Miss Bingley’s Mistakes

Miss Caroline Bingley grimaced as she slowly cracked the door of her room and peeped out. Not a soul in sight. On tiptoe, she flitted from one open doorway to the next. If she could just reach the drawing-room without being noticed, she might have a chance. Fortunately, as it was the dinner hour, few of the servants were about.

If someone had told her a week ago that she would be skulking through the halls of her own home, she would have scoffed at the idea. Yet, here she was, and it was all Eliza Bennet’s fault.

A little over three months ago, her brother Charles had decided on a whim to lease Netherfield Park, despite the fact that she had told him hundreds of times that Hertfordshire, though close to London, was not fashionable enough to make their long-term home. Fortunately for her, Charles was incapable of making up his own mind and so had invited his dearest friend (and one of the most eligible bachelors in England), Mr. Darcy, to visit and give his opinion on the property. Caroline had set her sights on marrying Mr. Darcy some years ago and welcomed the opportunity to show him that she was more than capable of being mistress of a country estate. Then he might finally come to the point and propose.

All seemed to be going according to plan until a mere month ago when the situation began unravelling at an alarming rate. Upon their arrival in Hertfordshire, Charles had fallen instantly, wildly in love with the local beauty. Caroline had expected Mr. Darcy to bring that relationship to an abrupt halt as he had always helped her rescue Charles from fortune hunters in the past.

Unfortunately, he had apparently thrown himself headlong into the same trouble in which Charles had become entangled. Indeed, Mr. Darcy’s about-face had been beyond ridiculous. Instead of enjoying her little commentaries about the bucolic nature of their location and the people in this godforsaken part of the country, he had been austere and often walked away. Instead of pursuing her company, he had turned to Miss Eliza Bennet. And worse still, he had refused to rescue Charles from the clutches of Miss Jane Bennet.

That fortune hunter was nice enough, and, if it were not her brother Jane was angling after, Caroline thought she might have been able to respect the girl. Her performance of sweet naivety was a better ploy than that which most of the girls Caroline knew used to attract men. Unfortunately, she was after her brother, and, as Jane’s relatives would not only remind the ton that the Bingleys were connected to trade, but were also vulgar and ill-mannered, Caroline had no intention of allowing such a tragedy to befall Charles. The ton would eviscerate him, and all those lovely invitations Caroline had worked so hard for, both in finishing school and ever since, would evaporate.

Not to mention that the girls from her finishing school would call in droves to “condole”—or rather to exult over her decline and to “remind her of her place.” Her lips curled in a sneer as she recalled her time at school and all the obnoxious young women who had made her life a misery, proclaiming over and over that her low birth would prevent her from moving in the upper circles. Only her dearest friend from those days, a Miss Regina Samuels, would feel any real sorrow over her defeat, at least, Caroline supposed she would—she had not kept in touch with Regina beyond an occasional note. Her tender-hearted friend had left the school, unable to stand the stress of the constant bullying and the necessary scheming to gain even a step on the school’s social ladder. Regina had decided that she would rather be happy as a tradesman’s daughter than endure the anguish required to move forward in the world.

Though her friend would most probably mourn Caroline’s defeat, Regina would not have understood the lengths necessary to advance in the ton. Caroline pushed away a twinge of shame as she considered Regina’s censure should she ever become aware of Caroline’s behaviour. Fortunately, Caroline was made of sterner stuff, able to do what was necessary—even when it was distasteful, something she had learned in finishing school.

A thought struck her, and she almost giggled. If only her tormentors knew that all their finishing school “lessons” had led her to this place—on the verge of securing one of the richest and most respected (not to mention most sought after) bachelors in England. Even the many times they had “accidentally” locked her out of her own room had given her the lock-picking skills she had used to great benefit tonight.

Her brother Charles was so enthralled with Miss Bennet that he had locked Caroline in her room in a misguided attempt to prevent her from saving him and his friend from the Bennet temptresses. Caroline had tried every last trick in the book to rescue Charles and Mr. Darcy, including stooping so low as to hire a soldier to ruin the Bennets. It hadn’t been her first choice, but when neither Mr. Darcy nor Charles were willing to see the dangers those little wretches posed to them . . . well, she had done what was necessary. Desperate times called for desperate measures. But it had been for naught. Mr. Wickham had failed spectacularly and had implicated her in the process. And now she was kept locked in her room, her brother intending to exile her to her aunt’s in the north.

Fortunately, reinforcements had arrived two days ago in the persons of Lord and Lady Matlock. They would certainly object to their dearest nephew allying himself with a family like the Bennets—at least they would once they knew the reality of the situation. Even if Mr. Wickham had been paid to initiate the event, Miss Lydia had eloped with him of her own free will. It was not Caroline’s fault that the Bennet girls were so liberal with their favours. Caroline was sure that once Lady Matlock understood the situation, she would prevent the tragedy that was even now unfolding.

