by Head, Gail
“Thank you, Miss Bennet.” Her shy smile was the first Elizabeth had ever seen.
“You do not have to thank me for anything, my dear. It is his lordship's trunk and his condescension that brings it to us.”
“But it...it was you who made the suggestion and pursued it when he would have refused,” Rebecca stammered with some embarrassment. “I am very grateful.”
“Well, you are quite welcome,” Elizabeth gave her a small bow and left the room. As she made her way to the east wing, she silently rejoiced. Thanks to you, Mrs. Moore, we have a good beginning, a very good beginning, indeed!
Quietly slipping into the room, Elizabeth had nearly reached the small painting when she realized she was not alone. As she skirted a tall wing-back chair oddly placed away from the rest of the room's furniture, she could not help a startled Oh! from escaping when she saw Lord Grissholm looking back at her. His own startled expression immediately turned to cool indifference, but not before she glimpsed an expression of deep sorrow in his dark eyes.
“Your Lordship! I beg your pardon. I thought the room to be empty or I would have never dreamt of invading your privacy.”
“Do no concern yourself, Miss Bennet,” he said, rising. “I was just leaving.”
“Please stay! Do not let me disturb you. I can come back later.”
“As I have already stated, my business is finished. But now that you are come, you will save me the trouble of finding you. There is a particular matter I would speak to you about. Sit, please,” he said, motioning to the chair in which he had been sitting.
Elizabeth sat down, noting the slightly worn arms which could only have come from much use. She looked at her employer, and noticed on the wall directly behind him, the very watercolor that she had come to retrieve. In fact, from where she sat, there was an excellent view of all the watercolors in the collection; but she had little time to reflect upon that observation as it was forced from her thoughts the moment Lord Grissholm began speaking.
“Miss Bennet, I would like to address the matter of your wardrobe.”
“My wardrobe?” she was astonished at his interest in so private a matter.
“Yes. I find it wholly inadequate.”
“I beg your pardon! I find my wardrobe quite adequate and, frankly, none of your concern,” she cried, cheeks aflame with embarrassment and mortification that she would be compelled to defend herself on such a charge.
“It is my concern. Your current apparel may have served you well as the daughter of a country gentleman, but you are now elevated in company and it simply will not do.”
“Oh, I see. I was under the impression that I was employed as Miss Ballard's companion, not a fashion plate. Was I mistaken?” she cried, lifting her chin in challenge.
Her sudden anger kindled his own. “You are required to accompany my ward in whatever social engagements I choose to accept on her behalf. You will find yourself in company decidedly above what you are accustomed to. While I cannot alter your status as companion, I can do something about your appearance.”
“That, sir, is impossible! I cannot accept any assistance as regards my person from a man so wholly unconnected to me, employer or otherwise!”
“It is merely an extension of my duty to my ward,” he replied tightly. “I cannot have her appearance in society looked upon as anything but impeccable; and you, madam, are found wanting. I insist you not be difficult in this matter.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to object, but in that moment Wickham's words came back to her… “should you prove to be difficult in any way…” Furious at her inability to control her circumstances, she realized she would have to accept the arrangement or risk everything she had achieved so far. Still, she could not bring herself to capitulate completely.
“Perhaps I need not accompany Miss Ballard so frequently. My presence could be limited sufficiently so as to not require this objectionable arrangement.”
“Miss Bennet, you will conform to my orders as I have expressed; or do you wish to terminate your employment?” he demanded, knowing full well that she could not.
“Very well, sir, I see I shall have to abide by your wishes – when we are in company,” her eyes flashed angrily. “Pray tell, am I or am I not at liberty to dress as I see fit when we are not?”
“If we are not in company, you may dress as you please,” his eyes swept her form critically before turning away in rare frustration. He should have realized from the spirited nature of her arrival that it would not be easy to enforce his will with this woman. Her wardrobe was, in fact, satisfactory; but the last few days had found him wondering what she would look like in more elegant attire. Any other woman would have been delighted and flattered by his attention. Why was this one being so difficult? “Mrs. Moore has made arrangements for the modiste to come this Thursday. Please arrange your schedule accordingly. You may select the styles, but know that I will review them before the order is placed.”
“Are you quite finished?” she was furious.
“I am for now,” he drawled indifferently. “You may go.”
Elizabeth managed to maintain her composure while in the room, but as she reached the hallway, she exploded with fury and humiliation at having been subjected to this man's blatant examination. Gathering her senses long enough to send a footman with her excuses to Rebecca, she retreated to her room and flung herself onto the bed.
Hateful, hateful man! How could she have gotten herself in such a position! She who had always prided herself on independence and self-reliance was now subject to the whims and fancies of an arrogant, controlling man like Lord Grissholm!
Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling and allowed her tears to flow unchecked. She missed her simple, unaffected life in Hertfordshire. She missed her father and she missed Jane, terribly. She had come here for Jane's sake, and for her happiness she would endure a thousand insulting interviews with the pretentious Lord Grissholm; but she had no idea if her efforts were doing any good or not. Are Jane and Mr. Bingley engaged by now? Has Father managed to keep Lydia from Mr. Wickham? A fresh wave of anguished tears sprang to her eyes. Why have I not had any reply to my letters by now?
