Darcy and the Accomplished Woman

by Linda Phelps

  “I am bearing up with courage and poise,” said Caroline, and she smiled at her sister.

  The dinner was lavish in its offerings. Bingley announced the engagement of himself to Jane Bennet and of Darcy to Elizabeth Bennet. Although both of these circumstances were common knowledge to the guests, they applauded and offered toasts one after the other. Caroline, smiling as if tremendously pleased by the announcements, drank from her glass each time she was required to lift it.

  Eventually she was allowed to escape to the drawing room with the other women, During this interval while she need not see the loving looks the engaged couples cast at each other, she found herself close to the two sisters who had brought her so much grief. The other ladies circled around them as if hopeful of acquiring a bit of their happiness for themselves. She found herself in a group that included Jane Bennet and Georgiana. Perhaps the former had some awareness of the cause of Caroline’s unusual lack of conversation, for she took special care to speak with her, slipping easily into the role of mistress of Netherfield. If Jane was no longer intimidated by Bingley’s fine sister, it was not difficult to detect she did not entirely trust Caroline’s professions of joy at the relationship they would soon share. Still, her natural sympathy for anyone who was unhappy brought her to seek diverting conversation, for in a sense, Caroline was her guest, rather than the other way.

  It was not easy to find a topic that was of interest to both, but eventually Jane recalled that Caroline and she had a mutual friend in London. “Did you see Mr. William Longstreet in the weeks before you came to Pemberly? I understand that he is a friend of yours of long standing.”

  Caroline nodded. “Yes, we have known each other since childhood. I believe you became acquainted with him last winter in London.”

  “I did, and very much enjoyed his company. He has a fine wit and a store of entertaining conversation.”

  “Yes,” said Caroline, “a fine wit. He calls on Louisa and me quite regularly when we are in town.”

  Georgiana spoke. “He is the young man who speaks in such a droll manner, is he not? He came to call on my brother and me on several occasions. We always found him to be amiable and amusing.”

  “Has he called on you?” said Caroline. She had thought of William as giving his company to the various matrons in their circle, not, excepting herself, to their unmarried friends.

  “My Aunt Gardiner writes that he still comes to call occasionally,” said Jane Bennet. “He has taken a fancy to her, and they have become great confidants.”

  Louisa, noting her sister’s lack of response to a clear conversational probe, spoke. “Mrs. Gardiner is perfectly suited to make friends with all who meet her. Caroline said exactly that after we called upon you at her house, did you not, Caroline?”

  “Did I?” said Caroline, She was picturing William Longstreet in conversation with Georgiana Darcy, their heads inclined toward each other, their gentle companionable laughter drawing the notice of an indulgent Mr. Darcy. She felt her heart begin to race. Then noting her sister’s meaningful glare, said “Oh, yes, I did. A fine woman.”

  “Aunt suspects he is thinking of marrying soon, although he did not tell her who the bride is to be,” said Jane Bennet. “Have you heard of it? She must be one of your circle of friends.”

  “No, we have heard nothing,” said Louisa. “I wonder who she can be.”

  As if they were one person, the ladies turned to look at Georgiana Darcy.

  Georgiana, aware of the attention she drew, did not this time cast her eyes into her lap. “I pray you do not suspect me of planning to be his bride. I assure you no such thing will happen. I admire Mr. Longstreet, and am pleased to hear he marries soon, but I am not the bride.”

  “Marries soon?” said Caroline, “but who…?”

  The tone of her voice drew several pairs of eyes to her.

  Louisa said rapidly, “Georgiana, we would so like to hear you play the latest music from London. Would we not, ladies?”

  “William is to marry?” said Caroline.

  “Caroline,” said Louisa, “are you well?”

  “A little faint,” said Caroline. “Perhaps I will excuse myself for a moment,” and so saying she rose clumsily from her chair and left the room,

  Miss Bingley’s Journal (Netherfield)

  I thought my heart broke when George Longstreet did not make me his wife. I thought it broke a second time when Darcy declared for Elizabeth Bennet. I was able to bear both loses. I did not know that they were nothing.

