Indeed, she had taken to her lessons with great vigor, but she could not give her father the credit for having inspired her. She had loved to play, and soon she quite outshone the other girls at the seminary.
Now, Caroline played with singular focus on her task. She knew each piece from memory, and though she had played them many times at countless parties and dinners, she fancied they still served their purpose.
And her mother’s applause confirmed it.
“Oh!” she said. “Now, Mr. Newton may never chide me again for having insisted on the pianoforte, may he, Mr. Rushton? Caroline has certainly made the purchase worthwhile.”
Caroline looked away from the pianoforte to discover Mr. Rushton languishing on the periphery of the chamber.
He was giving her the oddest look, and she found she could not quite meet his eyes. She looked away, and inexplicably she found herself fighting not to blush.
Then the gentleman spoke. “It was a well-rehearsed performance and very pleasing to most listeners, I am certain.”
At this, Caroline did meet his gaze, for she could not take his meaning, so she chose the most direct approach and simply asked him. “What does that signify, ‘well-rehearsed’? It sounds as if it were a compliment, but your tone of voice implies some sort of hidden meaning.”
He smiled. “I meant just what I said. Your performance was practiced. In fact, you are so well acquainted with every note and nuance of that piece that you hardly even need to hear the actual music anymore.”
“Do you mean to insinuate, then, that practice is somehow to be discouraged? I have always found, Mr. Rushton, that no great accomplishment can be made without taking the opportunity of practicing. A lack of rehearsal results in mistakes, and those can never be to one’s benefit, can they?”
“I would not argue with you, Miss Bingley. I may only say this: there is also something pleasing in the unbridled joy of making errors.”
“Unlike you, sir, I take no pleasure in my blunders but seek to minimize their existence.”
“How unfortunate, for I have found that my greatest mistakes can sometimes yield the greatest pleasures.”
Caroline laughed at this outright. “I am certain you believe yourself to be clever by speaking in paradoxes, but it shows me only how very impractical and foolish you are.”
“I would expect you to think nothing different.” He spoke these words with an undeniable tone of irony.
But before Caroline could question him further, her mother spoke. “Oh, you must stop teasing my daughter so, Mr. Rushton. You know very well that she plays beautifully.”
“Indeed, she does everything beautifully,” he said as he bowed to Mrs. Newton. Then, he turned toward the pianoforte and bowed to the musician as well, and as he raised himself back to his full height, Caroline was surprised to see a smirk on his face.
It was as if he had just negated his compliment with his sarcastic expression. Caroline scowled back. “Sir, your countenance belies your accolades, and I feel sure you must be insulting me.”
“I would never presume to insult you, Miss Bingley.”
“I should think not,” Caroline said with venom, “for I have heard of your actions since I have been away.”
“Have you indeed?” he asked with a grin. “And what, pray tell, have you heard?”
Caroline studied him in silence for a long moment, deciding whether or not to mention his broken engagement. One look at her mother told her it would be wise to hold her tongue, but upon glancing back at Mr. Rushton, she found that his expression nearly begged her to continue.
He seemed to be having fun.
And that is what kept her from saying another word. She only smirked at him as if she harbored a secret about him that even he did not know.
“That smile intrigues me, Miss Bingley.”
“Does it?”
“Yes, I wonder what stories you have heard and what you have been foolish enough to believe.”
“I assure you, Mr. Rushton, that nothing I have heard is likely to be as dreadful as what you have actually done.”
He gave a hearty laugh. “Indeed, Miss Bingley, that is probably the truth.”
“Oh come,” Mrs. Newton said in his defense, “you are as upstanding a young man as ever I have seen.”
He smiled genuinely at her. “I am pleased you think so, Mrs. Newton, for I hold you in the highest regard.” He glanced at Caroline. “But I must depart. I was drawn to the room only to hear the performance, and Mr. Newton has now been waiting many minutes for my return to the study and our bridge plans.”
“Go on, then,” Mrs. Newton said.
To which Caroline added, “We will not miss you here.”
Mr. Rushton only smiled once more as he exited the music room.
Caroline rose from the stool and chose a seat next to her mother. “I do not comprehend why you allow him in the house. He is a most confounding man.”
Six
Caroline awakened early the next morning to prepare for her call upon Lavinia, and her excitement over the prospect must have overflowed to the rest of the household, for her mother had arrived with Rosemary close behind to help her dress.
So full of anticipation was Caroline that she could not even chide her mother for foisting Rosemary upon her.
She only sat at her dressing table and watched as her maid brushed her long brown hair into smooth waves.
Mrs. Newton and Rosemary sat on the bed, already completely dressed for their morning call, and observed. “Mrs. Pickersgill, you will like Oak Park.”
“Will I? If you say so, Mrs. Newton, then I truly look forward to seeing it.”
“It is the finest in the neighborhood, excepting my beloved Newton House of course.”
“Oak Park is a lovely property,” Caroline said from across the room. She was surprised at the wistfulness of her tone as she spoke. “But I do so wish you might have seen Pemberley, for it will quite spoil your view of any other home in England.”
