Pride and Prescience

Elizabeth studied once more the Mont Joyau painting above the fireplace, trying to imagine the former Miss Bingley living in Louisiana. She doubted the lady would like it one bit. The place seemed too foreign, too alive for a woman whose blood, though not blue, ran cold as ice. The fair English rose — for so Caroline perceived herself — would wilt in the American South. She would find the landscape too exotic, the weather too hot, New Orleans too primitive, society too uncultured. Though as for that last point, perhaps the sheer wealth of Parrish’s fellow plantation owners would prove enough to overcome her snobbishness.

A frown creased Bingley’s brow, indicating his equal lack of conviction that Caroline would thrive in the new environment. “It’s so far away.”

“Consider the distance a benefit,” said Randolph. “Mrs. Parrish will be able to retreat completely from whatever it is here that weighs so heavily upon her. The change of scene will do her good — after all, doctors recommend warm destinations as the cure for many ailments. Instead of the south of France, she’ll see the French Quarter.”

“But at least southern France is civilized,” Louisa sputtered. “The people she’d encounter in Louisiana — the — the—darkies she’d have to oversee as servants, for heaven’s sake! My poor sister!” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes again with the handkerchief. “The conditions would be barbaric.”

“This is my home we’re talking about,” Parrish said in a tone far more civil than would have been justified.

Louisa’s hands fell to her lap, but she otherwise gave no indication that she’d heard him. Elizabeth grew embarrassed on Mrs. Hurst’s behalf, since the woman hadn’t the sense to feel shame herself. As for Louisa’s anxiety, Elizabeth imagined Caroline would have little trouble adjusting to the experience of ordering slaves about.

Darcy broke the dead silence. “With all respect to you, Mr. Parrish”—he acknowledged him with a bow before turning his attention to the professor—“will not the unfamiliar setting add further strain to Mrs. Parrish’s nerves? To be apart from everyone she knows excepting her husband, in a place she’s never visited before?”

Randolph chuckled. “I believe it’s called a honeymoon, Mr. Darcy. And contrary to your concern, I’m suggesting that’s just what the lady needs — to be away from all the familiar people and pressures, in a place where she can relax and ease into her new life.”

“Even so, would not the journey itself unduly tax Mrs. Parrish? Can her nerves withstand the privations and confinement of life aboard ship for a prolonged period of time?”

“Though it’s a major voyage, I believe she would be more comfortable and able to rest better aboard a ship than if she were to undertake an overland trip by coach to a warmer climate. Once she’s on the boat, it needn’t repeatedly stop to change horses or subject her to a different inn every night.”

Parrish rose. “You have convinced me, Randolph. And I think the sooner Caroline and I set out, the better. Are we all in agreement? Bingley?”

“I–I’m not quite — that is—” Bingley’s gaze darted to Darcy. “She’s my sister — I cannot be objective. Do you think this is best?”

“No.” Darcy gestured toward the painting. “While I believe Mont Joyau holds all the advantages enumerated by Professor Randolph, I think a trip and extended stay there also pose disadvantages for Mrs. Parrish that exceed the benefits. The hardships of an ocean voyage, the prolonged isolation from her friends, the foreign environment — I cannot think upon these factors but as obstacles to her recovery. I would much rather see her recuperate at Netherfield, or even Pemberley, where she can rest among friends in a place already comfortable to her.”

At Darcy’s implied invitation to Pemberley, Elizabeth forced her lips into a bright smile… and inwardly cringed at the thought of Caroline Parrish moving into her home for a prolonged convalescence before she herself had even settled in as mistress of the estate. Only her love for Jane, whose heart would be made easier by Bingley’s relief at the arrangement, could make such an ordeal bearable.

Parrish’s countenance froze, suggesting he was equally enamored of the suggestion. First his home had been insulted by Mrs. Hurst, and now someone not even of the family presumed to know better than he what was best for his wife. “As newly married couples all, I’m sure we do not wish to intrude on each other’s privacy to such an extent. Mr. Darcy, I appreciate your apprehensions and your offer of hospitality, but I’m sure my wife will be quite all right at Mont Joyau. The plantation has been in my family for generations; the mansion boasts some of the most comfortable and luxurious rooms in Louisiana. It’s hardly the savage wasteland some of those present seem to think it is.”

