Miss Bingley Requests

by Judy McCrosky

  Without needing to be shown the way, like a predator on the scent of her prey, she went straight to the study, where Mr Darcy, Caroline knew, was currently ensconced with Charles and the owner of the bank with whom Mr Darcy did business.

  Lady Catherine flung the door open wide with a resounding crash. ‘Fitzwilliam.’ Her voice was not unduly raised, but the word seemed to echo into the sudden stillness. ‘I will speak to you at once. Alone.’ She waved her hand as if shooing away a fly, and the banker, all dignity lost, scuttled out of the room behind Charles. Lady Catherine closed the door practically on his heels.

  He gave a quick nod to Caroline and Louisa who had left the sitting room in hopes of discovering more about the result of their letter and rushed away to the safety of the outdoors. Charles remained in the hall with his sisters. ‘Caroline,’ he said affably. ‘You are staring at that door so keenly I would be astonished if you could not see right through its stout oaken planks.’

  ‘Would that I could,’ she said, her ears seemingly moving outwards from her head in the effort to hear what passed within.

  ‘I am all astonishment,’ Charles said. ‘Are you truly going to stand out here and eavesdrop on a private conversation?’

  Neither sister answered him, both moving closer to the door so they could press their ears against it. Charles grasped Louisa’s shoulder and pulled her back. ‘What would the servants think to see you acting in this unseemly manner?’

  Caroline couldn’t hear anything other than a rumble of voices, one shrill, the other moderated and low. She cursed Mr Darcy for installing such thick doors.

  ‘Our presence here,’ she said, ‘will prevent the servants from listening, as they are wont to do. Far better that we hear what passes, so we can console Mr Darcy, than a housemaid or footman become privy to his private life. Servants do gossip so, you know.’

  ‘Console?’ Charles examined Caroline carefully, his face only inches from hers. ‘How is it you know he will require sympathy? Can it be that Lady Catherine’s unheralded arrival here was not so unexpected by you?’

  Caroline and Louisa looked at each other.

  ‘Aha!’ Charles said. ‘You have been up to something. You never could hide anything from me, not even when we were innocent children. Although given your current proclivities, I have to wonder if you ever were inno—’

  ‘Oh do be quiet, Charles,’ Caroline said crossly. His voice was drowning out any words she might have been able to hear from the study. Just as she was about to press her ear against the door again, it suddenly opened.

  Without deigning to notice the three in the hall, Lady Catherine moved majestically past them. She was followed by Mr Darcy who, surprisingly, was smiling. ‘I thank you, Aunt,’ he said. ‘What you have told me has greatly cleared my mind.’

  ‘I knew you were capable of seeing the right path,’ she said. ‘Although, you should be ashamed of yourself for falling for that minx’s wiles.’

  ‘Oh, there are many things I have done and said recently,’ he said, holding out his arm to escort her down the hall, ‘of which I am deeply ashamed. I intend to rectify the matter immediately.’

  ‘You are a dear boy.’ Lady Catherine patted his arm. ‘Now I must return to Rosings.’

  ‘You do not wish to stay and take some refreshment before your journey?’

  ‘I thank you for your hospitality, nephew, but I have travelled too many roads during the past days. I wish to return home at once, now that my mind is set at ease.’

  ‘I am glad I could be of assistance.’ Mr Darcy’s smile was now a broad grin.

  * * *

  The entire house seemed to be holding its breath during the hours after Lady Catherine’s departure. Caroline felt lightheaded, as if she too, was refraining from taking air into her lungs. When Georgiana returned from an outing with Mrs Annesley, she seemed to sense the strain, for she quickly retired to her rooms.

  Even though Mr Darcy must have realised he was the subject of everyone’s gaze, that everyone was bursting with the need to know what effects his aunt’s visit had caused and what he planned to do now, he remained frustratingly the same as usual.

  He spent some time in his study, sitting at his desk and going through some papers. He’d kindly left the door open so Caroline, who discovered a frequent need to pass through the hallway, could see he was apparently completely absorbed by his work. He then moved to the library, and sat down with a book.

