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"Caroline, keep your voice down! What if someone were to hear you speaking thus?"
"No one will hear me, Louisa," Caroline responded petulantly. "The servants don't count, after all. And I don't care! I do intend to redecorate Pemberley in orange as soon as I am mistress!"
"Well, I don't see a ring on your finger just yet!" retorted Louisa, with unusual spirit. "And so far, your plans have not turned out at all well! Charles is determined to marry Jane Bennet next week, and all of your insinuations about having 'dear Georgiana' as a sister have come to naught!"
"Just you wait, Louisa!" cried Caroline, her eyes flashing. "I will marry Mr. Darcy, and Georgiana will be my sister, and then I will finally have a sibling I can be proud of!" She stamped her foot for emphasis, startling the lady who had just entered the room.
"Miss Darcy!" exclaimed Louisa, torn between guilt that the young lady might have heard, and hope that Caroline would finally get her comeuppance.
Georgiana, for her part, had indeed heard almost all of Caroline's outburst, and was well aware of her aspirations-- and of a particular bit of news regarding her brother and his recent acceptance by a particular Hertfordshire lady with "fine eyes."
"Hello, Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley," she said sweetly, eyes dancing at the fun she was about to have.
"Miss Darcy," stammered Caroline, desperately hoping she had not heard her imprudent comments. "I was just speaking to Louisa about... er... how nice it is to have a new sister." After all, it's not as if I am lying... and I will have a new sister in Jane... she crossed her fingers behind her back, willing Miss Darcy to believe her.
"Of course!" chirped Miss Darcy brightly. "Oh, Caroline, I am so glad that we are to be sisters at last!" And she threw her arms around Miss Bingley's neck.
Caroline was stunned. Sisters? Really? Has Mr. Darcy told her that we are to be married? But he has not yet asked me! She returned the young lady's hug, wavering between disbelief and thrilled excitement that her plans had finally come to fruition.
"Miss Darcy, did your brother tell you that we are to be sisters?" I must know exactly what he said!
"Why, of course, Caroline! The wedding is to take place at the same time as Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet's! Did you not know?" She looked at Caroline in feigned innocence.
"Well, er... he has not said anything specifically, but I can say that I had a very good idea of his intentions from the start," she temporized, her excitement growing. Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy! How well that sounds!
"I do recall my brother saying that he intended the engagement to be a surprise of sorts for you, Caroline," reflected Georgiana, eyeing the increasingly agitated Miss Bingley. "And please, do call me Georgiana, now that we are to be related."
Caroline shot Louisa a triumphant glance, and lifted her chin regally. "I would be happy to, Georgiana. Now, if you will excuse us, Louisa and I must immediately begin plans for my gown for the blessed event!" And she swept out of the room, Louisa trailing behind her.
Left alone, Georgiana giggled. I did not speak a single untruth, she thought with satisfaction. And oh, this will be such fun!
"A pale, pale apricot silk, I think," said Caroline feverishly. "With gold tissue over the skirt. And six tiers of lace around the hem. And several orange and gold feathers for my headdress-maybe we can perch a small bird in it as well-- and a lace veil with a ten-foot train, and pearls embroidered over all..."
"Are you sure you've ordered enough ornamentation, Caroline?" Louisa asked sourly. "It sounds rather plain to me."
"Oh, hush, Louisa! Can you not see how important this is? I am to be married to Mr. Darcy next week! I must be perfect!"
"I don't know, Caroline," she said, shaking her head. "No matter what Georgiana says, you must remember that he has not yet made you an offer. Perhaps you should exercise caution."
"Nonsense, Louisa," scoffed Caroline. "I trust Georgiana to know her brother's own mind. Here, we shall ask Charles-CHARLES!" she bellowed up the stairs.
"What is it, Caroline?" Charles winced, coming up behind her.
"Georgiana has just informed me that we are to be sisters! Is this true, Charles?"
He looked at her oddly, then nodded. "I suppose you could say so, Caroline. Yes, you are technically correct, you shall be Georgiana's sister." He walked away slowly, still shaking his head to himself.
Caroline's answering smile was brilliant, and she went back to her wedding gown planning with a vengeance. "Would it be possible to find orange pearls, do you think...?"
It was a beautiful morning, and Caroline's wide smile had not abated for the entire preceding week. It had not faded when Mr. Hurst had laughed aloud upon seeing her wedding ensemble, and even Louisa had been forced into a coughing fit to avoid a similar reaction. It had not faded when Mr. Darcy had spent most of his time away from Netherfield, since he was clearly shy in expressing his passion for her. It had not even faded when Charles and Mr. Darcy had left early that morning to go to the church, leaving her behind to find her own way there-obviously, Mr. Darcy did not want to invoke bad luck by seeing her before the wedding. And now, she was in front of the church, ready to realize her ambitions of becoming Mrs. Darcy!
