Caroline Bingley slowly folded the letter and raised her gaze to her friend’s, uncomfortably aware that the news she would soon relay would be a disappointment. Miss Symonds—Josephine—was more plain than pretty and her dowry was a modest three thousand pounds, but her father was a baronet and she was distantly connected to the Earl of Moyne. She was also rather enamoured of Charles Bingley, which had given Caroline every hope of securing a match in that quarter when the Darcys had slipped from her grasp. She reminded herself that she surely would have lost Mr Darcy had she caught the smallpox, too, and thanks to her quick action in avoiding that fate she would still be able to secure someone worthy.
“Oh, Josie, it is the worst possible news,” she lamented. “My brother has inexplicably offered for Miss Bennet!”
The young lady gasped. “The one who brought smallpox into your brother’s home?”
“The very same. I was certain he was safe from her, for she is surely quite scarred now. I could hardly bear to look upon my own sister for a year or more after her illness! I can only presume she convinced him that he had engaged his honour with her before she fell ill. Oh, my dear friend, whatever shall I do? Bad enough to see my brother joined to a woman without fortune or connexions, but she is disfigured as well! We shall be the laughingstocks of London!”
“Do you suppose that Miss Eliza of whom you have spoken played a part in this, to bring her family closer to Mr Darcy?”
“I am quite sure of it,” Caroline declared. “And I shall be very sorry for him and all his family if she captures him.”
Josie sipped her tea. “It is too bad that he is so attached to the countryside. If only he were a little fonder of town, you would have been the perfect wife for him.”
This was the excuse Caroline had given for dropping her ambitions in his direction. She claimed that having seen him at her brother’s leased estate, she had realised that he was not merely greatly attached to Pemberley, but to country life in general, and they could not be compatible. In truth, she knew that her flight from Netherfield had lowered her irretrievably in his opinion, but every time she beheld her own smooth, unblemished skin, she knew the sacrifice had been worth it.
“It is true. However, I am determined to marry a man who wishes to attend the full Season every year, and the little Season more often than not, and so Mr Darcy is not for me,” she replied with seeming unconcern. “But how I am to find such a man with my brother so poorly married, I know not!”
“He is not married yet,” her friend murmured. “And having been gulled into offering for such a creature, he is likely searching for a way out of this obligation. We might help him along.”
Caroline’s full attention was now focused upon her friend. “How might we do that?”
“Why, nothing could be easier, dear Caroline. We need only tell my mother about these Bennets, what they have done to your poor brother, and are attempting to do to Mr Darcy.”
Lady Symonds was a gossip of the first order, and her husband, Sir Everard Symonds, was hardly better. Caroline’s smile grew so wide it almost hurt. “And then when he is free, we shall act quickly to see him safely into a good marriage with a good woman, and I know just who will suit him,” she said significantly.
Josephine’s smile matched her own, and they bent their heads together to determine exactly what should be said to Lady Symonds.
* * *
One bright morning, Mary had just stepped out of the parsonage, trying to find a comfortable way to carry the large basket of mending the vicar's wife had given her, when she was surprised to find a soldier bowing to her. He straightened, and she smiled, trying to ignore the fluttering in her breast when he did likewise.
“Captain Carter, how do you do?”
“Quite well, Miss Mary, and yourself?”
“I find the sunshine has put me in a most excellent mood. Is the advent of spring not lovely?” she answered shyly.
“It is indeed. One cannot help but be in good spirits on so fine a day.” He gestured to her basket. “May I assist you with that?”
“I am going back to Longbourn, but I thank you.”
“I am quite at liberty, and always happy to call at Longbourn. Please allow me to carry it for you,” he countered with a smile.
She blushed and handed the basket to him, and he offered his other arm to her. “I am sure my sisters will be glad to see you again,” she said as they turned their steps towards the lane to Longbourn. “Are you still very busy with the new recruits?”
“I am, but my Colonel is pleased enough with their progress to give me a day of liberty. I was just strolling the high street looking for a friend when you appeared.”
Disappointment lanced through her, but she said what she knew she ought. “Who were you looking for, sir? I should not wish to keep you from your appointment.”
He laughed. “I was not looking for a particular friend, but any friend at all, and you are the one I found. Now, may I know what is in this rather enormous basket, or is it a great secret?”
“Oh!” She blushed anew at his teasing. “It is no secret at all, but a great lot of clothing that has been donated for the poor and is in need of mending before it may be handed out. Mrs Edwards has many demands on her time, and we—I include her husband in this—expect that the next few months will go very hard for some in the area. Many have been lost, and much work went undone. This is something I can do at home and still be of use.”
“I think there are very few young ladies who would willingly take on so much,” he commented, hefting the basket, “for those less fortunate, even when confined by mourning. I applaud you.”
“It is nothing,” she demurred, and he changed the subject.
“I have heard that Mr Bingley is to be your brother.”
