Other Mr. Darcy

by Monica Fairview

  “Well,” said Caroline, annoyed by Louisa’s lack of sympathy, “considering how you felt after Captain Trewson abandoned you, I would think you of all people would understand how I feel.”

  “I?” said Louisa, her brow puckering, “I admit that I was somewhat put out. But that is perfectly natural, when one comes to discover such villainy from a person you thought you knew. However, I was not the only one to be deceived by him, so I did not need to feel so very bad about it.”

  “But did you not care for him at all?”

  “How could I,” said Louisa, “when dear Mr Hurst had barely been gone a year, and was still alive in my memory?”

  “I suppose it was too much to hope for sympathy from you,” remarked Caroline, bitterly.

  “You cannot expect me to feel sorry for you at all, when you know very well that it was you who put an end to two of my potential matches.”

  Caroline gasped. “How can you say such a thing? I only intended to help you.”

  “You cannot deny that you took pleasure in seeing me humiliated!” said Louisa.

  “I felt no such thing! On the contrary, I was pained by both situations, and more than sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings.”

  But her sister’s confident certainty told her there was no point in pursuing this conversation. Caroline rose and stared glumly out of the window at the damp cobblestones and the drooping trees. “If only the rain would stop.”

  Louisa laughed. “How can you be so ridiculous? You sound like Lydia! It only started raining this very morning.”

  She folded her arms and regarded Caroline pityingly.

  “This will not do at all,” she said. “We will have to find a way to bring you out of the doldrums. What you need is more entertainment. Mr Wickham’s death was enough to drive anyone to distraction. That is why I removed myself from the scene. If you had done the same, you would not now be in such poor spirits.”

  Caroline followed the progress of a rain drop as it drifted erratically down the window pane. “You think entertainment will be the solution?” she said, dully.

  “Undoubtedly,” said Louisa. “In fact, the sooner the better. We have an invitation to the Montford ball tonight. You know how coveted their entertainments are. I will pen Lady Montford a note to say that you are coming.”

  “Very well,” said Caroline, with complete indifference.

  Perhaps Louisa was right. A social occasion might be just the thing. Charles and Jane were dining out in any case, and staying at home would only mean indulging in self-pity. She could not conjure up any eagerness in the prospect, but anything was better than going over everything Robert had ever said in excruciating detail.

  ***

  The moment they arrived at the ball, Caroline knew she had gone from the frying pan into the fire. For the first person she encountered after passing through the Montford receiving line was Lord Dedton, and beside him, Miss Enlow.

  Lord Dedton inclined his head at them, careful not to disturb his shirt collars.

  “Oh, Miss Bingley. We have not seen you since Pemberley!” said Miss Enlow. “I hope you have been keeping well?”

  “Very well, thank you,” said Caroline. “I had not thought you would return to London so quickly. You were touring the Lake District, were you not?”

  “Oh,” said Miss Enlow, “we quickly grew tired of hills and lakes and trees. There was really nothing to do there but gaze at them, so we returned to Town. It is so good to find oneself back in civilization. It is all very well for Mr Wordsworth to praise the daffodils,” she added, with a giggle, “but there was not a daffodil to be seen anywhere.”

  “I suppose it would have been better to go in the spring, if that was the object of your trip,” remarked Caroline, blandly.

  Miss Enlow snickered. “Oh, I have seen enough of the Lake District to last a lifetime. I will not be going there any time soon. Would you not agree, Lord Dedton?”

  “It was perfectly insipid, I assure you, Miss Bingley,” he drawled. “I would advise against going, if you were planning to do so.”

  Caroline murmured something about wishing to judge for herself and was about to move away when they were interrupted.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Bingley,” said Sir Cecil, coming up to them, his thin lips drawn out in a smile. His appearance conveyed the impression that he had been forcibly crammed into his dark evening coat. Why had she never noticed before?

