“Bingley is capable of accepting his own invitations.”
“Charles is capable of many things, Mr. Darcy. He will eagerly squander the finest match of the Season because you have pointed him at a country gentleman’s daughter with no fortune and no prospects. Miss Audley has forty thousand pounds, the Pembroke connection, and a talent at the pianoforte that Miss Bennet—however sweet—cannot approach. All I ask is that Charles meet her properly. An introduction complimenting her performance. Is that so very much?”
“It is, when the purpose is to redirect affections that are not yours to manage.”
Caroline’s smile thinned until it was less a smile and more a blade held sideways. “Then let us be plain. You have spent weeks ingratiating yourself with the Gardiners, laboring to repair the damage done in November. The Bennet sisters believe, and I imagine you have taken pains to encourage the belief, that the separation was entirely the work of Louisa and myself. That weconcealed Jane’s visit. That we turned her away. That we alone are the villains of the piece.”
“Youareresponsible for the concealment.”
“We concealed her presence, yes. But we are not responsible for the friendly persuasion.” She had held my gaze with malice. “You convinced Charles that Miss Bennet was indifferent, and he left Netherfield on your word alone. And if Miss Elizabeth were to learn the full extent of your involvement…”
“That is enough.”
“Is it? Because I rather think Miss Elizabeth would find it illuminating. She is clever, Mr. Darcy. She observes, and she has a long memory. She has spent these last weeks revising her opinion of you—to your considerable satisfaction, I note, since it has won you leave to call on her. How unfortunate, were she to discover that the revision rested on a half-told story; that the man she has begun to admire is the very one who pronounced her sister indifferent and judged the family beneath his friend.”
The fire snapped in the grate; a carriage rattled past below. Caroline was not bluffing. She had found the one lever that could topple everything I had managed to build.
“What do you want?”
“Introduce Charles to Miss Audley at the musicale. Compliment her performance publicly. Give her an honest chance. That is all.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I shall write to Jane—who trusts me, as she trusts everyone—and express my concern, sister to sister, that Mr. Darcy’s motives in reuniting her with Charles may not be as selfless as they appear. I shall be so very gentle, so very kind. And Miss Elizabeth will read it over her shoulder, for Elizabeth reads everything, and the entire revision she has been so carefully constructing will come apart in her hands.”
I could have called her bluff, announced my intention to confess everything to Elizabeth and Jane, and let her threats hurry along what I already meant to do.
But timing was everything. I had not yet earned enough of Elizabeth’s trust to survive a confession. Her respect, perhaps. Her amusement, certainly. Her attention—sharp, relentless, missing nothing and forgiving less—I had that. But trust? The sort that could hear the worst of me and still believe in the rest? Not yet. A woman does not leap from active dislike—some might say outright loathing—to forgiveness, especially not Elizabeth Bennet.
“One introduction,” I said. “One compliment. And you will say nothing to either Miss Bennet until I have spoken to them myself.”
“You have my word.”
Caroline’s word was worth approximately what one might expect, but it purchased time. I had secured the invitation for Mrs. Gardiner’s party through the Derbyshire connection—Lady Meynell’s mother had been a Kingsley from Bakewell.
Mrs. Gardiner’s maiden name was enough to earn an invitation without raising eyebrows. What I had given Mrs. Gardiner to understand was that it would do Jane no harm to be seen in good company on the arm of friends rather than tucked away in Cheapside.
I had also warned Jane privately, during a visit to check on Bertram’s sleeping habits, that the Bingleys would be present. She had said only, “Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” with a steadiness that reminded me, as it always did, of her sister.
And now I stood in the anteroom, adjusting my cravat, and wondered how I had arrived at a point in my life where the woman I admired most in the world believed me to be her sister’s rescuer, when I was in fact the architect of the original disaster.
The Gardiner party were announced at half past eight, and I went out to the vestibule to receive them. Mrs. Gardiner came in handsome and composed in dove grey; Jane followed, pale and luminous in white muslin, her eye going at once across the room to Bingley, who half rose and was kept from us only by Lady Meynell’s seating. And Elizabeth wore the moss green I had come to think of as mine. She looked so well that I had to remind myself the arm I owed was Mrs. Gardiner’s, as the senior lady of the party, and not the one I wished to offer.
As I handed Mrs. Gardiner to her chair, Elizabeth leaned near. “You did not arrange all this for the music,” she said, low, and rather pleased with herself. “You have brought Jane where the Bingley sisters cannot pretend they failed to see her—and put her under your protection while they try. It is neatly done, Mr. Darcy. I did not take you for a tactician.”
I should not have smiled; in this company, to smile at Elizabeth Bennet was a public declaration. But I had lost the trick of governing my responses somewhere between the Elgin marbles and a basket of strawberries.
The room was packed; Lady Meynell’s musicales were less about music than the sport of scrutiny. Lorgnettes rose as Mrs. Gardiner settled, fans unfurled for the opening round of whispered commentary.
“A Miss Bennet, I believe. From Hertfordshire.”
“Her people?”
“Country. An estate of some kind. The uncle is in trade.Cheapside.”
The word Cheapside drifted over, and Elizabeth caught it. Her spine straightened, and she said something to Mrs.Gardiner that made her aunt laugh. And the room responded with a fresh flurry of raised lorgnettes and whispers.
I leaned closer to Elizabeth, lowering my voice so that it might serve as a barrier between her and the room.
