Caroline's ComeUppance

by Tess Quinn

  Caroline realized of a sudden how overly warm she was, even though a glance told her that the fire had been banked some time ago, and a wind of some force rattled the panes of her windows. She stood up from her bed, removed her robe and the extra stockings, and then climbed back in. She should have slapped the man, or more! She should have raised a hue and cry to bring the tommy round and had Sir hauled off to prison for assault. Or barring that, as she would not wish her name to be sullied, she should have throttled him herself. Anything but her willing compliance to his indiscreet and deplorable molestation. Caroline felt intense embarrassment at her weak capitulation. And now, in her shame, her anger returned.

  I hope to never see that hateful man again! she thought, as she blew out her bedside candle with violence.

  ~~~~~~

  11 March 1797

  The Bingleys – Charles, Jane and Caroline – arrived at Grosvenor Square and stepped down from their carriage to join the throng entering Lady Parkhurst’s home. That good lady was celebrating her engagement to Robert Fenchurch after a brief courtship. Mr Fenchurch seemed to consider himself quite fortunate. He had been addressing his fine lady for near on two years with discouragement given to his every attempt; and had been surprised when his perseverance had finally won him permission to hope in the last few months. For him, no doubt, the lady’s title and modest fortune were enough to dispel the image of the horse racing track at Epsom when he looked at his betrothed.

  For Lady Parkhurst’s part, the marriage of Fitzwilliam Darcy some two months or so before had discharged her reluctance to entertain any other suitors. Robert Fenchurch held no title, and had not nearly Mr Darcy’s wealth – not to mention standing a good head shorter than that gentleman and already balding though he was not yet thirty – but equine Lady Parkhurst considered it a good match; she had Mr Fenchurch truly willing to do her any bidding. It was to be a ball without equal tonight, and all of London was invited.

  ~~~~~~

  Charles was delighted that Caroline was attending him and Jane at the ball. He had noticed a change somewhat in his sister in the few weeks since the Fortescue evening. Caroline seemed almost gayer now, accepting both his and Darcy’s marriages for the most part, as well as renewing her acquaintance with her social set. She had accompanied Jane on several calls this past week, a turn for which Charles was grateful. Though he would not have gone so far as to call her happy, yet she seemed, he noted, open to the possibility of being so.

  ~~~~~~

  Almost at once on arriving at Lady Parkhurst’s, Charles and Jane went to join in their favourite pastime of dancing after first securing Caroline’s assertion that she would happily seek her friends without them. Really, the way the two treated her, anyone might think Caroline an old maid in her dotage. She supposed she had invited the treatment to a degree following her dismal showing in Darcy’s courtship of Elizabeth Bennet. But Caroline was fine now, determined to make herself a desired object of the upcoming social season.

  She had already begun, renewing relationships with calculation among those who offered Caroline some benefit of friendship. And she had found a willing enough companion in Jane, whose newness among their crowd was still enough to guarantee them finding people at home when they called. Indeed, though Jane Bingley undoubtedly was a draw, Caroline’s new sister always took care not to monopolize their friends’ conversation, but rather steered it to Caroline as often as not.

  Left on her own at the ball, she began to walk slowly around the outer perimeter of the room to show herself to the crowd to good advantage, when from behind a curtain, a hand shot out and arrested her movement. It laid hold of her arm and pulled her, resisting, behind the drape more

  quickly than she could react by crying out at such treatment. Before she could clearly see her abductor, an arm went round her waist, pulling her in to the solid embrace of a very tall man. She turned her face up to the person to exclaim such treatment and was silenced by a kiss – at once new and inquiring even as it echoed resident in her memory, warm and firm lips taking possession of her own. Involuntarily, she closed her eyes and yielded to the faint familiarity of it.

  As quickly as it began, it ended. Caroline felt herself pulled yet again, but out once more into the ballroom. She found herself, incredibly, staring up into the burnished golden eyes of a gentleman of uncommon stature, with a chin deeply sculpted and drawn to a blunted point in an otherwise square-shaped head, and a thatch of flaxen hair. A very handsome face indeed and a man standing in an attitude of perfect composure in the crowded room as if he had only just encountered Caroline and was pleased to make her acquaintance.

  Before Caroline could react in any way, they were approached by their evening’s hosts. “Ah, Caroline!” said Lady Parkhurst. “I see you have met our good friend, Sir John Ravensby.” In an aside in Caroline’s ear, she added, “He marked you out when you entered this evening. Quite a match, my dear; quite a match.”

  Caroline blushed, nonplussed at this pronouncement. Just at that moment, the orchestra struck the chords for a new piece.

  “May I have the honour of this dance, Miss Bingley?” Caroline looked up into the face of Sir John Ravensby and replied with a mischievous smile, “You may… Sir.”

  Chapter Thirteen:

  Night Visitor

  4 April 1797

  C

  aroline sat at her vanity, looking at her reflection in the mirror, absently twining a strawberry curl of hair around her finger. She was restless and bored. This season was turning out to be one long series of tedious obligations. There was no merriment in the social gatherings anymore; well, save that one ball when she had met Sir John.

  But since then, it just seemed like the same old crowd, the same halls, the same dresses and feathers and turbans. Really, it was just too tiresome for words. There was no one of interest in town, much of the ton having retired to the country for the Easter observance. There would be little to hold anyone’s interest now for a month or more before the season began in earnest. Even Charles and Jane were leaving here tomorrow to return to Netherfield. He could not tolerate being separated from his Jane for more than a day, and she missed her family, though Caroline wondered at how; and they also would remain there until mid-May or so.

  With her sister Louisa still visiting in Norfolk and Charles returning to Hertfordshire, Caroline had faced what seemed a choice of two ills: which part of the country would she find most tedious. In the end, she determined she could tolerate neither. She would remain in London. It had not been easy to convince her family that she would come to no harm or mischief staying on in the Hanover Square house on her own, but Caroline had held her ground. She was perfectly capable of managing – even with a diminished social calendar – and for once, propriety be hanged. She would not impose herself upon the Norris family in Norfolk, kin to her brother-in-law Aubrey Hurst – even though Louisa wrote begging her to join them as she herself suffered from ennui. On previous occasions that Caroline had accompanied her sister on visits, she was tolerated but always felt something less than a welcome guest.

  And Caroline admitted to herself that though she would want for company, both Charles and Jane still mooned over each other so much since their marriage nearly five months before that their particular company gave little comfort. Caroline and Jane had settled in to a comfortable relationship, one might even say friendship, in the two months they had resided together. Certainly, Jane had allowed Caroline a substantial role in the management of the household even though by rights Mrs Bingley could have claimed it for herself. But she seemed to be sensitive to Caroline’s loss of status since she had married Charles, and gave over willingly the responsibility in an attempt at conciliation. Though Caroline still felt Charles had married beneath him, she could not however remain immune to Jane’s personal charms and found herself enjoying her sister-in-law more and more with time.

  But that enjoyment did not extend to bearing witness to the continual billing and cooing her brother and his wife
engaged in. To witness that only reminded Caroline that she was two and twenty without a match in view of her own. Life had not been the same since both Charles and Darcy had found their domestic partners. They were positively wearisome.

  Caroline had not seen Sir John since her introduction to him at Lady Parkhurst’s engagement ball nearly four weeks past. Well, ‘formal introduction’, she corrected herself, since she had encountered the man some month before on a night of intrigue. She gazed into the mirror and recalled the evening of the ball with a half-smile.

