Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

by Jennifer Becton

  “Oh, I would not give up a ride for anything,” Lavinia said for him. “And neither would my brother nor your companion, I think, for it is too fine a day to neglect the horses, is not that right, Mrs. Pickersgill?”

  Rosemary smiled. “It is a fine day for riding.”

  Well! Caroline was going to have to resort to honesty and forget the idea of keeping Mr. Charlton behind. Their party had arrived in the stable yard, and the stench of manure, hay, and leather assaulted Caroline’s senses. She was preparing to make her excuses as she approached the barn’s ingress, where she discovered Mr. Rushton awaiting them.

  Apparently, he was to be a part of the riding party. He stood beside his horse, a hulking grey beast, and watched her approach as if she were the only person arriving.

  She did not give him the satisfaction of an acknowledgment. In fact, in recent days, she had attempted to avoid him as much as possible, a difficult task given that they were residing in the same house. But manage it she had, and they had spoken but little. Besides, he and Mr. Newton had been busy mucking about in the library and debating bridge schematics. That was hardly conversation that might interest Caroline.

  “Good day, Miss Bingley,” he said with all evidence of politeness, but his eyes held mischief.

  Any idea of making her excuses and avoiding the ride disappeared. She would not give Mr. Rushton the satisfaction of seeing her wheedle out of their equestrian activities. He had an uncanny way of reading her motives, and she had no wish for him to witness her giving in to fear.

  There was much shuffling about the stable as mounts were chosen and readied. Caroline kept herself out of the way of the commotion as well as she could, and far too soon, the horses were prepared and led to the stable yard for mounting.

  Mr. Rushton found her at the back of the group and gave her a curious look.

  “Allow me to present your mount, Miss Bingley.” He left his horse by the fence and headed toward a small bay pony a few yards away. “This is Mossy, your mother’s mare.”

  The pony mare looked at Caroline with dark, unconcerned eyes. Even this calm creature seemed much too big and powerful to consider sitting upon, but if her mother rode this pony, she ought to be able to manage one outing. Besides, Caroline had been able to survive her equitation lessons at the seminary. Certainly, her education would not fail her.

  Caroline stood by the pony, and Mr. Rushton seemed to be awaiting her for some reason.

  “Am I required to introduce myself to the creature?” she demanded.

  His pale brows lowered as he considered her. “Most people give them a pat on the neck at least.”

  “If you insist,” Caroline said as she reached out her gloved hand to the pony’s neck. Mossy flinched at the sudden movement, and Mr. Rushton again eyed her.

  The others had mounted, and Mr. Charlton called down to them, saying, “Mr. Rushton, assist Miss Bingley, if you please. I am anxious to be away.”

  Mr. Rushton hardly acknowledged the order, but he nonetheless assisted Caroline to mount Mossy. He stood on the ground beside her and watched as she fumbled to position the reins and riding crop in her hands.

  “Are you well?” he asked, his blue eyes earnest. “We do not have to ride if you are unwell.”

  He was offering her the option of making her excuses, just as she had been scheming to do earlier, but his suggestion of it infuriated her.

  “I am certainly able to ride!” Caroline snapped. “It is only that I am unused to this tack.” She gestured broadly about her with her crop, hoping that “tack” was indeed the correct word for one of the things strapped to the horse.

  She glanced at Mr. Charlton, hoping that he had not observed her awkwardness, and was delighted to discover that he and Lavinia were deep in conversation. Their horses strode slowly about the yard in a circle. They presented quite an elegant picture, and Caroline hoped that she looked as well as they did.

  Then Mossy shifted her weight, causing Caroline to gasp at the unexpected movement.

  Everyone looked at her, and she managed a tight smile. “There was a bee,” she lied.

  “Dashed insects,” Mr. Charlton said. “Let us be off before they swarm and ruin the ride before it begins.”

  With that, Mr. Charlton, Lavinia, and Mrs. Pickersgill led the way out of the stable yard. Caroline urged Mossy to join them while Mr. Rushton mounted his own horse.

