The Maiden's Stratagem

by Margaret Gale

  Caroline’s Stratagem

  The evening at Netherfield was less jovial. Bingley was more than satisfied with his courtship, but the remainder of the party were in various states of discontent. Bingley, Darcy and the Hursts had shared a barely adequate dinner prepared by kitchen staff hastily re-hired after the earlier instructions from Caroline to close the house and lay off the staff. Caroline herself had dined in her room, not wanting to test the temper of the gentlemen with her usual dinnertime banter. She rejoined the party after dinner as they gathered in the parlour. The Hursts sat quietly to one side of the room – she playing with her bracelets and he quaffing wine and dozing. Bingley sat grinning to himself, and occasionally inviting the room at large to consider Miss Bennet’s excellent qualities with remarks like “I say, is Miss Bennet not the most remarkably beautiful angel?” Luckily, he needed no answer before his thoughts wandered off to revisit some look or comment or blush she had gifted him during the day.

  Darcy was simply jealous. It was silly, of course: here he was, Master of Pemberley, with a house in town and several profitable business interests, nephew to an Earl, one of the most sought-after bachelors in the kingdom, and he found himself jealous of Charles Bingley. He had often envied Charles his ease in company, although always with a touch of disdain since he assumed such happy manners were the consequence of having less in the way of family status to protect from the impertinence of strangers. But he had never really felt the bite of true jealousy before. Now, Charles had secured the right to court the woman of his dreams, and looked to be well on the way to a remarkably happy marriage. Darcy had little to look forward to but years of fending off fortune hunters, or a marriage of convenience with some suitable lady approved by his Aunt and her coterie.

  The woman of his dreams, meanwhile, would be married against her will to the most absurd excuse for a man he had ever met. If he was as free from social expectation as Charles Bingley, he could woo Miss Elizabeth, despite all the ways in which she did not meet the requirements of high society. His observations of that lady throughout the day had shown him just how suited they were to each other, and how happy he could be with such a wife. He cursed the chains that bound him to family obligations. Oh, to be a minor gentleman with nothing to consider in choosing a wife but marital felicity. In this, Bingley was the richer man by far.

  Darcy had ceased to pretend to himself that he did not admire Miss Elizabeth. He had felt her charms before, but had told himself it was merely an aesthetic appreciation of the young woman. He had been adamant that his heart was not touched. But hearing her declaration that she would be wed to another – and to Collins of all men – had shattered his illusions. The discomfort he felt at such a prospect was far from aesthetic, even though it would offend all ideas of symmetry and justice to see two such minds bound together in wedlock. No, Darcy knew, with an immediate and deep certainty, that he could not be happy with the thought of Miss Elizabeth marrying any man but himself. She was the most impressive woman of his acquaintance, and while she was the first he had ever contemplated as his wife, he did not need comparison in that imagined role to realise that she was his perfect match. At least, perfect in all but social standing, wealth and connections.

  He damned the conventions that constrained his choice of wife, but he could not entirely dismiss them. He would be happy avoiding town, and if it were only for his own sake, could readily enough ignore the censure that would be heaped on him if he were to choose such a wife. But his young sister would need his support soon to enter society. He could not afford to flout convention. Moreover, it would be cruel to wed a lively, effervescent, social creature like Elizabeth Bennet and then condemn her to live out her days in rural obscurity.

  No, the only circumstances in which society could forgive a marriage between a man like Darcy and a woman like Elizabeth was in the case of a compromise. If he was honour bound to offer for the lady, then no one could criticise his choice. His uncle and aunts would have to accept a marriage on those terms, since a failure to do the right thing would bring dishonour to his name and thereby to the whole family. It was ironic that he now wished Miss Bennet had carried through with her attempted compromise that morning. He might have resented being trapped in such a way, but he now saw that the result would have been to both their benefit.

  Darcy decided to approach Miss Elizabeth on the morrow, to discuss whether she would allow a small exaggeration of events in the garden to provide a basis for him to offer her his hand. He knew she was proud – she would not accept him if she thought him to be acting out of charity, and she clearly did not think he held her in particular affection or she could not have talked with him as frankly as she had throughout the day. Indeed, why should she suspect such a thing if Darcy himself had only today discovered it? Instead of spending his time wooing the lady, Darcy had been careful to conduct himself so as to avoid giving rise to expectations on her part. It seemed he had been entirely successful in that endeavour. Darcy would need to emphasise his genuine desire for the match, based on a real regard for her, without confusing her with a sudden outpouring of sentimental declarations. She would distrust the latter, but might believe the former after their friendly conversations today.

  It was at this point in his musings that Darcy was most rudely interrupted.

  Caroline Bingley knew this evening was likely to be her last opportunity to compromise Mr Darcy. She had wandered nonchalantly around the room for a few minutes, passing behind the chairs on which her brother and his guest were seated. Then, with a quickened pace, she changed path to cross in front of Darcy. With a slight skip to her step, to feign a trip, she contrived to throw herself across that gentleman’s lap, bringing all conversation in the room to an abrupt halt.