It appeared she was right on time, as the guests were already assembled inside the church, and Jane Bennet was waiting outside with her father to enter and walk down the aisle.
"Jane, dear! I have arrived!" Caroline cooed, waving her bouquet (tiger lilies interspersed with more gilded feathers and yards of glaringly orange ribbon).
Jane looked at her, puzzled. "Caroline? What are you doing outside?"
Caroline was taken aback. "Why Jane, I am here for the wedding!" Her eyes narrowed, seeing Elizabeth Bennet standing beside her sister. "What is she doing here? Is she to be your bridesmaid, then?"
"Er... no." Jane tried to think of a reason for Caroline's odd behavior. "Did you wish to be bridesmaid, Caroline? Because we are sorry, but given your feelings..."
"I am to be bridesmaid for my new sisters!" said Georgiana, gleefully stepping out from behind the ladies.
"But... but... I was not to be bridesmaid, I was to be--" Caroline sputtered. "I do not understand- Georgiana, you said I was to be your sister!"
"Well," spoke up Elizabeth, eyes dancing as she began to comprehend the situation, "technically, you are."
"Enough with 'technically'!" Caroline exploded. "I demand to know what is going on here!" She shook her bouquet in Elizabeth's face.
"Simple, Miss Bingley," Elizabeth replied calmly, "When Jane and Mr. Bingley marry, you will be Jane's sister, I am also Jane's sister, so we two will be related."
Caroline's nose wrinkled in distaste at the thought, but she was only momentarily distracted. "And?!?!?!"
"And, Caroline, when Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam marry, she will be my sister," piped up Georgiana, with great enjoyment. "And since you will also be Elizabeth's sister, you will be my sister as well. Did you not understand?" she finished, full of wide-eyed innocence.
Caroline's knees felt weak. Her head was spinning, and her gorgeous feathered headdress, which only moments before had felt like a crown of victory, now was too heavy to support. "So... Mr. Darcy..."
"Is waiting this moment inside the church to marry my daughter," interposed Mr. Bennet, stepping in front of Miss Bingley to take both of his daughters by the arm. "And I think we had best not keep him waiting." He turned towards the church. "Good morning, Miss Bingley." And the doors opened to admit the wedding party.
Caroline stood in disbelief outside the church, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. Suddenly, she heard Louisa's voice calling her name.
"Caroline!" Louisa gasped, stumbling towards her, "I have been looking for you! I must tell you-"
"Enough, Louisa! I know everything!" Miss Bingley turned on her sister with flashing eyes. "How could you have misinterpreted Georgiana's statements to me so grievously?! I never should have believed you when you said Mr. Darcy intended to marry me! I cannot believe you could be so stupid, Louisa! And that I believed you!" She threw her garish bouquet to the ground and spun on her heel towards the carriage.
"But... but... I tried to tell you before-" Louisa sputtered for a while, then raised her own chin and tossed her head. "As you wish, Caroline. Go home. I intend to stay for the wedding!" And she spun on her own heel, leaving her sister alone. Just outside the church door, she turned, saying with a sly grin, "or should I say, the weddings? I must say, there are two very beautiful brides present today... and you are most certainly not one of them!"
Caroline's screech of rage could be heard even inside the church, though most of the guests took it for the call of some angry, gaudily feathered bird.
And perhaps it was.
Caroline glared at the letter in her hand as if she could somehow change the information it contained. For, although nothing was stated explicitly, it was clear for anyone to read between the lines (and blots) that her brother Charles was well on his way to making an enormous mistake.
... Darcy and I are (blot) having a (indecipherable scribble) time here in Hertfordshire with all (blot, smudge) our old acquaintance. I find the country (smudged word, starting with "a") most refreshing. I hope you are enjoying (blot, looked like "London," but she couldn't be sure) as much.
She seethed. Charles, will you never learn? If you marry that country girl it will be my-er, your downfall! Tapping her fingers impatiently as she looked out of the carriage window, she at last saw Netherfield come into view. Ooh, those Bennets, with their "fine eyes" and their flirting ways, and their dancing at Assemblies! If only Charles had sprained his ankle in the first dance!
"Caroline, whatever are you doing here?" Charles exclaimed, flushing. "I thought you were in London!" Safely away from me and my angel...
She batted her eyes at him and cooed sweetly, "Why Charles, after receiving your letter I found that I just couldn't bear to stay in London one minute longer. Your descriptions of the country's beauties inspired me to come immediately!"
He could not miss the edge to her voice, and sighed as he realized that further dissembling was useless. Taking a deep breath, he began. "Caroline, I must own that I had hoped you would stay in London-this is, after all, a shooting party, and you will have nothing to do here."