  The mare’s gait seemed smooth enough, but Caroline’s feeble confidence seemed to erode with each stride away from the security of the stable.

  Caroline tried to steel herself against her weakness.

  Yes, fear was indeed her weakness.

  Fear of exposure. Fear that her family’s dubious background might haunt her forever. Fear that she might never have a home of her own. Fear that she might be flung from the back of this pony and humiliated in front of Mr. Charlton, Lavinia, Rosemary, and Mr. Rushton.

  But, she reminded herself, people had been riding horses since time began. Certainly, they were no more capable of controlling the animals than she was. She could keep her seat and contain her fear on a leisurely stroll about the grounds.

  Mr. Rushton had taken a bit longer to move off and was quite a bit behind her. Caroline and Mossy, as well, had fallen rather behind the others and were quite alone. Ahead, the horses seemed content. They were not snorting fire or prancing. Perhaps Mossy would take her cue from the rest of the herd.

  That, however, was not the case, for suddenly, her mare seemed incapable of maintaining a slow pace. In fact, she sped up progressively. As Mr. Charlton and the ladies continued further down the wooded path, Caroline was forced to circle her obstinate pony continually in the hopes that she might calm down enough to walk like a civilized creature.

  The animal remained, however, uncivil.

  Caroline’s hands clutched the reins, and her leg muscles ached from gripping the pommel of the side saddle as the group rounded the far end of the fish pond on their frustratingly controlled mounts.

  When Mossy lost sight of the other horses, she became even more animated in her movements. Her head raised and her gait changed from smooth to springy. Caroline fancied that she could feel her pony’s back muscles tense through the layers of skirt and saddle leather.

  Yes, the animal was indeed tense.

  This would result in no good, certainly.

  Caroline looked about her, hoping to find some aid from the rocks and trees, but instead, she discovered that Mr. Rushton had ridden his mare beside her.

  “Miss Bingley,” he said, tipping his hat as if he were meeting her in Hyde Park for a morning excursion. His eyes held a look of superior amusement that irritated her. But almost frozen in fear, Caroline found that she could not issue a proper set down for his sardonic tone.

  Instead, he continued, “I have never seen this pony become so agitated. What have you done to her?”

  Something broke free within Caroline, and she snapped at him. “What have I done? What have I done? Sir, I can assure you I have done nothing but attempt to ride the beast. There is something amiss with this animal, not me!”

  She saw Mr. Rushton set his jaw. “Stop her,” he said, as if Caroline had the power to arrest the movement of a creature that outweighed her by quite a good deal.

  “If I could stop her from this infernal bouncing, I would have done it long ago. I have pulled back on the reins and circled since we left the stable yard.”

  He looked her over from stirrup to reins and issued the following order: “Unclench yourself, Miss Bingley. You are making that pony nervous.”

  “Ha! I am making her nervous. Tell her to calm down first and I shall, as you say so vulgarly, ‘unclench.’”

  He studied the bouncing mare again, then reached inside his saddle bag and drew out a leather strap. He aligned his horse with her pony, leaned down, and fastened the clasp to her pony’s bit.

  “What are you about, Mr. Rushton? I do not see how another piece of leather is going to make this situation any more ple
asant.”

  “Release the reins,” he ordered. “I will lead you for the remainder of the ride.”

  Caroline refused. The reins were her only hope of gaining any semblance of control. “I do not think this a wise idea.”

  He did not seem to be listening as he slowly reeled in Caroline’s pony until its head was near his horse’s shoulder, and she found her body bumping against his leg.

  “Release the reins,” he repeated, “and trust me to help you out of this mess.”

  She looked up at him. His face held no amusement now. She found that she must trust him.

  So she did as he requested and dropped the reins, but she punctuated her action by grasping at the pony’s mane and saying, “I do not care for horse riding.”

