Confounding Caroline

  Confounding Caroline

  A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Leenie Brown

  Leenie B Books

  Halifax

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without written permission from its publisher and author.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, events, and places are a product of this author’s imagination. If any name, event and/or place did exist, it is purely by coincidence that it appears in this book.

  Cover design by Leenie B Books. Images sourced from Deposit Photos and Novel Expressions.

  Confounding Caroline © 2017 Leenie Brown. All Rights Reserved, except where otherwise noted.

  Contents

  Dear Reader,

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  With the Colonel's Help, Chapter 1

  Before You Go

  Acknowledgements

  Other Leenie B Books

  Dash of Darcy and Companions Stories

  About the Author

  Connect with Leenie Brown

  Dear Reader,

  Once upon a time…well, actually, a couple of years ago, I began a weekly writing exercise on my blog (leeniebrown.com) and called it Thursday’s Three Hundred. What was supposed to be just a few minutes of practice – just three hundred words a week – quickly took on a life of its own and became something much grander.

  To date, those writing exercises have produced one short story (Hope at Dawn), a four-book series (Willow Hall Romance), a stand-alone novella (With the Colonel’s Help) and now, this novella that you hold in your hand, which is either the first of a pair of stories or the beginning of something a bit longer.

  While some things about how I create these stories have evolved since that first writing exercise, the tradition of posting a portion of a work in progress continues each Thursday. In fact, there is a new story posting there now.

  Chapter 1

  Fitzwilliam Darcy handed his coat and beaver to his friend’s butler, while that friend, Charles Bingley, leaned nonchalantly against the sitting room’s door frame. The soft glow of a lamp, which remained lit, shone behind him, indicating that Bingley had been engaged in some activity in the room before which he now stood.

  “I had hoped you would be home, but I did not expect it,” Darcy said in greeting. It was not Bingley’s normal wont to remain at home. “Reading?” he queried with some surprise as he took note of the book in Bingley’s hand.

  Bingley shrugged. “I do read on occasion.”

  “I would not wish to keep you from your amusements.” Darcy smirked slightly. If he knew his friend, Bingley would likely not mind the disruption since Bingley preferred people to books.

  Bingley shook his head and chuckled. “Come, my study would be more comfortable than the sitting room and less likely to be invaded by females should Caroline return early.”

  “I am surprised you did not accompany her to the Grahams’ soiree,” Darcy said as he followed Bingley into the study.

  “I have had my fill of ferrying Caroline around only to have her turn up her pert little nose at every gentleman she meets, so I sent her with Louisa and Hurst.”

  He tucked his book away on a shelf behind his desk, and then opening the door on the right side of his desk, he pulled out a bottle of amber coloured liquid and two glasses.

  “I find I tire of society. It is always the same. The same ladies in different dresses with different coloured hair and hats, but the same gossip, the same weather, the same pleasantries. It’s just so much of the same, over and over and over and over.” He handed a glass to Darcy and smiled. “Besides, if I am not mistaken, I will not be the only one who will enjoy this Caroline-free evening.”

  Darcy chuckled “The quiet is agreeable to me, but you have never enjoyed silence so much as I.” There was something different about Bingley the past few weeks. He did not smile as much as was his usual wont, and he seemed to tuck himself away in his study more and more. Darcy swirled the liquid in his glass and threw one leg over the other. The leather squeaked as he shifted in the chair across from Bingley.

  Bingley sighed. “I find I am longing for the country, but Caroline will hear nothing of leaving town when there are so many functions to attend.” He took a draught from his glass. “If I thought she meant to find a husband, trotting her around to the various venues might not be so bothersome, but she is not intent on snaring anyone but you.”

  Darcy knew that fact very well. Caroline had never been reserved in demonstrating her preference for him over every gentleman she met. “A title and a larger fortune might dissuade her.”

  The hint of bitterness in Bingley’s laugh surprised Darcy almost as much as Bingley’s wishing to leave town and avoid society. These were not Bingley actions. They were behaviours that were more likely to be attributed to Darcy rather than his gregarious friend.

  “She is as stubborn as a mule,” Bingley muttered, “and almost as bright.”

  Darcy’s brows rose. He was not surprised by the fact that Bingley was complaining about his sister. He had heard Bingley complain about Caroline before — many times. However, he had never heard Bingley complain about anything more than her incessant need to purchase fripperies and dresses or the way she nattered on about this person or that. There was something decidedly wrong with his friend, and Darcy had a sinking feeling that he knew just what it was.

  “You surprise me,” Darcy said, not wishing to broach the topic of the cause of the change in Bingley but knowing it was necessary. “Was it not you who claimed to be happy wherever you were, be it town or country?”

  “That was before,” Bingley said over the rim of his glass.

  “Before what?” Darcy prodded.

  “Before I took an estate.” Bingley shifted in his chair uneasily, studying the painting above the fireplace for a few moments before allowing his attention to return to his friend. He sighed deeply as his gaze fell to where Darcy’s foot slowly bounced up and down.