With bated breath, Caroline slipped into the drawing-room and slid behind a curtain. Now all she had to do was wait until the separation of the sexes, and she would be able to speak to Lady Matlock without her brother or Mr. Darcy about. Though Caroline was certain that Lady Matlock would be appalled at the idea of her nephew marrying into a family of fortune hunters with horrendous behaviour, she was equally certain that Mr. Darcy, Charles, and Colonel Fitzwilliam would do their level best to keep Lady Matlock from learning the truth as they had all fallen under the Bennets’ spell.

Men rarely knew what was best for them. It was something her deportment teacher had said a thousand times—you had to lead them gently, or, failing that, involve a woman who had the power to fix the situation. Charles had certainly proven that adage a hundred times over. And now it was up to her to rescue them all from social suicide.

Voices drifted in from up the hallway; it sounded as though her sister, Louisa, was speaking to Lady Matlock. Caroline moved to the sofa so that she could appropriately greet her guests. She had no idea what Charles had told them about her absence over the past two days—certainly not that he had locked her up.

Louisa started upon entering the room, but Caroline merely smiled at her and nodded regally, suppressing a smirk. Neither her sister nor the servants could send her back to her room without admitting that she had been locked up.

Caroline stood as Lady Matlock and Miss Darcy entered. She offered them a deep curtsey. “Good evening.”

Louisa’s hands fluttered nervously, but she introduced Caroline to Lady Matlock.

“I apologise for my absence the past two days. I have been confined to my rooms with a sick headache, and I did not wish to burden you with my ill-company.”

“Of course, Miss Bingley. Your brother and sister have extended your apologies,” Lady Matlock said politely, her gaze settling upon Caroline as though she were examining a piece of jewellery and not quite sure whether it was genuine or not.

“You are too gracious,” Caroline said with a simper. She had learned early on at finishing school that it was best to butter people up as much as possible—one never knew when one might need a favour, and a little obsequence never hurt anyone. She turned to Miss Darcy. “And dear Miss Darcy! I was desolate when I realised I would not be able to greet you.”

“Thank you, Miss Bingley. I hope you are feeling better,” Miss Darcy murmured, her gaze fixed on Caroline’s skirt.

Caroline suppressed a flicker of irritation. Miss Darcy never seemed to appreciate her overtures of friendship. She often wondered if all members of the ton were taught to despise those outside their circle from birth, inculcated in the belief of their superiority even as they were nourished by their mother’s milk. Well, once she married into the ton (or Charles did), they would have to accept that she was just as good as anyone else. She couldn’t wait until the day when all those spoiled brats she had spent countless hours being mocked by or toadying to would have to ask her for favours.

“Shall I pour?” Louisa asked breathlessly, gesturing to the tea tray that was even now being set up.

Caroline considered claiming the right to pour but decided against it. Louisa would not gainsay her, but she had shown a heretofore-unthought-of tendency to side against Caroline in the past two days. Better to keep her occupied with tea. Louisa, poor soul, lacked the ability to think and complete simple tasks.

She waited until Louisa began serving and then introduced the topic she was greatly concerned about. If the Bennets had hoodwinked the Matlocks, she did not know how she would rescue Charles and Mr. Darcy. “Now, you must tell me all about how you have spent your time over the past few days. I hope that Charles and Louisa have kept you sufficiently entertained.”

“Indeed. We have visited with your neighbours the Bennets several times—I suppose your brother cannot stay away, given his courtship with Miss Bennet,” Lady Matlock said with a tinkling laugh.

Caroline turned a carefully structured frown upon Lady Matlock. “The Bennets you say? I had not thought you would wish to allow your niece to keep company with them.”

“Oh?” Lady Matlock asked.

Caroline suppressed a grin. This was going perfectly. “I really ought not to say.”

“If it is a question of confidences, by all means, keep them. However, I desire to know what dangers you believe I ought to be aware of.”

“I am afraid that the Bennets are just as they seem. I am certain that a woman of your impeccable discernment immediately noticed their lack of social graces.”

Lady Matlock merely raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Mrs. Bennet, I am sorry to say, is nothing more than a fortune hunter, scheming to snare rich husbands for her daughters. I am certain that she set her sights on my brother and Mr. Darcy the moment she became aware of their presence.”

“And you believe my nephew to be unaware of her schemes?” Lady Matlock asked frostily.

Caroline arranged her features in a semblance of sorrow. “I have reason to believe even your nephew has been taken in. If you have met them, then you are aware that Miss Bennet and Miss Eliza are capable of”—she swallowed her distaste at their apparent amiability and Miss Eliza’s ability to charm Mr. Darcy where she had failed—“taking on the appearance of all that is good. Unfortunately, they too are mere fortune hunters.”

Lady Matlock made a noise of polite interest, while Louisa’s cup clanged against her saucer as though she were startled by Caroline’s words.

“I am certain it is not maliciousness, but their estate is entailed and they will be virtually penniless the moment their father dies. Miss Eliza in particular has singled out your nephew as a likely benefactor.”

Both Lady Matlock’s eyebrows flew up.

