Mrs. Newton took a sip of tea and then resumed her conspiratorial posture. “You know, my dear, that I do not care to indulge in idle gossip, and I pride myself on only sharing news of a factual, verified nature. But,” she said with a swirl of her teaspoon, “I must tell you that Mr. Charlton has developed an infamous reputation since you have been away, and unlike the gossip surrounding Mr. Rushton, I find I must believe it, for he has been linked quite reliably with a servant in his household.”
Caroline leaned back to consider her mother’s news. “I do recall,” she said, “that as a child Mr. Charlton was fond of creating mischief, but to dally with a maid so openly? That is something one often sees in London, but in the country, it seems likely to be nothing more than tittle-tattle.”
“You must take into account his circumstances. He is a member of the titled class and a younger son after all. If his reputation is based on truth, it should not surprise you,” Mrs. Newton said with a glance at Rosemary. “Is that not so, Mrs. Pickersgill? Are not many of the titled classes, wherever their domicile, engaged in such behavior?”
“It is quite often so, I have found, Mrs. Newton.”
Caroline shook her head at Rosemary’s response. What did the opinion of a servant matter? “Come, Mrs. Pickersgill is hardly qualified to offer any wisdom on this subject.”
“Caro! One must only glance at Mrs. Pickersgill to see that she is a woman of breeding and good sense.”
Caroline glanced at Rosemary but saw neither breeding nor sense.
Rosemary set aside her teacup and crossed her hands in her lap. “It is true, Mrs. Newton. I am nothing more than your daughter’s companion and ought not offer my opinions so openly.” She met Caroline’s eyes and added, “Accurate though they may be.”
“But—” Mrs. Newton said, apparently on the verge of pursuing this line of conversation. Caroline was uninterested.
“But is there truth to these rumors?” Caroline demanded of her mother instead.
Both women looked abruptly at her.
“About Mr. Charlton. Has he been proven unworthy?”
“That I cannot say for certain,” Mrs. Newton said slowly and then smiled. “I am pleased, however, to find that your time in London has not persuaded you to accept such behavior.”
Caroline winced a bit. She wished to blend thoroughly with London society and accept the behavior they found suitable, but she could not deny her innate abhorrence for the practice of keeping mistresses or conducting affairs, accepted though they may be. She, who prided herself on being erudite and sophisticated, had never been able to shed her country upbringing so wholly as to approve of such affairs between gentlemen and women who were not their wives. But if that is what polite society demanded of her, then she would strive to alter her judgment.
Rather than opining on her own conflicting views of fornication, she chose to focus on the opinions of another. “Lord Charlton must be displeased, for the barony has always maintained the highest of reputations.”
Mrs. Newton nodded. “Indeed, Lord Charlton must be quite concerned, for he has arranged for Lavinia to see to her brother’s well-being. Lord Charlton has already departed for Town, I believe, though Parliament will not open until March. Lavinia runs the household now.”
“I wonder that Lavinia’s husband could spare her,” Caroline said, setting aside her plate and focusing only on the conversation at hand.
“From what I hear, it is fortunate for the entire Charlton household that he could.” Her mother paused a moment to sip her tea and continued, “Her six months of mourning for her brother have just ended, and certainly, she will call on you as soon as she hears you have come.”
“I do not doubt that she will call, for Lavinia and I were fast friends at the seminary,” Caroline said with more confidence than she felt.
Then she stood for no other reason than to expel some of the nervous energy that now coursed through her. She crossed to the buffet but did not look at its contents. Her mind was already at Oak Park, for within its walls lay her opportunity.
An association with Lavinia Winton could very much ease the damage of having been excluded from Charles and Mr. Darcy’s company. To be connected with the family of a baron, though less wealthy than Mr. Darcy, would be a coup indeed!
Yes, Lavinia must come!
Caroline attempted to modulate her tone, which she knew must hold more than a hint of excitement. “Have you already shared the news of my return with Kendal society, Mama?”
