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

by Jennifer Becton

  “Tell me then, Mrs. Pickersgill,” Caroline said, still unable to believe that anything this woman might say would be worthy of such anticipation.

  “I do not mean to shock you, Miss Bingley, but I fear we have not been properly introduced.”

  “Have we not?”

  “No, for before you, you see Rosemary Pickersgill, paid companion and thorn in your side. But not so long ago I was Lady Braye, wife of Mr. John Pickersgill or Baron Braye.”

  Caroline’s eyebrows dropped in confusion. “I do not comprehend…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at Rosemary. Sitting before her, apparently, was the Dowager Lady Braye. She ought to be tucked away in a secure country estate and consuming chocolates, but she was here in London acting as a mere servant. “You? The wife of a baron?”

  Caroline meant the question as an insult, but somehow it fell flat.

  “Indeed, Miss Bingley, close your mouth. Do not appear so shocked.”

  “But…”

  “How did I come to be your companion?”

  Caroline nodded.

  “My husband John died two summers ago.” A shadow passed over Rosemary’s features. “I was devastated, for I truly loved him. He was the kindest and best of men, and he also loved me. You see, Miss Bingley, he married me, the daughter of a country gentleman without a great dowry, land, or any relations of consequence.

  “As you might imagine, I was thrown into an utterly new society when I came with him to London those first years, and John was generous both with my inheritance and my allowance. I admit to having indulged more than I ought to have. I had the finest gowns and attended the grandest balls. I had attained the pinnacle of social delights and I reveled in it. Until John died.”

  “But your inheritance?” Caroline demanded. “What of that?”

  “Patience, Miss Bingley.” She paused to clear her throat. “We had no children and thus no heirs upon whom to bestow the title after John died, so the barony passed to his brother James. At first, James invited me to remain in his household and was generous with my treatment, but I fear his wife had no wish to share her home with a dowager, and so she used her influence to remove me, inch by inch, from her sphere.” Rosemary shook her head sadly. “I feel rather foolish. I trusted them and did not realize what was occurring until I had lost everything.”

  Caroline could hardly think how to react, and her mind seemed stuck on Rosemary’s true identity. It made no sense. How could this woman be the Dowager Lady Braye? How had she lost her fortune and come to this place? And how could Caroline have not recognized a lady of quality in her own household?

  Rosemary continued, “James, the new Lord Braye, became quite intoxicated by his power and position—an easy transformation, I can assure you—and his wife preyed upon this weakness. She convinced him that I was a drain on their household and, in fact, that I had extorted John into marriage in order to gain his fortune. Then, through some legal machinations and deceit, I was out.”

  “Out?” Caroline repeated.

  “Yes, all that was rightfully mine was removed, and I was quite alone and poor. Rumor circulated through London that I had been declared a fortune hunter, and as such, I had been legally disinherited. It was quite a scandal.”

  “But surely you had friends or relations who would come to your aid, despite the lies?” Caroline demanded.

  Rosemary’s face softened and then transformed into regret. “I did, but after a time, I began to recognize that my dependency on them could not last, and that was when Charles mentioned his need to find a companion for you.”

  “Charles knowingly sent the widow of a baron to be my paid companion?” Caroline could hardly believe her brother would be so foolhardy.

  “He thought it would appeal to you to have a former baroness in your entourage.” Rosemary offered a hesitant smile. “And I needed employment. Truly, I had no other option. John’s family would have no part of me, and it was not in my nature to rely forever on my friends.”

  “And why tell me this now?” Caroline asked. “Has something altered?”

  “Do you recall the tears I shed that evening you entered my chamber at Newton House?”

  Caroline nodded.

  “I had recently received a letter disclosing all the rumors that had been circulating about me in Town. I was a fortune hunter and extortionist, and my marriage was a fraud. This news quite broke my heart, for John and I loved one another. I did not want my marriage to be so abused.”

  “And so you hired a solicitor?”

  “Yes.” Rosemary looked at her directly. “Thanks to you, Miss Bingley.”

  Confused, Caroline only stared at her.

  “Watching you fight these past months to attain your own goals—no matter the cost to you—has inspired me to fight for mine,” Rosemary explained. “I have returned to my solicitor and am attempting to reverse the decision against me. Their charge against me—that I coerced John into marriage in order to gain his fortune—is unfounded. Such an accusation only has legal merits if the gentleman in question is a youth. There is no legal precedent for me to be disinherited for that reason.”

  “And you expect to win?”

  “Indeed I do.”

  Suddenly, matters became very clear to Caroline. Rosemary had always displayed a comprehension of manners and etiquette beyond the station she was presumed to hold. She had also shown a great deal of dignity in her bearing.

  Though Caroline had not been able to see it until now, Rosemary had always shown herself to be a lady of class and distinction.

  The truth was that everyone else—her mother, the occupants of Oak Park, and even Mr. Rushton—seemed to have suspected something of Rosemary’s history based on her comportment alone.

  Only Caroline had remained oblivious. She felt like an utter fool. She had mocked, insulted, and tortured this woman, who ought to be inflicting the same kind of pain upon women of Caroline’s class.