Caroline rushed on, lest Lady Matlock take offense. “As Mr. Darcy is renowned for his good sense, I can only believe that Miss Eliza must have beguiled him into forgetting his place as he seems positively smitten with her.” She leaned forward. “I am so glad, Lady Matlock, that you have arrived and may be able to talk some sense into him. I must admit that I have been frantic with worry for both your nephew and my brother as the Bennets appear to have somehow bewitched them into forgetting their atrocious behaviour and non-existent status.”

“Atrocious behaviour?”

Caroline drew back as though in shock, one hand coming to rest delicately above her breasts. “They have not told you of Miss Lydia’s indiscretion?”

“Apparently not,” Lady Matlock said dryly.

Caroline looked down, her face a mask of confusion as though she were wrestling internally with what to share. “I—I do not wish to sully her good name as I am sure everyone involved has done their best to hush the matter up, but you of all people ought to be aware for the sake of your nephew and niece.” She closed her mouth, apparently dithering over what to say.

“If it concerns my nephew, then I would ask that you explain your words, Miss Bingley,” Lady Matlock said crisply.

Caroline cast a quick glance at Miss Darcy. “I would not wish to offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities.”

Lady Matlock set her teacup and saucer on the table. “Miss Bingley, I am almost the nearest relation my nephew has in the world and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.”

“Yes, I shall tell you,” Caroline said, straightening as though filled with sudden resolve. “Miss Lydia attempted an elopement with none other than a common soldier, one that I am afraid you have a passing acquaintance with.”

“Oh?”

“A Mr. George Wickham.”

Miss Darcy shuddered, and Lady Matlock’s gaze flew to her niece before returning her attention to Caroline.

“I am afraid it came as no surprise to anyone who had seen the youngest two girls in company with soldiers. The Bennet girls have had no governess and, in addition to lacking all accomplishments, are rather wild. Though the elder two have chosen to chase after wealthier gentlemen, the youngest two appear to aim no higher than to attract any man wearing a red coat. They are positively profligate in their flirtations. It was only a matter of time before they attempted something as heinous as an elopement.”

Louisa cleared her throat. “May I offer you more tea, Lady Matlock?”

Lady Matlock cast her an annoyed glance. “No thank you, Mrs. Hurst.” She returned her attention to Caroline. “And how do you know of this reputed elopement?”

“Though it pains me, I shall not scruple to admit that my brother and your nephew, as well as Colonel Fitzwilliam, were involved in retrieving Miss Lydia and hushing the matter up. As I said, the Bennet ladies have managed to enchant them into fighting on their behalf.” Caroline took a sip of tea to hide the small smile that would not be suppressed as Lady Matlock’s frown grew.

Lady Matlock’s expression hardened. “Miss Bingley, I have heard from my friends that you are nothing more than an encroaching mushroom; I must admit that I was inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt due to your acquaintanceship with my nephew, but I see now that they were right: you are a mushroom of the worst sort with your false kindness and poisonous words, scheming to attain a station higher than that to which you were born into.”

Caroline’s breath caught as though the woman had just stolen all the air from her lungs.

“It is not the right of one such as yourself to censure a Fitzwilliam, and I will thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,” she continued.

“I—I only wish to assist your nephew, your Ladyship.”

Lady Matlock snorted delicately. “Assist him into marriage with yourself, perhaps. I have heard that you hang upon him dreadfully, though I have not seen it myself. After today, I have no difficulty believing it to be the truth.”

Caroline opened and closed her mouth, trying to come up with a rebuttal. “Your nephew has chosen to seek me out, and—”

Lady Matlock shook her head. “I doubt that. You are just the sort of woman that Darcy despises. Unless I am very much mistaken, he has shown you nothing more than common politeness and probably little enough of that. He is genuinely fond of your brother; he must put up with you for Mr. Bingley’s sake,” she mused.

“Lady Matlock—”

“Miss Bingley, do not forget who I am. You are treading perilously close to social extinction.”

“I would never—I did not intend—I have only shared the truth about the Bennets, your Ladyship, in hopes of enlisting your aid on behalf of your nephew and my brother. I assure you that my intentions were honourable,” Caroline spluttered.

“The Bennets at least have the virtue of being gentry with land that has been in their family for generations, unlike your family who has a legacy of being tradesmen for generations.”

Caroline’s jaw hardened. This was nothing more than what she had heard for most of her life. From the moment she had entered finishing school, the girls there had made it their mission to remind her of her place in life. Only by scratching and clawing her way up had she made it this far, and now this woman threatened to undo her work in a moment? She suppressed a snarl.

Lady Matlock took a sip of tea. “Another biscuit if you please, Mrs. Hurst.”

Louisa cast a frightened glance at Caroline but obliged by serving Lady Matlock.

Caroline took a deep breath, trying to rein in her temper. This woman was one of the social leaders of the ton and could certainly squash out any hopes of her entering the ton (or even the circles near it) as easily as one might squash a bug.

“I hope you will take my words to heart, Miss Bingley,” she said lightly, a hint of a threat edging her tone.