Mrs. Newton nodded. “Why, yes, indeed I did, for I could hardly conceal my anticipation from my acquaintances, could I?”
Caroline smiled, pleased that her mother’s easy manners for once had benefitted her. Word of her arrival would soon spread, and surely Lavinia would do her duty and call on her old friend.
She stood for a time at the buffet and imagined Charles’s surprise at the turn in her circumstances. He would expect to find her contrite after her banishment, but she would greet him from a higher vantage point.
Her heart seized a bit with regret at the course of her thoughts. She did not relish the idea of Charles as her enemy and had no wish to consider their relationship as a struggle for power. She simply longed to be with him, to have his companionship once again. She wished he had never sent her away, but he had.
He had forced this disjointedness to enter their relationship, and she must deal with it as she saw fit, and she did not see fit to apologize to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
No, she would simply have to show Charles how desirable her company was to prominent people. She would become the center of Kendal society, and when her brother returned for her, he would see his error. He would know that she was worthy to be in his society once again.
Caroline’s thoughts of her brother so distracted her that she hardly heard as Mrs. Newton went on to the next topic and then the next. When finally there was a break in the conversation, she managed to say, “Mama, I beg your pardon, but fatigue suddenly overwhelms me.”
Mrs. Newton’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh! Of course, of course, you are fatigued from your long journey, and here I sit nattering away.” She leapt from the sofa, drawing Caroline and Rosemary with her. “Allow me to escort you both to your chambers.”
They ascended the stairs in a tangle of skirts and apologies, and Mrs. Newton directed Rosemary to one of the house’s finest bedchambers. “Mrs. Pickersgill,” she said as she opened the door with a flourish, “I hope you will be quite comfortable here.”
Rosemary sucked in a breath. The room was all plush linens and comfortable furnishings, and the large window looked upon a vast green meadow beyond. “I assure you I shall! It is a lovely room.”
Caroline curbed her temptation to ask her mother why she should put a servant in such a fine room, for she truly was too exhausted to mention it.
“And it is adjacent to Caroline’s room, so you two may stay up until all hours of the night chattering away as girls do,” Mrs. Newton said.
Caroline grimaced. There would be little chattering with Rosemary, she felt certain.
With Rosemary shut securely in her room, Caroline walked alongside Mrs. Newton to her customary chamber, a lovely large corner room with both a view of the meadow and a delightful prospect of the pond.
“It is just as you recalled, is it not?” Mrs. Newton asked as they entered the chamber.
Caroline ventured to the window, her fingertips brushing across the bed linens as she passed. “Oh yes, Mama, the room is as lovely as it ever was,” Caroline agreed.
Mrs. Newton took a seat on the bed and patted the space beside her. “Come sit with me.”
Caroline was about to protest, reminding her mother of her fatigue, but one look at Mrs. Newton’s hopeful face convinced her to obey.
“I am so pleased that you have come home to me, my girl, but you must tell me the truth. Has something happened between you and Charles?”
Caroline blinked at her, surprised at her mother’s accuracy. Her mother may wan
t to offer people the benefits of her trust and good opinion, but she always seemed to see straight to the heart of the matter when required. Still, Caroline could not confess the truth to her. Charles would not wish it, and neither did she. “No, why ever would you think such a thing?”
Mrs. Newton cocked her head skeptically. “Come, I know you have no wish to be here in Kendal. You aspire to a life in London and nothing less will do.”
“I do love London.” That was the half-truth, but she must yet conceal the unhappy portion from her mother.
As if her mother had read her thoughts, she said, “But you do not seem happy, Caro.”
Caroline laughed to cover the correctness of her mother’s assessment. It came out sounding bitter and sad. “Of course, I am happy. I am with you.”
Mrs. Newton leaned forward, her eyes soft. “And I am happy too, my dear, but I cannot help but wonder why you left your brother and sister so suddenly.”
“I missed you.”
Her mother softened. “And I missed you, Caro, but I also know how well you enjoyed the benefits of Charles’s household.”
