Darcy, instead of turning away, appeared to consider what she’d said. ‘There is, I believe, in every disposition, a tendency to some particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.’
‘And yours,’ Elizabeth said, ‘is a propensity to hate everybody.’
‘While yours,’ he replied with a smile, ‘is wilfully to misunderstand them.’
They both paused for a moment and Caroline took her chance to change the subject. She needed Mr Darcy to return to the man she knew, for she felt almost afraid of this Darcy who took outright impertinence as valid points in a discussion, and, even more, participated in a conversation like this. Caroline had never heard anyone speak of their own faults. Why would they? Everyone else discussed them, not to their face, but they all knew that this happened. People needed to present themselves to their greatest advantage in the world, and any faults were hidden as deeply as possible. A shiver ran up her spine, and she felt the skin on her arms erupt into goose pimples.
‘Do let us have a little music,’ she cried. Yes, something cheerful and bright. ‘Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr Hurst?’
Her sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was opened. As she walked towards the instrument, she glanced at Mr Darcy and saw that his eyes were still on Miss Elizabeth. And in his eyes, Caroline saw fear, but somehow she knew it did not stem from the same source as hers.
* * *
Caroline woke the next morning with the hope that today she would finally see the last of Miss Elizabeth. If this meant that Jane also would be leaving, well, she was able to bear up under the disappointment. Sure enough, both Bennets came down after breakfast, and Jane requested the use of Charles’ carriage, for the purpose of bearing her back to Longbourn.
Caroline was exultant, although she did wonder why Jane needed their carriage, when the Bennets had one that was perfectly adequate. Her happiness enabled her to view Charles’ dismay with equanimity.
‘Surely, Miss Bennet,’ he said, ‘you are not yet well enough to handle the stress such a removal requires. Much better to wait another day, or two even, before attempting such a thing.’
Jane, however, showed a firmness Caroline had not hitherto suspected.
Since Jane was determined to leave that very morning, Caroline saw no danger in supporting her brother, and she added hers to his voice, and suggested that the day be used for preparation and relaxation, and that the trip to Longbourn could thus be more easily accomplished the next day.
To her surprise and dismay, Jane and Elizabeth conferred, and agreed to that plan. Still, the rest of that day passed quickly. Mr Darcy, she noted, had apparently wearied of Miss Eliza’s presence as much as she had, for he said not more than a handful of words to her throughout the entire day.
The next day was Sunday. After morning service, the separation, so vehemently hoped for by seemingly everyone with the exception of Charles, took place. Caroline found that she could smile warmly at Elizabeth, now that she was leaving and her sorrow at losing Jane’s steady presence took her by surprise. Still, she was more than happy when at last the Bennet sisters were helped into the carriage, and she could stand on the steps and wave goodbye.
‘At last,’ she observed to Mr Darcy as they entered the house. ‘It is ever so much more pleasant when one is with one’s own family and friends without the inconvenience of visitors, especially when those visitors are not of one’s choosing.’
‘I heartily agree,’ he said, and despite Charles’ hangdog expression, Caroline’s happiness was complete.
Chapter Six
Caroline sat down at the breakfast table and contentment washed through her. She took a sip of tea, and sighed happily. Everyone else had come down by this time, and there was conversation; Mr Hurst grumbling about how the weather, somewhat foggy, would interfere with his plan for a day of shooting, Louisa consoling him with a promise of a card game later. Mr Darcy spoke to Charles of a planned meeting that day with Netherfield’s steward, and what they needed to consider doing with an area that should perhaps be left fallow over the winter. So many voices, all speaking at once, and yet to Caroline it was the most serene and peaceful breakfast she could imagine, for not a single voice belonged to a Bennet.
Only Charles appeared unhappy. In fact he was uncharacteristically silent, replying to Darcy only in nods or monosyllables. Caroline, however, was so content she found herself empathising with her brother, even though she was glad he no longer had the opportunity to spend so much time with Jane. There was no sense in his continuing down that particular path, and she’d tell him so as soon as an opportunity arose.
