• Find earlier parts of this story HERE
• Find additional short stories HERE

Caroline encounters an unpleasant truth.

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Part 5

After ten days at Hurst’s townhome in London, two very important milestones had been achieved. First, with Darcy’s help Charles had been disabused of any notions that there had been any true affection given or received from Longbourn. Jane Benet was a sweet girl, to be sure, but her heart had not been touched and therefore, Charles should not bestow his own regard in so unworthy a place.

The poor boy had been downcast and quite the brown study for days afterwards, but with Charles’ disposition, that was to be expected. He always wore his heart on his sleeve. He would get over it in time. He always did. And eventually he would be grateful that he was spared the very great burden that would have come with marrying Miss Bennet.

Guilt lingered at the edges of her awareness though. Charles was a very good, dear soul and she hated to make him unhappy. But sometimes, when one cared for a person, there was no way around it and it was done entirely for his good. That was the key matter to keep in mind with such things.

Caroline’s second achievement was of a far more personal nature. She had been able to discern that the Godwins were in residence at their house in ton and that Mr. Westmorland was indeed with them. She had not been able to discover upon what date they arrived or what prompted their return from the country. But no doubt, she would be able to find those things out as well. There was always a way to glean information if one just knew the way to go about it.

And one of those way lay in spending time with other ladies. Inevitably someone would know more than you did and could be encouraged to reveal what they knew with very little prodding. To that end, she managed to obtain an invitation to tea from a school acquaintance, Mrs. Bircham. They had not been close friends, but neither were there hard feeling between them. It was the sort of acquaintance, especially since she had married a man of means, that one was wise to encourage.

Conveniently, Mrs. Bircham was easily reminded of their mutual acquaintance Mrs. Godwin, who had recently returned to town, another acquaintance whom both of them would like to maintain. From there the notion of having a tea grew quite naturally with little encouragement and to Caroline’s satisfaction. What more could she possibly ask for than to be coincidentally in company with the very person upon whom her hopes seemed to depend. Yes, it was all working out very agreeably indeed. And if for some reason, things did not work out in her favor, it would prevent a great deal of unnecessary awkwardness since the invitation did not come from herself. But that was hardly a point to dwell upon now.

Caroline checked her gown in the mirror one last time. The promenade gown had been cut as short as fashion and decency would allow, showing just the tops of her walking boots. Though compliments were rather gauche, the gown usually elicited inquiries about who her favorite dressmaker and linen draper were. This was the sort of group with whom such things mattered very much. It would make just the sort of statement she needed to make.

She strode up the steps to the Birchams’ townhouse door and rapped with bronze knocker. That was a rather pleasing way to make an entrance all told. Perhaps, if Charles could be persuaded to take a house for himself in London, a similar one might be procured for that front door.

The butler showed her in and announced her at the drawing room for Mrs. Bircham to welcome.

The drawing room was large and bright and modern. Large windows overlooked a rose garden in the mews below. The furniture, all sleek and elegant was upholstered in wine colored brocade. Just the right number of painted landscapes and portraits surrounded them on the walls, leading the eye to a sumptuous pianoforte in the corner nearest the window. Mrs. Bircham had always had an eye for how to arrange a room.

“I am so glad you have joined us, Miss Bingley.” Mrs. Bircham rose from her seat near the center of the room. “Do come in and join us.” She gestured to an empty seat to her left.

Three other ladies were already there. Two Miss Lockleys, Emma and Amanda, the twin daughters of Sir Adam, the knight, and Mrs. Engleworth whose husband had a grand estate near New Castle. Appropriate curtsies and greetings were exchanges and Caroline took her place.

“I have heard you were recently on a sojourn in the countryside.” Mrs. Englewort’s glance lingered over the lines of Caroline’s gown. Caroline recognized the pattern of her gown—the modiste had shown her a similar drawing the last time she had gone shopping. She had turned it down, thinking it would not suit her figure. She had been right. It looked well enough of Mrs. Englewort, but would not have suited her at all.

“Is that true, Miss Bingley?” Miss Emma Lockley asked with all the bright enthusiasm of a girl just out.

“Our father is so fond of being in town that we have hardly ever ventured beyond the outskirts of the city.” Miss Amanda Lockley sighed dramatically. “Do you like it very well, being in the countryside?”

The two girls favored each other with broad faces, wide green eyes and hair that was halfway between blonde and brown. It was a bit uncanny how much their expressions looked alike, but they seemed harmless enough.

 “Or is it as droll as some have said?” Miss Emma Lockley winked at her sister.

The girls’ enthusiasm was charming, if a bit naïve.

“The countryside does have its charms, I will say that.” Caroline glanced at Mrs. Englwort.

“If one can find the right place, the right house, it can be a pleasing diversion.” Mrs. Engelwort glanced out the window.

“Indeed it can. The house we took, Netherfield Park, was quite satisfactory, though my brother took it without permitting me to see it first.”

Mrs. Englewort gasped and pressed her fingertips to her lips. “Whatever was he thinking? It seems like men, especially single brothers, never really understand about what makes an house adequate.”

“I was fortunate that he was advised by a friend with excellent taste.”

“Would that have been Mr. Darcy, by any chance?” Mrs. Bircham’s eyebrow rose, a coy look in her eye.