“But I have seen Pemberley,” Mrs. Newton assured her daughter, “through your description. You make it sound so lovely that the reality cannot possibly match it. Besides, you know how I abhor travel. I would not enjoy myself if I were to venture so far from home. Oak Park will be the finest house I shall ever enter.”
Caroline met her mother’s eyes in the mirror. “I have always marveled at how different you and Papa were in your opinions on the subject of travel.”
Mrs. Newton laughed. “Oh yes, we were certainly disparate in many of our opinions. He loved to wander. It was no sacrifice to him to go all the way to the Indies to earn his fortune, and though he always said he wanted to purchase an estate, I do not think he would have ever settled down enough to undertake it.”
Caroline smiled at the memories of her father that were evoked within her. “I think he would have, eventually, for he knew that land is crucial to rising in society. And he desired for all of us to rise.”
“Yes, he did, and you have all done so. You have such fashionable friends and have been about such interesting entertainments. And you have brought one such friend to visit us.” She patted Rosemary’s hand. “But I have always thought, my dear, that even the largest of houses and the finest of properties could not ensure the happiness your father and I desired for you, Charles, and Louisa. I am pleased that my children have all found their own sort of happiness and even remained as friends. It warms a mother’s heart.”
Caroline could not continue to meet her mother’s eyes, even in the mirror, and she made a great pretense of studying her comb instead. Not only had Caroline failed to accede to her father’s wishes of raising the status of the Bingley family, but she had made herself and everyone else unhappy in the process.
But this morning she had the opportunity to remedy her mistake. Today she would solidify her place in Kendal society, and from there, well, from there she could not say.
But she would rise, and it would all begin with her call on Lavinia.
~**~
As Mr. Newton’s coach turned onto the long approach road to Oak Park, Caroline had the oddest inclination to leap from the conveyance, for it was traveling slower than normal, surely, and dash to the door. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap and watched as the house began to rise upon the horizon. She experienced a moment of pure envy.
Oak Park was an elaborately constructed stone edifice that took up what appeared to be the equivalent of an entire city block. Unlike Newton House, Oak Park had grown over time, with one wing decidedly neo-classical and another of Gothic influence. Somehow, the dissimilar architectural styles melded together in the domed entryway that once had served as the entire main house.
It was nothing to Pemberley, of course; few properties could rival it. Still, Oak Park represented a particular stability of rank and standing within the community that could not easily be ignored or forgotten.
It was not possible for anyone to look down upon Lavinia or Mr. Charlton, no matter what missteps they might make, for they had been fortunate enough to be born to the life to which all people aspired. They had received the best education, had access to the finest society, and lived quite at their leisure. They could behave as they chose, and no one could oust them from their proper place. Their positions were as settled as the foundation upon which Oak Park itself rested.
It was vexing to Caroline to realize that she had no such advantage. Her family had money, certainly, and that was not something to be ignored. Money was important indeed, but she knew very well that it was only one component in the quest for happiness.
And she had indeed attended the finest London seminary, she did retain access to many people within polite society, and she did live at her leisure, but she was also acutely aware that one ill-placed word of her family’s origins in trade could damage every advantage she possessed.
She had no ancestors of note and no ancient family lands to lend her credibility in the face of her potential detractors.
And worse, Caroline’s inheritance of 20,000 pounds was controlled by her brother until her marriage, whereupon it would be controlled by her husband. Certainly, Charles was generous with her allowances, and she would admit to having occasionally spent more than she ought to have, but the truth of the matter was that she, like every other lady, would never have the opportunity of managing her own wealth without the interference of some man or other.
Oh, how she wished for the permanency and stability afforded by a house such as Pemberley or even Oak Park, for at the very least, a woman’s place was in the management of the home. It would be her place.
“Did I not tell you, Mrs. Pickersgill?” Mrs. Newton said as they drew nearer to Oak Park. “It always has been the loveliest house in the neighborhood.”
Looking upon it now, Caroline could not but agree. It was lovely, especially on such a day when the sun was bright and cast upon the structure a glow of warmth and welcome.
Rosemary, however, did not seem to agree, for she said, “It is the largest, certainly, but I cannot say it holds any beauty over Newton House.”
Caroline shook her head. “You are not required to flatter my mother, Mrs. Pickersgill.”
“It was not mere flattery, Miss Bingley, for I expressed my honest opinion of the matter. A large house is not necessarily more pleasing to the eye than a small one. It is simply, well, larger.”
“Clearly, you have never experienced the pleasures of a large house. I am certain that once you enter one as grand as Oak Park, your opinion will change.”
“Oh, Caro, not everyone has the same taste,” Mrs. Newton said with a smile. “You may allow Mrs. Pickersgill to admire a small house if she wishes. Besides, it will please Mr. Newton greatly to hear that she does.”
Caroline was on the verge of saying, “Oh, hang Mr. Newton,” but she restrained herself, realizing that there was no point, for an opinion was difficult to change, even one’s own.
Rosemary cocked her head to one side and studied her through narrowed eyes. Then, as if having come to a satisfactory conclusion, she said, “I will defer to your judgment, Miss Bingley, for I see you are in no mood for debate.”
