Page 51 of Attempted Compromises
The audacity of Mr. Darcy to request the first two dances at the ball from that insipid Eliza Bennet was beyond belief. Of all the women in Hertfordshire—indeed, of all the women present in the drawing room—why on earth would he stoop to askher?
She’s not even that pretty! Her teeth are the only tolerable thing about her.
As the hostess,sheshould have been the natural choice. After all, Darcy was the man of highest rank. Propriety demanded he honor her with the first dance. It would have been the perfect display of his regard for her, a subtle announcement of their shared understanding. Instead, he had humiliated her in front of the entire household.
She could still see Mrs. Bennet’s gloating expression, could hear Lydia’s irritating giggles. Worse yet, she had watched as Darcy’s gaze lingered far too long on that Eliza Bennet, as though she were worthy of admiration. Caroline’s stomach churned with anger, and she drew in a sharp breath, her nostrils flaring.
No, this cannot be true. Mr. Darcy’s attentions to that little chit are nothing more than a whim, a temporary lapse of judgment.
He was a man of impeccable taste, far above such rustic charms.
But…
But what if itwasn’tjust a lapse? What if he genuinely admired her? The thought made Caroline’s blood boil. She would not allow it. She could not allow it.
“Caroline, are you quite well?” Louisa asked, raising a perfectly arched brow as she glanced at her sister.
“I am completely fine,” Caroline snapped, though her tone betrayed her irritation. “Merely fatigued from the day’s calls.”
Louisa said nothing further, though the slight upward curve of her lips hinted at her amusement. Caroline turned her attention back to the window, where the landscape blurred into a haze of trees and fields. She replayed the scene in her mind: Darcy’s calm and deliberate declaration that he had already secured Elizabeth Bennet’s first two dances.
Not hers. Not the woman who had tirelessly entertained him and his sister with her wit and refinement. No, he had chosen that rustic, country trollop with her sharp tongue and unremarkable connections.
It was unthinkable.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze flicked to Darcy, who sat opposite her in the carriage. He seemed utterly unaffected, staring out the window with his usual stoicism, as if he hadn’t just turned her entire day into a disaster. Beside him, Georgianasat quietly, the very picture of composure, though Caroline noted the girl’s faint smile.
Even his mute sister approves of this nonsense!
Caroline’s indignation burned hotter.
Mrs. Hurst attempted to break the tense silence with idle chatter about the upcoming ball, but Caroline barely heard her. She would not allow this affront to go unanswered. Darcy’s actions must be the result of some temporary lapse in judgment, and she would see to it that he was reminded of his proper place—at her side.
When the carriage turned down the road leading to the officers’ encampment, Caroline welcomed the distraction. The invitation from Colonel Forster and his regiment provided the perfect opportunity to bolster her spirits. Captain Forster and his men would be invited to the ball, and if her demeanor was cool enough, perhaps she could demonstrate to Darcy the marked difference between the ladies of refinement and the wild Bennet girls.
After all, the two hoydens will most likely make fools of themselves with the soldiers. Perhaps I could add something to their wine…?
As the carriage stopped, the gentlemen disembarked first. Darcy strode ahead with Bingley, and Caroline followed with Louisa. The crisp autumn air bit at her cheeks, and she pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders.
The officers greeted them warmly. Captain Forster accepted the invitation on behalf of the entire regiment.
Caroline made polite conversation, her practiced charm on full display, but her focus wavered when her eyes caught sight of a familiar figure near the edge of the encampment.
George Wickham.
He was speaking to another officer, though his body was angled away from the group, as though deliberately avoiding notice. As Darcy turned slightly, Caroline saw Wickham stiffen, his posture shifting as he subtly moved further into the shadows.
Her eyes narrowed.
As they moved on to speak with another group of officers, Caroline took advantage of a moment when Darcy and Bingley were engaged in conversation. She slowed her pace, her skirts swishing against the gravel, and moved closer to where Wickham now lingered near the edge of a tent. He glanced up, and their eyes met. A flicker of recognition passed across his face, followed quickly by wariness.
“We need to speak,” she hissed under her breath. “Soon.”
Wickham’s expression shifted to one of practiced nonchalance, though she could see the unease in his eyes. He gave a slight nod, then turned away as though their exchange had not occurred.
“Caroline, do keep up,” Bingley called cheerfully.
Darcy, she noticed sourly, didn’t even glance behind him at her.