“Indeed, he stayed with us as did the Hursts.” Pray let that divert her from that particular line of conversation.

Mrs. Bircham leaned in toward them. “Pray tell me, neither he nor your brother had their heads turned by any of those dreadful country chits.”

“I heard there was a ball given in the neighborhood, just a few weeks ago. Just the sort of event that might result in heads being turned.” Mrs. Engelwort’s voice dropped dramatically.

“A ball? Oh we love a ball!” The two girls looked at each other and giggled.

“A ball can be a very good thing for a neighborhood. It can give a lady quite the opportunity to establish her reputation and herself in a neighborhood. I quite encourage all my friends who take a country house to host one.” Mrs. Bircham nodded knowingly. “But one must also realize that they can be rather dangerous as well.”

“Dangerous?” Miss Amanda’s eyes grew very wide.

“Absolutely!” Mrs. Engelwort glanced back at a vigorously nodding Mrs. Bircham. “One takes a terrible risk with whom she invites.”

“I do not understand.” Miss Emma chewed her knuckle.

“Miss Bingley just came from such a place, I am sure she can explain.” Mrs. Bircham began pouring lemonade.

“Invitations are such a dilemma.” Caroline rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “When one is new in an area, trying to establish oneself, there are families that must be invited because of their place in the community.”

“How is that different from a ball held in town?”

“Oh my dear,” Mrs. Engelwort patted Miss Amanda’s hand. “The behavior that is considered acceptable in the countryside can be so very much different from what one would expect from good company in town.”

“Surely you are exaggerating.” Miss Emma huffed.

That was an annoying little habit that should be squelched as soon as possible.

“I wish I was, I wish I was. Tell them, Miss Bingley, tell them what you saw, for I have no doubt you witnessed plenty of country manners that would not at all pass among refined society here.” Mrs. Bircham passed around the glasses.

“I can think of one family in particular that had all five daughters out at once. Can you imagine, five? The elder two were tolerable, I suppose, but the younger ones were quite unmanaged. One put herself far too forward to play and sing whenever possible, though she had no great feeling in her performance. The younger two—I have never seen such flirtations and romping in young women who were supposed to have been gently bred.” Best stop there, no need to belabor the point.

“You know, Mrs. Godwin said something very similar to me.” Mrs. Bircham waggled a pointing finger.

Caroline turned causally in her direction, her heart racing.

“The poor dear is feeling poorly today, by the way and had to cry off this afternoon. I am so disappointed she is not here to tell us the tale herself. But she told me,” Mrs. B leaned in, whispering and cupping one hand to the side of her mouth, “and mind you, she asked I not repeat it, that she attended a ball in Meryton not long ago and it was utterly shocking, just shocking what she experienced. The way her cousin was fawned over, like a lamb among wolves. He will be quite the catch for certain, but he surely has better prospects to what one can find in a country market town. And one of his dance partners—he danced two with her—”

Mr. Westmoreland had dance two dances with her. She had been the only partner with whom he had dance two sets with. Caroline swallowed hard.

“One would think he all but made an offer of marriage to her the way she carried on, throwing herself at him like some covenant garden strumpet. It was shocking. And the woman’s connections—you could still smell the stain of trade upon her.”

“Indeed?” Caroline’s cheeks prickled.

“As I understand it, that is why the Godwins are back in town now. They had intended to spend the winter in the countryside, but she could not condone the very great risk to her dear cousin and whisked him away before he could even pay a call the day after the event.”

“That does sound rather extreme.” Caroline tried to force her words to sound cheerful, but the effort fell flat even to her ears.

“Sometimes extreme measures are called for. Do you not think so? I am sure you saw many girls setting their caps at your brother. Would you not act to protect him from an ill-advised match if you saw him in danger of falling into the wrong sort of way?” Mrs. Bircham passed her the plate of sandwiches.

Caroline took one without looking at it and put the plate in Miss Amanda’s hands. “When you put it that way, of course. Certainly I would act in his best interest. It would be my duty.”

Thankfully the Miss Lockleys picked up the conversation and carried it for the next half hour, at which time Caroline was able to excuse herself politely and with all composure, rather than running for the coach as she would have preferred to do.

Once the driver closed the door she fell back into the squabs and fought for breath. How was it possible? Sure she had misunderstood. But no, Mr. Westmoreland had danced two with only her, no one else. Was there some other event he might have attended in the neighborhood, possibly before they had taken Netherfield?

Anything was possible, but if it were so, why had she not heard of it? At the very least, someone would have made some comparison between it and the Netherfield ball. But not a word had ever been spoken. It had to be that ball—her ball—that Mrs. Engelwort had spoken of.

So that was the truth of it. Mrs. Godwin objected to Caroline and rushed her cousin away before he could make an alliance. But why? What was possibly wrong with her or her connections that would cause her to act so? True enough, her father had been in trade. But none of the current generation were. And they counted Darcy among their friends. Her fortune was good, as were her taste and manners. How could she be unacceptable?

And yet, there it was.

Worse still, the gossip had already started, and her reputation was on its way to ruin—and she did not even know what she had done. She covered her face in her hands. What was she to do?

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Find earlier parts of this story HERE

Find additional short stories HERE

 

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