  Caroline joined him, picking up the first book she saw and sitting across from him, dropping her head as if engrossed in her book while she sent glances through her eyelashes to try to ascertain exactly which book it was that held his complete attention. Alas, she could not quite read the gilt letters on the book’s spine, and so had to lean forward to see more closely.

  She came close to losing her balance and tumbling from her chair onto the floor, at which point Mr Darcy looked up, eyebrow raised, and asked if she was quite all right. Raising her book to hide her flushed cheeks from him, she discovered she had selected a volume that discussed the merits of raising rabbits to put meat on the table, which included graphic diagrams of how best to kill and butcher them. Closing her eyes tightly in mortification, she heard Mr Darcy rise, pause for a moment before her, and then his footsteps grew softer as he left the room.

  Dropping her book with relief, she hastened over to where he had been sitting, hoping he’d left his book on the table by his chair. She was in luck and reached to snatch it up. It was a treatise on the merits of the British parliamentary system. She dropped it into the chair he’d been using, surprised beyond words.

  Where were the ardent poems about love she’d assumed he’d want to absorb? Why was he not, even now, kneeling before her, having realised that she was the only true choice he had for a wife?

  When she finally bestirred herself, it was time to dress for dinner. At table, Mr Darcy appeared exactly the same as always, sitting with perfect posture, cutting his meat with deliberate strokes, responding occasionally to Charles’ conversation about his new boots. Caroline knew she was unusually silent during the meal, but no one appeared to notice except Louisa, who was also captured by the heavy atmosphere inside the house, the sense that everything was in abeyance, waiting to learn what would happen.

  It finally did. Rising from his chair as the ladies left the dining room to leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars, Darcy said to Charles, ‘I think we should ride to Netherfield Park first thing tomorrow morning.’

  And at that moment, Caroline realised she’d lost. She would never be the mistress of Pemberley. She’d known this before, but a tendril of hope had always remained. Now though, there was no hope at all.

  In the parlour, she and Louisa sat in silence, both too overcome to find the energy to speak. At last, Louisa sighed and said, ‘I suppose we must inform the maids to pack this evening.’

  Caroline had been feeling as if she was surrounded by a heavy damp fog, too thick to permit her to so much as think, never mind move. Suddenly, while the fog did not lift, a dim light shone off in the distance, showing her the path. ‘I,’ she said, ‘will not be leaving London.’

  ‘Stay here?’ Louisa asked, astonished.

  ‘Do you think,’ Caroline asked bitterly, ‘that I wish to be in Hertfordshire to congratulate Miss Eliza on her engagement to be married?’

  Louisa was even more astonished. ‘You think that after his aunt’s visit he will propose to Elizabeth and not to his cousin Anne?’

  ‘I am certain of it. I know him well, and he is still in love with Eliza. Her ploy has worked, his love is more passionate than it was before she refused him, and she will not turn him down this time.’

  ‘Oh, Caroline,’ Louisa began, but Caroline stood and went to the window. Against the backdrop of street lamps and houses with glowing windows, listening to the clops of horses drawing carriages up and down the fashionable street, she studied her reflection in the glass. Her eyes appeared enormous; her hair rose much higher over her fa
ce than it did in the proper mirror in her bedchamber, and down one side of her face, a ripple in the glass made it appear that her cheek sagged down, pulled by the inexorable force of gravity.

  ‘I know now,’ she said to her flawed reflection, ‘what I must do. Just as Mr Darcy returns to the one who refused him, so too shall I go to the one I have refused.’ Squaring her shoulders, she turned away from the almost-frightening image in the window. ‘I will wed Stephen. I love him, although I was willing to put that emotion aside for the sake of advancing our family. Stephen is a gentleman with an estate, and while it cannot possibly be as grand as Pemberley—’

  ‘No estate can be as grand as Pemberley,’ Louisa interjected.

  ‘Exactly,’ Caroline nodded. ‘Still, he is a good match, any man with Eleanor’s patronage must be. And I shall be happy with him. Oh! Louisa, I have never been, nor will be, as happy as I am in his presence!’

