Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (34 page)

Stunned,
Bingley stared at her for half a minute. Pushing up from the billiard table and
crossing his arms over his chest, he mocked, in a voice heavy with sarcasm,
“How generous of you to tell me now. Is this a sudden epiphany between the
breakfast room and here?”

Huffing
loudly, Caroline flipped her arms in the air and flounced away from the table.
“I have never hated Jane Bennet, Charles. She is…pretty and sweet, if not too
bright, and her manners are…acceptable. I suppose you do love her, as you
assert, and with time and proper guidance, she may improve in her elegance
and—”

“Is
this supposed to be an endorsement? Do compliments choke your throat, Caroline?
Never mind,” he bellowed when she sputtered an interjection. “All I want are
your congratulations, even if false, and then your silence on the subject
forever. I am under no illusions that Louisa’s pompousness is less than yours,
but at least she possessed enough civility, respect, and affection to write
with her congratulations. Do you think you can manage that much?”

Hands
balled on his hips, Bingley fought the urge to berate further. Willing his
vexation to abate, he waited for her to reply, and as the time ticked by,
curiosity dampened his frustration. Caroline stood near the dartboard some six
feet away, staring vaguely toward one of the far windows. As typical, her chin
was lifted haughtily and lips puckered as if a sour taste lay on her tongue.
Unusual were the rapidly blinking eyes, the twitching leg fluttering her skirt,
and the nervous twisting of the ring on her left hand. Bingley was frequently
flummoxed by his younger sister’s attitude and opinions, but he was eminently
familiar with her mannerisms and expressions. Everything Caroline did was
practiced, controlled, and purposeful. A restless, distressed Caroline was an
anomaly.

“Congratulations!”
Her shrill exclamation; abrupt, jerky pivot; and scowl were wholly at odds with
the sentiment. Strangely, rather than Bingley’s irritation increasing,
ridiculousness struck him.

Snickering,
he patted his chest. “Ah, Caroline! How you warm my heart with your well
wishes. I pray the effort has not caused you harm?”

After
a collected pause and cleansing breath, she repeated, “Congratulations,” in a
honeyed, sincere tone. “I wish you and Miss Bennet a lifetime of happiness. I
mean it,” she insisted when Bingley’s brows arched, “truly. Jane is…” She
sighed and brushed at something on her cheek. “…a lovely woman. Provincial and
not what I wished for you, Charles, but…I cannot argue that you two are suited.
She makes you happy,” she concluded with a shrug.

“Indeed
she does. Immensely so. Thank you.”

Nodding
once, Caroline turned away and resumed her dreamlike stare out the window.
Bingley frowned, more confused than relieved. She spoke sincerely—he felt
certain of that—and it was nice to hear the admission. Suddenly parched,
Bingley walked to the sidebar and poured a glass of water and then another,
drinking each in one long gulp. Caroline remained slump shouldered and immobile
other than intermittent swipes at her face and a quivering tic along her jaw.

Bingley’s
eyes flew wide.
Good God! Is she crying?
The idea was preposterous! He
searched his memories and honestly could not remember his sister ever
crying—not even when lashed by their nanny while in the nursery. If he
had ever given the topic any thought, he might have speculated her tear glands
were dysfunctional. It was so inconceivable he experienced none of the standard
male guilt or discomfiture at a woman crying. Rather, his inclination was to
exploit her rare emotional state.

“Accepting
my future with Jane is an important step, Caroline, and I sincerely appreciate
your congratulations. Now you must accept Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth.”

“That
I cannot do.”

Leaving
the glass on the sidebar, Bingley circled the billiard table at a moderate pace
and stopped in front of the window she dazedly faced. Indeed, her eyes were red
rimmed and moist, and an unattractive blotchiness covered her cheeks.

Damn
it all! Now I feel sorry for her.

“I
did not realize your feelings for Mr. Darcy were this strong. Having lost Jane
for a time, I can empathize with your heartache over losing the man you love,
and I am sorry—”

“Love?
What are you driveling now? Really, Charles! Just because you are ruled by
maudlin emotions does not mean I am.”

