Page 42 of A November to Remember

Caroline leaned closer. “Never?”

“She speaks of gentlemen’s failings.” Miss Bennet offered this as an apologetic accuracy, like a witness determined to be helpful. “She is very diverting on the subject. But I am not to repeat any of it, for she insists her observations are for home consumption only, like Mamma’s gooseberry wine.”

Caroline recovered, adjusting her strategy. “But surely, between sisters, she has shared her opinion of Mr Darcy?”

Miss Bennet nodded earnestly. “Oh yes.”

Caroline leaned forward, the room sharpening to focus. “And?”

“She thinks him very proud.” The girl lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And very tall.”

Caroline waited for the rest of the sentence. None arrived. “That is all?”

“She mentions the height frequently.” The feverish girl gazed earnestly over the rim of the cup. “I believe it vexes her. Lizzy does not like to be at a disadvantage in an argument, and she says he keeps his best expressions too far above her head to be properly read.”

Caroline stared at the cherubic face on the pillow and searched it for irony; there was none. There was nothing but blue eyes, fever, and devastating sincerity. Time for a new approach.

“And your own stay with us... I hope Charles has not made a nuisance of his concern.” Caroline adjusted a stray curl at her temple. “He enquires after you constantly. Of course, he is exactly the same with everyone. Only last spring, in town, he showed such attention to a Miss Grantley that we all quite expected... Well.” She offered a deep sigh, expertly weighted with fabricated regret. “Charles forms attachments the way other men form opinions. Frequently, and without duration.”

It was her best piece, delivered flawlessly, and Caroline watched for the wound to open.

Miss Bennet’s face contained, for a fraction of a second, a flicker of pain, and then she did the most vicious thing Caroline had encountered in years of drawing-room manipulation: she agreed.

“Your brother has the most open, generous heart.” Miss Bennet rested her head back against the pillows. “I think a man with such a heart must make many people hope. It would be wrong of any of them to blame him for it. I am sure Miss Grantley found him as kind as I do.”

Caroline opened her mouth, but there was no purchase anywhere on the sentence; it was seamlessly upholstered. Attacking Jane Bennet was identical to attacking a feather bolster: the blow landed, sank, vanished, and left the assailant off balance and with a sore wrist.

“More beef tea?” Miss Bennet asked hopefully. “It is very good. You are so kind to have thought of straining it twice.”

Caroline poured mechanically. Somewhere in the past quarter of an hour, the interrogation had inverted, though she could not pinpoint the exact moment of her defeat. She had come for intelligence and was leaving with a compliment to her beverage. She had summoned Miss Grantley, her Sunday-best munition, saved for an occasion such as this, and it had barely dented the cushions.

Miss Bennet took a small sip. “I was told that Lord Keathley and Mr Darcy went into the rain to bring Mr Jones for me,” she said with a side glance at Caroline. “One would not expect them to go to such trouble.”

“Ah, but they are gentlemen to the bone!” Caroline exclaimed. “Charles does not fare well in situations of urgency. The viscount and Mr Darcy, of course, did not think twice.”

“It was very noble of them,” Miss Bennet whispered.

Caroline stood to leave, her dignity in disarray. Stopping at the door, she attempted one final sally. “It was, indeed. I shall tell Charles you are recovering. He will be so pleased. Though of course we return to town soon, before winter settles. He never stays anywhere long.”

“Then I must be grateful.” Miss Bennet settled back into the pillows with her gentle, indestructible smile. “For every day that he does.”

Caroline walked back along the passage at a pace entirely unbecoming a lady, storming past the viscount, who was leaning against the gallery rail doing absolutely nothing.

“Successful visit?” One aristocratic eyebrow lifted in dry inquiry.

“Miss Bennet is much recovered.” Caroline swept past him, marching to the stairs.

Behind her, she distinctly heard him chuckling.

She reached her own chamber, slammed the door, and sat down at her dressing table to think. The sharp Bennet sister guarded the sweet one, and the sweet one deflected everything aimed at both of them using nothing but her sweetness. This was a problem for which Caroline had no precedent. She would need reinforcements.

She yanked the bell pull to summon her sister.

Louisa listened to the full, tragic account from her chair by the window twenty minutes later. One hand rested on the swell of her condition, the other held a half-eaten pickled onion.

“Marry the colonel.” Louisa took a delicate bite of the pickle. “He at least would notice if you died. Provided you died near the sideboard.”

Caroline put her head in her hands and prayed for winter.