Caroline opened her mouth to retort, but a shudder from Miss Darcy caught her eye.

Miss Darcy sat hunched in on herself as though sheltering from a hailstorm, and the look on her face—Caroline’s breath caught as she was instantly transported back to her school days. Just so had Regina looked whenever the older girls picked on them for their poor breeding.

As Caroline looked on Miss Darcy’s shrinking figure, Lady Matlock’s harsh words echoing through her mind, she began to feel light-headed. Regina’s expression superimposed itself on the young woman in front of her and all the insults and scheming even now on the tip of her tongue burned as their likeness to her tormentors in school shone forth. If she had been here, Regina would have shrunk from Caroline just as Miss Darcy was doing even now.

But it was necessary! she argued with the imaginary version of Regina. She had to save Charles, whatever the cost.

Even if the cost was his happiness? a small voice asked as she recalled Regina’s sacrifice.

Caroline blinked away the vision of Regina, determined not to regret that which could not be changed and had been a necessary evil.

The rest of the conversation ebbed and flowed around her as Caroline tried to regain her footing. How on earth could their tiny entailed estate make the Bennets worthy of respect? After all, they lacked everything that Caroline possessed in abundance: money, accomplishments, manners . . . she recalled Mr. Darcy’s stinging rebuke regarding her manners, but once more brushed it off—he was a man. He knew nothing of what was required to survive as a woman and, as a man, was of little importance in the social scheme of things, save as a husband.

Finally, she decided that retiring to her room before the gentlemen arrived would be the better part of valour. Clearly, she would not be able to accomplish anything of use here.

“I am afraid my sick headache is beginning to make itself known again,” Caroline interjected sweetly. “I believe I will retire now.”

Miss Darcy gave her a concerned glance before hunching back down as though afraid Caroline might attack her.

Caroline’s heart lurched, and she didn’t have to fake the crease in her eyebrows as a hint of pain began throbbing behind her eyes. “If you will excuse me. It was a pleasure to speak to you, Lady Matlock. You are indeed as witty and good as your reputation suggests,” Caroline added, trying to leave on a positive note.

“And you are just as your reputation suggests as well, Miss Bingley,” Lady Matlock returned.

A stab of pain shot through Caroline’s temples, but she managed to conceal it under a forced smile.

“Let me accompany you to your room, Caroline,” Louisa said firmly. “I will return shortly,” she added to Lady Matlock and Miss Darcy. With that she hurried Caroline out of the room—something Caroline would never have thought possible.

Louisa waited until they reached Caroline’s room before she spoke. “Have you lost your mind, Caroline? Why would you make enemies of Mr. Darcy and his family?”

Caroline’s eyes widened at this new, outspoken Louisa. She tossed her head. “I was not making enemies of them. Mr. Darcy and Charles need to be rescued from the Bennets, and Lady Matlock is just the person to get through to them.”

Louisa shook her head. “I do not know how to get through to you, Caroline. Jane Bennet is a sweet girl, and Charles is happy with her. She will raise his status as she is gentry, and if Mr. Darcy does marry Miss Elizabeth, the Bennets will certainly raise our status far beyond what we could have legitimately dreamed.”

Caroline scoffed. “If it weren’t for Miss Eliza Bennet, I would be Mrs. Darcy myself—that is a far higher status—”

“He has had many years to develop a tendre for you and has never done so. You would not have had a chance even without Miss Elizabeth; Mr. Darcy will never marry a tradesman’s daughter.”

Caroline opened her mouth, but Louisa held up a hand and Caroline subsided out of sheer shock. Her sister had never stood up to her like this.

“I am going to go speak to Lady Matlock and try to give her a better impression of our family. I only hope that Charles and Mr. Darcy do not hold your behaviour against you.”

“Fine!” Caroline snarled, annoyed that Louisa would consider herself a better example of ladylike behaviour than her.

With that, Louisa shut the door and locked it from the outside.

Rage boiled in Caroline as she considered the way her sister had treated her, her feet swiftly carrying her from one end of the room to the other and back again; she was not some child who needed to be minded. Her hands clenched into fists as she muttered imprecations against men in general—if it were not for Mr. Darcy’s and Charles’s stupidity and gullibility, she would not be in this position—and against Lady Matlock’s unwillingness to assist in particular. It was the duty of women to guide the men in their lives, and Lady Matlock had failed at that duty most shockingly. Caroline would never have dreamt that Lady Matlock could support someone like the Bennets.

Resolve filled her. If Lady Matlock wouldn’t save her nephew, perhaps there was another woman Caroline could appeal to.

---

Caroline sanded her letter, filled with pride as she considered some especially well-chosen phrases within. She had overheard Mr. Collins mentioning that Mr. Darcy was engaged to Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s daughter. Though Charles had told her it was a falsehood when she questioned him about the matter later, she doubted Lady Catherine would remain sanguine at the idea of Mr. Darcy allying himself with the Bennets.

A knock sounded at her door, and she hurried to hide her letter before calling for the intruder to enter.

