Other Mr. Darcy

by Monica Fairview

  It was the last straw. She detested lobster patties. Tears threatened and she held them back through sheer will. She handed the plate to a passing footman and abandoned the notion of food altogether.

  A lady came up to her and introduced herself as Miss Tims.

  “So, Miss Bingley,” she asked, eying Caroline suspiciously. “Where did you first meet Mr Darcy? You must tell us all about it.” Two young ladies flanked her, looking eager to scrounge whatever information they could. Caroline remembered Miss Tims as the lady who had been leaning on Mr Darcy’s arm in the ballroom two nights ago. Even now she was casting furtive glances at him where he stood across the room.

  “We had not thought Mr Darcy’s feelings were engaged when he was in Town in the summer,” remarked one of her companions.

  “It has all been rather sudden,” she replied, trying to sound dreamy rather than evasive. “You perhaps know my brother Charles. He is a close friend of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, who is Mr Darcy’s cousin.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. No doubt you met Mr Darcy often in Pemberley.”

  Caroline smiled and turned to respond to someone else who had come to gorge on the gossip.

  “Does Mr Darcy intend to settle in England?” asked Mrs Palmer, a lady in a grey dress and a white cap that covered every inch of her hair.

  “You will have to ask Mr Darcy about his plans, ma’am,” replied Caroline, though surely as his fiancée she would be expected to know. After all, she would need to agree if he planned to take her with him to Boston.

  She received one or two doubtful glances, but overall she managed to deflect the questions well enough.

  “Dear Miss Bingley! What excellent news!” said Mr Olmstead, approaching her. He beamed from ear to ear. Leaning towards her, he whispered, “Are you satisfied with our solution? A good one, eh?”

  She had no choice but to smile. Mr Olmstead was so very well intentioned, he did not realize that his blundering had brought on a whole other set of problems. Of the two evils, she supposed, her present entanglement was by far the lesser one. In view of the harm the first rumour would have caused for her socially, she ought to be grateful, but she had not yet regained her balance enough to do so.

  “You and Mrs Olmstead have been more than kind. I owe you a great deal,” she said.

  “Oh, don’t thank me,” said Mr Olmstead. “It was Mr Darcy’s idea, after all.”

  For the second time that day, Caroline felt the blood drain from her head. She put a hand out to support herself, reaching for Mr Olmstead’s arm, afraid for a moment that she would fall to the floor. This was one revelation too many on a day such as this.

  “Are you quite well, my dear?” asked Mr Olmstead.

  “Things have been moving too fast for me,” said Caroline. “I am not accustomed to such sudden reversals of fortune.”

  Mr Olmstead beamed benevolently and took out his snuff box.

  “It is too bad females don’t generally partake of snuff nowadays,” said Mr Olmstead. “I think a sniff of this would make you right as rain.” He winked. “Had mine laced with whisky, you know.”

  “That sounds too strong for me, Mr Olmstead. Tobacco and whisky all at once! Though I must admit I would not mind something rather strong right now,” she added wryly, wishing that life were that simple.

  “A stiff glass of whisky?” he whispered. “That should take the edge off the shock.”

  Caroline struggled not to reveal her horror at the suggestion. All it needed was for her to reek of spirits.

  “I fear I must forgo that pleasure as well, Mr Olmstead.”

  “Of course,” he said. “You have to keep your wits about you. But I’m glad to see the colour’s coming back to your face,” he said. He hovered for a few more minutes, then set off. “If you no longer need me, I shall see if I can find Mrs Olmstead before dinner. I had something particular to speak to her about.”

  Her next well-wisher was Mrs Germain. The large woman congratulated her warmly at first. As those perceptive eyes studied Caroline, however, she made no attempt to conceal her scepticism.

  “For a young lady who is soon to become a bride, I find you lacking that special glow I would have expected.” she said. “‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.’ In other words, I smell a fish. Particularly since you mentioned nothing at all earlier when we discussed Mr Darcy.”