  Surreptitiously, Darcy glanced at his friend. He recognized Bingley’s sigh, for it was the same groan of uncertainty that had taken up residence in his own chest. It was a new and unwelcome feeling, and it was not something that, though he had tried, he could command away. He had not been able to erase it with busyness, nor had he been able to wash it away with drink. There remained only one option for dealing with such uncertainty and its pretty reason. It must be acknowledged for what it was. The root of it must be exposed, then left to wither away with time — at least, for him. For his friend, he hoped for a different outcome.

  “Is it the estate or the society in Hertfordshire that you miss, my friend?” Darcy’s voice was quiet, and he fixed his eyes on the wall beyond Bingley’s head. A small smile played at his mouth as he contemplated the image of smiling eyes and an impertinent grin that always came to his mind when he thought of Hertfordshire. “Netherfield seems like a fine estate, and the neighbourhood was not without its enchantments.” He sipped his drink and then swirled it again, watching the liquid swirl up the sides of the glass.

  “I thought you loathed the inhabitants of Hertfordshire.” Bingley’s voice was filled with incredulity. “Is that not why you and my sisters were so hasty in joining me in town ─ the people are beneath us, there is no society worth keeping, that sort of thing?

  Again, Darcy’s brows rose at
the rancor in Bingley’s voice. He sighed heavily, and colour crept up his cheeks. This would not be a pleasant discussion.

  “I did not loathe all of the inhabitants. I found some of them to be quite delightful — so delightful, in fact, that leaving seemed safer than staying.” He rose and walked to the window. Admitting his folly and weakness would be easier if he were able to move about and not have to face the friend whom he had, he suspected, unknowingly injured.

  Bingley drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and raised a brow in anticipation of an expected explanation.

  “She is here in town.” Darcy placed his empty glass on a side table and allowed his eyes to remain on it rather than look at his friend.

  “Who is here in town?”

  Darcy drew a deep breath and spared Bingley only a glance before returning his gaze to his glass. “Miss Bennet.”

  “Miss Bennet?”

  Darcy nodded.

  “How do you know?” Bingley was on his feet and pacing. “Have you seen her?”

  Darcy shook his head and sighed. “No, I have not seen her, but your sisters have.” He turned once again toward the window. Bingley’s reaction to the news was as expected and proved to Darcy how deeply attached his friend was to Miss Bennet.

  “My sisters?” Bingley stood beside his friend, his brows drawn together in question.

  Darcy turned toward him. “This afternoon, while you were out, I came by to drop off those papers.” He pointed to the packet sitting unopened on the somewhat cluttered desk. “Caroline informed me that Miss Bennet had called.”

  “She was here? Miss Bennet was here?” Bingley’s eyes were wide with astonishment. “Why did Caroline not tell me?”

  Darcy wished to walk away from his friend, so that he could not see the pain in Bingley’s eyes, but he would not. “It seems your sister is actively trying to separate you and Miss Bennet. She seemed to think I would be impressed by her belittling of the inferior society of the country.” He paused and drew a deliberate breath. “At one time I would have agreed with her, but I no longer do.”

  Bingley crossed his arms and studied his friend.

  Darcy winced under the examination, but it was not more than he deserved. Unable to bear both his shame and the scrutiny of his friend any longer, he turned back to the window. “I have to make a confession, Bingley. You may wish to throw me out of your home when I am finished, and I will fully understand if you do.” Darcy continued to stare out the window, but he could feel the eyes of his friend boring into him.

  “I wished to separate you from Miss Bennet when we left Hertfordshire.” He closed his eyes as he heard his friend’s muttered oath. “I told you she seemed indifferent to you. While it is true that I did not notice any particular regard for you on her part, it is not the reason I wished to separate you from her. It is not even the connection to her family or the supposed inferior society of Meryton that led me to take the actions I did.” He swallowed and drew a deep fortifying breath before continuing. “I did not wish for you to become attached to Miss Bennet, for it would place me in an awkward situation. I was being completely and utterly selfish.” He turned to look at his friend. “I am sorry,” he whispered.

  “An awkward situation?” Bingley wore a look of displeasure Darcy had rarely seen. “You would separate me from the woman I loved because it would somehow make your life awkward?”

  Darcy nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  “Explain yourself,” Bingley demanded, “for I do not have the pleasure of understanding your meaning.”

  Darcy shrugged one shoulder. “I thought if we left, if you and Miss Bennet were not allowed to become attached, I could avoid the danger, but I have discovered that the danger is not confined to Hertfordshire. It has followed me here to town. It haunts me day and night.” He turned back towards the window as he continued.

  “I am expected to marry well, to make a match that will increase the wealth and position of my family. It is what my father and uncle have always taught me.”

  “You are still making no sense.”

  Darcy could hear the exasperation in his friend’s voice. It was rather how he had felt since leaving Hertfordshire — annoyed, disturbed, and vexed by the memory of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  “How would my being fortunate enough to marry a lady such as Miss Bennet,” Bingley continued, “impose upon some imagined need of yours to marry a lady of wealth and standing?”