Charles stepped in, a haggard look on his face. He closed the door behind him and turned to Caroline. “How could you, Caroline?” he asked brokenly.

Caroline pasted an innocent expression on her face and widened her eyes. “How could I what, Charles?”

Charles shook his head. “I just—I do not understand how you can be so very confused over what constitutes proper behaviour. Mother and Father raised you to care about others. What happened to you?”

Charles’s eyes were full of hurt confusion, and Caroline turned away in pretense of rearranging the knickknacks on her desk, rather than continue to meet his gaze. “What is wrong now?” she asked with forced confusion.

“Louisa has told me of your behaviour tonight. Darcy will have to be told in the morning.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I just—I cannot believe that you would go behind my back, nor that you would be so malicious. I suppose I ought not to be surprised about anything you do anymore.”

“Charles, you know that I only have your best interests at heart. I spoke to Lady Matlock because someone needed to save you from yourself, and, as you have refused my help, I must enlist assistance from where I can,” she said with dignity.

Charles’s eyes closed as though she had pained him beyond belief. “No, you have only ever cared about yourself. You do not have my best interests at heart.”

“Of course I do! The Bennets will drain you dry and lower your social standing!”

“Are you lying to me or to yourself?” Charles asked quietly, his brow furrowed.

“Charles!” she screeched. How could he suggest such a thing?

“No.” Charles shook his head wearily. “You will leave for Aunt Elaine’s tomorrow morning. I cannot have you here causing trouble. I only hope that you come to your senses before the year is up.”

“I will not leave!” Caroline declared, suppressing a shudder at the thought of being exiled for an entire year or longer if she refused to “mend her ways.” “It is my right to stay and fight for those dearest to me!”

“You will leave,” Charles said in steely tones that she had never heard from him.

“Even if you have to drag me out kicking and screaming?” She scoffed. “What would you tell the Matlocks?”

“I believe Lady Matlock has already taken your measure,” Charles replied evenly. “You would be the loser if you continue to resist. I am certain the Matlocks will lay blame where it ought to rest.”

“Charles! You cannot side with those—those people!” Caroline shouted, stamping her foot for emphasis.

“I am not siding with the Bennets or the Matlocks. I am trying to do what is best for you. As Darcy told you, you stand on the verge of destroying everything you have always desired, if you have not already done so. I do not wish to treat you like a child, but if you continue to act like one . . . .”

“Ugh!” Caroline turned away from him. He refused to see the truth! The Bennets were the only ones who would destroy everything she had worked for—all the proof of her social worth that she had spent years amassing, all the friends she had made in the upper circles, all the hopes she had for cleansing the Bingley name from its taint of trade; it would all be gone in the blink of an eye if Charles married Miss Jane Bennet. Not to mention the opportunities that would be lost if Mr. Darcy married Miss Eliza.

“Good night, Caroline. I have already instructed a maid to wake you early so you may leave on time.”

“And if I am still in my nightclothes?” Caroline asked coolly.

Charles hesitated. “Then I will wrap a cloak around you and carry you out myself. But I hope it does not come to that.”

Without another word, he exited her room, locking the door behind him. A soft word spoken to someone nearby told Caroline that he had once more posted footmen to guard her door.

Caroline shivered at the thought of being paraded through the halls of Netherfield in such an undignified manner. She couldn’t believe that Charles would follow through on his threat.

Why didn’t he see that she was only trying to rescue them from their tradesman roots? The ton would never accept them if they did not gain entrée by marriage. Lady Matlock’s response tonight only reinforced that reality.

Miss Darcy’s anguished expression once more floated through Caroline’s mind, but she forced it away, concentrating instead on what else she could do to rescue Charles from the confines of her bedroom. Every idea that flew through her mind seemed more ridiculous than the previous one. She did not have time to bring a letter campaign to fruition before the morrow. The Bennets were out of reach, so there was no way to change their minds. She could not compromise Mr. Darcy while locked in her room with footmen guarding the door. As Charles had fired her maid, she lacked even that ally. No one would help her. She was alone.

Caroline hugged herself as the loneliness set in. Though she had become intimately acquainted with it throughout her time at school, she had never thought to feel this alone in her own home among her family. Abandoned by her brother and her sister. Who would have thought?

The last time she had felt this alone had been the day Regina had told her that she was leaving finishing school—choosing happiness over the scramble to gain status. Despite her love for Regina, Caroline had thought her a fool to eschew everything her family had spent generations working for.

Mr. Bingley, Caroline’s father, had laboured tirelessly to raise his family out of the poverty he had experienced as a child. Though he had succeeded in amassing more wealth than many members of the ton, he was well aware that he lacked the polish necessary to succeed in that sphere. That was why he had fought to get Caroline into a finishing school used by the gentry and even some of the ton. Just as Charles had a role in raising their family’s status by purchasing an estate and Louisa had married a gentleman, her father had expected Caroline to do her part. And even though he had died before seeing her successful, he had never doubted that she would succeed.