  And just like that, with no particular effort on her part or, she suspected, any outward change, the burden she’d carried during the past many months dropped away, leaving her feeling as light as air. She even danced a little pirouette, which caused Louisa to burst into laughter.

  At that point the gentlemen joined them, eager to discover the joke, but Caroline merely poured tea for them and sat, her eyes dancing now instead of her feet.

  * * *

  Caroline had last received a letter from Eleanor while she was in Scarborough, and that letter had been forwarded from Pemberley. In it, Eleanor said that she was living very quietly, preferring peace from the constant social whirl. This surprised Caroline, but in truth she hadn’t thought much about her friend while her mind had been so filled with fears about Mr Darcy.

  Now her mind was clear, and she sent a note to Eleanor, announcing her arrival in town and mentioning her hope to see her dear friend as soon as possible.

  Eleanor sent a letter back the very next day, inviting Caroline to dine that evening. Caroline accepted with alacrity, and spent much effort ensuring she would look her best.

  When she arrived, Eleanor ran lightly to greet her, giving her a kiss on each cheek. ‘Let me look at you,’ Eleanor cried, standing back. ‘I declare, it has been ages. You must promise me this very moment that we shall never be parted again!’

  Caroline smiled, and studied her friend in turn. Eleanor looked tired. The skin beneath her eyes was puffy, and there was a crease on her forehead that had not been present before.

  The house seemed tired too, as Eleanor led her through different rooms to a small sitting room Caroline had not seen before. The larger rooms were dark, lit only with one or two lamps, and it appeared that some of the furniture was no longer in place. Perhaps Eleanor had moved it to different rooms, wanting to leave more space for dancing when she entertained.

  When Caroline mentioned this, Eleanor seemed a trifle embarrassed, and then laughed. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I have no need for dancing these days. I much prefer to see only my very closest friends, and I now send out invitations very sparingly. I am so fatigued with great crowds and the noise they create. How much better it is to be able to speak intimately with those one most values. Would you not agree, my dearest?’

  Caroline hid her surprise, and nodded, unsure of what to say. She was unable to visualise her friend living a quiet life. In the past Eleanor had been most fully alive when in society, surrounded by hordes of men to flirt with, and women about whom to gossip.

  The small sitting room looked, Caroline thought, like a room one might have given over to the housekeeper. The furniture was well-used, upholstered in fabric that had been so long out of fashion Caroline could not recall having ever seen it before. There was only one window, and it was small and gave a view on to a back alley where Caroline could see a driver in his cart filled with barrels of ale. Why on earth would Eleanor choose to sit in a room where she could see only servants, Eleanor who had always prided herself on knowing everything that happened in society?

  It would be impolite to ask though, and so Caroline turned her mind to the thought that was foremost in her visit here. ‘Will Mr Tryphon be joining us?’

  ‘Oh!’ Eleanor broke into a wide smile. ‘He will be so happy to hear that you have asked about him!’

  ‘Has he gone away, then?’ Caroline asked, her heart jumping into her throat. Had she missed her opportunity?

  ‘Oh no,’ Eleanor said quickly. ‘He is here, keeping me company. But he was unsure of how you feel about him, and did not wish to cause you any distress with his presence.’

  ‘Foolish man,’ Caroline said indulgently. ‘I could never be anything but delighted to be in his company.’

  Eleanor studied Caroline for a moment, in silence, and Caroline wondered at the hope she saw suddenly flare into her friend’s eyes. Then Eleanor leapt to her feet. ‘I shall fetch him at once!’ she cried and ran from the room.

  Why did she go herself and not send a servant? Caroline wondered, but all thoughts then vanished when she realised she would soon see Stephen. She stood and sat again, ensuring her gown was draped in the most attractive way. She raised a hand to her hair, but found no errant strand to concern her. Thrusting her shoulders back, raising her head to show off her elegant, long neck, she endeavoured to appear completely unconcerned.

  She did not have long to wait. Within moments she heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and Stephen burst through the door, followed closely by Eleanor.

