Darcy felt Elizabeth’s fingers slip between his own beneath the cloth and closed his hand around hers at once. When he turned, she was already looking at him, her eyes bright and her smile so full of happiness that the rest of the table seemed to fall away. He wanted to lift her hand to his lips, propriety and company be damned, and was still imagining doing precisely that when Miss Bingley rose from her chair and raised her glass. The conversation gradually faded, though Mr Hurst was obliged to abandon a spoonful of pudding before he could lift his glass with the others.
For a moment she said nothing. Her eyes went first to Parodi, and something in her face gave way as she looked at him. The sharpness Darcy had always associated with Miss Bingley had vanished over the preceding days, replaced by such warmth and tenderness that she looked years younger. Parodi smiled back at her, his expression affectionate and steady, his heart in his eyes. Only after a moment did she turn towards Bingley and Jane Bennet, her expression softening again as she took in her brother’s joy and his betrothed’s radiant smile. Then her eyes came at last to Darcy and Elizabeth, and there was pride there too, along with unmistakable satisfaction
"I had intended to say something very fine," she began. "Perhaps a little poetry, or a line from the Bard. But I find I have never had much patience for saying prettily what may be said plainly."
"No, dear sister," Bingley said. "You have always shared your unvarnished thoughts without any hesitation at all." The table laughed, and Miss Bingley turned a look upon him which might have silenced him, had the smile tugging at her mouth not entirely spoiled it.
"To love," she said simply, lifting her glass. "And to having the courage to choose it when it stands in front of you."
Elizabeth’s fingers squeezed Darcy’s tightly beneath the table as glasses clinked and happy chatter burbled once more around them.
Miss Bingley looked once more at Parodi. He reached for her hand openly now, and she let him take it. Then her soft smile changed. The old Caroline Bingley flashed across her face for a moment, imperious and entirely certain of herself. "Of course I always knew," she said, "that my grand plan would come together in the end."
Epilogue 1
Caroline, Scarborough, February 1812
Six years after Thomas Parodi found Caroline Bingley crying upon a beach, he led her along the shore and said nothing at all for a full ten minutes. This was unusual enough to make Caroline suspicious.
The morning had dawned bright and brilliantly clear, the sort of winter day that made the whole world seem cut from glass, all sharp edges and flashing light. The sky was a hard, cloudless blue and the sunlight gleamed upon the water so fiercely that Caroline was obliged to narrow her eyes whenever she looked towards the horizon. The cold had a clean bite to it, and the wind carried the sharp scent of salt as it lifted the ribbons of her bonnet behind her.
Thomas had scarcely spoken since they left his parents’ house. Caroline glanced at him curiously as they walked. "Are you unwell, Thomas?"
Thomas shook his head. "No. I am only a little preoccupied."
Caroline studied him for another long moment. "Have I offended your mother?"
That brought his head around sharply. "No. Why should you think that?"
"Because she has been very kind to me, and I should hate to have said something thoughtless."
Thomas' expression softened. "My mother adores you. She has informed me several times that you are far too elegant and lovely for the likes of us, though she is concerned that no one is feeding you properly in London. She thinks you much too thin."
Mrs Parodi had spent most of the previous afternoon attempting to feed Caroline. Pies, pastries, biscuits and all manner of excellent food were placed before her at alarmingly regular intervals. Caroline learned quickly that the safest course was to accept whatever appeared before her and trust Thomas to remove anything she could not finish.
Mr Parodi had watched the proceedings with deep amusement. He was a broad, handsome man whose dark hair had silvered at the temples and whose English became increasingly Italian whenever he was excited. This happened often. He spoke with his entire body, gesturing enthusiastically, and had greeted Caroline as though Thomas had returned from London with a long-lost daughter.
By the end of their first dinner, Mr Parodi had informed Caroline, with a conspiratorial wink, that she was far too beautiful for his son. Mrs Parodi clucked at him, pressed anotherslice of pie upon Caroline and told Thomas not to look so alarmed, since they had no intention of frightening away the first sensible woman who had ever shown an interest in him. Caroline had never felt less frightened in her life.
She had worried before meeting them. Thomas' father might have remembered the wealthy Bingley family with bitterness, while his mother might easily have thought Caroline too grand or too accustomed to luxury for the life Thomas could presently offer. They had received her into their modest house with such kindness that it had made her want to weep. The parlour curtains were faded, the furniture sturdy rather than fashionable and the dining table had plainly been made by Mr Parodi’s own hands, but Caroline would not have changed a thing. The whole house carried the comfort of people who had loved one another within it for years, something no amount of silk or gilding could have improved. It was the type of home she wanted to create with Thomas one day.
Thomas drew her from her thoughts. "You are smiling."
"I was thinking of your father."
"I am certain he would steal you from me if he had half a chance."
She laughed up at him. "A man who can build a lady a fine piece of furniture is not to be sniffed at, Dr Parodi."
Thomas caught her around the waist and turned her towards him, drawing another peal of laughter from her. He pulled her close until his mouth brushed her ear.
"But can he mend a broken arm or soothe a megrim, my love?"
Caroline laughed, and the sound carried away across the bright shore. Thomas smiled too, but his hand tightened slightly where her fingers rested upon his arm. The movement was small, though Caroline noticed it.
It was very different from the bitter, windswept day upon which they first met, though Caroline could still see the uncertain girl she had been, stumbling along the shore with tears upon her face and her hair falling from its pins. Nor was Thomas the long-limbed cabinetmaker’s son who had sat beside her and spoken with fierce conviction of becoming a physician. He had done it. His London practice had opened two months earlier in a respectable set of rooms. They were neither large nor grand, but they were bright, well-ordered and already busy enough that Thomas sometimes arrived at the Hursts’ townhouse very late and very apologetic.
Their courtship had been gentle in a way their first love had never been permitted to be. Caroline remained with Louisa and Hurst, while Thomas called regularly and joined them for quiet dinners whenever his work allowed. They walked in the parks with Martha or Louisa at a discreet distance, visitedbookshops and took tea in small rooms not frequented by the fashionable set. She helped him choose practical furnishings for his consulting rooms and was overjoyed by every small victory as his burgeoning practice grew.
