by Jann Rowland
“You there,” called Caroline when she exited her room.
The maid in the hallway stopped what she was doing—some nonsense involving a small alcove—and curtseyed.
“Once again, my room was not prepared as I prefer,” said Caroline. “There are to be lilacs in my room, not lavender. See to it that it is corrected at once!”
“Of course,” said the maid. And then she walked off, though she did not scurry as Caroline had intended.
Narrowing her eyes, Caroline watched the woman walk away, her unhurried gait mocking and taunting her. She almost called the woman back, but instead, she decided to address the issue of the young woman later. She did not know the maid’s name—one maid was the same as the rest, Caroline was certain—but certainly the housekeeper would. The woman would be brought into line or dismissed. It signified little in the end.
In fact, her impertinence was such that the woman reminded Caroline of . . .
Shaking her head, Caroline put that unwelcome thought from her head. There was no need to think of such a distasteful subject, not when she still had to set matters to right. Turning, Caroline approached the small alcove and ran her finger across the mantle of the small shelf set into the space, on which sat a rather expensive vase. There was no dust to be found. The maid must have been hurriedly cleaning it so that Caroline could not discover her neglect.
But there would be other, more visible lapses, Caroline was certain. And it would not take much effort to find them.
At length, bolstered by her findings, Caroline repaired to the front sitting-room—Pemberley boasted several, thought Caroline with a certain smugness—where she joined the rest of the party. Fitzwilliam stood by the mantle of the fireplace in earnest conversation with Charles, who, it seemed, had arrived some time before Caroline had herself. With him, of course, was his provincial wife. An unfortunate circumstance, that, but Caroline supposed that Jane Be . . . Bingley carried herself with tolerable grace and composure. It could have been much worse, she supposed.
Intending to speak to Fitzwilliam concerning the wretched state of affairs she had unearthed, Caroline moved forward, only for her progress to be arrested by a most welcome sight.
“Dear Georgiana!” exclaimed Caroline, turning to greet the girl.
Georgiana rose and curtseyed. “How do you do?” asked the girl, though that irritating shyness was still present in her manner.
Caroline would have thought that all the time they had spent as . . . Well, try as she might, she had never been able to instill a sense of confidence in Georgiana, so there was no point belaboring the matter. Caroline privately thought that Georgiana needed to be sent off to school for more instruction, which would hopefully result in an increase of confidence, but Fitzwilliam would not hear of it.
The sight of another woman rising beside Georgiana diverted Caroline’s attention, and she turned her attention on the interloper.
“Eliza,” said Caroline breezily, suppressing a scowl at the woman’s presence. “I see that you are here as well.”
“Indeed, I am,” replied the other woman. She smiled as she spoke, and in her eyes, the impertinent glint that Caroline had always detested mocked her. It was as if Eliza knew some grand joke, but did not intend to share it. It was always thus. Yet that did not make Caroline abhor it any less.
“And Jane, too,” said Caroline, barely able to suppress a disdainful sniff. “Your journey here was tolerable, I suppose?”
“It was indeed, Caroline,” said Jane in her typically meek fashion.
The sisters were a study in contrast. Jane was fair and tall, while Eliza was dark and of a more petite stature. And whereas Jane was quiet and unobtrusive, Eliza was brazen and had never had any trouble ensuring that the entire room knew of her presence. Though Jane’s meekness was sometimes a cause for irritation, Caroline much preferred it to Eliza’s insufferable boldness. It made Jane much easier to control, which was something to be thankful for. As for Eliza, to Caroline’s vexation, she had never bowed to any sort of manipulation.
Being obliged to sit with the ladies—Caroline almost snorted at the thought of Eliza as a lady—she joined them, and they sat for some minutes making small talk. Of course, such “small talk” consisted of Jane’s diffident opinions mixed with Eliza’s more forceful ones and an occasional comment from Georgiana that typically was nothing more than an expression of agreement with Eliza. Or at least it seemed that way. An almost imperceptible sigh escaped Caroline’s lips; once again, she would be required to take the girl in hand and remove the stain of Eliza’s influence from her manners.
Soon, however, the housekeeper entered the room and announced that dinner was ready. Eager to once again be in Fitzwilliam’s company, Caroline rose and approached him with a smile she reserved only for him; she fancied that through his imperturbable façade, he was in actuality smiling back at her.
“Shall we go in to dinner?”
Fitzwilliam caught the subtle hint to escort her into the dining room, and while he did look over her head at something across the room, he soon obliged her and offered his arm. Thrilled with the feeling of his solid muscles rippling underneath his coat, Caroline allowed him to guide her from the room.
Unfortunately, dinner that evening was as disappointing as the rest of the lapses Caroline had uncovered that afternoon. The dishes were plain and almost tasteless, the wine was not chilled to the correct temperature, the dessert was flat and lacking in the delightful lightness she preferred, and the footmen were preoccupied and inattentive.
And the company—aside from Fitzwilliam, Georgiana, and her brother—was insufferable. It was almost too much to be borne!
There was nothing she could do about the company at present, but she could concentrate on those other matters. Truly, there was much work to be done.