  Darcy sat in stunned amazement for a moment, his arms suspended in mid air, unable to move without bringing himself into contact with Miss Bingley’s ostentatiously displayed décolletage, or her prominently positioned posterior. The lady wriggled a little, making no real effort to right herself, and said flirtatiously, “Oh, Mr Darcy, what a shocking position we find ourselves in!”

  On almost any other day of his life, Darcy would have been both incensed and mortified. He had assured Bingley many times that, whatever the circumstances, he would not offer for his irritating sister, but he had not thought her so beyond decorum as to try to trap him into a compromise. The lady’s timing was commendable. She had waited until the tea service was being refreshed, so her encounter with Darcy’s lap had been observed by her brother, her sister, her brother-in-law, a footman and two maids. On any other day of his life, Darcy would have had to consider marrying the harpy in order to save his own reputation, for a man who compromises a lady and then does not offer for her loses any claim to be considered a gentleman. Added to concern for his own reputation would be worry for Bingley’s standing, which would be irreparably damaged by an unmarried sister known to have been compromised. Darcy would have been in an invidious position indeed.

  As it was, his initial shock was replaced not by anger or fear or outrage: instead, Darcy stunned the room by bursting into hearty laughter.

  Between gusts of hilarity, he addressed Caroline: “Do get up, Miss Bingley, you are making quite the spectacle of yourself, and no doubt marring my clothes with that vile scent you use.”

  This was not the response she had expected at all. Mr Darcy did not seem to realise the import of her landing in his lap, nor his obligation to make things right by offering her his hand. His rude remark about her perfume was of a piece with the rest of his bizarre behaviour. What on earth was the man thinking? Was he drunk?

  Impatient to achieve the declaration she desired, Caroline Bingley clambered to her feet, straightened her clothes, and stamped her slippered foot. “Sir, surely you must see …” she started, but was immediately cut off by a suddenly cold and solemn Darcy.

  “Miss Bingley, I am sorry to see you so little in control of yourself that you could become so unbalanced. It is p
erhaps just as well that I was here to break your fall, for you might have done yourself serious damage if you had hit the arms of the chair or the floor. I would not, for Bingley’s sake, see you come to any physical harm. However I remind you of my words this morning. I do not know you madam, and you do not have my permission to address me, on this or any other matter.”

  Louisa Hurst’s eyes bulged. She had not been informed of the full extent of Mr Darcy’s break with her sister, and to hear it stated so bluntly was shocking. Not wanting to join Caroline in exile from Mr Darcy’s patronage, nevertheless she felt obliged to her sister to make at least some attempt to bring that gentleman to address the events that had just occurred in front her. “Mr Darcy, this compromise will damage us all if you do not do the right thing by Caroline.”

  Darcy turned a steely gaze on Louisa, and barked “What compromise could you possibly be talking about, Mrs Hurst? We all saw that your sister tripped with no help from me. That she fell on me was pure happenstance. There. Was. No. Compromise.”

  An Unexpected Announcement

  Then Darcy’s tone lightened, and his earlier humour returned. “But even if there were, I’m afraid Miss Bingley would have to get in line. My honour is already engaged, as your sister is the second lady to trip onto me today. I am already bound in honour to offer my hand to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and therefore am not free to make any such offer elsewhere.”

  If Caroline’s actions had stunned the room, Darcy’s pronouncement astounded them. Caroline turned a remarkable shade of orange, strongly reminiscent of her worst ball gowns. Hurst sat to attention, certain that whatever happened next would affect his future comforts, and keen to ensure his foolish wife said nothing that might further alienate their richest and most well connected acquaintance. Louisa Hurst’s brief spurt of courage had evaporated, and she sat next to her husband in a state of complete confusion. Had there been a compromise or not? Darcy claimed he had compromised Miss Bennet first? When? How? Had Eliza Bennet compromised Darcy? Were they engaged? Where did that leave Caroline? And why was Mr Darcy laughing again? She sputtered in a weak voice “Eliza Bennet?”

  “Indeed,” Darcy replied, enjoying the lady’s distress just a little, “and I could not be happier. You must wish us joy.” Then he turned and strode to the window where he looked out into the night, leaving Bingley to decide what to do with Caroline.

  Bingley had begun with anger at his sister’s conduct, worry at Darcy’s reaction, and then complete amazement at Darcy’s announcement. His friend was laughing, apparently joyfully, at being forced into marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Certainly it gave Darcy a perfect excuse to avoid entrapment by Caroline, but surely he knew Bingley would never have insisted on marriage in any case.

  Caroline’s conduct was beneath contempt, and coming so soon after her attempt to separate him from Miss Bennet, he saw no reason to protect her from the consequences of her own foolishness. He would try to stop the gossip for the sake of his own reputation and Louisa’s, but for all he cared, Caroline could rot in Scarborough with her reputation in tatters. Bingley was determined not to allow her any clemency. But Darcy – what was he about? Bingley’s friend was famous for his resistance to matrimony. He had avoided the snares and machinations of his own family and all of London’s matchmakers and fortune hunters for nigh on a decade. Why would he now be laughing happily at the prospect of marrying a woman with no dowry or connections to speak of, who was ignorant of society and more likely to argue with him than praise him? Bingley shook his head. He couldn’t make any sense of it at all.

