Caroline's ComeUppance

by Tess Quinn

  ~~~~~~

  Allen placed the tray on the table next to Miss Caroline’s bed. It held a glass with a headache remedy, a cup of tea with a second serving in an additional pot, and cream and sugar for her lady. She had also brought a crumpet in the hope that her mistress might eat something; for Caroline was altogether too thin to Allen’s mind. And certainly, when she looked at her mistress, Miss Caroline did look flushed as if from exertion. She was about to ask after her lady in concern, but received a curt glare at her overture from Miss Caroline that left the question unspoken. She curtseyed and left the lady to her misery.

  ~~~~~~

  A cup of tea brought Caroline to life enough to consider going to the parlour for her brother’s departure. She rose, hurriedly found a box of scrap cloth in the depths of her closet in which to temporarily hide away her costume from last night, then donned a simple front-wrap gown for making her appearance downstairs. She looked just dishevelled enough that Charles and Jane expressed concern, Charles even offering to delay their departure until Caroline was feeling well. Caroline assured her brother that it was only a headache and a matter of a poor night’s rest, and that she would be perfectly fine. It took some convincing on her part, but Caroline needed to persuade Charles not to delay his travels. The last thing she wanted was to have them stay in town and fawn over her.

  She made promise that if her indisposition continued beyond today, she would send for an apothecary in the morning, even as she was certain it would not be necessary. In truth, Caroline looked forward to being alone in the house, barring servants of course. She had much to consider. And she needed her freedom of movement in the house for Sir John’s anticipated call tonight. At last, after much well-wishing, Charles and Jane took their leave and Caroline returned to her chambers, instructing staff that she was not to be disturbed before mid-afternoon.

  Back in bed, Caroline tried to return to sleep, but it eluded her. She could not stop thinking about Sir John and their venture last night. That he was a spy of sorts was all too apparent. But just what was he involved in? And who was the mysterious “employer” whose influence and purse he had mentioned? Was it this “profession” that had kept him from social events these past few weeks? And why had no one seemed to know of him before Lady Parkhurst’s ball, or indeed to know more than speculative conjectures about him now? Had the man just sprung up suddenly from nothing? No past, no family? And having maintained a secret identity for so long, why was he now slowly choosing to come into society’s notice? And as quickly, withdrawing from it again?

  His home – or rather his mysteriously absent brother’s – to which he had taken her in their first misadventure, was luxurious and spoke of money, yet was apparently some distance from the Grosvenor Square set. And he had been knighted for something; his private agent services? No one in the inner circles knew of him; or if they did, they were not talking of it. Caroline had never known anything like it. The man was too full of contradictions; and Caroline needed to understand them.

  She could not deny to herself that she was very much attracted to Sir John. Her shocking behaviour whenever he appeared in her life confounded her to no end. She could not account for the loss of control that afflicted her in the instances when he touched her or, worse, kissed her. She could only attribute it to the fact of being so close to a man, of it being her first experience with such intimate contact, and forbidden at that. No doubt she would experience similar reactions to any man allowed to get so close to her; though she did wonder at Louisa never describing such sensations. Her sister’s cryptic remarks about physical relations could always be described as resigned indifference.

  Yes, there was an attraction there; but such as he was not for her in the long term --she would continue her search for a marriage partner among men who could secure her place in society, and advance the Bingley family for posterity. But blast Sir John, for he had gotten under her skin, and until she resolved her questions about him, she was having difficulty contemplating anything else. He infuriated her with his coarse treatment of her even as she was drawn to him. He showed her no outward respect and took the grossest liberties with her, even as she could find no real disdain or insult in his intentions. He seemed to tread comfortably whether in the grandest drawing room or negotiating with ruffians in the wild.

  And why, of all things, had he chosen to indoctrinate her into his activities last night? Was that not a potential danger to him? Did it not speak of a trust that she had done nothing to seek out? How could he know that she would not speak of it to anyone, and so jeopardize his ability to conduct his affairs in future? Well, the last she could answer, she supposed… for were she to talk of his activities, she would have to admit to her own. And that she would be hard pressed to do, as he must have known.

  She had already determined, however, that she must establish equal footing with this man. She would not simply curtsey to his every wish and follow along like an obedient child. He had indicated that he would call for her at nine? Well, she would not be available. For all that she wished to have him answer her questions and explain himself, she would dictate the timing. Imogene Elliott had invited Caroline for dinner and cards tonight, and though she loathed cards, there should be sufficient people attending to hold her interest for a few hours. Sir John would arrive at Hanover Square to find her out for the evening, and learn that he must not make assumptions of her easy availability. He could seek her out, while she yet pursued more important personal matters in Grosvenor Square.