Chapter 9
The pews of the little church were filled to capacity, making the warm summer morning even more so. The frequent stares and not so quiet whispers circulating throughout the congregation only added to Darcy's growing discomfort. He stretched his neck to ease the strangling heat and gave Georgiana a small smile of encouragement. Could a simple church service be any more uncomfortable? At least it was nearly over and they would soon be on their way to Pemberley.
Meryton's portly, soft-spoken rector had finally come to the end of his very long sermon, which clearly had been written to astound his distinguished visitors, and he was now looking pensively into the faces of his parishioners.
“In closing, I will make short mention of the Bennet family. As you all know, the collapse of their beloved father is a great calamity in their lives. Mr. Bennet has shown little improvement as yet and his wife and daughters face a terrible uncertainty in the days to come. Let us pray for them.”
An assenting murmur ran through the crowd and the congregation quickly bowed their heads – all except for one. A thoroughly stunned Charles Bingley lifted his eyes to his sister with growing horror as the comprehension of Jane's circumstances became clear. For her part, Caroline sat listening to the prayer with all the piety of a perfect innocent.
Barely a breath after the final amen, Bingley was out the door of the church, leaving the rest of his party to make their own way home. Following after him, Darcy emerged from the church in time to see his friend striding angrily away. As Charles turned the corner and disappeared, Darcy caught sight of an expression that he had seen only once before in his study at Burnham House.
“Well!” Caroline huffed as she met up with Darcy. “I cannot say what has got into Charles.”
“Whatever it is, I dare say he will get over it soon enough,” L
ouisa smirked. “He always does.”
“Perhaps it was something said in church,” Darcy replied dryly. “We were under the impression that Mr. Bennet was not so very ill as the parson seems to think.”
“Oh, I cannot see why that would matter now,” Caroline dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “We are leaving, or at least we shall when Charles has gotten over his little tantrum.”
Nothing more was said during the short ride back to Netherfield. Upon their arrival, Darcy quickly got out of the carriage and offered his assistance to the ladies. He tried his best to ignore the conspiring, artful smile playing on Caroline's face as she was handed out, but she seemed intent on drawing him into her victory.
“The important thing is we have triumphed once again, Mr. Darcy, have we not?”
“WE have not done anything, Miss Bingley; and I beg you would not connect me to anything you imagine you have done. Please excuse us, my sister wishes to freshen up before we dine.”
* * * *
Caroline Bingley stormed into her brother's study in a fit of pique. There were a million things to be done before they could leave. There had better be good reason for Wilson's irksome persistence in summoning her here. Two steps into the room, she stopped short at the sight of her brother. His nervous pacing was nothing new, to be sure, but his earlier expression had now grown into one of searing anger, and that was something altogether unexpected. Whatever it was, though, it would have to wait. She had no time to soothe his ruffled feathers now.
“Charles, what, pray tell, is so important that you must interrupt my duties – and why have you stopped the preparations for closing the house? You are being quite difficult, you know.”
Bingley offered no courtesies. “Sit down, Caroline.”
“I really do not have time for this.”
“I said – Sit Down!”
His piercing glare forced her into the chair which had been placed in the center of the room. Warily she watched as he circled around her. I have never seen him like this! What ever is the matter with him? His temper seemed to increase with each passing moment, but he did not speak. Quite put out with his officious manner, she didn't wait for him.
“All right, I am sitting down. Now will you kindly explain yourself?”
“No, I will not. You are the one who needs to explain herself, Caroline!”
“Me? I have no idea what you are talking about; and I do not like the way you are speaking to me,” she snapped impatiently.
His voice became dangerously quiet. “What exactly did Miss Bennet say in her note to you?”
An expression of guilt spread across her face as she realized where the conversation was going, but she would not give him the satisfaction of confessing.
“Why – I believe she said she could not accept the invitation because her father had fallen ill. A cold or something of that nature.”
“Something of that nature?!” he cried in furious amazement. “The man collapsed with apoplexy; and you have the audacity to sit there and tell me he had a cold?! Did you really think you could keep this from me? This is too much, Caroline, even for you!”
“I did it for you – for us!” she hissed. “You are so infatuated with that woman that you cannot see the reprehensible connection for what it is. Their relations are in trade for heavens' sake!”
“Our father was in trade,” he countered angrily. “I should shake some sense into that conceited, arrogant little brain of yours. Trade is the source of our fortune; or have you forgotten that?”
“We are different,” she sniffed. “We are not engaged in trade now. We don't associate with those people. And besides, what makes you so sure that Miss Bennet's father is so terribly ill? The report could have been exaggerated.”
“There is no exaggeration. I have made inquiries as to the exact nature of his condition and it is grave indeed. How could you deceive me and allow Miss Bennet to think me a shallow, hard-hearted villain?”
“Charles, can you not see how ridiculous this is? Her family and connections are barely acceptable now; if her father dies, they would become intolerable. The estate is entailed and she would be penniless. Knowing the man's condition will not change the facts.”
