear Papa is gone,” said Mrs. Darcy, who suddenly looked over at Caroline. She cried out quietly, “Miss Bingley, I do apologise — Fitz, dearest, will you pass Miss Bingley a rug?”

Caroline was startled out of the lull of listening to their intimate chit-chat as they did the necessaries and saw her to her door. “Oh, really, Madam, I am quite alright —“ she began, but Darcy had pulled another soft, woolen rug from his opposite side and was now handing it to her.

“Here you are, Miss Bingley, you must stay warm. This has been a dreadful winter. We can’t have you catching cold,” he said gruffly. Caroline took the blanket, dipping her head in gratitude. It was really quite frigid. She wrapped the blanket around herself, burrowing into the fabric, and readjusting her legs toward the foot warmer.

Perhaps it was the late, or rather early, hour. Perhaps it was that she had absolutely nothing to lose with the Darcys, save possible future chaperoning. Perhaps it was that she had knowledge of what they really looked like in their most intimate moments. She couldn’t say what possessed her to ask the following.

“Pray, Sir, Madam. What is more important to one’s ultimate happiness? Purpose or pleasure?”

Caroline was not known for such unsophisticated outbursts. Everything she did was controlled, or she tried to be controlled, at any rate. Only one person in the world seemed capable of making her losing control, and she had just rejected him. But truly, Caroline did wonder: Darcy had gained pleasure from his marriage. Elizabeth Bennet had gained great purpose. They had astonished everybody with their union. So which was more important?

They both looked at her with surprise. Caroline watched as the curtain of formality and hauteur dropped over Darcy’s face at her overly familiar question. But Mrs. Darcy merely said, “Why both, Miss Bingley. Find a purpose that gives you pleasure. Life is too long to choose only one or the other.”

Miss Bingley merely nodded, and Mrs. Darcy was seized by a great yawn, which she covered with a daintily gloved hand. “Please forgive me, Miss Bingley. The cold and the hour are making me dreadfully sleepy.”

Caroline merely bobbed her head and nestled further into her rug. A few more minutes would see her home, where she could collapse into her bed and sob all she needed to.

Eventually the carriage rolled up to the Hursts’ townhouse, and Caroline was escorted up the stairs. She was enveloped into the warmth of the waking household, guided above stairs by the fussing Sally, with promises of a nice pot of chocolate and a pitcher of warm, steamy water for washing.

As Sally divested Caroline of her finery, and worked her hair into a plait for sleep, the chamber maid came to stoke the fire and turn down the bed. The two servants kept up a stream of chatter around their mistress, and the nothingness of the chat soothed Caroline as she formed her resolution for the future.

She would hold her tears until she was tucked into bed. She would allow herself one day of total self-pity and morosity, and then she would move forward as she knew she must. She would allow herself total abandonment to the sorrow that threatened to consume her. For 24 hours, Caroline would allow heartbreak to sink her to the bottom of the ocean’s floor. And then she would rise back up to the top and keep swimming.

And it was with that resolution in mind that she sat through Sally’s ministrations. Caroline was changed into a new, clean chemise and nightgown, then she took the warm, wet flannel from Sally and wiped the rouge and raging disappointment from her face. She settled into bed, grateful that the chamber maid had heated the sheets with a bed warmer. “Sleep well, my lady,” Sally said, bobbing a curtsy, and closing the bed curtains, leaving Caroline to stare up at the canopy. When she heard the door finally close, she could finally let the tears fall. Through her blurry vision, she stared down at the crook of her elbow, the spot Mr. Andrew’s had licked and kissed not many hours ago. “I shall never know a touch like that again,” she found herself saying aloud, quite suddenly. Then her face crumpled into ugly tears, and she burrowed into the pillows to let her sorrow have full reign.

True to her self-made promise, a day later Caroline had moved forward, all business. More families were expected back from the country, and more small, intimate amusements were planned. She sifted through invitations and made strategic choices about where to spend her attendance.

Of all her possible matches, she decided on Mr. Stanhope. Squire Nesbitt didn’t seem as if he knew what he was about and Caroline had not the patience to wait for him to determine his intentions. Stanhope and life in the great far north it was to be, and it was a steady, reasonable choice. After all, at some point, one simply needed to choose. Caroline had asked Louisa to be sure to invite the Stanhopes to the Hursts’ upcoming dinner. She was also taking a more active role in planning the event so she could boast to Mr. Stanhope if the opportunity presented itself, to show what a capable mistress of a home she would be. Marriage was a profession for a well born woman, and Caroline had been in training for years. It was rather long past time to begin.

Louisa and Caroline sat in the drawing room after breakfast one morning to finalise the courses. The weak winter sunshine was an unexpected blessing after so many cold, gray days, and Caroline felt even more fortified by its presence.

“Now dearest,” Caroline began, running her finger down the menu she had drawn up, rolling her quill betwixt the fingers of her other hand. “It has become rather fashionable to serve dinner à la russe, rather than à la française. What do you think? Are the servants capable of the adjustment on rather short notice? With so many fashionable guests, it might be quite the thing.”

Louisa yawned and stretched, lolling a bit in a sunbeam, rather like a cat. “Oh, I don’t know, Caro. You know how Mr. Hurst despises course by course. I think it better to keep à la française, but have a dish or two more. Cook tells me there are rather beautiful partridges to be gotten. And most of the gentlemen in attendance are a hearty sort. Let us not harry the servants with this.”

“As you wish, my dear, just an idle thought,” Caroline crossed out a line and added partridge to the list. “We’ll, then I think we’re quite ready. I shall speak to Mrs. Winthrop and Mrs. Rawlings. The most trying portion of the work is complete.”

Louisa looked up, and seemed to hesitate a moment before saying, “We’ve had a Regret. Mr. John Andrews shall not be in attendance. Unexpected business arose, apparently.”

Caroline feigned indifference. She forced herself to make no noise, to show no grimace. She astonished herself with how easily she hid the scream that wished to burst forward from her throat. “Very well, I shall pass that along to the staff. One less guest.”

Louisa said nothing, but watched her little sister through a side-long glance. “The Stanhopes have confirmed their attendance?”

“Indeed they have,” Caroline said firmly. “I look forward to hearing of all they have done since we saw them last.”

“Right,” said Louisa. “More news of the Pugs.”

Caroline straightened her shoulders. “Right.” She was going to have to learn to like the deuced things. It could always be worse.

The days passed in a flurry of activity for the household as Mrs. Rawlings and her kitchen maids gathered ingredients and began preparations. There was to be White Soup, and Caroline had convinced the woman that lemon syllabub was absolutely necessary. With a heaving sigh, Mrs. Rawlings had agreed. She was the type that needed to be coaxed and wheedled, and Mr. Hurst wouldn’t hear of her dismissal, so there it was. There were extra servants to be hired to assist with serving, and all the wine had yet to be gotten. Caroline had not decided whether the card tables were to be placed in the drawing room, or if conversation and music were preferable. Most likely conversation and music.

Caroline felt some indifference to her dress, and allowed Sally to select what she thought would look best. This sent Sally into a delighted tizzy, and she began selecting ribbons and feathers and building the evening’s dress around what pleased her best in that hour. Caroline had a small fear she might look like a deranged peacock, but couldn’t drum up the concern.

Two days before their dinner party, Caroline and Louisa made a morning visit to Mrs. Darcy and Georgiana, stopping by on their round of social calls. Louisa’s purpose was to contrive some news of Jane and Charles’ little son, as the correspondence between Mrs. Darcy and Jane was so very frequent.

As they sat down to tea with Georgiana and Mrs. Darcy, Louisa continued her good-natured complaints against Charles’ infrequent and highly blotted letters. Mrs. Darcy merely laughed and agreed as she adjusted the screen before the fire for Louisa’s comfort. “I am sorry to say it is so. Your dear brother is many things, but a faithful and diligent correspondent is not one of them.”

“And so what news? How does little Thomas do, Mrs. Darcy?” Louisa gratefully accepted a small embroidered pillow from Georgiana and tucked it behind her back.

“Oh, he is quite stout and healthy, thank heaven. It sounds as though he has a fine head of thick auburn hair coming in, so we can say he is coming into the Bingley looks. Jane tells me he is gaining weight as he eats nearly constantly. Jane and Charles seem quite delighted.” Mrs. Darcy took a sip of tea and gestured to a tray of fancies. Louisa selected a small cake and ate it with relish. Her appetite had been great this week so far.

“Miss Bingley?” Mrs. Darcy offered.

“No, I thank you,” Caroline answered. She knew she sounded dull, but could not bring herself to care much. Still, she exerted herself to say, “And how do you and Georgiana do? Have you had any interesting amusements lately?”

“Well,” began Mrs. Darcy, and when she looked over at Georgiana, the young woman blushed slightly, but nodded.

“Georgiana and I shall call tomorrow for tea at Mrs. Pelham’s. Georgiana and Mr. Robert Pelham have been enjoying each other’s acquaintance this season, and Mrs. Pelham is desirous of spending some time with Georgiana and myself.”

“Oh, how delightful!” Louisa leaned forward. “Mr. Pelham is an excellent young man, I believe.”

Georgiana looked once more to Mrs. Darcy, who gave an encouraging smile. Then she burst forth with, “He is indeed, Mrs. Hurst! So intelligent and amiable. I can scarcely believe he is interested in me!”

“Oh, my dear girl, why wouldn’t he be interested in you? You’re beautiful and accomplished,” Louisa spoke admonishingly. “You should not think so meanly of yourself, should she, Caroline?”

Caroline had an aching feeling in her chest, but summoned the energy to agree with great spirit. “You are a most delightful creature, Georgiana. Louisa is right. You must see yourself as others see you: lovely, charming, and talented.” Silently she added and filthy rich with stellar connexions.

“His estate is in Wales, is it not?” Louisa asked.

“Yes,” gushed Georgiana. “Cousin Richard has been to visit. They are old friends from Cambridge, and Richard spent a summer there several years back. He says it’s quite good country, in the north near Snowdon.”

“Well, I wish you a pleasant time as you further your acquaintance,” said Louisa. She looked over at Caroline who now had a frozen smile on her face. She was just about to suggest they be on their way when Mr. Darcy came through the door.

Louisa and Caroline stood to curtsy, and Mr. Darcy made a quick, polite bow. “Ladies, a pleasure to see you. Mrs. Hurst, I hope you are feeling well these days.”

“I am, Sir, I thank you. Quite hale and hearty.”

“I am glad to hear it. And Miss Bingley, I hope you are well recovered after the Matlocks’ ball.”

“I am indeed, I thank you,” Caroline replied with the same wooden smile, and though
she could tell even Mr. Darcy noticed she was not herself, she couldn’t exert herself to care. Louisa quickly changed the subject.

“Mr. Darcy, how long have you been acquainted with the Pelham Family?”

“Many years, though my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam was always rather closer. We are all taking pains to get to know Mr. Pelham now.” Mr. Darcy accepted a cup of tea from his wife and sat next to his sister, who fairly glowed.

They continued to talk of Mr. Pelham — an oldest son with a spate of younger sisters, his hundreds of acres in Wales, his lively conversation — but in truth, Caroline only nodded along. It was certainly an eligible match, and Miss Darcy with her thirty thousand pounds and first bloom of beauty was an ideal choice for such a man as Mr. Pelham. All Caroline could see was the wasted opportunities in her own wake. How had she done so badly at this game?

Moreover, why was she the only one who saw it as a game to be won? How did these other ladies manage to wander into such remarkable situations, against all odds?

Louisa stood, startling Caroline, and she concluded that their visit was over. She quickly stood alongside her, while the Darcys rose up to make their parting bows and curtsies. Mr. Darcy handsomely saw them out, handing them into the carriage himself. First Louisa, then Caroline.

As he took her hand, he angled his head. “Miss Bingley, are you quite well?”

No. Not at all. She hardly knew herself, but she knew what she must do. Play the best hand she had left and make of it what she could, lost opportunities be hanged.

“Never better, Sir,” said she, and nodded her head as the footman stepped in to close the carriage door. And she did not look back.

Chapter Text

The servants had outdone themselves, and frankly, Caroline felt she had, too. There would be twenty-four to dine in all. The tables were set with gleamingly clean linens and plates. The silver winked in the candlelight. Pyramids of fruit on stands ringed the room, ready to be brought forward for the final course. The urns of flowers were whimsical and out of the common way, placed low enough not to obscure the guests’ views of each other.

Caroline leaned over and examined a trail of ivy, not sure how it would look best. She finally tucked it slightly deeper into the urn and trained it alongside a light pink rose. “There, just so,” she said. She looked up to catch her reflection in the large glass on the opposite wall.

Sally had done well, although she had been utterly chaotic leading up to tonight’s event. She had reworked one of Caroline’s gowns from last season into something quite stunning and au courant. It was a shimmering emerald green tipped with silver threads along the neckline and the band just under her breasts. Matching silver satin ribbons were worked into the hem and the sleeves. Sally had created a very flattering hairstyle with silver and diamond hair pins. The curls were gathered higher on the crown of Caroline’s head than usual, allowing a few tendrils to trail becomingly. She wore diamond earrings and had borrowed a diamond and silver necklace from Louisa. Caroline would look quite well for her reunion with the Stanhopes.

Louisa walked in and saw Caroline examining herself. “You will outshine everyone tonight, Caro. I wish I had time to draw a sketch of you. Perhaps I shall from memory.”

“Thank you, dearest. I must credit Sally.”

“Not at all. She did quite well, but she had much to work with,” Louisa came over and adjusted a curl or two on Caroline’s head. “Full beautiful, like a queen.”

Caroline felt the urge to tear up, and couldn’t speak. Instead she reached down and gave Louisa’s hand a squeeze. Louisa seemed to understand. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room? Our company shall begin to arrive soon.”

“Lead the way, Mrs. Hurst,” responded Caroline finally. And so Louisa did.

The guests began to gather, and all were in good time, none tardy. Among the gathered party were the Darcys, some of the Straffords, the Wiltshire neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Gorham from next door, and naturally the Stanhopes. Along with a friend or two of Mr. Hurst’s.

As the guests milled around the dining room, engaged in happy chat, Mr. Stanhope came up and made his bow to Caroline. She curtsied in return, and Mr. Stanhope began, “It is a delight to see you again, Miss Bingley. How well you look!”

She smiled and looked down modestly. “Thank you, Sir. And you are looking quite refreshed from your time in the country. Was it a pleasant stay?”

“Oh, I thank you, yes. Most delightful. Reg and Charlotte are wonderful hosts, and we had many merry adventures.”

“Oh, how lovely! And what sort of entertainments did you undertake?” Caroline looked at him with some interest now.

“Oh, it was rather snowy, so there were many sleigh rides. My brother and sister do not have much company of their calibre, as we do not have a great range of families in the neighbourhood. However, when I became tired of the society, such as it was, I turned into my own company. I read a great deal and am in talks with the steward of Kedleston and I have been corresponding a great deal.”

“Oh? Shall you move into your estate soon?”

“The tenant has two more years, but I am undertaking some improvements to the old place. Nothing so very exciting. A new roof must be put on, and there are some drainage needs that I must resolve. If the place is to stay viable, there must be some rather dull improvements. But that’s the life of an estate owner.”

“Indeed. Well, I hope you shall make some improvements that bring you joy as well as peace of mind.”

“Absolutely. I shall also update the kennels. They are quite out of date.”

“Ah, yes, you musn’t forget your pugs. Will you excuse me, Sir? I have planned the majority of tonight’s dinner, and wish to check in with the butler to ensure all is well,” Caroline curtsied before Mr. Stanhope could answer and stepped out of the room with no intention of seeking the staff.

The dinner was spectacular and the company had been well selected. There had been much merry chat and the dishes were universally admired. The wine was perfection and the atmosphere engaging and bright.

Caroline had done this. Certainly with Louisa’s blessing and support, but it was Caroline who had created the evening’s enjoyment.

She could orchestrate the worthiest and most exclusive entertainments. She could move gracefully through the first circles. Caroline Bingley, granddaughter of a ruthless, somewhat vulgar wool magnate. She had earned this.

The last bites were taken and the ladies and gentlemen went their separate ways. The men went to smoke their cigars and drink brandy in Hurst’s study, while Caroline and Louisa led the women to the drawing room where tea and sherry awaited the party.

Louisa attempted to settle herself gracefully. Many of the women tittered in sympathy, and Mrs. Darcy herself brought over an extra cushion, murmuring her understanding of Louisa’s discomfort. “One simply cannot rest in a comfortable attitude,” Louisa trilled softly to her. But they quelled their talk of childbirth as Georgiana Darcy joined them, settling into the chair angled near their sofa.

Mrs. Gorham and Mrs. Strafford sat together, their heads bent together conspiratorially. As she discreetly passed them, Caroline heard a whisper of “Pelham and Miss Darcy”.

She was making her way toward Lady Stanhope. My future sister, Caroline tested out in her head. She put a winning smile on her face and asked, “Lady Stanhope, may I collect a cup of tea or sherry for you?”

Lady Stanhope looked up from her reticule and gave Caroline a placid smile. “Dear Miss Bingley, how kind. Sherry would be most welcome.” Caroline nodded her assent and gestured to the nearest footman for two glasses of the sweet drink. The women were silent until the footman returned, serving them from a gleaming silver tray.

“To you, Miss Bingley,” Lady Stanhope raised her glass. “You planned such a lovely evening, I must compliment you.”

“Oh, no, it is nothing,” Caroline began to demur.

“My word, don’t be silly! I am a very poor organiser and find myself truly astonished at your skill,” Lady Stanhope sounded sincere.

“But madam, your ball in autumn was so delightful!” Caroline was only partially sincere. While the company gathered was quite good, the food had been uninspired and the crush too great.

“Oh, heavens. My housekeeper did nearly everything. Whether I am absent-minded or just more agreeably engaged with my various pursuits, I don’t know. But Mrs. Perkins is an excellent partner in all the schemes I must fulfil.” Lady Stanhope drew breath and took a healthy sip from her glass.

“And your other pursuits, Madam, what might they be?”

“Oh, we are great nature enthusiasts, Miss Bingley. My husband’s estate is near the shore, just south of Sunderland. We are currently undertaking a great project to catalogue fossils we have found along the coast,” Lady Stanhope’s eyes glittered as she warmed to the subject.

“Oh, how fascinating,” Caroline said, but found herself at a loss for any other enthusiastic encouragement. Lady Stanhope, however, needed none.

“That it is, Miss Bingley! We so enjoyed the little season in Autumn, but my what a pleasure to be back home amongst our work.”

“I believe I understood from Mr. Stanhope that your circle is somewhat limited near your home in the north. Is it so?”

“Unfortunately, yes. There is not much society to be found amongst our neighbours. We dine with twelve families, in my estimation.”

“My goodness! You must enjoy being in London, then. It must be difficult for society to be so unvarying.”

Lady Stanhope seemed to bristle and Caroline knew she had caused some offense, but couldn’t regret the question. She needed to know what she might be getting herself into.

“It may not be a very large circle, Miss Bingley, but were you to enter among it, you would see true companionship and joy in each other’s presence.” The Lady sniffed and took a sip of her sherry.

“Please excuse me, I did not mean to sound disparaging. I merely wondered if that was what brought you to London, if you missed a larger social circle.” Caroline knew she had to retreat and unruffle Lady Stanhope’s feathers.

Lady Stanhope merely leaned over and patted Caroline’s hand. “Not at all my dear, now I understand you. It has been a delight to be in London after caring for my husband’s father for so many years. We shall take advantage of the bookshops and museums as well as societies for the remaining few months of the season, then back down to Sunderland, which is my delight of all things.”

“And you’ll return to town next winter, perhaps? I remember Lord Stanhope saying your townhouse was recently renovated, if I recall correctly.” Caroline fibbed slightly here. She knew it was renovated, and thanks to Sally, she knew exactly what had been done and how much it had cost.

“Ah, likely not for a few years. We shall be leasing the home to a gentleman and his family starting in September. The terms are for 3 years.”

“Goodness me! Does town not agree with you?”

Lady Stanhope gestured for a refill of her glass. “To an extent it does, mainly to meet with academic society and scholars. It is the same for my dear husband. We would rather take the income from renting the townhouse and put it toward our work.”

“Work with the fossils?” Caroline forced herself not to down the rest of her sherry, and merely kept the glass balanced in both hands on her lap.

“Yes indeed! We are on the verge of some very interesting theories proving to be correct. I cannot wait for summer when we can begin again in earnest.”

“Does Mr. Stanhope often attend your excursions?”

“When he is not occupied with his Pugs, or preparing to take over Kedleston, it is his delight,” replied Lady Stanhope, who was now happily accepting her second glass of sherry just as Mr. Hurst opened the doors and led the gentlemen into the drawing room. “And you, Miss Bingley? What are some of your pursuits?”

Caroline was about to answer when both Stanhope men walked up to their sofa and claimed seats. Lord Stanhope sat alongside his wife, and Mr. Stanhope sat in the chair to Caroline’s right. Caroline thought: this picturesque could be my future.

“Yes, Miss Bingley, what interests you, and occupies your time?” Mr. Stanhope looked all curiosity.

“Well,” she said, fluttering her eyes and dipping her chin demurely. “I am very fond of society and excellent conversation. I enjoy creating entertainments for friends, both old and new. But perhaps my greatest passion is music.”