  Caroline rang for Allen, having given up on additional sleep. The maid removed her tray and then returned to help Caroline bathe and dress for calling on the Elliotts. On her return, Allen handed a note to Caroline, explaining that it had been delivered about an hour earlier; the messenger being a young man dressed roughly in tradesman’s garb, who had insisted on speaking directly with Miss Caroline. On being told in no uncertain terms that this was impossible, he finally bade the housekeeper to give the note to Miss Caroline as soon as possible, and he slinked away. Caroline took the note and feigned disinterest by flipping it casually onto the vanity. But as Allen dressed her hair, her eyes could not help but flicker back to it every moment, curiosity driving a need to view its contents and confirm its sender. At last Allen finished her hair and Caroline dismissed her, asking her to call for the carriage in half an hour.

  As soon as Allen had left the room, Caroline picked up the missive. Flipping it over, she saw that the seal on it was a bird, much in the design of the raven she had found on the slip of parchment in her shoe last night. She opened the letter, and read the few lines contained therein.

  Oh, that exasperating man! It was indeed from Sir John. He regretted that he would be unable to keep their nine o’clock engagement, as some urgent business had arisen and he feared it could not be concluded in time. He then assured her that he would seek her out another time, that he had not forgotten his promise to answer what questions he could of hers; and indeed, that he had a few questions he must ask her as well.

  This was insufferable. Certainly, she had already decided that she would not see him tonight, that part was of little import. But it was of consequence that a failed assignation be her choice, not his; that he realize she had a say in the time and manner of their meetings, and would exercise it. How could she teach him such, if he continually outplayed her intentions? Obviously, he was toying with her. Well, he would come to regret that; no one made sport of Caroline Bingley without cost. Of course, she recalled having made similar threats to him in the past that came to nothing. But this time, Sir John Ravensby would learn that she was no one’s chattel, to be used or ignored at whim!

  ~~~~~~

  Caroline had restored some good humour by the time she left the townhouse for Imogene Elliott’s party. She knew she looked stunning in her persimmon silk gown; the colour complemented her hair and colouring quite nicely. Seeing her looking so well would certainly put paid to some of her acquaintances’ continuing tendencies to offer her deris
ory condolences on Mr Darcy’s being out of the marriage chase. And she knew she would draw the attentions of more than one gentleman in such attire. She wondered briefly if any of those gentleman attending tonight’s affair would be worthy of her interest. She even gave a small triumphant thought to what Sir John would be missing by having cancelled his promised appointment with her for that night.

  ~~~~~~

  Imogene Elliott had invited some thirty or more people for dinner, following which they would break into groups to play at cards. Caroline had no intention of playing, she would hold back and be an odd number if possible; this would allow her to traverse between all the playing tables to take best advantage both of being seen and hearing the latest gossip.

  But first there was dinner to be endured. Imogene had obscene amounts of money, but little natural taste, and her dinners tended to be elaborately presented, but of standard fare for which she highly over paid her cook. Caroline found herself seated between Mr Fitzhugh on one side, and old Sir Henry Willoughby on the other. Imogene’s little idea of a joke, she presumed. Sir Henry was sixty-five at the least, though he was a bachelor since his wife had predeceased him last year; and Mr Fitzhugh was recently married to the former Prunella Diddlesworth of Farnham, who sat across from him but one. There would be little conversation of note in this sitting. Caroline noticed that, directly across from her, a seat remained empty. Most odd; she was surprised that Imogene broke custom to begin dinner before all her guests were present. When first course was served, it was empty still. She had not long to overhear speculation as to whose place it was meant to be.

  “Ah,” proclaimed James Elliott, only a few seats from Caroline. “I see our mystery guest yet again fails to arrive, though invited.” He glanced around at the table at large. “Good thing we were not numbered at fourteen this evening, is it not?”

  His attempt at humour failed to reach Caroline, but she was intrigued by his reference to a “mystery guest” as Imogene Elliott hurriedly commented that she had had a note of apology from him just moments ago. Surely that place could not possibly have been intended for…

  Oh, what did it matter. He was not here, whether he had been expected or not. And she did not need him here at all. She spent her dinner between polite conversation with her table partners on each side, putting little effort into it as neither man required any but an occasional nod or smile to keep talking. Thus the dinner hour passed, while Caroline took time to review who else was present for possible converse later. She was bored by the time the ladies excused themselves to the parlour. But at least there, she could count on hearing some gossip – for the ladies, without their men in tow, could delight in discourse most varied and shocking. If the men only knew, while they sipped their port and smoked vile cigars!

  Tonight’s party was heavily weighted by men, it seemed, an unusual occurrence as there were only about twelve ladies in the parlour. Caroline went to stand with her friend Julia Welsh, upon whom she could always count for some pernicious banter. They began by discussing in low tones the disagreeableness of tonight’s menu, as well as Imogene’s lack of sense in her table placements. That conversation had only just lost its shine when Caroline overheard a dialogue begun to her left.

  It seemed the Dandridge sisters were speculating on the empty chair at dinner. Caroline and Julia both perked up their ears to listen. Imogene then confirmed that, in fact, Sir John Ravensby had been invited and conditionally accepted the party, but they had received word only moments before going in to dine that he would be unable to honour his commitment.