  William Longstreet has chosen a bride. I cannot bear this. In all our years of friendship I never once thought of him marrying. He was always there, a part of my life. I did not comprehend that he was an indispensable part of my life.

  Who is she? Who has won his heart? I think of the women we know. There are always pretty young girls coming out. It could be one any handsome girl of sixteen years who has put her hair up. Whoever she is, I hate her, for she will not make him happy.

  Will she relish his company as I do? Will she laugh at his stories? Will she tell him her secrets, knowing he will keep them safely hidden?

  I wonder if any of his praise and vows of devotion were sincere.

  Did he love me?

  If he did, what pain have I caused him? How openly I told him of my wish to marry Darcy! Did I break his heart?

  If so, it is now mended, and it is too late for me. I have come to know my own heart, am prepared to give it, but once again it is not wanted. Well, he shall get the letter he asked for, and it will be politely worded. He will never guess how much I cared for him.

  Accordingly Caroline put her pen to a fresh sheet of paper. She was forced to do this several more times as the night wore on. Her skill at mending pens was much needed. None of her efforts pleased her.

  At last she sighed. The letter was as well as she could make it.

  My dear Mr. Longstreet,.

  I now take pen in hand to provide you with 3 stories which may be of some interest to your friends in town. I am certain that by the time you have narrated them, they will be exaggerated to the point that they cannot be recognized, yet you are welcome to them if you promise to ensure that some of the facts have a relationship with reality.

  First, my brother, Charles Bingley will very soon marry Miss Jane Bennet. You will remember her as the niece of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner of London in whose house she stayed last winter. I believe you called upon her several times, and that at one time you hoped to further your friendship with her. I admit that I feel some trepidation when I consider her as a sister. We are very unlike each other. She is an angel, according to Charles. I myself am not angelic, as you so correctly told me one day when we discussed the superficialities of our society.

  Secondly, my sister, Mrs. Hurst, expects to become a mother in the spring. I am astonished to discover that I quite like the idea of becoming an aunt, and I find my skill with the needle is useful in making small clothes and bonnets, tasks for which it was not previously needed.

  As I earlier promised to inform you of the progress of my relationship with Mr. Darcy, I present my third bit of news which is that Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet have announced that they are engaged. They give the appearance of being very pleased with each other.

  One story from town has reached us here at Netherfield. We are told that you have found the woman you will marry, although her name is not yet generally known, I wish you great happiness in this union, and hope you will sometimes think of me as we were when we were good companions, although I recognize that the relationship must cease.

  I pray, dearest Will, that this letter finds you in health. However, I would not like others to see it for reasons we have discussed.

  Caroline

  Louisa entered as she sealed the letter. “Are you more comfortable, Sister?” said she. I was concerned when you left so suddenly.”

  “I had drunk rather too much wine at dinner,” said Caroline. “I am perfectly myself now.”

  “You heard th
e excellent news about William Longstreet, did you not?” We must be pleased for him,” said Louisa. “He has been our friend for so long. This marriage will change the easy way we have met in the past.”

  “Indeed it will,” said Caroline. Of late there seems to be no end to the couples to whom we must wish joy. It becomes something of a chore, does it not?”

  “Oh, Caroline,” cried Louisa. “My poor sister! You are hurt. I feared that was the case. Shall I get you a powder to help you sleep?”

  “My eyes are dry, as you can see. Do not trouble yourself. Nor should you fear I will not know how to act when next I see him. I am well practiced in the art of wishing joy.”

  The Bennet sisters had come to call. Their intention was to sew small garments for Louisa’s expected child. Caroline greeted them with an honest show of welcome, and soon the four women, joined by Georgiana, sat comfortably on the lawn in front of the house, enjoying the perfect weather, stitching with a care that surpassed the efforts they gave their own clothing.

