“There is no need for fear, Mrs. Newton,” he insisted. “I am quite well.”
Mrs. Newton leaned back in the coach to appeal to Mr. Newton. “Do make him come inside! That rain is cold, and I would much rather have him snuggled inside with us.”
Caroline winced. She did not relish the idea of a warm, wet Mr. Rushton snuggling amongst them.
But Mr. Newton did as his wife bade and leaned out the window. “Come, Rushton, do not be foolish. Join us before you become soaked through. There is adequate room, surely, for I purchased the largest coach available.” He turned toward Mrs. Newton. “I knew the decision would prove fortuitous one day.”
“I find myself quite comfortable,” his wife said with a look around, “but I do worry about poor Mr. Rushton.”
Caroline watched as poor Mr. Rushton’s shoulders moved into a shrug and he relented, saying, “If you insist, I shall join you.”
Mr. Newton rapped on the top of the coach to alert the driver to stop, and Caroline watched as Mr. Rushton reined in his horse and dismounted. He disappeared around the back of the coach, likely to tie up the great beast, and then reappeared at the door.
“Where shall I sit?” he asked, surveying the arrangement.
Rosemary, cursed woman, was asleep again, so she would not be moved from her place on the bench. Mr. and Mrs. Newton quite took up one full bench on their own, so there was only one spot available: between Rosemary and Caroline.
Caroline thought to poke her companion, for she suspected Rosemary was feigning slumber. Who could sleep through all that yelling and jostling as the coach ground to a halt? But Mrs. Newton pointed out, “There is adequate space there between Mrs. Pickersgill and Caroline.”
And that is just where Mr. Rushton deposited himself.
Then he smiled at her, quite aware of her discomfort, she realized.
“Do slide to the right, Mr. Rushton,” Caroline demanded. “I do not want my gown ruined by your damp clothing,” she said as she pulled her lap robe higher.
But Mr. Rushton did not move.
Fifteen
“Miss Bingley.”
The voice tickled her ear.
Caroline attempted to rub it away with her hand.
She heard a soft chuckle in response, but it faded so quickly into the pleasing sound of raindrops tapping on the roof that she wondered if she had imagined it. The gentle rocking of the coach lulled her, and slowly, all sound began to recede once more.
“Miss Bingley,” the voice repeated, softer this time. “Wake up.”
Caroline’s eyes slowly slid open to find Mr. Rushton looking at her. She gazed back at him for long moments, enjoying his closeness before she realized she should be affronted by it.
Then she experienced a moment of horror at the thought that she might have fallen asleep on his shoulder, but as she took stock of the situation, she realized that she had been reclined against the side of the carriage. She righted herself and looked about her to discover that Rosemary, her mother, and Mr. Newton were asleep. The interior of the coach seemed muted, casting Mr. Rushton in softness, which must account for the fact that she had no urge to scoot away from him even though he was sitting so close that she could feel him along her whole side.
Slightly discomfited by his nearness, she turned her head and peeked out the window to find that the clouds had gathered so closely that they blocked out the sun, making it appear to be as dark as a moonless midnight though it was not yet suppertime.
Everything seemed calm, warm, and safe. The coach seemed to cocoon her.
Why, then, had Mr. Rushton awakened her?
“What?” Caroline demanded in a harsh whisper.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I know I should have followed my own good judgment and allowed you to continue sleeping, but you were whimpering.”
“Whimpering?” Caroline repeated, slightly louder than a whisper. “I was most certainly not whimpering. I do not whimper.”
“Indeed, you were, and indeed, you do,” he insisted.
Caroline crossed her arms in front of her.
Mr. Rushton smiled pleasantly as if she had just said something kind. “Were you dreaming?” he whispered.
Was I dreaming? Caroline wondered.
“I do not know,” she whispered back.
Mr. Rushton watched her expectantly, and Caroline looked away as she tried to recall what she might have dreamt. She closed her eyes and attempted to forget Mr. Rushton’s proximity as she focused on the sound of the wheels sliding across the muddy roads.
