“I was wondering if you would do me the honour of granting me your hand in marriage.”
Caroline stared at him, stunned. For a brief moment she forgot about the numbness in her arms. Of all the things in the world, she had not expected this. Colonel Fitzwilliam? Asking if she would marry him?
She tried to think straight. But her knees were shaking with cold and she could no longer feel her feet at all in their thin silk slippers. There he was, however, awaiting her answer expectantly.
Thankfully, her tongue was not frozen, so surely she could say something? Caroline tried, but her lips were so stiff she was afraid they would crack. “Urrgh…” she began.
It would not do. He had done her a singular honour. She must somehow make her lips move.
To her relief, they responded to her effort.
“I thank you, sir, for the honour you have done me.” The words were a little slurred. She hoped he would not take offence, for it was not intentional. “I have always had a very high opinion of you, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
He was waiting for something else. She struggled in a half-frozen fog to find clarity. “This is all rather unexpected.” She had never known how difficult it was to speak with teeth clattering against each other. “I hope you will grant me some time before I give you an answer.”
He was disappointed, she could tell, but bowed with all the good grace she would have expected of him. “Certainly, Miss Bingley. There is no hurry, of course. I would not presume to press you for an answer.”
“Thank you,” she said. At last, they were returning. She took his offered arm and walked with him, holding in check the impulse to rush headlong into the welcome warmth.
They had almost reached the doors when Colonel Fitzwilliam stopped abruptly and turned towards her. “When I received the letter from your brother inviting me to join your party on its journey to Pemberley, I assumed you were behind the invitation. I took it as a form of encouragement, since I showed you a marked interest when I last saw you in London. Was I mistaken?”
Caroline blinked. Such a thing had simply not occurred to her. She had never thought for a moment that he nourished a tendre for her. She cast her mind back to her time in London, and could barely remember his presence.
“I am sorry,” she said, ruefully. “I was unaware—” Then, realizing how that would sound, she rephrased her sentence. “I had thought you merely chivalrous, as you generally are. I did not think your attention was aimed particularly at me.”
He took up her arm again, considering her words. They walked. The warmth of the ballroom drew closer, now within reach, and she stared at the candlelight as if that alone would be enough to sustain her.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stopped again. “But in that case, why extend the invitation to me in particular? Why not to anyone else you are acquainted with? Sir Cecil Rynes, for example. He is a good friend of yours and your brother’s, is he not?”
His mention of Sir Cecil was too close to the mark to be pure coincidence.
“It would be more appropriate to ask my brother that question, since it was he who penned the letter,” she replied, skirting the truth just a little. “Perhaps he thought you would enjoy the chance to see your cousin.”
She started to walk again, because she could no longer stand still. He followed after her.
“You will give my proposal serious consideration?” he said.
It was her turn to stop. “Yes, of course. Why would you think I would not?”
He shrugged. “I had thought that you felt some partiality to me when I made it, but now it appears I am mistaken.”
She linked her arm in his and drew him towards the vitality of the ballroom. “I will give very serious consideration to your proposal,” she said, able now that they reached the French doors to throw a smile at him. Even at the risk of cracking her lips.
They stepped in.
The warmth flowed towards her and enveloped her.
“Oh, there you are!” cried Louisa, emerging from the crush of people. She had clearly been watching the doors, although Caroline had scarcely spoken to her all evening. “I was worried about you. I saw you disappear into the garden some time ago. I was about to send Robert Darcy after you.” She threw an accusing glance at Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“I assure you,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “she was perfectly safe with me.”
“Of course,” said Louisa. “I did not mean to imply otherwise.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a deep bow and excused himself. “Now that I have delivered you safely to your sister, I hope you will excuse me.”
Louisa restrained herself until he was out of earshot. “What were you thinking?” she hissed. “How could you go out into the garden for so long alone with a gentleman?”
“Well, well,” said an all too familiar voice. “Who would have thought it? Miss Bingley alone in the dark with a gentleman. Tut tut.” Robert Darcy shook his head disapprovingly.
Caroline threw him a murderous glance. The effect was destroyed, however, by the fact that her teeth, for some odd reason, were still chattering, even though she was inside. Robert Darcy’s expression switched to one of concern.
“You are blue with cold,” he said. “You did not go out without a shawl, surely? There is frost on the ground.” Despite his words, there was no condemnation in his tone. “Mrs Hurst, your sister has taken a chill. Would you be so kind as to bring down a shawl from her room to wrap around her? I will take her to the library, to warm her by the fire.”
The sense of urgency in his voice forestalled any protest and sent Louisa hastily from the ballroom. Robert Darcy took Caroline’s arm firmly and led her through the mass of bodies into the calm of the corridor, then to the library. At the doorway, she drew back.
“I should not be alone with you here.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “You need a warm fire.”
“Nevertheless, Mr Darcy, I have no desire to be caught in an inappropriate situation.”
“Surely,” he said, “you do not suspect me of planning to take advantage of you?”
“No,” she said, trying to sound haughty. “However, we are surrounded by people who know me, who will love the tiniest whiff of scandal. They will not care that you were warming me because I am cold. They will only see that we are alone.”
