“And that situation will certainly not improve if Jane is my sister.”
“I think you quite wrong in that regard, Caroline; she is the daughter of a gentleman. In any case, I have been forbidden by my husband to have any part in your scheming.”
“Harold?” Caroline scoffed.
Louisa faced her sister, a new determination in her eyes. “Caroline, my husband has pointed out to me how very dependent we are upon Charles’ good will. I will not jeopardise our situation.”
“But I am your sister –“
“And he is my husband. I will bid you good day now, Caroline; I must speak with Cook about dinner.”
A frustrated Caroline retreated to her room to think. There had to be something – anything! – that could be used to discreditJane Bennet. Caroline considered the family carefully. Mrs. Bennet, with her terrible manners, was dead; Caroline would weep no tears for her. And that dreadful youngest sister, Miss Lydia, was in Brighton, apparently ill.
But, Caroline thought, there was something wrong there. It seemed to her unlikely that the girl really had been too ill to attend her mother’s funeral, and had not managed to get herself well since then! The distance was not great; a mere sixty miles or so, easily traversed. What was keeping Lydia away?
Caroline was determined to find out. She had no acquaintance in Brighton, but certainly one of her friends must have such connections. She sat down at her writing desk.
My Dear Harriet,
It has been far too long since we have spoken, dear friend! I hope you, your handsome husband, and your charming little boy are all in good health. As for myself, my brother has leased an estate out in the county of Hertfordshire. As you may imagine, I am positively starved for agreeable companionship!
A friend of mine was enquiring about a military family in Brighton. I know no one in Brighton, but I recall that you have a vast number of acquaintances! Do you know anyone who lives in Brighton? If so, I would be so very grateful for an introduction by letter so that I might help my friend with her enquiries.
If you are ever in Hertfordshire, I beg that you will come and visit me; but I expect my brother will take us all to London soon enough, and I hope to have the pleasure of your company then.
Your affectionate friend,
Caroline Bingley
Caroline wrote out three more letters, all in the same vein, and put them in the salver to go out in the next post.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Early September 1812
When Mr. Darcy was announced at Matlock House, he was immediately accosted by his aunt and uncle. “Darcy! Have you at last regained your senses?” the Earl asked him.
“I had not realised that I had lost them,” he replied, calmly.
“Of course you have. You cannot possibly marry a young woman whose sister eloped and then vanished from sight.” The Earl scoffed at such a notion.
“I am aware of the difficulties, Uncle, which is why I am working so hard to find that sister.”
“Even if she is found, to marry into such a family? You cannot be serious,” his aunt said.
Mr. Darcy chose to ignore this. “Is Richard about?”
“He is.” She pulled the bell cord and asked the maid to send the Colonel to the drawing room.
When he arrived, Darcy rose and opened the satchel he had brought with him. He took out a thick roll of paper and handed it to his cousin. “The drawings, Richard, as we hoped.”
The Colonel set the roll of paper on the table and carefully unrolled it. There was a stack – over a dozen – of drawings of a young girl. “This is Miss Lydia?”
“Yes; her sisters agree that it is an excellent likeness.”
The Countess peered around her son’s broad shoulders. “She is a pretty thing; I do not wonder that Wickham was interested.”
“She is, indeed,” the Colonel agreed. “Darcy, at Mother’s suggestion, I have enlisted a number of retired Army men to help us with the search; I shall hand out these drawings to aid their enquiries. I dismissed the Bow Street runners, as I believe the Army men to be far superior.”