The wind gathered in intensity outside, and the images of her dream returned from somewhere within the confines of her mind. If it was true that she had been whimpering, then she expected the dream to have featured Mr. Darcy, but surprisingly, her brother’s vexed face appeared in her mind. She could not hear his words, but he was making broad gestures with his hands, forcing her to walk backward, away from him. Suddenly, she was standing outside Pemberley with the door closed and locked solidly in front of her.
Caroline opened her eyes to discover Mr. Rushton still watching her.
“I cannot recall the dream,” she lied. “And I most certainly did not whimper.”
“Ah, now those are lies, Miss Bingley,” he said in a disarmingly conversational tone. “Come, I have told you my secret. You must share yours. What has made you so sad?”
Caroline had not the least intention of telling him anything, but as she turned to rebuff him, his countenance was so sincere, the carriage so warm, and the rain so soft outside that she found herself saying more than she meant.
“I dreamed of my brother Charles,” she confessed.
“Yes?”
“We argued.”
“Ah.”
“And he sent me away.”
Mr. Rushton studied her for long moments as the carriage rocked them. “That was more than a mere dream, was it not? That is what truly occurred to bring you to Kendal?”
Caroline sighed and looked at her mother, who was still asleep on Mr. Newton’s shoulder. “I told you once I came out of love for my mother, and I do love her, but yes, the truth is that I was forced to come.”
“But why?”
“Charles and I argued.”
He cocked his head sideways and waited for further explanation.
“I opposed Charles’s choice of bride,” she heard herself say. “Jane is a sweet girl, but a fortune hunter nonetheless.”
Mr. Rushton considered her for a moment. “We are all fortune hunters, Miss Bingley, in our own way. Society tells us that marriage is the only way to gain or secure a fortune, but it is not true.”
“Oh, but it is true!” Caroline whispered. “Though I have 20,000 pounds, I have nothing! I must follow my brother’s wishes as he has control over my allowance. I must marry, but then my husband gains control of the whole.” Caroline looked him directly in the eyes. “So you see, in order to have anything, Mr. Rushton, anything at all of my very own, I must marry. Only then will I have any sort of power over my life.”
He did not speak but kept his eyes on her.
She sighed. “Miss Jane Bennet had nothing. No wealth, connections, or land. I knew precisely what she was about, and I only wanted to save Charles…” She thought of Mr. Darcy and her desire to marry him. “To save myself.”
“That is perhaps the first honest remark you have made since arriving at Kendal, Miss Bingley,” Mr. Rushton said with soft eyes. “I only wish it were the whole truth, but I shall forgive you for withholding, for it is clear that you are wracked with guilt.”
“Guilt? No, I was innocent,” she protested. “My attempt to separate them was just and fair. I was in the right.”
Mr. Rushton’s next words surprised her. “I believe you probably were, Miss Bingley, and your protest was meant to protect your brother, but your proclaimed innocence seems doubtful.”
“You are speaking nonsense,” she said, still in a whisper, as she leaned away to take in his full facial expression. “Whateve
r do you mean?”
“Take, for example, the charges against me. They were true. For a time, I was a fortune hunter.”
“But you released your object when given the choice.”
“Indeed I did, but until that very moment, I would have proceeded with the marriage. I was behaving as my father expected—even as society required. I was in the right, but still far from innocent.”
Silence descended as Caroline contemplated his words. Their gazes met and the intimacy of the coach intensified. Around them, their companions slept on, and they did not witness the moment when Mr. Rushton’s head leaned further toward her, their faces drawing very close, his lips a whisper away.
Caroline did not move. She could not, though she knew she should have. Instead, she closed her eyes, expecting any moment that his lips would touch hers.
So when his fingertips brushed her cheek, her eyes flew open.
Mr. Rushton remained as close as before, watching her carefully as his fingers trailed down the length of her neck. She sucked in a breath at the unexpected warmth that flooded her, and try as she might, she could not look away.
