Page 24

Chapter 9

Caroline Bingley surveyed the room, making little effort to hide her sneer at the arrangements. She had thought herself finished with these third tier events. As with much of what she thought, she was an expert at deluding herself.

“Why Miss Bingley, I thought you no longer attended events such as this.”

Caroline fixed her haughtiest look upon her face and turned to face one of her dearest friends. And thus one of her most bitter rivals.

“Miss Ashgrove, how lovely you look this evening. I see you are wearing one of your favourite dresses.”

Pamela Ashgrove was a beauty, but a penniless one. Whereas Caroline Bingley was svelte to the point of being scrawny, Miss Ashgrove was lush and full. Male eyes followed her passage wherever she went. Yet her décolletage was modest, there being no need to highlight that feature. Nature was doing that all on its own.

“And I see that another poor ostrich has been plucked bare. And what a fetching shade of orange.”

Pamela Ashgrove had an excuse for wearing a flattering dress for the second (or third) time. Her family was poor. Caroline Bingley had no excuse for the abomination that was her orange, over fussy dress. Pamela could see Caroline’s bony hip through the material. Unlike Pamela herself, Caroline’s modiste did not have much to work with. For her, décolletage was nothing but an impossible dream. Thus the ostrich feather festooned turban she was also wearing.

“What brings such an august person as yourself to our modest little party?”

The grinding of teeth could be heard 10 feet away. All of Caroline’s ‘friends’ knew that if they waited long enough her intemperate tongue, piercing tone and delusions of consequence would either trip her up that evening or provide material for a later date. Caroline had been caught calling herself ‘august’ two months earlier.

“My brother agreed to attend and accepted on behalf of not just himself, but the Hursts and myself as well.”

“How lovely. I do not see any of the rest of your party.”

Caroline looked around and saw her sister approaching. She had no idea where the two men were, and frankly did not care.

“There is Louisa, you will excuse me. We will talk more later in the evening I am sure.”

Fake smiles plastered on both their faces they separated.

“Where were you? I had to deal with that.”

She caught herself.

“I had to deal with Pamela Ashgrove. It would have been nice to have some family support.”

Louisa said nothing, gave no reason, no excuse, and no apology. When it came to family support, it was all well and good when it suited Caroline but it was all one way. She caught the attention of a passing waiter and retrieved two glasses of wine. The first sip had Caroline on her next tirade.

“Good grief, to think we came all the way here for this third rate swill.”

“For goodness sake Caroline, moderate your tone.”

A near daily admonition from both her sister and brother.

“Where else were we to go? I do not recall any other invitations.”

And that was the nub. Darcy and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam were off on their annual visit to their aunt in Kent. And as such the invitations for Darcy, that she and her siblings were able to latch onto, were not available. Caroline Bingley thought that she was starting to have some consequence of her own, and that invitations for her would continue even without Darcy. As with so many aspects of her life, she was deluded.

“Never mind that, where is Charles?”

“He is on the dance floor, where else? He took one look at some tall blonde and was over beside her immediately. He offered to dance and she accepted. We were not in the room 20 seconds before he was off.”

It was to be a long trying evening for Caroline Bingley. By the end of the night it was clear that Pamela Ashgrove had prepared and primed several other ladies with nasty little digs against her. She could not understand the incessant snide remarks about bald ostriches. Her turban with its three feathers standing tall was the height of elegance. She was sure she had made an impression at this mediocre event. She had, just not the one she thought she did.

--

“Charles! When is Mr. Darcy returning from Kent?”

Charles Bingley rubbed his temples fighting the stab of his headache. A second and third glass of brandy had followed the first. Having to listen to his sister Caroline at her screeching worst, first thing in the morning, was not a good way to start the day.