people doubting her improvements for two years. “Thank you, but I am sure I deserve no such praise.” She looked at the young lady, who appeared to be surely no more than one and twenty, and asked, “Tell me, to which regiment is your husband attached?”
Marianne looked askew at Caroline’s odd question. “My husband is not with a regiment at the present time. He is what the War Office calls ‘inactive,’ but he has not resigned his commission. He holds an honorary position with the Life Guards.”
“Oh…” Caroline, disappointed, looked away crossly. She had hoped that this young woman could give her some idea as to what was expected of a colonel’s wife.
The silence in the room brought Caroline abruptly to her senses. She blanched at Mrs. Brandon’s hurt expression. Knowing her only by reputation, the lady could only take Caroline’s sigh as a snub.
“Mrs. Brandon, I am afraid I have given offense; please forgive me. I meant no disregard towards your husband. I am only disappointed. I am soon to be an officer’s wife, but I do not know my duties. I had hoped you could give me guidance.”
Caroline’s eyes began to fill with mortification; she could not offend the wife of Sir John’s particular friend! “I spoke ill. I had hoped to call upon you as my mentor, now—”
Marianne, touched by her sincere remorse, put her hand on the older woman’s arm. “I am afraid you will have to look elsewhere for a mentor. We shall just be friends, shall we? Is that so bad?”
Caroline, surprised and relieved, eagerly accepted the olive branch. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Brandon,” Caroline smiled as she took Marianne’s hands in hers. The other ladies present had various reactions. Jane looked on with a proud expression at Caroline’s modesty, Elizabeth was pleased, and Anne seemed shocked that Caroline would apologize.
Caroline was thankful for the interruption when Mary joined the group and immediately engaged her friend in conversation. This gave Marianne a chance to speak to Kitty.
“I bear greetings from Delaford Parsonage, Kitty. Is Mr. Southerland here?”
“No, parish business kept him at Kympton. He is overseeing the enlargement of the parsonage.”
Marianne smiled. “No matter—now that I consider it, I believe Mr. and Mrs. Ferrars will prefer to wish him joy in person… say at Hertfordshire in February?”
At this, Kitty turned positively red.
Caroline had been honored with the request that she assist Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Gardiner in the debuts of Georgiana and Kitty, a commission she accepted with pleasure and only a tiny bit of self-satisfaction. Kitty’s debut was short-lived; she almost immediately attracted the attention of a Mr. Southerland, son of a wealthy family from Scotland and destined for the church. Kitty was much amazed that a clergyman could be so charming and sensible —and so handsome. He deserved closer study, and so her fate was sealed, especially as he had gained the living at Kympton.
Mention of Kitty’s nuptials reminded Caroline of the secret she meant to tell her and the other ladies. “Kitty, I am so happy for you and Mr. Southerland, but I am afraid that I have some news that, while delightful on the whole, may give you disappointment and regret for me.”
“Oh, Caroline, what is it? Do not say you cannot come to my wedding!”
“Kitty, I am sorry, but—”
All turned at the source of the interruption. Walking towards them was a tall woman in a gown of the latest fashion. Caroline’s expert eye took in Annabella Norris’s outfit at a glance. She was certain the gown was costly, but no amount of money could buy refinement. She then noticed the hard glint in Annabella’s eye, which immediately put Caroline on her guard.
“Annabella, you look lovely tonight,” she greeted the woman in all false affection.
“I simply
“Specially made it certainly was, but not at my request. This is a gift from Sir John.”
“How thoughtful of him! Orange is certainly
“Mrs. Tucker,” Mary retorted.
“Oh yes, you married that young man from Hertfordshire, did you not? A childhood sweetheart, I dare say. What does he do—a clerk of some sort, is he? Country romances are so charming!” Turning to Kitty, she continued, “So
Kitty showed a little hurt at the reminder of Lydia’s elopement. “I still own Miss Bennet for a few months more. I am lately betrothed to Mr. Southerland.”
“How wonderful! Everyone is getting married!” She ignored Mrs. Gardiner and cast her eyes upon Marianne. “But I have not been introduced to this lady.”
Caroline was forced to do the honors. “Mrs. Brandon, allow me to present Mrs. Norris, wife of Mr. Norris of Park Place. Annabella, this is Mrs. Brandon, wife of Colonel Brandon of Delaford in Dorsetshire.”
Annabella narrowed her eyes. “Were you not a Dashwood? Are you not related to John Dashwood of Norland?”
“John Dashwood is my brother,” Marianne admitted.
“Yes! I remember you now! You had your debut three years ago.” Marianne paled at this reminder of her disastrous Season. “You must know my particular friend, Sophia Willoughby!”
Marianne reeled as if struck by a blow.
“She will be
Of all the other ladies present, only Elizabeth knew the particulars of that terrible spring. Almost white with anger, she began to respond when she felt a touch on her arm. Turning, Elizabeth saw Caroline, who gave her a knowing glance.
Caroline did not know why Mrs. Brandon was so distressed, but she meant for this lady to be her friend and would stand for Annabella’s antics no longer.
“Annabella!” she cried, interrupting her dissection of Marianne. “I cannot tell you how I admire your dress! What an unusual color! Very rare, I dare say. Very few women look becoming in it, do you not agree?” she finished with a small smirk.
Annabella’s eyes grew wide, then narrowed. No one could miss the insult carelessly hidden in her words—as Caroline intended.
The others stood back—a challenge had been accepted, swords had been drawn, and the battle had now been joined.
Annabella’s target that evening had been her former protege. Attacking Caroline’s friends was a way of softening her opposition. She was no fool; it would not do to insult the wife of Fitzwilliam Darcy or the wife of his particular friend. The others, however, were fair game. Now that Caroline had forced the issue, it was time to begin.
It should have been no contest. Annabella Norris was one of the most celebrated artists of the false compliment, the cutting remark, and the polite insult among the fashionable set. Having achieved nothing save marrying a rich, dull man who enjoyed billiards and brandy more than his wife’s body, she lived to hurt others so that she could ignore the pain in her own empty soul. It was her one joy. Caroline had been the student, she the master, and Caroline should have been out of practice.
However, there was a grave misunderstanding regarding Caroline’s transformation. Caroline Bingley never had completely destroyed what she was. She had only submerged it by exercising what she had the potential to be. Kindness had been triumphant, but darkness was there still, held under tight regulation. All Caroline required to deal with Annabella was to set her inner witch free.
“Caroline,” Annabella began, “you were missed at my wedding. I am very sorry that you did not attend.”
With perfect composure Caroline replied, “I
