Miss Bingley Requests

  ‘Caroline, this has gone on long enough. You cannot continue to lie here and grow thinner and paler by the moment. What are you waiting for?’

  ‘You do not know?’ Caroline was shocked enough to sit up. ‘I wait for him, of course.’

  The fierceness left Louisa’s face, and she sank down on to the bed, uncaring that she sat on an edge of Caroline’s nightdress so that Caroline was unable to move. ‘He, I suppose, is Mr Darcy.’

  ‘Of course.’ Caroline placed her hands on either side of her and wriggled a little, to see if she could work the nightdress out from under her sister. It did not move at all.

  ‘Caroline, while you have been lying here, apparently thinking of nothing other than Mr Darcy, the rest of us have lived our lives. We have not thought constantly of only one thing or of only one person. Charles has founded a debating team at his club. Mr Hurst went to his tailor and for the first time has permitted himself to be talked into ordering a yellow waistcoat. And I, I thought myself with child.’ She paused, and raised one hand to cover her eyes. ‘I was certain of it, but if there was a growing life inside me, I lost it.’ Her shoulders trembled, and Caroline knew her sister wept.

  ‘Louisa,’ she whispered. ‘Why did you not tell me of this sooner?’

  Louisa dropped her hand and wrapped both arms around herself. Her cheeks were wet. ‘I did not wish to burden you, when you clearly had enough to deal with on your own.’ Slowly her expression changed, and her eyes sharpened. When she spoke again, anger tightened her words.

  ‘How can you do this to us? We have been beside ourselves with worry. Charles even consulted a physician.’ She raised a hand when Caroline began to protest. ‘We did not allow him to see you. You stated you did not wish to see a doctor, and we acquiesced to your wishes. That does not mean we believed you healthy. Charles described your symptoms and the physician prescribed a tonic, which I gave to you in your evening cup of chocolate.’

  Caroline, incensed, tried to pull herself away from her sister but was held fast by her traitorous nightdress. ‘So! You have not been entirely forthcoming with me! How can I ever trust you?’

  Louisa’s shoulders slumped, but her voice was still sharp. ‘You are behaving like a child. You are old enough to know one cannot always receive what one wishes for.’

  Caroline bit off her angry retort. Something in the way Louisa sat, curled in on herself, and with eyes that gazed off into the distance, seeing something too far away to be fully recognised, stilled her tongue.

  At length, Louisa stood. ‘I have invited someone here. Someone who wishes very much to see you.’

  ‘I wish to see no one!’ Caroline cried, and lay back. ‘Who is there to see if it is not Mr Darcy?’ she said softly, so that Louisa bent closer in order to hear. ‘What is there to live for if I am not to marry him? Who am I, if not mistress of Pemberley?’

  Louisa sat back down on the bed. Caroline was careful, this time, to whisk her nightdress out of her sister’s way. ‘Is that truly what you think?’ Louisa asked, and scorn sharpened her words. ‘Do you think I wanted nothing more than to be Mrs Hurst, mistress of nothing more than an insignificant estate and of a house on the unfashionable side of Grosvenor Street?’

  Caroline felt she was viewing her sister as if for the first time. She had never thought about what Louisa might have wanted, or if she would have preferred for her life to have taken a course different than the one it had followed. ‘You appeared happy when Mr Hurst proposed.’

  ‘Happy?’ Louisa thought for a moment. ‘I suppose I might have been, at times. I was to wed a landed gentleman, and that was good for the family. But there was another …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Another?’ Caroline took in only the smallest of breaths, afraid of distracting her sister.

  Louisa was silent for a long time. Then she nodded. ‘Another. Charles refused his permission. He felt the gentleman was unsuitable because he was younger than I.’

  Caroline gasped. There was no need to be silent now. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her sister, pulling her back to rest against her breast. ‘Oh, Louisa. I had no idea.’

  ‘No one did. I felt too ashamed of where I had placed my affections to speak of it to anyone, even you, dearest sister.’ Louisa tensed for a moment, trying to free herself from Caroline’s embrace, but then relaxed into it.

  ‘It must have been a difficult decision for Charles, to disappoint a beloved sister’s hopes.’