Still, she could understand, since she was certain that if she were to be parted from Mr Darcy, she would also no doubt pine away. Charles, of course, couldn’t be nearly as attached to Jane as she was to Mr Darcy, but she could still pity her brother, who often experienced emotions and passions to a far greater extent than either of his sisters did.
She thought now about her feelings for Mr Darcy, gazing at him from beneath her lashes, where he sat across the table from her. He was turned sideways to speak to Charles who was beside him. Mr Darcy’s profile, Caroline thought, was one of the most noble of any of her acquaintance. His high forehead, the way his hair waved across it so crisply, his straight nose and determined chin all spoke of his superior breeding. Those features, when joined to her classical beauty, would produce children who would be free to travel within the highest circles of society. Why, perhaps one of her offspring would marry into the royal family. Such an event was not beyond the realms of possibility.
Of course, producing a child would mean doing with Mr Darcy the thing that Louisa said involved sounds similar to those found in a pigsty. Looking at Mr Darcy, she could not picture him ever doing anything so undignified. Mr Hurst was much more like a pig in appearance, being short and, while not exactly round, he did have some meat around his middle. Also, the skin on his face was often a reddish colour, much closer to the pink of a pig than Mr Darcy’s pleasant paler skin that was lightly tinged with tan from all the time he spent outdoors. Mr Hurst also tended to breathe more audibly, especially when he was asleep, and some of the noises he made then, when stretched out on one of the sofas in the drawing room, did resemble grunts.
Caroline paused, struck by a new thought. Could the act of creating a child take place when both parties were asleep? She knew that it happened in the marital bed. But if Louisa was asleep each time, why would she comment on Mr Hurst’s weight? Did that mean she woke up while the act was still underway?
A sudden image of Mr Tryphon, bending over her hand, his lips hot on her skin, his eyes burning up into hers, surged into her mind. Others crowded in, his firm forearm beneath her fingers when he escorted her into dinner; the brush of his hand over her shoulder and sometimes on to the back of her neck when he seated her at the table; his side pressed against hers when he pulled his arm in closer; her arm linked through his when they walked together in the garden.
Caroline stifled a gasp, for a lick of flame surged up from the most private area of her body into her chest. She sat still, every muscle in her body tense and yet somehow alive, all at the same time. She drew in a ragged breath, realising she had not breathed for a long moment, and saw Louisa looking at her oddly.
‘Caroline,’ she said, ‘are you quite all right?’
Everyone else had now turned to her. Mortified, Caroline said, ‘Yes, of course, that last mouthful of toast was merely a little dry.’ Hastily picking up her teacup, she took a small sip.
The others turned back to whatever they had been doing, and Caroline took advantage of the moment to try to compose herself. What on earth was going on? She focused on slowing her breathing, and picked up her fork, holding it perfectly, as a lady should. She used it to pick up a small, ladylike amount of scrambled eggs, and chewed and swallowed the mouthful in a deliberate, ladylike manner.
Having regained control, she permitted herself to raise h
er eyes from her plate and once again look at Mr Darcy. To her relief, no strange feelings rose up in any part whatsoever of her body, at the sight of his dark hair, his ash-grey morning coat, or his hands as he pointed to something on the piece of paper he and Charles were perusing.
‘It would be best,’ she said to Louisa later that morning, ‘if Mr Darcy would speak soon, so that things will be quite settled between us.’
Louisa nodded. ‘He might,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘be waiting until his sister is a little older. Charles, of course, could not even think of discussing marriage with Georgiana now, as she is only sixteen.’
‘Other girls are married at sixteen.’
‘True, but you know how protective Darcy is of his sister. Especially since …’
Caroline nodded. Poor Georgiana had been most cruelly used during the incident in question. Even though it had not been in any way his fault, Mr Darcy blamed himself, and so was now determined to watch over his sister so as to ensure her current and future happiness.