“No, not innocent,” Mr. Rushton whispered. “We are, neither of us, innocent, are we?”
“No,” Caroline breathed as his fingertips stroked the back of her neck and then disappeared back into his lap.
A protest rose within her, but not at his words. She had the oddest desire to object to the removal of his hand, the ending of the intimacy they had shared.
As if sensing her protest, he smiled. “Do not fear. I will hold you again once all your secrets are made plain to me, for I believe, Miss Bingley, that London shall reveal all.”
Sixteen
Mr. Rushton’s words had shattered the coach’s intimacy and ended the odd détente between him and Caroline, and soon after, the coachman pulled into their final stop of the day.
As the carriage jarred to a halt, its occupants awakened to find Caroline’s back turned as much as possible to Mr. Rushton, and so they perceived no change in the relationship between the two. And when Caroline elected to take dinner in her private chamber, no one found it out of character.
But now Caroline felt a spark between herself and Mr. Rushton, and she was not convinced that once ignited it would erupt into anger, as it should have, rather than into something altogether more terrifying. And that caused her great tribulation indeed. She could not experience romantic sentiments for a tradesman. No indeed!
Much to her relief, the sun soon returned, and with it Mr. Rushton had been restored to his saddle, so Caroline had been able to avoid him quite successfully for the remainder of their journey.
In a coach and four, the trip from Kendal to London should have endured six days, but with Mr. Newton’s overly cautious care of his wife and Mr. Rushton’s dislike of overtaxing horses, it took ten.
When at last they arrived in London and the coach halted in front of the town home Mr. Rushton owned in Grosvenor Street, Caroline was both overjoyed and overwhelmed.
She had not expected Grosvenor Street, one of London’s finest. Indeed, the house’s grand presence evoked awe and a bit of jealousy within her. An intricate pattern of cream-colored Portland stone and elegant sash windows graced its façade, and it seemed to tower above the adjoining homes. It made her sister Louisa’s town house, which was no less charmingly designed of red brick, appear inconsequential in comparison.
Mr. Rushton was either wealthier than Caroline had believed or more deeply in debt. Either way, it mattered not to her, for he would always be a tradesman. She must remember that.
“Do come in,” Mr. Rushton said as he bounded up the staircase to the front door. Caroline followed at a sedate pace and attempted to appear apathetic to the home’s splendor.
Rosemary, who walked along beside her with her head down as if the steps might move beneath her feet, turned slightly to Caroline and whispered, “You did not tell me that Mr. Rushton’s home was in this precise location.”
Caroline’s eyebrows lowered. “That is because I did not know its precise location. Why should it matter where the house is located?”
“I suppose it does not,” Rosemary said in a halting tone. “It is only…well, this is Grosvenor Street!”
“Yes, one of the finest in London.” Caroline turned to her. “I am shocked as well. I did not know they would allow tradesmen to lease on this street. I had expected to stay in Cheapside.”
She regretted at once her mention of Cheapside. The very name called to mind Miss Jane Bennet, who had resided in that section of Town with her aunt and uncle when she came to London in pursuit of Charles.
She looked again to Rosemary and despised her for insinuating that her current situation held any similarity to Jane’s. Lavinia had most certainly not removed Mr. Charlton to prevent a union, and her installation in Grosvenor Street must be a sign that her London excursion would not end as Jane’s had. Caroline would win her object immediately and go about Town as the wife of a future baron. There would be no drama, no attempts at concealment. All would go smoothly.
She was about to speak again to Rosemary on the subject of fashionable addresses and her good fortune at staying on this street, but a maid appeared and escorted the group to their chambers.
Caroline followed the maid’s precise footsteps up the house’s main staircase and then to a fine guest chamber that overlooked the street. From her vantage point, Caroline could see Grosvenor Square and everyone who walked nearby. The chamber was ideal, for she would be able to accost Mr. Charlton whenever he happened by, and everyone came to Grosvenor Square eventually. Caroline would simply wait and seize upon him.
