Page 184 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"How could I?" The words burst out before she could stop them. "How could I believe him when every piece of evidence pointed to fortune-hunting? When he needed my money and I needed—" She caught herself. Pressed her lips together.

"Needed what, Miss Bingley?" The Countess's voice was very gentle now. Very careful. "What did you need?"

Caroline could not answer. The truth was too large, too raw, too likely to destroy her if she let it out.

I needed someone to want me. Not my fortune. Not my connections. Not the polish I have spent years acquiring. Me. The sharp-tongued harridan who wears orange to spite the world and pays for her maid's nephew's schooling because kindness is the only rebellion left to her.

I needed him to mean it.

"Perhaps," Charles's voice came from behind her, steady and strange and entirely unlike him, "you might allow my sister a moment to compose herself."

Caroline turned.

Her brother still stood by the door. His arms were still crossed. But he was no longer merely stubborn. He looked ready to fight.

"Mr Bingley," the Earl began.

"No." Charles's voice did not waver. "With respect, my lord, I have listened to you interrogate my sister for the better part of a quarter hour. I have watched you arrive uninvited, commandeer my drawing room, and demand explanations for wounds that are not yet healed. And I find that I am... done."

The Earl's eyebrows rose. The Countess looked intrigued.

"Done?" the Earl repeated.

"Done," Charles confirmed. He stepped forward, positioning himself beside Caroline's settee like a guard taking up his post. "My sister is the strongest person I know. She has navigated a world that despises her origins and covets her fortune. She has maintained her dignity in the face of constant slights, constant dismissals, constant reminders that she will never be quite good enough for the circles she moves in. And she has done it alone, my lord, because I was too busy chasing my own happiness to notice she had none."

Caroline stared at him. She had not known Charles possessed this many words, let alone the capacity to deploy them with such precision.

"Your son hurt her," Charles continued, and his voice hardened. "Whatever his intentions, whatever his feelings, he hurt her. And she does not deserve to be hurt. Not by him. Not by anyone. She deserves—" His voice cracked slightly. "She deserves someone who sees what I failed to see for far too long. That she is extraordinary. That her sharp tongue hides a soft heart. That she would do anything—anything—for the people she loves, if only someone would give her the chance."

Silence fell.

The Earl was staring at Charles as if he had sprouted horns and a tail. The Countess, meanwhile, was watching still.

And Caroline was crying. Silently. The tears sliding down her cheeks despite her desperate attempts to stop them.

"Charles," she whispered.

"I should have said it years ago." He looked at her, and his eyes were wet too. "I should have protected you, Caroline. I should have stood up for you. Instead, I let you fight alone because it was easier to pretend you did not need anyone." He swallowed. "You needed someone. And I was not there. I am sorry."

"Mr Bingley." The Countess rose from her chair, her movements graceful and deliberate. "I find that I have misjudged this household."

Charles pressed his lips into a thin line. "I beg your pardon?"

"It is not a criticism." The Countess moved to face him. "I came here expecting to find a fortune-hunter's target—a desperate woman willing to overlook my son's failures in exchange for a title. Instead, I find a woman of dignity who refuses to be bought, and a brother who has finally discovered his spine." Her mouth curved. "It is considerably more interesting than I anticipated."

The Earl cleared his throat. "What my wife is attempting to say, in her typically circuitous fashion, is that we owe you an apology. Both of you."

Caroline blinked. The Earl of Matlock did not seem like a man who apologised often.

"We came here to determine whether Miss Bingley wanted our son," the Earl continued. "And if so, whether she wanted him for himself or for his family name. We have our answer."

Caroline's heart stuttered. "I have not—I did not say—"

"You did not need to." The Countess's smile was knowing now, almost kind. "You are crying, Miss Bingley. Women who feel nothing do not cry. And women who want only a title do not laugh when that title is offered."

"I laughed because I was angry—"

"You laughed because you were terrified." The Countess held her gaze. "Because if you allowed yourself to believe him, andif he was lying, it would destroy you. Better to reject him first. Better to be the one who walks away."