  ‘My dear Miss Bingley,’ he cried. ‘Words fail me. Let me say only how very beautiful you are, and how happy I am to see you.’ He fell to his knees before where she sat and seized her hand, bringing it to his lips. She realised suddenly how much she’d missed seeing his brown eyes gazing so hotly up into her face. She put her other hand over the one that still clasped hers, and smiled, foolishly, she knew, like a little child when given a sweet, but it did not matter, nothing mattered, other than she was with Stephen once again.

  The evening passed quickly. Eleanor spoke but little, her eyes never leaving the two who had so much to say to one another that they scarcely noticed her lack of conversation. Over the next several days, Caroline saw them often. They came to dine at the Hurst’s home twice, and once she took them to the theatre, where they sat in Mr Darcy’s box, empty since he was out of town. They went for rides in Mr Hurst’s carriage, and sometimes she and Mr Tryphon walked together, her hand resting on his hard-muscled forearm.

  Although Eleanor had left them alone a couple of times, he did not renew his proposals. Caroline wondered at this, for she knew he was even more in love with her than he had been. She knew from the times he spent gazing at her in silence, a small smile playing on his lips, and how he touched her often, little caresses that were not improper, but full of heated promises. He was fascinated by everything about her and everything she said, and she in turn never tired of learning more about him.

  She therefore gave him all the encouragement she could, caressing his cheek when no one could see, giving him her full attention when he spoke, and letting her eyes linger on his broad shoulders, his deep eyes, and thick wavy hair. Indeed, it was no hardship for her to do these things, for she loved looking at him. At times she even caught herself looking, out of the corner of her eyes, of course, at the ripple of muscles that showed on his thighs through his tight breeches. At these times her breath grew tight and hot in her throat and, dragging her eyes towards the more respectable parts of his person, she wondered how it would feel to run her hands over those wide shoulders, or to have that broad chest pressed against her softness.

  At last, there came the day when she realised he was ready to speak. Eleanor had left them alone in the small sitting room. Caroline hardly noticed the shabbiness any longer, all her senses filled with Stephen whenever and wherever she was with him. He sat across from her, looking down at his hands in his lap, his fingers twisting and untwisting. Twice he raised his eyes to her, opening his mouth as if to speak. She smiled encouragingly, but each time he looked down again. Finally, when she
was wondering if she should encourage him in some way, perhaps even ask if he had something particular to say to her, he rose and squeezed onto the small settee beside her. It was small enough that the side of his leg pressed against her own, and he had to raise his arm, laying it across the back of the settee just above her shoulders, in order to fit his broad frame into the available space. She did not draw away and closed her eyes to let the heat of the contact between their thighs, even through his breeches, and her petticoats and gown, wash up through her body.

  She opened her eyes to find him smiling at her. ‘Is my proximity,’ he asked, ‘so wearisome to you that you feel the need to drop off to sleep?’

  ‘No,’ she gasped, ‘in fact, your nearness has quite the opposite effect.’ She paused, amazed at how forward she was being, yet knowing nothing could stop her from showing him all that was in her heart. ‘When I am with you, my breath comes faster, as if I have been running, but any running I have been doing is towards you, my dear, dear Mr Tryphon.’

  He seized her hand. ‘You do not know how much it means to me to hear you say that,’ he whispered. ‘I, too, am not myself when I am with you. Or perhaps I should say, I am more fully myself only in your presence. I love you, Caroline, I have since the day we met, and I cannot hide from you any longer.’

  ‘I love you too,’ she said, and had to look down from the sudden blaze in his eyes.

  ‘My darling,’ he cried, and touched her lips with his.

  Caroline had never imagined there could be a sensation this exquisite, and she parted her lips to gasp. At her tiny movement, he deepened the kiss, but so tenderly, she hardly realised it when her mouth opened to his.

  Just when she thought she would faint, her head whirling, her body seemingly about to catch fire, he pulled back, leaving her breathless.

  ‘My dear,’ he said, pulling away, and she almost cried out at the sudden loss. He moved to his knees and rested one forearm on her lap, holding her hand in both of his. ‘Will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?’