Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

C aroline rose at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning, unable to withstand even the pretence of sleep any longer. She had not slumbered since her encounter in the mistress's chambers the night before—who could after such a fright?—and had merely waited for the sun to fully rise, surrounded by the glow of several candles that kept the darkness at bay.

She had spent the intervening hours between her encounter with the apparitions and daybreak pacing back and forth in her apartment, muttering to herself as she tried to rationalise her experience, and she was more physically and mentally exhausted than she had ever been. However, she was eager to be with living, breathing human beings, and only her sister's locked door had prevented her from achieving this aim sooner. Louisa was a notoriously deep sleeper, so Caroline had retreated back into her own bedchamber, where she had fidgeted and fretted until morning.

Only once the sun had crept over the horizon, peering shyly above the peaks in the distance, did Caroline determine it safe enough to venture forth into the house. She had called for her yawning and confused maid to dress her for the day, disregarding all the girl's questions about the success of her plans from the night before, then fled the room.

Now she haunted the corridors, alone except for the understated presence of the servants, who flitted from room to room, dusting, polishing, and whatever else it was that they did. No one of any worth was yet awake, leaving the fidgety Caroline to wander aimlessly.

Not far from the guest wing was the gallery, which had at least the benefit of something to gaze upon, so Caroline bent her steps in that direction. She breathed more evenly as she entered the hall full of invaluable works of art, finding relief in the flood of sunlight that spilt into the space through the many tall windows. There was nothing supernatural in this part of the house, thank heavens.

She scanned her eyes over each portrait, almost involuntarily searching for a resemblance to the phantasm she had crossed the previous night. Aside from the glossy image of her young hostess, none of the former Darcys looked even passingly like that horrifying spook. In the warm, shining light of a new day, she wondered whether it had been some terrible dream after all.

A giggle. "Fitzwilliam, stop! I must return to my…mm…"

Soft murmuring in return. "Come back inside, my love. I have not quite finished with you yet." This was accompanied by a soft whine and a more commanding, "No, Freddy, down. Down , I say."

She stopped where she was, her contemplation of Miss Darcy's features on hold at this interruption, and pivoted her head towards the source of the unexpected voices. At the end of the corridor, a door stood ajar, bathing the carpeted floor in cheerful sunlight.

There was a rustle of fabric—Caroline flinched as she recalled the abuse she had taken from a sheet only hours ago—and another bubble of feminine laughter from just beyond the door. "The house is already stirring! We agreed that I must get back to my chambers before we are discovered."

"I changed my mind about that," replied the second voice; it was deep and rumbled like a man's. "Let them find us. We shall be married that much sooner."

There was a high-pitched squeal and a bark before the lady spoke again. "Fitzwilliam, what a thing to say! You have scandalised poor Freddy."

"Freddy, look away."

There was some more scuffling just beyond the door, another muffled shriek of laughter, then some comparative silence. The only sounds Caroline could hear aside from the distant clatter of servants about their business were quick, panting breaths from within the occupied chamber.

Caroline felt rather ill all of a sudden. Even a simpleton could discern the context of this uncomfortable scene, and she would hardly classify herself as such. Moreover, those voices were disturbingly familiar.

It seemed that Eliza had succeeded where she had failed.

The door at the end of the hall gaped open a little more, as if grinning smugly at her, to reveal to her eyes what her mind had already deduced. There were Mr Darcy and Eliza, scandalously dressed in their nightclothes as they amorously embraced. Mr Darcy's horrid dog pranced about their feet, but she was largely overlooked save for a few impatient hand signals from her master. The entire scene was bathed in the magical golden glow of early morning sunlight; even the dust motes swirling around them seemed to dance in celebration of their newly kindled romance.

"How vulgar," Caroline muttered to herself, her lip drawing into a sneer. Mr Darcy, so wealthy and respectable, was acting like a heathen in his own magnificent—if haunted—home. Far from deigning to kiss Eliza chastely, he appeared to be devouring the lower half of her face, his tongue visibly delving into her mouth for the purpose. And his hands—oh, his hands! They were both clasped firmly upon her backside and had pulled her close to the lower portion of his body, which he rubbed against her.

Worse, Eliza was clearly encouraging this behaviour by grasping hold of his hair and responding fervently to his kisses. She was even returning some friction by gliding her body up and down, bouncing merrily upon her toes to do so. Caroline had always suspected that her rival was a wanton trollop, and this proved it beyond all doubt.

The pair carried on with their mutual fondling, clearly unaware of Caroline's presence, so she made a point of coughing to gain their attention. "Ahem."

There was no response at all.

She coughed again, this time with more asperity. "A- hem !"

Still disregarded. This was not to be borne!

"I beg your pardon!" she finally said at the top of her voice. It was unladylike, but she hardly cared; the man she was supposed to marry had clearly been seduced by someone else, so she had no one to impress.

Finally, the couple who had been fused at the lips sprang apart. It was Eliza who spoke first. "Miss Bingley! I—how long have you been there?" As she said this, Mr Darcy grasped her hips from behind and repositioned her to stand in front of him .

"Long enough," replied their reluctant viewing party with a sniff. "I suppose I am to congratulate you on your betrothment?"

This time, Mr Darcy took the initiative to answer, though he kept Eliza firmly before him. Cowering behind a woman! He was becoming less and less admirable to Caroline's eyes every moment. "Yes, we thank you." An awkward pause. "Tea and coffee will be presented in the dining room at any moment, Miss Bingley. Please do partake at any time."

Caroline lifted her nose proudly into the air and proceeded towards the staircase; she was perfectly capable of taking a hint. She did not bother to dismiss herself from their presence with words, for they deserved no such attention.

"Fitzwilliam…"

"Never fear my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. I shall speak to your uncle in the course of the morning and…"

Their simpering voices faded away as Caroline flounced down the marble steps, huffing with derision. Miss Eliza Bennet could have Mr Darcy and this spirit-infested Bedlam! Miss Caroline Bingley would set her sights higher.