"Nonsense!" she waved her hand carelessly, smile brittle. "I will visit with our charming neighbors, and call upon my dear Jane." She looked at him meaningfully. "Have you seen her lately, Charles?"
"Yes, er... I have been meaning to speak to you about that, Caroline." Charles said, running his hand through his hair uncomfortably. "The fact is, I have seen quite a lot of Miss Bennet. And I am convinced that-"
"Charles, how could you?!?!?!?!" she burst out, politeness and sweetness forgotten. "I thought you had gotten over these foolish ideas! You know she is an unsuitable match for you! Her family! Her mother! And her sisters, have you forgotten her sisters? So wild, so wanton! Have you forgotten her relatives in Cheapside? How could you think of connecting yourself to such a family?!?!"
Her brother's face was stony. "Caroline, we discussed this months ago. I didn't care then, and I don't care now about Miss Bennet's connections." Besides, given the looks Darcy and Miss Elizabeth have been giving each other, I think the family's connections may greatly improve very soon.
Caroline took a deep, calming breath. Remember, he was just like this in London. I must remind him of the reasons we gave him then... "Charles," she said more quietly, "I have no objections to her connections themselves, only to how they might affect the two of you. I have only your best interests at heart."
He looked at her, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Here we go again, the same speech...
"Jane is a sweet girl, we both know that. But her disposition is so accommodating that she may be influenced by her relations to accept your attentions. You heard her mother, the family wishes her to marry you, and dear Jane would never refuse her family." Caroline opened her eyes even wider, putting as much sincerity as she could into her expression. "Charles, dear, would either of you be happy if she married you?"
To her dismay, Charles seemed unmoved. "I believe we would, sister. After all, I love her, and she loves me."
"But Charles," she persisted, "you cannot know that! You remember what Mr. Darcy and I told you! She behaves no differently to you than to anyone else! Er... in fact, I am sure I saw her flirting with an officer at the Netherfield Ball!" She was growing more desperate, as it appeared that her wiles were not working this time around.
"Caroline, really!" Charles scoffed, "You can't seriously believe that Jane was flirting at the ball! I know for a fact that she was with me almost the entire night!" His features softened at the memory, and he smiled to himself.
More and more panicked, Caroline offered everything she could think of to dissuade him. "She may have been with you then, but that is only because you were right there before her! What about when you were in London? Why did she never write you?"
"You know that would have been most improper," he said sternly.
"Er, I meant 'why did she never write me?' She never did, you know, and I wrote her several letters!"
"Perhaps they got lost in the mail," Charles offered mildly. As did her letters to you, isn't that what you told her?
"That's ridiculous! She never bothered to reply to my letters! And she never even visited us when she was in London!" she finished triumphantly, sure that this tidbit would turn the tide.
"London?" That one word, coupled with Charles's suddenly grim countenance, turned her triumph into dismay at the realization of what she had just inadvertently confessed.
"Yes, well, er... that is..." she stammered.
"Was Miss Bennet in London, Caroline?" Charles inquired with deceptive calm. "Funny, you never informed me of that fact."
"I... I... I thought it best, Charles," she said, rallying. "When I saw her, she was extremely cold to me, and it was clear she did not wish to continue the acquaintance. I did not want to see you hurt, brother."
"Really... how was it clear, Caroline?" his tone was silky, but his eyes were like flint. Caroline continued, unaware.
"She showed no pleasure in my visit to her! And... um... it was four weeks before she returned my call!"
"Four weeks, you say?" he took a step towards her. "And I suppose she only stayed a quarter of an hour?" he prompted.
"Yes... not above a quarter of an hour," Caroline faltered, trapped by her brother's gaze as he continued relentlessly.
"Most rude of her, would you not agree? To suddenly drop your acquaintance, after all her professions of friendship here in Hertfordshire?"
Her heart sunk at his accusatory tone. "Most rude..." she echoed in a whisper.
"And for the daughter of a gentleman to make a friend out of you, then to drop you as being beneath her... that was most unkindly done, was it not? After all, being in trade is not an indication of lesser personal worth-- one should be judged on her own merits, correct?"
Caroline closed her eyes in defeat. He knows exactly what happened in London. And he will never trust me again. The knowledge made her reckless.
"Charles, you must not propose to Jane Bennet! I... I forbid it!" Seeing his suddenly disconcerted expression, she pressed on. "She is totally unsuitable for you! You would never be accepted in society with such a wife! Your name would never be mentioned by your friends! Your alliance would be a disgrace-you would be the contempt of the world! And... and Mr. Darcy would surely agree with me!"
"Would agree with what, Miss Bingley?" boomed Darcy's deep voice from the doorway behind her. She spun around, startled, but she was still confident that he would support her arguments.