  He had to admit, though, that it was a glorious set-down for Caroline. To compromise a single, unattached man of means might have worked. But if the gentleman was already in honour bound to another lady, the only person damaged by such a compromise was the woman involved. Caroline had gambled all on her fall into Darcy’s arms, and had lost. If she was lucky, none would speak of it as anything more than an unlucky trip, with no shades of compromise involved. Her own family and Darcy could probably be depended on to remain entirely silent about it (although he could not vouch for Hurst when in his cups). The servants were another matter altogether. They had got an eyeful of the mistress of the house sprawled across a gentleman’s lap, watched her wriggle indecorously in that position, seen the gentleman laugh at her and insult her, and had heard her own sister call it a compromise. Bingley would need to lay out a tidy sum to bribe them to silence, if the tale had not already spread throughout the whole staff and off into the neighbourhood. Most likely, Caroline’s fall from respectability could not be contained: her outrageous and contrived fall onto Mr Darcy would then have only one outcome: by falling onto his friend, his sister had truly become a fallen woman. And she had none to thank for it but herself.

  Shaking off his surprise, Bingley asserted himself as the master of the house. “Caroline, please go to your room. I am sure you need to retire for the evening after the stress of your fall. You will not speak to anyone of your clumsiness if you ever wish to see another penny of your allowance. Do you understand?”

  For the second time that day, his sister found herself hoist on her own petard. There was no possible way to force Darcy’s hand without her brother’s support, and if another had beaten her to it and could claim the first compromise, her plan had been doomed from the start. Caroline Bingley felt nauseous as the full import of her situation struck her. Without a word, she gathered the shreds of her dignity, nodded quickly to her brother and left the room.

  This time Louisa did follow her, although from the tone of her voice echoing back down the corridor, more to berate Caroline rather than to comfort her. Hurst glanced at the other two gentlemen and decided it was time for him to retire as well.

  As soon as they were alone, Bingley’s face crumpled in dismay. “I am so sorry, my friend. How could my own sister behave so? I thought she had learned her lesson this morning, but it seems she is beyond redemption. I cannot forgive myself for allowing her in your presence, Darcy.”

  “Do not distress yourself, Bingley. No harm is done. You must decide what to do with her. I imagine you will not want her present while you court Miss Bennet, but if you simply send her back to town, she might cause an even bigger scandal there. You do not want this in the gossip columns. But do not worry on my account. I am unscathed.”

  Bingley glanced at his friend, and found him apparently cheerful, which went a long way to cheering Bingley too. He was not made for unpleasantness, and tomorrow morning would be soon enough to determine what to do with Caroline. In the meantime, he had heard some surprising things from Darcy this evening, and he intended to know more.

  Darcy was an expert at avoiding compromise. Even Caroline’s ostentatious effort had been met with impassive disdain. Bingley had seen nothing from Miss Elizabeth that would raise the slightest suspicion that she would attempt to compromise Darcy. If he had to guess, he would say she didn’t even like Darcy. If there was a compromise, it must either have been something entirely accidental, or … could it be that Darcy had deliberately compromised the lady? Surely not. Well, there was nothing for it but to press his friend for the details.

  Darcy was older, richer, more experienced and vastly more authoritative. Bingley valued his friendship, and knew he could rely on the advice Darcy would generously provide whenever asked. He looked up to Darcy. Really, he did. But every now and again it was nice to find something that could discomfit his imperious friend. With the sniff of a story to be winkled out of Darcy, Bingley would not rest until he knew the full tale. He settled in for an amusing evening’s interrogation: “A compromise, Darcy? With Miss Elizabeth? When did this happen?”

  Darcy sighed. Bingley could be tenacious in pursuit of anything that could be used to embarrass his serious friend, and he considered how best to satisfy Bingley’s curiosity without too many deceptions. He really did not want to provide elaborate details of a largely fictitious event without the chance to at least agree on a story with Miss Eliza
beth. In this regard, Charles Bingley was a particularly problematic confidante, as he would sooner or later share the tale with Jane Bennet, and Darcy’s improvised tale could easily be disproved should she discuss it with her sister. Yet if he provided no details at all, Charles would happily spend the whole night grilling him, and that would not leave him in any condition to face Miss Elizabeth and her father on the morrow.

  “I have not yet discussed the situation with the lady’s father, Charles, so you must forgive me if I do not tell you all. Mr Bennet is entitled to a full account, and it would not be right to air the details with others before settling affairs with him.” Darcy knew this prevarication would not work, but at least it gave him a little time to consider how much to say.

  Bingley protested, “Darcy, you know I can be as silent as the grave. Bennet will never hear from me that you told me a word before speaking to him. After Caroline’s conduct today, I will not get a moment’s sleep unless you give me something else to think about. And what better than the tale of how the most elusive bachelor in the land came to find his neck in the parson’s noose? Come, man, I must have the tale.”

  Darcy shrugged and took a long drink from his wine glass. “If you promise most solemnly not to tell a soul, not even your Miss Bennet, then I will tell you what happened.”