Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

by Jennifer Becton

He stood up and shook his hands in an attempt to dry them. Water flew in all directions, catching the sunlight as it fell. “As I expected,” he said.

  “And I might ask why you had selected such a difficult mount for me, Mr. Rushton, if you suspected my dislike for riding.”

  Caroline watched as he walked slowly toward her, his gaze keeping contact with hers. “And I would remind you that you were settled upon your mother’s pony, which has never so much as had a subversive thought in her head.”

  They were standing within arm’s length now, glaring at each other.

  “Then,” Caroline said, “I think it best that we do not speak about it.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Rushton said as he brushed past her and took up both his horse’s reins and the pony’s lead. “Come,” he said as he walked to the base of a nearby tree. “We shall sit for a few minutes.”

  Caroline watched as he secured the horses and then sat on the ground without so much as a cloth between his trousers and the earth.

  She supposed it did not matter to him.

  She, on the other hand, attempted to perch herself on a large exposed root.

  “Horses are emotional creatures, and they reflect the emotions of their riders,” Mr. Rushton said without preamble.

  Caroline sighed. “I thought we were not going to discuss this.”

  He continued, “One need only look at one’s mount to understand everything about the person astride.”

  “Oh,” Caroline said, understanding his intention. “What, pray tell, does today’s adventure reveal about me?”

  He studied her for a moment and then looked away. “It would be impolite of a gentleman to speak of it, Miss Bingley.”

  “Oh, come, I have invited your opinion. You are safe.”

  He laughed. “Now that you have said that, I am reassured that I am indeed not safe. When a lady assures a gentleman, it is only because she believes he will then flatter her.”

  “And what you say shall not flatter me?” Caroline asked.

  “What I say would have been the truth.”

  “Then, speak it.”

  “The truth,” he said, “is better discovered oneself.”

  Caroline was silent for a moment, but she was determined to discover his meaning. “Do you accuse me of a lack of skill then?”

  “Lack of skill?”

  “I was given proper instruction in all matters equestrian. It is an integral part of every lady’s education.” She would never admit that she remembered very little about the endeavor.

  “Yes, that much was evident.” He laughed. “You knew which end of the horse to which to apply the whip.”

  “You jest, but I was well taught.”

  “I do not refer to your lack of skill.” When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Indeed, Miss Bingley, I believe there are but few skills that you have not artfully mastered.”

  She looked at him but could not read his expression, for he was facing forward again. His tone sounded wry, but his words were complimentary.

  She hesitated and then said, “I believe, Mr. Rushton, that is the first time I have ever heard a compliment escape your lips.”

  He faced her now, and his expression was as wry as his tone. “Did I compliment you? My apologies. It was quite unintentional.”

  She laughed at him despite herself, but sobered quickly.

  “You are indeed a truly accomplished performer,” Mr. Rushton said. “But one may not perform when horses are involved. They have a way of revealing one’s true self.”

  “Then they are wiser creatures than I have given them credit for being.”

  “Yes, Mossy has revealed quite a great deal today. I comprehend you now. Perfectly.”

  “Oh?” Caroline adjusted on her perch. “Enlighten me.”

  “Women, I find, are the finest actors. They perform continually to entice a gentleman and then drop the charade once he is caught.”

  Caroline spoke without thinking. “How would you suggest we behave, then, if not by showing ourselves to the best advantage?”

  “You should portray yourself as you are, of course. It is foolish to perform. And it is even more foolish to overestimate one’s skills on horseback. You ought to have known that.”

  She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Ah, but I have heard that you, Mr. Rushton, are also a great performer.”

  Mr. Rushton studied her. “You have thrice laid this accusation at my feet, Miss Bingley. Why not speak plainly? I will not object.”

  She decided to do just that. “I have heard that you were once engaged to be married to a young lady of large fortune.”

  “That is true,” he said, his face still open.

  “And that the lady terminated the engagement when she discovered your family’s true situation.”

  “Also true,” he confessed.

  “So you admit to being a fortune hunter!”

  “Indeed, I do not.”

  “Then I fear, Mr. Rushton, you will have to explain yourself.”

  “I will do so happily now that you have asked and not based your entire opinion of me on supposition and gossip.”

  Caroline crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to proceed.

  “My father was a proud man, and his humiliation at having sold off so much of Rushton House was complete. He vowed that before he died he would see our fortunes restored, and so with that in mind, he arranged for me to marry the eldest daughter of a wealthy London family when we were yet children. He, of course, did not divulge the status of our estate, only that I was to inherit an ancient house and land. They believed us wealthy and stable, but we needed the money desperately.”

  Caroline nodded.

  “The old dear truly believed that my marriage would save the family, but before we reached the appointed age, my father became ill and died, making me promise that I would fulfill my vow to the lady and save our family land. I agreed, but as our wedding day approached, guilt assailed me. I could not bring myself to withhold the truth from her, so I brought her to Rushton House, which was then in quite a state of disrepair.”

  Caroline could well imagine the condition of the property. It would please no woman.

  “Simply put,” Mr. Rushton said, “she broke the engagement, and I allowed it.”

  “But your vow to your father?”