"You must not allow Charles to propose to Jane Bennet! She will ruin our reputation!" She folded her arms and looked at him expectantly. She was not disappointed.
"Your sister is right, Bingley," Darcy said, the twinkle in his eye visible only to his friend. "It would indeed be most improper for you to propose to Miss Bennet at this time."
"You see, Charles? We are united in our opinion!" She slipped her arm through Darcy's and smiled up at him.
Darcy politely but firmly removed her arm from his person, and continued. "Your sister is most wise, Bingley-she knows the impropriety of making a proposal to an engaged woman."
"Engaged? Jane is engaged?" Caroline's mouth dropped open in surprise, and her face regained its habitual sneer. "Why, this is wonderful!" She grabbed Darcy's arm again, oblivious to his distaste. "To what lucky gentleman may I offer my congratulations?" She simpered at Darcy, all anger momentarily forgotten.
"To me, Caroline," Charles said simply. "I proposed yesterday and she has accepted. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go to see my fiancée." He brushed past her as he walked to the door. "Darcy, are you coming?" he called over his shoulder.
"Right behind you, Bingley!" Darcy replied, again removing a stunned Caroline's arm with a sly grin. "After all, it wouldn't do for me to neglect my fiancée either!" He nodded at Charles's sudden inquiring look, smiling broadly, and the two men left for Longbourn, leaving behind a shocked, dismayed, and increasingly angry Caroline.
How could Charles do this to me? Does he not know how I will suffer! Does he not care? And Mr. Darcy, leaving so abruptly, to visit-wait... did he say...? She replayed the conversation with dawning horror...
"I say, Darcy, did you hear that?" Charles cocked his head towards Netherfield as they rode away.
"That screeching sound just then?" Darcy inquired, wincing at the shrillness of the noise.
"Yes- I wonder what it could be?"
Struck with the same thought, both men looked at each other and grinned, then spurred their horses towards Longbourn.
Caroline surveyed her reflection in the mirror, smirking in satisfaction. Her new gown set off her figure perfectly, accentuating the elegant angles of her knife-like shoulder blades and reflecting its orange glow onto her otherwise pale cheeks. She carefully arranged the (pumpkin-colored) feathers of her headdress, smoothed her (pale apricot) silk gloves, straightened the (richly peach-toned) lace of her fichu, and picked up her beaded reticule (which in later years could be described only as traffic-cone orange). Thus attired, she proceeded downstairs to greet the guests for the Netherfield Ball.
"Ah, Charles, there you are!" she called in her most gracious voice. "And Mr. Darcy, too! Are you both ready for tonight's festivities?"
"We have been ready for the last half-hour, Caroline-whatever kept you upstairs for so long? Some of our guests have already arrived!" Charles gazed at his sister with a flash of annoyance, but she had already turned her attention to his friend.
"Mr. Darcy, you are looking quite well this evening!" Absolutely delicious, as a matter of fact... She tried not to be too obvious as she licked her lips. Perhaps tonight will be the night you finally realize that you love me. The thought brought a sparkle to her eye, and she fluttered her fan coquettishly at him. As for the man himself, he seemed insensible of her presence beyond a mere nod of acknowledgement, and was occupied in searching the crowd for a particular pair of laughing brown eyes.
"I do so love to dance," continued Miss Bingley, determined to catch his attention. "Which is fortunate, since as the hostess I would be disappointing our guests if I did not." She looked pointedly at Darcy, willing him to understand her none-too-subtle hint.
Darcy, snapping out of his reverie, realized belatedly that the first set was about to begin, and Miss Bingley was quite obviously in need of a partner. Frantically, he looked around for Bingley, hoping his friend would take pity on him and escort his own sister, but Bingley was already proceeding to the floor with the lovely Miss Bennet. He sighed heavily, and turned to face Miss Bingley's catlike gaze. "Miss Bingley, I would be honored if you would allow me to partner you in this set."
Her eyes flashed with triumph even as she simpered her acceptance, and her nose was higher in the air than ever as he escorted her to the set.
Half an hour later, Caroline was not in the best of spirits. That is to say, she was slightly out of sorts. In other words... she was on the verge of throwing a full-out temper tantrum. Not only had Mr. Darcy ignored her through most of two dances, choosing instead to gaze off in the direction of that country chit Eliza, but when she had endeavored to maneuver herself closer to him during the dance, her feathered headdress had actually caused him to sneeze repeatedly! The only bright spot of the dance had been seeing Miss Eliza's embarrassment at being forced to stand up with her odious cousin Mr. Collins.
