Caroline Bingley Parrish, she’d never aspired to enter the woman’s confidence, never wished to number her among intimate friends. But really! When concerned acquaintances rescued one from robbery and who-knows-what-other harm, some word of explanation seemed a not-unreasonable expectation.
She was tempted to leave Mrs. Parrish and her “headache” to face alone whatever predicament had led to her midnight stroll. Obviously, Elizabeth’s concern was neither solicited nor welcome. Yet she sensed something different about tonight’s rudeness — that it stemmed not, as usual, from disdain toward herself, but from a desire to keep some private anxiety private. For that she could not fault her.
The fact did, however, set one’s mind to wondering what could so trouble a woman who, twelve hours earlier, had declared herself the happiest, most fortunate bride in all England. A glance at Darcy’s face revealed that he, too, knew not what to make of their companion’s behavior. He started to speak, stopped, then began once more. “Mrs. Parrish, is
Caroline met his gaze. For a moment, confusion clouded her countenance, and she looked as if she might confide in Darcy. But then her features smoothed and she tilted her chin once more.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy. Quite.”
Mrs. Parrish asked to be dropped off at her door, but Darcy insisted on escorting her into the house. Elizabeth concurred, curious to witness the bridegroom’s reaction to his wandering wife’s homecoming.
Upon opening the door, the butler stepped back, unable to conceal his surprise at the sight of his new mistress standing on the stoop. “Madam! I thought you were within.”
Caroline walked past him without a word and climbed the stairs to the drawing room.
“Is Mr. Parrish at home?” Darcy asked.
“Yes — at least, I believe so.”
“Summon him.”
The butler escorted Elizabeth and Darcy to the drawing room, then continued up to the second story. Caroline waited inside, her back to the door.
It was a good-size room, with furnishings that reflected French taste. While Elizabeth knew the style was not of Parrish’s choosing but his landlord’s, the elegant pieces adorned with boulle marquetry and brass inlay seemed well suited to both master and new mistress. A few ornamental items, such as a small wooden statue of an eagle and a heavy earthenware vase, contrasted but did not clash with the main decor. The accents reminded Elizabeth of the American objects she had seen in Professor Randolph’s exhibit. She wondered if these mementos of home had been gifts from the archeologist.
Rapid strides on the stairs soon brought Mr. Parrish to them. He raked a hand through elevated locks of hair; his shirt, coat, and breeches appeared hastily donned. His face betrayed utter astonishment. Obviously, their arrival had roused him from bed. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.” He acknowledged them with a brief bow before quickly moving to his wife’s side.
“Caroline?” When she did not immediately turn around, he laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Oh, Frederick!” Mrs. Parrish spoke so softly that Elizabeth heard only with difficulty. “I’ve had such a fright.”
His expression became still more confused, but he drew her into his arms. “Whatever has happened, you’re safe now, my love.” Despite the presence of the Darcys, Caroline did not resist the tender display. Elizabeth surmised she was still in a state of shock over the robbery attempt.
Nevertheless, the embrace disconcerted their guests. Elizabeth and Darcy averted their gazes, suddenly seized by a compelling mutual interest in a painting that hung above the fireplace. The illustration depicted a large white classically inspired mansion, situated atop a graceful hill, surrounded by magnolia trees and great oaks with Spanish moss cascading from them. Four columns encompassed the two-story house on each side and supported wide porches on both levels. Deep green ivy and bright pink roses climbed the columns to wind through the rails of the veranda balustrade. An engraved plate centered at the bottom of the frame read
Frederick Parrish’s plantation appeared an idyllic, peaceful place. Elizabeth wondered whether he regretted its impending sale. Only the strongest affections toward a spouse could induce her to relinquish such a home. The spelling, she noted, differed from her previous assumption. She would have to ask Darcy about the accuracy of her translation sometime when she wasn’t struggling to eavesdrop on a conversation in which she pretended no interest. Unfortunately, she could make out little more than assorted whispered endearments.
She stole a glance at the couple. The embrace had ended, but Caroline yet leaned on her husband’s arm for support. “I don’t know what came over me—”
“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmured, slipping Darcy’s cloak from her shoulders and folding it over the back of a chair. “We’ll sort it out in the morning. You should rest now.” He cleared his throat, signaling that the Darcys could curtail their spontaneous art appreciation. “Pray excuse me while I attend my wife to her chamber.”
“Of course.” Darcy donned his hat, which in the confusion of their arrival the butler had neglected to take. “We’ve intruded on your privacy too long as it is.”
“No — not at all! I am most grateful for your interest in Caroline’s welfare.” In the foyer below, the grandfather clock struck half-past one. “I know the hour grows late, but if I might presume upon your kindness further I would like to speak with you before you leave. Meanwhile, my man will see to your comfort.”
The butler, apologizing for his forgotten duties, collected their cloaks and Darcy’s hat while Parrish escorted Caroline upstairs. Elizabeth easily forgave the domestic’s earlier oversight — the reunion had made her and Darcy self-conscious about the propriety of their own presence; the scene had hardly needed a servant in the audience as well.
Now alone in the drawing room, the two of them regarded each other with all the astonishment they’d labored to suppress. “What do you suppose she was doing?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy shook his head. “I cannot begin to guess. She seemed relieved to return, so I do not think she was running away.”
“Then what errand called her out?” She could not imagine any business so vital that it needed to be conducted on one’s wedding night. Yet something more than a handkerchief and a few coins had swollen the sides of Mrs. Parrish’s reticule — something important enough to be remembered while half her clothes had been forgotten; important enough that she had risked her safety rather than surrender it to a thief. What could the small handbag have contained? Elizabeth glanced to the part of the room where Caroline had stood, hoping perhaps it had been left behind, but the owner had taken the reticule upstairs with her. Just as well — she could never have so boldly invaded the woman’s privacy.
Elizabeth also wondered how Parrish had failed to realize his bride’s absence. Though society couples commonly maintained separate chambers, Darcy had not left her bed on their wedding night, or any night since. She’d like to think that if she’d slipped out of the house for a moonlight stroll, her new husband would have noticed. The Parrishes seemed equally attached to one another. Surely the marriage had been consummated? Miss Bingley had never struck her as a warm person, but the embrace the couple had just shared suggested the bride was comfortable receiving physical affection from her husband. Elizabeth dismissed any conjecture that fear of marital duties might have inspired Caroline’s flight. What, then, had compelled her to rise from bed for a midnight promenade through London?
The butler returned with wine. He set the tray on a small table behind the sofa and poured two glasses from a crystal decanter. Elizabeth and Darcy accepted the glasses but declined his offer of other refreshment. As soon as the servant departed, Darcy rose and moved about the room, his mind apparently too agitated for the rest of him to relax.
“Her manner, when we first discovered her…” he said. “She is usually so self-possessed.”
“She almost seemed not to know us at first. And then she called me ‘Miss Bennet.’ Do you think it was merely shock from the robbery attempt?”
“Perhaps. She is fortunate that you sighted her when you did. A woman alone on that street…” Delicacy prevented him from finishing the sentence, but he did not need to. She realized full well that Caroline Parrish could have suffered a worse fate than the loss of her reticule.
Mr. Parrish’s return suspended further speculation. His face reflected bewilderment equal to their own; lines of care marred his smooth features. “She’s resting now.” He poured himself a glass of wine and swallowed a fortifying draught. “Said she suffers from a headache, so I didn’t want to badger her for details. But can you tell me what happened? The last I knew, Caroline was asleep in this house. How came my wife to be with you