“Then…what?”
Truly baffled, a coherent sentence would not form. Gesturing at his eyes and
then toward her face worked to get his message across.

“You
become lachrymose at romantic poetry, tragic opera, and fluffy kittens
frolicking. I weep when a drab inferior with an impertinent tongue destroys my
future. I cry at injustice, Charles.”

During
her rant, the pooling tears disappeared and she wiped the residual wetness off
her cheeks. Her motley complexion and reddened eyes tipped the scale toward
anger rather then sadness. Bingley believed her claims were how she honestly
felt. That did not make it sensible or right, however.

“I
shan’t belittle the intensity of your emotions, Sister. I disagree with your
perceptions of Miss Elizabeth but doubt my ability to convince you otherwise.
Where you are seriously wrong is blaming her for destroying your future because
you
never
had a future with Darcy.”

Unfazed,
she smiled coolly and shook her head. “You are the one who is wrong. Mr. Darcy
and I are alike. I am his equal, not Eliza Bennet. They are a drastic mistake.”

“This
line of thinking is dangerous. You must see reason!” Bingley rapidly strode
until directly in front of her. “Darcy and Miss Elizabeth are perfectly suited,
and their love is real. Surely you can see that!”

Staring
straight into his eyes, face emotionless, she countered, “I see a man who has
been enchanted. Mr. Darcy is not the same, and I would think, as his friend,
you would fear for him.”

A
shiver raced up his spine. “I fear for you, Caroline. Give up these delusions
of Mr. Darcy before you cause irreparable damage. Fighting the inevitable
serves no one, least of all you.”

“I
refuse to see
that
union as inevitable. Until the vows are recited
before God, they are not married.”

“Listen
to yourself!” Cinching her wrist penetrated her maddeningly aloof demeanor and
placid tone—not much though. Caroline merely turned her head to peer at
him through hard-set eyes. Fighting against the panic choking his airway,
Bingley chastened, “Stubborn you are but not stupid. A betrothal is as binding
as marriage, or near to. Honor is everything to a man like Darcy. If you know
him an iota, then you know that. A gentleman never disgraces a lady or
compromises her reputation.” Gripping her chin hard between thumb and fingers,
he glared sternly into her eyes, his words clipped and hard. “Breaking his vow
to Elizabeth is never going to happen, Caroline. Accept that and accept it now,
or God help me, there will be consequences.”

Bingley
ripped the leather straps off his knuckles, spun on his heels, and stormed out
of the room. He burned to pound the sand bag, but Caroline was too close for
him to trust his resistance—especially with her frighteningly
calculating, smug expression.

* * *

“Miss
Bingley?”

“Yes!
Come in quickly! And shut the door, for pity’s sake!” Caroline flew toward the
maid, yanked her inside, and slammed the door before the words finished passing
her lips. The young servant quailed, but Caroline kept a tight grip on her
wrist, demanding, “Tell me.”

“The
gentleman…came down, just now, and went into the library.”

“Ah!
Very good. And Mr. Bingley?”

“Not
seen him, miss. Must still be in his chambers. He was in a right mean state a
while back, stomping and grumbling—”

“Never
mind that! I must hurry. You know what to do, right?”

The
maid nodded and then hastily spoke when Caroline shot her a dagger-like glare.
“In fifteen minutes, I’ll come to the library, where you will have the door
cracked. Waitin’ for your signal, then I go in.”

“You
must be abrupt and make no noise until inside. Good. This is for
now”—Caroline pressed several coins into the maid’s palm—“and the
rest when I am successful.”

Remaining
calm and walking to the library at a sedate pace was taxing. Fear that Mr.
Darcy may exit the library in the handful of minutes necessary to reach the
other side of Netherfield, where the library was located, urged her to hasten
her steps. But Caroline’s plan depended on her arrival appearing casual, so
entering in a rush and out of breath would defeat the purpose. With luck, his
tendency to pass extended spans of time amongst the dusty books would be the
case this time. She had never understood his enjoyment of poring over boring
dissertations by writers long dead. A rousing novel with romance and adventure
was comprehensible as a worthy entertainment upon occasion, but a bulky tome by
one of those Greek or Roman philosophers—their names similar and
unpronounceable—was inconceivable. It was a minor annoying flaw in an
otherwise agreeable man, and if advantageous today, she might be able to better
tolerate his bookish behavior in the future.