  In previous encounters, Caroline had controlled the conversations. Now she was so quiet that the women glanced from her to each other. Louisa felt the silence, and with an anxious look at her sister, took command.

  “I can scarcely realize that a full year has passed since we first came here to Netherfield,” said Louisa. “So many things have occurred, have they not? It is astonishing when one recalls them.”

  Jane Bennet nodded. “I did not suspect when we heard that Netherfield had been let that it was an event that would change my life.”

  “And mine,” said Elizabeth.

  “And, of course, mine,” said Louisa, holding aloft a small dress for their inspection.

  “It will be a great change for you,” said Jane. “Have you knows small children before?”

  “Only my sister,” said Louisa. “Our mother had many social responsibilities, so that by the time Caroline was born, she found few occasions to be with her. She died when my sister was barely able to walk. I could not bear that Caroline be raised entirely by servants; thus I turned myself into a little mother, did I not, Sister?”

  Caroline said nothing. Perhaps, occupied by her own thoughts, she had not heard. For the better part of a year she had devoted herself to the winning of Darcy’s hand. Now she devoted herself to embroidering a cap so elegantly that it could have served to cover the head of a crown prince or princess. It was pleasant to seek praise only for her needlework.

  She knew that Louisa glanced at her from time to time, distrusting the calm that had settled upon her. The others seemed rather unnerved by Caroline’s unusual silence. She, who had in times past controlled the conversations, deciding what the topic would be, to what degree the others would be allowed to participate, and then done most of the speaking herself, now sat in seeming contentment with the work required by the tiny bonnet.

  So now, as the ladies chattered, resting their eyes from time to time by gazing at the lake, Caroline was the silent one. Georgiana glanced at her, worried by her distant smile. Poor Miss Bingley, she thought.

  “Are the men finished so soon?” asked Jane Bennet. The others followed her gaze to the front of the house, from where a single man approached. Caroline closed her eyes. How wonderful to feel no need to exercise charm upon them.

  “Is that not Mr. Longstreet?” said Georgiana.

  “I believe it is,” said Jane. “How wonderful! He is welcome.”

  Louisa grasped her sister’s arm and shook it. “William is here.”

  “Is his bride with him?” asked Caroline, and slowly opened her eyes. Yet again she would be forced to wish happiness to a man she cared for, and these words would be the most difficult she had yet spoken.

  “He has no bride with him,” whispered Louisa.

  William bowed to the ladies and upon Jane’s invitation, helped himself to a chair. He lifted it and placed it next to Caroline. “How delightful to see all of you. I come to discuss this letter Miss Bingley sent me.” He waved a piece of paper so that all could see. They women gasped. Caroline Bingley had corresponded with a man to whom she was neither engaged nor married! And she was always so proper!

  “William,” said Caroline, “please.”

  “But I felt I must correct a part of it,” he said. “It seems a rumour exists that I am about to marry.”

  “We have heard so, and wish you joy,” said Elizabeth Bennet.

  “I have known Miss Bingley for many years,” said William, “and I recall that she insists on any bit of news having what she calls, ‘a relationship to reality’”.

  “William,” said Caroline, “do be silent.”

  “So I wish the word to get about that I am neither married, nor engaged, nor do I intend to become so except in one certain circumstance.”

  Louisa pressed her sister’s arm. The little cap slipped from Caroline’s fingers.

  “So if you ladies will excuse us, I should like to discuss that circumstance with my dearest friend, Miss Caroline Bingley.” He took her hand and led her away from them to the little bench by the lake where they could soon be seen in earnest conversation.

  The ladies returned to their needlework, pretending to be unaware of the prospect before them until Georgiana said “Oh!”

  The man and woman on the bench, indifferent to the proprieties, were embracing.

  Louisa sighed happily. “At last! I have accomplished the dearest wish of my heart.” she said, and leaned back in her chair in contentment. “Now I can concentrate my efforts on the child who is to come.”