My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  The visit to the farm at Matlock turned out to be a great success, if one were to judge by the general approbation of those who journeyed thither the following week.

  Everyone wanted to go, including Mr and Mrs Gardiner and their two daughters. Afterwards, opinions varied little.

  Mr Gardiner thought it was good value and Darcy agreed—if that was the sort of property Fitzwilliam wanted, he should purchase it as soon as possible, he advised. Fitzwilliam declared it would suit him very well indeed, and Mrs Gardiner said the kitchen garden and orchard were superior to hers at Oakleigh. Elizabeth found it to be rather small, influenced no doubt by the accommodation at Pemberley, though she did admit the house had character and style, and needed only some refurbishment to be comfortable. Caroline, though she said little, thought it near to perfection. Only at home in the privacy of her bedroom did she reveal her thoughts to her diary.

  It has been such a strange day. The journey to Matlock to see Colonel Fitzwilliam's choice of a property was generally uneventful, except Emily chased after a dog and fell over!

  The property, situated in a cul-de-sac off the main Matlock road, is quite beautiful. It is a little place, perhaps half the size of Oakleigh and nothing when compared with Pemberley, but its situation and aspect are delightful.

  Rarely have I seen a place more romantically situated than this one.

  It sits in a small scoop of land filled with wildflowers and rampant mint, a pretty farmhouse with its own orchard, stables, and barns, surrounded by a green meadow sloping down to the river. And all this in the shadow of the Peaks, with the woods and the gorge below them.

  Mama thought it pretty, Papa said it was good value, and for myself, though I never would have said so aloud, I could not have imagined a more perfect setting for a music room than the long space upstairs that runs the length of the house, affording from all its many windows such splendid views of the Peaks as to make one want to sing with joy!

  What bliss to live in such a place! How fortunate is Colonel Fitzwilliam to have secured it.

  When I expressed my views to Colonel Fitzwilliam (about the music room, not the part about singing with joy!) to my surprise, he agreed at once. “It will be perfect for just such a purpose, Miss Caroline,” he said.

  No one else in the party took much note of this, but later when we were preparing to leave and Mama had gone to comfort Emily, whose foot was aching from having fallen over in the meadow, he returned to my side and said in quite a serious voice, “That was a very clever idea, Miss Caroline. If I do decide to purchase this property, the upstairs room will definitely be a music room. I cannot think of a more appropriate use for it, and when it is ready, I hope you will play and sing for us there one day.”

  I thought he was just being polite, as he always is, but he did sound quite sincere and I do believe he meant it.

  The early arrival of her sister Jane's baby daughter Emma completely absorbed Elizabeth's mind, and she quite forgot the concerns of Colonel Fitzwilliam and his farm, including her own opinion of his association with her cousin Caroline.

  Little Emma Bingley, everyone agreed, was going to be a beauty like her mother. Her doting father could not stop boasting to all and sundry about his lovely wife and daughter, and no other topic was considered more worthy of any expense of time. Every visitor had to be shown the child, so they might agree with her father. Mr Bingley was in his element.

  And then, it was almost time to start preparing for Christmas again.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam, meanwhile, had contacted his lawyers and set in train the necessary arrangements for the purchase of the property at Matlock, well satisfied that it would suit his purposes. Mr Gardiner and Mr Darcy had both agreed that it was a sound investment.

  In another matter, however, he was not to be so fortunate.

  His ambitions to enter Parliament were thwarted when he failed to gain the support of sufficient numbers of men in the Whig Party to enable him to stand for the Commons under the reformist banner in the forthcoming election. The deteriorating situation in the country had given him hope that youth and enthusiasm would carry the day, but he had not the kind of immediate influence that he needed to obtain endorsement.

  Disappointed and determined to try again, he called on the Gardiners to break the bad news to them and, finding the family deep in their preparations for Christmas and Caroline's birthday celebrations, he discarded his disconsolate mood and stayed to help.

  The Gardiners' sons, Richard and Robert, were home from college and, together with their sisters, helped cheer him up.

  The warmth and friendliness of their household, so very different to the way it had been in his own somewhat austere childhood home, appealed to him, and when they made him welcome, he could not resist their hospitality. He stayed to dinner and came again the following day and the day after that, always finding matters of business or pleasure to take him there and engage his attention.

  It was not until Boxing Day, however, that he began to understand that his pleasure in visiting Oakleigh seemed to have more and more to do with the Gardiners' eldest and loveliest daughter, Caroline.

  He spent the entire afternoon in an agony of indecision and anticipation, during which time he had sorely tried the patience of his hostess, Mrs Darcy, by enquiring of her, on three separate occasions, at what time their party would be leaving for Oakleigh.

  When finally they arrived at the Gardiners' residence, fearing he would betray his feelings, which he had only just begun to acknowledge to himself, he then forced himself to behave with the utmost propriety and restraint, bordering almost upon indifference to Caroline.