  “It was uh—very sudden.”

  “It must have been,” she said brusquely. “Because I heard something before the announcement that led me to believe your thoughts lay in a completely different direction.”

  Caroline wished Mrs Germain would not persist in airing her views so loudly. “I cannot explain matters just now, Mrs Germain. I beg you not to speak of it,” she replied, lowering her voice, and hoping the older lady would not take offence.

  “I understand,” replied Mrs Germain. “But if you ever find yourself in a spot, or you just need a quiet talk, I’d be more than happy if you would come and find me,” she said. “I have good large shoulders for people to cry on.” Then, with a quick rumbling laugh, she was away, light as a feather despite her size.

  Caroline watched as Mrs Germain hastened over to Mr Darcy. She said something to him, playfully hitting him with her fan, and for the first time since their talk in the library, a genuine smile crossed his face. But when Mrs Germain made another remark, they both glanced in her direction. Caroline turned away quickly, but to her dismay she found herself looking into the eyes of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was just returning.

  He bowed to her and took himself as far from her as possible. Caroline wished again she could tell him exactly what had happened, but she could not. The schism between them could not be crossed.

  “You’ve forgotten to smile,” remarked Mr Darcy, appearing at her side unexpectedly. He continued to stand there, exchanging pleasantries and joking with whoever approached them. Caroline resented his hovering presence bitterly, for she had not forgiven him what he had done, even if he had taken measures to undo it. His willingness to salvage her reputation redeemed him a little in her eyes. It showed, at least, that he possessed a conscience. But she could not forget so easily.

  Besides, she knew little enough about him or his financial standing. His apparent gallantry could mask a devious motive. It was just possible that he was a fortune hunter, and that the whole thing had been an elaborate ploy to force her to marry him.

  Perhaps he had not spread the gossip maliciously. Perhaps he had dropped the reference by accident. Perhaps, as an outsider, he had not known the impact it would make.

  But she doubted it.

  ***

  The time came when, in the stream of questions and congratulations, she reached a point when she felt that if she did not disappear somewhere by herself soon, her painted smile was in danger of becoming a sneer. Mumbling an excuse to nobody in particular, she slipped out to visit the retiring room. The door opened as she reached it, and two young ladies emerged. Their heads close together, they giggled and whispered, then, when they saw her, fell silent, and passed by her awkwardly.

  As if from a distant dream, their faces flashed through her mind as she had last seen them. She had been standing in the garden, talking to Mr Darcy.

  She had noted their presence fleetingly at the time, and hoped they had not overheard her. What was it she had been saying? She had been angry that Mr Darcy had questioned her relationship with Sir Cecil. She had mentioned that she was anticipating an offer from him, and that she would accept.

  And they had wandered past her at that exact moment.

  She leaned against the wall, and took in a deep breath, shivering as the truth struck her.

  She had wronged him. It had not been Mr Darcy who had betrayed her after all.

  Chapter 8

  There was no opportunity to speak to him privately that night, and the next morning they set out again for Pemberley, hoping to circumvent the eight day Nottingham Goose Fair, which was by now in full swing. They could not delay, for
to do so would be to risk being caught in the crowds leaving the fair on their way home.

  Nobody expected to enjoy the journey. A cloud of unspoken conflict hovered above them. Nevertheless, when Colonel Fitzwilliam announced that he would not continue with them to Pemberley, but return to London instead, a wave of protest rose up, and a chorus of voices urged him not to break his journey.

  Robert Darcy tried to make light of whole thing. “Come, Fitzwilliam. Surely you will not abandon us at this stage of the journey? We are almost in Pemberley. Complete the journey with us, then you may return. You and I will hire horses and ride. It looks like we will be spared rain today.”

  The clenching of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s jaw was the only indication that riding with Robert Darcy was hardly more appealing than spending time in the carriage with Caroline. She made a polite effort to convince him to continue on to Pemberley, though she knew very well that his feelings ran too high for any chance of reconciliation at present.

