Chapter One

W here it began….

The dusty stairs to the Meryton assembly rooms left a trail of dirt on my train. Surely, that was merely the first sign of the degradation this environment would provide.

I had commissioned my gown from Madame Beauregard after lingering on her waiting list for an age. The glistening coral silk and gauze overlay stood out in London. Here in this God-forsaken provincial dunghill, it was arresting. Not one woman, I cannot use the term lady for these wretched specimens, wore a gown less than three years out of fashion. The colours, the styles, were pitiable in their simplicity. Only Louisa and I wore anything au courant. And, if I am frank, Louisa’s attire was becoming absolutely dowdy since her marriage.

I stood at the edge of the assembly room, observing the provincial masses with thinly veiled disdain. Our party had barely crossed the threshold when I sensed the shift in the atmosphere—all eyes turned to us, drinking in every detail of our appearance and demeanour.

Darcy commanded the greatest attention. I felt a flutter in my chest as I gazed upon his noble countenance. Within moments, whispers of his ten thousand a year spread through the room like a spreading flame up a curtain. I smirked, knowing full well the effect such news would have on these fortune-hunting country folk.

As the evening progressed, I watched with growing amusement as the locals’ initial admiration for Mr Darcy turned sour. His reserved nature and discerning taste were clearly beyond their comprehension. These simple people mistook his refinement for pride, his discretion for disdain. How little they understood true quality! I overheard snatches of conversation about our party.

“That is Mr Darcy. They say he has ten thousand a year!”

“He is handsome enough, to be sure, but how he looked at us? As if we were beneath him! He was stood beside Mrs Long for an entire set and never uttered a word.”

I smirked. Turning to Mr Darcy, I said, “It seems you have made an impression, sir. Though I daresay they do not quite know what to make of you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I care not for their expectations, Miss Bingley.”

Charles approached us, flushed from dancing. I asked, “Enjoying yourself, brother?”

“Immensely!” he beamed. “Such charming people. I say.”

“You have danced every dance, Charles. Might you not show some discretion?”

“I am happy to dance, Caroline. Why Miss Jane Bennet is the prettiest, sweetest girl here. I was obliged to dance with her sisters and friends.”

“You do not fool me, Charles. I was well able to see that Mrs Bennet corner you into asking each of her ridiculous daughters for a set.”

Charles demurred, insisting he was happy to dance with them all, but I had eyes. Mrs Bennet had latched onto my brother as their saviour. It was all I could do to keep him from asking that Jane Bennet for a third set.

To his credit, Mr Darcy limited his dancing to Louisa and me. He spent much of the evening standing silently at the edge of the room, much to the chagrin of the local ladies. I pretended not to notice the jealous glances when I partnered him. I smiled with elegant restraint, pleased that at least one man present recognised true worth.

It appeared that Mr Darcy had the good sense to avoid dancing with the unremarkable Bennet daughters. That dreadful Mrs Bennet’s unrefined voice loudly complained; “Did you see how Mr Darcy snubbed my poor Lizzy? The proudest, most disagreeable man! I hope he never comes here again!” Mr Darcy would no doubt be delighted to comply with her wish.

The carriage ride home was filled with lively discussion of the evening’s events. Charles, predictably, had nothing but praise for the local population. Mr Darcy and I, however, shared a silent understanding. We had endured this rustic gathering, but it had only served to highlight the vast gulf between our refined circles and this quaint country society.

Charles was ebullient. “What a delightful evening! I have never met with pleasanter people or prettier girls in my life!”

I exchanged a glance with Mr Darcy before responding, “Charles, dear, surely you jest? While the evening was... tolerable, I hardly think it compares to our London gatherings. You are far too easily pleased. Mr Darcy, do you not agree that the society here is rather beneath our usual circles?”

Darcy nodded slightly. Or perhaps he merely turned his head. He made no reply.

As Netherfield came into view, I allowed myself a small sigh of relief. One provincial assembly had been endured, but how much more would we have to endure in this backwater?

Charles, in his guileless ignorance, accepted an invitation to what is termed a ‘supper party’ at the home of our only local person of distinction—though I use that term with considerable irony. A knighthood for addressing the King about cheese. Really, what is society coming to? Sir William Lucas. If I heard the tale of his speech and the later designation as “Sir” once, I heard it a thousand times. A former shopkeeper, Sir William, stretched the idea of knighthood until it threatened to snap. He considered himself to be the social leader of Meryton, as though that were a distinction of merit. It promised to be another evening wasted in the dismal company of the Meryton denizens.