Caroline cleared her throat. “I found myself longing to see you again, and I knew you would be anxious to hear about Charles’s marriage ceremony since you were unable to attend. It seemed the perfect opportunity to come away. Louisa and Mr. Hurst have gone to Devonshire, and of course, Charles has a wife capable of overseeing the running of Netherfield Park in my absence.”
“And that is all?”
“Indeed, Mama, that is all.”
Mrs. Newton did not appear truly satisfied, but she allowed the conversation to end.
Five
The onslaught of calls began promptly the next morning, and the complete rite—call and requisite return of call—endured full a week. Every member of polite society in Cumbria, it seemed, had been alerted to Caroline’s arrival, and the ladies seemed all to desire to call at once.
All except the one lady whom Caroline most wanted to see.
Lavinia Charlton Winton.
She, most decidedly, did not come.
Still, from ten in the morning until after two in the afternoon, a parade of neighbors passed through the drawing room of Newton House, where Caroline sat with her mother and Mrs. Pickersgill to receive them. She responded to so many inquiries as to her health and that of her siblings that she began to wish she had been ill so that she might have avoided the morning call ritual altogether.
Were Caroline not as easily given to politeness, she fancied she might greet each caller at the door herself and say, “Good morning to you, Miss Nonesuch. How lovely to rekindle our acquaintance. Allow me to save time by telling you that my family is in good health, I am pleased to be in Cumbria—though the weather is indeed horrid—and I am pained at leaving my siblings but delighted to be with my mother. Leave your card, for I am required to return your call and hold this precise discussion with you once again within the next few days.”
Alas, such a thing could not be done, and so Caroline remained in her chair and made the required chitchat with all who came. Rosemary behaved admirably, and though Caroline could not be proud of the woman, she was at least not embarrassed by her, for she sat correctly and behaved to all appearances as a well-bred lady.
In fact, she was quite sure that Rosemary had charmed more than one old widow with her stories of Town and its residents. Mrs. Halstead had quite fallen in love, Caroline thought.
Mrs. Newton was always perfectly civil and reserved with her country guests, and often, she followed the conversation as she took up a bit of sewing. On the second morning, Caroline had sneaked into the drawing room early to remove all items of underlinen from the work basket. She simply refused to allow her mother to darn stockings if there were a chance that her schoolfellow Lavinia Winton might pay a call at any moment.
That moment, however, did not come until a week later. When Lavinia finally called upon the ladies of Newton House, they were absent on another visit.
Caroline, Mrs. Newton, and Rosemary had returned home through a dull drizzle of cold rain after returning a call to Mrs. Halstead, which had lasted quite a bit longer than Caroline had anticipated, and now the whole day was wasted and her spirits much depressed. She had quite given up the idea that Lavinia might call and was sure she had been snubbed, and she had no wish to do anything besides sit before the fire with a tin of biscuits and a pot of tea.
She shed her cloak and bonnet, eyeing the silver salver full of calling cards without the least feeling of hope.
Mrs. Newton pounced on the cards, however, and with shining eyes, she turned to Caroline. “Look, my dear, and you will find that your mother is always right. I told you Lavinia would call, and here is the proof.”
Caroline felt her eyes widen in disbelief, and suddenly her pulse began to pound. Was it true? Had Lavinia called?
She looked down at the card her mother had extended to her.
The elegant black script read simply, “Mrs. Ralph Winton.”
Caroline had the most girlish impulse to squeal and bounce up and down with glee, but she only looked at her mother and said, “I am pleased.”
In truth, Caroline’s relief was nearly complete, but the emotion was tainted by fear that Lavinia might have purposefully called at an early hour to avoid an actual visit and instead simply leave her card.
At least, Caroline reminded herself, Lavinia had called. She had not been slighted.
Now, it was upon her to wait on Lavinia, which she would do with the utmost courtesy and speed.