On a whim, Caroline dug through a trunk containing the last few possessions left in her room (Charles had the rest of her things removed after she kept unpacking her trunks) and pulled out an old sketchbook last used back when she had sketched for the fun of it, rather than for the sake of impressing others. She knew it was evidence of sentimentality and rarely looked at it, but it had the last sketches of her parents that she had made. As she flipped through it, a picture of Regina caught her eye and she slowed, guilt once more churning in her gut at the thought of what her friend would say if she knew Caroline’s activities of the past week.

What would her parents have said if they had been alive? Her father had been determined that his children would become gentry, but he had been naïve about the cost of doing so. She could not see that he would understand the lengths she had gone to, but desperate measures had been—were still—necessary. Charles took after their mother, and she would have been just as horrified as he had seemed. But again, that was their naivety at play. Both her mother and Charles yielded at every turn to anyone who even hinted that they might desire something different.

No, they would not have approved, but that was no measure of whether her behavior was suited to the situation at hand. After all, principled people rarely succeeded in the ton. You either yielded to the standards set out by the ton or they would spit you out, more dead than alive.

Regina had relinquished her goal of becoming a member of the ton rather than bow to their whims, believing that she would lose all opportunities for happiness, lose herself. More of her impassioned speech to Caroline all those years ago began to filter through to Caroline’s consciousness.

“—and the worst part is that even if you succeed, who will you be then, Caro? You cannot want to be like them!” she had raged, tears sparkling in her eyes as she gestured to the empty beds of Caroline’s roommates.

“I will do what I must,” Caroline had returned. “And anyway, once society accepts me, I shall behave however I desire. You need only sacrifice for a time, Regina. Don’t you care about your family’s name? Don’t you want to be more than just a tradesman’s daughter the rest of your life?”

Regina had shaken her head sadly and turned away.

But had she been right all those years ago? Caroline had schemed, offered set-downs to those below her (like the Bennets) and flattery to those above her. It had been a way of life—one that she assumed would end at some point. Mostly, she desired to reach a point where the number of people above her were fewer than those below her.

But would it make her happy? In the end, would achieving her goal help her or her family achieve the things that mattered?

Caroline shook the thought away, considering it a pointless question, but it nagged at her, returning with such vehemence, no matter how many times she put it down, that she finally allowed herself to face it. The ton was always scrambling to gain status. Families who were near the top guarded their position with an iron defense even while attempting to advance, and those below fought tooth and nail to raise their status. It was a never-ending pursuit, save for those, like Mr. Darcy, who seemed indifferent to their status and participated in society the bare minimum.

She sank onto her bed, absently rearranging her skirts to show their best effect. “It would never end,” she murmured. A longing to speak to Regina swept through her like a sea breeze grasping ladies’ hats and leaving disarray in its wake. Was this what her friend had been trying to tell her?

Friend. Could she really claim to have any friends anymore? Her family was rejecting her—who else was left? Conversations with various acquaintances flitted through her mind, a montage of cattiness, of young women who would turn on each other at the least provocation. Her “friends” would revel at her predicament, considering it the latest juicy scandal should it become known.

Other than Regina, did she even have any real friends? She had rejected overtures of friendship from those in the tradesmen’s sphere, unwilling to remind those socially above her of her roots. She had discarded her childhood friends upon entering school, putting them away as one puts away beloved childhood toys. They had been pleasant, and there were times she longed for the camaraderie she had experienced back then, but she had assumed it was a necessary part of becoming an adult.

Mr. Darcy’s words floated back to her. “. . . your behaviour has caused damage to others, and, if you do not reform, you will alienate everyone in your life and destroy only yourself.”

Was that her? Had she really driven everyone away? The only people left in her life couldn’t care less about her personally; many of them were only trying to raise their own status or to participate in the benefits of her wealth. The rest were people she was attempting to cultivate a friendship with for the sake of raising her own status, such as Miss Darcy. No one welcomed her for who she was.

School girls’ insults swirled through her thoughts combining with Lady Matlock’s set-down like some kind of ghastly verbal watercolour.

“Nothing more than a vulgar mushroom.”

“Too much of a ninny to know any better.”

“Never more than a tradesman’s daughter.”

“Worthless.”

A tear leaked from her left eye, and she brushed it away angrily. She ought to be figuring out how to save Charles and Mr. Darcy, not wallowing in despair.

But what if they didn’t need to be saved? What if they were getting the things which she had always considered little more than a fairytale, and she was the one standing in the way?

Jane Bennet had never even mentioned the Bingleys’ tradesman roots nor lorded over Caroline the Bennets’ history as gentry. She had never seemed to want Charles to be any more than he already was.

Caroline had always believed she needed social success before she would be happy or worthy of acceptance—or at least that it was worth sacrificing those things until she reached social success so that she could have it all: social triumph, happiness, feeling worthy, and people who accepted her.

But what if the path to social success for a tradesman’s daughter was antithetical to attaining those things? That was what Regina had argued all those years ago . . . .