  ‘Oh, it saddened him, I know.’ Louisa placed her hands on top of Caroline’s, which were clasped at her waist. ‘But he was newly come to the position of head of the family, and his responsibilities weighed heavily upon him. I think he regretted his decision later, but I had accepted Mr Hurst by then, and Charles agreed to that marriage.’

  ‘Regretted it?’ Caroline’s head was spinning. After thinking of nothing but Mr Darcy, it was difficult to move outside herself and admit the world. Her sister needed her, though, and no matter what happened or did not happen, Caroline’s love for Louisa and Charles could never be pushed aside.

  ‘Charles told me once that I did not smile after I was married, the way I did before. He began to ask, then, if I thought that I would be smiling differently if—But then he broke off what he was about to say, and turned away from me. But I knew.’ She pulled away, and this time Caroline let her go.

  Louisa stood, straightening her gown. Then she turned back to Caroline. ‘That is why,’ she said, and her voice seemed to come from someone else, ‘I felt torn when Charles appeared to be falling in love with Jane Bennett. If I had thought for one moment, if I had believed that he truly did love her, and she him, would I have acted differently?’

  ‘You would not,’ Caroline said stoutly.

  ‘I might have.’ There were again tears on Louisa’s cheeks. ‘I might have. I would not like to think I am a person who would deny him happiness simply because he denied me.’

  ‘Charles would have had cause to regret it if we had let him marry Jane. Just as Mr Darcy will in time see how very fortunate he was that Eliza refused him.’

  ‘Can you be so very sure?’ Louisa wandered through the room, picking up objects, a hairbrush, a vase, a bracelet, and discarding them. ‘Both Charles and Mr Darcy can afford to marry a woman with no fortune. And both of them are secure enough in their positions in society that such a wife would not greatly affect their standing.’

  Caroline tried to laugh, but her heart was thumping in her chest. ‘But those connections! Can you see Mrs Bennet and her younger daughters staying here in this house, and meeting your friends? Can you see them accompanying Mr Darcy and Elizabeth to court, when Georgiana is presented?’

  Louisa dropped her head, and stared at her feet for a moment. ‘No, I suppose not. You are right; it would have been a mistake for us to act in Charles’ case any way other than we did.’

  There came a tap at the door. ‘Ah!’ Louisa said. ‘Your friend is come.’ She left the bedchamber and returned shortly, followed by Genney and—Eleanor!

  Eleanor swept into the room amid a rustle and flow of pink silk. The scent of lilacs rose from the fabric, and from her skin. The scent roused Caroline, so much a part of her friend that she knew she would never be able to smell that flower without an image of Eleanor, head thrown back in laughter, coming to mind.

  ‘Dear one!’ Eleanor bent at the bedside to brush her cheek against Caroline’s. ‘Why is it so musty in here?’ She marched to the window and pulled the drapes even further apart. ‘You!’ she pointed at Genney. ‘Open this window at once, and do the same for every one in these rooms.’

  She turned back to Caroline and stood, one foot tapping, her hand cupping her chin. ‘What am I to do with you? I thought that surely, if you were languishing, you were doing so in a rose-strewn boudoir with a gentle breeze wafting your unbound hair as you reclined on a chaise! And there would be a young man who looks like a Greek god playing the harp in a corner, as you wept copious tears that somehow, instead of making your
face puffy and your eyes red, created a Caroline more beautiful than ever.’ She sent a mischievous smile at Caroline.

  Caroline, knowing well she did not appear beautiful, nonetheless could not help but respond to her friend’s gaiety. ‘I cannot think of one thing missing from the picture you paint. If only I could meet your expectations.’ She sighed, and the momentary lifting of her mood vanished as she considered Miss Elizabeth’s sparkling eyes and her own faded beauty.

  ‘I can think of one thing more,’ Eleanor said, and standing in the centre of the room, she spread her arms wide. ‘The Greek god in the corner is clad in nothing more than a gauzy wisp of white fabric wrapped about his hips!’