  She was not afraid she had caused Colonel Fitzwilliam lasting pain, since she did not think him particularly attached to her. As a second son to an earl, he needed a financially advantageous match. Still, it would be some time before his pride would allow him to think of her with anything but anger, and nothing she said now would change that. She wished that she had answered him at once when he had asked for her hand. But she had not known her own mind at the time, and could not have predicted the events that followed. What was done was done.

  She watched him leave with regret, and with a fervent hope that one day they would again be friends, for she genuinely liked him.

  Their carriage was just starting down the drive when Caroline heard her name being called. She signalled for the coachman to stop immediately.

  Mrs Germain was running from the house, carrying a box tucked under her arm.

  “I am very glad that I was able to catch you before you left,” she said breathlessly. “I have something I particularly wanted you to have.”

  She held out the Dieppe chess set Caroline had praised so highly the day before.

  Caroline gasped in protest. “Oh, no, Mrs Germain! You cannot! I cannot accept it. It is far too valuable for you to part with.”

  “I want you to keep it. It holds many memories for me, but I think it belongs to you. I will be glad to know you are playing with it. I know you will use it well.”

  Caroline, touched deeply by Mrs Germain’s kindness, stepped down and kissed her warmly on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said, struggling to hold back her tears. “You cannot know what this means to me.”

  “Oh, but I do. Otherwise I could not have parted with it for the world. Perhaps we will have the opportunity to play together again soon. I want you to know you will be very welcome to visit me in Town.”

  Caroline nodded, words failing her.

  Mrs Germain gestured towards Mr Darcy, who sat above them on the box. “If you will take advice from an old woman like me,” she said, in an undertone, “I would hold onto a young man such as that. They do not come one’s way very often.”

  Caroline smiled and shook her head. Mrs Germain did not understand her situation. “Thank you for your advice,” she said, politely.

  “I see I have wasted my breath,” said Mrs Germain, with a chuckle. “Nobody ever takes my advice.” She waved warmly to Mr Darcy. “Take care of her, will you, Mr Darcy? She’s the daughter of a special friend of mine.”

  Mr Darcy bowed. “You may put your mind at rest, Mrs Germain.”

  ***

  Caroline was worried that a day spent inside the carriage with Louisa would prove too much for her raw sensibilities. But Louisa had played loo and casino late into the night, and had nothing to say beyond remarking that she was glad Robert Darcy was out of their way, for she was hoping to catch up on some sleep.

  From worrying that she would be forced to talk to three other people, Caroline found instead that she had nobody to talk to at all. Left alone with her thoughts, she sank into dejection, trying in vain to comprehend how she had managed to bring herself into such a tangle so very quickly.

  When they had set out from Netherfield, their biggest problem had been which road to take. How simple her life had been. Now, in just a few days, her life had turned topsy-turvy, and she was at a loss how to restore it to its equilibrium.

  The most pressing problem was to speak to Mr Darcy. She had been terribly wrong, and her behaviour was unpardonable. She winced as she remembered what she had said to him. The words burned into her like a hot iron. How could she ever make amends? A lifetime of apologies would not suffice to make up for what she had said. Yet he had repaid her detestable behaviour with generosity. Which did not mean that he had forgotten her insults. One glance at him when they stopped to change horses was enough to convince her that he remembered them all too well. He was polite, but he kept her at a very long arm’s length.

  She had to find a way to revoke her words and to convince him that they were spoken only in the heat of the moment. But how was she to do it? The labours of Hercules seemed easier. She stared out of the window, watching the green countryside roll by, finding nothing in it to distract her.

  “I cannot quite accustom myself to the fact that you are engaged to Robert Darcy,” said Louisa, waking up quite suddenly. “You should have seen how many people approached me yesterday to ask me where you had met. I replied as I thought I ought, given the circumstances. I told everyone that Mr Darcy was a friend of the family, which is perfectly true. You would not believe what a stir your engagement has caused. I was quite amazed! I gather you have disappointed more than one young lady who wished him for herself.” Louisa pondered over this. “I cannot for my life see why that should be the case. Yet it seems your Mr Darcy is generally liked. Still, the sudden announcement has given rise to speculation.”