“I assure you, Parrish, no one here intends you or your home disrespect,” Bingley said quickly. “I think only of my sister’s well-being. It would be no intrusion to have you and Caroline stay with us in Hertfordshire for as long as necessary. Indeed, Jane and I would be pleased to have you as our first guests. While I am only a tenant at Netherfield and cannot rival your long family history at Mont Joyau, you’ll find it a pleasant estate. Of course, Caroline is your wife and you can take her where you will. But truly, I shall be disappointed if you do not come.”

“And what of the opportunity for Randolph’s friend Dr. Lancaster to treat her?” Parrish asked. “Who can aid my wife”—he cast a look of appeal at Mrs. Hurst—“quietly—at Netherfield?”

“The need for discretion is not lost upon any of us,” Darcy said. “Perhaps, Professor Randolph, you can write to your colleague for advice while we search for a physician here in England whose secrecy can be trusted. Meanwhile, Mrs. Parrish could begin her recovery at Netherfield.”

“I can send a letter this very morning if need be. But Mrs. Parrish will benefit far more from Dr. Lancaster’s direct observation than his interpretation of my notes. And corresponding across the ocean will take months — if the missives even arrive, with the seas in a state of war.”

“All the more reason for Mrs. Parrish not to travel upon them.”

Parrish scanned the room as if seeking another ally. His gaze lighted upon Mr. Hurst, who had for the most part spent the discussion silently liberating Parrish’s sherry from the crystal decanter on the table beside him. “Mr. Hurst, we’ve not yet heard your opinion on the matter. Caroline has spent a lot of time in your home up till now. Where do you think she can best recover?”

Hurst shrugged. “One house is as good as another. Though perhaps she oughtn’t come back to Grosvenor Street with us.”

Had Hurst been listening at all? Who had suggested Grosvenor Street? The whole idea was to get Mrs. Parrish out of London. Elizabeth pitied Frederick Parrish. ’Twas difficult to know the right course of action with conflicting advice all around.

“Perhaps a compromise might be reached,” she offered. “Before subjecting Mrs. Parrish to a long journey, why not see if a short stay at Netherfield suffices? If not, then undertake the more involved trip to Louisiana.”

Jane’s countenance, which had been clouded by the dissent in the air, brightened. “Yes! Maybe Caroline’s condition is not as bad as it seems and she needs only a short respite.”

“Should that prove true, no one would be happier than I.” Parrish released a heavy sigh and shrugged in resignation. “As much as I wish to share Mont Joyau with Caroline, I have no desire to go against the wishes of all her family. Charles, Jane, I gratefully and humbly accept your hospitality.”

Bingley beamed at Parrish’s decision. “Splendid! Jane and I will depart this afternoon to prepare for your arrival. Bring Caroline as soon as she is ready to travel.”

“Mrs. Hurst and I will come, too,” Hurst said quickly. “For support, you know.”

For the wine cellar, more likely, Elizabeth longed to say.

Bingley, however, expressed pleasure at Hurst’s suggestion. His gaze swept the others. “Here’s an idea — why don’t we all remove to Netherfield? Caroline can spend Christmas surrounded by those who love her.”

Christmas with Caroline Bingley Parrish. Oh, joyous thought. Elizabeth met Darcy’s eyes, in which she alone detected the chagrin that matched her own as their plans to spend Yuletide at Pemberley slipped completely and finally from their grasp. Of course they must go. Every proper sentiment dictated that they defer their idyllic dream to the greater and very real needs of others close to them.

Jane’s expression was all sympathy. Elizabeth knew her sister would prove the bright spot in this whole scheme. She would think upon the visit as going to support Jane. Better yet, of celebrating the holidays with Jane.

“We would love to join you,” she said.