Caroline drank her punch (orange to match her ensemble, by design of course) and glared in Elizabeth's direction. The young lady seemed none the worse for wear after her dance with Mr. Collins, and was even now laughing with spirit as she conversed with one of the Misses Lucas-the plain one. Miss Bingley's lip curled into a sneer at the thought, but she quickly forced her expression into a more pleasant one as the two ladies approached the refreshment table.
"Miss Bingley, this is truly a lovely evening, I must compliment you," said Elizabeth politely. Caroline nodded tightly in lieu of a reply. Unfazed, Elizabeth accepted a glass of punch from a servant and continued. "I especially noticed the delightful refreshments-I cannot say I have ever had carrot sandwiches before. Are they currently the fashion in London?" Her tone was perfectly bland, but the expression of her eyes was almost impertinent.
"I believe that carrots will soon be quite popular in London, Miss Eliza," Caroline sniffed. "After all, one must endeavor to set fashion as well as to follow it."
"Quite right," Elizabeth replied, struggling not to smile.
Just then, Mr. Collins joined them at the table. "Miss Elizabeth! I have only now just found you! I regret to inform you that I have been unable to find your lost handkerchief, though I have searched most diligently in all six of the places you suggested to me. I must say, I am surprised that you could have misplaced your handkerchief in the stables, or in the root cellar-you should be more careful, cousin, one could almost get lost in such remote locations!"
"Indeed, that would have been a shame," murmured Elizabeth, furtively tucking her handkerchief more securely into her reticule. "Mr. Collins, you remember our hostess, Miss Caroline Bingley? I am sure you would like to convey your appreciation for the lovely evening she has graciously consented to preside over."
"Oh, I would be most honored!" enthused the clergyman, and promptly launched into a stream of compliments. With a feeling akin to panic, Miss Bingley watched Elizabeth and Miss Lucas depart, and she resigned herself to being trapped for a good ten minutes, at least. Pasting a pleasant smile on her face, she found that she needed only to occasionally murmur non-committally, and the obsequious little man would be completely content. It was going to be a long evening...
Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy was finding it hard to resist the enchanting laughter of the aforementioned Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Drawn almost against his will, he went to her side, made his bows, and before he knew it had asked her to dance. In a daze at his audacity, he hardly registered her affirmative response, and with another bow had retreated to the other side of the room to consider his good luck.
"And so, Miss Bingley, I would once again be deeply grateful if you would allow me to extend my most sincere congratulations on an event worthy of the most exalted circles of society, not excluding my most noble patroness, the Lady-"
"Yes, yes, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh," Caroline interrupted, eager to finally put an end to the seemingly interminable prattle.
Mr. Collins was in fact most gratified that his elegant hostess had anticipated his thoughts to delightfully, and as a consequence was moved to humbly entreat her hand for the next dance. (which he did, at great length)
It was perhaps to Mr. Collins's good fortune that Miss Bingley happened, at that moment, to observe Miss Eliza Bennet accepting what appeared to be an invitation to dance from Mr. Darcy, of all people! That scheming little... how dare she attempt to get her claws into my Mr. Darcy! Oh, if only I could do something-wait...
With a toss of her head and a wicked smile on her face, she turned to Mr. Collins and accepted his kind solicitation of her hand. This dance should prove to be very interesting indeed...
The music began, and the couples began their stately movements on the floor. Among them was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and so engrossed was she in disliking her partner that she was unaware of both his admiring glances, and the fact that her fate was at that very moment being decided by the malicious Miss Bingley and her clumsy dance partner.
"So, I have concluded that Miss Elizabeth would be eminently suitable to be my wife, and I am certain that Lady Catherine will concur." Mr. Collins smiled proudly at his elegant partner, and was so occupied with visions of his triumphant return to Rosings that he quite missed the fact that he had once again trodden on her slippered toes.
"I am quite sure you are correct, sir," said Caroline, through teeth gritted in pain. "But have you given any thought to what could happen if-Heaven forbid-the young lady were to disagree?" His look of shock convinced her that he had not. "Not that she would ever refuse you if she had all her facilities intact, sir-" she added hastily, "but the prospect of being so closely connected to Lady Catherine de Bourgh might necessarily put her so much in awe of her situation, that she might inadvertently refuse you without appreciating the consequences of such a hasty reply." She watched his reaction carefully as his expression reflected his slowly dawning comprehension. Come, take the bait... She was not disappointed.
"You are extremely perceptive, Miss Bingley!" he exclaimed finally. "Indeed, I am overcome by your intelligence and your kind solicitousness for your neighbor's well-being! How dreadful indeed if the lovely Miss Elizabeth were to be so stunned by her good fortune that she might act against her own interests-nay, her own desires!" He caught her hand earnestly and almost stopped the dance completely as he begged "Tell me, Miss Bingley, what can I do to ensure her acceptance?"