  Why had Rosemary allowed it? Why had she concealed her identity?

  “I see the questions in your eyes, Miss Bingley. You feel I betrayed you by not sharing my past, but I did not. I am no longer of the titled class, and so my status could have no bearing upon you.” Caroline was about to protest when Rosemary continued. “Besides, you shared nothing of your own past with me.”

  Caroline was silent.

  “Mr. Bingley summarized your actions and his reasons for sending you away, and I admit that I quite agreed with his decision. I had once been in Mrs. Bingley’s position, after all, and as such, I had no great fondness for you.”

  “I do not see how this conversation is helpful,” Caroline said.

  “Do you not? Well, allow me to continue.” Rosemary’s tone was airy and light, but her next words were harsh. “Though you have done little to endear yourself to me, I believe I have been enough in your company to see that Mr. Bingley has overreacted. He has overlooked two crucial aspects of your character: fear and misunderstanding.”

  Embarrassed and angry at Rosemary’s words, Caroline snapped, “You take upon yourself too much power, Mrs. Pickersgill, for you are still in my family’s employ and thus dependent on me, no matter who you used to be.”

  “That is not precisely true, as I shall later explain, but allow me to finish my speech, for this is something you ought to hear.” Rosemary did not await Caroline’s permission. “You fear that one day you will be in my situation. You will be exposed as the daughter of a tradesman and a social climber, and you will do anything if you believe it will ensure your safety, including the pursuit of men who would never truly show you love. But the worst of it is, Miss Bingley, that you misunderstand the ways of the world.”

  “Indeed I do not!”

  “You believe that a marriage to a man of fortune or title will ensure your entire future happiness, but as you see in the example before you, that is not necessarily the case!”

  Upon this pronouncement, Rosemary seemed quite content to leave Caroline to her contemplation. In fact, Caroline was so
lost in her own thoughts that she hardly recognized the moment when her companion left the room.

  Could this be true? Had Caroline been searching for her future happiness and security in vain? Would a marriage to Mr. Charlton prove so fruitless?

  Twenty-two

  No, Caroline thought, she could not be so utterly incorrect!

  All her experiences told her that money, title, and land were her best opportunities at protection and status. It was the way of society, and society could not be argued with, could it?

  No indeed, it could not.

  She leapt from the writing desk, determined to find Rosemary and demand further explanation of her meaning when she chanced to look out the window and notice that dusk had already begun to fall.

  Dusk!

  How could she possibly have remained so long in the sitting room? She had not even had the opportunity to pack a trunk for her elopement, and yet the time was upon her to meet Mr. Charlton. She must be at Berkeley Square even now.

  Briefly, she considered dashing upstairs and throwing some necessities into a small bag, but she decided against it.

  Impractical, unwise, foolish: they described her decision with accuracy, but time had quite run out.

  She must forget all practical questions and act. No bag, no note, no goodbyes. She must leave before someone caught her and attempted to talk her out of the decision.

  Besides, Mr. Charlton was wealthy and would purchase any article she required. Yes, all would be well once she met with him.

  Caroline had left Mr. Rushton’s house before she remembered the proposal letter, which was still hidden under the blotter.

  Well, no matter. By the time anyone discovered it, she would be safely wed to her baron.

  No one—not Charles, Mr. Darcy, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and certainly not Rosemary Pickersgill and her cautionary tale—would be able to stop Caroline from finally removing from herself the stench of trade and freeing herself from following the whims of others. She would be Lady Charlton, and as such, she could do just as she pleased.

  Lady Charlton. Caroline repeated the name as she traversed the streets toward Berkeley Square in the day’s waning light.

  As she walked with determined steps onto Davies Street, Caroline contemplated her first acts as Lady Charlton.

  She would announce the marriage to her brother, officially removing herself and her fortune from his control. No longer would Charles be able to insist she take any action against her will.

  Though Caroline would do her best to repair matters with Jane, who was now family, she would have no need to make amends with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, for Pemberley would no longer mean a thing to her. She would have her home and her fortune at Oak Park, and she would never again have to rely on Mr. Darcy to bring her into society. She would be a baron’s wife!

  And Caroline would delight in throwing Lavinia out of Oak Park on her ear. She laughed aloud and then sobered.

  Lavinia.

  And her son. The next in line for the barony.

  The woman despised her. What would happen to Caroline if Mr. Charlton were to die before an heir could be produced?

  Lavinia’s son would become the baron, and Lavinia herself would certainly have no pity on Caroline.

  Would Lavinia, like Rosemary’s relations, remove and disinherit Caroline?

  Would she marry a baron only to end a paid companion?

  Caroline’s steps slowed as she neared Berkeley Square.

  What if she had misunderstood Mr. Charlton as she had Lavinia and Rosemary?

  She must know the truth.

  With renewed purpose, Caroline completed her trek to the square and spotted Mr. Charlton leaning against the rail precisely where she had first seen him.

  Only this time, he saw her when she first approached.

  “Miss Bingley,” he whispered. “You are here.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I am here.”

