“Yes, Caroline,” replied Bingley, “I believe that I am.”
Caroline watched him as if trying to find some angle she could exploit to carry her point. “She is most unsuitable, you know.”
Instead of anger, Bingley felt nothing but weariness and disappointment. “Miss Bennet isnotunsuitable, Caroline—she is the daughter of a gentleman. Perhaps she does not possess untold wealth and high standing, but I have seen enough of society to know that finding such a woman who will consider me is nigh impossible.”
The way she watched him, Bingley could see her disagreement simmering. That sight told Bingley he had best speak without disguise.
“Caroline,” Bingley said, infusing a firmness into his voice that he did not always feel, “my affection for you is undiminished, but in this matter I must put a higher dependence on my own wishes than your ambitions. To be blunt, I cannot permit you to govern my happiness.”
Though she did not give any outward sign, Bingley felt rather than saw a slight deflation of her confidence. “Your happiness is bound up in Miss Bennet?”
“It is,” said Bingley, knowing that any hesitation would provoke Caroline to argue her point. “Though I suspected it when we departed after the ball, I know it now—I wish to have Miss Bennet for a wife. I do not require your agreement, only your acceptance. The choice is mine and I mean to have it.”
Caroline appeared lost. “There are many beautiful women in London.”
“None are Miss Bennet.”
“Oh, becausesheis the only one who possesses such gentility and sweetness of character.”
Bingley saw under the comment both sarcasm and wounded pride. It would do nothing to call her on it, so he ignored it.
“There is nothing you can do to alter my purpose. I hope, Caroline, that you will attempt greater civility toward Jane andallthe Bennets.”
When Caroline’s jaw tightened, Bingley said: “If that is beyond you, then refrain from talking to them. As I recall, you were civil with Jane when we were last in residence. Remember, Caroline, that Jane has always been the very soul of kindness. I would have you return that kindness—to her if no one else.”
Caroline blanched and looked away. Bingley was not so foolish as to believe he had altered her outlook—Caroline was Caroline, after all. It was, however, enough to unsettle her certainty, and for the moment, that was enough.
“WELL, MY DEAR, YOURlittle scheme has succeeded beyond even what you hoped to achieve.”
Louisa, engaged in watching her siblings from across the room, did not deign to reply. Gerald, though he rarely required a response, had no intention of allowing her silence to persist.
“Do you have nothing to say?” teased he. “Perhaps you wish to crow about your success or bask in a scheme well executed. After all, you have nearly rearranged all Hertfordshire.”
“Nonsense,” said Louisa. “All I have done was give Charles the chance to make his own choice.”
“And Darcy?” asked Hurst, skepticism staining his voice. “What about the neat way in which you dealt with the absent and unlamented George Wickham?”
“Merely a trifle,” insisted Louisa.
“Louisa,” said Gerald, his tone warning.
With a sigh, she gave over her consideration of her brother and sister’s discussion to focus on her husband. There was, she supposed, more than a little truth in his words, thoughLouisa did not consider herself a schemer, nor was she one who manipulated others to gain what she wanted.
The thought struck her as amusing, and she raised a hand to stifle a laugh, even as Gerald waited for her response. He was not as patient as he appeared.
“A stray thought,” explained Louisa. “Though I have never considered myself one who manipulated others, I suppose in this instance I cannot claim innocence.”
“No, you cannot,” replied Hurst. He shifted his weight to face her more directly, his expression pointed.
“To own the truth,” said Louisa, finally surrendering, “at first, my motivation was to learn for myself the truth of Jane’s sentiments and repair the damage if I found what I expected.”
“Yes, I remember that explanation. What changed?”
Louisa considered this for several moments before she replied. “When I had the truth, I reflected on how Caroline’s ambition had become our defining characteristic as a family. Caroline has become a selfish woman, caring for nothing more than assuaging her lust to climb the heights of society.”
“That is a harsh denunciation, indeed,” said Gerald.
“Perhaps it is, but I do not think it is incorrect.”