“Sir William Lucas,” I murmured to Louisa behind my fan, “has mentioned his knighthood only three times this evening. Perhaps he is feeling unwell.”

“Caroline,” Louisa sighed, but I noted she kept her own fan carefully positioned.

“The noise, Louisa! The wild behaviour of those chits! I am beside myself.” And to think we might have been at Lady Hampton’s musical evening in town.

Louisa shook her head. “They are children, Caroline. They are perhaps a little loud, but I recall some excessive enthusiasm in your actions not many years ago.”

I stared at her in horror. “Have you gone native already, Louisa? Next, you’ll be praising their gowns.” That would be impossible — I have seen better fabric adorning tea shop windows.

Mr Hurst had already abandoned us to the card-room, having consumed enough punch to fell a cavalry officer. Louisa had been irritable and difficult since we came to Netherfield. Had her marriage made her complacent?

A Mrs Purvis approached us and began speaking of some matter of no interest to me. Louisa engaged with her as though she were a leading light of society. Bored with their talk of muslin—was Louisa now to wear peasant garb?--I sauntered away. Darcy was stood against the hearth, a distant expression on his face, looking magnificent and properly disapproving. Perfect. At least someone else recognised the absurdity of our situation.

“I can guess the subject of your reverie.” I said as I approached Mr Darcy with a coquettish smile.

“I should imagine not.”

“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society; and, indeed, I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance, of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!” Darcy could be stodgy, but his estate and his wealth, his connections and his fine person, all would meet my wishes agreeably. With the position of Mrs Darcy, I would be a leader of the ton. I was certain he was as disgusted with the evening as was I.

“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”

I was startled. Had I at last broken through to capture him? Who else could he possibly be thinking of in this hell hole. I immediately fixed my eyes on his face. Surely he means... he must mean...

“Pray tell me, what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections?” Mine own, perhaps?

Mr Darcy replied, with great intrepidity, —

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

My stomach dropped. He could not be serious. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” said I. Surely I misheard. The second Bennet girl? I scrambled for a response that would sufficiently express both my horror and call his sanity into question. “I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite? and pray when am I to wish you joy?” He. Could. Not. Be. Serious.

“That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.” Ouch. He was standing firm on his opinion. Worse still, he rather denigrated my intelligence. I would have to redouble my efforts.

“Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and of course, she will be always at Pemberley with you.” Indeed, no man would wish to be saddled with Mrs Bennet as a mother-in-law. She was relentlessly mercenary and never ceased speaking. Her machinations in attempting to throw her girls ‘into the path of rich men’ were obvious and despicable. I swear she was teaching those young ones to simper and flatter like grasping fortune hunters.

He listened to me with perfect indifference. Desperate to reach him, I entertained myself in this manner. His composure convinced me that all was safe, so I took a breath, and my wit flowed along.

“Surely you will have the younger Misses Bennet to your London home. They will make fine examples for Miss Georgiana.” I thought I detected a slight wince. Had I hit a sore spot?

“Of course, Miss Mary Bennet would be a fine musical accompaniment to your sister. Perhaps dear Georgiana would enjoy adopting a pedantic style of playing more suited to dirges than to dances.” Nothing.

After some minutes of receiving no satisfaction from Mr Darcy, I retreated to Louisa, my mind whirling. “Do you know, Louisa, what Mr Darcy just said? I cannot comprehend him.”

“What now, Caroline? Your fixation on that man is unseemly.”

“Louisa, how can you say that? Mr Darcy praised Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes! Her eyes, Louisa! A country nobody who has not the least notion of proper comportment! Such unrestrained laughter in company, such decided opinions - one would hardly know she had received any education at all. To see Mr Darcy attend to such embarrassing exhibitions of high spirits when he might converse with those who understand the elegant forms of society!”

“Lower your voice, Caroline. Company is quite close here.”

“‘If it were not so ridiculous, I would say he is infatuated with the trollop,” I held my fan, shielding my lips lest some peasant overhear.

Louisa glared at me as if I were the one making outrageous remarks.