  “Yes, indeed,” she replied. But when Sir Cecil began to criticize the dress of a young debutante and mock her pretensions, she could not wait to get away. “Excuse me,” she said, not caring if they considered her rude. She could be as rude as she wished. After all, she came from trade, did she not? “I see someone I particularly wished to speak to.”

  She moved away in time to see Louisa fluttering her eyelashes at Mr Fallow, who had also joined the group. Good luck, Louisa, with landing that particular fish, she thought. She certainly had no intention of interfering.

  She wandered across the ballroom to a quiet corner. She had no one in particular to talk to, but she would rather sit to the side like a wallflower than endure Sir Cecil’s company. Eventually, if she did not encounter anyone she liked, she would return home.

  The ballroom was oppressively warm. A very young lady she had met once, and whose name she could not recall, came and sat next to her, fanning herself vigorously.

  “It is so stiflingly warm in here!” she said, tittering, “And to think there are some ladies in long sleeves, too! Though ’tis the fashion, I do not know how they can endure it.” She glanced at Caroline’s dress and laughed nervously. “Oh, your sleeves are long! I did not notice.”

  The girl was looking embarrassed enough that Caroline felt sorry for her, so she spent a few minutes assuring her that she was not at all offended and trying to put her at ease. Caroline thought she must be growing old, for could it really have been such a short time since she had been young and careless as this girl was? Had she ever, in fact, been like that? Possibly not. It was more likely that she had been as unbending and dry as a stick.

  The young lady, reassured that she had not committed an unpardonable faux pas, excused herself and fled back to her chaperon.

  The heat was oppressive. Caroline’s palms grew damp, and her hair began to droop and cling to her head. She looked around for an open window and went to stand next to it, hoping to cool down. She would not, of course, make the mistake of going out into the garden, however, especially without a shawl. She smiled to herself at the joke, wishing Robert was there so they could both laugh about it. A sharp pang wrenched at her as the events of that night—the night of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s proposal—flooded into her mind. It was incredible to believe that the Loughs’ dance had only occurred a few weeks ago. So much had changed since then.

  As if conjured up by her thoughts, a tall, broad gentleman dressed in an old-fashioned powdered wig materialized before her.

  “My dear Miss Bingley! Delighted to see you again,” he smiled broadly.

  Mrs Olmstead, who had stopped on the way to greet someone, spotted Caroline and came to join her husband, a wide smile on her round face.

  Caroline felt some of her oppression lift. “Mr and Mrs Olmstead! How lovely to see you!”

  “What have you being doing with yourself, my dear young lady?” said Mr Olmstead. “You look quite pinched and pale, does she not Mrs Olmstead?”

  Mrs Olmstead took her hand and regarded her closely. “Yes, Mr Olmstead, I really must agree with you. The bloom has gone from her cheek. Perchance it is this London air. ”

  “Or perchance some problems in love?” boomed Mr Olmstead.

  Squirming, Caroline darted a quick look around to make sure no one had heard.

  “Mr Olmstead, I fail to see how you can say that, when you know very well she is to marry Mr Robert Darcy.”

  “I know no such thing,” said Mr Olmstead, examining her shrewdly. “Since I was there, and I know exactly how the engagement came ab
out. You have not been fool enough to cast him off, have you? I can’t say that I approve of ladies who break off their betrothals. But considering how it happened, I daresay you have the right of it.”

  Caroline was only too aware they were in the midst of a ball, surrounded by crowds that would happily repeat the slightest whisper of gossip. And here was Mr Olmstead, trumpeting her concerns to the whole world.

  “I am sure you ought not to pry into this young lady’s concerns in such a manner,” came another voice. “This is hardly the place to discuss such things.”

  Caroline turned gratefully to the source of the intervention. A turban with three vast plumes swaying above it greeted her, and under it, Mrs Germain’s laughing face.

  “Oh, Mrs Germain, I am so glad to see you!” she said, earnestly.

  “So glad that you did not even bother to call on me? When I have it on good authority that you have been in London for more than two weeks?

