Darcy remained silent.
Caroline continued, her tone sharpening as she gained confidence. “That family has already contrived to fix his attention far more than is proper. Miss Bennet may be very pretty and very gentle, but you cannot seriously think such a connection advisable.”
Darcy’s expression remained composed, though the steadiness of his gaze grew colder. “My opinion on the subject,” he said quietly, “has not been requested.”
“But it ought to be!” Caroline cried. “You are his closest friend. If anyone has influence with Charles, it is you.”
Darcy did not immediately reply.
Caroline pressed on. “You must have observed it yourself – the eagerness with which that young lady received his attentions, the encouragement given by the whole family. Mrs. Bennet could scarcely speak of anything else all evening.”
Darcy’s voice remained calm. “I observed that Charles seemed happy.”
Caroline gave a quick, almost scornful smile. “Happy? He would be happy anywhere if someone admired him enough. That is precisely the difficulty. Charles is so easily persuaded that he cannot distinguish between real affection and very artful civility.”
Darcy’s gaze sharpened slightly at that. “You believe Miss Bennet artful?”
Caroline hesitated only a fraction before answering. “I believe her family extremely eager to secure an advantageous match.”
Darcy regarded her for a moment in silence.
“And you suppose that removing him to London will remedy this?”
“Certainly,” Caroline said quickly. “Distance will do what reason cannot. Once he is surrounded again by proper society – by friends who truly wish his good – the matter will soon fade.”
Darcy’s tone cooled.
“You appear to have arranged all this without consulting him.”
Caroline lifted her chin.
“Someone must act where Charles cannot. He is too good-natured to defend himself.”
Darcy’s reply came slowly.
“From what danger, precisely?”
Caroline stared at him. “From a most imprudent marriage.”
Darcy studied her for another moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was very even.
“You are mistaken in one respect.”
Caroline felt an immediate flicker of unease. “In what respect?”
“In supposing that such decisions belong to you.”
The words were quiet, but unmistakable.
Colour rose in her cheeks. “I am his sister.”
“And he,” Darcy replied, “is not a child.”
For a moment neither spoke.
Caroline’s composure began to falter. She turned slightly away, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes as though suddenly overcome.
“I had only his happiness in mind,” she said faintly. “Surely that cannot be condemned.”