"Mr. Collins, this is most improper!" she scolded him, and in a most unladylike way, kicked his ankle to force his movement once again. Again dancing (albeit clumsily), he continued in a more subdued tone, "Miss Bingley, I know it must offend your delicate sensibilities to discuss such things, but believe me, I think only of Miss Elizabeth's happiness. How might I induce her to accept my suit?"
"There is only one thing to do," declared Caroline, and he looked at her expectantly. Feigning modesty, she paused "Are you sure that this is what you want?" He nodded eagerly. "It is not quite within the bounds of propriety..." she tempted. Finally, in a dramatic whisper, she deigned to speak. "You must compromise her!"
"Miss Bingley!" gasped Mr. Collins, shocked. Luckily, his wonder was lost in the final instrumental flourish which signaled the end of the set. Hastily, Caroline led him off the floor and towards a relatively isolated corner of the room.
"You would not be doing anything untoward, Mr. Collins!" she hissed desperately. "You would simply be caught alone with her, perhaps in an attempt to kiss her-or embrace her!" Seeing her prey still uncertain, she forged on. "It is the only way to ensure that she will accept you! It is for her own good, remember!" Her grip on his arm grew tighter, and he winced.
"Miss Bingley, are you sure? I am a clergyman, after all..."
"That is of no consequence!" declared Caroline, waving her hand airily. "You must simply be sure that only her family sees the two of you-her father would never spread such information about his own daughter, and it will merely be put out that the two of you are engaged! Can you not see that this is the only solution?" Her eyes were almost wild.
"But-"
"But what?!?!?!" she practically shouted at the poor man.
"But Miss Bingley..." he was sweating profusely, and stared at his shoes. "Miss Bingley, forgive my ignorance, but... I have no experience with.... compromising young ladies. I would not know how to begin..."
"Ah..." Seeing her goal within reach now that Mr. Collins had finally overcome his scruples, she was willing to do what she would never have thought possible. "If you will come with me, Mr. Collins, I will... give you instructions as to what you must do."
Furtively, the two slipped through the halls of Netherfield, ending in the library. Caroline closed the door behind them, and turned to face Mr. Collins.
"Now, sir, here is what you must do-first, you must convince Miss Eliza to grant you a private audience."
"When?" he inquired anxiously.
"I do not care-tonight, why not? As soon as possible. In any case, I will observe the two of you, and make sure that her father is close at hand. Once inside, you must take her hand, like so..." and she took his sweaty hand in hers. "Then, you shall-"
"Wait!" interrupted the nervous clergyman, "Should I not propose to her first?"
"Yes, yes, of course... propose first, then compromise her. Then you may be able to say truthfully that she knew of your intentions." Miss Bingley nodded approvingly, and Mr. Collins lurched to his knees.
"So, I shall make her an offer of marriage, and of course give her my reasons for doing so," he said, fixing the order in his head. Miss Bingley's foot tapped impatiently. "I shall explain to her why it would be in her best interests to accept me, and endeavor to impart to her the benefits of my connection to my esteemed patroness." He rose to his feet with difficulty. "Then, if she does refuse me, I shall-what was I to do again, Miss Bingley?" And he looked to her with confusion.
Sighing, Caroline took his hand once again in hers. "You must take her hand, and use it to pull her close to you."
"Like this?" he asked anxiously, yanking on her bony wrist.
"Ooof! Not quite so hard, if you please!" gasped Miss Bingley. Regaining her composure, she continued. "Then you are to put your arm around her waist... yes, just like that..." she shuddered at her proximity to the man and his malodorous breath, but reminded herself that she was doing it for Mr. Darcy... "And at that point, I will convince Mr. Bennet to enter the library to fetch me a book, and he will see the two of you together!" Her eyes gleamed in triumph at the thought of her rival's disgrace.
Mr. Collins was similarly caught up in the scene. "And then I shall kiss her, to seal the agreement!"
"Yes, you should do so!" exclaimed Caroline. "It will be absolutely-"
It was at this point that two very important things happened.
First, Mr. Collins, carried away by the visions of his success, squarely planted a sloppy kiss on the lips of the unsuspecting Miss Bingley. As he had considerable bulk, if not strength, she was unable to extricate herself for some moments, no matter how hard she struggled (and she did struggle mightily).
Second, it was at that moment that the door to the library opened, and Mr. Bingley himself walked in. Having only come to fetch a book for Mr. Bennet, who had expressed a desire to see a particular volume, he was shocked to find his own sister engaged in behavior of the most improper kind, with Mr. Collins of all people!
"Mr. Collins! What is the meaning of this?" he barked, as Mr. Bennet smiled with amusement behind him.
"Well, I... er... that is to say..." Mr. Collins hastily disentangled himself from the stricken Miss Bingley.
"Charles! It is not what you think!" Caroline cried, desperately searching for a way out of the situation.