“Wonderful,” boomed Lord Stanhope. “And will we hear from you tonight on the pianoforte, Madam?”

“I believe we are to have music. It will be my pleasure.” Caroline looked at the group, and there suddenly felt like there was nothing left to say. “May I offer you gentlemen something to drink?” Caroline stood up, and took the men’s requests.

She walked over to the footman and coordinated that he bring the two men each a glass of brandy. She stepped over to the window and discreetly downed the rest of her sherry. She knew that tonight she would need to be very encouraging to Mr. Stanhope, so that he could be in no doubt that his next step was to offer to court her.

And underneath everything, Caroline also knew with every step she took down this new path, she was going in the wrong direction.

The rest of the evening went splendidly. The ladies all exhibited, and even Miss Darcy was prevailed upon to play, though she would not sing. She stood to loud applause, flushing pink as the assembled group clapped for her, but would not play a third.

Instead Georgiana gestured to Mrs. Darcy, who modestly stood and made her way to the instrument. She settled herself at the keys, and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment before smiling a little smile to herself.

She began her song, the chords sprightly, but with an edge of sorrow underneath. It was an Irish air that Caroline always enjoyed when she heard it, but rarely sang herself. She found herself leaning forward as Eliza Darcy’s pleasing, rich timbre filled the room.

What’s this dull town to me? Robin’s not near…where’s all the joy and mirth, made this town a heaven on earth? Oh! They’re all fled with thee, Robin Adair…What made the assembly shine? Robin Adair. What made the ball so fine? Robin was there…What made my heart so sore? Oh! It was parting with Robin Adair…

Honestly. Was the woman doing this a’purpose? Caroline looked at the ceiling to force the tears that threatened to spill over back to whence they came.

Nobody else had played such a simple song this evening, nobody else was as unstudied as Mrs. Darcy. Yet no other woman had received such thunderous applause. How did she do it? How did she always charm others so? How Caroline failed so miserably at charming the right man, and succeeded so wildly at charming the wrong one? She understood all the rules, had operated by them most strictly. It defied everything she knew of society.

After all had had their fill of music and the company was winding down over final cups of tea and last bites of sweets, Caroline found herself by Mrs. Darcy. She was too drained for artifice at this point in the evening, or possibly even at this point in the season. She knew she should use the last half hour of the evening to engage Mr. Stanhope, but could hardly bear to look at the man, and what he represented of her probable future of dull society and conversations of fossils, nature, and dogs over and over again for all her remaining days.

“Miss Bingley, I must congratulate you on a very fine evening. I know I speak for all my party, it has been most pleasant. You have done an excellent job of gathering good company, and the dinner and music have both been so lovely.” Mrs. Darcy looked sincere in her thanks, and even placed a hand on Caroline’s arm.

“How kind, thank you,” Caroline managed to say. “It has been my pleasure.”

“You are uniquely skilled at entertaining. I cannot wait to write to Jane of music we heard tonight. She would particularly love the Haydn piece you played.”

Caroline nodded her head once in acknowledgement. “And your Robin Adair was delightful. What made you think of it?”

“I can hardly say. It’s a piece I always adored. You know I am a poor musician in the sense that I do not practise enough. So I find it’s always best to play what I love best. You’ll never find me at work on a piece that takes too much effort.” Mrs. Darcy chuckled at herself. “I could do better, I am sure, but this is how I’ve always been.”

“You don’t put on a show for others, do you? You’re quite honest about that.” Caroline knew her assessment sounded harsh, but she spoke it with a degree of wonder.

Still, Mrs. Darcy looked surprised. “Fitzwilliam said something similar to me once. ‘We neither of us perform to strangers.’ Perhaps that seems like impertinence. As long as one is not unkind, I think it is merely honesty.”

“Honesty in what sense?” Caroline could hardly believe she was asking these graceless questions of Mrs. Darcy. From the other woman’s perspective, this increase in intimacy must seem odd, but in Caroline’s mind, she had seen Eliza Darcy at her most intimate, and therefore found she felt a strange lack of restraint around the woman. Of course, Mrs. Darcy could not know this.

“Honesty to one’s own self, Miss Bingley. Every lie a woman tells herself just takes her further away from happiness.”

At this moment, Louisa waddled up with Miss Darcy in tow, and the two ladies also congratulated Caroline on the wonderful evening she had put together. Caroline excused herself with a curtsy and polite smile to the Darcy women and told Louisa she would begin a last round of the guests before carriages began to be called.

As if a marionette, Caroline felt strings pulling her toward the Straffords and Gorhams, smiling her thanks at their attendance. She gestured to the footman to collect stray teacups. She stopped by Lord and Lady Stanhope to tell them how pleased she was that they were back in town and able to attend. She also wished them the best with their scientific pursuits while in town and said she hoped to see them again.

She managed to pretend she didn’t see Mr. Stanhope rise from his sofa across the room where he sat with Mr. Hurst. She turned her head when she saw he was clearly making his way toward her, and moved quickly toward the exit to the hall, pretending as though she was suddenly bent on a great purpose.

Every lie a woman tells herself just takes her further away from happiness.

At this point in her life, which part was the lie?

Chapter Text

It was such a cold winter. January had gone, and February was well under way. The lack of warmth and sun was getting to Caroline. She came into her sister’s sitting room after a visit from the doctor, who had predicted that Louisa’s babe would come in early April. After he left, Louisa groaned at this news. She was on a much smaller scale than Caroline and Charles, who both cut rather tall figures. Louisa bemoaned how rotund she had become so quickly, and mused, “I feel I must be carrying a giant or a giantess. This is perhaps my punishment for decreasing Mr. Hurst Senior’s wine budget. I am sure he has cursed me from afar.”

Caroline only laughed as she helped her sister lay on her side on the sofa. Louisa could only find a comfortable position for a quarter of an hour or so. They propped cushions all around her belly and back. Louisa lifted her head and looked about the room. “Has the maid gone?” When Caroline nodded in the affirmative, Louisa jammed a pillow betwixt her thighs and gestured to a quilt. “Here, cover me, lest she come back and think me a wanton.”

Once Louisa was settled into whatever temporary relief she was able to find, Caroline made herself a cup of tea. She only took sugar in the morning, and today found herself adding an extra lump. Caroline stirred gently and the result was a perfectly comforting sweet, milky cup. She heaved a sigh and dropped gracelessly down on the sofa opposite her sister. Louisa looked over and Caroline lifted a corner of her mouth in a false half smile.

“Oh, my dear,” Louisa said in sympathy. “My dear, my dear.”

It was but three days since their very successful dinner party, and they had received handsome notes from many of the ladies. Caroline had the satisfaction of knowing herself to be accepted by those who truly knew and understood what it was to be a gentle person.

She had also cried on Louisa’s shoulder that night, telling her that she could not encourage Mr. Stanhope, and wailed that she had ended the season no better than she had started it. “I cannot become his wife, I am sorry!” Her tears had fallen like a child’s — wild, messy, and unrelenting.

Louisa had merely embraced her and said, “Of course not, darling. He is no match for Miss Caroline Bingley!” And Caroline, now five-and-twenty, in possession of £24,000, an elegant figure bedecked in the most glorious wardrobe seen outside of court, merely wept. “I have done everything right!” She sobbed, feeling both irrationality and embarrassment at her own umbridge. “Why can I not do this last part? Why can I not marry?”

Louisa allowed her to cry until she was finished and said, “Sleep now, dearest. Everything looks better after sleep.” And Caroline had slept past noon.

The two women had not discussed the matter, but it seemed Louisa’s curiosity now needed to be satisfied.

“What would you like to do, Caro?” Louisa asked plainly, kindly.

Caroline looked for a moment at the fire as it popped and cracked merrily and the answer came to her. She looked back at Louisa and said, “I would like to stop hunting.”

“Do you mean to say no husband at all?” Louisa sounded slightly alarmed.

“Should a man come along who might be a good match, I shall not be a fool. Well, I shall not be a fool once more,” she said.

“Well, what shall you do instead?” Louisa’s alarm had subsided, and now she merely looked slightly bewildered.

“I shall enjoy my life. For once, no hidden motivations, no schemes. I shall simply enjoy being a rich, single woman in possession of the finest wardrobe, great skill at cards, an excellent family with good connexions, good conversation, and an interest in the world,” she said simply, ticking her assets in life off on her fingers. There were so many for which to be thankful.

Louisa took it in, then finally cracked a smile. “Don’t forget a beautiful voice and a musical mind,” she added, holding up two more fingers.

“Quite right,” Caroline said, a hint of a smile behind her words. “It’s possible my education is finally complete. Skill, talent, good fortune, and finally the wisdom to enjoy it properly.”

They sat and talked about baby names, Jane’s latest letter and how little James got on back at Gastrell Park. Caroline told Louisa about a note she’d had from an old school friend, and that she intended to call on her now that she was come to town. Louisa mentioned some new furniture would be arriving soon for the nursery here in town, as no child had lived in the home for decades now, and how Robert was quite insistent that the new babe have nothing but the best.

Louisa changed positions at least 8 times, always positioning her army of pillows with great peculiarity, and Caroline indulged in at least 5 cups of rather sugary tea along with her seed cake. The maid came to stoke the fire twice, and Mr. Hurst had gone so far as to wander in, looking for his wife at long last that day.

Caroline couldn’t remember a morning so well spent.

As if to reward Caroline, the next day dawned clear and bright, though it was crystalline cold. Louisa was making her confinement official and would not leave the house. She was full of plans for the nursery. After breakfast, Louisa dragged Mr. Hurst along with her to the new child’s room, while he gruffly insisted whatever she wanted would be done.

Caroline had Sally prepare her warmest pelisse and the fur lined muff, then called for the carriage to begin her tour of friends for the day. She would do her visits of duty first, and she would reserve her visit of pleasure to her old schoolmate as the crown of the day.

First she stopped by the Darcy townhome, but only Miss Darcy was in that morning, as Mr. And Mrs. Darcy were out at the book seller’s. Naturally, Caroline thought, and realised she didn’t even think it with a huff. She and Miss Darcy had a pleasant chat about music and a concert they both planned to attend and Caroline bid her good morning.

Caroline brought news of Louisa’s confinement to Charlotte Strafford and the ladies of that place. Caroline was pleased to see Old Mrs. Strafford, and they sat chatting pleasantly as more friends drifted in and out of the drawing room. Old Mrs. Strafford leaned in toward Caroline and whispered conspiratorially, “I find I am glad you did not get yourself caught up with my nephew. Horrid boy, you know. But if you knew the mother, it would all make sense!” The elegant old dowager rolled her eyes heavenward and shuddered. “Wretched woman and wretched spawn, I am sorry to say.” Caroline found that she was amused rather than mortified. Apparently a very narrow escape.

She stopped in at the Foxwells to wish joy upon Mrs. Foxwell’s brother, Phillip Archer and his new wife, the former Miss Evelyn Woodforde. The newly married couple sat awkwardly together on a sofa, accepting congratulations and smiling shyly among the assembled visitors. Caroline kept very strictly to the standard fifteen minutes, and wished them well, finding she could not regret Mr. Archer, eligible though he had been. May he and his little titmouse of a bride do very well together. She smiled and left the room, enjoying this odd contentment that had settled over her like a cloak.

Finally the carriage pulled Caroline toward Mayfair, where her old friend Miss Harriet Wallis was staying after several years away from town. Harriet was all that was fashionable and charming, but what Caroline had always liked best about the girl was the slight shimmer of playful wickedness that hung about her. She drove her family quite to distraction.

Her fortune was not great — she had only £10,000 pounds. Her looks were not in fashion — she had fair hair tinted with red, and she was regrettably freckled. She despised curling rags at night — her face was rarely framed with curls, and therefore there was little to distract from her over large eyes.

But, oh! Nobody could command a room like Miss Wallis. Her family was an ancient one, and Caroline had visited their manor in Winchester once during the winter holidays when they were girls. On that visit, she got to know the other Wallises who were at still at home. Harriet’s sisters were quite demure. Her brothers were all that was correct and proper. Mr. And Mrs. Wallis were pleasant enough, but rather distant. Caroline was sure it was due to her birth, and worked tirelessly to display her manners and accomplishments in front of them.

Caroline had roamed the halls looking at family portraits that went hundreds of years back. She watched the Wallises go from Elizabethans with their ruffled collars and pointed beards to early Georgians with their velvets and voluminous wigs. Caroline was only sixteen at the time, and this was likely where her true desire to come from something had originated. There were a few meager oil paintings of Bingley ancestors. Many crayons and pastels done by the ladies in the family over the years. There was a grand portrait completed by a fashionable artist of Grandfather Bingley, and Caroline’s father was commissioning portraits of himself and his wife. Caroline could only compare their own rushed attempt at recording history to the longstanding efforts of the Wallises, and knew the Bingleys could not truly compete. Only obfuscate.

Caroline’s true opinion of the great Wallis Family was that they perfectly good, but displayed a distinct lack of imagination and drive. It was Harriet Wallis who had all of the fire in the family collected in herself. Harriet lit up every room, danced every dance, and drew people like moths to the flame. Caroline had always admired her friend’s certainty at being welcome wherever she went. However it had been at least 3 years since the two had seen each other.

Mr. Wallis had died two years ago, and the unmarried girls stayed on with the eldest brother in the family home to help care for their mother. Caroline had read about volcanoes, and imagined the past two years had been like the rumblings often reported before an eruption. Harriet was finally free.

The carriage pulled up to the elegant apartment where Harriet was visiting with her aunt and uncle. The footman handed her out, and she walked up the imposing steps to ring the bell, looking out backward on the expansive fields of Hyde Park as she waited. When the butler let her in, he accepted her card and said, “Ah, yes. Miss Caroline Bingley. I’m told you are most eagerly awaited.” Caroline swore she saw a twinkle in his distinguished eye.

When she was announced in the grand drawing room, Harriet stood quickly and came to embrace her old friend. “Caro, my dear, you look so well! It has been an age, and I can’t tell you how glad I am now that you are come!”

Harriet’s face was aglow as she guided Caroline up to her aunt, Mrs. Powers. The old woman had never had children, and though Caroline knew her to be at least sixty years, she seemed much younger. She had not many wrinkles, and her fair hair hid the grey quite well. “How do you do, Mrs. Powers? It has been some time since we have met.”

“Oh, quite well, my dear, quite well. Mr. Powers and I have been enjoying the season, mostly keeping to dinners with friends and concerts. It has been so cold that I find I can’t bear to be away from a fire for long these days. Although now that Harry is here, I know I shall be dragged out to chaperone!” Mrs. Powers gave her niece a fond look.

“I shall try not to do you in entirely, old girl,” laughed Harriet. “Caro, some tea?”

“Yes, indeed. Your aunt is quite right. It has been frigid this winter, and tea and fire are about all one can do for oneself.”

The two young women sat on a settee opposite Aunt Powers, who was hard at work on a little dress for a new niece on her husband’s side of the family. Caroline and Harriet kept their voices low and between the soothing hum of conversation and the gentle popping of the fire, Mrs. Powers fell asleep.

“Ah, finally we may speak in earnest,” Harriet said with a wink. “How has your season been, my dear? I heard a rumour through my maid that there was some talk of you and Archie Stanhope?”

Caroline sighed. “I thought I might encourage him, but found I could not when all was said and done.”

“What was wrong with him, besides being a bit of a dullard? He’s harmless enough, and would probably leave you to your own devices.” Harriet took a bite of a morning bun and hummed with pleasure.

Caroline paused. “I hardly know, Harriet. I started this season meaning to be married or engaged by its end. And I haven’t met an appropriate choice that I would take. I thought it was me, but now I begin to think it is them.”

“Bravo, I quite agree! You are rich, clever, and beautiful, my dear, and deserve to be admired.” Harriet patted her on the arm. She paused for a moment, her full lips lifting into a smirk. “You said you haven’t met an appropriate choice that interested you. Does that mean you’ve met an inappropriate one?” Her smirk moved into a full-on grin.

Caroline rolled her eyes to distract from the heat she felt on her cheeks. “Harriet the Hobgoblin. There you are. I had missed you.”

Harriet only laughed and let it be for the moment. “Very well. Keep your secrets. I shall remember to come back to that later.”

In response, Caroline pinched her lightly on the arm and the two covered their mouths to muffle their laughter, lest they wake Mrs. Powers. When they recovered, Harried asked, “So then. What is our next amusement to be?”

Chapter Text

Having Harriet back in her life had done wonders for Caroline. Harriet had been starved for pleasurable entertainment in her mourning period. Now that she was back and had a feast before her, she clearly meant to make the most of it.

In their first week, they had been to the theatre, where they’d sat in Aunt Powers’ box. Mr. And Mrs. Powers smiled indulgently at the two girls as they gossiped between acts at the members of the ton who drifted past by their box. The Powers made for ideal chaperones, as they clearly did not mean to stir during intermission. In the corridor Harriet had gathered company around her like bees to the flower, and Caroline was never so well amused at the ladies and gentlemen who joined their circle.

There seemed a complete lack of guile amongst Harriet’s friends, which had intrigued her. It was not what she was used to among her own ordinary circle. Caroline and Harriet hadn’t spent much time in the company of others when together. Indeed, most of their physical proximity to each other was in country circles, where they stayed with each other a time or two since school had ended.

Caroline had watched with admiration as Harriet laughed, preened, and lightly rapped the gentlemen’s forearms with her fan. She studied the way Harriet huddled with complete concentration in conversation with the other ladies, clearly not meaning to do anything but listen and learn, her face expressive with each tidbit that her friends revealed to her.

It was the same at a dinner at which they both found themselves later in the week. An old school fellow was in town with her new husband, and she had collected whatever girls happened to be in town. Caroline had not laughed as hard as she did that night in many years. Harriet did impressions of the old Headmistress as the ladies were gathered in the drawing room after dinner, waiting for the gentlemen to finish their cigars, and Caroline and the other women felt the rare pleasure of not having to hide their true reactions. When the gentlemen joined them again, Harriet only winked in that impish way she was wont to do. Yes, Caroline was grateful to have Harriet back. It made her feel something like joy at a time when she never needed it more.

The winter cold that had the entire ton in its grip was slowly beginning to warm, though Sally had the fur-lined cape at the ready that evening. The Powers and Harriet were to collect Caroline for dinner at the Templetons, cousins on the Powers’ side. Harriet had rolled her eyes about the invitation — “it will only be old cousins and fusty neighbours, but what can be done? Visits of duty must be paid, and the Templetons do keep a French cook after all.”

Harriet had insisted on bringing Caroline so there would be a friend to endure the evening together. Caroline accepted because she could scarcely believe any event featuring Miss Harriet Wallis could ever be dull, and because they made room for her at the last moment, though certainly this must be due to another guest falling ill. Caroline was happy to accept, as the Templetons were in possession of a most elegant townhouse on Montagu Square, and Caroline had always been curious about the interior of the place on her rides around town.

Before she went down to meet the Powers’ carriage, she stopped in to say good night to Louisa, who was on all fours on her bed, once more surrounded by pillows propping up nearly every part of her body. “Louisa, darling, what is this?”

Louisa merely groaned in response, and let out a muffled “I cannot get comfortable! This child is a contortionist!”

Caroline laughed sympathetically, and leaned over to rub her sister’s lower back with a few vigorous strokes. Perhaps it is better not to marry if one need not carry children…

“Will you be well, dearest?”

With some effort, Louisa dislodged the pillows to her right and flopped gracelessly to the newly cleared space. “I shall be fine, Caro. Fortunately Sarah is coming with one of the other upper housemaids and they shall do some massages for me,” she was panting with the exertion of having flipped, but still she took in her sister’s good looks. “Why, you look absolutely divine!”

Caroline did feel she looked quite good that night. The modiste had sent a new violet overdress for her lovely white silk. The violet looked so well with Caroline’s colouring that she felt like a moving painting. Once more Sally had done a higher styling of Caroline’s hair than usual, and it showed off her long neck. The cut of the dress was one of the most flattering to Caroline’s figure, and Sally had bedecked her ears and throat with gold and diamonds.

She looked well, but only because she wanted to look well, not for any man’s eye. It was a new feeling.

“Thank you, Louisa. I shall run now, as the Powers and Harriet must be here any moment, but I hope the girls are able to give you some relief!” She gave one more affectionate pat, and Louisa huffed a sigh and waved her off.

Yes, that was one advantage indeed to the single life, Caroline thought as she headed down the stairs.

They were a large party that evening, possibly too large for a dinner party. But Caroline did not allow a twinge of guilt as she considered the methods which Harriet must have employed to invite her along. Mr. and Mrs. Templeton were all that was charming and civil, and Caroline was glad to have made their acquaintance, particularly since she knew Mrs. Templeton was rumoured to be friends with at least two of the patronesses of Almack’s. If anyone could strongarm her way into an Almack’s voucher, it was Harriet.

The two women had become separated, and Caroline sat with Uncle Powers for a moment, listening to him bluster about the unsuitability of the sofa cushions. “There are times when fashion is not to be favoured over function, and one’s sofa is such a time! But leave it to you ladies…”

Caroline tuned him out in order to take in the fashionable decor, and it was at that moment that Harriet returned with Aunt Powers and her oldest brother, Henry. Harriet was glowering at him, but with something like affection in her eyes.