“I am always in the mood for debate, Mrs. Pickersgill, but on this subject, there can be none. A woman of sense cannot prefer a small house to a large one. It is utterly ridiculous.”
“Indeed, Miss Bingley.”
Rosemary’s voice held a distinct note of irony, but Caroline did not comment on it. In fact, the ladies did not converse again until they had completed the ride along the approach road, were received into the grand house in question, and were announced at the sitting room door by a manservant of stern countenance.
“Mrs. Newton, Miss Bingley, and Mrs. Pickersgill, madam,” he said. His voice sounded strangely ominous to Caroline’s ears as his words rang into the vast room and echoed off the high ceilings and art-covered walls.
Indeed, the room was lavishly done. The furniture was of the highest quality and was arranged so that it could be shown to its best advantage and not for the comfort of the room’s occupants. Matching sofas, upholstered in gold and white brocade, stood in front of each of the towering windows that flanked the carved stone fireplace, and the sheer span between the two seats would likely make conversation—and even visual contact—awkward. Two high-backed chairs completed the arrangement while floor-to-ceiling draperies of heavy gold material framed the whole scene. The drapes had been pulled aside, allowing light to stream into the cavernous chamber in bright beams. Even the sunlight, it seemed, had been arranged with purposeful formality, for it descended in a most appealing manner on various points in the room.
Even though the chamber was not conducive to intimate conversation, Lavinia had seen to every other comfort. The fire had obviously been laid with care, small enough not to cause overheating but large enough to take the chill out of the air. On the far wall stood a buffet covered with full decanters and carafes of wine, sherry, and port, and crystal glasses were lined up like soldiers at the ready, always prepared to receive libations. Books were fortuitously arranged on polished wooden side tables, and a writing table was settled along the far wall. Every detail had been seen to, every necessity provided. Lavinia was obviously adept at managing her father’s household, and if true comfort was lacking, it could be forgiven in the face of sheer opulence.
And Caroline was ever in favor of opulence.
As the door closed behind them, Lavinia emerged from her place in a high-backed chair like a butterfly from a cocoon. The light behind her was so dazzling that Caroline was forced to blink often as she attempted to look at her friend.
At that precise moment, Caroline could have allowed herself to be intimidated by her friend’s grand appearance, by her family’s even grander estate, or even by the sheer scale of the room, but she would not permit herself to be susceptible to such a weakness of emotion.
Why, she herself had very nearly been the mistress of a great household. In any case, she had visited Lavinia’s home numerous times in the past, and she had been acquainted with her long before she had made the transformation from awkward caterpillar to the beautiful winged creature that now stood before Caroline.
The perfectly styled woman converged upon their party forthwith and curtseyed in Mrs. Newton’s general direction. Then she smiled at Caroline, saying, “My dear friend! How good it is to see you.”
Lavinia leaned in as if to take both Caroline’s hands, but she stopped short and only managed to touch one hand briefly.
Caroline straightened herself. “I am very pleased to be at Oak Park again. It holds so many pleasant memories, and I find it has not altered one bit, though the view from the drive, I find, is more stunning than ever.”
“How very gracious of you to notice,” Lavinia said and then turned to Mrs. Pickersgill. “Caroline, will you do me the honor of introducing your friend?”
Caroline did as she was bid, and upon the pronouncement of her companion’s name, Lavinia cocked her head to the side. “Pickersgill,”
she said. “What an odd surname, but it is strangely familiar.”
Rosemary glanced at Caroline, and her expression seemed to convey surprise and perhaps a hint of dread.
Caroline, wishing to divert the conversation away from her companion, said, “A unique surname such as Pickersgill is bound to attract undue notice, I am sure, even if it is not attached to a family of dignity.”
“Yes, I suppose that is so.” Lavinia gestured toward the grouping of furniture where she had previously reclined. “Now, do sit down, and I shall ring for tea.”
The visiting party walked dutifully to select their seats while Lavinia strode across the large chamber and rang the bell. As she made the return trip across the space, she straightened her already perfectly arranged hair and then settled herself on the sofa across from Caroline and her mother.
Lavinia looked much as she had as a schoolgirl—a lithe figure, unblemished skin, and wavy dark hair that had been the envy of more than one young lady of their acquaintance. She gave all the appearance of a distant, untouchable aristocrat. Indeed, with the sun’s rays and the distance between the furniture, this was far from the intimate reunion for which Caroline had hoped.
In short course, a maid arrived with a tray, poured the visitors’ tea, and then crossed the room to deliver the beverage to her mistress. The maid was of diminutive stature, and her small steps made the trip from sofa to sofa seem as though it were a journey of a thousand miles.
“Will there be anything else, madam?” the maid asked.
Clearly annoyed, Lavinia looked to her servant, saying, “No, you may go.”
The maid offered a slight curtsey and made the trip from the sitting area to the door with admirable endurance.
Caroline picked up her teacup and saucer. The china was so fine that it was nearly translucent, and the aroma of the tea was so heartening that she almost sighed.
“This tea is lovely, Lavinia.”
Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 6