“No, but it will change Miss Bennet's opinion of me. It will allow me to offer whatever support I can as she and her family face this dreadful time. And that is exactly what I am going to do, dear sister – with your help.”
“Oh, no! Absolutely not!” she sneered angrily. “I refuse to be any part of your idiotic pursuit.”
“Oh, yes! You will assist me!'
“I will not!” she spat.
She began to fear her defiance had fueled his anger beyond reason, but she would not back down. Her own future depended upon it.
“Caroline, you will do exactly as I say or suffer the consequences.”
“I shall not do anything that would in the slightest way encourage your attachment to Jane Bennet. Depend upon it!”
“Very well,” he replied stiffly, “then I suggest you finish packing immediately.”
“That is exactly what I intend to do. The sooner we leave here, the better!”
“Not we, Caroline, you. Since you are dead set against my intended pursuit of Miss Bennet's affections, I shall ease your distress by removing you from Netherfield.”
“What?” she fumed. “This is absurd! I am your sister, I –”
“Precisely. If you cannot support my position as head of this family, you shall not remain under my roof nor shall you receive another penny from me. Perhaps our cousin's widow will welcome you in Scarborough. I would be happy to write her,” Bingley offered.
“You are bluffing!”
Without hesitation, he moved swiftly to the door and swung it wide. “Wilson! Wilson!” As the surprised butler appeared in the doorway, Bingley locked eyes with his sister. “Wilson, have Miss Bingley's trunks brought down immediately and tell Rochester we shall want post horses as soon as may be. My sister is taking a trip.”
Caroline jumped from her chair and faced her brother with a fury of her own, only stopping herself when she saw the butler's impassive but attentive look.
“We need not be so hasty, Charles,” she smiled persuasively. “I am sure these matters merit further discussion.”
“There is nothing more to be said.”
“But this house, you cannot possibly manage without me to – ”
“Mrs. Middleton is quite capable, I am sure.”
Caroline swallowed hard. She could not let him send her off to Scarborough to be a pauper, dependent upon that insipid Mary Ashworth for her daily bread! Yet, the very idea of welcoming Jane Bennet as a sister, of accepting her as the new mistress of the house was repugnant. To have Mrs. Bennet and all those sisters as frequent guests, even permanent residents should the father die, was equally distasteful. But she had no choice.
A breach with Charles would put London society beyond her reach; that is, unless Louisa could be persuaded to secure a place for her in Mr. Hurst's home – and that was not likely to happen. Certainly her connection to Mr. Darcy and any chance of claiming his fortune and standing in society would be lost. Indeed, chances for any advantageous marriage would all but disappear. I cannot allow it! she thought frantically, she would not be reduced to a miserable life of exile and penury, not if she could help it.
“Perhaps Mrs. Middleton is capable,” she said at last, giving Charles her sweetest smile, “but she would not suffice should you want to invite any particular young lady to Netherfield. And I would be a much better hostess than I ever was on past occasions. I would certainly welcome whomever you invite, Charles. Surely you would not want me to leave now?”
Wincing at the triumphant smile her groveling had put on her brother's face, Caroline assumed a more customary manner and silently resolved to capitulate only to the extent that would secure her comfort.
“You may leave us, Wilson. My plans have changed.”
Wilson looked to Bingley, a new res
pect for his master reflected in his eyes, and received an approving nod. Retreating from an obvious field of battle, the butler backed out of the room and closed the door with a slight smile. The young man had finally asserted himself as master of his own house.
“Very well, Caroline, it is time for you to show how welcoming you can be,” Bingley said marching her to his desk where pen and paper were laid out. Slowly, she sat down.
Feeling her brother's constant presence at her back, Caroline composed an elegant note to Jane Bennet expressing regret (deep regret, Bingley insisted) at hearing the news of Mr. Bennet's illness and conveying a sincere hope for his recovery. Reluctantly following Charles’ explicit direction, she urged Jane (most earnestly, he insisted) to let her and her brother be of some assistance in this most difficult time. After two false starts and only one correction where Caroline was less than complimentary, the letter was concluded with a renewal of the invitation to tea, if Mr. Bennet's health would allow.
Wordlessly taking the letter from Caroline's outstretched hand, Bingley opened the door and placed it in the hands of Mr. Wilson, instructing him to send it right away.
Fortified by his success, Bingley turned back to his sister's brooding figure, “Now go get Louisa. I have further matters to discuss with the both of you.”
* * * *
“What luck, Jane! To have been invited to Netherfield again. You know I was very hopeful for you when Mr. Bingley first returned, but then after your father's illness, I lost all expectation. And now Miss Bingley has once again invited you to tea! Her letter is so warm and affable. I do believe she must favor you as a match for her brother. Oh, I knew your beauty and goodness would be to your advantage some day.”
“Mama, I cannot go. Father is still so very ill.”
“Nonsense! You shall go. Would you refuse Miss Bingley again? I think not. It has been days since your father first took ill, and except for the one turn, he has not changed a bit these five days. Kitty can sit with him one night. You must go and encourage Mr. Bingley, my dear.”