‘Perhaps,’ Caroline mused, ‘you are correct, and Mr Darcy is thinking ahead to a double wedding. Oh! Louisa, would not that be splendid, both Charles and I standing up with Mr and Miss Darcy. It would be the wedding of the season!’
‘No doubt.’ Louisa was focused on her stitchery.
‘I am sorry,’ Caroline said softly. ‘I did not think. Your wedding with Mr Hurst was lovely, and very fashionable.’
Louisa sewed another three stitches, and then looked up. ‘It is all right. You need not suffer any pangs on my account. While Mr Hurst’s position in society is nowhere near the Darcys’, it was a very good match for me. And my wedding was perfectly suited to both Mr Hurst and myself.’ She turned and reached for Caroline’s hand. ‘I am not like you, you know. I have observed how you have thrived since starting your friendship with Lady Amesbury. You grow more lovely and animated when you are in the company of the people she knows. I am content with a quieter life, one spent with one’s friends of long acquaintance and known habits.’
‘How well we know each other,’ Caroline said fondly.
Louisa grinned. ‘Fortunate indeed, when you consider the sorts of sisters Jane has!’
Both women broke into peals of laughter. ‘Oh, can you imagine?’ Caroline asked. ‘What if Miss Lydia was our sister and sitting here with us right now! The only conversation would be of officers.’
‘Yes,’ gasped Louisa, ‘or Miss Mary. She would make certain that none of us, not even Mr Darcy, read anything other than sermons!’
They continued in this vein, and Caroline’s sides were beginning to ache from laughing so hard, when the butler entered, carrying a silver tray with the day’s mail.
‘There is a packet for you, Miss Bingley,’ he said with a bow, and held out the tray.
‘Oh, it is from Eleanor!’ Caroline cried upon seeing the familiar round hand on the envelope. ‘But it is too thick to contain only her letter.’
‘Well, do not keep me waiting,’ Louisa said. ‘Open it!’
Caroline fetched the letter knife from the writing desk and carefully slit the thick embossed paper. As well as Eleanor’s usual thick letter, filled with news and gossip about London and their friends there, another letter tumbled out. It was in an envelope similar to Eleanor’s writing paper, but was addressed in a firm but unfamiliar hand.
‘Who could that be from?’ Louisa asked.
Uncertain, Caroline opened it before Eleanor’s letter. As soon as her eyes fell on the first few lines, she gasped and raised one hand to cover her mouth, but the other hand continued to hold the letter so she could read on.
‘It—it is from Mr Tryphon,’ she said. ‘He says, oh, he says …’ Her voice trailed off, but realising her sister was regarding her with great curiosity, she said, ‘Louisa, you must forgive me.’ She ran from the room.
She did not stop until she reached the security of her own chamber. Genney, her maid, was nowhere to be seen, but for once Caroline did not wonder if the girl was idle somewhere, no doubt flirting with a footman. Grateful to be alone, she took the letter from where it had been creased by her shaking hands, and read it again.
‘My darling,’ Mr Tryphon had written, ‘please forgive me if this letter shocks you, but I can hold this in no longer. You must have realised, you who are so observant and caring of others cannot have failed to observe the joy I experience at every moment in your presence. You shine on me, dear Caroline, from above, and my life is only illuminated when I am with you. When we are not together, all is dark and dreary. I spend every waking moment thinking of you and treasuring every moment we have shared, and I dream only of you when I am asleep. These things are all that is keeping me from weeping for the lack of you. I long at every moment to fly to your side.
Do not fear, dearest Caroline, if I may be permitted to call you this, that I am placing you in an uncomfortable situation, or that I will force any unwanted attentions. I cannot help myself though; my feelings for you will burst out through my very soul if I do not speak. I do not ask for any response from you. I will not burden you, the next time we meet, for there must be a next time or I will die. I wish only that you should know how very much I adore you, and hope that if any of your thoughts drift to me, they be happy ones.
Yours, with hope,
Stephen Tryphon’
Her hands shaking, so that the pages they held rustled like a living creature pushing its way through dense foliage, she sat on the edge of her bed.