My
future as Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

For
nearly three weeks, an appalled Caroline had watched Mr. Darcy act the fool
over Elizabeth Bennet. He had remained blind to Caroline’s subtle displays of
her superiority, further mystifying and depressing her. Hopes that their
separation while in Town would break the Bennet wench’s enchantment went
unrealized, severely vexing and distressing Caroline. Her moodiness spilled
over while partaking of breakfast that morning—not a wise move—and
she truly feared a line had been crossed.

Then
her brother had unwittingly reminded her of a fact forgotten: “Honor is
everything to a man like Darcy…A gentleman never disgraces a lady or
compromises her reputation.”

Caroline
Bingley rarely needed to resort to devious methods to get what she wanted, and
in most circumstances, it was easier to be forthright. Nevertheless, if
required for the greater good, scheming and blatant duplicity were ethically
sound as far as she was concerned. If Mr. Darcy was unable to think sensibly,
Caroline was fine with forcing the situation.

As
silently as possible, Caroline widened the crack in the library door and
slipped inside. Her prey stood before a bookcase to the right with his back to
her and was running one finger lightly over the spines. He paused a time or two
until apparently intrigued by one title. This he pulled off the shelf. As he
opened the slim book, Caroline left her undetected pose by the door and quietly
moved closer.

Mr.
Darcy finally sensed her presence and glanced over his shoulder. A frown
flashed across his face, Caroline unhappily noted, but in a second it was gone.
Snapping the book closed, he turned and greeted with a proper incline of his
head. “Miss Bingley.”

“Mr.
Darcy,” she responded, following with a perfected smile she knew to be
seductive, as was her sinuous saunter. Avidly he observed her, but his neutral
expression and cool gaze gave no hint that he was affected.

Not
for the first time, she fleetingly wondered if his imperviousness was an
indication of some bizarre abnormality. Indeed, he was more animated with
Elizabeth and stared at her constantly. Yet even with her, Mr. Darcy maintained
his rigid composure and a deliberate distance, seemingly at odds with how a man
was supposed to act when in love. Goodness knows Charles was forever simpering
and gushing florid prose at Jane! It was nauseating, to be honest, and while
Caroline never claimed to possess deep passion or particularly wanted to be
afflicted so, she understood it to be typical. That Mr. Darcy did not embarrass
himself with Elizabeth, as Charles did with Jane, proved to Caroline that his
emotions were not strong.

“I
came to borrow the poems of Christopher Smart for Miss Elizabeth.” He thumped
the book against his open palm. “She has never read them, so it will be a
treat. Now that I have found it, I shall leave the library to you.”

He
stepped to the left, but she shifted the same direction and blocked his path.
“I was hoping for your assistance. I am searching for a copy of Shakespeare’s
Taming
of the Shrew
. Do you know if there is one housed here at Netherfield?”

“I
believe there is a copy in the collection, yes.” He pivoted smartly and strode
briskly to a case on the opposite side of the room, tossing over his shoulder
as she trailed closely behind, “I did not think you a fan of Shakespeare. You
were bored by the Covent Garden production of
A Merchant of Venice
and
once admitted you disliked
Romeo and Juliet
.”

“I
have accepted the errors in my judgment and education. I am determined to
broaden my comprehension of fine literature, Mr. Darcy. A worthwhile endeavor,
do you agree?”

He
did not reply and increased his long-legged pace, Caroline skipping to keep up.
Revealing his familiarity with the three shelves of Shakespeare titles, Mr.
Darcy unerringly retrieved
Taming of the Shrew
and turned to hand it
over. Surprised to find her less than a foot away, she saw him flinch as he
stepped backward, only to encounter the solid wooden bookcase impeding.