  Louisa gasped, and then pressed her hands to her mouth as she began to giggle. Caroline was shocked to see her always-proper sister overcome with mirth. Her eyes widened even more as Eleanor too, first stared at Louisa and then began to laugh herself. She held out her arms to Louisa, and the two collapsed into each other’s embrace, laughing so hard they lost their balance and collapsed onto the thick Persian rug.

  So ridiculous did they appear, half-reclining on the floor, still shaking with laughter, that Caroline could not help it. She sat up, swung her bare feet from her bed to the same soft rug, and said, ‘I am all astonishment! How is it that a couple of little girls have taken over the bodies of my sister and my friend?’

  The other two stared at her for a moment, then they looked at each other and laughed even more loudly.

  With no conscious effort, Caroline felt her lips widen into a smile, and then part as a sound emerged from her mouth. It was more a croak than a laugh, but it quickly changed, becoming ever smoother and more energetic until she too laughed, and allowed the other two to pull her down until she sat on the floor, the three of them forming an untidy but mirthful heap. Their gowns and her nightdress, Caroline reflected, were no doubt wrinkled beyond help, and then she caught herself in surprise, realising that was the first thought about anything other than Darcy and Eliza she’d had in days.

  As if her thought was a signal, Eleanor rose to her feet, offering Louisa and Caroline her hands. As she assisted them to rise, she said, ‘Tell your maid, Caroline, to prepare a bath, and once you are dressed and have eaten, the three of us shall venture out.’

  ‘And,’ Louisa cried, ‘let London beware, for the three laughing fools are about to set forth!’

  Caroline, again surprised to see this side of her sister, but enjoying it immensely, clapped her hands, and called for Genney to come, at once.

  * * *

  After lunch, which lasted long and was filled with talk about trifles and humour found in the foibles of others, and ended with the largest strawberry shortcake Caroline had ever seen, the three ladies walked arm-in-arm along the street, heedless of those who had to step into the gutter to get past them. ‘Tonight,’ Eleanor said, ‘you must be my guests. I have planned an intimate supper and only my most favourite friends will be present.’

  Caroline, who knew Eleanor had a great many favourite friends, was suddenly overcome with fear at the thought of appearing in society, even though she knew no one else could possibly know of Mr Darcy’s foolish, and ultimately futile, proposal, and how it reflected on her. Louisa turned to her and said, ‘Caroline, you cannot think how much it relieves my mind to see you once again with colour in your cheeks. Please, let your friends see you, so that they too can be assured there is no need for further concern.’

  Caroline was touched at the thought that people, many of importance in society, were concerned about her. Really, what option did she have? She could not stay hidden in her bedchamber forever.

  Arriving at Eleanor’s home that evening, as Charles handed her and Louisa out of the carriage, Caroline felt she was the picture of serenity and confidence. She wore her newest gown, a confection of deep reddish-brown, its skirts overlaid with yellow lace, the bodice embroidered with tiny dark brown beads. Her hair was swept high atop her head, and Genney had woven yellow flowers through the strands. She held her head high and swept up the steps and through the door.

  Once inside and announced, she was delighted that several people approached her right away, saying how glad they were to see her and that she had recovered from her illness. One such person was in the House of Lords, and another was sister to one of the queen’s ladies. It was only after the crowd of well-wishers drifted away to other conversations that Caroline noticed that this gathering was, as Eleanor had said, intimate.

  Instead of the usual throng filling the huge room, there were only about twenty people present. The space had an almost cathedral-like feel, for the voices of these few could not fill it, and even though the furniture was placed closer to the centre, this left an empty space about the walls. Eleanor, though, appeared as bright and energetic as ever, vivacious as she moved from guest to guest, ensuring that everyone was introduced to everyone else, and had someone to speak to and something to drink.

  It was only after she finished her observations of the room that Caroline realised one frequent guest in particular was nowhere to be seen. She considered the indelicacy of inquiring after a man one has refused, but buoyed by the effusive greetings she’d received, and by being once again in society after spending so much time alone, she decided to be daring. ‘I do not see,’ she said to Eleanor, ‘your friend Mr Tryphon. Is he no longer in town?’

  Eleanor took her arm and drew her away from the other people. ‘No, no, he is still here, and learning of your kindness in inquiring about him will do him much good.’