“We shall call upon her tomorrow first thing,” she declared with a quick glance at Rosemary, who was watching her with a quizzical eye. “You will want to wear your nicest morning dress, Mrs. Pickersgill, for we wait upon the sister of a baron tomorrow.”
Mrs. Pickersgill smiled faintly. “Indeed, a baron! I shall do my utmost to comport myself correctly.”
“Yes, tomorrow is an important call.” Thinking to avert any disasters that might arise from being forced to travel with her companion, she said, “It would be best if you remained as quiet as possible while we are at Oak Park.”
Again, a faint smile. “Thank you, Miss Bingley. I shall take your recommendations on the value of silence into consideration. Now, if you will excuse me, I think you have long been desiring my absence.”
Mrs. Pickersgill disappeared upstairs, leaving Mrs. Newton and Caroline alone in the entry hall.
“Caro, do you think it necessary to caution Mrs. Pickersgill? I have heard little of her history, but she has behaved as a well-mannered lady the entire week through, do not you think?”
Caroline was unsurprised by her mother’s gentle defense of Mrs. Pickersgill, for it was just the sort of thing she would do. However, Caroline was acquainted with the wider world, and she knew the power of the titled to inflict social wounds upon the unsuspecting and the unmannered, and she would do everything she could in order to prevent anyone from bringing shame upon her family. If that meant risking slight rudeness at cautioning Mrs. Pickersgill, then so be it.
“She has been adequate, certainly,” Caroline admitted, “but one cannot be too careful when one associates with the titled class. One slip and shame could rain upon us.”
“My dear, you are far too dramatic for your own good,” said her mother, as if Caroline’s words held no greater import than newspaper gossip. “Now, do come into the music room, for I have not heard you play a note since you arrived, and you know what great pleasure I take in music.”
She allowed her mother to lead the way to the music room, even though she was not in the mood to perform at the moment. She had much rather think on tomorrow’s call, her wardrobe, and topics of conversation that would display her in the best light. Instead, she asked, “Have you retained the old square pianoforte then, Mama?”
“No, I believe you will be surprised to find that we have a new instrument for you to enjoy.”
Mrs. Newton opened the door to a large chamber off the main hallway. The
room was surrounded by casement windows, which were wonderful for allowing in light but less conducive for the highest sound quality. Today, they only admitted a dull gray and amplified the sound of the rain as it struck the large glass panes.
Several intimate seating areas were spread about the perimeter, and the furniture was comfortably upholstered in rich fabrics, but Mrs. Newton had clearly arranged the room around the pianoforte that stood at its center.
It was a beautiful instrument.
Caroline circled it, not allowing even the fabric of her skirts to touch it, as if the slightest human contact might somehow sully its perfection. Made of polished rosewood and standing upon elegantly turned legs, the piano was beyond what Caroline had anticipated.
“A Broadwood,” she breathed. “I did not expect you to have acquired one so fine as this.”
“I know! It was indeed a lavish expense for a household with no musical occupants, but we often have musical guests, and of course, I had hoped one day you would return and play for us.”
It was a great extravagance, but Caroline could not disapprove of it. It was a sign of her mother’s wealth and status, and it was indeed a thing of beauty to behold.
And she longed to play it and hear if its intonations matched its exterior beauty.
Caroline pulled the stool away, seated herself with her customary ceremony, and placed her fingertips on the cool ivory keys. She nearly sighed aloud at that simple pleasure. Seemingly without conscious decision, she began to play, her fingers automatically beginning the piece she often chose in company. It sounded even more beautiful on the Broadwood. Yes, the pianoforte had a sound as deep and lush as the darkest of chocolates. The music glided about the room and wrapped its hearers in a spell of sound.
At the seminary in London, Caroline had practiced long hours, for her father paid a great deal for her to have lessons with the music master. She could hear him now, saying, “Caroline, you must learn to play the pianoforte very well indeed, for the ability to produce a great performance on the instrument is one hallmark of an accomplished young woman, and one day, it will win you a gentleman of great worth. Mark my words.”
Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 5