Another tear slipped down her cheek as a lifetime of scrambling up the social ladder and fighting to keep her place spread out before her. Alone. Friendless. Rejected by her family. And old. Was it really worth the sacrifice?

The question grew and grew, swallowing up all other thoughts until there was nothing else left, no matter how she twisted and turned, fighting to suppress it. A sob broke free as she considered that all her years of struggle might have been worthless. What if she’d been breaking a path through head-high snow only to realise she was miles from where she wanted to go?

For the first time, Caroline Bingley laid on her bed and wept for the choices she had made.

---

Hours later, the sun was barely peeking above the horizon, but Caroline remained awake, her eyes now hot and gritty. She had dozed off several times during the night, only to jerk awake from dreams of Charles leaving Meryton and blaming his future misery on her, of her growing old and miserable with some ancient titled gentleman who had married her for her money and kept her locked away, of Regina declaring over and over that she was so ashamed of Caroline’s behaviour that she wanted nothing to do with her ever again.

Now that it was at least technically morning, she arose and washed her face in the tepid water left from yesterday afternoon. No maid had arrived to undress her or to refresh her room last night—probably best given the state of her mind the night before.

With a heavy heart, she wondered if Charles and Louisa would ever accept her or if they felt that her behaviour had put her beyond redemption. She had gone a little far in paying Mr. Wickham to ruin the Bennets—though at the time it had seemed perfectly justifiable. Now that she had considered whether she was snatching her brother’s chance of happiness and love away from him . . . well, she understood his reaction much better. The question at this moment was what she could do to make up for her mistakes. She would never like the Bennets, but she could try to tolerate them for Charles’s sake.

A new energy coursed through her veins as she considered the one person who might be able to help her untangle this mess: Regina. She had been so long in chasing after status that she did not even know how to live any other way. It had been nearly a year since their last exchange of letters, but she could write Regina and beg her assistance.

Immediately, Caroline removed her writing case and placed it on the small desk. Her letter to Lady Catherine lay on top of the desk, and her stomach roiled as she considered what she had been about to do—it was precisely the sort of thing those horrid girls from finishing school would have done. Remorse sat heavy in her stomach as she realised how like them she had become. That would horrify Regina far more than the individual actions she had taken.

With trembling fingers, Caroline snatched up the letter and bore it over to the fireplace where she stirred the coals until the letter was entirely burned up, not even a hint of the poisonous words left in the world. Taking a deep breath and trying to stem another bout of tears, she returned to the desk.

Meticulously, she mended her nearly perfect pen and arranged her paper, ink, and sand just so, drawing out the moment before she would have to confess her sins to one who would be ever so disappointed in her. When she could not delay any longer, she finally put pen to paper.

Dear Regina,

I realise this letter will come as quite a surprise as it has been some time since we last corresponded. I have come to realise that you were right when you left finishing school.

She paused and ink dripped onto the page, a blot spreading across it like the stain on her soul. She had no idea what else to say to Regina. “I’m sorry that I looked down on you”? “I’m sorry that I haven’t been a good friend over the past few years”? “I’ve behaved horribly and gotten myself into a mess and now I don’t know what to do”? “I’m a mess”?

Finally, she decided to just be honest.

I don’t know what to say, but I desire to return to our previous closeness. I have spent the past few years attempting to enter the ton and have come to realise that I am now just as wretched as our persecutors were. I recently paid a man to ruin the family of the woman Charles desires to marry. Though gentry, they are lacking in status, money, and manners, and the mother’s siblings are in Trade. I did not want to remind the ton of our own low connections. I did not want to bear the social embarrassment of having them as relations.

And the woman’s sister is in a courtship with the man whom I have long desired to marry. Although, perhaps that is a good thing as I cared nothing for him as a person. We would not have dealt well together.

A weight rolled off Caroline’s shoulders as she recognised that truth. Mr. Darcy preferred the quiet of the country to the entertainment of Town. If they had married, she would have had wealth and status but would have been bored out of her mind secluded in the country—her stay at Netherfield had certainly shown her that! All those years were naught but another case of fighting her way down the wrong path.

I believed that I was doing what was necessary to save our family name from social degradation, and now Charles is sending me to live with our Aunt Elaine. I have never cared for her as she has always seemed too content with her station in life as the wife and sister of mere tradesmen, but perhaps she will be able to advise me as well.

I do not know what to do. Last night, I was speaking to one of this man’s relatives, trying to convince her to intervene in his courtship (and hopefully cause him to intervene in my brother’s courtship) when her niece looked at me just as you used to look at our tormentors, and I could not get away from the knowledge that I had become just like them.

This man and Charles have told me that I am my own worst enemy, and I begin to see what they mean, but I do not know how to go on. I am well-versed and skilled in the art of social navigation, but a life outside of that is foreign to me now.

Caroline paused, her heart thumping. It was the truth. She didn’t know how to be anyone other than who she was now.

I am not even sure I know how to be a friend or how to have friends. But I would like to try. That is why I am writing to you. I need your help, Regina, and I beg you to lend your aid.