What could this mean? Why had he written now, and not spoken earlier, when he could have expressed himself in person? But would she prefer that? Truly, it was out of kindness that he wrote now, so she could have time and privacy to absorb his words. If he had spoken to her directly, she did not know how she would have responded. She would have frozen, she presumed, or worse, run away. In either case, her reaction would have been rude and ungraceful.
How well he knew her, after so short an acquaintance. How thoughtful he was, to have spared her the mortification of hearing his words out loud. Still, despite his thoughtfulness, she was frozen, and indeed, had run away from Louisa. How her sister must be wondering. What could there be in a letter, Louisa must ask herself, that could send Caroline flying from a room? She would assume it must report a terrible accident that injured one of Caroline’s friends, or even a death.
Caroline looked down at the pages, still fluttering, like a little bird trying to fly. She did not think she could discuss this matter with anyone at all. Well, maybe Eleanor, yes Eleanor would understand and she, with her wealth of experience, would know what Caroline should do. And she knew what Eleanor’s first words would be. She would say, ‘Caroline, what do you want to do?’
What did Caroline want to do? She was uncertain. She was to marry Mr Darcy, everyone knew that. But she recalled again the images of Mr Tryphon she’d thought of earlier, and of his touch, his scent, his voice, his breath on her hand, on her cheek. She wasn’t sure what her response to those memories meant, but it was certainly different from her reaction to Mr Darcy. She’d held Mr Darcy’s arm, and it was at least as firm as Mr Tryphon’s, but she’d never become breathless at the mere thought of his touch.
She sat a time longer, her thoughts whirling until she began to develop a headache. This is nonsense, she told herself. Put the letter aside. Burn it if you wish. Tell Louisa anything you choose about why you left her so precipitously. But do not, another voice said, tell her what’s in the letter. You must guard it, keep it safe, cradle it like a babe. Only then can it flourish.
Flourish? Did she want it to flourish? Of course not. Mr Tryphon’s feelings for her could only end in disappointment. She must put them out of her head. She could be thankful to Mr Tryphon for showing her what a man’s passion could be like, and she still wished to see him as a friend, but nothing could come of this. She must focus on Mr Darcy. She would replace any images of Mr Tryphon that came into her head with images of Mr Darcy. And she would work hard to experience the shortness of
breath and pain in the chest that did describe what she’d felt earlier when thinking of Mr Tryphon, only when she thought of Mr Darcy.
She stood, determined to cast the letter into the fire. Her hands had another idea. With bemusement, she watched them find the key for her jewel box, open it, and slide the letter beneath the padded velvet that rested at the bottom of the box. Only when the letter disappeared from sight and the box was once again locked, did her hands return to her control.
* * *
Caroline returned to Louisa, surprised to discover that only a matter of minutes had elapsed since her quick departure from the morning room. Louisa was still alone, the gentlemen having decided to go out shooting even if the fog interfered with their sport. Louisa looked up, her expression merely a little curious, and Caroline was proud of her own composure as she re-seated herself and picked up the slipper she was embroidering.
‘Please accept my apologies,’ Caroline said, ‘for my sudden departure. Something from breakfast must have disagreed with me.’ Her voice did not waver once.
Louisa nodded. ‘Of course. I suggest you speak to the cook and ensure this does not happen again.’
Caroline selected a piece of violet silk. Threading her needle was difficult, as despite her outward composure, her hands still shook a little, but at last the silk strand went through the needle’s eye, and she began to embroider a tiny flower. And if her hands continued to tremble, and if Louisa noticed, not a word was said by either sister.
The next day Charles would not sit still, not for a moment, and at last declared he was determined to ride to Longbourn to inquire after Miss Bennet. Mr Darcy agreed to go with his friend, and Caroline and Louisa decided to accompany the gentlemen, in the carriage, as far as Meryton, since they wished to see if any new colours of embroidery thread had arrived.
Miss Bingley Requests Page 16