  Caroline winced. “Truly, ma’am, I fully intended to call on you,” she said, feeling guilty. How had it slipped her mind? “Unfortunately, however, we had a death in the family, and—”

  Mrs Germain’s jowls shook. “You need not sound so sorry, child. I have survived well enough without your visit. I hope it was not someone close to you.”

  “He was a distant relation by marriage,” she replied.

  “In that case, since that is not the reason, you must tell me why you look so wan and gaunt.”

  “That was precisely what I was trying to determine when you admonished me,” said Mr Olmstead. “I suppose you claim the privilege of your sex, Mrs Germain, and mean to leave me out of it.”

  Mr Olmstead opened his snuff box and brought a pinch to his nostrils.

  “It is one of the few privileges we possess,” remarked Mrs Germain.

  “Aha! Now we come to it! I can see you want me out of the way,” he replied good-naturedly. “I would be quite happy to debate with you, Mrs Germain,” he continued, “but I must excuse myself. For I see Captain Johnson over there, and I wish to ask him about a hunter he is selling. Would you like to join me, Mrs Olmstead?”

  “I certainly would,” said Mrs Olmstead, “for I would not like you to buy a hunter without me.”

  And with that the Olmsteads walked away, arm in arm, leaving Caroline alone with Mrs Germain.

  “I do not expect you to confide in me, my dear, and certainly not here, but if you should ever need to talk, I would be happy to receive you. We could have a tête-à-tête, if you wish. Or we could play another game of chess. I have acquired a new chess board which I think you would like, but I have no intention of giving it to you this time, so do not hope for it!” She wagged her finger playfully. “Meanwhile let us see if I can introduce you to some young buck who will take your mind off things.”

  She craned her neck and peered into the crowd, seeking someone eligible.

  Caroline hung back, unwilling to enter into any kind of social interaction, especially with complete strangers.

  “Come,” said Mrs Germain, “it is no use standing there like a rabbit about to be shot. A few lively dances will lift your spirits.”

  Caroline shook her head. “I am sorry, Mrs Germain, but I find I have—a headache,” she said. “I am quite ready to leave now.”

  Mrs Germain’s gaze bore into her knowingly. “You no more have a headache than I have the pox,” she said. At Caroline’s horrified expression, she chuckled. “There. That captured your attention.”

  Caroline smiled limply. Mrs Germain noted the smile and nodded once.

  “That was a milk-and-water smile if I ever saw one, but better than nothing. If you are planning to leave in any case, then I suggest that you accept a ride to my house, young lady, where I can keep you company for an hour or two, then you can be on your way. I hope you do not imagine I am going to allow you to go home and fall into a fit of megrims.”

  ***

  The tea things were brought to the parlour and the tea poured. They settled by the fire with their cups and saucers and the Shrewsbury cakes Mrs Germain insisted Caroline had to eat, “to put some flesh on those bones.”

  “Come, my dear,” said Mrs Germain, “we shall be quite cosy here together, and you may tell me your troubles.”

  Caroline had not really planned to disclose her problems to Mrs Germain, but one look at Mrs Germain’s kindly face and the whole sorry story poured out.

  “And so I have no other possibility but to find a ship that will take me,” she concluded.

  “I applaud you on your decision. For who could be more determined than a lady who is prepared to brave an ocean in the middle of a war to find the man she loves? If I had had half the resolution you have, I would have married your father and made something of my life.”

  She took up a cake and nibbled at it absently.

  “That aside, however, it seems to me a far wiser course to find a ship that will convey a letter to him, and try to gauge his reaction to the idea, before you set sail and start a whole chain of events that you may or you may not be able to control.”

  “Letters take a long time,” remarked Caroline, bleakly. “I will be on tenterhooks waiting for a reply, and if I do not receive one, I will assume the worst, when it might simply be that the letter was lost. No. I must travel there myself and confront the situation, whatever it is.”

  Caroline put down her teacup with a rattle. Mrs Germain immediately poured her more tea, and balanced another Shrewsbury cake on the saucer next to the cup.