"It is not what I think? I think I have just seen my sister compromised by this man!" Charles was amazed and not a little revolted at what he had just seen.
"Mr. Bingley, I assure you, your sister was merely allowing me to practice!" Mr. Collins could see that his attempted explanation was not going to suffice. "Er, practice my proposal! You see, I intended-"
"Is this true, Caroline?" Charles asked with a stony face. "Was Mr. Collins in fact attempting to propose marriage?"
Caroline saw a possible escape and answered eagerly. "Yes, he was, but not to-"
"Enough!" Charles cut her off. He turned to Mr. Collins. "Mr. Collins, I give you my consent to marry my sister. Granted, I would have preferred if you had waited until after gaining it to express your feelings so... openly... but in this case I think I can overlook your enthusiasm." He shook the clergyman's hand heartily and embraced his sister. "Caroline, you have my congratulations. I hope you are very happy with what you have done tonight."
Caroline was taken aback by the steely tone of his last sentence. Could he possibly...? Perhaps he is not as gullible as I had thought.Her heart sank as she turned to face her new fiancée, who was clearly as stunned as she by this turn of events. But what were they to do? To refuse to marry would surely create a scandal, unless Charles could be convinced not to-
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have a wonderful announcement to make!" Charles's voice carried from the ballroom, and Caroline groaned inwardly. So much for convincing Charles. Hanging her head, she allowed Mr. Collins (who was even now convincing himself that he had preferred Miss Bingley all along, and congratulating himself on his cleverness in securing her hand) to lead her from the room. She winced as he placed a sloppy kiss on her fingertips, and sighed again as they went to receive the congratulations of their guests.
Mr. Bennet, left behind in the library, grinned wryly. He had a fair guess as to what had really happened in the room that night, and derived great amusement from the whole affair. Now, the only thing left to do is to avoid Mrs. Bennet for the next several days... she is sure to think herself the most injured party in this situation-after all, she was sure that Mr. Collins would marry one of our girls! How lucky for all of us that Miss Bingley was so resourceful!
And with that, he mentally raised his glass to the most resourceful Miss Bingley, and returned to the ballroom.
Posted on Monday, 31 October 2005
“Caroline, are you sure you can afford this? You’ve already overspent your allowance this quarter, Charles will be most upset!” Louisa looked at her sister worriedly.
“Don’t be silly, Louisa, he won’t mind! He knows how important appearances are, and it would hardly do for me to be seen in an old ballgown from last season, now would it?” Caroline Bingley tossed her head and waved off any more objections. “Besides, if Charles insists upon dragging me along to this country estate, he must accept the fact that I shall establish myself as the premier lady in the neighborhood! And to do that, I must have this new gown.” Her mind made up, she all but dragged her sister to the doorway of the exclusive new establishment.
Madame le Fleur’s, read the elegant sign in the window. Bolts of lustrous fabric were modestly displayed in the understated manner of the truly expensive and exclusive modiste. Madame had just arrived from France, and her gowns were said to be as exquisite as her prices were astronomical.
“Come, Louisa, let us go in!”
“But Caroline, we do not have an appointment! You know that Madame le Fleur will not take a commission from just anyone!”
Caroline narrowed her eyes dangerously. “I am not just anyone, Louisa! I am as rich as any of those society ladies, and I will insist upon being waited upon!”
“But Caroline…” protested Louisa once more, “It is most—“
“Enough!” She cried, her voice getting progressively louder and higher-pitched, “We shall go in, and I shall have my ballgown. If this foreign upstart refuses to accept my money, she has no business working in London in the first place!” And with that, she barged into the shop, pulling a reluctant Louisa in after her.
The bell over the door tinkled, and the young girl in the front room looked up timidly. “Oui, Madamoiselle?”
“I am here to commission a ballgown,” announced Caroline, grandly. Her imperious tone was apparently lost on the young clerk, who looked at her in blank confusion. “Oh, bother,” she grumbled to Louisa, rolling her eyes. “The little chit doesn’t speak English. Stupid girl… I must speak French, then!”
“What are you talking about? You were always dreadful in your French lessons!”
“Nonsense, Louisa, I am an accomplished lady, therefore I speak perfect French!” At her sister’s doubtful look, she raised her voice. “Jay parlay parfatemint le frankay—le fransee—er… French!” And she gestured to the clerk. “Hey… er, Oo est Madame le Fleur?”
Louisa winced at the mangled pronunciation, but the clerk seemed to understand, as she darted behind a velvet curtain, apparently going to fetch the esteemed modiste.
“There, you see, Louisa! A truly accomplished lady can always use her skills to accomplish her task!” And she smiled, greatly satisfied.