  “I did not break it. The lady ended the engagement, and I said nothing ill about her. In fact, I said nothing at all on the subject, which is why the fortune-hunting rumor still abounds. And I did restore the family land, every piece.”

  “But how?”

  “Through my association with Mr. Newton. Bridge building can be quite lucrative.”

  Trade, Caroline thought. It always seemed to return to trade.

  “So you see, Miss Bingley, it was through my blatant refusal to perform—to present myself as anything other than I was—that I restored my family to rights. And I speak from that experience when I tell you that it is best not to perform for others, whether human or equine.”

  They were silent a few moments, and Caroline found herself watching the horse and pony as they grazed, to all appearances, peacefully.

  “Mr. Rushton, you really should not pretend to have some keen insight into my character or temperament based on my interaction with unpredictable creatures.”

  “Horses are only unpredictable if their handler does not know their true nature.” He too studied the pair of grazing beasts. “Men often experience similar dilemmas in their interactions with your fair sex. If a man does not know a woman’s true nature, he cannot adequately predict what might occur next.”

  “Yes? And now you believe you may predict what I shall do next?”

  He smiled. “I would not dare to insult you by admitting it.”

  She only looked at him, trying to comprehend his meaning.

  Then Mr. Rushton stood and reached for her hand. “Come, I find I am quite dried out enough to attempt the walk home.”

  And with that, he assisted her
to her feet and gathered the horses, and together, they returned to Newton House in silence.

  As they walked, Caroline looked over her shoulder in the hopes of spying the others of their party, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  There was no hope left of cultivating time alone with Mr. Charlton. Depressing as it was, this disastrous outing would likely be her last opportunity of being in his company for some time.

  This was a heavy discouragement indeed, but such stumbling blocks only served to embolden Caroline. She may not have triumphed as quickly as she would have liked, but the game was not over.

  She would have her baron yet.

  Thirteen

  The best course of action, Caroline decided, was to apply to Lavinia for assistance in her quest to marry Mr. Charlton, and she must do so as soon as possible, for the London season was already in progress, and though her friend’s brother seemed to show an interest in her at times, he had not yet proposed. And Caroline had the greatest wish to rejoin society as the wife of a future baron. Then her triumph would be complete, her humiliation finally forgotten, and the requirement to make amends with Miss Elizabeth Bennet nullified.

  “Do get your bonnet, Mrs. Pickersgill,” Caroline said into the quiet sitting room where the ladies had been reclining, “for we must pay a call on Oak Park this morning.”

  “Yes, Miss Bingley,” Rosemary said as she rose to gather her outerwear.

  Once in the carriage, Rosemary looked at Caroline with curiosity.

  “You seem to be rather purposeful in this visit, Miss Bingley. Is something amiss?”

  Caroline scowled and lied, “Of course not. It is a visit. Nothing more.”

  “Ah,” Rosemary said, not sounding convinced at all.

  They remained quiet on the remainder of the ride, and when they arrived, they were escorted again to the cavernous drawing room.

  Caroline joined Mrs. Winton on the sofa, while Mrs. Pickersgill chose a seat on the opposite one and took a book from the nearby table, obviously giving Caroline her privacy.

  After a bit of polite conversation, it was time for Caroline to reveal her motivations for calling.

  “Lavinia, I have come to speak with you about a matter of a deeply personal nature,” she whispered as she glanced across the room at Mrs. Pickersgill, who appeared to be engrossed in her book. It seemed safe to speak, albeit softly.

  “Oh?” Lavinia asked as she leaned in, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

  “I trust that we have been friends long enough that you must have already guessed what I might say.”

  Lavinia blinked at her and then laughed. “You could not be more mistaken, for though you are one of my dearest friends, I have not the slightest conception of what you might say.”

  That disclosure did not hearten Caroline. She had hoped that her friend might already be aware of her desire to marry her brother and that she would approve and assist her in that goal.

  “Then, because you have not guessed already, I will speak plain. Our families have long been acquainted, and, I daresay, no one would argue that we have been the closest of friends for many years.”

  “No indeed,” Lavinia said. “No one could argue that point, but I do not comprehend your hesitancy to speak such an obvious truth.”

  Caroline took heart at Lavinia’s tone and pressed onward. “I hope you will not think me too presumptuous when I say that our families could only grow closer by the arrangement of a strategic union.”

  Had Lavinia not been one of her dearest schoolfellows, Caroline would have thought her expression momentarily registered shock. However, the look lingered but briefly, so she could not be certain that she had seen it at all.

  “Union?”

  This question was asked with perhaps more volume of voice than Caroline had hoped to hear. She looked quickly to Mrs. Pickersgill, whose head was still bent over the book. She appeared not to have heard.

  Caroline took a bracing breath and then spoke aloud. “Indeed, I hope I might have your support in convincing your brother, Mr. Charlton, that a closer connection between our families might be a benefit to both.”

  A small crease formed between Lavinia’s eyes. Caroline could not tell if her friend’s countenance showed her bafflement or anger, but she could certainly feel the searching nature of her look. Lavinia’s intense exploration of Caroline’s face was both disconcerting and more than a bit bewildering.

