Chapter Thirty-Two
Caroline dashed down the corridor and up two flights of stairs, skidding on the corner and almost crashing into an elegant bust of Vespasian, before flinging herself through the door of her old bedchamber. It looked no different from the last time she had been here, but even in her haste, she marvelled at how little it showed of its occupant’s personality. It contained no trace of her childhood, not even a single doll or blanket to mark that she had once been small and in need of comfort.Entirely unlike Georgiana’s bedchamber, she thought, opening the door of the dresser and grabbing several necklaces which her father had given to her. These were not the most expensive of her jewellery, but they were the most precious to her.
“What are you doing?” Mrs Bingley snapped from the doorway. “Theft, Caroline? Have you stooped so low?”
“These are mine, Mother,” she said, holding up the necklaces in question. “I can hardly steal that which already belongs to me.”
Mrs Bingley studied the handful for a moment, her lip curling. “You do not even have the sense to take the best in your collection.”
Only her vast self-restraint stopped her from flinging thenecklaces directly at her mother’s face. “Which is it? Am I a thief or am I too stupid to be one? Are these items dear to you, or worthless? It cannot be both.”
“Are you quite finished?”
“Quite.” Caroline pushed past her mother, unsurprised when cold fingers wrapped around her wrist.
“You will regret this, Caroline,” Mrs Bingley warned. “I shall never speak to you again.”
“Oh, Mother,” Caroline sighed, tears already brimming. “Is that a promise?”
Mrs Bingley’s grasp loosened in surprise and Caroline wrenched free. Not daring to look back, she hurried down the stairs, hot tears already trickling down her cheeks. In the great hall, she picked up her bag, stuffed the necklaces inside it, and dashed outside, straight into something tall and surprisingly firm.
“Ouch,” she said, reeling backwards. “What the devil—Charles!”
Frowning, her brother held her at arm’s length. “Caroline? Where on earth are you going in such a hurry? Good heavens, are you weeping? My God, has someone died?”
“What are you doing here?” she cried, embracing him.
“I might ask you the same thing.”
“Then perhaps you might ask me in the carriage,” Caroline said, jerking her chin at his waiting driver. “I fear that my presence is no longer welcome here.”
His eyebrows rose, but he complied, ushering her forward and taking her bag to pass up to the waiting footman.
“I apologise,” Caroline continued, once they were settled inside and the carriage had begun to move. “You only just gothere, and now you are leaving again. Wait—are not you supposed to be in Bath with Jane?”
“I was, but...” He hesitated, scratching at his stubbled cheek. Clearly he’d ridden hard for at least a couple of days. “I think it best that you tell me your tale first. Why on earth is Mother so angry with you?”
“Someone proposed to me. She arranged it all behind my back.” She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “And I turned him down.”
“Ah.” Charles sat back in his seat, grimacing. “Yes, I can see why that might upset her. Was there nothing about him which pleased you?”
Caroline shrugged. “He is a handsome and wealthy viscount. Everything a young lady ought to want.”
Charles studied her. People often thought him less shrewd than Mr Darcy, perhaps because of his more openly cheerful manner, but her brother was far from a fool. “But not what you want?”
“Oh, Charles,” Caroline choked out, dropping her head into her hands. “I must throw myself on your mercy, at least for a while.”
“My mercy is yours to use as long as you like,” said he, looking more confused by the second. “Caroline, forgive me for saying this, but I would have thought a handsome and wealthy viscount would suit all your desires.”
“I am in love,” she confessed. “With someone else.”
“I knew it!” he cried. “That letter you wrote me, asking what love felt like. I knew it could not be simply idle speculation. With whom are you in love, dear sister? Is it anyone I know?”
Whatever he said, it couldn’t possibly be worse than Mrs Bingley’s response. Caroline swallowed. “I am in love with Georgiana Darcy.”
She braced herself for more shouting, but Charles merely studied her for long moments, head tilted to one side. “And is that why you’re crying?”
“No. I mean, yes, but not exactly.” She stared at him. “You don’t seem upset. Or shocked. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you? I am in love with another woman.”