“You would rather catch your death of a cold, I take it!” His voice was heavy with impatience.
But when she would not budge, he blew out a resigned breath.
“Very well,” he said. “Stand here in the doorway. That should be safe enough. I will ring for a servant.” He pulled the bell, and within a few minutes a footman had appeared.
“What is your name?” said Darcy.
“Daniel, sir.”
“Well, then, Daniel. You are needed to provide respectability for Miss Bingley. She has taken a chill and needs to stay by the fire.”
“Very well, sir.”
Caroline still delayed. “I am not so very sure that the problem is resolved.”
But the fire beckoned and lured her. Robert Darcy pulled an armchair for her very close to it and she sat down, extending her legs to allow the welcome heat to seep in.
She sat up in alarm as pain shot through her.
“Something is wrong,” she gasped. “My hands and feet…”
“It is nothing to worry about,” said Robert Darcy. “It will pass. It is only the sensation returning to you as you begin to unthaw.”
“It cannot be…”
“It is like the ice breaking and melting on the surface of a pond,” he said, soothingly. “It will pass.”
The pain claimed her attention, and she did not wonder at his words. Slowly the pain subsided, and with it came warmth. It was heavenly, after the torment of the cold, and as the heat from the fire soaked into her body she allowed a sleepy drowsiness to overtake her. She leaned back her head and closed her eyes.
Her sister’s voice woke her. Louisa was holding out the shawl. Robert Darcy took the shawl a
nd arranged it carefully around her. For a moment the image of her mother tucking her into her bed came to her. Mama used to draw the sheets around her just the same way he had. She smiled drowsily and snuggled more comfortably under the cover.
“You do not think she will fall sick, do you?” she heard Louisa ask anxiously. “Our cousin Maria was carried away by the muslin disease a few years ago from venturing out in the cold without a spencer.”
She wanted to tell Louisa that she was perfectly fine, but a heavy lethargy prevented her. Robert Darcy’s voice came from a great distance. “It is possible, if she stays warm and takes enough rest tonight, that she may be perfectly well tomorrow. But we must take all possible precautions. Would you be so good as to order some hot broth to be taken up to her room?”
Her last thought was that she ought to warn Louisa not to leave them alone.
Chapter 5
The next morning Caroline awoke when a sunbeam, escaping from a gap in the heavy curtains surrounding her, found its way onto her face and slipped between her eyelids. She was surprised to find that she was in her own bed. Someone must have carried her upstairs last night while she was asleep. Vague memories floated back to her: the resolute voice of her sister, then that of Mr Darcy requesting the footman to carry her. Her vision fell on her shawl, draped now over the side of the chair.
Propping herself up against a cushion, she checked for any signs of a chill. Everything felt perfectly ordinary. Nothing indicated that anything untoward had occurred the night before, not even a sniffle. She had suffered no ill effects from her foolish interval in the cold, after all.
Thanks, of course, to Robert Darcy. She was under an obligation to him. His quick thinking had saved her from certain illness.
She could not forget, of course, that she was in his debt in that other matter as well. But she did not wish to return to that painful memory. Even now it was still raw.
Caroline turned her thoughts instead to Colonel Fitzwilliam. He had certainly picked an unfortunate time and place to ask for her hand in marriage. His timing could not have been worse. That alone would have been enough to prejudice her against accepting his proposal.
She strove to consider the situation rationally. She should not refuse him, simply because he had chosen a bitingly cold night to speak to her. It was October, after all, and one did not expect frost in October. Besides, she liked Colonel Fitzwilliam well enough. He would make a good-natured husband without being too demanding. He was the younger son of an earl, which was undoubtedly in his favour. He was a friend of the family, and cousin to Mr Darcy. All these were strong points in his favour. He was penniless, and made no secret of it, which was not in his favour, though, as an officer in the army, if he were to fight against Napoleon, it could mean substantial prize money and chances for promotion. Besides, with a portion of £20,000, she did not need to marry for money.
All in all, it was a proposal she would do well to consider seriously, and she wished now she had been more encouraging last night. If it had not been for that pestering cold!
However, truth be told, what seemed an advantage could often be a disadvantage. He was an officer, yes. But there was no end to the war in sight. He could be sent to the Peninsula at any moment. She might marry him, and then spend years on end waiting for him to come home on leave, or worrying that he would not return at all. He might even die in battle, and she would become a widow without having experienced any of the advantages of marriage.
And then, of course, there was Sir Cecil Rynes, who had not yet asked for her hand, even though he had paid her marked attention when she was last in London three months ago. She would have no hesitation accepting Sir Cecil. But what if she had been mistaken in his intentions?
Her mind in a whirl, she floundered. She could not decide. Colonel Fitzwilliam would have to wait for his answer.
Meanwhile, her gaze landed on the shawl draped over the side of the chair, and she could not help but think of its warmth when Robert Darcy set the shawl around her shoulders.
***
When she made her way downstairs to the breakfast room, she discovered from one of the other guests, Mrs Germain, that a large party had already set out to ride to hounds.
“If you had come down just half an hour ago, you would have been able to go with them,” remarked Mrs Germain. “Though I admit I have no great love of the hunt myself.”