“Well, you’re a terrible correspondent! You said nothing about coming up to London!” Harriet reproached him, but quietly. She had her arm threaded through his, and Caroline could see that she was squeezing his bicep uncomfortably.

“I hardly knew myself, Harry, be reasonable,” Mr. Wallis said coolly. “But I found I had enough business with the solicitor to make it worthwhile.” He looked over at his Uncle and Caroline, where the old man was still fussing with a small cushion, muttering “Damned useless thing!”

“Miss Bingley, it has been many years. How do you do?” Mr. Wallis bowed and Caroline rose from the sofa, managing to rise and sink into an elegant curtsy in one graceful move.

“Quite well, Sir, I thank you. May I offer you my deepest condolences on the passing of your good father? He was an excellent gentleman.”

“I thank you. He is with the Lord now, and his suffering was not too great near the end,” Mr. Wallis inclined his head toward her. “And I hope you are well, Madam?”

“Oh, indeed. I have been enjoying the season, even more so that your sister is back. It has been a joy to see so much of her.”

“Ah, dear Harriet,” he said archly. “She is truly…something. Ouch, you menace!” He hissed as Harriet pinched him, and Caroline laughed.

“Harriet, come, before you irreparably maim Mr. Wallis. I saw some lovely crayon drawings by Miss Templeton, on display just there. Will you look with me?” Caroline inclined her head, wishing to take in more of the room without Uncle Powers’ grumbling about chintz.

“With pleasure,” Harriet said, and she disengaged her arm from Mr. Wallis’.

“Please excuse us,” Caroline said, curtsying to the party. Mrs. Powers sat near her husband and patted his arm, muttering, “There, there,” while Mr. Wallis bowed. The two ladies walked away from the group.

As they walked away, Caroline heard a thump, and turned to head to make sure it was none of her party. Just past the group they’d left, somebody had set down a book a bit too aggressively on a little painted table. So, nothing. But it had given Caroline a chance to see that Mr. Wallis had watched her walk away, and watched her still. She gave a polite smile and went on to look at Miss Templeton’s renderings of Hyde Park and scenes around Mayfair, all surreptitiously looking at Mrs. Templeton’s salon. Poor Mr. Powers. The sofas were beautiful, but about as comfortable as rock.

Caroline found herself seated by Mr. Wallis at dinner. She was once again struck at how different Harriet was from her siblings. Though it had been many years since Caroline had been in company with Mr. Wallis or any of the others, her memory of his placid manners was proven true. He was all politeness, but with a great deal of reserve. Her conversation with the man was not earth shattering or intriguing, but it was plain to see the man was neither a simpleton nor a fool, as so many others in her recent history.

When the ladies retired to the drawing room and left the men to their cigars and port, Harriet seized Caroline’s hand with as much discreet fervor as she could possibly manage. “My dear, I was stuck next to my miserable cousin Edwin. Do you know, he had the gall to imply that this dress is old? ‘Harriet, I recall this dress — I remember the little flowers along the hem. Did you not wear this at Mama’s garden party in the year eleven?’”

“What on earth!?” Caroline muffled her laugh behind a false cough into her fist as they walked toward an empty sofa.

“That, Caro, is what passes for conversation by the men in my family! I thank God you were able to come tonight. Else I should have run mad while Edwin inquired after the greater details of my toilette and my favoured method of buttering a muffin.” Harriet looked murderously at Edwin’s mother. “Aunt Venetia would love nothing better than for me to marry Edwin. He’s her third son, and a complete ninny who cannot do anything for himself. He must marry a woman of good fortune, but to her fortune she must add the willingness to be mama to her own husband. I don’t know how he’ll ever attract anyone to do the job. I suppose my Aunt thinks my 10,000 pounds are the best he can do. We’d have to live in a cottage on their estate, as Edwin has absolutely nothing of his own. Then she could manage both of us.”

“That’s absolute nonsense,” Caroline scoffed at the vision. She affected a serious countenance. “Then again, perhaps a woman could not do better than Edwin. It is difficult to say what is more highly in his favour: an involved Mama or his eye for fashion.”

The two of them tittered and moved on from the idea of what woman could be persuaded.

”There aren’t enough men to go around these days,” Caroline murmured, looking round discreetly.

“That’s all thanks to Napoleon,” Harriet said in rejoinder. “I certainly know more amiable and accomplished young ladies than I do men to deserve them.”

Caroline nodded her head in assent, but was quiet until a footman brought them both glasses of sweet sherry. Harriet finally leaned her elbow gently into Caroline’s side and said, “Of what are you thinking?”

“I…” Caroline trailed off and looked about the grand drawing room. The room was opulent, and seemed in possession of better sofas than the front salon. “I hardly know. I suppose I was thinking of what I shall do if I do not marry. I believe Charles would be kind to me. Perhaps kinder than I have been to him.”

“I cannot believe you have been unkind to Charles!” Harriet looked at her friend in surprise.

“There were so many more rich and fashionable ladies he could have married other than Jane Bennet. It would have improved his consequence, certainly. But I ought to have said my piece then stayed out of it. I am afraid I interfered. Just a few foolish machinations. I never should have done so. I thought I was acting in his best interests.”

Harriet merely sipped her sherry and tilted her head. It gave Caroline the room to keep speaking. She hesitatingly continued. “He has never acted as if he was angry with me. Not since the first week he learned of my interventions in his relationship to Jane. Charles has a short memory. It makes me feel quite ashamed. Especially as I will need him to continue to manage my affairs for me if I remain single.”

The two women both were quiet as they looked about the room. Once again, absent any men, the women in the room were relaxed and laughing only for their own pleasure. Miss Templeton sorted music at the pianoforte while her younger sister gesticulated wildly toward the nearby harp. Mrs. Powers sat near the hearth and laughed with a relative near her own age. Mrs. Templeton was arm in arm with the wretched Aunt Venetia, nodding very sympathetically at some tale of woe. Caroline realised she had never truly appreciated these drawing room interludes as she ought in the past.

Harriet suddenly let out a great sigh, but she smiled fondly at Caroline. “Well, I dare say if Charles acts as though it’s nothing, so should you. Do you think he would let you keep your own place in town?”

“Oh, heavens, no! I do well enough on my income, but even if I were richer, I do not believe he would consent to helping me set up my own household. It will be a mix of Belham Court, Gastrell Park, and then the houses in ton for me.”

“You are quite lucky in Charles. He is an ideal brother. Liberal with the fruits of his labour, but still he labours and continues to grow his wealth…I don’t mean in trade! Although, really, would it be so bad?” Harriet asked and it struck Caroline that Harriet was the only person who could ask such a question and not invoke Caroline’s ire.

“I don’t know, you tell me, Hobgoblin. Would a man in trade be so bad?” Caroline spoke jestingly, but with all her heart she wondered what the answer would be. Would Harriet spurn a friend who married a tradesman or a merchant?

Harriet looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I certainly would not think so. Depends on the man, depends on the trade. Perhaps some circles would be closed to such a couple, but I’m sure their wealth would make up for it.”

“What about you, my dear? Have you seen any worthy men since you have been back in town? There were many gentlemen at the theatre last week. Surely one of them interested you.” Caroline felt the threatening rain clouds of their conversation recede, and spoke playfully again.

“Now that is the difference between us. I have no scruples about relying on Henry’s good will for ever and ever. Therefore, a man would really have to be extraordinary to draw me in, and so far, I remain undrawn.”

“You’re a wretched little beast,” Caroline laughed and Harriet joined her. The door to the drawing room was suddenly pulled open, and the rumbling tones of men in conversation began to spill through the door.

Chapter Text

Caroline was surprised to see both Harriet and Mr. Wallis arrive for a morning visit after the dinner party at the Templetons.

Caroline and Louisa sat at work on clothes for the new baby, applying the finishing details to the precious little articles. Caroline didn’t often coo over babies or young children, but it was difficult not to melt when one held a miniscule shirt in one’s hands. Louisa was having a good morning, the babe apparently having moved into a more reasonable position, and she meant to make the most of it.

When the footman announced the Wallises, Caroline stood and Louisa made to do so herself, but Harriet called out, “Don’t you dare stand up, Mrs. Hurst!” Louisa laughed and stayed seated while Harriet pressed a kiss to Caroline’s cheek, and Mr. Wallis bowed first to Mrs. Hurst then to Caroline.

“So, how do you ladies get on this morning?” Asked Harriet. “It is rather a dull week, and Aunt Powers insisted that I use it for improvement on the pianoforte, so naturally, I left the house.”

Louisa laughed, and merely gestured to the work basket. “I have put Caroline to work on the newest little Hurst’s wardrobe. You are right, this is rather a quiet week in town, is it not? No balls, no dinners of consequence. No new exhibitions nor plays. It is as though everyone became tired at once.”

“I had hoped to visit the reading room at the British Museum this week,” said Mr. Wallis, “But you are right, Madam. This was rather a thin week for me to come up to London. Still, now that the estate and family are in my hands, there is no end of need for conversation with my father’s old solicitor. I believe Father prepared me well enough for the task, but one must begin the work of putting one’s own stamp on things. This spring we must invest more in the cottagers’ dwellings, and…” he trailed off. “Perhaps the lack of amusements shall keep me steady to my purpose,” he finished as if remembering himself.

Harriet looked all amusement at this speech. “My goodness, Henry. What did they slip into your tea today? You’re positively verbose.”

Caroline’s brief interactions with Mr. Wallis taught her that Mr. Wallis was neither verbose nor forthcoming. It also taught her that he did not like to be teazed. Before Louisa could right the ship, Caroline interjected, “Well, you must be glad for the reprieve, Sir. I hope your meetings with your men of business will be of great use to you.”

Mr. Wallis coughed and said, “As do I, Miss Bingley, thank you.”

There was an awkward pause and Louisa stepped in with a question to Miss Wallis about shopping, and what she hoped to purchase while she was in town this season.

“Oh, I promised to choose some muslin for my sisters, of course. Now I can send it back with Henry. In fact, Caroline, do you wish to accompany me tomorrow to Harding Howell?”

“I would love to! Louisa, you have no need of me in the afternoon, do you?” Caroline was delighted at the idea of the excursion.

Louisa was agreed to the scheme with perfect ease, and Harriet opened her mouth, as if to discuss their plan of attack when Mr. Wallis chimed in with, “I shall be delighted to escort you both, ladies.”

Harriet looked so aghast that Caroline had to check her laugh.

Mr. Wallis did accompany the ladies to Harding Howell. As they wandered between the haberdashery and furs and fans department, the man did not say much, but merely observed the room and his sister’s growing pile of parcels. Caroline inspected a vivid blue silk and overheard him say, “And how many sisters do you need to outfit, Harriet? You’ll exceed your allowance, dear.” Only the nearby presence of a shop assistant held Harriet’s tongue, Caroline could see. Indelicate as it may have been to point out, Harriet was a bit clothes mad.

Later in the trip when Harriet was in conversation with a clerk and Caroline’s own purchase of the peacock blue silk was complete, Mr. Wallis came and sat near her. They sat in silence, but it was neither repulsive nor awkward, and Caroline did not put herself out to fill it. As she organized a small sheaf of papers in her reticule, she heard Mr. Wallis clear his throat and say, “Do you visit the shops often, Miss Bingley?”

“Oh! Not terribly often. Generally I write to my modiste and tell her what I would like. Then it’s ready for me when I arrive in town,” she said, looking back down at the little pile of receipts and tickets.

“I see, I see. And do you come to London every season?” He was looking at her in some earnest, and she thought of Harriet’s remarks on her absurd Cousin Edwin.

“Most seasons, yes. It is a long standing tradition for myself and Louisa. In the past few years the only time we did not was when she gave birth to her son.” She tucked the papers into a small inner pocket and finally turned to meet Mr. Wallis’ eyes. “And you, Sir? I know you haven’t been since your father was ill, but do you try to come to town as a rule?”

“There is much to occupy my time back home. Even before Father died, I was involved with so much of managing the estate. He never wanted a steward. Not that he did the work himself, necessarily! So there is much to fix.”

“And do you enjoy it?” Caroline was curious. She heard Mr. Darcy say once that, barring the clergy, there was no higher calling than to be a landowner, and that the responsibility to protect people’s livelihoods was gentleman’s duty and honour. Caroline knew many gentlemen landowners who…didn’t seem to live up to this ideal.

Once again Mr. Wallis cleared his throat. “I think it is perfectly fine. I certainly can’t imagine any other way of being.”

“Can you not? You never wanted to be a pirate or mountain climber as a child?” Caroline felt rather startled as the joke slipped from her lips. It was just that she wondered if Mr. Wallis could show any life, if he had it in him.

He cracked a small smile. “Perhaps I did consider piracy once,” he admitted.

“It’s never too late,” said Caroline, nodding her head sagely, watching the oncoming approach of Harriet, laden with 3 bolts of muslin, ostensibly for her sisters, more likely for herself.

How odd that Mr. Wallis should spend this precious time in London tagging along with Harriet, and yet Caroline saw him twice more that week. The first time when she returned Harriet’s call. He went out of his way to sit with the ladies, listening to their chatter about La Catalani, and whether or not she would ever come back to London to perform opera. (The verdict: not likely.) He also accompanied his aunt and sister when they met Caroline at a lecture at the Royal Academy of Art. He looked ready to fall asleep the majority of the time, which only added to Caroline’s confusion about his insistent presence escorting Harriet about town.

Does not he have business? Is he not eager to return to return to Winchester? Caroline wondered. He didn’t exactly hamper her enjoyment of outings with Harriet, and yet he didn’t add to them. She and Louisa were frantically working on more baby clothes one afternoon and Caroline offhandedly mentioned how odd it was that he continued to accompany them. “Surely he should have gone home by now,” Caroline said, licking the end of a piece of thread and squinting at the eye of a delicate little needle.

“Hmm,” said Louisa, sifting through the piles of socks, bonnets and little shirt dresses. “That’s curious, but…perhaps not so curious. Did you ever think he might have an interest in you?”

Caroline looked befuddled. Mr. And Mrs. Wallis had made it perfectly clear that Caroline was not truly welcome at their home back at her girlhood visit. She assumed young Mr. Wallis must feel the same way, have the same value for rank. And he showed no preference for her. “No, dearest, I can’t say that I did. And I find now on greater consideration that I don’t think that’s it.”

“Why ever not? He must be 31 or 32. Surely he is in want of a wife. Perhaps none of the ladies in his own county would serve. Even before his father’s passing I cannot imagine he didn’t have his choice.” Louisa threw one last pair of knitted socks into the basket and huffed backwards in her chair. Caroline could see her energy was flagging.

“I highly doubt that’s it,” Caroline said. “I must chalk it up to boredom and the general awkwardness Harriet insists all Wallis men seem to display.”

“As you say, dearest. Now, I must go and meet with Mrs. Winthrop to ensure the monthly nurse’s quarters are prepared to Nurse Foard’s satisfaction. She’s been in such demand since she cared for Lady Coltharp, I hate to offend her sensibilities!”

“When does she come?”

“She will visit this afternoon,” Louisa yawned. “I fear I may need a rest.”

“Shall I take a look at her proposed chamber?” Caroline offered.

“Oh, would you? Thank you!” Louisa yawned again.

“It’s nothing, darling,” Caroline said, and added the little bonnet she just finished to the basket.

The lying-in suite for her sister was quite well appointed. The outer chamber for visitors looked quite welcoming, and Louisa’s inner chamber where the birth itself would take place had been stocked by the formidable and wise Mrs. Winthrop herself. Caroline had no illusions that she understood what was necessary for her sister’s safety and health during the process.

She did, however, understand comfort, elegance, and how to set a tone. She called for one of the maids and gave orders for the girl to run to the market for some hothouse flowers. She ordered that some of the paintings from the guest bedroom be placed in the would-be nurse’s room, and brought forward some of the small embroidered pillows from the sofa in her own bedchamber to be placed on the nurse’s bed. She also asked the footmen to bring down the comfortable wingback chair from the nursery. When the maid came back with flowers, Caroline arranged the bouquets herself. She placed two larger bouquets in the visiting chamber outside Louisa’s birthing room and a small bouquet of jolly little daffodils on the table alongside the nurse’s bed. She threw the curtains open wide, and placed her hands on her hips as she looked around in great satisfaction.

How pleasant to make a home beautiful, she thought, and was suddenly taken over by a wave of sadness. Louisa gave her great freedom to do little projects, but ever since leaving Charles to Jane’s care, Caroline had not known the pleasure of truly running a home.

And perhaps she never would. As little as she desired to experience the great discomfort Louisa was currently enduring, Caroline might never turn little stockings for her own babe, might never need the lying-in chamber herself. Though Louisa squealed when she saw the fruits of Caroline’s labour in the suites, and though Nurse Foard was quite pleased and seemed excited to sign on with Louisa and Mr. Hurst, Caroline’s spirits never fully recovered that day. Instead she sat with the dueling feelings of enjoying her freedom and wishing to be tethered.

Miss Darcy’s engagement with Lord Pelham was formalised and there was to be a ball in the couple’s honour. Though Harriet was not known to the Darcy Family, Georgiana very kindly made a note on her invitation to the Hursts that they should bring the charming Miss Wallis, and that the Darcys and Pelham would be delighted to make her acquaintance. This was a kindness, and Caroline was excited.

She went to call at the Powers’ home to extend the invitation to Harriet. The butler told Miss Bingley that Mr. And Mrs. Powers had taken Harriet out, but that they would return within a quarter of an hour, should she care to wait. Caroline had no other plans, and agreed to sit in the drawing room. She declined tea and instead perched on the chair closest to the window, looking down upon the street at the ladies and gentlemen, the bustling servants, the gigs and chaises. She let the merry noise hypnotise her and was quite startled when the door to the room was flung open.

It was Mr. Wallis and another man, clearly an upper servant, wrapped in each other’s arms. They slammed the door behind them and the servant pushed Mr. Wallis up against it, thrusting his tongue in and out of his master’s mouth, rolling his pelvis against Mr. Wallis’ pelvis. Mr. Wallis groaned and in a low, rasping voice said, “You’re disturbing my hair, Fletcher.”

The man, Fletcher, apparently, pulled back his head and took a look at Mr. Wallis. “So I am. I’ll just have to fix you up later, after I’m done with you.” He brought a hand down to the flap of Mr. Wallis’ breeches, and at this, Caroline could not help gasping. At the noise, the two men froze, but it was only Mr. Wallis with the courage to locate the source of the sound.

Mr. Wallis cleared his throat while the man, likely his valet, stepped back and folded his hands deferentially behind his back, looking down at the floor. “Miss Bingley. I apologise. I did not know the room was not empty. I should never have dreamt of exposing you to…”

Caroline kept a neutral expression on her face. She had heard that some men enjoyed…acts… with other men. “It is nothing, Sir. Truly. I wait for your sister. Please, do not feel you must stay with me.”

Mr. Wallis cleared his throat again and expressed his thanks. He bowed deeply, as did his man, Fletcher, and the two walked from the room.

Caroline turned back to the window, and let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She must set about composing herself. She could see the Powers’ carriage down the street and knew she only had about 10 minutes to calm down.

Caroline went through the remainder of her visit with the Powers and Harriet in a state of duality. She felt quite equal to the conversation the party generated, and held her own throughout talk of what Harriet would wear to the ball, what to expect of the Darcy townhouse, and how many courses there were likely to be. It was determined that since they would be with Mrs. Darcy as well as many other matrons of their mutual acquaintance, there would be no need for a chaperone, but that two footmen would escort the ladies to and fro.

But as she made merry chat with her friends, her mind kept returning to what she had seen between Mr. Wallis and his man Fletcher. It certainly seemed as if they were very familiar with each other’s bodies. It couldn’t have been the first time. It was certainly the liveliest she had ever seen Mr. Wallis, certainly the most confident and awake. He had been like another man. Did he love Fletcher? How odd to love one’s servant, to have constant, but hidden access to a lover. And to know nothing could come of it. Caroline tried to envision the same scenario between herself and the first footman or even herself and Sally, but found her imagination was not equal to it.

Caroline did not stay above fifteen minutes, saying she needed to return the carriage to Mr. Hurst shortly. As the maid opened the door for her, Mr. Wallis suddenly stepped out from a nearby door, as if he had been lying in wait. “Miss Bingley, may I escort you out?” He said in nearly too loud of a voice.

“Certainly, Sir.” She inclined her head as he held out his arm for her, and they descended the front steps.

Her carriage was waiting, but Mr. Wallis motioned down the road. “Miss Bingley, while it is certainly not warm by any means, the weather has improved quite a bit. Could I persuade you to take a quick stroll along the edge of the park?”

Caroline knew not what he would say about what she had witnessed, but wished she could communicate that he ought to have no fear of her. What were Mr. Wallis and his proclivities to her? Yet, it was best to get on with it and have it done, so she agreed. She told her driver she wouldn’t be but a quarter of an hour and allowed Mr. Wallis to guide her along.

“Miss Bingley, I apologise again. I didn’t mean to expose you to anything so untoward,” he began.

“Truly, Mr. Wallis, it matters not a whit to me. You are a grown man, and from what I understand, there are many men who enjoy other men. You may depend upon my silence,” Caroline hoped that this would be the end of the subject.

