To all outward appearances, Caroline was a woman to be envied. She wore the latest fashions, attended the most lavish balls, and associated with the wealthy and titled—and she had always tried to reflect an attitude superior to the confidence she felt inside herself—but in reality, she was nothing more than the homeless daughter of a tradesman.
Yes, Caroline would own to it: she had hoped to gain a home of her own in the form of Pemberley, but instead of gaining the home and husband of her deepest desires, she had succeeded in angering her brother, losing the good opinion of his betrothed, and humiliating herself.
“No, indeed,” Caroline repeated. “I shall not go to the north of England. Surely, a journey of that magnitude is not necessary. I shall stay with Louisa in London.”
“Your destination is already decided. I have written to Mama of your coming.”
Caroline would not allow the mention of her mother to dissuade her from objecting again. Yes, she loved her mother and yearned to see her, but not in this manner. “Mama will bear up under her disappointment, for I refuse to go such a distance for no purpose.”
Charles’s jaw clenched. “But it is required,” he said, and then he walked from the room, leaving only hurtful words in his wake. “Caroline, you shall not be welcome in my household until you make proper amends, and I can assure you that your welcome at Pemberley has been suspended until such a time as well.”
Caroline sighed. There must yet be something she might attempt to rectify her situation, for she would neither apologize nor go to the north.
~**~
Louisa surely must have pity on her, Caroline reasoned, for her sister had been chief in both separating Charles from Miss Jane Bennet and advising her about how to proceed with Mr. Darcy. Having little experience with romance, Caroline had sought her sister’s advice and followed it closely.
Yes, Louisa would understand and would save her from Charles’s disastrous plan. She would not allow her beloved sister to suffer for committing the crimes in which she herself was an accomplice.
“But Mr. Hurst and I do not go to London, Caroline,” Louisa said, “or else you should be most welcome, certainly.”
Shocked at the lack of regret in her sister’s tone, Caroline demanded, “Do not go to London? Whatever can you mean? Where do you go?”
“Mr. Hurst has engaged us for a large house party in Devonshire.”
“In Devonshire?”
“Indeed,” Louisa replied airily.
“But,” Caroline protested, “Mr. Hurst may find just as much amusement in London, may he not?”
Louisa set aside the letter she had been composing and turned her attention to her younger sister. “Caroline, do not be obtuse. His schoolfellow has invited a house full, and we are to spend several months at cards and fine foods. It was the only inducement he could want.”
“Cards and food are not exclusive to Devonshire,” Caroline said as she slowly walked closer to her sister and slid her fingertips along the top of the escritoire. “Why must you stay with his friends?”
Louisa rolled her eyes. “Why, for the simple reason that we were invited. Can you not comprehend that?”
There must be a method of convincing her sister to alter her plans. Caroline thought for a moment and then said, “You have never before desired to be in the company of Mr. Hurst’s friends. I recall you saying that they were a group of bloated fools, in fact.”
Indeed, she could hardly imagine her sister willingly placing herself in such company. Mr. Hurst was a gentleman of fashion and fortune, but he was not known for good sense or impressive companions.
“I desire to socialize with them now.” Louisa’s expression clearly meant to convey more than her words made obvious. “And that is all that matters.”
Caroline deliberately misunderstood.
“Then, though the company does not sound particularly educated or interesting, I shall be happy to attend.”
Louisa looked up at her with surprise, and then her expression hardened. Her next words were spoken in the manipulative tone Caroline knew well. “Why, I believed you to be on your way to Cumbria to visit Mama. Charles has arranged it all, including a traveling companion, I believe. He said Mama’s disappointment at missing his wedding could only be assuaged by his promise to deliver you to her door.”
Caroline was affronted. Charles had arranged everything. He had consulted their mother and Louisa, and everyone, it seemed, was in agreement but her.
She chose to speak plainly. “So I am to be sent away.”
Louisa blinked with feigned innocence. She was fully acquainted with Caroline’s actions in London, and she was also privy to the workings of her heart where Mr. Darcy was concerned, so it surprised Caroline that not even the slightest expression of pity stole across her features.
She could pretend to misunderstand Louisa’s intentions no longer. The simple fact was that her sister was removing herself entirely from the altercation. She, who had been of like mind when it came to Jane Bennet, was now more interested in staying out of matters than in supporting her own blood kin.
But Caroline’s vexation and grief over her sister went far deeper.
She had divulged the full truth of her feelings to Louisa. To her, she had confessed her deepest longings. Louisa knew of her desire to marry Mr. Darcy and to gain her own home, to become mistress of Pemberley. Louisa had even offered her advice on how to influence a gentleman, and yet, when all her tactics had failed and Mr. Darcy had proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her sister had abandoned her.
“I am sorry for you, my dear sister,” Louisa said, though she did not sound sorry at all. “But I cannot say I am surprised.”
Caroline found herself overcome by shock at her sister’s words. “Can you not?”
“No, for your intentions with Mr. Darcy were far too overt. It was, at times, painful to watch your interactions with him. You must learn, Caro, to employ a bit of artfulness if you should like to ensnare a gentleman such as my Mr. Hurst.”