“As for me,” said Caroline, “I would as soon miss it as not.”
“Miss what?” asked Robert Darcy from the doorway.
“I was just explaining to Miss Bingley that the hunting party has already left,” said Mrs Germain.
Caroline seized the chance to pay him back in his own coin.
“I would have thought a Corinthian like you would be the first to join in the hunt.”
“It depends, naturally, on what that Corinthian was doing the night before. Perhaps, for example, he was nursing a headache, and was unable to rise early enough,” he replied, leaning on the doorframe.
Caroline wished now she had not tried to taunt him. It was a poor way to repay his kindness. But she could not retreat now.
“Then you will have to suffer the consequences. You have no choice but to spend the day with the ladies,” she said.
“No gentleman could possibly object to spending his time with the ladies,” said Mrs Germain. “Provided they are stimulating company, of course. Which means young and pretty, like Miss Bingley here, and not ladies of a certain age, like me.”
“Oh, but they must be witty and entertaining as well,” he replied immediately. “Though why you malign yourself, Mrs Germain,” he continued, “I do not know. You are well aware that you are stimulating company. Why, you are the best chess player of my acquaintance, and I am always eager to match my wits to yours.”
Mrs Germain laughed. Her laugh was a loud rumble, and filled her whole body, so that it shook from top to bottom, from her rouged cheeks to the tips of her buckled shoes.
“You flatter me, Mr Darcy, indeed you flatter me. You are a sharp player, there’s no doubt of that. But I would certainly love to match my wits to yours, if you will spare the time. However, I would not like you to neglect the younger ladies to humour an old one like me.”
“You need not worry, Mrs Germain,” he said. “Do you think me incapable of enjoying both? You seriously underestimate me.”
Mrs Germain’s body shook again. “Oh, I would never do that, Mr Darcy. I am sure you are more than capable.” She came nimbly to her feet. “I will hold you to it, Mr Darcy. You must prove your worth. I will be waiting for a chess game.”
He moved away from the doorway and bowed as she passed him. Once Mrs Germain had left, he drew out a chair and sat close to Caroline.
“I am glad to see you are in full bloom today,” he said, searching her face closely. “There are no consequences from yesterday’s chill?”
“No, none at all,” she replied. She swallowed her pride and ploughed on. “I would like to thank you—“
“Oh, do not, please, Miss Bingley. I did nothing except make sure you were kept warm. You must remember I was raised in a much harsher climate than England. The winters can be ruthless in Boston, and I have seen the consequences of exposure to the cold once or twice. It is not something I would care to repeat.”
“Nevertheless, you rescued me from my own foolishness. Not only did I go out into the garden alone with a gentleman, which was cause enough for reproach, but I did not even think to dress appropriately. You may laugh, but I should have known better. I lost a young cousin of mine to muslin disease a few years ago. She was foolish enough to think herself indestructible, and went about in the thinnest muslin no matter what the weather. Like many young ladies at that time, since it was the fashion, she was taken seriously ill. If only I had fetched the
shawl—”
“I can afford to laugh now, because the danger has passed. Believe me, last night was no laughing matter. I am aware how quickly a chill may turn dangerous. But we need not care about that now. All’s well that ends well,” said Mr Darcy. “You have suffered no ill effects, so you need not lash yourself unnecessarily.”
She stiffened. “I am not lashing myself, Mr Darcy. I am trying to thank you.”
“By blaming yourself,” he said. “Should I allow you to wallow in it, I wonder? Should you dress yourself in sackcloth and ashes and strike yourself as the monks did in times gone by? How should you be punished for your sins?”
She rose, hardly able to keep her annoyance in check. “I am sorry, Mr Darcy, that my attempt at politeness amuses you. Perhaps I should leave you to sit here and chuckle over my words—alone.”
He restrained her by lightly encircling her wrist with his fingers.
“I am sorry if I offended,” he said, sounding contrite. “I have this habit of exaggeration. It often gives offence. Pray do not leave. You have not finished your breakfast. I promise I will talk only of harmless subjects, like the weather or some such thing like that.”
She took a seat again, carefully withdrawing her wrist from his grip.
Silence reigned for a moment. As her fork clinked loudly against her plate, she resolved that she would not repeat the experience of their dinner at Netherfield. She would keep up a monologue if necessary until she finished her breakfast.
“Were you raised entirely in Boston, Mr Darcy?” she asked. It occurred to her that in his speech at least, he was very like an English gentleman, even when he clearly was not.
As if reading her mind, he smiled. “Yes, entirely. I have been told that there is little in my way of speech or my manners to distinguish me from an English gentleman. Though not everyone would agree about my manners,” he added, in a self-disparaging tone. As if waiting for a reply, he paused. “An English gentleman can be created as well in Boston as here. My mother was eager to raise me as an Englishman. She is related to the Welds, one of the Boston First Families. They are very influential. And she is very proud of the Darcy name.” When he received no reaction, he continued, “After marrying my father, a naval officer, she became obsessed with his country of birth, and sent for governesses and tutors from here to raise her children. I can claim that I know more of the history of England than that of the country of my birth.”
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