“Still, to expose a lady to something that should be done only in the privacy of a boudoir, well, I am indeed sorry.” Mr. Wallis sounded calmer now.

“Well, if that is all, Sir, I do believe we can turn back,” Caroline said. “I must get the carriage back to my brother and, in all truth, it is warmer, but not warm enough for my tastes.” She stopped and made to turn around, but Mr. Wallis held her arm fast.

He looked off in the distance at the edge of Hyde Park, as if contemplating something, and his internal resolution must have been to speak. “There is one more thing, Miss Bingley. I have been warring with myself about the subject, but today leads me to believe that it is right.”

Caroline waited in silent confusion, a small, puzzled frown on her face. Mr. Wallis took a deep breath. Finally he looked at her again.

“Miss Bingley, I wonder if you might be interested in becoming my wife.”

Chapter Text

Noise seemed to rush around Caroline and for a moment, she was senseless to any one thing in particular happening around her. She looked at Mr. Wallis, whose face was all pinched anxiety, then shifted her gaze to the road, where a hack coach was letting out a clergyman. She looked up at the pale sky, which was interspersed with patches of faint blue and streaky clouds. Finally she was ready to speak. “Become your wife? Why?”

Mr. Wallis’ countenance relaxed slightly when he realised he was not to be slapped or screamed at. He looked at the nearness of the clergyman, then once more urged her down the street toward the park. “I…I am not a romantic man. I cannot charm women, nor do I truly wish to. I am a bit tiresome for most ladies’ taste, Miss Bingley. It’s never truly bothered me.”

He paused his speech as they crossed the road, then continued. “All that said, I know my duty: an heir for the estate, and to marry a woman of good fortune. To be completely frank, the estate needs the infusion of funds. There are repairs and investments to be made. I do not wish to sell any acreage, I want to keep Woodside whole. I do not want to be the Wallis who fails.”

Caroline remained silent, and this encouraged Mr. Wallis to keep going. It was as though a river had become undammed and now this quiet, odd man couldn’t stop.

“You are quite beautiful and cultured, Miss Bingley. You would be an excellent mistress of the estate. You get on well with my family. And once we have a few children, I would leave you be. We can re-establish a Wallis house in London, and you’d be free to come up to town as much as you choose.”

This was not how Caroline had expected a marriage proposal to go. But it was honest, and at this point, she appreciated that. One could hardly say Mr. Wallis didn’t know what he wanted. Still…

“Fletcher. Is he your valet?” She asked.

Mr. Wallis’ face went pink. “Yes, ma’am. He’s been with me these four years.”

“And he would continue on with you?”

“Yes. That’s non-negotiable. But again, once there are children, I shan’t trouble you. It would be acceptable to me if you took a lover once a son is produced. I would raise any children of yours as my own, but I would like a promise of your fidelity until the first son, to be sure he is a Wallis.”

Caroline let out a breath. “Well, you’ve presented a compelling business proposal, Mr. Wallis. I would like some time to think on it.”

Mr. Wallis flinched at the term “business proposal”, but Caroline hadn’t meant it in cruelty or bitterness. Marriage was, at the end of the day, business, and with this one there would be no illusions.

Still, he seemed compelled to add more. “I am sorry that this has nothing to do with romance, but I could promise you a pleasant, comfortable life. You’ve seen our estate, you know that you would be joining an old, respectable family. I know I am not a clever, fast-thinking man. I do admire you, though, Miss Bingley. You are talented, shrewd, and quite beautiful. I would be very proud to call you my wife, and I would do my best to honour you. And perhaps one day we could be good friends. I hope my proposals, such as they are, do not disgust you.”

“No,” said Caroline quietly. “They do not disgust me.” And with that Mr. Wallis gently turned them back toward the waiting carriage.

What happened between Caroline, Mr. Wallis, and to be perfectly truthful, his man Fletcher, felt so private and strange that she did not discuss it with Louisa. She returned home, unsure of how much she should say and she wound up saying nothing for the time being, though her mind was reeling.

To Mr. Wallis’ view, his proposal must seem two wrongs making a right: a wealthy woman of five and twenty in need of a husband, and himself: an awkward oldest son in need of capital and a wife. Neither of them distracted by the need for love. Love was for your friends, siblings, children, pets…rarely spouses.

Her own parents had a pleasant compatibility, and her mother had told Louisa and Caroline that they’d really only known each other for about 6 weeks before their engagement took place. “I knew he was not vicious, and that he was cautious about money, and that was enough for a good beginning,” Mrs. Bingley had told her girls.

Mr. Hurst and Louisa seemed on the same road to that type of compatibility. Mr. Hurst may not be the most pleasant of men, nor was he very good with money, but Louisa was, and he gave her the freedom to keep them in plenty. That was a good match.

Charles and Jane were compatible to the point of absurdity, and started out in love. They were suited in every way but money, and Charles had enough to make up for Jane’s deficit.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were of a different stripe altogether. Wholly unnatural, everything about them. Her status and poverty, his consequence and astronomical wealth. To say nothing of their intimate habits.

So where did that leave Caroline? It was perfectly reasonable to expect some sort of affection, but all consuming love and passion was for novels. And the Darcys. Perhaps a marriage to Mr. Wallis was the answer for Caroline. There would be no affection, but in time there could be friendship.

That night, her mind still reeling with all it had taken in that day, Caroline sat staring into space as Sally treated her hair. The alternating brush and comb, along with the scented oil then powder, soothed Caroline into a meditative state. She was roused suddenly by an interjection from Sally.

“For the Darcys’ ball, do you wish for something special, ma’am?”

“I don’t have strong feelings, Sally.”

Sally was silent for a few moments. “That is not like you, Ma’am. You’re always very sure of what you want. I fairly feel you’ve let me run wild the past few months!”

Caroline gave a little smile at Sally in the mirror. “Does that not please you, Sally? You have a creative mind.”

“Oh, it does, my lady, of course. But I do miss a bit of your fire.” Sally smiled back, and then wore a silly expression. “‘Sally, what in heaven’s name are you thinking? I cannot wear the velvet, I wore it to the opera last month!’ ‘Sally, my hair mustn’t look so common, a Viscount will be in attendance!’ I confess I miss the challenge.”

Caroline smiled back more fully. “Perhaps I haven’t been myself.”

“I didn’t offend you, I hope?” Sally now looked grave.

“No, all is well, Sally. I know you mean it in good fun.” Nobody saw more about her than Sally did, save Louisa. Perhaps that was the attraction for Mr. Wallis with Fletcher? Fletcher would know every detail, every freckle on Mr. Wallis’ body. So it was with Sally.

Sally knew about the little mole on the underside of Caroline’s left bosom, knew exactly when she liked to eat, and the exact temperature she liked her bathwater. She knew which among Caroline’s acquaintance were valued and treasured friends and which were mere matters of form. She knew who Caroline despised and admired. She had seen Caroline in moments of defeat (the loss of Mr. Darcy) and in moments of triumph (dancing with Lords and putting on perfect parties). It gave her a thought.

“Sally, dear. What kind of man do you think I’d be happiest with?”

Sally looked startled. “Ma’am?” She stopped massaging the cleansing oil into Caroline’s dark brown hair.

“You know me well, Sally. What should I do?”

Sally’s playful smile had disappeared. “I do know you well, my lady. I know you love a challenge.”

“You’re afraid to say more, I can see. But you need not be afraid. I trust you, and I shan’t bite off your head.”

Sally paused again. “I’ve no idea what kind of man would be best for you, ma’am. I’m no fortune teller! I do know that all women like a man who appreciates them, and is proud of them. I can’t imagine it’s different for you.”

Sally resumed her ministrations and Caroline looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you have your eye on anybody, do you, Sally?”

“Oh, goodness, no! It used to be that when we would visit Pemberley I would have a walk or cup of tea with the lower footman, Mr. Briggs. I had a letter from one of the girls at Pemberley telling me he’s to be married to one of the housemaids, so that’s that for him. Nobody has caught my eye since him.”

Caroline thought about what a disappointment not catching Mr. Darcy was to Sally as well as herself. If Caroline was Mrs. Darcy, no doubt sally would be Mrs. Briggs.

If Caroline took Mr. Wallis up on his offer, Sally would most likely come with, should she choose it. After all, they had been together since the days of Caroline first having a young lady’s maid. She could find a new footman, or some other such suitable man of her class. Become Mrs. Somebody. Several years ago Caroline had heard the housemaids gossiping about how Sally was so high and mighty because she’d got young Miss Bingley’s castoffs, and Miss Bingley had many, as she was such a fine dressing young lady. Caroline knew that Sally’s parents were both long dead and that her brother, who was an under gardener at an estate outside Scarborough, was married with young children. Sally was an excellent seamstress and able to take the benefit of Caroline’s old dresses and rework some for herself and sell others, as was her right. Charles had helped Sally invest in the four percents, as he did with many of their upper servants. She must have a fine nest egg by now, and could have left Caroline at any time, but she hadn’t. Sally hadn’t looked for a husband or a beau, nor had gone to try her hand at working with a modiste. Whatever Caroline chose would happen to Sally, too, in its own way.

“Sally?” Caroline said in a tentative voice. Sally looked up and caught her mistress’ eye in the mirror. “Thank you for staying with me. You have been most important to me over the years, and are a most dear girl.”

Sally said nothing, but smiled, and gave Caroline’ shoulder an unexpected squeeze, and went back to brushing until Caroline’s hair gleamed.

That night in bed Caroline turned over the idea again and again. A man who appreciates his wife. What kind of appreciation? Her beauty? Her ability to run the home? To deliver healthy sons? What kind of appreciation would feel good to her?

She endeavored to make it out for the better part of two hours as she lay awake.

Is appreciate another word for desire? she wondered, as she finally drifted off to sleep.

The next day Sally accompanied Caroline to Hyde Park for a stroll. The early days of March were here, and though the air was brisk, the wind did not blow, and the sun was out. There could be no better morning for her mission.

They walked near the Powers’ grand apartment, and Caroline handed Sally a little folded note. She instructed Sally to run up the steps and give the note to a servant, asking them to quietly deliver it to Mr. Wallis.

When Sally joined her, flush-cheeked and obviously curious, Caroline merely gestured to the park. “Come, certainly the daffodils are beginning to push up. I feel a great desire to see for myself.”

The two women made their way to the garden beds along the edge of the park, and indeed, there were daffodils beginning to push their way up from the earth. They made idle chatter until the figure of Mr. Wallis could be seen approaching at some speed. Caroline arranged her face into a neutral expression and took a deep breath, and he was there in front of her.

“Mr. Wallis, what an unexpected pleasure. We were just here to view the gardens’ progress.”

“May I join you?” He asked with some breathlessness, and extended his elbow for her to take his arm.

She inclined her head, and Sally subtly fell behind them, trailing them by about ten feet. Once Caroline had the appropriate amount of privacy, she began.

“Mr. Wallis, first I wish to thank you for the honour of your proposal. You are a most eligible gentleman, and though I believe you feel you aren’t an object of admiration to all the women of the ton, it is their loss. You are a gentleman who wants the best for his family and people.”

“This feels like a rejection, Miss Bingley.”

“I’m afraid it feels like one because it is one,” Caroline stopped their progress down the path and turned to face Mr. Wallis. “I meant what I said: it may have come about oddly, and it’s not the romantic proposal one dreams of, but I am honoured nonetheless that you would trust me as mistress of your estate and mother to your children. But I cannot accept your proposal.”

Mr. Wallis inclined his head, and started them down the path once more. They walked in silence for a few moments as Mr. Wallis absorbed the news. “May I ask why, Madam? After all, I must try again with some other lady, and I could use the critique,” he said ruefully. Caroline laughed, a light, relieved laugh now that the business was done.

“At another time, it might have been an answer to my prayers. I know Woodside is a good estate, and with time and investment it will become a great one. I adore Harriet and your aunt and uncle, and I remember the rest of your siblings as perfectly good creatures. To join a old family such as yours is a longstanding dream of mine.”

“But?”

She paused, and decided if she knew something deep and secret about Mr. Wallis, she could safely share a piece of her heart with him. He was a safe confessor.

The daffodil leaves rippled in the breeze, the smell of warming dirt enveloped them, and the sun fought to come out from behind some fast moving clouds. On this fine spring day, Caroline spoke something she never could have foreseen. “Something has changed for me this season. If I cannot have some affection, or a husband who has some genuine desire for me, then I think I should prefer my freedom.”

And as she spoke it, Caroline found it was one of the most honest things she had ever said out loud.

Chapter Text

“Sally, I’ve thought on it, and I believe we must use that peacock blue silk for Miss Darcy’s engagement ball,” Caroline said out of nowhere. The two of them were riding home after a visit to the music seller in Burlington Arcade. Caroline had walked away with several new sheafs of music, now wrapped tidily in brown paper on the bench beside Sally.

“Oh, lovely, ma’am! Shall we take it to Madame Dunard?”

“If you would not mind, I would love you to create the gown. Do you think you could complete it in time?”

“Don’t insult me, of course I can!” Sally teased her mistress. There was always an ease between the two of them, but ever since the two had met Mr. Wallis last week over the daffodils, there was an understanding that pleasantly surprised Caroline. “Shall we look at some patterns once we’re back and settled? I’ll need to begin straightaway…”

“Naturally. Although I already know what I would like. We should use that pattern Louisa’s friend in Paris sent. Nobody shall have anything like it.”

“And you want me to make it, not Madame Dunard?” Sally looked doubtful.

“I do. Madame Dunard is wonderful, but she is no Sally Martin!” Sally fairly glowed with the praise, and Caroline continued. “And for the underdress, we shall use that filmy gold bolt of fabric I bought ages ago.” She had purchased it with the intention of using it for a gown when she opened her first ball as the mistress of Pemberley. Turning toward the window so Sally couldn't see, Caroline rolled her eyes heaven-ward at her past self, at Mr. Darcy and his perverseness, and at her grudging respect for the former Miss Eliza Bennet. What could one do, after all, but leave one’s childish notions in the past?

“Shorter puffed sleeves than the pattern shows, I think,” Sally murmured to herself, clearly starting to see the dress come together in her mind’s eye.

“And a very shiny gold ribbon for trim,” Caroline added.

“And for your hair, I think. It would look more unexpected than an ornament. Smaller curls in front, then the hair braided and gathered high in the back, shot through with ribbon. It would be divine,” Sally said, clearly beginning to show her usual fervour for fashion.

“That all sounds most becoming. I cannot wait to begin,” Caroline said with a gleam in her eye. She was finally feeling herself again, only possibly better than her old self.

When they arrived home, they were met in a flurry by Mrs. Winthrop. “Miss Bingley, I believe your sister’s time has come to deliver the babe,” said she, a bit out of breath.

“Great God, are you sure?” Caroline cried out. “It is yet two weeks until April!”

“Indeed, ma’am, I am sure it is time, the signs are all there. It’s a well-known fact that the first child takes a long time to come, the children that come after the first are often born sooner. So it is with the Mistress. The doctor is on his way, and Mrs. Hurst has been moved to her lying-in rooms. She asked for you to come as soon as you arrived. Nurse Foard is already with her.”

Sally helped Caroline shrug out of her Spencer and remove her bonnet, and Caroline bustled up the stairs with great speed, forgetting her lady-like grace. She made it to the lying-in rooms, where Mr. Hurst paced in the outer chamber. Caroline waved to him with some impatience and ran into the birthing chamber.

The capable Nurse Foard was walking alongside a huffing and panting Louisa as she worked her way through what appeared to be a great paroxysm. Nurse murmured soothing nonsense to Louisa, “There, there, you are doing well, there, there, breathe it out, my dear”. The older woman held Louisa’s hand and rubbed her lower back with firm strokes. “It’s all as it should be, my dear, you are doing so well,” Nurse said as Louisa let out a long hissing breath.

Caroline had not been present for the birth of her little nephew James and was quite shocked to see the pain Louisa seemed to be managing. It was the women, after all, who were Hercules.

When the pain subsided, Louisa looked up and let out a laugh as she looked into Caroline’s eyes. “It seems my little giant is being kind to me and coming a little early,” she grunted. “I confess, it is a welcome surprise!”

Nurse Foard led Louisa to the folding bed and helped her lay on her side, glancing at the little ormolu clock on the bedside table. “You are doing very well, Mrs. Hurst. The pains are coming closer together, and I dare say if they continue at this rate, the water will come, and the baby shall be born before the day’s out.”

Louisa grunted again and let out a whooshing breath. She gestured to Caroline, who rushed forward and knelt on the floor by the bedside. Louisa grabbed her sister’s hand and continued to breathe her way through the discomfort. Nurse began to gather cloths and spoke to one of the housemaids who had arrived with a bowl of hot water.

“How are you, dearest?” Caroline said quietly, sweeping Louisa’s damp hair back from her forehead. “How are you bearing up?”

“Tis not so bad. The first time I was out of my mind with fear. Now I know what to expect. Will you send notes round to the ladies?” Louisa asked. “And perhaps if you could send in Mr. Hurst. We shall have a few moments together. I know he is nervous.”

“Of course, dearest. I won’t be half an hour. And I shall tell Mr. Hurst he is wanted. It is for the best. He is in danger of wearing a tread into the carpet.” Caroline rose to her feet again and left the room as Nurse was instructing Mrs. Winthrop about barley-water and how many more linens they would need for the folding bed. In the antechamber Mr. Hurst shot out of the chair at Caroline’s appearance, and she smiled fondly and waved him in. When she made it to the desk in the drawing room, she took a deep breath and stood for a moment with her hands on her hips. Louisa was strong, and hopefully God would be with her for this delivery. After saying a silent prayer, Caroline rang the bell for tea and picked up the list of ladies to be notified that the birth was beginning.

Nurse Foard guided Louisa through an hour more of increasing pains when the first of the guests arrived. It was Mr. And Mrs. Strafford respectively, come to visit the family and bring some comfort to each of the Hursts. Mr. Strafford sat down to a fine brandy Mr. Hurst had been saving while Mrs. Strafford went into Louisa’s lying-in chamber. Caroline knew she was not welcome for some of the talk, so busied herself with ordering refreshments for visitors. After Mrs. Strafford had gotten some of the more mysterious details from Louisa, then Caroline could join her.

The Straffords stayed an hour, and during that time came Mrs. Foxwell, overflowing with good wishes for Louisa who had taken to pacing her room slowly. “That’s the way, my dear Mrs. Hurst. Keep moving as long as you can,” the ladies both encouraged her.

Caroline was just about to ask for coffee to be sent to Mr. Hurst and the brandy to be discreetly removed when the greatest surprise of all came bursting through the door: none other than Jane and Charles, trailed by Mr. And Mrs. Darcy!

Both Mr. Hurst and Caroline were astonished, but not more astonished than glad to see their brother and sister come down from Derbyshire. “My goodness, Charles, Jane, what on earth? I can hardly believe my eyes!”

Charles laughed heartily and pulled Caroline into a tight embrace. He bussed her cheek with a kiss and made way for his wife to apply two much gentler kisses to either side of Caroline’s face as they clasped hands. “We wanted to surprise Louisa by being present for the birth of her little one. It is so difficult to bring forth a child without all of one’s family around,” explained Jane in her warm, honeyed voice.

“And I dare say it would have been an excellent caper had Louisa not pulled a surprise of her own and started early with this babe. In fact, we’re just arrived this morning and were going to call tomorrow. Fortune was on our side, and we’ve missed nothing.” Charles added, looking around the room. “I see you’ve got a fine bottle of illegal French brandy, Hurst. Shall we toast to my sister’s good health?” Charles moved over to Mr. Hurst and shook his hand heartily, while Darcy nodded to Caroline and Mrs. Darcy joined Jane’s side.

Caroline gestured to a cluster of chairs and the three women sat. Jane gratefully accepted a cup of tea and Mrs. Darcy would wait for coffee that Caroline mentioned she was about to request. The business concluded, Caroline was finally at liberty to ask after her niece and nephew. She assumed the two littlest Bingleys were with her brother and sister, as Jane unfashionably could not bear to leave them for more than a few days. She knew Mrs. Darcy was similar, and that little Henry Darcy was safely ensconced in the Darcy townhome nursery. The Darcys could often be seen following him through Hyde Park as he toddled from spot to spot in the serpentine, Mrs. Darcy laughing, and Mr. Darcy even cracking a fond smile.

“No, both children are with us, I am glad to be able to tell you. We thought we might go down to visit Longbourn after spending some time in town. Thomas is of course quite young to travel, and we really thought we would wait, but I couldn’t bear the idea of not being able to support Louisa. It is important to have your family around you at such a time,” Jane said, taking a delicate sip from her teacup. “It was mere coincidence that we arrived in time to truly be here to assist.”

“She is in with Mrs. Foxwell right now, and of course the nurse,” Caroline said, nodding her head. It was tender hearted , she supposed, that Jane felt so strongly about it. Caroline could only be with Louisa up to a point before all unmarried ladies had to exit the room, and there were no matrons in the family still living or well enough to attend. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t pity, but generous duty, as always was the way with Jane. Caroline was still astonished that Jane never held the past against the sisters. Mrs. Darcy certainly wasn’t above an impertinent jibe even now, all these years later. Perhaps Caroline and Mrs. Darcy had more in common than Caroline had once thought. “Once you have had your tea and coffee, I shall take you in to see her,” Caroline said. “Mrs. Darcy, how are the preparations for Miss Darcy’s engagement ball?”