Meanwhile, in the back room the young clerk and Madame le Fleur were speaking with great amusement in French. Unsurprisingly, they were confident that even were Miss Bingley to overhear them, they would not be understood.
“You were right, Madame, she is just as rude as you predicted!”
“Well, what else would you expect! Barging into our shop without so much as an appointment! And after making such a spectacle of herself outside, too! Foreign upstart, indeed!” Madame shook her head with a rich chuckle. “And so she thinks you do not understand her, does she?”
“Yes, Madame,” said young Marie, smiling wickedly. “I did not intend it so, but she seems to believe it.”
“Well, then, let us not disappoint her.” Drawing herself up to her diminutive, but still somehow imposing height, the modiste swept into the main room.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, Madame,” she cried, inclining her head graciously. “qu'est-ce que vous voulez, femme désagréable?” (What do you want, annoying woman ?)
“Bone joor,” said Caroline, her own graciousness somewhat marred by the extreme nasality of her voice (her interpretation of a French accent). “I need a dress for—er… j'ai bayson d'une belle robair swog-nant pore oon sorbay.”*
“Avec plasir, mademoiselle!” (With pleasure, miss.)
Emboldened by her apparent success, Caroline pressed on. “Jay voo… er…ressemblair a oon…um…grand… bow…de…uh, rain.” (Une grande beau de reine)
The clerk snickered in the background, and Madame le Fleur hesitated before repeating slowly, “… un grand… potiron?” She looked confused.
“Wee!” Caroline agreed emphatically. “un grand po-ti-rone!” She felt her arm being squeezed by Louisa.
“What did you tell her, Caroline?” she whispered.
“I told her I wanted to look like a grand, beautiful queen! Mr. Darcy will be unable to resist me once he sees me in the latest French fashion!”
In the meantime, Madame le Fleur and Marie were exchanging alarmed, yet greatly amused glances. What was the woman thinking? Could she be serious? Or was her French really so bad that she did not know what she was saying? It was time to drop their little game.
“Mademoiselle, are you sure—“ Madame began, too concerned about her customer’s mental health to pretend not to speak English any longer.
“Wee!” shouted Caroline, not noticing the woman’s lapse. “Un grand po ti rone!” And she was so emphatic that it was all the French women could do to keep from laughing. Waving her hand imperiously, she bid them farewell. "Abroo voir!"**
“Oui, Mademoiselle,” they both replied, and proceeded to take her measurements, repressing their giggles…
One week later…
“Louisa! Quick! It has arrived! My new ballgown! And just in time for our departure for Netherfield! I cannot wait to try it on…” And Caroline tore feverishly at the stylish wrapping. Louisa hurried up behind her as she opened the large box to see the French modiste’s creation, excitedly pawing through the tissue paper hiding the gown. “It’s going to be beautiful, it’s going to be exquisite, it’s going to be—“
She paused, taken aback.
“Orange.” Louisa said, nonplussed. Her forehead creased in confusion. “Caroline, did you instruct Madame le Fleur to select such a… well, garish color?”
“I gave her full discretion, Louisa,” said Caroline doubtfully, fingering the brilliantly-hued fabric. “Though I never expected it to be so… bright. I suppose Madame knows best, but…”
“And are those little green leaves embroidered at the neckline? And golden vines along the hem? And Caroline, really, don’t you think it a bit odd, the dangling beads shaped like—“
“It is lovely,” declared Caroline, lifting her chin. She had bought her “exclusive gown,” and she intended to enjoy it. After all, Madame le Fleur was a famous modiste—surely she would only outfit her clients in the most fashionable of creations. “In fact, I think I will have all of my new gowns made in this precise style from now on.”
“But Caroline, the matching headdress has what looks like a golden stem—“
“Not another word, Louisa! I trust Madame implicitly. And look—“ she bent to retrieve the dainty white card hidden in the silken folds, “she has left me a note—doubtless to express her appreciation for my patronage.” She opened the folded note and skimmed its contents quickly. Suddenly, her face paled. Letting out a strangled cry, she dropped the note and fled to her room.
Curious, Louisa retrieved the fallen card. It read as follows:
My dear Miss Bingley—Here is your new ball-gown. I hope it fulfills your expectations, as truly we have never had such an unusual, and I must say challenging request. As specified, your gown is of the finest silk, with French lace and trimmings, and includes all the matching accessories. And of course, as you most emphatically stated, we have done our best to make you look precisely like a “grand potiron,” or “big pumpkin.” Best wishes, Madame le Fleur.
* “j'ai besoin d'une belle robe soignée pour une soirée” = I need a pretty, fancy dress for a party.
“j’ai besogne d’une belle robert soignant pour une sorbet” = I [hard labor] a pretty, medical breast for a sherbet.
** "Abreuvoir!" = drinking trough!