  On first seeing her as she entered the room with her father, he barely met her eyes before disappearing into an ante-room simply to avoid committing some unforgivable indiscretion that would give him away. She looked particularly appealing, in a gown of cornflower blue silk, with her dark hair done in a new Grecian style, and Fitzwilliam was sure she would have many partners.

  To his relief, Caroline's cousin James appeared to have been assigned the role of her escort for the evening, and it was he who led her into the first dance. Having previously extracted from her a promise of two dances later in the program, Fitzwilliam kept his distance as a seemingly interminable queue of brothers, friends, cousins, and uncles had to be allowed to dance with her before he could claim his reward for his patience and discretion.

  When he did, however, she appeared so genuinely delighted that he was certain she must have sensed something of his eagerness. As he bowed and asked for the honour of this dance, she smiled and took his hand and accompanied him to the centre of the room, saying softly, “I was beginning to think you did not find the music to your taste, Colonel Fitzwilliam, so rarely did I see you dancing tonight. Indeed, I wondered if you might not dance with me at all,” then seeing the outraged expression upon his face, she added quickly, and with a charming smile, “I see I was mistaken and am very happy to have been so.”

  As they danced, they spoke but little, and it may have seemed to those observing them that they were merely a particularly well-matched pair of dancers, but in Elizabeth's mind there was no doubt at all. Clearly, Fitzwilliam was fascinated by her young cousin; whether he knew it or not, it was plain to her. Whether young Caroline knew was quite another matter. Whatever the answer, Elizabeth did not fail to notice that they danced only with one another for the rest of the evening, until supper was announced and the musicians took their rest.

  As they went into the dining room, her sister Jane, always alert to a romance in the making, did not improve matters when she commented that Caroline and Fitzwilliam made a very handsome pair, to which Elizabeth could only reply that none but a blind man would fail to see that they were also very much in love.

  On returning to Pemberley, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had been unusually quiet during the short journey from Oakleigh, thanked his host and hostess and went directly to his room. Elizabeth wondered whether her husband had noticed what she h
ad, but it had been a long day and Darcy seemed tired; she refrained from questioning him on the subject, planning instead to observe both Caroline and Fitzwilliam over the next few weeks to ascertain if anything more were to proceed from tonight.

  Elizabeth had often seen couples appear to be strongly attracted to one another at a ball or a dinner party, where the romantic music and the general ambience might encourage such impressions, yet on later reflection, their attraction often failed to survive the cold light of day, not to mention the disapproval of their families. Of the latter, she expected there may well be a considerable amount in this case, on account of the difference in their ages.

  Fitzwilliam was probably thirty-two years old while Caroline was just fifteen; Elizabeth would not have been surprised if their apparent fascination with each other, which had been so plain to her that night, was somewhat short-lived. Still, she would watch closely, because as far as she knew, her young cousin had never been in love before and it would not do for her to be hurt, especially not by Mr Darcy's cousin.

  Caroline, meanwhile, feeling astonishingly alert and bright at the end of what had been a very long and exciting day, lay in bed, wide awake, unable to sleep. The evening had been more than memorable; it had been unique in her experience. One subject engrossed her thoughts, and as she turned it over in her mind, she knew she was afraid to admit, even to herself, that she was probably on the very verge of falling in love with a man almost twenty years her senior—who until a few months ago, she had regarded only as her father's friend and business partner.

  Yet, since his return to England in early Autumn, something had changed between them. There was no denying it; she had been aware of it from the very first day, when he had arrived whilst they were reading poetry on the terrace at Pemberley and they had read William Blake's poem together. Since then, they had talked often of Blake and why “Jerusalem” was Colonel Fitzwilliam's favourite poem and gradually, she too had begun to respond to its stirring message.

  He had been delighted when she, having committed the poem to memory, had spoken it again as they had walked in the grounds of her father's property, and he had told her of the despoiling of the moors and meadows of the midlands with coal pits and slag heaps and the cramming of thousands of former rural men, women, and children into hideous mills and mines all over England. When they spoke of the children in the mines, there had been tears in her eyes.

  They had met again on several occasions, always with their families around them, and each time she had become conscious of his attention to her. Though he had said nothing explicitly to mark her out, it was there in his manners and actions, in small but significant ways and in the way he seemed to watch her, even when she was not in his immediate circle.

  When he spoke with her, it was neither in a patronising manner, nor in that foolish, flattering way that men like Wickham used to flirt with young girls. But there was a special attention, a more personal communication that she could not fail to sense each time they met.

  He would listen as if everything she said was important to him, and when he spoke to her, she remembered every word, every expression exactly. With no other man of her acquaintance had it been so.