  ~~~~~~

  She still could not say which had shocked her the more: her initial re-introduction to “Sir” when he pulled her behind the curtains and had the temerity to kiss her again, or his presentation as Sir John Ravensby by her friend Althea Parkhurst. She had struggled – and succeeded – in maintaining her composure with her friends upon the introduction, but had been grateful when the man immediately asked her to dance, glad with some activity to escape close conversation as she was certain she must still have borne a blush of emotion from Sir’s – or Sir John’s, rather – kiss an instant prior.

  Whilst they danced, she had chastised the gentleman for his liberties with her person, mounting an appearance of cool anger even as her stomach was fluttering from the touch of his lips upon hers only moments before. His words had expressed contrite regret, but with as much enthusiasm as her counterfeit anger. They had spoken a little more while dancing, commonplace remarks on society in general, the status of their health since their last meeting… courteous chatter that belied the intensity of their gazes one upon the other.

  Even now, remembering that evening, Caroline blushed to recall the directness of Sir John’s attention. Those hawk eyes of his seemed to see into her very soul and strip all her pretences from her. It was quite unnerving even as it held some excitement. When their dance had ended, rather than separating, Sir John had escorted Caroline to the dining room where they shared a light repast amid more discourse. She had attempted to query him on several occasions concerning his sudden appearance in society and the basis of his friendship with Lady Parkhurst and Mr Fenchurch; but the man had been quite evasive, always deftly turning the discourse back to Caroline herself. And she, if truth were told, had revelled in the novelty of someone taking such a pronounced interest in her – her life and her opinions.

  Upon returning to the ballroom, Sir John had excused himself shortly after to speak with a gentleman unknown to Caroline, and she had wandered into conversation with the Dandridge sisters and a few other ladies, losing sight of the man in the throng. Even then, however, she could not escape Sir John, it seemed; all the women were amazed at Caroline’s acquaintance with him and demanded to know who he was and from where he had sprung of a sudden.

  It seemed that Sir John’s advent among society had not escaped the eyes of the gossip queens, but none had managed an introduction or been able to glean particulars from informed sources, as it appeared no such persons existed. As such, the fact that Caroline had not only been presented to the man, but had danced and socialized with him, made her the resident expert of the moment. But Caroline had found that, given the time she had spent with the gentleman this evening, she knew of very little to pass on to her friends. Even more surprising to her was that she had been stingy in disclosing her limited knowledge to them, most unlike her to relinquish a position of prominence in her set, however temporary. Yet some part of her did not wish to share Sir John in any way.