Caroline arose early the next morning, intending to stamp her authority once again on the household. She dressed with the aid of her maid and made her way down to the breakfast room, noting that it was empty when she arrived.
Caroline addressed a nearby footman: “Where is Mr. Darcy?”
“The rest of the party have already broken their fast,” replied the man.
Looking around, Caroline noted the side board, where an array of breakfast foods still sat.
“Very well,” said she as she moved to fill her plate.
Unfortunately, this unseemly habit of arising early was something she could not change in Fitzwilliam. She would have much preferred that he rise when she did, so that he could fill her plate for her. She did so love to be waited upon.
But it was not something to dwell upon. Caroline finished breaking her fast and went in search of the housekeeper, finding her in her office looking over some books. What a tedious task! Caroline was more than happy to allow the housekeeper to continue to perform such duties, as Caroline had much better things to do.
“Mrs. Reynolds,” said Caroline, “I must tell you that I am disappointed. When I arrived yesterday, I found lavender in my room, not lilacs as I have repeatedly requested. Furthermore, the maid I spoke to concerning the matter was rude and impertinent. You must discipline her.”
Rising, the housekeeper looked at Caroline, a bit of a grimace etched upon her plebian features. Truly, after having been housekeeper for so long, Mrs. Reynolds had lost that air of respect for authority that she should have possessed. As a servant, a strict appearance of reverence for Caroline’s position was paramount!
“I am sorry to hear that,” replied the woman. “I will certainly speak to the girl. Can you tell me who it was?”
Caroline waved her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Speak to the servants and discover who it was yourself. I do not know the names of every maid who scrubs the floors and every footman who opens the doors for me. I am certain you shall know who it is, assuming she does not lie about it.
“Furthermore, I have noticed a disgraceful level of dust present in some of the lesser used rooms, and I have discovered several other lapse
s in diligence which must be rectified immediately.”
Proceeding with the interview, Caroline detailed the various issues she had discovered, taking great care to lay them all out in a fashion which was factual but not insulting. Even so, the prickly woman appeared as if she was almost offended by the matters Caroline had to discuss, and her mouth was set in a grim line, though she did not disagree with anything Caroline said. When the interview was complete, Caroline thanked her for her diligence and care—for any good gentlewoman would show favor to the servants—and strode from the room. Now that the interview was at an end, Caroline would be at her leisure. In a rich home such as Pemberley, she was certain she could find some location in which to enjoy her surroundings without having to endure the presence of the interlopers.
Early that afternoon, the company was called in to luncheon. Such a thing was distasteful to Caroline—no one of fashion actually partook of luncheon!—but she went in with the rest of the party nonetheless. She consumed as little as possible, knowing it was incumbent upon her to keep up her figure in order to tantalize and tempt the admiration of her darling Fitzwilliam. However, as she was leaving, her departure was arrested by the sound of that wonderful masculine voice calling her by name.
“May I see you in my study for a few minutes? I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.”
“Of course, sir!” exclaimed Caroline. “I should be happy to assist you in whatever manner I am able.”
A few short moments later, Caroline was sitting in front of the large desk which dominated the room, though she noted with some annoyance that Fitzwilliam had left the door ajar. Furthermore, he was watching her with a faint air of unhappiness. What could have upset him so?
“I understand that you were unhappy when you arrived here,” said Fitzwilliam without preamble. “Perhaps you would be willing to share with me what exactly has offended you?”
Though his words were even, the displeasure in Fitzwilliam’s tone was unmistakable, and Caroline decided that it was best to be discreet in this instance.
“Oh, it was nothing. I handled it immediately, and I am certain it shall not happen again.”
This seemed to do nothing to lessen Fitzwilliam’s pique; in fact, an actual frown came over his face, and Caroline felt slightly intimidated at his stern glare.
“Mrs. Reynolds tells me otherwise. Surely there is something better you could do with your time than bother my housekeeper when she is attempting to complete her duties.”
“I assure you—”
“Let us come to the point, Miss Bingley,” interrupted Fitzwilliam. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms upon his desk as he peered at her. “I have not missed the fact that you consider Pemberley to be your own, and I know of how you have attempted to direct the servants as if you were mistress of this estate. I have tolerated such behavior in the past, as you are the sister of my dearest friend, and I would not cause Bingley discomfort if I can help it.
“However, I can no longer countenance such behavior.”
Sputtering, Caroline tried to find something to say to such accusations, but she found that no words would come in the face of Fitz . . . Mr. Darcy’s glare.
“As you are well aware, my beloved Elizabeth and I have been married for these last three months, and I assure you that I could not be happier with my bride. Elizabeth is the mistress of Pemberley. You would do well to remember that in the future if you wish to continue to receive invitations to stay at Pemberley with your brother. Have I made myself clear?”
Swallowing the bile which was rising in her throat at the sound of that . . . that . . . that Jezebel’s name, Caroline nodded in a hurried fashion. Mr. Darcy could indeed be intimidating when he chose to be so!
