Miss Bingley's Megrim, Part 13

~ Caroline ~

Caroline did not go down to breakfast the next morning. She did not leave her room, in fact.

She never should have had that third or fourth or fifth drink the other night. She never should have had the first one!

It was true that she felt much improved, but she had not been able to fall asleep early enough. She kept hearing odd noises. She even thought she heard Louisa cry out once or twice, but that was ridiculous. Whatever the case, it had been very late when she had finally slept. That, along with unpleasant dreams, had left her still exhausted upon waking. Well, she would stay right in her bed and nap as much as she liked!

In the afternoon, her maid gave her a note from Jane. Caroline suspected it had passed through Louisa's hands, for Jane must have been gone this hour or more. It had been that long since she had last heard any sounds that could be construed as preparations to leave. It would explain the delay if Louisa had offered to deliver the note, and the finger-shaped indentations on the sheet of paper seemed to prove it. It would be just like Louisa, having satisfied her curiosity, to go about with the note pressed tightly in her hand, distracted by several other things before recalling her errand.

Jane's note was sweet, just like its writer. It was also unexpectedly familiar. After expressing best wishes for Caroline's improved health, Jane went so far as to ask if there were any remedies Caroline found helpful. Was the girl only offering to ask Longbourn's housekeeper for some powders or special tea, or was Jane expecting to be on hand the next time she had a headache? With any luck, Caroline would not suffer another episode like this until well into the following year. She would be in London or Scarborough or perhaps even at Pemberley, and Jane Bennet would be at Longbourn, waiting for some other single man of fortune to lease Netherfield and offer hope to her and her dreadful sisters.

Jane's written sentiments were warmer than any thing Caroline had been used to hear from her own sister these last several years. It really was too bad such a pretty girl did not have a larger dowry or better connections.

She put thoughts of the Bennets aside. They were gone now, and she could fix her attention on Mr. Darcy and only Mr. Darcy.

That evening as Caroline went down to dinner, she passed her sister's room and heard Hurst's voice. If he had stayed back to help Louisa dress, as he did on occasion, they might not be seen for another hour. Why he thought his help was needed was a mystery. He was a fashionable fribble, true, but Louisa's maid was an excellent sort and always turned her mistress out creditably.

Well, those two could waste time over lace and jewellery if they wished, but she would not delay dinner for them. She was ravenous.

She descended the stairs slowly and carefully, not liking to make any quick movements after having been in bed so long and unwilling to do any thing to bring on another headache. She made barely any noise, therefore, which allowed the strange sound she heard to ring out that much more clearly.

Mr. Darcy was laughing. And on a Sunday evening at that!

A footman approached the door of the drawing-room to open it, but Caroline gestured for him to stand back. She crept closer, opened the door a tiny bit and waited, for the laughter was fading, and she wished to discover what had inspired it.

“I hope you keep your new sense of humour,” she heard Charles say. “It will make you much pleasanter as a brother. What did Lizzy do in just two days to work such a change in you?”

Mr. Darcy chuckled. “Oh, Elizabeth had been working changes in me far longer than that. She was simply unaware of it.”

“Can you believe we will begin the new year as brothers?”

Caroline let the door slip shut and felt her knees give way. The footman was at her side immediately. “G—Get—get me—” she gasped in a whisper while pointing to the stairs. She just wanted to flee. The man nearly lifted her into his arms as he hurried her back the way she had come.

She was on the landing and out of sight before she heard Charles and Mr. Darcy enter the hall. She was in her sitting room before she heard Hurst and Louisa leave the latter's room to go downstairs.

Tears of rage and despair welled in her eyes. She sank onto the sofa. Crying would not help. Her head was already beginning to pound. Where had she gone wrong? What more could she have done? She had tried everything she knew, every respectable thing, and she had failed! She had been an exemplary hostess. She had been fashionable and witty and smart. She had been lavish with her compliments and unrelenting in her attentions. Despite all this, she had been unable to turn Mr. Darcy's polite notice into something more. Their every tête-à tête had been full of Eliza Bennet for weeks, and Darcy's admiring gaze, which she had long craved, merely glanced past her to land squarely upon that woman.

She had thought herself indomitable, but she was coming to think she had been too sanguine in her estimation.

In half a minute she heard a quiet knock. Her maid had gone down to the kitchens and would not be back for an hour or two unless summoned. She was too shaken to think longer on it and answered, “Come in.”

The door opened enough to reveal the face of the footman that had assisted her up the stairs.

“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears.

“Ma'am,” he said in a low, calming voice, “please forgive me the liberty, but when my ma has a megrim, my pa rubs her temples. Always seems to help.”

Caroline stared at him. She did not recall his name. He was a local hire, a very recent one. What presumption it was to offer her advice! Or was it worse? Was he offering to assist her in such an intimate manner? Yet she was miserable. Her headache was returning, and she wanted relief so badly.

“Is any one else near?” she asked him.

He looked over his shoulder and turned back to her. “No, ma'am” he said.

She waved him in, and he shut the door. “Are you trying to say you are willing to help me?”

He visibly relaxed. “It would be my honour, miss.”

In half an hour, Caroline lay back on the sofa with a pillow under her head and the memory of large, warm hands caressing her temples and deft, soothing fingers moving through her hair. It had helped. She could have let him go on forever, but she felt her vulnerability, unexpected as that was, and she could see the hint of attraction in his eyes. It would have been neither wise nor fair to prolong the interlude beyond its purpose. She could only be grateful for his kindness, however, and she decided he should have a little extra in his purse on Christmas Day.

As she waited for dinner to be brought to her room, she thought about her prospects for marriage. She sat up slowly, pleased to note that she felt tolerable now. She had wasted too much time in a useless endeavour. There was nothing for it but to start again, and she might as well do so by seeking a man with the qualities she so admired in her former object. Mr. Darcy was wealthy, well connected, handsome, and clever. He was also taciturn, not particularly attentive to her, and in love with someone else. The latter qualities she could do without. She nodded in decision. After to-day, she was also decidedly in favour of a man in possession of strong, gentle, talented hands and the desire to use them on her. She smiled at the thought.

No, all was not lost. She was still young, close in age to Jane and Eliza. She would pay off every arrear of civility to those two. What else was there to do? Jane would be her sister, and Eliza would be mistress of Mr. Darcy's homes. She did not wish to be separated from her family or banned from Pemberley. Between Charles and Mr. Darcy, they must know somebody that met her requirements for marital felicity. If it was not the case now, surely it would be so in future. Charles, at least, was forever making new acquaintance.

Until Caroline found this paragon, she would be sure to summon her new favourite footman—discreetly, of course—should her head give her the slightest trouble.

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The End