  “Miss Bennet has sisters,” Darcy said to the darkness of the night before him.

  “Yes, four,” Bingley retorted. “I still do not see ─”

  “But only one,” Darcy interrupted, “with the musical laughter of a brook, eyes as expressive as any the masters have painted, and a mind that is…” he shook his head “so quick, so very quick and keen.”

  Darcy blew out a breath. “I imagined one day I would find a woman who would meet all the qualifications my uncle and father had taught me are necessary for the wife of a man of my standing and that we would eventually learn to esteem one another. But, I cannot fathom such a match after…” His voice trailed off.

  A hand grasped his shoulder. “After meeting the one person you find you do not wish to live without.” It was not a question that Bingley asked but rather a statement of deep understanding.

  Darcy gave his friend a sad smile and nodded mutely.

  “Now, you know why I am longing for the country,” Bingley said softly.

  Darcy nodded again. “I suspected as much. It is why I came here tonight — to discover if I was correct. I will not stand in your way. You deserve happiness. You have been a good friend to me, and I would not want to part for any other reason.” Darcy turned to leave.

  “What do you mean part?” Bingley asked. “I do not hate you for what you have done if that is what has you worried. I am not happy, but I am not angry. There is no reason for us to part.”

  Darcy stood with his hand on the doorknob. “I do not think I can bear hearing of her, especially when she belongs to another. It is just too much.” His shoulders slumped. “You shall always remain my friend, Bingley. I will always be ready to serve you in any way, but please…please, do not ask me to be a witness to that.”

  Chapter 2

  Bingley crossed the room quickly and, taking Darcy by the shoulders, led him back to his chair. “Sit.”

  Darcy sighed and did as instructed.

  “There is no reason for us to part,” Bingley reiterated as he handed Darcy a refreshed glass of brandy.

  “But ─”

  “No,” Bingley cut Darcy off. “Duty be hanged.” He dropped into his chair. There was absolutely no way while the sun still shone that he was going to lay aside his own chance at happiness with Miss Bennet, but it was equally unlikely that he was going to let a man, who was more brother than friend, walk out of his life. How would he be able to be completely happy if he knew he was the cause of such pain to Darcy?

  “Your family ─”

  “No,” Bingley cut in again. “My family, just like yours, expects me to marry well, and I shall.” He smirked. “It shall, perhaps, not be as well as a certain member of my family would wish, but it is I who has to live with my choice of bride, not her. At least, I hope Caroline does not always live with me.” He shuddered. She would be the next problem he would have to sort out.

  “My family expects…” Darcy attempted to speak once again, only to find Bingley talking over him once more.

  “I know what your family expects.”

  He had heard his friend wax eloquent on it many times — usually when explaining why he could not consider this or that lady whom Bingley had suggested. They were all excellent ladies. Very pleasant. Not at all stuffy and overbearing. But, none had interested Darcy in the least. Indeed, even some of the stuffier well-positioned ladies Bingley had mentioned in passing had never gotten more than a sigh and a reluctant agreement to consider them if it became necessary.

  Bingley’s brows drew together, and a small smile played at his
lips. None of them had ever flustered Darcy as much as Miss Elizabeth had. She had drawn him out, caused him to debate, and had even enticed him to dance. And now she was the one woman whom Darcy would regret all his life if he did not pursue and win her.

  With a most serious look on his face, Bingley sat forward in his chair, leaning toward his friend. “What would happen if you did not fulfill your family’s expectations? Would you be cut off? Disinherited? Shunned by society? What would the consequences be?”

  Darcy shrugged and sipped his drink. “I suppose it would cause a family rift.”

  “Meaning you would have fewer functions to attend because they would not invite you?”

  Darcy nodded. “Yes, there is that.”

  “Who would refuse to see you?”

  Darcy drew a deep breath. “I cannot say with any certainty who would do so besides Aunt Catherine.”

  “But,” Bingley persisted. “She will be displeased no matter whom you marry unless it is her daughter. You have said so yourself. Do you intend to marry your cousin?”

  “No, I have no desire to marry Anne.”

  “Then marrying Miss Elizabeth would be no different from your marrying some duke’s daughter.” Bingley cocked his head to the side and settled back into his chair.

  “It might make it more challenging for Georgiana when she comes out if my connections are not of the first circles,” Darcy argued.

  Bingley shrugged. “Will she not still have her thirty thousand?”

  “Of course, she will.”

  “Will your family’s ties to the land and aristocracy not still be of long standing?”

  Darcy shook his head. “That is a foolish question. How would my heritage change?”

  Bingley smiled. “I do not know, but you seem to think that marrying a gentleman’s daughter will somehow change how a prospective husband will view Georgiana.” He shrugged, rose from his chair, and paced to the window before presenting his next argument. “Actually, I am rather surprised that you would even consider a gentleman who offered for your sister only because she would be a feather in his societal cap.”