  When at the Pemberley party, they had sung together the same English lyric they had sung three and a half years ago, when she was a mere girl; Caroline had felt the difference and she had trembled, not because she was young and shy, as her cousin Jane had thought at the time, but because she was conscious that they had sung so well together, enjoying it so much, even she had been surprised and touched by it.

  When Fitzwilliam had taken her hand in his and kissed it, as the assembled guests applauded, all manner of hitherto unknown sensations and feelings had flooded through her, leaving her flustered and confused. Her deep curtsey had been as much to hide her confusion as to acknowledge their appreciation.

  Caroline Gardiner was a romantic young person, but she was neither foolish nor naïve. She knew in her heart that if she permitted herself to fall in love with Colonel Fitzwilliam, it would not be a matter of flirtation and silliness but would inevitably lead to a deeper attachment, should he wish it. She knew she would not be able to contain her feelings.

  And therein lay her dilemma; for while she was aware of a change in her feelings towards him, she was, as yet, unsure whether, on his part, there was any desire for an affection deeper and more significant than mere friendship. It would need to be a deep and sincere affinity, if she were to respond to it as she wanted to. Else, she knew well, it would end only in misery and Caroline was unready for that risk.

  As if silence would help protect her secret feelings, she resolved not to speak of the subject to anyone, certainly not before Colonel Fitzwilliam had spoken to her.

  “If he does care for me as deeply and truly as I do for him, he will want to tell me before long. He must wish to discover if my feelings are the same. Until he does, I shall keep my counsel and no one shall know how I feel,” she resolved.

  What anxiety or pain lay ahead for her, she knew not. That there may be some of that to endure, she was well aware. Yet, despite her refusal to even contemplate such a situation until she knew his mind, Caroline could not keep her innocent thoughts from returning again and again to the possibility of loving and being loved by him as a most welcome and pleasurable prospect, as she drifted into sleep in the early hours of the morning.

  The New Year brought no resolution to Caroline's predicament, for Colonel Fitzwilliam had to travel to London on business with her father. On the morning they were to depart, he called to say farewell to the family, and her brothers monopolised him, while the bustle of servants loading Mr Gardiner's trunk and papers into the carriage surrounded them. Only moments before they were to start, while Mrs Gardiner had rushed upstairs to fetch some missing item of her husband's luggage, did he approach her as she stood in the hall and say in a friendly though not especially intimate or affectionate manner, “Miss Gardiner, Caroline, I must say good-bye now, but I promise I shall return with a copy of your favourite song by Mr Handel, of which we spoke on your birthday, and I hope we shall soon hear you sing it for us.”

  In mentioning the song “Where e'er you walk…", which they had both commended, was he, she wondered, reminding her discreetly of her birthday, on which occasion they had heard it admirably performed and wished they had a copy of the music so they too might learn to sing it?

  It was also the last evening on which they had spent so much time together and all so pleasantly that each had seemed not to want to break away until the carriage for Pemberley was about to leave and Fitzwilliam had to go.

  Did he expect from her some response other than the simple line: “Thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I shall look forward to learning it.”

  She was not to know, for Richard and Robert were back to shake his hand and her mother was coming downstairs. There was time only to give him her hand and say, “I shall pray that God speed you and Papa safely on your journey.”

  At which, he smiled, kissed her hand, and was gone to enter the carriage, followed by Mr Gardiner. Caroline watched from the window on the landing until the vehicle was hidden from sight by the ancient oaks that gave the property its name and then went quietly up to her room.

  After some weeks of separation, they met again at Georgiana Darcy's wedding, on a fine Spring morning at Pemberley.

  Caroline had dressed for the occasion with more than usual care, knowing he would be there. As the cousin of the bride and one of her guardians, Fitzwilliam would be prominently involved, she thought, and would probably not notice her in the midst of the large and distinguished party assembled at Pemberley.

  Even the redoubtable Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter Anne were attending, gracing Pemberley with their presence for the first time since the marriage of Darcy and Elizabeth, of which Her Ladyship had so disapproved. Elizabeth had informed them of this with some glee, suggesting mischievously that Her Ladyship was probably hoping to catch her nephew's wife out
in some social faux pas that would, in retrospect, justify her objections to their union.

  As Her Ladyship's nephew, Fitzwilliam would be kept busy, Caroline was certain, waiting upon his aunt and paying attention to her daughter.

  Which was why she was so surprised when he appeared at her side as she waited with her family to see the bride and groom arrive at the banquet, and asked if she would do him the honour of letting him escort her into the dining room.

  So taken aback was Caroline that she almost forgot to thank him for the music he had sent her through her father. Mr Gardiner, who on his return from London always brought them gifts, had pointed out that this was one gift he had not chosen, for being a fairly plain man he was no connoisseur of the delights of Mr Handel's music, but the colonel had assured him that Caroline knew all about it. Oddly, this had caused no comment among the Gardiners.