  Could Lavinia have not guessed her motives?

  “My dearest friend, tell me. Are you suggesting an”—here, Lavinia’s voice seemed to catch, but she continued—“alliance of a marital nature between yourself and my brother?”

  Caroline nodded.

  Lavinia straightened her back and cocked her head to the side, asking an unspoken question.

  Well, Caroline would explain her motives, and then Lavinia would comprehend the necessity of such a merger.

  “Our association would be advantageous to all parties.” Caroline watched as Lavinia’s features went entirely blank. There was no joy, sorrow, or conflict to be had within her expression or demeanor. Only a confusing vacancy. “You and I would be sisters. Your brother would be wed.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And the rumors about his proclivities of socializing with those so decidedly beneath him would be ended. And though I do not fancy my fortune to be a large enticement, it would no doubt aid in its own little way.”

  Lavinia’s blank expression altered, and a smile slid across her features.

  Yes, money was ever an enticement, Caroline thought.

  When Lavinia finally spoke, her voice had taken on a new tone that was not entirely comprehensible to Caroline. “I may make one promise to you, my oldest and dearest friend: I will do whatever is in my power to ensure that both our families get precisely what is warranted.”

  A snort from the opposite side of the room impeded Caroline’s sense of relief. She lanced Mrs. Pickersgill with a sharp stare. “Mrs. Pickersgill, if you are ill, kindly remove yourself from this chamber so that you do not infect us all.”

  “Pardon me, Miss Bingley,” Rosemary said with a decidedly unapologetic tone. “I am not ill, and I certainly did not intend to distract you from your tête-a-tête.” She then went back to her reading without the least hint of appropriate embarrassment, and Caroline reminded herself that she ought to continue to speak in hushed tones.

  To Lavinia, she whispered, “I am relieved indeed to find that you favor the match.”

  “Indeed, I am glad to offer you some relief,” Lavinia said, her head still held high.

  “I hope you will direct me in the best way to convince your brother of the rightness of such unification of our families in that manner.”

  Lavinia reached out and patted Caroline’s hands, which had been clutched in her lap for the balance of the conversation. “Do not give my brother the least thought, for I shall design the strategy myself.”

  ~**~

  After their return from Oak Park, Caroline and Rosemary spent the afternoon in the cutting garden with Mrs. Newton, and Caroline had just gone to clean the soil from her hands and change into her dinner attire when a knock sounded at her bedchamber door.

  “Pardon me, miss,” said the rather fresh-faced young maid, “but Mrs. Newton bid me to inform you that Mr. Charlton is awaiting you in the sitting room.”

  “Mr. Charlton?” Caroline asked. Lavinia was an efficient worker if he had come this very day to make his proposal.

  “Yes, miss,” the maid affirmed.

  Caroline quickly surveyed herself in the mirror. Her light blue dress had a white chevron pattern and was suitable for a country meal, but it would not do now. Not with Mr. Charlton about to make his proposal.

  “Go and find my green silk gown and help me redress quickly,” Caroline commanded the maid, who dashed to the wardrobe and began to search through the gowns stored there.

  She did as Caroline asked, returning to her side with her finest London gown that seemed to accentuate her features nicely.
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  She managed to don the gown in a timely fashion, but then she realized her hairstyle would not do for such an occasion, and she demanded that the maid help rearrange that as well.

  In the end, her decision to redress quickly took her almost an hour to accomplish, but when she entered the sitting room, she was pleased to have made the choice she had, for Mr. Charlton’s eyes seemed to lighten upon his first sight of her.

  He leapt off the high-backed chair where he had been sitting and speaking with Rosemary. “Oh! Miss Bingley, there you are.”

  Rosemary also stood and took in her mistress’s appearance, and her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Good evening, Miss Bingley. You look lovely.”

  A crease formed between Caroline’s eyes as she tried to eke some hidden purpose from Rosemary’s words, but who could fathom what that woman was thinking? She would do better not to try to interpret her at all. Instead, she turned her pleasure upon Mr. Charlton when he said, “Yes, indeed. You make quite a picture, just as Mrs. Pickersgill said.”

  Caroline stood for a moment longer so that Mr. Charlton could admire her further if he wished, and then she took a seat on the chair opposite his.

  Mr. Charlton watched as she sat, and Caroline believed she might have seen a twinge of regret in his expression, but she only smiled at him and said, “We are so pleased to have you in our home this evening.”

  “I have been here too long already,” he said as he removed his watch from the fob pocket of his breeches and glanced at it, “but I found myself quite compelled to stop here on my ride back from town.”

  Caroline blushed. “I am honored,” she said.

  “I simply could not leave Kendal without taking leave of you,” he said.

  Caroline’s blush suddenly drained, and she felt her face pale. “Leave Kendal?”

  “Yes, unfortunately, Lavinia had a letter from our father just this morning, and we have been called immediately to London.”

  “London?” Caroline repeated lamely. She knew she was staring at him with confusion and questions in her eyes, and that it was a most unsophisticated expression, but she could not prevent herself from looking at him thus.

  On the periphery, she saw Rosemary look from her to Mr. Charlton.