Rosemary was stationed across the hall, but she soon rapped on Caroline’s door.
“Have you come to assist me with this gown?” Caroline asked upon Rosemary’s entry.
Rosemary paused. “Yes, indeed I have.”
Her companion crossed the room and began helping Caroline remove her dusty traveling attire. Her careful fingers worked the buttons and at length she said, “It is a lovely house.”
“Yes,” Caroline agreed on a sigh, “but I shall never comprehend how Mr. Rushton was able to purchase it. There must have been some error in drawing up the papers that allowed him to afford it.”
“Hmm,” Rosemary said. She was prevented from saying more until Caroline’s dress had been removed and laid aside.
“Will you be much out in company while in London, Miss Bingley?” her companion asked as she slipped Caroline’s wrapper onto her shoulders and then crossed the room to regard the trunks, which a manservant had delivered earlier.
“Of course! What is there to do in Town but be in company?”
“I see.” Rosemary began to rearrange some items in one of Caroline’s trunks. “And I shall be required to accompany you?”
Though she had no wish for the woman to follow her about Town, Caroline did not like the idea of a servant choosing her own duties. Rosemary was here to act as Caroline’s companion after all. “Do you object to performing your duties in Town?” she asked.
“No indeed.” Rosemary turned, faced her, and then lowered her eyes. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve and then said, “I do know now what I was thinking in coming here. I had hoped…. Miss Bingley, there is something I must confess.”
“Oh?” Caroline sat on her bed, curious about what might cause the woman so much consternation. It could be nothing of true consequence, surely.
“I am known in Town,” Rosemary said flatly.
“Known? Whatever do you mean?”
Rosemary raised her eyes and looked directly at Caroline. “I mean that people know me.”
Caroline also raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “You have developed a reputation?”
“Yes, Miss Bingley. I have a reputation of sorts.”
“Of what sort?” asked Caroline. Now she was imagining the worst. Had Charles hired a companion who was nothing more than a fallen woman of poor character?
; “It is nothing as immoral or reprehensible as you must be imagining, but I thought it best to warn you that people may find my return to London rather interesting.”
“Are you a fallen woman?” Caroline demanded.
“No, I am not wicked! I am merely known.”
Caroline could not fathom what her companion was going on about, and she said, “Explain yourself clearly or leave me, for I am too tired to listen to more of this prattle tonight.”
“I will tell you only that I am neither wicked nor dissolute, and that must provide enough comfort, for I shall only reveal my secrets if I am required to do so.”
“And if I required you to speak?”
“You could not. Only my circumstances can induce me to speak.”
Caroline could see very well that she would make no progress with Rosemary, and she was eager to rest, so she said, “Leave me, please.”
Rosemary opened her mouth as if to protest, but then she obeyed her mistress and left the room without another word.
~**~
Caroline awoke the next morning to the sound of iron horseshoes striking pavement.
After so many days of travel and so many nights in different coaching inns, for a moment Caroline could not remember where she was. She sat up, letting the bed linens fall away as she peeked out the window.
She was not in a coaching inn, but in London, in Grosvenor Street of all places, and now she must be about the business of discovering Mr. Charlton and Lavinia.
And so she passed a full week at her original plan of watching passersby as they visited Grosvenor Square. Neither Lavinia nor Mr. Charlton appeared, and on the first day of the second week, Caroline was forced to take more aggressive action.
She would have to go out and search for them herself.
On that morning, she rang for a breakfast of meats, bread, jam, and a small pot of chocolate, and after consuming her meal, she again rang the bell for assistance in dressing herself and coiffing her hair. Her appearance today was crucial. She could not meet Mr. Charlton without looking her very best.
As the maid went about her duties, Caroline found that she could not help but approve of the manner in which Mr. Rushton’s household was being run. The servants obviously respected their master despite his acerbic wit and lackadaisical temperament, and they performed their assigned tasks without requiring much direction.
Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 16