“Oh, coming on quite well,” Mrs. Darcy said, leaning forward to fix a cup of coffee for herself from the service the footman had just brought. “Mrs. Pelham has been most..eager, let’s say, to assist. I realise I have no mother-in-law myself, so am ill-equipped to advise Georgie on how to manage such a relationship. But for now I can re-direct, and I’m glad to do so.”

“Oh, heavens,” said Jane. “Has it gotten worse?”

“I suppose it’s really for Georgie to say, but I personally find myself biting my tongue a great deal,” Mrs. Darcy said.

“I did not know you knew how to bite your tongue, Mrs. Darcy,” Caroline said. She quirked her lips into a small grin to indicate that she was teasing, throwing an impertinent jibe of her own, and both Jane and Mrs. Darcy looked up in astonishment. Caroline felt a small curl of dread in her stomach and was about to apologise when suddenly Mrs. Darcy burst into laughter. Jane grinned into her teacup and chuckled.

“A hit acknowledged, Miss Bingley!” Mrs. Darcy’s laughter died down into chuckles.

Caroline’s little grin broke into a full smile, but still she hesitated a moment before saying, “Perhaps you would like to call me Caroline?”

Mrs. Darcy smiled back and said, “After all these years, I’m sensible of that honour. Call me Lizzie?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Caroline said, and she heard Jane sniffle. She was saved from a response by Lizzie saying, “Oh, Jane, dear. Do come on, now. None of that. We have serious business to discuss before we go in to Mrs. Hurst.” Lizzie leaned forward, and with a conspiratorial glance asked, “What are you wearing to Georgie’s ball, Caroline?”

Caroline could feel her face light up as she described the teal blue of the peacock silk. As they spoke of feathers and hair ornaments, Caroline had a feeling that was new to her. She’d been shown more charity by the people in this room than she had the right to expect. And the feeling did not make her uncomfortable, the way being in someone’s debt usually did. Instead she had a desire to be worthy of it, and to show charity in return. It was humbling and ennobling all in one.

Caroline took Jane and Lizzie into Louisa’s chamber about half an hour later, as Mrs. Foxwell was walking out. Louisa was so surprised she let out a small screech, which brought Mr. Hurst running to the door. All was confusion for a few moments, as Louisa had burst into tears upon Jane taking her hands. This brought Charles in on them, and Mr. Darcy hovered in the anteroom, peering in to make sure all was well, but trying not to see too much.

Jane and Charles explained their presence and Louisa continued to weep. “I am so sorry, I don’t know why I am being so silly. I suppose I didn’t realise how much I wanted family around me. Aunt Constance was unable to come, and I didn’t dare bother any of the Scarborough Bingleys. It was so good of you, so good of you both,” she said.

Charles took one of her hands from Jane and kissed it. “Of course, dear Louisa. It was meant to be.”

“True enough, the babe seemed to know what he was about. He knew his aunt and uncle were on their way and therefore had no reason to wait any longer,” Louisa laughed, her tears subsiding. Mr. Hurst’s colour went down when he realised all was well, and went back out to Mr. Darcy in the other room.

Charles stayed only a few minutes more, telling Louisa he would see her when she held the new babe in her arms. The ladies now all took their seats and chatted with Louisa while her maid wiped Louisa’s damp forehead and reworked her mistress’ hair into a tidy new plait.

“What helps you most, Mrs. Hurst?” Lizzie asked. “When it was my time, I found walking down the hallway was the only position that made me happy, until the time came.”

“It seems walking does help, Mrs. Darcy. Though I confess the only thing that has felt decent is to kneel as though deep in prayer,” Louisa said sheepishly. “Nurse Foard showed me. I’m sure the men would be horrified, but she is correct.”

“Ah, yes, I know what you mean,” said Jane. “It was the same for me with Margaret. Kneeling on pillows and then bracing your forearms on pillows. It moves the weight somehow, makes it more possible to bear.”

“Then you will not mind me moving into this attitude, I hope? I can scarcely stand lying down at the moment.”

Lizzie scoffed and Jane murmured reassuringly that of course no one minded. Caroline watched in fascination as her dignified big sister was moved like a ragdoll into a position of supplication by the Bennet Sisters and Nurse Foard. “Louisa, this child has been so taxing on your body. I wasn’t with you for the latter months of your time with James. Was it this difficult?” Caroline ventured with some timidity. She had no idea what was normal.

“No, it was not!” Louisa said, her voice muffled by the pillows.

“Well then I dare say it’s a girl,” Lizzie said wryly. “I hope this is the most trouble she ever gives you, Mrs. Hurst!”

“Likely not,” said Louisa, turning her head so she could speak more clearly. “For if this babe is a girl, we are going to name her Caroline, Carrie for short. And if she is anything like her aunt, she will give as much trouble as she can!”

Caroline’s mouth dropped open and she couldn’t hide her pleased countenance. Lizzie and Jane chuckled, and Caroline was immediately lost.

She was imagining a small girl with a mix of Bingley features from both herself and Louisa. She pictured being a great favourite of the child’s. Teaching her pianoforte and dancing, much more kindly than the governesses who had shown the young Bingley Sisters. Perhaps Caroline would never have a child of her own. But she would have Carrie Hurst. To prevent herself from crying, she said, “And if it is a boy?”

“Any Christian name but that of Mr. Hurst, Senior!” Louisa said with so much force that all of the women burst into laughter. Even Louisa cracked a smile before another pain seized her.

When Louisa’s water came, Caroline was obliged to leave the room, but Jane and Lizzie stayed to help her as long as she wanted. The doctor arrived and Nurse Foard welcomed him in with bustling authority. Caroline could hear Louisa’s noises through the door and finally went to her room to organise her jewellery and ribbons, unable to bear the idea of so much pain in a beloved sister. Hurst, to his credit, stayed outside the room while Charles and Mr. Darcy adjourned to the billiard room, poised to wait on their wives.

After about two hours, an indignant wail could be heard throughout the house, and Caroline abandoned her spools of silk and pearls and gems in a pile on the edge of her bed. She raced down the hall to the noise of happy exclamations and the sound of tears from more than one quarter. Jane and Lizzie left the room in order that Mr. Hurst could rush in, and Jane caught Caroline’s hands – “‘Tis a little niece! Carrie Hurst has arrived! Louisa is doing quite well, though the poor creature is absolutely exhausted.” Caroline felt happy tears prick her eyes as Mr. Darcy and Charles rushed in. Jane repeated her news, and they were all lost in mirth and good cheer at both Louisa and the babe being well.

With some trouble, Caroline gave Mr. Hurst half an hour with Louisa and the new babe, and was finally allowed to rush in to meet the new Miss Hurst.

It was just Nurse Foard bustling about the nearly sleeping Louisa, so the wetnurse passed the baby to Caroline and left the room to freshen herself before she’d return in a hour’s time.

Caroline looked down at her niece sleeping in her arms. The child was red-faced and somewhat squashed, and yet she was beautiful. As Caroline held the featherlight bundle of babe and muslin in her arms, an idea struck her. Carrie would live past them all, would see wonders none of them could contrive. Someday they would all leave her to move forward without them, but they were all connected by a chain that had never been broken, all of the mothers and fathers and grandmothers and grandfathers, generations leading back to the beginning of humanity. Perhaps Caroline’s own little offshoot of the chain would go no further than herself. But this little creature would go forward and take all the good and bad they gave her, and make her own way. Caroline leaned down over the bundle in her arms and whispered, “I promise I shall give you as much good and as little bad as possible.”

A few days later, life had settled into a new rhythm at the Hurst townhome. Nurse Foard and the took care of all Louisa’s needs, and Nurse Jenny and the wetnurse took excellent care of little Carrie’s needs. The women kept up a steady quiet stream of activity around the mother and babe, and in those ebbs and flows, Louisa dictated letters to Caroline, informing family of the new child, sending instructions to the Gastrell Park housekeeper, and returning letters of friendship on which Louisa had fallen behind. Caroline fully took over management of the staff as her sister recovered and did the behind-the-scenes bargaining between what Nurse Foard prescribed for meals and what Mrs. Rawlings declared was best for a mother recovering from childbirth. The happy middle was an extra glass of wine with the evening meal (in favour of Mrs. Rawlings) and clear broth and soft cooked meat (in favour of Nurse Foard).

Mr. Hurst returned to his usual gruff solemnity and a few close friends continued to visit. Sally was hard at work on Caroline’s dress for Miss Darcy’s ball, and took the opportunity to have Caroline act as mannequin whenever possible, which ultimately was not often. Still the dress was coming along and Caroline could see that it would be completely out of the ordinary from anything else she had seen this season.

By late morning Caroline had discussed the household with both Mrs. Winthrop and Mrs. Rawlings, seen Jane and Lizzie come and go with plans for Caroline to attend a family dinner on Friday to finally meet little Thomas, and obliged Sally with a fitting for her gown. She was rather tired, but knew the wet nurse ought to be finished with Carrie and wished to hold the little dear for half an hour before receiving Harriet for an afternoon visit.

In Louisa’s chamber, the wet nurse had already gone, and Nurse Foard was preparing to examine the exhausted mother. Carrie was crying pitiful tears and Caroline asked, “Might I take her? She and I can go for a walk in the hallway while you are being nursed.” Louisa agreed and Caroline settled a muslin cloth over her shoulder and breast, then lifted the carefully swaddled infant from her basket. She breathed in the smell of the little babe, feeling almost heady with it, then took her niece on the promised tour of the hall. Carrie’s cries had petered out into little whimpers as Caroline took slow, bouncing steps along the upstairs hallway.

She began to narrate the view to her little charge. “Here is a portrait of your great-aunt Cressida. If you are fortunate, you will not inherit her chins,” she murmured in a sing-song voice. “Here is a painting of your Grandmama Hurst, who was a very good woman, I understand. She left your papa this house directly, therefore it still belongs in the family, no thanks to your curmudgeonly Grandpapa Hurst.” Carrie made a grunting noise and Caroline lifted her higher against her shoulder, patting with the gentle firmness she had learned from Nurse Jenny, and was rewarded with a small release of wind from the babe. “Yes, quite good, my dear, you are a prodigy, I dare say. Now we’ve exhausted the family of yours that I know, but you still don’t seem tired. Shall we go downstairs and look out into the square? I knew you would find that a capital idea.”

Caroline carefully made her way down the stairs, holding her niece firmly and clamping the stair rail as though her life depended upon it. She could hear masculine voices coming from Mr. Hurst’s study, and was about to turn toward the drawing room when the study door suddenly opened.

It was Mr. John Andrews. He stopped in his tracks and Caroline herself froze, astonished to see him again.

She drank in his tall, striking figure and fashionable dress. She herself was again in a simple day dress meant for home, and her hair was pulled back into a workaday style. They were not at home for general morning visits, only those of close friends and family, and Caroline was embarrassed to be seen in such a state. She knew Carrie had spit some milk upon the cloth currently covering the left half of Caroline’s upper body, and that uncurled tresses of hair were sliding out of their place. Still, what could be done? He was as handsome as he’d ever been, and she looked like a housemaid.

Mr. Hurst had been guiding Mr. Andrews from the room, clearly meaning to see him out, and he too stopped short at the sight of Caroline and the babe in the hallway. “Oh, Caroline,” bellowed Mr. Hurst. “Gave us a fright there, dear. How’s my little Carrie today? I have not yet visited with her.”

“She is well, Sir. She has just eaten, and I am taking her for a little promenade through the house while Louisa is with her nurse,” Caroline managed to gasp out. Mr. Hurst’s loud voice had startled Carrie, and she stirred and began to cry anew. Mewling, unhappy cries that could grow to a crescendo that rivalled any Beethoven piece if left unchecked. She moved Carrie into the crook of her arms and soothed, “There, there, darling. All is well, all is well,” and began to shush rhythmically.

“Damn me, Andrews, I near forgot that voucher. Would you wait a moment more?” Mr. Hurst hurried back into his study, leaving Caroline alone with John Andrews once more. This time with a small, unhappy chaperone. Caroline could not meet his eye.

“Miss Bingley?” Mr. Andrews said gently. When she still hadn’t lifted her eyes, he said quietly “Dear Caroline, how good to see you.”

Finally she looked up and was met with such an expression of tenderness that all else fell away. “You have caught me looking like a scullery maid. It can hardly be a good picturesque,” Caroline said, but still, she felt the corners of her mouth lift, and Carrie finally quieted.

Mr. Andrews took in a breath and seemed to laugh it out in a gentle huff. “I have caught you looking like an angel of mercy, Miss Bingley. I have caught you glowing in the spring morning sun. Never doubt the superiority of my view.”

They stood with their eyes locked onto each other when Mr. Hurst finally bustled through the study door once more. “Andrews, here we are. Let me see you out.”

Mr. Andrews paused, but finally broke the gaze between himself and Caroline. “Excellent, I thank you, Hurst.” He bowed deeply toward Caroline, who managed a weak-kneed curtsey, and the two men walked away, with Mr. Hurst prattling on about a game of cards he meant to play in at White’s in a few days’ time.

Caroline let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and sank down onto the nearest step, with one hand on her mouth. She stared into the distance for a few moments, and then it was crystal clear. She looked down at her little niece, and said with some determination, “Carrie, dear, I must win him back.”

Chapter Text

Was it any wonder Caroline Bingley had once set her cap at Fitzwilliam Darcy?

Caroline and Harriet walked arm-in-arm up the elegant steps of the majestic townhouse to celebrate Georgiana Darcy’s engagement to Robert Pelham. It was a fine April evening, and a fine, balmy wind lifted the edges of Caroline’s wrap. The Darcys’ home occupied the entire block, and Caroline could hear happy chatter and laughter through the open windows. The lamps inside were lit with a warm glow, and every step showed more of the understated glamour and wealth the generations of Darcys had brought to the home.

After they were welcomed inside and divested themselves of their outer wraps, Caroline watched Harriet take in the place. They stood in line to greet their hosts and congratulate the young couple, and Caroline saw how Harriet had to keep her mouth from dropping. There was no awkward taste where hideous wallpaper transitioned into unflattering paint colours. The chandeliers above gave off a warm glow, casting the lovely robin’s egg blue into an almost magical hue. There were works by the latest and greatest painters mixed in with older pieces. Lovely Chinese vases held charming sprigs of forsythia and pussy willow. The domed ceiling of the hall towered above the two young women, and Caroline had the same feeling as usual of being admitted into a cathedral.

How could Caroline have done anything but dream of becoming Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy? How could she not see herself presiding alongside the tall, handsome, obscenely rich and magnificently connected gentleman? He’d kept himself single long enough, and Caroline had been most eligible, most lovely in her first, second, and even third blooms of youth. The idea of being mistress of all the Darcy holdings. It was a worthy aspiration!

And naive. All Caroline could do now was shrug her shoulders and smile as it came their turn to drop deep curtsies to the Darcys and Pelhams. Caroline did the necessaries for Harriet, and in turn took the introduction to Mr. Pelham and his mother and three sisters. She clasped Georgiana’s hand in earnest affection for the girl, who looked at Mr. Pelham though he hung the moon. Mr. Pelham was pink around the ears whenever he glanced over at Georgiana. They would be happy. They were very fortunate.

Their respectful duty toward the guests of honour dispatched, Harriet and Caroline made for some punch and to survey the crowd.

“Good Lord, Caroline! I had no idea the Darcys lived so grandly. And yet it is all quite tasteful,” Harriet said with a sniff, looking around the grand ballroom, with nary an arabesque chalk design in sight. “How elegant, how charming,” she continued. “Such understated wealth is really quite revolting. Makes me feel a bit wicked.”

Caroline choked back her laughter, though it was a near thing. She’d nearly sloshed a bit of punch out of her little crystal cup. And that would have been a shame, for Sally had done Caroline up like the Queen herself.

She was draped in her peacock blue silk, the bust drawn up in an unusual fashion, and her gold underdress gleaming in the candlelight. Sally had determined that great bunches of curls around Caroline’s face were not as flattering as curls gathered high at the back of her head, with a few alluring small wispy curls along the temples. As they’d originally planned, Caroline’s hair was bound up with gold ribbon, and the ensemble was finished with diamonds and gold. For a moment, Caroline almost felt guilty, drawing attention toward herself and not allowing Georgiana Darcy to shine in her lovely white silk and reams of pearls. Almost.

Caroline and Harriet chatted until Jane and Charles came up. They were shortly joined by the Straffords, including the wretched Philip Strafford. Before he could importune either herself or Harriet with a request for a dance, Charles called out, “I say, Andrews!” and Caroline felt herself grow faint, because of course it was that Andrews. Mr. John Andrews. Philip Strafford turned up his nose and walked away. Another point in Mr. Andrews’ favour, Caroline now could see, to be able to repulse that fool.

“Bingley, a pleasure! And Mrs. Bingley, how well you look this eve,” Mr. Andrews said as he was absorbed into their little group. He looked around and met Caroline’s eye and went slightly red. “Madam, a delight to see you again,” he said gruffly, and bowed deeply.

Caroline managed to find her breath again and knew she sounded on the cusp of fainting when she made her reply, “Mr. Andrews, a pleasure, as always.” She could feel Harriet’s observing eyes upon her.

“May I have the pleasure of introducing my dearest friend, Harriet Wallis?” Caroline asked, finding her footing once more. Mr. Andrews nodded his assent with an open smile on his face. “Harriet, this is Mr. John Andrews.”

Harriet was all smiles as she craned her neck up to look into Mr. Andrews’ handsome countenance. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Wallis. Do you come in honour of the Darcys or the Pelhams tonight?”

Harriet chuckled and said, “Both and neither, Sir, for I have only met both families this evening. The Darcys were kind enough to invite me on behalf of Miss Bingley. Miss Darcy and Mr. Pelham seem quite happy, and quite well-suited.”

“Indeed they do,” chimed in Jane. “Both are of such a modest character and persevering kindness that their union will bring much joy to both families.”

“Quite right, darling,” said Charles. “There will be much to celebrate when they are wed and return to Wales. I can’t pretend to know how to pronounce the name of the estate.”

Here Mr. Andrews laughed. “Nor I, but I can tell you it’s a fine one. Nearly seven thousand acres of beautiful freehold property. I hope Miss Darcy has a good seat. I think I remember she liked to ride as a little girl. Perhaps a little phaeton for her instead. It is quite a lot of ground to cover.”

“Have you been to Mr. Pelham’s estate, Sir?” Asked Harriet with great interest in her voice.

“I have, though it’s been some years. I was good friends with a Pelham cousin, and we always had excellent hunting on their estate.”

“And do you hunt much these days, Sir? Where do you make your home?” A dangerous lilt had gone into Harriet’s voice, and Caroline felt her stomach drop.

“Up in Lancashire, Ma’am, near Preston, though my home is nearer the village of Longton. It's fine county, though I rarely indulge in much hunting or other outdoor pursuits. I am in the midst of building a cotton mill, and the business takes up much of my time.” Caroline felt Mr. Andrews was purposely not looking at her. She wished to shout, “I don’t care about your foolish trade! Marry me and make me your lead mule-spinner!” But he would not turn his head, so Caroline stood there uselessly in her peacock blue silk.

In fact, Mr. Andrews seemed to move his shoulder in toward Harriet, effectively nudging Caroline out of the conversation. She had little choice but to step closer to Jane and Charles, who knew nothing of what Caroline was suffering as she heard the amused chatter between Harriet and Mr. Andrews. Instead she tried to close her ear to them, and listen to Jane and Charles speak about the latest at Belham Court, and how Caroline had to come back to Derbyshire with them to see for herself. They would return in mid-June. She nodded and smiled, even as she heard Mr. Andrews engage Harriet for the first dance, and then when she could stand it no more, excused herself to freshen up, her cheeks beginning to glow.

Caroline danced the first with Colonel Fitzwilliam, sat out the second and the third to chat with Mrs. Darcy and Charlotte Strafford, then danced the fourth with Charles. The whole while she kept half an eye out for Mr. Andrews.

He had a lively dance with Harriet for the first, then did not sit down once, even dancing once with Georgiana Darcy while her betrothed danced with Mrs. Darcy.

He laughed with his partners, bowed and smirked, and studiously avoided Caroline’s eye. The whole night. She began to have a feeling of dread, as though Mr. Andrews had spoken against his will when he saw her holding Carrie at the Hursts’ townhome. Perhaps he really had managed to forget Caroline, just as she was certain that he was the one man capable of loving her as she wished to be loved. With passion, energy, and appreciation. And that he might be the one man whom she could truly appreciate – strong, clever, shrewd, and handsome.

How was this to be rectified? She watched him with feigned calmness as he moved through the dance with some Pelham relation, a pretty girl who seemed as though she could barely hold back her giggles. John Andrews did not need a ridiculous little ninny who could barely hold his gaze. He needed a woman. Caroline was that woman. Right? Doubt began to niggle at the back of her mind.