  “It is not unknown for a couple to meet and become engaged in a short time,” said Caroline.

  “No, but there are bound to be wagging tongues, and calculations about when the child will be due.”

  Heat flooded into Caroline’s face.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Caroline,” said Louisa, “You need not be missish. You know people always gossip when a hasty engagement is announced.”

  “Well, you cannot expect me to relish the prospect,” said Caroline.

  Louisa shrugged. “It hardly matters. You will marry and they will be proved wrong. Oh, but what an evening! What a pity you missed it. I do not know what came over you, shutting yourself up in your room. I would have thought you would have enjoyed the attention. I was excessively diverted.”

  Louisa continued in that vein for some time. At several points Caroline almost interrupted, tempted to bring her sister into her confidence, and to reveal that the engagement was nothing but a sham. But Louisa’s tongue could be loose at times, particularly if there was an advantage to revealing information, and Caroline could not be sure of her silence. She was glad, therefore, when Louisa lost interest in the topic and moved on to recount the latest gossip she had heard from London, and to describe her interactions with some of the guests she had met at Emelton Hall.

  As the end of the day approached, Caroline grew more and more restless. She must talk to Darcy tonight. Tomorrow they would be in Pemberley, and she could not be sure when they would have a chance to be alone. She bitterly regretted the behaviour that made such an encounter necessary.

  They crossed the Trent, and, passing by the ruins of an old castle, reached their destination, the Clinton Arms in Newark-on-Trent, just as night fell. Despite a lavish dinner put before them by the landlord, Caroline was too agitated to eat. The cool formality of Robert Darcy was so unaccustomed, it filled her with dread.

  The moment they finished dinner, she pulled back her chair. “May we take a walk, Mr Darcy?” she asked. “If I promise to wear my woollen pelisse?” she added, attempting a weak joke in the hope that it would ease her tension. “I have something particular to speak to you about.”

>   After a moment’s hesitation he nodded curtly and allowed her to precede him outside into the village square.

  She had to quicken her steps to keep up with him. He moved with a coiled watchfulness that belied his apparent ease. “I owe you an apology, Mr Darcy,” she said.

  Nothing in his stance changed. He continued onwards, his movement fluid, graceful, and alert. Well, what had she expected? That he would melt at her apology?

  She licked her lips, which had gone dry. “I was upset and overwhelmed by the turn of events. It was a bolt out of the blue. I had hopes, or at least plans that were important to me, and they suddenly fell into ruin.” Even as she spoke she knew her words were wrong. Trying to find excuses for herself was not her purpose here. “But that does not justify anything. I accused you of something I should have known you would never do.” She paused.

  “I know I have caused offence.” The words were so inadequate she could almost laugh.

  “You need not fear you have offended me, Miss Bingley. At least, not you in particular. Not more than anyone else, except that perhaps you were more honest. You remember the wagons in Stamford, carrying performers to display at the fair? I often feel like one of the shows featuring a Freak. Since I have come here, people in society peer at me as though I am a strange specimen, and make remarks to me they would never make to each other, thinking that I lack the wit to understand them. I have grown quite accustomed to it. So yes, Miss Bingley, you offended me, but I do not rate it particularly high in my list of concerns.” There was anger in his statement, yet he spoke without rancour, with a heavy acceptance as though he had already resigned himself to it.

  Caroline knew she ought to grasp his meaning, but she felt befuddled instead. His talk of Freaks confused her. How could he say that, when he was so clearly popular? “I am sorry,” she said. “I do not understand. I wish I could.”

  “I cannot help you, Miss Bingley,” he said, his lips curling.

  “Is it because you are not one of us?” she asked, uncertainly.