When one is invited to the nuptials of the man most cherished, most loved, and the woman he has chosen to love, it would be sensible for one to find better occupation on that day. Unless of course, that woman is the sister of the girl who would marry one's brother, in which case, one has little choice but to be there.
Caroline Bingley stood in the first row of the church and watched as her brother Charles clasp the hands of his beloved and with nervous tone spoke aloud his vows. His voice trembled slightly but he finished confidently and smiled joyfully as Jane repeated the words.
Now it was the other couple's turn.
She could not bear to watch, wanted to turn away in anguish as the gentleman she longed for, had loved from afar, spoke with a dignified and assured tone. He held her hands and looked into her eyes and promised to love, cherish and hold her until they would be parted by death.
A lone tear drifted down her cheek and Caro carefully wiped it away before any other could notice.
The finality of the moment fell upon her and lay like a heavy stone in her stomach. There were blessings and rings to be exchanged still, and the registry to be signed. But he had said those words, to another. To one who once had not loved him, had barely even liked him. He had known that it was so, and still – he had just vowed to take her as his wife.
Caro felt faint and sick and grieved. She was desperate to sit, to cry or scream, to run away but she was forced to remain. Forced to watch the rest of the ceremony.
She had loved him first.
It was true, she might not have shown it as readily as some others would. She, believing him to be a man of sense and fashion, of good breeding, had done her best to make it known that her dearest hopes were focused on a future with the Master of Pemberley, without insulting his sensibilities by swooning and fawning over him the way she had seen other women do. The way she had seen him detest. Instead she attempted to approach him as a friend, a companion, and an equal. It was all too devastating then to find he became attracted to one who would ignore him entirely or contemptuously treat him and his party.
For years, Caro had delicately demonstrated her affections and wishes, and considered herself to be a likely prospect, because she knew him. From the very moment on their introduction, in the front room of the Darcy house in London, when Charles had brought her to meet his new friend and his friend's sweet younger sister, Caro had loved him.
Everything about his manner had engaged her, and while he was evidently handsome and well situated, it was his character that she had fallen for. Others may believe she was only chasing his position, but he must have known that her affections went deeper than that. He was, in her opinion, exactly what a gentleman ought to be - his air was dignified but never pretentious, in dealing with others he was forthright and candid, he did not preen or act out, and he was from the outset, commandingly decisive and loyal.
As time had passed, and his growing friendship with Charles had developed, she had happily found herself more and more in his company. She thought, given the likeliness that he had a number of obligations and commitments that his choice to spend time with her and her family over all others must be an indication of his desire to know her better too. The dinners and dances, the evenings spent in each others company, the visits to his home in Derbyshire allowed her a intimate connection (or at least what she thought was intimate) with such a man. She learned that he had a profound intellect, which she had suspected on their early acquaintance, but grew to believe there was not a subject over which he could not command, nor a dilemma he could not resolve. His humour, which was only allowed when amongst exclusive society, was also a sign of his intelligence and appeared through wry observations and amusing comments.
She saw how much esteem and gratitude his servants and tenants had for him and knew him not only to be an attractive and wealthy man, but a good man. And she knew he would make a good husband.
Perhaps the only conflict in his nature with hers was their opinions on society and company - for she dearly loved to be surrounded by a crowd, while he preferred a smaller circle. She would spend the season long in town, only leaving for the winter to visit as many friends and estates as she could. He would spend the year in Pemberley if his calender allowed it. She had thought this could easily be resolved in time, but that had been before her brother had let Netherfield.
She did not enjoy being the country. True, in moments of boredom or anger she may imply that she hated it, but it was not the rural location in general that she detested, more the specific country - and it's grating society - that they were in which she did not enjoy. Her only solace was his company, and she assured herself that such time spent isolated from the rest of the world (with the exception of the locals) would bring them closer.
She was unfortunately blinded by her love and hopes to see his deeper thoughts and changes. Her attempts to be charmingly droll, as his humour was, and to demonstrate her lofty position in comparison to the local company were misfired. He fell for her.
And yet, Caro reminded herself resolutely as the couples departed from the church, she had loved him first. Had seen the excellence in his character first. And she would always have that.
AN - Thanks for reading this one-shot! I wanted to write from a different perspective and maybe a less sympathetic one, because I think sometimes supporting characters get stereotyped without much thought. I always like the idea that a character is more than what they might be on the page - let me know what you think of this side of Caroline- can you sympathise with her if she was (rather than a gold-digging harpy) just a woman in love? :)