Company was indeed excessively close in what was grandiosely called “Lucas Lodge.” Indeed, the proportions were those of some woodland hovel suited to use as a hunting lodge. All manner of creatures were crammed in. The local tradesman’s wife pressed against one’s sleeve on the left, while the solicitor’s daughter invaded one’s person on the right. Such promiscuous mixing of society! And in such confined quarters! How could anyone of refined sensibilities endure such an assemblage?

One of those wild younger Bennet girls was yammering to another, demanding that she play ‘dancing music’ so that they could make up a set in the miniscule confines of the ‘drawing room.’ Insipidity and noise were only the half of it.

What had possessed my fool of a brother, Charles, to take the lease of a property in this backwater, Meryton, without so much as consulting me, I could not fathom. We were advantageously situated in London. A townhouse nearly in Mayfair and the society of the best people, with thanks to Charles’s friendship with Fitzwilliam Darcy. The same Mr Darcy who was now salivating after some chit with wild hair and a gown so far out of fashion, it was nearly in fashion again.

This setback would not ruin my plans. As horrendous as the God-forsaken Netherfield estate Charles had taken was, the benefit was the presence of Mr Darcy. We had been acquainted now for three years, perhaps? The summer before, I had had the inordinate pleasure of spending a sojourn in Derbyshire at that gentleman’s fine estate, Pemberley. I believe I must date my devotion to the man from my first seeing his beautiful house at Pemberley. For a certainty, he is a great tall fellow, handsome and always perfectly turned out. What he lacks in sociability is more than made up for by his truly superior connections and wealth. He is perfect for me, and his visit to Netherfield is the ideal setting for me to show him I am perfect for him. I will run a perfect household, order meals to impress even his refined palate, and perform as the ideal hostess. Eliza Bennet would not thwart my design. I have not spent three years cultivating his good opinion to lose him to a girl who probably thinks Almack’s is a type of soup.

It was not enough that Charles had ensconced us in this wilderness, lacking any decent society. No, my pudding headed brother must needs have another of his usual infatuations with the prettiest, well, relatively speaking prettiest, girl in the village. Miss Jane Bennet. She was precisely Charles’s type. Blonde, blue eyed, willowy, she was ever smiling her mindless smile and was utterly without rank, connection or, as far as I had yet determined, dowry. Charles mooned over her constantly, danced with her at the slightest provocation, and gave all the signs of a deep infatuation. The prospect of my brother being ensnared by such a nobody, let alone one with a determined fortune hunting matchmaking mother, was insufferable. I had to act. I would detach Charles from this insipid creature and entrance Mr Darcy with my elegance and charm.

I shall simply have to redouble my efforts. After all, what gentleman of sense would choose a country nobody who could not distinguish a barouche from a landau over the perfect mistress for Pemberley? Though I must admit, the way he looked when speaking of her eyes... No. Impossible. It cannot be.

∞∞∞

In the drawing room of Netherfield, I found myself sighing at the tedious obligation of receiving the Bennet ladies. “Louisa,” I whispered to my sister, “prepare yourself. The Bennet invasion is upon us.”

Louisa gave me a reproachful look. “Caroline. They are our neighbours. They were hospitable when we called and we shall be hospitable to them.”

“I am the very soul of hospitality.” Though why I must be hospitable to people who probably think a polonaise is something one eats for breakfast, I can not fathom.

The Bennets were announced, and I affixed my most practised smile. “Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Eliza, how lovely to see you again.” About as lovely as a tooth extraction. I smothered my smirk as Miss Eliza made a barely perceptible grimace at my sobriquet.

Jane Bennet’s curtsy was admittedly graceful. “Thank you for having us, Miss Bingley. It is a pleasure to be here.”

I had to admit, Jane’s manners were impeccable. As we exchanged pleasantries, I found myself warming to her slightly. “Miss Bennet, you must tell me about the local walks. I have heard they are quite charming.” There. Let no one say I cannot make polite conversation.

Jane’s face brightened. “Oh, they are! There is a particularly lovely path through the woods near Oakham Mount. Perhaps we could walk there together sometime?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “That would be... agreeable.” Inwardly, I shuddered. I would never willingly submit myself to anything involving the word “Mount.” I preferred more civilised environs. A nice ten-minute stroll through a manicured garden was more to my taste. Climbing a mountain? Unthinkable.