A feeling of betrayal settled upon Caroline at that moment. She was neither angry nor embarrassed, but her shock was utter and complete.
“What do you mean, Louisa?”
“Why, precisely what I said. You were ever trying to provoke Mr. Darcy by mentioning Miss Bennet and her connections. Though you believed yourself to be mocking her, you succeeded only in keeping the lady at the forefront of his mind.” Here, Louisa paused in contemplation. “You may well be the most successful unintentional matchmaker in the country!”
Ire rose in Caroline at this suggestion, and her fingers gripped the edge of the writing table. “If that is true, Louisa, then you must also accept that you share that title, for it was chiefly your advice that I followed.”
The sisters eyed each other for many long moments before Louisa said, “Do not you think it wise, sister, to retrench? To take some time away? Perhaps a fresh perspective will be good for everyone.”
“Retrench?” Caroline could barely pronounce the word, so far from her nature was it to retreat from conflict. “I need no pause for perspective.”
“Do you not perceive the benefits?”
“No, indeed. No good can come of such dissemination of our party.”
“Can it not?” Louisa asked. “Our family is suddenly very different. We welcome a new sister to the fold, and naturally, we must all find our footing in the new order. In fact, I am anxious to be away so that I may return as if none of the unpleasantness in London or at Pemberley ever occurred. You ought to do the same.”
Caroline was so angry she could not utter a syllable.
“I perceive your anger, my dear sister,” Louisa said, her eyes now full of false pity, “but you must understand that this decision is for the best. Our best.” She offered Caroline another look that was all condescension. “You must weigh your choices. Is it more important to flatter your vanity or to preserve peace in the family? And I should think that you would like to retain your welcome at Pemberley.”
With the latter, Caroline could not argue. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to contemplate Pemberley, the estate she had one day hoped to call home. In her mind, she could see the massive stone edifice, she could smell the roses that bloomed all summer in the manicured garden, and she could even feel the soft breeze that blew across the pond in the evenings. She could imagine herself ascending the massive staircase in the evenings after she indulged in a quick trip to the kitchen for a bedtime biscuit or glass of wine. She could feel the cool stone underfoot as she padded silently up to her chamber.
“I would never forfeit my rights to visit Pemberley,” Caroline whispered.
“Then off you shall go to Mama.”
“I suppose it is so,” Caroline said.
~**~
And here she was.
In Kendal.
Standing ankle deep in mud at a wretched coaching inn and endeavoring to conceal the full truth of what had taken place from her own mother, the woman she held most dear.
Three
Perhaps the long journey and the uncomfortable accommodations over the past six days had taxed Caroline beyond what she had expected, and now she was suffering from an excess of sentimentality. Yes, exhaustion was to blame for the warm sting of tears in her eyes and the heavy pull in her heart.
“Oh! How I have missed my youngest daughter.” Mrs. Newton stepped back, holding Caroline at arm’s length so she could better observe her. “But you have matured so much that you hardly resemble the little girl I sent to London all those years ago.”
Caroline briefly lowered her eyes and smiled at her mother. “Mama, it has not been so long as that, for we have seen each other numerous times since I left the seminary.”
“Yes, the seminary returned quite a changed young lady. Even your accent was different. You could have hailed from an aristocratic London family. But you were yet a little girl.” Mrs. Newton caressed her daughter’s cheek and then took both her hands. “Now, however, after a short two years in charge of your brother’s household, I find a beautiful young woman before me.”
Caroline forced a smile, but at that precise moment, she appreciated neither the benefits of her education nor her experience as mistress of her brother’s household. Though outwardly she might appear to be a composed woman of sense and education, she felt more like a lost little girl than a woman of twenty years. She had no direction, no friends, no husband, no home, and—for the moment—no siblings.
Mrs. Newton squeezed Caroline’s hands and then turned to Rosemary, who had also escaped the confines of the coach and was standing at a polite distance. “And will you introduce me to your friend, Caro?”
Caroline turned to regard the woman, her companion, whose full name she still could not recall. Covering her embarrassment, she said, “I should have thought Charles had supplied the name of his employee when he wrote of my arrival.”
As Mrs. Newton’s eyebrows raised and then drew down in confusion, Rosemary stepped closer and looked at Caroline with appraising eyes. Again, Caroline willed herself to remember the woman’s surname, but it did not come.
Caroline’s embarrassment only deepened when the woman supplied the name herself: “My name is Rosemary Pickersgill, and I find I am already most indebted to your family for its graciousness in seeing to the employment of a widow such as me.”
Caroline gawped. Pickersgill! Her surname was far worse than her first name. Caroline cleared her throat, composed her expression, and continued by saying, as if she had been cognizant of the appellation all along, “Yes, Mama, this is Mrs. Pickersgill. And this is my mother, Mrs. Newton.”
Her mother had shown no reaction to the horrid name. Instead, she said, “I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Pickersgill, but I find I must correct you at the outset. I am already in your debt, for you have seen my daughter home to us safely.”