Her once dry eyes began to rain tears again, and she sniffed, leaning back so that the tears would not fall on the parchment. The letter was pathetic enough without adding tear stains, she thought with dark humour.

Finally, she managed to collect herself enough to add a final statement about where she could be reached and complete the closing. With a sigh, she decided to copy her letter (minus the ink blot) and sealed it, trying not to think about Regina’s reaction or how pathetic she sounded. It went far against the grain to reveal a weakness in this manner, but she needed help.

Exhaustion filled her bones, and she curled up on the bed, hoping she could still catch an hour or two of sleep before a maid came to wake her as Charles had instructed.

---

When Caroline awoke next, she could barely force her aching eyes open. The maid who had shaken her awake shrank back at once as though trying to avoid an expected blow. Caroline’s stomach rebelled as she saw the maid’s fear and recalled her reputation for punishing her servants. She rarely hit them, but she had thrown a hideous vase at one and flung pillows at two others. Nor had they escaped many tongue-lashings. Her prior maid had refused to assist her with Mr. Wickham and Miss Lydia until Caroline threatened her family, an act that now weighed heavily on her conscience at the thought of Regina’s reaction had she seen it.

Caroline sat up and cleared her throat uncomfortably, unsure what the right thing to say was—probably not to begin a litany of complaints about the servant’s behaviour as was her wont. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

“Mr. Bingley requested I tell you that hot water is being sent up in ten minutes and that he had the kitchens prepare a light breakfast tray to be brought up in half an hour.”

“Very well.”

The maid scurried off, locking the door behind her. Caroline looked around her room, feeling almost displaced. Everything remained just as it had been the night before, but she felt so different after writing her letter to Regina that it seemed as though the emotional and mental whirlwind that had rearranged her ought to have left physical evidence.

Dread filled her at the realisation that in only an hour or so, she would see Charles and whomever else came to see her off. Unless—he had seemed so hurt last night; would Charles merely send a servant to bundle her into the carriage like so much unwanted baggage? A shudder went through her frame. Would she ever see her family again?

Heart heavy, Caroline began packing the few things left out in her room that she would not need this morning. Maybe if she did her best to prove that she did not wish to be the person she had become, Charles would keep his word about allowing her back into his life. Her fingers lingered on the writing case. Perhaps he would let her correspond with him.

---

Caroline Bingley stood surveying herself in the mirror, wondering what others would see. She had completed her morning toilette and dressed in travelling clothes. Some time ago she had sent a footman to notify Charles that she was ready to leave. Hopefully, he would come to escort her himself, but perhaps he could not bear to see the sister who had betrayed him. For once, Caroline was not studying her outward appearance, but rather trying to see past it, to see any change in the soul lurking behind her eyes.

Hints of despair shadowed her expression. She did not know what she would do if Regina refused to help her. Fear that Charles and Louisa might hate her, that she might have thrown away the only family she had without even realising it, lurked around the edges of her gaze. A glimmer of hope shone through from time to time as she considered what a life free of scheming for social success might look like. Guilt more than anything burdened her expression, from the droop in her shoulders to the dullness in her gaze. She had—unintentionally—tried to prevent Charles from taking the happiness and acceptance that was nearly in his grasp; she had tried to make the Bennets (and countless others throughout the years) feel just as those horrid girls at school had made her and Regina feel. She had become someone as dreadful as they.

A knock sounded.

“Come in,” Caroline called, her voice rusty from all the tears she had shed the night before.

Charles opened the door.

Caroline dropped her gaze to the floor, unable to meet his eyes and to see the rejection she was sure filled them. She licked her lips and tried to think of something to say.

As she stepped forward, she noticed another pair of boots—Mr. Darcy’s. Her stomach lurched, and her pulse leapt. She had wronged him as well. Was he here to enact a greater punishment than he had already promised? Her throat closed.

Without a word, she took Charles’s outstretched arm and walked with him down the hallway. Though she tried several times during their march toward the carriage, she could not think of what exactly to say. Nor could she make her numb lips say half the words that crowded behind them as though their very weight made them impossible to set free. Words like: “I’m sorry.” “Do you hate me now?” “I wish things were different.”

In the end, she remained silent and so did Charles. Only when they reached the carriage was she able to find her voice. “You will write, won’t you, Charles?” she begged hoarsely.

Charles’s eyebrows shot up as though she had just requested him to commission a horse made of cheese. “Of course, if you wish me to, Caroline.”

“I do,” she said quietly.

A frown crossed his face, but he handed her up into the carriage. “I wish you well, Caroline.”

“And I you, Charles,” she replied, her eyes prickling with tears yet again. She knew he would not believe her, but someday, she would prove to him that she truly meant it.

Tears coursing down her cheeks as the carriage pulled away, Caroline turned her attention ahead, to the future. The letter for Regina was stowed in her reticule, and she intended to mail it as soon as possible.

Hopefully, in a year, she would see her brother and sister again. Hopefully, by then, she would have thrown off the personality of all those wretched school girls and become someone more like Regina.