As the visit progressed, I observed Charles’s perpetual puppy-like attention to Jane with growing alarm. When Mrs Bennet began another of her interminable stories, I leaned closer to Louisa.

“Do you see how Charles looks at her? It is becoming rather obvious.”

Louisa shook her head slightly. “You are imagining things, Caroline. Charles is being polite. You might try it.”

I covered my snort with a quick touch to my nose with a handkerchief. “I hope I am not falling ill!” I said, inspired that such might cause our visitors to depart.

∞∞∞

Later, after the Bennets had left, Charles approached us, beaming like a moon-struck calf. “Was that not a pleasant visit? Miss Bennet is such a gentle creature.”

I glanced at Louisa before responding. “She seems amiable enough, I suppose. Though one can hardly say the same for her family.”

Charles frowned. “Come now, Caroline. They are perfectly pleasant people.”

I sighed dramatically. “Oh, Charles. Can you not see how vulgar Mrs Bennet is? And those younger sisters! Absolutely wild.”

Louisa intervened. “Mrs Bennet can be... enthusiastic, as are her younger daughters, however the elder Misses Bennet are perfectly lovely young ladies.”

Charles nodded appreciatively at Louisa. “Thank you, Louisa. I agree completely. Miss Bennet, especially, is a true gentlewoman.”

I patted Charles’s arm condescendingly. “Of course, dear brother. We shall be civil to Miss Bennet for your sake. But do be careful. We would not want any... misunderstandings to arise.”

As Charles walked away, looking perturbed, I turned to Louisa. “We must keep a close eye on this situation. Jane Bennet may be sweet, but she is entirely unsuitable as a match for Charles.”

Louisa shook her head firmly. “Miss Bennet is a respectable, young gentlewoman. If Charles develops an attachment to her, we should support him.”

I stared at Louisa, aghast. “Surely you cannot be serious. Think of her family, her connections!”

Louisa placed a calming hand on my arm. “We are not even a generation from trade, Caroline. Jane Bennet outranks us, despite apparently lacking a fortune. I am simply saying we should not interfere. Charles is capable of making his own decisions. Our role is to support him, not to manipulate his choices.”

As I gazed out the window, watching the Bennet carriage disappear down the drive, I found myself unsettled by Louisa’s words. I could not shake a sense of dread that our peaceful stay at Netherfield was about to become far more complicated.

I could not allow this matter to play out without acting. I needed to prepare. Whatever Jane Bennet’s sweet appeal, she was not what my brother ought to aspire to. It was imperative that I find an opportunity to question Miss Jane Bennet and warn her off my brother.

A perfect opportunity to take the measure of Miss Bennet without her overbearing mother and intolerable sister beside her arose when Charles and the other gentlemen accepted an invitation to dine in the village with the commander of the regiment stationed there. I could extract the details of her connections, her father’s estate and what dowry she brought, whilst exposing her to the superior, genteel manners I am renowned for. Louisa agreed that I should invite Jane Bennet to dine.

“We ought to get to know the girl, since Charles seems quite intrigued by her,” she said. The chance to have an hour or two without Charles and Mr Darcy at the dinner table was ideal.

I composed what I considered a masterpiece of manipulation:

“My dear friend,

If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives; for a whole day’s tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.

Yours ever,

Caroline Bingley”

Perfect. No mother, no impertinent sister, just dear Jane alone with her inquisitors.

Jane, the picture of politeness, agreed to my plan. The next afternoon, the three gentlemen had departed under threatening skies, whilst I made no mention of my expected guest. That it was about to blow a gale was inconvenient, but surely of no great concern. I paced the paltry drawing room, anticipating the pleasure of interrogating the unsuspecting dear. Then I stood at the window, utterly aghast at the sight before me. Miss Jane Bennet was trotting up our drive on horseback!

I had expected her to arrive in that rickety old carriage the Bennets usually rattle about in, but no. Even with dark clouds looming overhead, threatening to burst at any moment, she rode five or however many miles on this decrepit piece of horseflesh. And ride she did, wrapped in the most atrocious garment I have ever laid eyes on.

Of course, the heavens had opened as she rode. The rain drenched her to the bone. By the time she dismounted, her hair hung in rattails, and her dress clung to her in the most indecent manner. I could practically see through to her stays!