  “You are afraid of horse riding,” he replied in a conversational tone.

  It was the tone that disarmed her. Had he made such a comment with smugness or conceit, her hackles would have raised still further and she would have felt the need to defend herself. Instead, she allowed him to continue.

  “Do not be ashamed. Many people find moving at such heights and speeds disconcerting.”

  Caroline could not see what Mr. Rushton was doing to the pony, but her gait was beginning to smooth, and their pace slowed. They rode along quite calmly now and were following the same course that the others in their party had taken. She could barely see their companions ahead, and this provided her some relief, for though Caroline had desperately hoped to remain near Mr. Charlton, it was better that he did not witness her ineptitude.

  She and Mr. Rushton continued in quiet for some time, and eventually, Caroline was able to relax herself further. Though she felt no more confidence in her current position—being banged about on Mr. Rushton’s riding boot—she began to feel a bit of her customary passion return.

  “I believe my mare has calmed herself sufficiently. You may release us, Mr. Rushton.”

  “Indeed, I shall not. At least not until you can prove that you may control this animal without sending her into a panic.”

  “I can assure you that we shall be fine now. Look. We are both calm.”

  “You assure me of nothing until you take up the reins and show me.”

  So, with hidden trepidation, Caroline gathered the reins and hoped that she would not humiliate herself again.

  Mr. Rushton uncoiled his leather lead, giving Caroline a bit of slack and thus the opportunity to be in control of her own mount.

  She was excessively pleased that the mare did not immediately set to bouncing like a ball.

  Instead, she seemed to slow down.

  That did not seem such a bad prospect, and so she did nothing to encourage the pony to move any faster.

  This turned out to be an error in judgment, for eventually, her pony and—by extension, Mr. Rushton’s horse, for he was still connected loosely by the lead—began to dawdle beside the pond.

  The ground was damp by the water’s edge, and the mare’s hooves made sucking sounds as she plodded along. The other horses had already reached the tree line, and she saw that Lavinia and Mr. Charlton had turned around to check their progress. Though she wished to join them and shed herself of Mr. Rushton, Caroline’s mount slowed to a stop beside the tall reeds and then threw her head down, yanking the reins from Caroline’s fingers, to snatch at the burgeoning grass.

  Mr. Rushton appeared amused, but he did nothing to aid her. He simply allowed his horse to amble along beside Mossy.

  “What is wrong with this animal?” Caroline demanded. “First, she would not stop; now, she will not go. If you have chosen this mount as a jest, I assure you, it is not amusing!”

  “This is the calmest pony in the stable, Miss Bingley. I would never over-horse a rider such as yourself.”

  “A rider such as myself?”

  “A fearful novice.”

  “Humph.” Her embarrassment—and the knowledge that Mr. Charlton might be observing her even now—caused her to act more bravely than perhaps she ought. She put her reins in one hand and moved the crop to the other. She hesitated and then administered a very light tap to the horse’s right flank.

  The mare did not move. She continued to munch grass.

  “Miss Bingley! I caution against the use of the crop.”

  Caroline ignored him.

  A harder tap.

  The mare’s head came up, ears back. Mossy was displeased but not motivated enough to move and dove again for the grass.

  Caroline grasped the crop tighter and contorted herself to give the horse a good smack. The crop hovered in midair, preparing to fall on the mare’s haunches, when several ducks suddenly flapped out of the reeds.

  The mare moved then.

  The onslaught of ducks had caught the pony by surprise, causing her to spin sideways and trot quickly along the pond’s edge away from the ducks. Caroline closed her eyes to block out the fear, and through sheer force of will and the extreme desire not to embarrass herself, she managed to keep her seat.

  And then she heard a splat as if something had landed on the boggy ground. Laughter rang out from the tree line.

  She opened her eyes, wondering what had happened. Mossy had already returned to eating grass as if the startle had never occurred.