“Good. Now that we have pushed past this bit of unpleasantness, I trust that the rest of your stay will be enjoyable. I am sure that Elizabeth will instruct the staff to do everything in their power to make your time with us as comfortable as they can make it.”
Knowing a clear dismissal when she heard it, Caroline rose, and after curtseying, she hurried from the room. Oh, curse it all—there was no other way to describe her movement than to say that she scurried!
Once she was gone from the man’s presence, Caroline stalked toward the stairs, intending to return to her room so that she could nurse her wounded pride in solitude. She rounded a corner and nearly ran into a maid—the same woman whom she had spoken to the day before!—and though she wished to deliver a stinging set-down, she refrained with some effort. Shooting the woman a glare, she moved past her and darted up the stairs, choosing to ignore the smug grin of satisfaction she glimpsed on the maid’s face. Insufferable!
Once inside her room, Caroline paced about the floor, muttering imprecations at the detestable little adventuress who had stolen Caroline’s husband! Out the large window, she caught a glimpse of the Pemberley landscape, the foliage just coming to life after a long and harsh Derbyshire winter.
Not wishing to see what she could have had, Caroline threw herself on her bed and rested an arm over her eyes, wishing that the events of the last months would simply fade away, as the memory of a dream withers away upon awaking. In the back of her mind, one thought kept playing over and over again:
Of all this, I might have been mistress!
On the floor below, Elizabeth watched as Miss Bingley stomped up the stairs. Then she listened to the echo of the slammed door which announced the woman’s entrance into her own suite of rooms. Chuckling to herself, Elizabeth complimented Jenny, the maid Miss Bingley had almost bowled over in her rush to escape. As always, the girl was doing a fine job, and she responded to the compliment with a smile of pleasure.
The door to the study was still open, and Elizabeth peered into the room, noting the way her husband sat back in his chair, his jaw working with frustration and anger. Knowing that he would descend into a foul mood unless she did something, Elizabeth entered the room, and after closing the door, she stepped up to her husband and plopped herself down on his lap.
“Come now, William,” said she. “You knew what Miss Bingley’s visit would be like.”
“I had hoped that she would have enough sense to know that I would not allow her to continue on as she had before.”
“And I knew that she would show no such sagacity,” said Elizabeth, unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “She dreamed of being mistress of your estate for so long that I fear she is unable to separate reality from fantasy.
“Besides, you are well aware of what she thinks of me. She would have no compunction at all in taking action to repair everything I have done incorrectly.”
A pair of arms snaked around her midsection, but William did not pull her close. Instead, he regarded her with that intensity of his, and when he spoke, his words were measured and calm, but with a certain core of steel underneath.
“Elizabeth, if she makes you feel uncomfortable at all—or if she even puts one toe out of line—I will send her away. Bingley will understand. He tells me that since his marriage, he has hardly been able to stand her society himself.”
Elizabeth raised her hand and cupped his cheek with affection. He was so protective of her, so solicitous of her needs. She could not imagine loving him more than she did, but no matter how full her heart seemed, he was continually raising himself in her estimation. Theirs was not a perfect union, but it was founded on respect, love, understanding—all those characteristics necessary for a successful marriage.
But he had a tendency to be a little over-protective. It was something for which she could not fault the dear man, but it was sometimes necessary to remind him that she was not some wilting violet. Her introduction to his sphere of society had proved she was able to handle snobs and snakes, and the sharks in those waters rendered the likes of Miss Bingley nothing more than a minnow in comparison.
“But it would still distress your friend, William, and I would have Mr. Bingley enjoy his time with us without the burden of a sister sent away in disgrace.<
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“I can handle Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth, interrupting when he would have spoken. “You must not concern yourself with me.”
William sighed but smiled at her. “Of course you can. I never thought otherwise.”
“I did not think you did,” said Elizabeth.
The arms about her waist tightened, and Elizabeth allowed herself to be brought in closer, their lips meeting in the sweetness of a kiss which quickly became heated. What rational thought remained reflected upon the one great truth of Elizabeth’s life:
How fortunate I am to be the mistress of this man’s heart!
A Prince’s Ransom
by
Lelia Eye
I wanted to write a short story that had a bit of romance in it . . . but I also wanted to write one in which Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth started off fighting. For some reason, that led me to this situation. I had a lot of concerns about this one, but with Jann’s feedback, I managed to fix a lot of problems, and I have become rather fond of the story as a result. A part of me even felt an urge to make it into a full-length novel! Yet I feel it likely works well enough as it is.
“This is all your fault, you know.”
“You must excuse me for disagreeing, Lady Elizabeth, but I hardly believe it to be my fault that we are being held by a band of ruffians.”
“I despise horses, and I should never have been out riding one were it not for you, sir.”
“I did not coerce you into accompanying me, madam.”
“Perhaps you did not, Your Royal Highness, but my mother certainly did. When a prince indicates his interest in spending time with a young woman, it is difficult for her to refuse him. You put me in an uncomfortable position by asking me.”
“You are the daughter of a duke. I hardly think that your reputation would have suffered had you rejected my suggestion outright.”