At just that moment, Mr. Newton joined them and immediately took Caroline’s hand and pressed it in his. To her consternation, she found he had neglected his gloves and was gripping her kid gloves with his bare hands. Not only was he without proper attire—either to be seen publicly or to combat the winter weather—but it reflected poorly on his wife for having allowed the circumstance in the first place, and Caroline did not like anything to reflect poorly on her mother. Besides, his hands must be quite cold.
Despite the temperature of his bare hands, he spoke with warmth, saying, “Caroline, you have been too long away from us. Your mother has missed you greatly.”
Caroline concealed a wince. Mr. Newton was a kind man even though he had acquired the sum total of his fortune through the building trade. He purported to be an engineer, had been a visitor at the Royal Society in London, and claimed that the design of bridges was more complicated than it appeared, but Caroline harbored doubts. Was not a sturdy piece of timber and some supports all that was required to construct an adequate? It seemed a task that required no special acumen, but he had traveled about the country assisting in their design and accumulating vast wealth.
Caroline forced a smile to her lips and said, “I hope I find you well, Mr. Newton.”
He offered her a grin so wide that his graying sideburns seemed to shift their position upward. “Oh yes, I have a new bridge to design, and I cannot be unwell when my mind is so happily occupied.”
“A new bridge?” Caroline asked quietly as she shot a look toward her mother. Here was Mr. Newton already discussing his trade and in public. “How quaint.”
How unfortunate that his manners displayed no real improvement from his travels and his vocabulary showed no mental aptitude out of the common way. He was wealthy, to be sure, but had he allowed that circumstance to improve him?
Not that Caroline could discern.
In fact, Mr. Newton had always worn his wealth as if it were a newly starched shirt.
Uncomfortably.
Still, Caroline smiled at him, all the while thinking it was perhaps best that he and her mother remained tucked away so far north. Here, he could not cause as much of a scene, for there were few people of polite society to take offense.
He released Caroline’s hand and smiled openly at Rosemary. “And who is your friend?”
Mr. Newton and Mrs. Pickersgill acknowledge each other with bow and curtsey as the presentations were made.
“Mrs. Pickersgill,” he said with a broad smile, “you are very welcome to the Lake District and, indeed, to our home as well. And now, let us be off to Newton House, for you must both be exhausted.”
“Yes, my dears,” Mrs. Newton said with a sweep of her arm, “do allow Mr. Newton to see to your belongings and come along to our carriage.”
Caroline trudged behind her mother across the inn yard to the waiting conveyance, all the while taking care to keep her skirts lifted away from the mud. She did not relish yet another ride, but this trip would be mercifully brief.
The ladies settled themselves within the carriage, and Caroline watched with annoyance as Mr. Newton helped the postboys remove the trunks and boxes from the basket at the rear of the post chaise and carried them to the corresponding basket on the Newton’s coach.
Caroline shook her head as her mother’s husband heaved a large trunk across the inn yard. She had not approved of her mother’s marriage to Mr. Newton for just this reason. Her own excellent father, though born to no social graces, had made certain that he fit into any society. Unfortunately, he had succumbed to fever before he could feel its full benefits. Mr. Newton’s philosophy, however, dictated that he would practice only those manners that made others comfortable and not those that were designed to demonstrate his true position in society as a now-wealthy landowner.
What good was such a position if one did not take hold of all the benefits the status afforded? To Caroline, it was unfathomable. And worse, it kept her mother removed from most good society as well. They would be welcomed in no homes of worth in London.
“Oh Mama,” Caroline said when she could bear it no longer, “can you not encoura
ge Mr. Newton to behave himself?”
Mrs. Newton looked quickly to her husband. “Has he done something amiss?”
“Only look at how he carries his burden like a common plow horse. Why must he insist on undertaking such labors when there are servants about?”
Mrs. Newton turned back to her daughter with a vague look of disappointment on her face. That expression discomfited Caroline greatly, for she did not like to draw her mother’s displeasure.
Mrs. Newton’s lips drew into a cheerless smile as she said, “You must forgive Mr. Newton, my dear. He prefers being useful, and we must make certain allowances for those we love.”
This had long been a point of contention. Her mother was always willing to make excuses whereas Caroline saw the world for what it was—a harsh and fearsome place—and endeavored to protect those she loved from its criticisms. Caroline sighed and said, “Can you and Charles not understand that reputations—and indeed marriages—are built on more than just feelings?” Her words had barely broken from her lips when regret impelled her to snatch them back. She had not meant to disagree with her mother so overtly, but could she not see that the fates of entire families rested on each action in society and on each matrimonial decision? That entire reputations could be destroyed so easily?
Mrs. Newton took both Caroline’s hands in hers once more. “Oh, Caro, let us not begin with such a dismal subject. I am too pleased to have you back with us to spare a thought on a little difference of opinion.”
Caroline answered her with only a tight smile and a heart full of regret.
~**~
After three quarters of an hour on a lovely stretch of undulating terrain, Caroline had heard her fill of Mr. Newton’s narrative on every winter-brown pasture, rock wall, and quaint cottage in sight and was relieved when they arrived at Newton House.
When the coach stopped before the main entrance, Mr. Newton exited and assisted the ladies to the ground, and for a moment, they all looked at the edifice before them.
Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 3