  ‘Has he been ill?’ Caroline asked, frightened, wondering if he had entered into a decline after her refusal.

  ‘No.’ Eleanor looked at Caroline with such intensity that Caroline moved a step back. ‘He is here, in the house,’ Eleanor continued. ‘He is the kindest of gentlemen, as you well know, and did not wish to come into the room unless assured his presence would not cause you any distress.’

  Caroline had not thought of Mr Tryphon during the days she’d hidden herself away. Darcy and Elizabeth had been the only faces haunting her. Does that mean I do not love him after all? she wondered. But as soon as she saw him now, hesitantly peering at her from a doorway, she realised how foolish that errant thought had been.

  He wore the coat she’d always loved the best on him, made of ice-blue wool, its pale colour heightening the contrast his black hair and brows made against his skin.

  She perceived nothing else. The din of conversation, clinking glasses, and laughter, faded away as if they did not exist. His gaze focused on only her. A tentative smile grew on his lips, as if he could not hide his joy at seeing her, even as he feared what her reaction would be. She knew what that smile meant, for her lips formed the same hopes and questions.

  As he came near, without conscious thought she raised her arm, her hand reaching out to him. He mirrored the move, and in a moment, although it seemed an eternity, his fingers grasped hers, his warm hand the perfect size to hold hers, not so large that she felt he tried to control hers, but just large enough to make her feel connected and protected by his touch.

  Her other hand began to reach out also, to cup his face, to caress his cheek, but then she remembered they were not alone, and that she had refused his proposal, in this very room.

  ‘You are pale,’ he said softly, and his other hand, the one not still grasping hers as if it were a lifeline he could never release, rose to cup her face, the thumb caressing her cheek. She swayed on her feet, and he put a hand beneath her elbow.

  ‘You are unwell, Miss Bingley,’ he said. ‘Please, permit me to find you a seat.’

  The room reappeared then, all at once, the noise and light overwhelming. A small distance away, Eleanor stood watching them, with an almost avaricious gleam in her eyes. That could not be right, Caroline thought. Perhaps she is angry with me for hurting him when I refused him, or perhaps she is happy to see us happy. I cannot tell. But surely her interest in what is between Mr Tryphon and myself can be nothing more than that of a
tender friend?

  ‘I thank you,’ Caroline said faintly, unsure of what she was thankful for. ‘I am better than perhaps I appear, and I do not need to sit down.’

  ‘I think,’ Eleanor said, and Caroline saw that she had come to stand with them, ‘seeing you again, Stephen, is all the tonic Miss Bingley requires.’

  There was a slight edge to her voice, and again Caroline wondered, but she was quickly distracted when Mr Tryphon said, ‘Is that the case, Miss Bingley? I would be delighted if it were, for then I should be happy to ensure your constant health by permitting you to see me at all times.’

  He smiled, his eyes still warm, and Caroline did not know what to say, or even if words could express what was in her heart.

  Charles had apparently noticed when Mr Tryphon had entered the room, for he approached now, all smiles, happy to greet an acquaintance. If her brother had been angry at Mr Tryphon’s presumption in proposing in such a dramatic manner, or if he’d been sorry Caroline had not accepted him, there was no sign of it. He greeted Mr Tryphon with the same easy manners he showed to every soul he encountered, and soon had everyone laughing as he recounted an amusing incident at his club.

  Caroline watched the little group, taking advantage of her brother’s arrival to observe her friends. If she had not thought of them during the previous days, she knew now it was a sign only of her distress over Mr Darcy’s proposal to Eliza, and nothing to do with the affection she bore them. Even if Eleanor had truly been working to trap Mr Darcy into marriage, even if Mr Tryphon had thought of marrying Georgiana, Caroline knew she would forgive them.

  Mr Tryphon did not leave her side the entire evening. He kept her laughing with his comments on mutual acquaintances, and shared news she had missed during her illness.

  ‘Lady Torrance is in seclusion,’ he whispered, his breath warm on her ear. ‘It is a huge scandal, for no one thinks Lord Torrance, who is, as you know, much older than his wife, is capable of fathering a child.’