  She had gone on to dance several rounds with men of her acquaintance, but she could not shed the image of Sir John, nor the residual ghostly touch of his hand upon hers while dancing; nor that of the kiss that prefaced their introduction. Towards the end of the evening, he had again approached Caroline and she thought, hoped, that he might beg another dance. But it seemed she was to be disappointed. He had expressed regret that he had business to attend to – and by his pointed expression, she could only imagine his business to be like that wherein she had first encountered the man – and he must leave. But as he departed, he had stopped and returned just long enough to whisper in her ear, “We will meet again, my dear. Simply seek me near curtains.” And with that, he had been gone, his bark of laughter ringing in Caroline’s ears and a strange tingling sensation emanating from deep within her bones.

  The man was impossible. From the moment of their first encounter, when he had quite literally abducted her forcibly, his arrogance had been all encompassing. He had shown her no respect, accusing her at first of being a common strumpet – even in jest this was inexcusable – and handling her person in quite a brazen manner with no thought to the blatant impropriety of his actions, no matter that they were conducted in secrecy. While he enjoyed the licentious chortlings of his band of men, she was dishonoured. His assumption of the right to make love to her on the basis of their accidental pairing was the worst sort of condescension. She should have Charles call upon Sir John and force him to marry Caroline to preserve her good name – but for the fact that Caroline had no desire to sacrifice her life to the likes of such a man. She could only imagine the degradation of being bound to him as a wife.

  She had been surprised at the ball, first by his amorous assault on her, then by the revelation that he was an invited guest and known to her friends. That last surprise had occasioned her social interaction with him during the evening, but it did not excuse the atrocities that had come before. She would not think of him again, and would certainly not seek him out behind curtains! The insolence of the man! So why, then, could she still taste his kiss, and conjure his image with such ease?

  ~~~~~~

  She had been to four balls in the last weeks since then, but had seen no sign of the man; though he did seem a subject of obvious interest to the gossiping harpies that lined the walls. All sorts of speculations arose as to his background, his knighthood, the scope of his financial worth, and – most importantly – his whereabouts, since he had been invited to all, but attended none, of the best soirees since his mysterious debut at Lady Parkhurst’s. But the accounts of him varied widely – no one seemed quite certain of the truth behind the man. Since no want of facts had ever stopped tongues in her social set, however, Caroline quietly soaked up all the theories advanced.

  Oh, she listened avidly. But she said little or nothing. After all, what could she have added to the converse?—that his lips were firm and demanding? -- that his chest, when a body was held against it, felt like a stone wall? -- that his encircling arms sent a tingle up a spine? -- that those bronze eyes could bore into the deepest recesses of a woman’s sensibilities? Yes, Caroline could just imagine the reception such comments would elicit!

  She was, she knew, already a topic of the gossip maids when out of earshot! She knew how they ridiculed her for losing Mr Darcy before she ever had him, and then offered counterfeit smiles of comfort to her face when his name was mentioned. Yes, Caroline knew… because she had bested them all at the skill in times past. There were times when Caroline wished she had the audacity to relate her evening adventures with Sir John Ravensby to them all, just to wipe the smirks off their faces. But she could not risk alienation from them; they were, after all, her only friends! More importantly, she could not risk her own alienation from society.

  Perhaps I will go and join the lovebirds downstairs, she thought. Even my brother’s and Jane’s excessive affection, as nauseating as it can be, should be preferable to my own company tonight.

  Still Caroline sat at her vanity, though, unable to make the effort to rise. She let her eyes lose focus as her mind drifted into yet another daydream. But she was recalled to herself by a tapping at her window. I must ask … er… that gardener fellow, what’s-his-name, to trim the plane tree tomorrow. Every time a breeze arose, it assailed her panes, often waking her in the middle of the night. One of these nights in a storm, the window would break, surely. So tiresome.

  All at once, Caroline realized that this tapping had a different quality to it than the tree’s usual cadenc
e. Almost as if someone was knocking on a door, with its steady rhythm. She focused her attention on the window in the mirror’s reflection, and gasped. Surely that was a face pressed to the glass! She wheeled around, a scream rising in her throat. Just at the point of raising an alarm against this intruder, some consciousness of thought told Caroline that she knew that face.

  Crossing the room, Caroline opened the window to find Sir John Ravensby grinning at her with aplomb. He was perched near the outer end of the plane’s branch. Though she was in shock, Caroline did not fail to notice that his eyes seemed to compliment the night sky, twinkling with stars.

  “Sir John!” she cried. “What can you be thinking? How dare you scare the life from me in my own chambers?! How did you… er … and just what are you laughing at???” For indeed, Sir John had begun first to chuckle, that low throaty purr she remembered from their first meeting. It had escalated to full laughter as she spluttered at him.

  “Lovely Caro,” he said – “I thought perhaps you might like to come for a ride with me this evening.”

  So surprised that she failed to register the endearment, she asked, “A ride! A ride? And this is your preferred approach to the invitation? In the middle of the night? And without chaperone?”

  Once again, Sir John laughed… that deep, bass reverberation with something of a sinister character. “Oh, my dear, it is not as if we have not been unchaperoned before. And you returned from that encounter unsullied, did you not? Come, I want to show you something of interest, and I know that you have been bored of late! Would you not welcome a little adventure?”