It was the beginning of the new Caroline Bingley, and she owed it all to Mary Bennet.
Abigail had seen to a messenger at the door and returned with a small package. “Miss Bingley, a box has been delivered from Sir John.”
Caroline opened it and found inside a beautiful string of pearls with a cameo of carnelian shell, but no note. The profile was definitely her own.
“Oh, Caroline!” cried Louisa. “How lovely! It is a shame it does not complement the comb in your hair.”
Never removing her eyes from the cameo, Caroline said to Abigail, “Remove the comb.”
“But, Miss Bingley, your hair is done! If I remove the comb, you will be late.”
“Am I speaking Italian, you foolish girl?” Caroline snapped. “Remove it! Redo my hair! Do you think I shall attend this ball without wearing my intended’s gift?”
“Caroline…” said Mary in a quiet, reproachful tone.
Caroline colored. Mary was the only person in the world who could speak to her so without fear of a quarrel.
“Abigail, it is my wish to honor Sir John. Exchange my comb for another—please.”
Abigail, muttering apologies, got to work, but Caroline did not attend. She had put on the pearls, and she saw how the cameo rested just above her bosom. It was lovely, slightly risqué, and definitely became her.
“Beautiful,” breathed Louisa.
Not for the first time, Caroline began feeling odd flutterings in her stomach. She had no idea what it signified.
It was a hard thing indeed to admit that one’s life was built around a lie, but there was nothing for it. Caroline had no choice but to realize that, while she had developed many admirers and acquaintances among the ton, she had few true friends. She was mortified to see how she had cut people of character—people whose friendship she should have cultivated—simply to impress people of fashion. She had sacrificed any hope of intimacy with her brother’s wife because of her snobbery. She had joined in with jests and cruelties and thought little of it—until it was directed at her. For almost ten years, she had lived thus, and all she had to show at the end was a life as an old maid without friends and without a lover.
The latter was her choice. There were those who would have been willing to enter into an arrangement, offer carte blanche, but Caroline would not hear of it. She would be honorably married or die alone, and she knew without a doubt that she would die alone.
Caroline now had a new occupation: the rebuilding of Caroline Bingley. Mary and Louisa were her confidantes during this endeavor. They all agreed that the first person Caroline needed to approach was Mrs. Bingley. It was accomplished after all returned to Netherfield, and it achieved as much success as could be expected.
She dreaded the interview with the Darcys. Her sin there was more grievous, and to be honest, a little jealousy was still in her heart. Gathering up her courage, Caroline made her full apologies when the Darcys and Kitty stopped at Netherfield on their journey back to Pemberley with Mary in attendance. After all, surely the Darcys could not cut her completely in front of witnesses, could they?
Mr. Darcy looked to his wife. It was clear that for her he would do anything. Elizabeth colored and looked at her toes, considering. Then, with a smile, firmly secure in her practice of thinking only of the past as it gave her pleasure, she forgave Caroline everything and embraced her as a sister.
Restored to a level somewhere between civility and intimacy, Caroline began observing the Darcys closely. To be sure, Mrs. Darcy was unorthodox with her impertinent teasing of her husband, but Mr. Darcy seemed to relish her behavior, and Caroline was startled to hear him openly laugh. She could not recall ever hearing that sound come from him before in all the years she had known him. What jealousy remained in her died as she saw the open affection and respect each held for the other.
“There, miss. Is your hair satisfactory?” Abigail asked.
Caroline looked at her reflection. “Yes, that will do.” After a pause, she remembered to add, “Thank you, Abigail.”
Flustered, the girl exclaimed, “Oh, miss! Thank you, but it was just my duty.”
Caroline sighed. She never realized that being good was such hard work.
“I am ready, Abigail.” She stood to exit the room and go downstairs, her mind once again preoccupied by one of the most notorious rakes in society.
Chapter 2
Caroline descended the stairs of Bingley House with Louisa and Mary. The Bingleys and Hursts were assembled and visibly relieved at her appearance. Also in attendance was a rather intense young man dressed in much less fine attire than the others.
“Ah, Mr. Tucker!” said Caroline. “Here is your wayward wife, sir. I hope you are well.”
“Perfectly well, Miss Bingley. On behalf of my wife, I thank you for the invitation.”
“That is quite unnecessary. How could I have such a ball without my friends? It is I who must thank you for attending.”
Tucker offered his arm to Mary, who took it readily. At that moment, the Darcys, together with Georgiana and Kitty, made their appearance, and the various families spent some time in welcome.
Caroline had greeted all her guests when she noticed a figure in black with a sash of red standing in a shadowy doorway. She could almost make out his intense blue eyes staring at her. As Colonel Sir John Buford strode towards her, Caroline felt weak. She could not move if she wanted to—and she did not want to move. Within a breath, her intended was before her, ignoring all others around them.
“Good evening, Caroline,” Buford said as his eyes strayed from her face to her bodice.
“Good evening, Sir John.” Her voice was reasonably steady.
His hand slowly reached for and held the cameo, the back of his fingers gently caressing her skin. “I see you have worn your gift. I am pleased that it looks so well on you.”
Caroline did not blush—she flushed from her cheeks down, due to his attentions. “I… I must thank you for such a wonderful gift. But how was it made? I sat for no commission. How did you come by my likeness?”
He placed it upon her bosom. “From memory,” he stated, blue eyes boring into her. Violating all propriety, his lips descended upon hers with the lightest of kisses. Straightening up, he looked at his astonished audience with arrogant confidence as though he were challenging anyone to rebuke him for claiming what was his.
A new feeling joined the flutterings, but this time Caroline knew the name of it, for she had felt this before. Desire. At that moment, she cared not what other people thought; she only wanted their wedding to be the next day rather than a fortnight away.
As soon as the sentiment washed over her, she reached for her vaunted self-control. This would not do. They had guests coming, and she would not embarrass herself before their guests. She gave her intended an arch look.
“Control, sir!” she whispered. “Why, you act like a schoolboy instead of a colonel in His Majesty’s army! Take your position beside me, Sir John.” With that she entwined her arm in his, drawing him to stand at her side. Turning to the others, she said, “You really must forgive him. He is only a soldier, after all.”
“I think I need a drink,” said Hurst.
Rather than chastised, Sir John was pleased. Once again, Caroline had passed a test.
Caroline had heard of Sir John Buford, Colonel of Cavalry in His Majesty’s ——nd Light Dragoons, awarded the Bath for his actions in Spain with Wellesley, now Duke of Wellington. He was celebrated as dashing, brave, well off, charming, intelligent, and exceptionally handsome. It was also whispered that he was a rake and cuckolder—a seducer of bored ladies of the ton. If Caroline believed half of the stories Annabella Adams, now Mrs. Norris, told about him, it would seem he bedded a quarter of the well-bred wives in London.