Harriet and Caroline sat together at supper with the Straffords (including the miserable Philip), and the Foxwells. Caroline allowed Harriet’s vivacity to drive away her spleen. Harriet flirted with old Mr. Foxwell, coaxing him into a jolly mood. She exchanged stories of operas past with Charlotte Strafford, and deftly turned the conversation each time Philip Strafford opened his mouth to ruin the convivial atmosphere of the evening. Their table was one of the merriest in the room. Caroline and Mr. Strafford were deep in conversation about the latest exhibit at the British museum when John Andrews passed their table. He nodded serenely to the table, with a little smile at Harriet. Nothing roguish, just…a bit more than you might give to any other girl you’d just met that evening. He moved along, and from several seats down, Caroline heard Philip Strafford guffaw at something. Caroline turned her head and could see Philip Strafford was sneering at Mr. Andrews, following him with his eyes.

Mr. Strafford was distracted by something the person on his left said, and Harriet took her chance, grabbing Caroline’s hand under the table. “My dear, how do you know Mr. Andrews?” she whispered. Caroline could feel Harriet’s excitement dancing along underneath her words.

Caroline was stuck. How did she know him? He teazed and flirted with me for half a year. I can still feel the spot on my decolletage where he trailed my satin glove. I am the world’s greatest idiot because I had him in my power and cut him loose.“My brother Hurst is investing with Mr. Andrews’ latest endeavour,” she finally managed to croak out.

“I hear he is quite wealthy. Just a little wealthy would do, but quite wealthy and such an incredible specimen of masculinity?” Harriet had pulled out her fan to discreetly hide the conversation under the premise of being a bit warm.

Caroline didn’t know what to say. She knew if Harriet was aware of Caroline’s affections, she would desist immediately. But now Caroline was terrified of putting a foot wrong. If Mr. Andrews no longer thought of Caroline, if her chance really had passed, then she would rather not expose herself to Harriet. All at once, Caroline’s throat seemed to have become bone dry, but she managed to finally say “He is most eligible, certainly. Shall you attempt to attract him?”

“I shall certainly put myself a bit more in his way and see where the evening takes us!” Harriet laughed quietly behind the fan, her eyes lit up with the excitement of the chase. Caroline could only pick up her glass of wine and attempt to subdue the ocean of feeling that threatened to pull her under.

Mr. Andrews did not dance another with Harriet. That certainly would have been odd, to dance with her twice. Although if he really liked her, maybe? Caroline couldn’t decide. Though none of the rest of the ladies with whom he danced made her much happier either. Each woman practically glowed under Mr. Andrews’ eye. His figure was nearly the most handsome in the room. His deep laugh the most intriguing. His conversation the most engaging. Every hour brought Caroline lower until she could hardly bear it. She did something she never would have done at any other time in her being out: she found the matrons and sat with them on the edge of the ballroom, where they sipped sherry and gossipped. The peacock ball gown was beginning to be wrinkled, but what did it matter? She had worn it for one man, and that man would not even meet her eye.

While Mrs. So-and-So rattled away about new curtains, and Mrs. This-and-That jabbered back about sofas, Caroline feigned an interested countenance, but her mind was miles away. She saw Mr. Andrews leading another woman down the dance, and finally could take it no more. Caroline excused herself and made her way to the small parlour in the back where she knew the Darcys liked to spend their evenings en famille. It would be empty, and she needed peace.

She made her way sedately down the hallway, the noise of the party receding. She felt weary, though she had had so few dances, and slept long during the afternoon in order to rest herself for the evening. Finally she put her hand on the doorknob to the cosy, lovely little parlour and stepped inside, hoping she’d find a candle to light, and maybe give herself a half an hour’s reprieve.

Caroline was rather startled to find Mr. Darcy himself, sipping cognac in low lamplight and rubbing his temples. He looked up and matched her expression of surprise, yet he rose and bowed to her with a very correct greeting.

Caroline curtsied in return, and looked lost. Where to turn now?

“Miss Bingley, you are quite welcome to rest. Elizabeth makes our entertainments much easier on me than they would otherwise be, yet I find I do better with small interludes where I do not have to admire, praise, or feign interest.”

“I thank you, Sir. I would be most grateful for a moment to reset myself.” Caroline did not presume to take the wingback chair that flanked Mr. Darcy’s, but indeed he gestured there himself. She bobbed her chin once and took the seat. Even a year ago, this clandestine, if above-board, tete-a-tete would have thrilled Caroline. Now she knew she didn’t care a fig for Fitzwilliam Darcy. She’d only ever desired his home, status, and wealth. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was uncommonly handsome.

She understood now that Darcy was nothing to her. Nor she to him. Caroline had been marked by John Andrews, and now nobody else would serve. Caroline had the feeling she had wounded him too much, and he would not return to her. Perhaps all feeling was only on her side? She sat in fraught contemplation until Mr. Darcy’s voice roused her. “Miss Bingley, I beg your pardon, are you quite well? I can’t recall a time when you seemed so downtrodden.”

Caroline was astounded by such an observation. “I thank you, I am well.”

Darcy paused and looked into his crystal glass. “I cannot say that I believe you. You don’t seem your usual self.”

“I don’t think I am my usual self. I think this year might have made me something unusual, something better…It doesn’t follow that it makes me happier, but it certainly makes me wiser, or gives me the ability to meet life with greater equanimity.” She stood suddenly and made her way over to the decanters of spirits, and without allowing herself to stop and think too much, poured a glass of what turned out to be brandy, and took a sip. By sheer force of will, she did not cough as it went down her throat. When she turned, she was struck by the kindness in Mr. Darcy’s face.

“Then you are most fortunate. It’s an extraordinary thing for a person to truly change for the better. I hope these changes do seem better, when all is said and done?” said he, gesturing once more to the chair.

“I believe so. But contentedness does not always follow increased knowledge.” Caroline gave a rueful smile down at her glass and sank back down into the chair.

“It is Andrews, is it not?” Mr. Darcy asked. Caroline’s head whipped up, and she searched for his meaning. She found she could not read any particular emotion, except possibly…understanding?

“He asked to court me. I turned him down due to his profession.” She took a sip of her brandy, and again held it down without coughing. “I heartily regret my decision, though I know it would have been socially ruinous. I warred with myself between then and now, and finally came to the point. I have determined there is no other man whom I could really love, yet have watched him dance away from me at every opportunity this evening. I believe he has moved on. Perhaps it is for the best.”

Darcy was silent so long that Caroline almost thought he had fallen asleep. She took another sip of her drink and fixed her eyes on the elegant landscape of Pemberley that sat above the unlit hearth. Finally Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and said, “Did you know that I proposed to my wife twice?”

Caroline did not. She looked at Darcy in astonishment, which he took as sufficient encouragement to continue.

“I did not understand her the first time. I came to her full of pride and conceit and she refused my suit. Sent me packing like a tinker! You may well gape at me, Miss Bingley. It was exactly how I felt.” Mr. Darcy stood and walked over to the nearest window. In the moonlight, Caroline could make out the beginning buds on the trees in the mews.

“She was right to refuse me, for I was not worthy of her. After my anger subsided, I knew that was the real problem. Elizabeth was misinformed about some portions of my character, but overall her assessments were correct. It then became my object to become the husband she deserved. Elizabeth Bennet was certainly not born of my sphere, nor did she possess fashionable manners or accomplishments. She had something so much more rare. She makes me know myself, and seek to only answer to the best traits I possess. She is generous and loving toward me when I fall short.”

These were more words than Caroline had ever heard Mr. Darcy speak. Almost as if he were a sparrow she was afraid to startle, she kept perfectly still, nearly holding her breath. He drained his glass and set it down on the windowsill. He then adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, and checked his reflection in the dark windowpane, giving his cravat a slight fluff. Then Mr. Darcy turned once more to her and delivered his parting advice.

“Andrews being in trade is somewhat unfortunate, and in other ways, it matters not at all. It is true that were I to meet him today, I likely would not befriend him. However, we are old friends and I would not dream of cutting him. I may not agree with his decision to go into trade, but I have learned much in the last few years. I have never been a younger son, or a daughter, nor have I been poor. Here is something most people do not know, because they have no opportunity to know it: a real and true match is the most rare commodity on earth. You may be King and no more likely to encounter it than a pauper. Now that I know what it is like, I would give up every earthly possession so as not to lose it.”

He moved to the door, and continued. “You are now in the same position I once was. You shall have to win your match back. You are clever, Miss Bingley. And I know you will find the way. Please use the room as long as you need it. I would be glad to engage you for the Boulanger, if you are free.”

Caroline knew her mouth was hanging open. “I am free.”

Mr. Darcy gave a single nod, and closed the door. Caroline chose to fill her open mouth with the remainder of her brandy, as she sat and planned.

Chapter Text

Charles and Jane Bingley had no permanent home in London. Given the strong relationship between the Darcys and Charles Bingleys, it was quite likely he would leave it to the next generation to purchase in town. That meant Caroline was once more for the Darcys’ elegant townhome. She had taken two days to strategise, and the first step was to see her brother.

She took this fine spring day to walk over, Sally in tow, rhapsodising about the beautiful weather. “My goodness, Sally, perhaps you missed your calling and should have become a milkmaid,” Caroline teazed, watching as Sally held a plucked sprig of forsythia to her nose.

“Nothing of the sort, Ma’am!” Sally laughed, and held up her finger to pause Caroline’s progress down the pavement. She reached up and tucked the bright yellow flowers into Caroline’s bonnet. “My granny always said these flowers were a sign of a fresh start. That’s the best thing about spring, every year a fresh beginning.”

“She sounds as though she was a wise woman,” Caroline said. “I seem to remember my great aunt saying something similar.” Caroline’s mien could always be taken for hauteur, for that’s really what it was: studied and practised haughtiness. But in this moment, a spring bloom tucked into her bonnet, self-assured as only the determined and young seem to be, she didn’t look haughty or heartless. She looked like a young woman with a purpose, and possibly a bright future to look forward to.

Inside, she did feel some trepidation. She needed to give a long overdue apology. Unfortunately the apology was not entirely self-interested. Caroline also needed a favour.

She knew the Darcys ate breakfast early, and that her brother had a tendency to dally before making it downstairs to eat. This was likely to be her best option for finding him alone, and she had planned accordingly. Hopefully Jane was up in the nursery and there were no other guests. The butler showed Caroline into the breakfast room and it was just as she hoped. Charles was alone with a tower of muffins and cup of coffee.

“Caro, whatever brings you by this morning? I thought you might still be recovering from the ball. Dash it if I didn’t dip too deep that night. But then, it’s been so long since Jane and I have attended a ball. T’was a pleasure. Will you have anything?”

Caroline shook her head and sat across from her brother. She began to open her mouth, then stopping herself said, “Well, perhaps a cup of tea.” She stood quickly and walked over to the buffett where she laboriously fixed a cup. She finally turned and made for the table once more, but felt her courage failing again. Right before sitting down, she swerved to the window and said, “Oh, goodness, if it isn’t the Ibbotsons. Not quite the fashionable hour for heading to the Serpentine, is it? But that’s the only place they can be headed in those get-ups.”

Charles had no comment on the Ibbotsons so merely watched Caroline until she made her next move. When she remained standing at the window, he said, “Will not you sit?”
“Oh! Of course. Lately I hardly know where my head is at.” She made her way to the table and sank down gracefully.

“You don’t know where your head is? That’s not likely, is it.” Charles laughed.

“Whatever do you mean?” Caroline took a sip of the tea and slid a lemon biscuit onto a plate. Lemon biscuits were absolutely her weakness, and the Darcys’ cook made some of the best she’d ever had.

“I mean that I don’t think I know a woman more certain of what she’s about, Caro.” Charles said this cheerfully, but to Caroline it was only confirmation of what she had come to say.

It had been years since she and Charles were truly close. Louisa had always been as good as a second mother to her two younger siblings, leading to a rather close confederation between Charles and Caroline. Once Charles had gone off to school, however, it had been the nail in the coffin of the easy relationship they had always shared. Caroline soon became obsessed with her accomplishments, and the wider world of good society. Charles was an indifferent student, and by no means stupid, but his introduction to Cambridge meant an introduction to the world of young men. They retained a simple affection for each other similar to that of childhood friends who had little to say to each other with so many years gone by.

That made her apology all the more necessary.

“I must confess this season has been quite an education for me. I think the more one learns about oneself, the more one understands how little we all know.” Caroline began.

“My word, it must have been quite a season. Are you turning bluestocking on me?” Charles’ eyes twinkled.

Caroline merely scoffed and rolled her eyes at him. “Nay, be serious. I simply mean that I’ve learned a great deal about myself, and about others, my dear. It certainly wasn’t the season I expected to have, yet here we are.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, looking in great earnest. “You fascinate me. What exactly can you mean?”

“I meant this to be the year that I would finally find a husband. And I truly tried, Charles. There were several men, but none of them would do. Each one felt wrong in his own way. But after I rejected one of the men, I realised, he is the only one that will do. If not him, then nobody.” Caroline had been staring down at the tablecloth as she spoke. Though she felt her face growing red, she finally looked up at Charles.

“My word, that is extraordinary! When shall we meet this paragon?” He was all smiles.

Caroline let out a small laugh. “You have met him.”

Charles was all eager anticipation. “Truly! Well, tell me more, Caro.”

She took a deep breath and said, “Before I do, I have a long overdue apology to offer. Charlie, I am deeply sorry about what I did to you and Jane those years back in Hertfordshire. I can hardly think about it without being overcome by shame. I was quite wrong to do what I did in rushing you out of Netherfield, and in severing the connection to Jane when I knew she was in town. I was convinced I did it in your best interest, but I understand now that the only purpose served was chasing of rank.”

Charles’ face went from jovial and open to closed. “Ah,” was all he could say.

“I thought you…” Caroline trailed off, but knew she had to press ahead. “I thought you might have already forgiven me, as you forgive all of us undeserving wretches who trespass against you. And perhaps you have, but an apology is still in order. I am sorry, dearest. I made some dreadful choices and they could have led to your real and sustained misery.” She picked up the teacup once more, but abandoned the elegant pose she had been trained to take. Instead she merely held the cup in both hands, drawing it to her chest as if to shield herself. Caroline wondered if she might be the one person in the world Charles couldn’t actually forgive.

Finally her brother spoke. “I hardly know what to say, Caroline. I don’t think I expected this conversation to ever occur, and I am at a loss.”

The Bingley Siblings were quiet for a few moments together, the merry spring noise of Mayfair their only company for those minutes. Then Charles said, “Why now? Why apologise now, after several years of my happy marriage? When you look at my children, do you feel guilt? Do you imagine that they might never have existed? Is that why?”

Caroline’s expression grew into one of horror, and she sought her brother’s eyes. “Certainly not! No. You must understand I never saw that far ahead. I couldn’t see any further than the next season, and what doors might have been closed to us. I never really thought of your happiness.”

“Oh, thank you very much!” Charles huffed, his voice somewhat laughing and teazing. With those tones, Caroline thought maybe all was not lost and she could make him understand yet.

“I cared about your happiness, of course, you goosecap! I just found it impossible that our definitions of happiness weren’t the same.” Caroline was smiling at him, and it felt something like the old Charlie and Caro. She could feel it like she could feel the slow creeping warmth of a new fire. “Mama raised me and Louisa to believe the most important thing in the world was to ascend, and from that would arise my happiness. The best drawing rooms, the loveliest gowns, the finest company. I couldn’t imagine it wasn’t the same for you. I thought Jane was a distraction, and you could do better. But I see now it was the wrong kind of better.”

Charlie resumed his breakfast, applying a thick layer of Pemberley raspberry jam on a buttered muffin. “And now am I to understand you see things differently?”

“Yes. I hope you will both understand and believe me. I see how wrong my actions were.”

“And you want absolution?”

Caroline put on a prim little smile. “Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt. But what I want more is a favour.” The smile broke into a sheepish grin.

“Ah…There’s my dearest Caro. Well, you are forgiven. I was my own worst enemy. I listened to everybody but Jane, the woman who —” Charlie broke off, and Caroline could see he was overcome. “Jane is goodness itself. That she loves me is a miracle, particularly after the shabby interlude when I went away from Netherfield. But she loves me nonetheless. We have two fine babies to show for it. We have a life started up at Belham. What we make together will go on long after we leave this earth. When I have that in my life, how can I not forget what happened between us all? All came out well.”

The two were quiet again, until Charlie asked, “What is the favour?”

“Prepare yourself. If anybody is allowed to find this ironic, it is you, Charlie.”

The two sat together over the breakfast table, Caroline doing in the lemon biscuits and Charles downing nearly an entire pot of tea, as she told him an edited version of her relationship with Mr. Andrews. By turns Charles laughed and gasped. Finally Caroline asked, “I believe I must have him. But is it a mistake? I could try another season. I could even see if Mr. Wallis’ proposal still stands.”

“And play second fiddle to a valet? Hardly what I would hope for you, old girl.”

“Well then? Is it a mistake?” Caroline urged him to answer.

His brow furrowed deeply, Charles looked down at the tablecloth strewn with crumbs and, regrettably, some of the jam.

“It is true that in choosing Mr. Andrews, you are choosing something lesser. Some doors will be closed to you. But you have enough high-placed friends and relations that it doesn’t signify. We would never cut you. And if Andrews could make you happy, the way Jane and I are happy, the way Lizzy and Darcy are happy. Well, that is hardly worth throwing away. Why would you? So your grandchildren might have a slightly easier time in society fifty years down the line? Hardly worth the sacrifice of true affinity, my dear.”

Caroline took a few deep breaths to compose herself, until she could speak without her voice wavering in relief at Charles’ forgiveness. “In that case, here is my request. Would you be willing to escort me to Cheapside?”

Charles managed to gasp out “Cheapside?!” before devolving into a laughing fit that brought tears to his eyes.

“Oh, do shut up,” Caroline said, throwing her napkin at her idiot brother.

Chapter Text

Once Charles had stopped laughing (Caroline finally resorted to clouting him over the head with her reticule), Caroline explained her hopes.

“Andrews is a splendid fellow, truly. Very clever, very agreeable,” he said, leaning back and thinking it over. “I find I can see it quite well, Caro. You two would be an excellent match.”

“I think so, too, but I may have lost my power over him.” Caroline looked down as she ran her thumb along the edge of the tea saucer. She hated saying what she feared aloud.

“Andrews never wanted to court anybody before that I know of, you know. I daresay he still cares for you,” Charles said, and Caroline felt a surge of hope that made her start slightly.

“What is your plan?” Charles asked, all seriousness.

Caroline looked up. “I shall need you to escort me to his offices. I understand from Mr. Hurst that Mr. Andrews can be found there with great certainty every Friday morning. I believe if you can afford me a private audience in some fashion, that is all I shall need. Ten minutes.”

“That I can, with all my heart. I’ll call for you on Friday, around ten.” Charles stood and kissed his sister on the cheek most affectionately, and they parted ways, leaving Caroline to finish her visit with a brief stop by the ladies in the back parlour.

She found the Bennet Sisters surrounded by their children. Little Henry Darcy worked quietly and seriously with some blocks while his mother looked on fondly. Little Margaret Bingley was attempting to unseat Thomas from Jane’s lap, but when Caroline swanned into the room, Margaret stopped and stared.

With the sudden desire to be of service to Jane, to apologise again in every little way she could moving forward, Caroline reached out her hand toward Margaret and said, “Child, come to Aunt Caro. We must start our discussions now about how to best work with the Bingley Hair, which you have inherited from your papa and Aunt Louisa. ‘Tis a lifelong quest, as Auntie Louisa will tell you.” And Margaret toddled over to her beautiful aunt’s lap, where her hair was reworked into elaborate plaits, with the little fuzzy curls around her forehead coaxed into submission with much repetitive twisting and soothing. As Caroline worked, Lizzie and Jane shared gossip of the guests who had been in attendance at Georgiana’s ball. All in all, a most productive morning.

It wasn’t until later when Sally and Caroline were walking back to the Hursts’ that Caroline finally had the quiet to work out what her surprise audience with Mr. Andrews would constitute. A plea? A proposal? Another apology? My, my, Caroline Bingley and her apologies. What was the world coming to?

At Miss Darcy’s engagement ball, Harriet had been wild with admiration for Mr. Andrews. If Caroline’s list of attributes in a lover was status, connexions, power, wealth, then looks, Harriet’s were nearly in reverse and Caroline was concerned that her friend might really like the man for himself. After all, Mr. Andrews was one of the handsomest men of Caroline’s acquaintance, and certainly one of the richest. And only growing richer. When Harriet had paid a call to Caroline after the ball, she had spent 5 of her 15 minutes gushing over Mr. Andrews while Caroline felt frozen with indecision about the right thing to say. And though Caroline had tried to imagine life without John Andrews, she found there was no other way forward for herself. To Mr. Andrews Caroline was to go.

And therefore another visit was in order. If Charles had received an apology and a request for assistance, then Harriet must receive a full accounting of Caroline’s season with its highs, lows, and truths.

Caroline dropped in on the Powers the day after her confessions to Charles. The warmer weather brought vigour to Aunt Powers, and she drank her tea and ate her cakes with great enthusiasm. Caroline and the ladies traded all of the little silly trifling gossip that had not already been shared amongst themselves, talking of the Darcys’ ball, and the remaining entertainments of the month.

