Page 7 of Caroline Bingley’s Last Chance At Love

There was a pause. Charles watched her with the expression of a man waiting to hear whether his proposal would be met with outright opposition or merely the kind of mild skepticism that could be managed with enough cheerfulness and persistence. Jane had gone very still in the particular way of a woman who has long since learned that silence is sometimes the wisest possible contribution to a conversation.

Caroline considered her options. Charles was not a completely unreasonable man, she was sure that he would not be planning to host a party in a property so far away in a week's time if he did not have the means to organize such an event.

There were, she acknowledged to herself, several things she could say. She could point out that Netherfield had not exactly been the site of exclusively happy memories for the Bingley family, or at least not for all of its members, though she supposed the memories in question were rather more Charles's to evaluate than hers. She could note that a ball in a rented property at seven months along seemed to be asking rather a lot of a woman who was already being asked rather a lot as the head of the household’s wife. She could remark, with accuracy, that she had never entirely understood why people felt the compulsion to gather large numbers of other people together and subject them all to dancing as a method of celebrating anything, given that dancing was exhausting and other people were frequently unreliable in their steps and had a tendency to sweat.

She could say any number of things. She chose, instead, to pick the simplest escape route.

"Very well then. I suppose we shall all go to Netherfield Park. No doubt Jane will require my help organizing the event in her state," she said.

Charles blinked, surprised it could be so easy. "That is all?"

"Yes." She reached for her fork again. "What else is there for me to say?"

"I had rather expected," he said, sounding genuinely uncertain whether to be relieved or suspicious, "something more."

"You wanted argument?"

"I expected it," unsurprising given that he was not outright asking but implying her help in coordinating this event.

"Then you are welcome to imagine one, if it would make you feel better," Caroline said pleasantly. "I am sure you have a very clear sense of what it would have sounded like. I see no particular reason to provide it in practice when the result would be the same regardless."

Charles stared at her. Jane’s eyes had gone wide as they darted between the two siblings, unsure if she was witnessing an argument or not. The candles continued to burn, but they were dimming. It gave the room an eerie feel.

"Alright," Charles said at last. "It is settled then."

"Apparently," said Caroline sarcastically.

There was a pause, and then Jane gave a smile that was small and careful and, to Caroline's considerable annoyance, rather kind. It was the sort of smile that seemed to be reaching for human connection. Feeling out the edges of a space it was not entirely certain would welcome it, and Caroline found she did not know quite what to do with it, which was not an unusual experience for her when it came to Jane.

She looked away fast. She did not particularly mind helping the older women, she did not want her to strain herself.

The rest of dinner passed without incident of any particular note. Charles returned to the cheerful and well-meaning conversational territory he preferred, speaking at some length about the arrangements he had in mind and which families he intended to invite and whether the east drawing room could be cleared in time to accommodate a proper supper, and Jane listened and contributed and smiled at him, and Caroline ate her pheasant and her lamb and drank her wine in precise and considered amounts and thought about very little of consequence.

Or rather, she tried to think about very little of consequence, which was not quite the same thing.

She was not sure why Charles's proposal had produced in her such an unexpected absence of resistance. Perhaps it was simply exhaustion. She had been fighting things, small things and large things and everything in between, for long enough that the prospect of fighting this particular thing, a ball, a perfectly ordinary social gathering, a celebration of something that was in every objective sense a happy occasion, had struck her this evening as simply not worth the effort.

Or perhaps, she thought, smoothing the napkin in her lap with unnecessary force, it was something else.

Perhaps there was a part of her, some quiet and embarrassingly hopeful part that she had not yet managed to fully suppress, that remembered the last ball she had attended and had found herself, quite without permission, wondering whether anything so improbable might arrange itself to happen again.

She dismissed this thought immediately and with considerable firmness. The english elite was a large circle, she had encountered several people throughout the course of her life only once and never again. Especially not at a party outside the city.

There was, she reminded herself, absolutely no reason to expect that she would encounter that man twice. London was a very large city, and the season was full of parties and gatherings and events, and the fact that she did not even know his name made the entire notion perfectly absurd. The probability was negligible. She was a rational woman, and rational women did not plan their social calendars around strangers who had brushed a tear from their cheek on a balcony and possessed an unreasonably appealing face.

She glanced up and found Jane watching her across the table, just for a moment, with an expression that was quiet and curious and rather too perceptive for comfort.

Caroline straightened her spine and reached for her wine again. She had never indulged herself more in the substance than after her brother’s marriage. She said, in a voice of impeccable composure, "Charles, I believe you mentioned the east drawing room. You will want to speak to the housekeeper about the carpets before anything else if you mean to have dancing. She will need at least a fortnight's notice."

Charles blinked, then nodded with the grateful relief of a man who had achieved peace and harmony in his household. "Yes, of course. Excellent point."

Caroline nodded serenely. "Women occasionally tend to have those."

Charles chuckled, "Why sister, do I sense sarcasm in your tone?”

Jane made a small sound from directly across the table from her that she recognized as poorly concealed laughter.

Caroline smiled faintly. Living with these two was not always so bad.