  Caroline looked to the tree line where Mr. Charlton, Lavinia, and Rosemary were laughing. Even from the distance, she could see clearly that Mr. Charlton was amused. He called, “Miss Bingley, do see to Mr. Rushton. We are off on a gallop.”

  Only then did she look down and see Mr. Rushton lying face first in the muck beside her pony, his hands still resolutely holding the lead. His horse stood alongside him, and Caroline swore his mare had a quizzical expression on her equine face, likely wondering what her rider was doing on the ground.

  Caroline was wondering the same herself.

  Unsure of what she ought to do, she remained on her pony, which was still grazing on the lush grass that grew alongside the pond.

  Mr. Rushton began to pull himself out of the mud. For long moments, Caroline could not see his face, but certainly, he would be angry.

  Gentlemen did not care for public humiliation any more than she did.

  Caroline felt the familiar temptation to exploit the situation. She could offer the snide remark that came so quickly to mind, but something prevented her from doing so. And that was odd. Here was the opportunity to prove her superiority of wit. To turn the accident to her advantage.

  But was not his current humiliation her doing? She had opted to ride despite her distaste and displeasure in the activity, not to mention her complete ineptitude.

  Again, these thoughts were odd. Ordinarily, Caroline would refuse to admit—even to herself—any culpability in such a situation, but at that moment, she could not deny that she bore some blame for his current state of filth. But unaccustomed to offering sympathy, Caroline simply sat without speaking a word.

  Mr. Rushton stood with slow deliberation, and now he looked up at Caroline as she sat on the pony’s back. He had managed to keep his face from landing in the mud, but his riding coat was caked with the substance. His lower body, however, seemed to have landed on dry ground, for his trousers were largely undamaged. He wore a neutral expression, and then it began to transform.

  A burst of laughter escaped him.

  Caroline’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You are laughing?”

  Mr. Rushton did not respond except to continue laughing.

  “You are mad,” Caroline said.

  “No, indeed,” he said as he shook some muck from his hands. “I have not been unhorsed in years, and you and this little pony have managed what unbroken colts could not.”

  “You are mad.”

  Twelve

  Mr. Rushton smiled at Caroline as he offered his assistance to her in dismounting the pony. “Come along, Miss Bingley. We shall not be joining the others.”

  Again, Caroline had the strongest urge to offer a set down. A lady need not bow to the whims of a gentleman. She may make her own
choices. But really, did she have a choice? She could no more control this pony than she could control the weather.

  “To the stables then?” she asked.

  “In time,” he said. “First, do allow me the opportunity of repairing some of the damage done to my pride.”

  From the saddle, Caroline eyed his mud-encrusted hand with disdain and chose to reject his aid. She unlaced her leg from around the pommel and slid as gracefully as possible to the ground.

  “Can such a thing be accomplished out of doors?”

  By the look of him, he required thorough bathing and a change of clothing.

  “Not properly, no,” he said as he handed her the pony’s lead.

  She looked at the now-docile pony and decided she would not be dragged across the countryside if she held the line.

  “Now, if you will permit me, I will remove this soiled garment and wash my hands as well as possible in the pond.”

  Mr. Rushton did not await her permission, so Caroline did not give it. She simply watched as he removed his riding coat, turned it inside out, and stored it in his saddle bag. He wore only his white linen shirt and waistcoat, which really was not proper in the company of a lady.

  Caroline ought to complain, but she found that she rather admired the way the cloth stretched across his shoulders and back. She turned away, suddenly discomfited, and cleared her throat. “It seems, Mr. Rushton, that if we may not be together without becoming embroiled in some sort of altercation, we ought not to be in each other’s company.”

  “Altercation?” he asked as he bent to rinse his hands in the pond. “Yes, I suppose we have had our share, but this is not an argument. I find I am not in the mood to quarrel. If I had been interested in fighting with you, Miss Bingley, I would have begun this conversation by asking just what the devil you thought to accomplish by riding out when you had no business doing so.”

  “And I would not explain myself, of course,” Caroline replied.