When the butler announced an old friend of Mrs. Powers, Caroline seized her moment. “Harriet, the day is too good to waste indoors. Do you expect many more visitors? If not, I’d love to tempt you with a walk…”

“Aunt, do you mind? It would be good to take some air, I confess. I’ve not been outside for exercise in…well, actually, I can’t remember when I last took a walk. I’ve become rather sinful, haven’t I?” Harriet grinned, and Aunt Powers merely waved her niece off in a fond if rather exasperated huff. “Let me just run for my parasol. If I get any more freckles, I shall never hear the end of it from my Mama.”

Caroline curtsied to Aunt Powers and the other lady, where the butler assisted her into her pelisse. Harriet swept into the hallway and tucked her arm into Caroline’s in one elegant and playful swoop. Caroline’s heart swelled with pleasure at Harriet’s playful intimacy, and how she was included in it.

When they walked to the edge of Hyde Park, they saw many others out for a promenade. The winter had been so dreary and the feel of spring clearly had enlivened the populace.

She and Harriet laughingly observed the awkward Misses pushed forward by their matchmaking Mamas, the dandies dressed finer than some of the ladies, the flirting and demurring that were part of the endless rhythm of a Season.

Knowing she must begin somewhere, even if it was somewhere peculiar, Caroline finally managed to blurt out: “Do you believe in the possibility of true love in marriage?”

Harriet looked at her with one eyebrow lifted. “Well, of course I believe it. I’ve seen happy couples. I know they exist. My own mama and papa loved each other well enough.”

“But do you think they began in love, or happened to be compatible enough to eventually fall in love?”

“They certainly did not begin so, but then, so few do.”

The two were quiet for a moment, nothing but the sound of their boots crunching on the gravel path.

“Do you believe a marriage of passion is possible?” Caroline tried again.

Harriet looked thoughtful. “Who’s to say? Just because I know nobody who has one doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“I ask because…Because I think it’s possible I might be able to have one,” Caroline said.

Harriet stopped and disengaged her arm so she could look fully at her friend. “Really? Well, that is interesting. John Andrews, right?”

Caroline threw her hands up in exasperation. “Am I wearing a sign about my neck?!”

Harriet threw her head back in mirth. “Only to a dear friend, Caro.” And she laced her hand back through Caroline’s arm. “You have a rather pathetic way of communicating longing that looks like the height of prissiness. I’d know that expression anywhere.”

Despite herself, Caroline smiled, tucking her chin down so Harriet could not see.

“Now tell me everything. How did you meet? Why was he so cold to you at Miss Darcy’s ball?”

And Caroline unfurled the story to her old friend as though she was shaking out a picnic rug, rapping and shaking every little corner of her story with Mr. Andrews so as to lay the groundwork perfectly. She told Harriet of the electric feeling when they touched, some of the story of his caresses in the Matlocks’ library, her rejection of him, his sweet expression when they met over little Carrie in the Hursts’ hallway. “I was afraid of what it would mean to reconnect myself to trade. I thought I would be cut from my circle, that I would bring down the work Charles and Louisa have done to forward our family in society.”

Harriet looked thoughtfully into the distance. “It is true that many will be unforgiving. But to say Mr. Andrews is in trade is rather like saying Napoleon is a bit pugilistic. Mr. Andrews made his fortune in trade, but he hardly dirties his hands with it. It sounds as if he has dozens upon dozens in his employ. He manages his own small empire, Caro. But namely, he acts with all the grace and confidence one needs to be in any room. That does much of the trick in society.”

“That’s true. It’s a respectable enough line of trade, and he has enough distance from the day to day that he has plenty of leisure time,” Caroline mused. “He could do nothing and he would still turn a profit.”

“And you know, my brother says trade and industry is likely the way of the future. There isn’t as much money to be made from farming as there once was, noble though it may be. It could be that you’re leading the way into the future to which we shall all aspire if we are to be elegant and grand.”

This time it was Caroline who stopped and dropped her friend’s arm so she could get a good look at her. Caroline cocked her head and looked deeply into Harriet’s eyes. “You know, I don’t know if you mean any of this, Hobgoblin. But you are the loveliest creature in the world for saying even half of it. You really don’t mind if I pursue Mr. Andrews?”

“Certainly not! Although you say he’s a second son, do you not? I don’t suppose the elder brother is married…”

Caroline merely gave Harriet a pinch under the arm, at which Harriet let out an indignant yelp, drawing raised eyebrows from passersby. The two women continued, talking of the rest of the season, and when they might see each other again once everyone had fled the heat of London. The unspoken truth was that neither knew whether Caroline’s bid would be successful. Would Harriet visit Mrs. John Andrews of Lancashire? Or Miss Caroline Bingley of whichever pair of her siblings would have her that year?

Friday came in all its deliciously dreadful anticipation, and found Caroline rattling toward Cheapside with her brother.

Caroline had only been there once, during her infamous visit to Jane’s aunt and uncle’s home. Truth be told, though she had acted as if she were being made to wade through filth as she walked from the carriage to the front door, Cheapside was, for the most part, a perfectly good neighbourhood. The shops were neat and tidy, and the office buildings smart and modern, and one could completely sidestep the hubbub of the noisier markets where one could purchase the little daily necessities of life. It was toward one of the modern office buildings Charles and Caroline Bingley made their way now.

Charles was chattering about merry parties they’d had at the Gardiners’ home, and Caroline was ignoring him while gently bobbing her head as he spoke. She had no attention for chatter, no matter how jolly and inoffensive. She could only think of the task before her. They finally pulled up to a building with a fine, bustling arcade where Mr. Hurst’s papers had indicated Mr. Andrews’ office would be.

“Are you ready?” Charles said, his carriage having drawn to a stop, and the footman coming round to open the doors for them.

“Whether I am or not, here we go,” Caroline said, and took the footman’s outstretched hand to step out of the carriage.

They walked past doors labelled with shining gold plates showing the names of the proprietors. There were solicitors, architects, businessmen. She sought one businessman’s name in particular, her breath starting to come fast when the name did not appear. Perhaps she was mistaken when she searched Hurst’s papers? But no, Charles had confirmed. It was the right street, the right building.

Finally from behind her, for she had gotten quite a few steps ahead, Charles said, “Caro, it is here on the other side. ‘Mr John Andrews, Investments in Textiles.’ You see? Quite respectable.”

“Yes, yes,” Caroline gave an involuntary shiver. “Let us begin.”

“Are you nervous?”

“It’s only my future, Charlie. Why should I be nervous?”

“Indeed,” Charles smiled, as if he had all the confidence in the world. “Come, let’s go inside.” And he held open the door for her.

There was a well-appointed lobby fitted up with elegant furniture, and fine marble floors. Caroline wondered if this was Mr. Andrews’ doing, or if all of the offices were so fine. And almost for the first time she wondered what his home looked like. Not the quarters he must rent in London, but his real home up north. The sophistication of the mere entryway spoke well to his taste.

They waited for a moment and were then greeted by a man who appeared to be Mr. Andrews’ secretary. He wore glasses and a serious expression. If an owl could take human form, Caroline was sure the creature would bear a striking resemblance to the man in front of them. “Good day to you, Sir, Madam,” the man said, bowing. “May I be of assistance?”

Here came Charles’ part. “Yes, indeed, Sir. I am Charles Bingley, and this is my sister, Miss Caroline Bingley. I am an old university acquaintance of Mr. Andrews, and I was wondering if I might speak to him about any room he may have for me in his current ventures.”

“Oh, indeed! I am Mr. Andrews’ secretary, Mr. Morris. I happen to know he has no appointments, and I’m sure he’d be glad to see you. Miss Bingley, you’d be most welcome to wait here in the outer office. It is a rather comfortable room.”

“Just the thing, thank you, Morris!” Charles cried. “Oh, before we go in, you don’t happen to know the man in the office down the way, do you? I noticed several solicitors, and I know a friend recommended one that I thought was in this building…” Charles trailed off.

“Oh, I daresay I could help. What’s the name, Sir?” Mr. Morris was taut with readiness to perform the recall.

“Dash it all, I can’t remember! Before we go to Andrews, could you step outside with me? So many of the plates list firms, and not the men themselves,” Charles said, helpless vexation creeping into his voice.

“Certainly, Sir, let us step outside.”

“Might my sister wait in the sitting room? It is rather windy out.”

“Of course, of course,” Mr. Morris said, and led Caroline to the elegant little chamber. As they walked down the very short hallway, Caroline could see what had to be Mr. Andrews’ office door.

“Will you be quite comfortable here, Madam?” Asked Mr. Morris.

In a calm and bland voice, Caroline assured him that she would, and Charles led the owl on his little goosechase. Poor Mr. Morris. But needs must.

She waited a few moments and then stood, smoothing out her pelisse and bonnet. She had chosen her emerald green today, for she knew it looked well on her with her complexion and dark hair. She pinched her cheeks just in case she had become pale and walked over to the door, taking deep breaths as she lifted her hand to knock.

“Enter,” came Mr. Andrews’ deep voice, and so she did.

Of all the people who could have come through Mr. Andrews’ door, Caroline was sure there could hardly be fewer souls on the list who rated less likely than she. Perhaps the Prince Regent, or Lady Sefton. Yet here she was, and unfortunately the two of them were silent for many moments.

“Good God, Miss Bingley, what do you do here?” Mr. Andrews finally said, belatedly standing up and bowing to her.

Caroline could feel her face grow hot as she dropped into a curtsey, but she said nothing. Every possible opening line she had rehearsed, every potential method of coquetry or flirtation deserted her, and Mr. Andrews began again.

“How in Heaven’s name did you get past Morris? He is most fastidious about appointments and decorum. He would never allow a lady back here, least of all on her own.”

Caroline finally croaked out “All is well. My brother has brought me, and he engages Mr. Morris in somewhat of a false pretence, I’m afraid. All to buy me a moment of your time.”

“I see,” said Mr. Andrews, looking somewhat perplexed. “Your servant, Madam,” he said, and gestured to the chair before his great desk.

Caroline walked to it and sank down with all the grace she could muster as Mr. Andrews settled himself once more behind the desk.

“I have come here today to speak to you about an investment, Sir,” she finally said. The words didn’t seem to be coming from Caroline – they poured forth and she knew not who had authored them. She simultaneously knew they were the right words, and wished to disappear into thin air at having started so.

Mr. Andrews’ perplexity did not fade, but rather grew into stark incredulity. “An investment, Ma’am?”

“Yes,” she said, gaining confidence. “Yes, just so. An investment. It would be a joint venture between two parties.”

“And the parties are…myself, of course,” said he. “And the second would be?”

Caroline looked down at her hands folded atop her reticule. Caroline Bingley. Mistress of a 24,000 pound fortune. In possession of an astonishingly fashionable wardrobe. Accepted in most society as a desirable connexion. Utter idiot. Still, she managed to say, “The second would be me, Sir.”

It was quiet for too long, but Caroline finally managed to look up to search Mr. Andrews’ face. It was not a long search. Understanding had dawned upon him, as well as something like unhappiness.

“That is quite a turn of events, Miss Bingley. Why now? Why am I good enough now?” Mr. Andrews said. His voice wasn’t stern, per se. But neither was it warm.

“You were always good enough, Sir. It was my notions that were poor. My whole life I have been trained to seek higher, do more, be more. I was given rather poor principles. I have come to see that the highest one can do is to love and be loved by the right person.”

“Are you sure it isn’t because you feel you can do no better than I?” Mr. Andrews said, some sharpness coming into his voice.

“It is because I am positive I can do no better than you,” Caroline retorted, some irritation coming into her voice. She was exposing her very soul to this infuriating man, and could feel it was getting her nowhere!

Mr. Andrews merely raised his eyebrows. “You’re hardly selling it, Miss Bingley.”

Caroline huffed. “I could do no better than to be loved by you, Sir. Because I believe we fit. We match. I have come to see that it is rare and precious. And I believe we should embark upon your original suggestion of a courtship.”

Mr. Andrews’ face finally softened a mite. “I see.” And again the two were surrounded by silence. Caroline could feel herself losing in that moment.

“At this time, Miss Bingley, I do not believe such a venture as courtship would be wise.”

All of the air left Caroline in one rush, and she managed to gasp out, “Oh…” Tears stung her eyes, prickling like needles. “I understand,” she said, and stood very quickly, knocking over the chair on which she had perched. She lunged for the door and exited the office, though she could hear Mr. Andrews calling her.

She made it through the antechamber and halfway down the hall before Mr. Andrews caught up with her. He had to grab her arm to stop her, so insensible had she become.

“Miss Bingley…Miss Bingley! Damnation, Caroline, my darling,” he said, stopping her at last, and he turned her body toward his.

“Don’t you understand the art of negotiation, my love?” he said, and grabbed her face with both of his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that had spilled.

“Negotiation!?” she sobbed out in a fury. “Don’t you understand an excellent deal when you see one!?”

“I do, dearest girl, of course I do,” he cooed to her, and her eyes closed.

“Well, then. What is your counteroffer?” She felt faint, and leaned into the wall of muscle that was his body.

“Some might say I am showing my hand too early, but when I see something I want, I’m apt to leap over a step or two. So my counteroffer is marriage, my love. I can’t see anything else worthy of pursuing with a partner like you,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Caroline’s tears started up again, because it was the feeling of being saved at the last moment – a strong hand catching her before she plummeted over a ledge.

“Some might say I’m negotiating against myself, but I accept your proposition, Sir,” she said, and stood up on her tiptoes to find his lips. “I accept, John,” she whispered right before his mouth descended upon hers.

They were quite caught up in each other, and only stopped when they heard Mr. Morris say in an exasperated huff, “Mr. Bingley, are you even in need of a solicitor?”

Chapter Text

June, 1816
London

Caroline Bingley and John Andrews were married from the Hursts’ home on a fine day in early June – the only pleasantly warm day in an unusually cool season thus far. Not even the weather would gainsay Caroline Bingley on her special day.

Mr. Darcy had kindly used his influence to arrange that the marriage be held at St. George’s in Hanover Square on rather short notice, as neither Miss Bingley nor Mr. Andrews was inclined to wait long past the reading of the banns. Nor was Caroline inclined to choose a location less fashionable than St. George’s for her wedding. In this, Caroline suspected an Ouroboros of familial influence at play – Jane’s on Elizabeth, and then Elizabeth’s on Mr. Darcy. Caroline hedged her bets and sent both of them lovely bouquets of roses in thanks.

Louisa had long since been churched after little Carrie’s birth, and though she had not been feeling perfectly, the news of Caroline’s engagement gave her all the vim and vigour that was required to prepare the world’s most elegant and fashionable trousseau, despite the short engagement. The linens were everything that was fine and luxurious, the tablecloths were snow white and embroidered by the finest craftswomen in town, and the gowns were on the cutting edge of fashion.

But the wedding gown itself was the crown of the collection. John himself had supplied the silk – a finer length of fabric Caroline had never seen. It was the palest blue imaginable. Caroline and Sally had talked with the modiste for hours about it, and landed on something positively unparalleled. There were delicate patterns of seed pearls about the bust, Belgian lace at the sleeves and along the neckline, and darker blue silk ribbon around the hem. Sally herself trimmed the bonnet with the same dark blue ribbon, and when they tried on the entire outfit was silent for several moments before saying, “Well, don’t you look a picture, Ma’am?” to which Caroline could only grab the girl’s hand and say, “Thank you, dear Sally.”

Caroline had pictured the day so many times. She had envisioned herself at the altar with Mr. Darcy, of course, as well as with Mr. Stanhope and even Mr. Wallis. Before that, she’d pictured any number of faceless men at her side before the vicar. She imagined her dress, the flowers, the weather, the wedding party’s clothes, and naturally the breakfast in dozens of configurations, accounting for a ceremony in winter, spring, summer, or fall. In all of her visions, it was the fashionable details that were front and centre.

And yet as thoroughly prepared as she and Louisa were to mount the most extraordinary wedding of the season, Caroline found herself astonished at how quickly everything had gone, and how everything felt blurred but the most important things. Even those could only come to her in snippets – the sure feeling of her brother’s arm as he escorted her down the aisle, her own arm wrapped about the sleeve of his russet coloured coat. The smile on John’s face as they met at the altar – open and delighted. The exuberant feel of being swept into the carriage for the very short journey back to the Hursts, and the giddiness she’d felt when John instructed the coachman to take them the long way around Berkeley Square. He’d pulled the shades of the carriage down and tenderly pulled her toward himself, taking care with her dress and hair, but leaving her in no doubt of his felicity at their union. She remembered the feeling of his large, nimble fingers running along the lace of her neckline, and the way they looked into each other’s eyes, the intensity of his expression.

After the wedding cake had been parcelled out to their guests and sent off to those who could not come, Caroline and John were finally off. The next day they were to go to Margate for their wedding trip. When John had invested in steam boats there, whatever those might be, he had been quite taken with the coast, and desired that Caroline would see it.

But they would spend their wedding night in John’s London quarters. Sally had gone on ahead to prepare Caroline’s things, to unpack what would stay in town, and what would go on to their house in Lancashire.

The carriage rolled through the streets of Mayfair toward St. James’ Square, where John had a rather fine apartment. They sat next to each other, their thighs touching through their clothes, Caroline’s hand boldly resting on her husband’s knee. Despite the proximity, they said little, only looked out the windows of the carriage as muffin men scurried, maids bustled, and ladies and gentlemen walked. When they finally pulled up to the building, John’s servants and Sally awaited them. It was not a large coterie – just a footman, a housekeeper, and John’s valet, but they all bowed and curtsied with great respect. Sally herself also curtsied, but with a deep grin on her face that she was unsuccessful in hiding. “I thank you for your kind welcome,” Caroline said, and smiled as John led her up the steps.

Their quarters comprised a large portion of the second floor of the building. There were tall windows covered with fine curtains, modern and well-tended furnishings, and the rooms were of good proportion. There was a well-appointed drawing room complete with a pianoforte, and an excellent dining room. John’s study was everything luxurious and masculine, and the morning room was bright and merry. “May I show you to your room, Mrs. Andrews?” John said, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“That you may,” she said, looking down. It was not meant to be coy. She had simply become somewhat shy all at once.

In response, John merely wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down the hall toward the back of the building. They stopped before a door that stood opposite another, and perpendicular to a third, at the very end of the hall. Her husband pointed to the one on the left. “This is yours, Madam, the opposite is mine, and this is our adjoining parlour. Shall we?” And Caroline nodded.

He opened the door and Caroline gasped. The walls were covered in a fine mauve and pale pink flowering wallpaper. With the late afternoon light filtering in through the curtains, the whole room seemed to be aglow. The furniture was very fine, and Sally had already set out her brushes and lotions on the dressing table. A bouquet of white roses and trailing ivy stood proudly on a table between the windows, alongside the book Caroline had been reading this week. All was ready for the mistress.

She walked into the room and took in the welcoming feel of the place. She pulled off her gloves and walked over to the bed, where she ran her hands along the light blue summer counterpane. Caroline was silent so long that it took John clearing his throat for her to finally look up.

“I hope you find it agreeable, Mrs. Andrews,” said he.

She gave him a wide, bright smile. “I do indeed. It is all lovely. Just what I would have chosen.”

He walked closer to her and again wrapped himself around her waist. He pulled her to him so their hips were together, but leaned back so he could take a good look at her. “We won’t be here long. Fine though the place is, I thought we might wish to consider purchasing something in town,” he said in a rough, low voice.

He leaned down and swallowed up her happy smile into a kiss. It began gently, but when she began to reciprocate, it grew stronger and rougher. Not unpleasantly so. She let out a little moan, and John pulled back, gasping for air. When he took in the surprised expression on Caroline’s face, he merely chuckled. “My love, should you like to join me in your bed? I am nearly at the point of no return with you, and if you would rather wait until tonight for me to make you a wife…”

“Oh!” Understanding dawned across Caroline’s countenance. She thought for a moment of what she had learned from Louisa. It would hurt, but if John were careful, it would not be unpleasant. Caroline thought of the weak feeling in her knees as they kissed, and the desire building in her lower body.

“I think I’ve kept you waiting for your wife long enough, Sir,” she finally said. “Will you help me remove my gown?”

John smiled and nodded, first pulling off his tailcoat to prepare himself for the task.

Sally had already taken her pelisse and bonnet at the front door, so John had a head start. He began by running his long nimble fingers from her shoulder down to the bust of her gown to unpin the sheer, filmy fichu Caroline had worn for modesty in the church. At the touch of his hands creeping under her neckline, she gasped and her head fell back. Next he worked his fingers around her ribcage to the hooks of the dress, letting the dress loosen enough to remove. When it had fallen away, he lovingly carried it to a nearby chair so as not to ruin it. Caroline watched him drape it across the wingback and felt a smile come to her face.

Away came the petticoat, away came the stays until Caroline was left standing in her shift and stockings. John moved her to sit at the edge of the bed, and now her breath started to come fast. He knelt down in front of her and lifted a foot into the air, removing her slipper and then setting her stockingfoot down on his muscled thigh. He ran his hands up her pink stocking and stopped at the ribbon garter. He pooled the fabric of her shift into her lap and bent his head over her thighs, pulling at the ribbon with his teeth. Despite the rapidity of Caroline’s breath, he showed no mercy and repeated the procedure on the other leg. Only once this was complete did he look up into his wife’s eyes.

He lightly grasped the hem of the shift. “May I, my love?”

