Page 48 of Grief and Grievances
“Very well, Mr. Darcy,” Caroline whispered to herself, eyes narrowed in determination. “If it is a battle of wits you desire, then it is a battle of wits you shall have.” She whirled and made for her room. She would plead a headache tonight; she could not bear company and inane chatter, and especially not to look upon the face of Mr. Darcy, knowing that the stupid man had been entrapped by that witch Eliza Bennet.
It was a restless night for Caroline, tossing and turning, coming up with and discarding endless plans. She rose from her bed finally and rang for her maid to bring tea and breakfast.
Caroline’s eyes fluttered over the delicate china tea set before her, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns that adorned its porcelain surface. The floral motif was a mockery of her own tempestuous emotions—she could hardly enjoy such simple beauty when her thoughts were consumed by jealousy and anger.
“Miss Bingley,” came the voice of her lady’s maid, interrupting Caroline’s contemplation. “Is there something amiss?”
“Nothing is amiss, Sarah,” Caroline replied curtly, her gaze fixed on the cups before her. Yet, in the depths of her mind, she knew that to be a falsehood. Mr. Darcy’s declaration of his intention to court Elizabeth Bennet still rang in her ears, and it felt like nothing short of betrayal.
“Very well, ma’am,” Sarah said, unconvinced but unwilling to press further.
Caroline’s mind raced, exploring every possible avenue she might pursue to halt this disastrous union. Then, like a bolt of lightning illuminating the darkest night, an idea struck her. A wicked smile spread across her lips as she considered the prospect of using George Wickham as a pawn in her game. He was handsome and cunning, and most importantly, shared her disdain for both Darcys. Yes, he would be the perfect instrument of her revenge.
“Sarah!” Caroline called sharply, her voice betraying her newfound determination. “Prepare the carriage at once. I must make a trip to Meryton.”
“Ma’am?” Sarah asked, her brow furrowed with confusion. “Whatever for?”
“Never you mind that,” Caroline snapped, rising from her chair. “Simply do as I say. Time is of the essence.”
“Of course, Miss Bingley,” Sarah replied, bowing her head and retreating from the room. As the door closed behind her, Caroline’s thoughts turned to the task at hand. Her heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, but she knew that her plan could very well be her only hope.
“Mr. Darcy,” she murmured to herself, her eyes alight with resolve, “you shall soon discover the consequences of wronging Caroline Bingley.”
The carriage jolted to a halt, and Caroline Bingley stepped out onto the bustling streets of Meryton, her eyes narrowed with determination as she surveyed her surroundings. The sun was shining brightly overhead, casting its golden glow on the lively town that seemed innocently unaware of the sinister plot that had brought her to its midst.
“Stay with the carriage,” she ordered Sarah, before setting off towards the heart of Meryton. Her pulse quickened with each step, fueled by a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Every face she passed felt like a potential ally or enemy in her quest for vengeance. At last, she spotted him: George Wickham, resplendent in his red militia uniform, laughing merrily with a group of fellow officers outside one of the shops.
“Mr. Wickham,” she called, her voice steady and controlled, despite the fluttering of nerves within her breast. He turned at the sound of his name, his expression shifting from amusement to curiosity as he recognized his visitor.
“Miss Bingley!” he exclaimed, stepping away from his companions to greet her. “This is an unexpected pleasure. To what do I owe the honour of your presence?”
“May we speak privately?” she asked, her eyes darting around the crowded street, acutely aware of the prying eyes and ears that surrounded them.
“Of course,” he replied, offering her his arm. Together, they strolled down a quiet side street, the noise of the bustling market fading behind them. Once satisfied they were out of earshot, Caroline allowed herself a small, cunning smile.
“Mr. Wickham,” she began, her voice low and conspiratorial, “I have come to share some rather distressing information with you. It appears that our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Darcy, has been meddling in your affairs.”
“Indeed?” Wickham’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing to slits. “And what proof have you of this?”
“From the horse’s mouth, as they say,” Caroline replied, recalling the overheard conversation between Darcy and her brother. “He was boasting to my brother about the difficulties he has caused for you here in Meryton, particularly in regard to your financial situation.”
Wickham clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “That insufferable, arrogant man,” he muttered under his breath. “I should have known he would continue to torment me.”
Wickham still felt the sting of humiliation as he exited the second shop, the door slamming shut behind him. His normally charming smile had faltered beneath the weight of his mounting frustrations. He could hardly believe that Darcy’s influence extended even to these humble merchants in Meryton, but whatever the cause, both shopkeepers had made it clear to him that there would be no more goods supplied without payment of his outstanding bills.
Miss Bingley’s approach was startling, but on reflection, it made sense. It was evident she had set her cap for Darcy, and equally obvious that Darcy was not in the slightest interested in her.
“Such an injustice,” Caroline Bingley said, her voice laced with false sympathy. “However, there may be a way to rectify your situation.”
“Indeed?” Wickham asked, trying not to allow his desperation to be too evident. “And what might that be?”
“An arrangement of sorts,” she proposed, her calculating gaze never leaving his face. “You see, I have reason to believe that Mr. Darcy is rather... enamoured with Miss Eliza Bennet, and plans to marry her.” Caroline almost spat the news through gritted teeth, a flush of rage suffusing her cheeks.
This was new information, but on consideration, perhaps not all that surprising. Elizabeth Bennet was certainly beautiful enough to catch any man’s eye—had not Wickham tried his own hand there? That Darcy would unbend his stiff neck enough to enter into an engagement to a woman with so few connections, however, was intriguing. Darcy must be very much in love with her indeed, and Wickham felt a stirring of interest at the possibilities such an entanglement might present for a man such as himself to exploit.
“Regardless,” Caroline continued, undeterred by his thoughtful silence, “if you were to compromise Eliza, it would not only serve as a blow to Darcy’s pride but also provide me with certain... leverage over him.”
“Compromise her, you say?” Wickham raised a sceptical eyebrow, considering the implications of such an action. “And what would be my reward for such an undertaking?”