“Louisa!” I called from the window. “You will never believe... she has come on horseback! In this weather!” On what appears to be a creature too enfeebled for the knackers.

“Surely not in this rain?”

“Oh, but she has. And in what appears to be her great grandmother’s cast off riding habit.”

As Miss Bennet sloshed her way to our door, I savoured the sight of her bedraggled form. Surely, this would extinguish Charles’ inexplicable fascination. I straightened my own immaculate gown, ready to greet our sodden guest with all the false civility I could muster.

Louisa scurried off on some pretence, leaving me to curtsey to Miss Bennet as if she were royalty. Let her see how a true lady comports herself.

Miss Bennet stammered apologies for her unseemly state, hesitating to soil our ugly silk upholstery. She stood there, dripping and shivering like a half-drowned kitten. Mrs Nickless materialised with towels. A maid appeared unbidden with tea, and Louisa returned to fawn over our guest as if she were a long-lost sister.

“Miss Bennet, you poor dear! Come, let’s set you to rights,” Louisa cooed, whisking her away.

I endured ten interminable minutes of solitude before they returned. Miss Bennet looked marginally less sodden, though her hair remained a fright. I insisted on fresh tea. Miss Bennet accepted a cup, holding it close to her face as if it was the first decent cup she had ever experienced.

“My dear Miss Bennet, how delightful of you to brave the elements to visit us,” I began with a gracious smile. She had the decency to respond.

“Thank you for the invitation,” she replied through chattering teeth.

I pressed on, determined to unearth every sordid detail of her family connections. “Do tell us about your relations. Have you many aunts or uncles? Grandparents, perhaps?”

“My aunt Mrs Phillips is married to the local solicitor...”

Excellent. A country lawyer. This grows better and better.

“And my uncle in London...”

“Oh? Where in London?”

“He lives in... Cheapside.”

I nearly clapped my hands in delight.

My persistence had borne fruit. An uncle in trade, living in Cheapside, no less! I could have cried out with joy at each mortifying admission.! It was all too perfect. She was compelled to reveal all her sordid connections whilst engaging in what appeared to be a simple teatime visit.

I had almost extracted the precise income of Longbourn when Louisa interrupted with tedious prattle about tenants and charitable sewing. Later, she dared to call my inquiries ‘crass,’ but I assured her the information was vital. After all, we must ascertain whether Miss Bennet is the fortune hunter I suspect her to be.

“You were rather hard on the poor girl,” Louisa observed in that superior older sister tone I detested.

“Hard? I was the soul of politeness.” Whilst extracting every damning detail about her connections. Really, I deserve a commendation.

∞∞∞

As the day progressed, matters only deteriorated. I had calculated that we could whisk Miss Bennet out well before Charles returned from his dinner with the officers. But I failed to account for the legendary delicate constitution of the eldest Miss Bennet. Honestly, these country girls and their mysterious ailments! How terribly... convenient.

“Caroline,” Louisa murmured behind her soup spoon, “does Miss Bennet look rather pale to you?”

I barely glanced up from my own tepid soup—Cook really must learn that lukewarm consommé is an insult to civilisation itself. “My dear sister, everyone appears pale in this ghastly candlelight.”

But even I could not ignore the way that lady swayed in her seat. Her usually serene countenance was creased with a grimace. Her lower jaw began to tremble, and her eyes took on a glassy appearance. Her usually serene countenance—the very one that had so bewitched my brother—had taken on a most alarming shade of grey.

“Miss Bennet,” Louisa crooned, “I fear you are unwell! Did you take a chill?”

Jane Bennet nodded with a stricken expression. Her lower lip trembled in a way that would have seemed affected had I not known her to be unfortunately genuine in all things. “I fear I am indeed unwell,” she whispered, as if admitting to some grave social faux pas. Which, in my opinion, she absolutely was. Falling ill at dinner? How desperately middle class.

Louisa glared at me as if there was something I should do. I watched in disbelief as our carefully orchestrated dinner devolved into utter chaos. My brilliant plan to dispatch Miss Bennet before Charles’s return crumbled faster than Cook’s notoriously dry scones.

We had scarcely finished the soup - a tepid affair that did little to warm our still-damp guest - when Miss Jane Bennet had begun to sway like a reed in the wind. For a moment, I entertained the delicious notion that she was in her cups, but alas! The silly girl had declined even the mildest cordial.

