Christmas at Pemberley

“I don’t understand, Aunt.”

Lady Catherine sighed deeply in exasperation. “As you said, Colonel, I’m far from lacking my wits. I have overheard bits and pieces of information. Why has Mrs. Darcy not given her husband an heir?”

Edward’s suspicions returned. “If you mean to insinuate that Mrs. Darcy hasn’t presented my cousin with his first child because of her low connections, I’ll warn you of the danger of doing so. Darcy will bring his ire to your doorstep, Ma’am.”

“That wouldn’t stop me, Edward,” she declared. “I’ve faced a man’s dudgeon before. Give me the facts, and I’ll decide my actions.”

Edward growled. “I will not be a part of your venomous ways, Your Ladyship. A moment ago, you spoke of harmony. You cannot have it both ways, Aunt.”

“You make the assumption that I mean Mrs. Darcy harm. I never said I would openly criticize the chit. I simply said that Darcy’s ire wouldn’t deter me. Would you prefer that I ask Mrs. Darcy’s witless mother?”

Edward felt his cheeks flush. “Mrs. Darcy hasn’t carried to term previously,” he said through gritted teeth. “But the lady’s with child. Darcy hopes the pleasure of seeing her family for Christmastide will give Mrs. Darcy comfort. He’s surrounded his wife with those who love her.”

“Except for uninvited guests,” she observed.

“That’s more than half of those in attendance,” Edward responded. “Darcy isn’t likely to be happy with the alteration in his plans.”

“I suppose that means me.”

Dismay tightened Edward’s jaw. “Your presence will truly be a Christmastide surprise,Your Ladyship.”

Caroline Bingley tarried at the morning table. Her brother and Winkler sought the billiard room, while Jane and Kitty planned to assist Mrs. Reynolds with the Christmastide decorations.Along with her fiance, Mary Bennet, to whom Caroline had barely spoken, had come and gone. Mrs. Bennet had taken her breakfast in her room, as had Lady Catherine. Caroline would have liked to converse with the latter, but was thankful not to encounter the former.

Caroline hated being in this situation again. At four and twenty, she was close to being on the shelf, and she wondered if this would be her existence: the uninvited guest at a house party her brother attended. Her parents had always thought her the pretty one, the one who would easily win a husband. Instead, Louisa had won Mr. Hurst’s attention within six months of making her Come Out. Soon, Caroline thought, she’d be expected to chaperone the younger people in attendance. Eventually, Charles’s growing brood would be referring to her as Aunt Caroline. She didn’t think that she could bear it. Tending to her own child had once been her girlish dream, but dealing with other people’s children would prove tiresome. For a split second, she considered burying her face in her hands and having a good cry, but the sound of approaching footsteps shoved Caroline’s shoulders back and her chin upward. She would let no one know her frustration.

“Miss Bingley, I didn’t expect to find you here. I went out to have a look at the grounds. Even coated in an icy glaze, Mr. Darcy’s home is quite impressive. I’d thought you had joined your family.”

“I did, Mr. Manneville.” Caroline gestured to a place setting across from hers. “But they had others with whom to converse, and I preferred my own company.”

Manneville’s step faltered. “I apologize, Miss Bingley. If I’m disturbing your solitude, I’ll take my meal in my room.”

“Of course not, Mr. Manneville.” Caroline motioned him forward. “The festive days often make me maudlin. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Is it not peculiar that such a joyous celebration can leave many to question the values they find in their lives? We miss those who’ve gone before, and we reevaluate the choices that we’ve made.” He allowed a footman to choose his breakfast meats.

“You’ve captured my thoughts, Mr. Manneville. I was missing my dear mother and bemoaning my choice of coming to Pemberley rather than joining my older sister Mrs. Hurst and her husband in Devon.”

Manneville raised a brow. “Well, I, for one, am appreciative of your presence at Pemberley.”

Caroline blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time a man openly flirted with her. “When you took to the frozen grounds, did you not risk the chill’s return?” she taunted.

“It was the coffee, Miss Bingley.” Manneville looked her over with an assessing eye. “It warms a man properly.”

“Can a person find a proper cup of tea in America, Mr. Manneville?” she asked, her lashes lowered.

He laughed lightly and leaned back casually in his chair. “I imagine it possible. Afternoon tea is still quite popular in Charleston’s finest homes, and if that doesn’t please you, I understand Boston Harbor still reeks of the brew.”

The soft roll of his words enticed her. “Would you tell me something of your home, Mr. Manneville?”

“With pleasure.” He smiled easily. “Now what would a beautiful woman wish to know?” He dragged out the words in a teasing manner.

“How large?” Caroline interrupted. “How large is the city?”

He tilted his head in a razzing manner, but Manneville spoke with pride. “Somewhere between twenty and five and twenty thousand. Charleston’s the wealthiest and largest city south of Philadelphia. It’s truly a bustling trade center, with rice and cotton and naval products. It is the center of law in the area. For example, at the Broad and Meeting Streets’ intersection, one finds the Four Corners of Law, which is a large civil square surrounded by governmental and religious buildings. St. Michael’s Episcopalian can rival many churches in England, and the elegance of the capital conveys its architectural superiority. Churches and banks and civic destiny abound,” he said with a touch of conceit. “It’s truly a great city.

“It’s my hope, Miss Bingley, to place my hat into the political ring. I hold with the belief that the United States’ government shouldn’t be supporting itself with state governments’ hands.”

Caroline leaned forward with interest. “And your home, Mr. Manneville?”

“In Charleston, a stately house overlooking the Battery.We raise cotton rather than rice on my plantation. Mr.Whitney’s cotton gin has revolutionized how quickly we can process the crop.”

“Cotton?” Caroline puzzled. “I don’t believe I have ever seen the crop. Nor do I know anyone who wears cotton clothing. Can it truly be profitable?”

His forehead wrinkled in exasperation, and the man ignored her question. Instead, he concentrated on describing the land he loved. “Imagine rows and rows of fist-sized clouds bursting from dark cocoons.” He held Caroline’s gaze, and the melodic rhythm of his speech mesmerized her. Manneville paused, and she nearly begged to hear more. “It’s my hope that if I marry that my wife will agree to a small vacation home in Hickory Valley.”

The tone of his voice called to something deep inside her. “Hickory Valley?” she asked with interest.

“About halfway between Charleston and Savannah. Much cooler in the summer months than the cities. It’s so beautiful there. I’ve my eye on the perfect house — a large wrap-around porch where a person might enjoy the night breeze — moss-draped oak trees. The community has plans for a library and a school. Also, rolling hills with pine and hickory trees surround the town.”

“It sounds heavenly, Mr. Manneville. A woman would be a fool to reject such a house.” Caroline sighed deeply. She’d always wanted her own home; several, in fact. A summerhouse, like in the English countryside, not just a town house.

“Now, it’s your turn, Miss Bingley. I want to know of your life.”

Caroline flushed. “I have no idea what might interest you, Mr. Manneville.”

He sat forward, bracing his weight on the table. “Well, I know of your brother and sister already. Perhaps you would care to speak of your parents. That is, if it’s not too painful. From where do you hail? Is your brother’s estate your family’s heritage?”

Caroline stammered, “I… I fear… I fear, Mr. Manneville, that you misunderstand. My father lacked both a title and land. Our wealth is not old money, and because of it, some of a particular ilk would deny our presence in Society. My brother Charles owns an estate in Cheshire and a house in town, but he didn’t inherit either. We’re not