Caroline managed to pant with some small amount of dignity, “I wish to see more of you, John.”

“With pleasure,” he said. And off came the waistcoat, then the cravat, then the shirt until he was bare chested. “Do you approve, Mrs. Andrews?” he asked with a rather wolfish grin.

“Mmmm, I do, Mr. Andrews,” said Caroline with an answering smile. “Please do continue.”

And with that John threw aside his fobs and pulled off his Hessians and stockings until he stood only in his pantaloons. Caroline ran her eyes possessively over his muscled chest and shoulders. So handsome.

“Shall I, my love?” He asked.

“Ladies first,” Caroline said, and pulled her shift over her head, leaving her completely exposed. Instead of feeling terror or embarrassment, she felt pride as John’s eyes roamed over her form. He stood immobilised, all wolfishness gone and now replaced with an earnest admiration.

“There can be no lovelier woman in existence,” he finally said.

“Come. Make me yours,” she said, with a little smile.

And so he did.

After a month in Margate, where Caroline learned all about steamboats and the art of pleasing one’s spouse and being pleased in return, the couple made their way toward the Andrews’ ancestral home. John’s brother Simon had not been able to attend the wedding due to a dangerous illness that came upon him a week before the ceremony. He had recovered and expressed a great interest in meeting his new sister.

The family estate was betwixt Coventry and Birmingham in Warwickshire. As the carriage trundled on, Caroline leaned into John, her fingers trailing along his thigh until he finally stopped telling her stories of his boyhood and leaned over to kiss her. Margate had been most delightful in furthering her education on a passionate marriage, and Caroline found she could barely stand to refrain from touching her husband if she could do so in any private enough setting.

“Little minx,” said he, finally coming up for air. “We are but five miles from home. Would you have me scandalise Simon by turning up as though I’d just blown the grounsils?”

“Certainly not,” Caroline sniffed. “I believe I can keep us looking tidy enough if St. George rides the dragon.”

“Could you?” Asked John, smiling.

“Never doubt me,” she answered, and began to move toward his lap while John drew down the shades.

And so it was that Caroline met her new brother with the rosiest of glows on her cheeks. “My what a blooming girl you’ve married, John!” Simon exclaimed as he led Caroline into the house.

The Andrews’ family home, Gruncombe, was a fine old manor. Simon, who was quite as handsome as John, provided the tour himself, taking them from one end to the other, leaving no fact left untold. Caroline nodded in appreciation for the gallery of portraits and at the prospect from the southern windows, for there was a beautiful formal garden just coming into its peak.

After dinner that evening, Simon told her he had no head for improvements. The furnishings were indeed several decades out of date, though all very fine and well cared for. “Have you any ideas for me, Mrs. Andrews?” He gestured around the drawing room.

“Allow me to think on it. I certainly shouldn’t wish to step on the toes of your future wife.”

“Alas, I’ve nobody in mind. I do so hate travelling to town, though John insists that is where I shall find a bride. There are no eligible ladies hereabouts. They are all of the wrong age for me.”

“Come, Simon, not even in Birmingham?” John helped himself to a brandy and sat next to Caroline on the sofa, perhaps a little closer than was appropriate.

“I can hardly bear Birmingham,” Simon said. “No beauty or refinement to be found there.”

“What sort of wife do you seek, Mr. Andrews?” Caroline asked.

“I suppose I need a woman who will draw me out. Right now the old house is just waiting for a lady to breathe life into it.”

A vision of Harriet Wallace flashed into Caroline’s mind, and she had to hide her smile in her glass of sherry. “Do you consider Lancashire too far to travel, sir? Once I am settled in the home, I intend to invite a party of friends, and I just might have the perfect woman for you…” Caroline quizzed him on how he enjoyed balls and parties (perfectly well, if someone else organised them), society in general (with great pleasure if someone collected the right company), and being in town (when one could live in the comfort of a well-run home, it was no hardship). Yes, this might do for Harriet very well…

After a week’s stay with Simon, Caroline and John headed for his home outside Blackburn. The mill he was building was nearly at completion, and sat on the banks of the River Blakewater. “We shall see it sometime soon, but first to Mellor,” John told her. “I must show my wife her new home.”

Mellor was a small village just to the northwest of Blackburn, and Caroline thought of the ease with which she could shop for necessities in Blackburn. It was in every way desirable to have the distance of 5 miles between themselves and John’s work and the noise and dirt of the little bustling city, and she watched with interest as they skirted the edge of Blackburn. Gradually the noise died down, and they heard only the rhythmic clop of hooves on gravel again. The carriage drew past lush, well-tended fields, and toward the village of Mellor.

Everything was tidy and well-kept, and shopkeepers and pedestrians stopped and tipped their caps or curtsied as the Andrews carriage rolled down the main road. They turned onto a smaller gravel road and eventually a park appeared. Caroline could see majestic old oak trees and a stone wall with a kissing gate with a verdant garden peeking through. The carriage drove up the horseshoe driveway and John pointed out the butler and housekeeper, Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd, and the footmen and maids behind them. “All waiting for their new mistress, Caroline. Only think what pleasure or pain you have the power to bestow. You can see they are smiling, but they are nervous.”

Caroline had always wanted to be the mistress of a great estate. She imagined an army of servants to do the work of running the home, and preparing the entertainments she dreamt up. It was no great estate, not by any means, but John had told her that there were 8 bedrooms, 2 drawing rooms, and a small conservatory in the rear. There was a parlour Caroline could use for either a music room or a small study of her own. The exterior was in a fine Palladian style with a charming terrace bedecked with potted topiaries.

True, there were no tenants to visit here, no great fields or park for hunting parties. There was a butler, a housekeeper, two footmen, and three maids, the littlest of which seemed to be a nervous child who was doubtless the scullery maid.

And it was in that moment that Caroline decided she would be as gracious a mistress as any servant could ask for: direct and firm, but generous and kind. She had seen how Louisa, Jane, and Elizabeth had done the job, and saw how devoted all in their employ were to the ladies. Caroline would be just the same. The carriage finally stopped and the footman came to open the door. John handed her out, and Caroline gave a bright, happy smile at the sight of her new home. The housekeeper came forward and said, “Welcome to Greenfield House, Ma’am. We are so glad you are here.”

October, 1819
Blackburn

Caroline had never been mad for children, although she admitted that they were growing on her by the time Margaret Bingley and Carrie Hurst had come around. She primarily looked forward to the girls growing up, not necessarily revelling in their babyhood.

Therefore it was a surprise to her, her feelings about the babe she was carrying. She and John had not yet been fortunate enough for a child to make it until the quickening. Jane and Louisa assured her, along with the doctor, that this was quite normal, though that didn’t make it less devastating. But by the doctor’s calculations, Caroline’s child would be born in December. She tried to remain sedate, as the doctor said she must, but her nerves fluttered whenever she did not feel the child kick or move. Caroline learned that if she drank very cold water, it jostled the babe from sleep in her womb, and therefore, she asked Sally to keep a pitcher of water on the windowsill in her sitting room at all hours. She gloried in every slosh of cold water down her throat that startled the child into a frantic movement, only to settle back down as she rubbed her belly firmly in relief.

John was worse still, though he tried to hide it. So he focused his efforts on supporting the modernising of the nursery, finding a young pony to train so the child could learn to ride in a few years’ time, and interviewing nursemaids and wetnurses alongside his wife.

It was what brought them to town, to look in upon the furniture being finished and carved for them by a craftsman of longstanding in Blackburn. None of the furniture in the nursery at Greenfield had been updated since the time of George II, and Mr. Lumley’s workshop boasted the finest in town.

They inspected the cradle (John repeatedly checked its soundness while Mr. Lumley hid a smile), as well as the matching wardrobe and infant bed. There was to be a rocking chair as well as new furniture for the nurses’ rooms. Satisfied that all was well, John and Caroline bid Mr. Lumley good day, and walked on to the milliner’s.

As they strolled arm in arm on the fine autumn afternoon, Caroline smiled to herself. From John, she had learned the art of giving and doing more than was expected. John’s textile factory employed the best of the best, and in turn for their commitment, he erected quality housing and provided better pay and conditions to his workers. As such, not a single worker had partaken in the Blanketeer march a couple years’ earlier. It was the same with their servants. They paid the staff better than their neighbours, and as such, they attracted the best. Caroline made sure that the servants’ quarters were warm in winter, cool in summer, and had good, sturdy furniture and bedding. The kitchens had been modernised, much to the cook’s relief, and all had the best tools for their jobs.

So it would be with the wet nurse and nursemaid. Their new quarters next to the nursery would be cheerful and bright. Caroline remembered the time she had created just such an atmosphere for Nurse Foard when Louisa was lying in with Carrie, and felt a delicious shiver at the pleasure she hadn’t known would be hers one day: creating a home and queendom of one’s own.

As they walked, a woman and her children bobbed and curtsied to them. “How do ye do, Ma’am, Sir?” Caroline and John nodded their heads in return. A few steps past them, and John murmured to Caroline, “That is one of the foreman's wives and her children.”

“Ah, very nice.”

Some minutes later they turned a corner and a shopkeeper bowed low as he swept out the front of his grocery. “How do you do, Peters?” John called to him as he touched the brim of his hat.

“Quite well, Sir. Blessings on you and the Missus. We pray for her safe delivery every week at church.” He bowed again and Caroline smiled over her shoulder as they walked on.

“Who on earth was that, my dear? Have you befriended the greengrocer now?” Caroline asked with a smirk.

“Yes, he’ll be over for brandy tomorrow, I should have mentioned,” John said, giving her arm a playful pinch. “No, no. I advocated for the widening and refurbishment of the paving and street here. Now he is able to have bins out in the front of the store.”

“My goodness, I had no idea your good works extended so far, my love,” Caroline pinched back.

“‘Tis but common sense. This street contains two storefronts in which I have a stake. I wish it to be the most attractive it can be. It cannot be attractive on its own – all the storefronts must be excellent. Therefore, I have done what I could to make it so.”

“You simply can’t bear a mess, can you?”

“I confess I cannot. Speaking of which, all is in order for the Hursts and Bingleys to arrive, is it not?”

“Everything is perfection. Louisa and Hurst shall be here up from Gaskell on November 4th, and Jane and Charlie will be here by the 16th. Harriet of course cannot come, but I believe I understand that Simon will visit us for a short stay after the babe arrives. He is planning on December 12.”

“Excellent. How does our sister do?”

“Harriet is quite well. Our nephew is a hearty little boy, from what I understand. Only four months old and already as large as an eight month old! Or so says their nurse. Rather large, from what I understand.”

“It was the same with both Simon and myself. We were gigantic.”

“How is it you said nothing of this before we wed? Shall I survive bringing your enormous child into the world?” Her voice was teazing and light, but when John made no answer, she turned her head to look into his countenance, which had grown sober.

Caroline guided them to a small courtyard and took both of his hands in hers. “My dear, I should not joke. All will be well.”

“How can you know that?” John looked anguished. “I cannot lose you. I’d give up anything else to just have you safe and by my side.”

“I do not know it,” Caroline said softly. “But I am strong and healthy, and I will carry my point. I shall deliver your gargantuan baby, and be well enough to preside at the Christmas table within the month.” Caroline smiled at him, but she could see it was still pressing on him, this fear that he tried never to name. It could stop him in his tracks when he allowed it to see the light of day.

“Come, my dear,” she said, pulling his hand and starting their progression down the street. “All will be well. It always is with you and me.”

“So we are divinely blessed, we two?” John’s handsome face crinkled into a smile, and he tucked her arm back into his.

“I can think of no other explanation. After all, I am married to the King of Blackburn,” she laughed. “Who would dare contradict him?”

As if to mock her father for his fears, Julia Andrews arrived pink as a rose and loud as a warship, filling the house with the sound of her indignant cries. Louisa wiped Caroline’s brow as she delivered the afterbirth, wrung out with exhaustion. Julia was put immediately on the wetnurse’s breast, and Jane poked her head out into the hallway to say to the nearly frantic Mr. Andrews, “Sir, all is well. You have a beautiful baby girl. We need but half an hour to present your ladies to you.”

John collapsed into a chair as Charles clapped him on the shoulders.

“There, see? Don’t you wish you’d been drunk after all, man?” Mr. Hurst asked him.

“There is some wisdom in your advice, I now see,” John said, panting.

London
January, 1824

Caroline’s marriage to John Andrews was excellent. They were well matched, and enjoyed popularity amongst their circle and somewhat beyond. Nevertheless, there were snubs and cut from some former acquaintances. This could be chalked up to the fact that everything John touched turned to money. The only way to quell such envy was to act as though it was somehow repugnant, naturally.

Caroline, for her part, had ceased to think of trade as being such a terrible thing, for with his absurd wealth, he became increasingly powerful, and increasingly sought after by those in the highest circles. They could not ignore the way her husband seemed to have a preternatural ability to choose what would do well, and what ought to be left alone. The steamboats were an excellent example. As the industry grew and others clamoured to take part, John was already sitting pretty on the ground floor as an investor. There were countless other industries in which he had dipped a toe, including something called a railway.

Caroline lost track of how much money they actually had. She knew Julia’s dowry was easily set at 50,000 pounds, and that her own dowry had never been touched other than the reinvestment of the return on the principal. Any other children to come would be well provided for. In fact, Caroline had an inkling that another child was trying to come. A month or so would confirm this for her.

She told no one but Louisa and, of course, Sally, in whose shop she currently stood, having a gown fitted. They spoke of John’s latest venture in purchasing property in the fields that skirted London, as well as lots in fashionable neighbourhoods whenever they came up on offer.

“But you know, Sally, John says the growth is beyond our wildest imaginations,” Caroline said as Sally tucked one last pin into the bodice of the gown. It was the last item in a rather large order she had placed in November, knowing her wardrobe would need a complete refresh. As much as she ordered, she could not keep up with spending her pin money. If Sally could finish it by Friday, Caroline could wear it to the Straffords’ ball next week.

“Does he indeed, Mrs. Andrews?” Sally remarked, gesturing to an assistant to make a note of the need for one last alteration. Sally helped Caroline off of the dais where they had been working and over to a screen where she could help her former employer back into the day dress she’d worn in. The assistant whisked the ball gown away to complete the job.

“Come, Mrs. Andrews, let’s sit for a cup of tea. I’d like to hear more.” And the two traded gossip and laughed.

Sally had finally left Caroline’s employ a few years back. “It’s time for me to go on my next adventure, Ma’am,” Sally had told her. Thanks to Charles’ assistance with investing and Caroline and John’s generosity, Sally was in possession of 125 pounds, and was armed with the dream of becoming a modiste in London. John assisted her with locating and negotiating a smart little shop in Picadilly, and soon enough, Sally had more work than she and one assistant could undertake. Within a year, Sally had 4 shop girls and several seamstresses working on the wardrobes of the most fashionable and wealthy ladies of the ton.

They shared tea and little cakes from the confectionery down the street, and talked over old times. As the light grew dim, Caroline found she must be on her way, and went to the front of the shop with Sally to wait for the coachman.

As they said their goodbyes, Penelope Marbury walked into the shop, escorted by her miserable, bald cousin. The years had not been kind to the Marburys, which was fine by Caroline, as a more miserable group of fools she could not imagine. Miss Marbury’s brother had gambled away much of her dowry, and the cousin was unable to acquire a wife with a fortune sufficient to save their ruin of an estate in Devonshire.

Miss Marbury’s eyes hungrily took in the displays of gowns and books of fashion plates before landing on Caroline, at which point they narrowed. She turned to her cousin and sniffed, “My, my, my, Reggie. It seems as if they’ll serve anyone in this establishment,” to which the bald fool could only guffaw.

Caroline could feel Sally bristle and saw her lips part to respond, but Caroline discreetly placed a hand on Sally’s wrist and said, “Well, not just anyone. For example, those whose credit is worth no more than the breath they draw to spew nonsense are not particularly welcome. And, really, Miss Marbury. Your sense of fashion has always been so…singular. I hardly doubt Miss Martin could begin to comprehend your unique sensibilities. Therefore, you might wish to move on. I understand there are some modistes in town willing to wait several quarters for payment in return for your illustrious custom.”

Miss and Mr. Marburys’ mouths hung open as Caroline went on. “Now you best step outside, I see your hackney is waiting for you, and he seems most anxious. He must be due back at the dung heap where you engaged him any moment now. It was a dung heap, was it not? I seem to smell something akin to dung…”

The Marburys huffed out of the shop and as soon as they were out of the window’s view, Sally and the shop girl standing behind them let out hysterical whooshes of laughter. Caroline couldn’t help but join in as she saw tears streaking down their cheeks.

John always did love her mean streak. She honed it like a rapier for just such occasions.

As it happened, there was a quickening. Caroline felt it six weeks after her visit to Sally. The doctor predicted that Caroline would have a June delivery if all went well. She and John debated the merits of returning to Lancashire against those of staying in town, but the decision was made for them when at a visit made about a month after the quickening determined there were to be twin babies. John set about rapidly concluding his business in town, and bundled Caroline off to the country. The trip home was positively maddening, as John insisted on a very steady pace. It took two days longer than it would otherwise have to be.

They had long since renovated Greenfield House. When Julia was two, they added a large wing that contained a suite of bedrooms on the upper level and on the lower, several family rooms including the library. This allowed them to convert the smaller rooms in the older portion of the house into a ballroom which delighted Caroline to no end. Her house parties had become the stuff of legend.

As the carriage rolled slowly northward, John now discussed plans for additions to the nursery. “I don’t believe it is too late to improve that room, my love. The twins will need more space in their bedroom. We don’t want to unduly disturb Julia’s sleep.”

“John, the rooms are perfect already. You know they are. All we need is an additional cradle, and you wrote to Mr. Lumley weeks ago.”

“You’re quite right, my dear. You know it is difficult for me when a process is out of my control.”

Caroline reached over and stroked his dear face. “Not unlike cards,” she said in sympathetic confirmation.

“Just so. I can’t abide a game of chance,” he smiled his cheeky grin.

“It’s not a game of chance,” she sang.

“Nonsense,” he sang back, laughing.

“Can I interest you in a sure wager?” Caroline asked, reaching for him again.

“Always,” he answered, pulling her closer. The inn was about two miles off, but surely they could get started now.

The midwife and doctor assured them both that twins were to be expected early, and therefore, though they knew it was likely six weeks before they were expected, Caroline and John were still nervous when labour began. Louisa, Jane, and Harriet were all on hand to help with this momentous occasion. It took nearly thirty-six hours, but eventually, Walter and Harold Andrews made their debut. John insisted on being in the room as the children were caught, too terrified that his wife would not survive. As if Caroline would do anything other than stay alive to crow over her two beautiful new sons.

About a week after the boys were born, John asked the nurse to bring them to Caroline’s bedroom. Julia herself had crept up onto the blanket to amuse herself with her dollies and had fallen asleep near the foot of the bed. John quietly took Walter while the nurse gently passed Harry on to his mother. John joined Caroline at the head of the bed, sitting up against the headboard, looking down at their fine little boys while the spring sun shone through the window.

They were quiet for some time when John finally said, “Twelve minutes.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you believe that twelve minutes is all that separates these two?” He asked quietly, stroking Walter’s downy head. “Twelve minutes would make Walter the master of all we leave behind, and Harry the dependent upon Walter’s goodness.”

“It is rather soon to think him a tyrant, my love,” Caroline said reprovingly. “And if I know you, that will not be how it goes.”

“No, indeed. I have other plans for these two,” John said, budging over to sit right against his wife. He wrapped his strong arm gently around Caroline, and began to stroke Harry’s little head now, too.

“I do not intend to leave all to Walter. I certainly mean to divide assets and responsibilities evenly among them both. Who knows what either boy’s affinities and talents may be? We shall let time decide. But they must be equals. Twelve minutes only throws into sharper relief how foolish the accidents of birth truly are.” He looked up from the boys into Caroline’s eyes.

“You are quite right, my love,” Caroline said. “They are fortunate to have such a father as you.”

“Not nearly as fortunate to have such a mother as you.”

Caroline paused and thought it over. What was the best kind of luck for a child to have? To be born into a rich family was no guarantee of happiness or wisdom, as she had seen over the years. The rich lost fortunes over a hand of cards, the poor trod on through all manner of adversity to do their best for their children. She spent the years watching Louisa, Jane, Lizzy, Harriet, and so many other mothers raise their children. She thought back to her own mother and how she had raised the three Bingley children. The mothers who seemed to do the best were the ones that understood that the future wasn’t fixed, and therefore one could only do one’s best at the time of doing. No one could predict the future. No one could have predicted that love would present itself to Caroline Bingley on a silver platter, nor that she would be wise enough to finally snatch it up.

How would it be for Julie, Walter, and Harry? Who would they love? What would they do in life? What wonders would they see that Caroline and John couldn’t predict?

In this moment, she let all worries and hopes and fears go. This moment was perfect. Everything that mattered most was within five feet of her.

She nestled her head onto John’s shoulder. “I’m the fortunate one,” she finally said. “I found you. Every year since has been better and better.”

“If our most vexing argument is that we seek to be thought of as the more fortunate spouse, we shall sicken everyone around us,” John said, resting his head gently upon hers.

“Our little secret, then,” Caroline said, nestling in as snugly as she could.