  “Come,” he said, as he attempted to lead her along the rail. “My carriage waits for us at the street.” He glanced at her, confused. “Have you a bag?”

  “Wait,” Caroline said. She refused to take another step though he pulled at her arm.

  “We ought to be away, for my sister may discover my absence.”

  “Yes, we ought to discuss your sister,” she said as she extracted herself from his grasp.

  “I wish you would not think of her!”

  “She despises me and would object to this union if she knew of it.”

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  “And yet you still wish to marry me.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And because you have always spoken so very plainly about your inheritance and even your faults, you must also speak plainly now. Tell me why.”

  He hesitated, looked at the ground beneath his feet, and said, “Because I love you.”

  Caroline laughed and Mr. Charlton’s head snapped up.

  “That is not the truth, is it?” she demanded. “Before I step foot into your carriage, Mr. Charlton, I demand to know your motives. Do you seek revenge on your sister?”

  “No,” he said quickly and then added, “Yes. Well, somewhat.”

  “Explain.”

  He exhaled and then his words came: “You know how much I hate this barony nonsense. I am terrible at managing my own finances much less those of an entire estate or country! I have lost quite a bit of money already, and I cannot allow Lavinia or my father to learn of my folly. I must pay my debts quickly and quietly, and then I must find someone to keep Oak Park from falling into shambles.”

  Caroline sighed. So it was her fortune that attracted him. Only a few weeks ago, that fact would not have seemed half as reprehensible to Caroline as it did now.

  She would marry him, and in the process lose her money and the only small shreds of power she had.

  “It is a good plan, is it not?” Mr. Charlton asked, his voice shockingly logical. “You will have Oak Park and a title, and I shall wipe the slate clean and remove my sister from her place in the household. You shall manage the house and keep me from complete ruination. It could not be more agreeable to either of us.”

  Caroline eyed him. “And if you were to die, I would be left with nothing. No money, and Lavinia would throw me out and install her son in Oak Park as baron.”

  He looked at his boot. “It would not happen that way.”

  “How can you be certain?” she asked.

  He seemed to have no answer.

  Caroline sighed, and, suddenly tired of the nonsense, she spoke with utter candor and no rancor at all. “You are wrong, Mr. Charlton, for I object to the very idea. I fear you will have to marry someone else in order to accomplish all you desire. Though I harbor you no ill will, for only recently I would have believed this the ideal solution for both of us, I cannot marry you.”

  The couple looked at each other for long moments, assessing.

  “I am sorry to hear that, Miss Bingley.” He sighed too. “Now I must find another wealthy young woman with whom to elope in order to save my family.”

  “I wish you luck, Mr. Charlton, and you must do the same for me, for I must now lower myself by apologizing for a crime I did not commit and thus save my own family.”

  Twenty-three

  Grillon’s Hotel stood only two streets over from Berkeley Square, and Caroline resolved to walk the distance as quickly as possible before reality intruded upon her and she realized what she had done and what she must do.

  The hotel was large and grand, but beyond its size and scale, Caroline hardly noticed it. She simply forced herself up the stairs and into the building, past the plush rugs and wall hangings to the first liveried servant she saw.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” she demanded. “I must speak with her immediately.”

  The servant did not appear shocked by her rudeness but only said, “She is in a private sitting room, miss. Do follow me.”

  Too soon Caroline was announced and ushered into the presence of the lady herself.

  There, recl
ining on a sofa, was Mrs. Darcy. Charles, Jane, and Mr. Darcy were nowhere to be seen.

  Elizabeth stood abruptly, and Caroline thought she saw her wince ever so slightly at discovering the identity of her guest. Then she recovered herself enough to say, “Miss Bingley, you must be in search of your brother. He is above stairs, I believe.”

  Caroline hesitated only a moment in the doorway before steeling herself to do what she must do.

  “No, I come in search of you, my dear Mrs. Darcy,” she said as she walked farther into the room and heard the servant close the door behind her. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded contrived and awkward. “You are alone, I see.”

  Elizabeth returned to her seat and picked up the book she had been reading. Then she smiled. “Yes, Miss Bingley, as you see, you have caught me quite alone here.”

  Caroline advanced further. “You are reading.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said with another rather smug smile. “Jane and I are reading this book of poems upon my sister Kitty’s suggestion.”

  “Ah. How does your younger sister do?” Caroline asked, though she could not remember if Kitty was the moralizing Bennet sister or the giddy, silly sister.

  “My sister is well, thank you, Miss Bingley, but I do not think you came here to speak of my relations.”

  “No,” Caroline agreed. There was a long pause as she mustered her waning resolve. Finally, after two aborted attempts, Caroline managed to say, “I find I owe….”

  There, she had begun the apology, but it died suddenly on her lips.

  Caroline had been quite determined to get the apology done with, but now, she was experiencing a nagging feeling of her own conscience. An apology would remedy all her problems, save one: she could not live with herself if she made it.

  She simply could not do it.

  Caroline could not apologize for something any woman—and indeed Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself—might have undertaken in her situation.

  “Oh, I simply cannot do it.” Caroline sat down across from Elizabeth. “I must speak frankly, Mrs. Darcy.”