  Some discussion then ensued with the room as a whole as to the man and his character. Most deemed him a rake, some wealthy but profligate bounder with no commitment to social graces. Others were convinced they remembered meeting him as a youth, and he came from somewhere around Essex, but had lost his fortune… indeed all but his title… in the gambling dens some years back, and that he had spent the last few years in Africa trying to recoup his funds in the mines. Still others claimed to have heard that he had spent the last two years in prison in Dartmoor on a tenuous but treasonous charge, and it was only the Prince Regent’s recent intervention that saw Ravensby released.

  Each speculation became more outrageous than the last. But on one thing all the ladies, with the exception of Caroline who participated only by listening, agreed: Sir John Ravensby was very handsome, very desirable (whether in possession of a real fortune or not,) and very elusive. A dangerous combination. And each and every one of the ladies would sacrifice their own fortunes for a dalliance with him. They did not say so in words, but it was in their tone and their faces and their nervous laughs.

  Caroline thought back to last night’s real adventure with the man, and Sir John’s remarks to her about besting her friends by divulging his secrets to them. She could not but help an inward smile at the thought. And still she had no desire to share what she knew of him with them. There was, indeed, some great satisfaction in knowing things that others could only guess at. Though, in truth, she yet “knew” nothing, even as he averred she knew as much as need be if she considered it.

  Shortly after this interesting speculation, the men rejoined the group, and pairings were begun for cards. Caroline had quite lost her enthusiasm for tonight’s gathering, and begged off, claiming a recurrence of her headache from earlier in the day and her sleepless night. James Elliott dutifully rang for her carriage and some few minutes later, she was on her way home. She knew that her actions would only make her the next topic of discourse. “Poor Caroline, not the same since Darcy rejected her for a penniless beauty.” At the moment, though, Caroline did not care. They would find ways to talk about her whether or not she spent the full evening there.

  ~~~~~~

  Caroline arrived home just after nine o’clock, she noted. She could not help but think of her original assignation scheduled for this hour. Though she had earlier determined to avoid it, she now felt somewhat disappointed at the meeting’s deferral. Still, he had promised to come again. She could look forward to that much. And she was curious about his cryptic message that day.

  After being admitted to the house, Caroline ensured the door was bolted and dismissed the staff for the night, first asking to have the fire in the library built up. She herself was not tired yet, or not enough to bring on sleep. She had decided to go to the library for a sherry, perhaps even a brandy since Charles was not here to reprimand her for the preference. She might even pick out a book to peruse to occupy her mind or, more likely, induce fatigue.

  She entered the room, softly lit in the fire’s glow, and crossed to the drinks table. Pouring herself a brandy with a self-satisfied smile, she sat by the fire and took a sip. She laid her head back against the chair to feel the tawny liquid as it slipped down her throat; she closed her eyes and inhaled its delicious scent mixed with that of the logs on the fire. And she heard a singularly low chuckle of appreciation.

  Her head snapped back up, her eyes flying open to behold Sir John, standing brazenly a few feet from Caroline. He was looking on her with an impish smile, but his eyes held more than simple mischief. They unnerved her. The firelight caught the gold in his hair and illuminated his eyes with reflected pinpoints of flame. She jumped up at the sight of him, and would have spoken in alarm had not his words brought her to a standstill.

  “Marry me,” he whispered.

  Chapter Seventeen:

  In the Library

  T

  here is something very strange here, and make no mistake, thought Sara Allen. She was sitting in her attic room, having just now found time to sew the tear in her mistress’ dress. Miss Caroline had arrived home from her evening out a few minutes ago, only a little after nine, somewhat out of sorts; and had immediately sent the staff off duty to their rooms after having Harkin build a fire for her in the library. Allen was grateful for this early release, as it meant she could get started on her mending right away and would not have to stay up half the night to finish.

  She di
d wonder how Miss Caroline would get herself out of that pretty persimmon gown she was wearing this evening, though; indeed, she wondered how Caroline had managed it last night as well, as the gown she now stitched also closed from the back. Sighing, Sara presumed she would eventually still be called for assistance, so she might as well do the mending now to stay alert and ready when the lady rang for her.

  Earlier today, after Sara had helped Miss Caroline dress for her evening out, the lady had given the maid this dress, pointing out the torn bodice for repair. Sara had asked nothing about it, would never dare to question her mistress. But Miss Caroline seemed oddly on edge, and displayed a need to say something. She then explained that the evening before, the wind was blowing the branch of the plane tree outside against her window. She had gone to open it, to see if she could do something there and then to make it stop, certain that she would get little rest if it continued through the night. And in leaning out to see if she could divert the branch, she had caught her dress on the window latch, ripping her bodice.

  Remembering this explanation, Sara had to wonder why the lady, who never did anything for herself if someone else could do it for her, had not called for someone to check the window. It seemed somewhat out of character for her to investigate the problem herself. But it was late at night, so perhaps Sara could understand. What she could not understand was that, when Sara asked Miss Caroline this afternoon if she should have the gardener trim the tree, her mistress fairly jumped out of her skin in her hurry to say no – she did not want the perfect symmetry of the old plane disturbed. Fancy that lady concerning herself with how the tree looked!