Louisa, ever the dramatist, leapt to her feet as if the chair had suddenly caught fire. Then she said, shaking her head. “Gracious!” I half expected her to press the back of her hand to her forehead and declare, “The vapours!” Instead, she merely summoned Peters, our footman, with a wave that would have made Sarah Siddons herself envious. “We must get you to bed at once!”

“Oh no,” Jane protested weakly, “I could not possibly impose—”

“Nonsense!” Louisa declared, already dispatching Peters to fetch Mrs Nicolet. “We simply cannot allow you to return home in such a state.”

Cannot allow her to return home? I nearly choked on my wine. This was precisely the sort of thing I had been trying to prevent. One might as well hand Charles a marriage licence and have done with it.

“Sister,” I attempted to interject, “surely Miss Bennet would be more comfortable in her own—”

“Caroline!” Louisa shot me a look that could have curdled all the cream in Hertfordshire. “Do be useful and send for the apothecary.”

“Miss Bennet!” she continued. “We must get you to bed at once!”

“Is the entirely necess—” I began, but Louisa had already swept from the room in a flutter of silk and misplaced maternal instinct, assisting Miss Bennet to her feet and with the housekeeper, escorting Jane Bennet up the stairs apparently to deposit her in a guest chamber!

I found myself abandoned at the table, surrounded by half-empty soup dishes and my own growing irritation. The nerve! I consoled myself by instructing the footman to refill my glass - repeatedly. If I was to be left alone, I might as well enjoy the good wine Charles had laid in.

When Louisa finally deigned to return, she was all aflutter about sending for the apothecary.

“Caroline,” she whispered, as if imparting state secrets, “Miss Bennet is terribly ill. The poor thing is burning up! She must have caught a cold. Caroline, have you not done anything? Did you not send a footman to the apothecary? - or order some hot tea for our guest?” Louisa looked at me as though I were suddenly the drudge assigned to the care of the sickroom. Then she issued her coup de grace. “We simply must keep her here tonight.”

“Must we?” I drawled, signalling for another glass. “How extraordinarily convenient.”

“Whatever do you mean by that tone?”

“Oh, nothing at all, dearest sister. I merely find it remarkable how frequently young ladies of uncertain fortune manage to fall ill in houses containing eligible gentlemen of substantial means.”

“Caroline Bingley!” Louisa’s scandalised gasp was almost worth the entire evening. “You cannot possibly suggest—”

“I suggest nothing,” I replied smoothly. “I merely observe. And what I observe is that our dear Miss Bennet has managed to secure herself a night under our roof mere hours before Charles’s return.”

“You are impossible,” Louisa declared, sweeping from the room once again, no doubt to order hot bricks and extra blankets like some common nurse. I heard her speaking with the Butler in the hall.

Ill indeed! I was not born yesterday; unlike some people I could mention. This was clearly a ruse, a calculated device to extend Miss Bennet’s stay and further entangle my brother in her web of country charm and tattered petticoats.

Again, I was left to sit alone at table, while Louisa was off on whatever frolic. I did direct the footman to refill my glass and serve the next course while I waited.

Louisa returned eventually, with some tale about calling the apothecary. I was not so gullible as my sister. Miss Bennet had seen a chance to remain at Netherfield and took advantage of it.

As Louisa fretted over bed linens and hot bricks, I enjoyed my dinner and plotted. If Miss Bennet thought she could outwit Caroline Bingley, she was in for a rude awakening. Though I dreaded to admit it, Charles would be absolutely insufferable when he returned—all puppyish concern and eager solicitude. No doubt he’d want to taste her gruel or some such nonsense. The whole thing was enough to give one a headache. Or perhaps that was the Bordeaux.

I could already envision his fawning excitement, his eager inquiries after her health, his insistence on personally overseeing her care. Oh, what a vexing development! This evening had transformed from a minor annoyance into a full-blown catastrophe. I would need to redouble my efforts to keep Charles from falling further under the spell of the bewitching Miss Bennet.

As I drained the last of my wine, I consoled myself with one comforting thought: at least no rain-soaked, bedraggled Miss Elizabeth was here to complete this mockery of a family reunion. Small mercies, indeed.