  “I do not believe such extreme measures are necessary. If he loves you—” said Mrs Germain, “—and I said if, he will come back for you. If he does not, then there is no point to sailing across the ocean only to be rejected and having to turn tail and come back. I am not against your plan, Miss Bingley, I simply wish you to spare yourself the pain of a useless journey when you are uncertain of his feelings.”

  “So you, too, advise me to do nothing but wait? I had hoped for support from you at least.” She sank back into her chair and covered her eyes with her right forearm. “I do not know how I will convince anyone to help me find a ship, when everyone is so opposed to the very idea. One would think no lady has ever crossed the ocean before.”

  Her anxiety was a pointed stick prodding her back. She could not remain seated. She stood and began to stalk through the room like a caged animal.

  “Caroline—I hope you do not mind if I call you Caroline, for I think of you like a daughter— I am not against the idea. I only think you are being too hasty. Wait! Give the whole thing time. Perhaps Robert Darcy himself needs the time and distance to consider the situation. And who knows, maybe the war will end soon and you will be able to travel easily, without the danger and inconvenience that you would suffer if you left now. What do you think?”

  Caroline bowed her head. “I promise I will think about it, Mrs Germain,” she said, sitting down again. “Oh, if only I had done more to fix his attention, I would not be in this situation now,” said Caroline, regretfully. “I have gone about it all wrong. I doubted him and confronted him and questioned him at every turn when I should have flattered him and cajoled him instead. For I know that is what gentlemen like.”

  “Whoever told you such a thing?” asked Mrs Germain, astonished.

  “Mama, for one,” replied Caroline. “And Mrs Drakehill.” At Mrs Germain’s look of enquiry, she explained, “She was the director of the Seminary I attended with my sister.”

  “And she was the fountain of wisdom who advised you on how to treat men?”

  Caroline blinked. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Did you ever stop to wonder,” said Mrs Germain, “how she knew so much about gentlemen’s needs?”

  Caroline’s eyes widened. “Well, I assume she was married at one time.”

  “Then I suppose that is all the experience she could have needed. Your sister was married at one time, too. Do you think she is qualified to advise you?”

  Caroline shuddered as she thought of her
sister’s constant misjudgements. “No, certainly not!”

  “Then I would suggest, Caroline, that you stand on your own feet, and take your own counsel,” said Mrs Germain severely. “Despite my marriage, I cannot claim to be an expert on what gentlemen prefer. But I am old enough to have seen many matches among the people around me, and I have formed some opinions over time. Based on that, I find it is not advisable to play games, for they inevitably come back to haunt one. It is something I have seen too often, not just in love, but in other things as well.”

  She stirred some sugar into her cup. “I would not presume to give you advice, but I will tell you my opinion. If Robert Darcy comes back to you, you must wear your heart on your sleeve. If that fails, then it will not be for lack of trying.”

  Caroline tightened her lips. “You are assuming he will come back.”

  “He will, if he cares for you. If he does not care, then there is nothing you can do, is there?”

  The prospect filled Caroline with desolation.

  “But enough of that,” said Mrs Germain, cheerily. “Now you must tell me more about this Mrs Drakehill. I would like to know what other gems of wisdom she imparted to you young ladies.”

  Caroline would never have thought it, but by the end of the evening she was laughing loudly as she recounted tales from her schooldays with Mrs Drakehill. By the time Mrs Germain had called the carriage for her, she had cheered up considerably, and the impulse to leave for Boston immediately had left her.

  ***

  Caroline arrived home a little after one o’clock, in a far better mood than when she had left. Thunder rumbled as she ran up the steps, and just as she entered, lightning ripped the sky and rain began to gush down.

  “You have arrived just in time, Miss Bingley,” said the butler, Welding—not their usual butler, but someone who had been hired when the house had been opened up so suddenly because of Wickham—as he took her pelisse. “A moment later and you would have been quite drenched.”