"Well?"
"I asked you to play the part of the good-natured fool Bingley, I did not however ask you to allow the gentleman to entirely take advantage of you."
"Oh poppycock," exclaimed Charles, holding his arms wide in order for the tailor to measure his sleeve length. "You sir are never happy!" Good Lord, I thought I played my part perfectly. He thinks I am nothing more than a mild-mannered simpleton. I would have thought you to be pleased. As you know, I have asked my valet and the male house staff to encourage his man to join them in their evening activities. Nothing quite like men at ease with entertainment and mead to get their tongues wagging. I am certain if anything of interest can be gathered from my cousins' valet, my man Jameson will be the one to do it.
Montague nodded in agreement. He had been pleasantly surprised when Charles had mentioned such an idea. It was underhand, and he had not expected such a move from Charles. It had impressed him. He sat back in his chair watching as the tailor brought forth several head dresses for Charles to consider. A maharaja, he thought with a smile, surely Caroline would buck at such unoriginality.
He had already been fitted for his costume, having simply agreed to wear whatever his cousin wished of him. It was much as expected; a simple white tunic with chain mail overlay, rounded silver breast plate, tall dark leather boots, jewelled crown and a deep red velvet robe to be worn over; trimmed with excessive amounts of black and white fur. The ensemble looked exactly as he had expected; the costume quite the same as any other King Arthur he had seen at masquerade balls previous. Neither wonder Caroline had simply rolled her eyes upon his decision. Yet it was not his choice.
He was not overly looking forward to an evening with his extended family. Having no sons of his own, his uncle was often far too domineering for his nephews liking. And as for his cousin, well she was a nice girl, but that was where his extent of feelings towards her ended.
Montague, being the only son of the second son, in the view of his uncle, was a most fitting husband prospect for his only child. Too often his uncle would remark; "Better to keep it all in the family, what say you, my boy." This would be called out frequently while slapping his nephew playfully across the back as a sign of fatherly affection. However, Cedric had no such desire to take the place of his uncle upon his exiting this world.
His own father, being the younger sibling, had made his own way in the world. A much respected and decorated admiral of the royal navy, he had left his son quite the inheritance after returning from the West Indies and his other adventures a wealthy man. There was an estate in Kent and several investments which, if the desire so took him, would allow him to quit the law and live life very much the gentleman. He had taken none of his inheritance to date, taking pride and sucker from the legal career he had forged for himself and the benefits from which he was now experiencing. He knew what marrying his cousin would mean, his life would no longer be his own. His choice would no longer matter. He had no intention of allowing himself to be swallowed up within that world. He enjoyed being surrounded by those of the upper set, their wealth and lifestyle suited him greatly; but it was the self-satisfaction of earning his place amongst them which drove his appetite and gave fire to his ambitions.
Most importantly it was not his cousin whom held his attention. Nor was it his cousin he desired to have the opportunity of dancing with. Miss Bingley had turned into a rather unfortunate distraction. Or was it fortunate? He could not decide. On one hand her general attitude and behaviour vexed him, yet her fierce nature and unruly tongue delighted him also. He had never felt more alive than the evening she had surprised him in Darcy's study, her dark hair flowing in ripples over her shoulder. It was an image he was hard pressed to forget. His temper had been high at the inappropriateness of it all, yet that had soon changed as other feelings took control. He had even amused himself by considering the outcome if they had been caught, though of course he was grateful they were not. A life with Caroline Bingley he was certain would at least never be dull.
He still could not quite believe he had kissed her. It was entirely out of character. Whatever had possessed him he knew not, yet he had thought of very little else since. They had agreed to never again mention their little tryst, however now he was not sure he wished to forget it. He had argued with himself to rationalise his feelings; reminded himself it was not even him whom she had sought but Darcy! Yet little did this realisation do to dampen his growing feelings towards the girl.
They had been in company several times this last week, each time had left him wanting to see her more. She rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation each time they met, though this only made the challenge of making her converse with him even greater. Was this the reason he enjoyed her company so much, when in truth he should find fault in her behaviour? Was it that she challenged him? Or perhaps it was simply that he knew there was more to be found beneath her guarded exterior. He had seen a glimmer of the woman whom she could be, if only she would allow herself the freedom to do so. In truth she fascinated him.
He had spent a great deal of time watching her interactions with Darcy. As if a man so stiff and proper could make a woman with her disposition happy! How could the woman be so wrong in focusing her attentions! He had not felt jealous in the slightest of every look and gracious smile she bestowed on the gentleman, for he was certain none of it was real. He watched her merely playing a part. Darcy was entirely unmoved. Montague was in no doubt that Caroline could have been praised as the most talented actress in all of London if she so desired. Loud, laughing, forever the extrovert; she did all that she was expected to do in the role of dotting female. She may believe herself to be attached to the gentleman, but Montague was convinced she was not truly in love.
Love? Why was he even thinking of such a thing? He did not believe himself to be in love with Miss Bingley, merely infatuated; and infatuation always wore away to indifference. He simply needed to wait for his desire to run its course. After all, she was still an ill-tempered harpy; how could a man dislike a woman but also care for her? He pondered over her dark eyes and expressive face. He had never met a girl quite like her. As irrational as it was, he felt himself growing rather fond of her.
Alfred Bingley was not at all what Montague had expected. Visually the resemblance between the older cousin and Charles Bingley was uncanny, although the elder was much broader in stature and less good humoured. He was educated, well dressed, travelled with his own man servant and in truth was not the country nobody Montague had expected. From all the information he had thus far gathered from Yorkshire, the gentleman successfully ran and had expanded his father's haberdashery, with several other strands of investments credited to his name.
Clearly, he was not short of income for his situation. This ruled out the motive of financial desperation in Montague's opinion. It also explained his using a legal firm from up north as his representation. The man had money of his own, albeit not the same league as his cousins. But this in itself worried him. For a man well settled to still pursue shares he felt due to him implied the proof he believed he held in his possession must hold some importance. Both he and Charles had tried to arrange a proper discussion between the gentleman, yet the cousin always delayed such a discourse, stating he was simply here at present to visit with his family and such awkward conversation should be saved till his stay drew to an end.
This vexed Montague exceedingly, he was keen to thrash the matter out, to find out exactly what information Alfred had which made him believe he was entitled to claim anything from Charles. He was also keen to remove the gentleman from his close proximity to Caroline Bingley.
Where he felt no jealousy towards Darcy, the same could not be said for her cousin. Although the dinner at Darcy House had been awkward, what had really brought about Cedric's dislike of the man was his attentive nature towards his dark-haired cousin. It was clear Alfred Bingley was rather taken with the young Miss Bingley. Although that evening Caroline had been subdued and wary of the man; she was now acting as his personal guide taking the gentleman all over London. He had told her to be careful, he had thought she shared his distrust of the man, yet for the last few days she had been overly attentive to the point of charming.
Montague knew exactly what she was doing. The crafty female was using her femininity and her cousin's clear admiration to her advantage. The woman could not help but interfere! She was a master manipulator, acting yet again, playing the part she thought she had better in order to be in control. Cedric should not have been surprised by this, of course Caroline would try and control the situation, to find out all she could about Alfred before anyone else was able. There was no other explanation for her sudden change in attitude towards Alfred, for there was no way she could enjoy his company! However, seeing them together and watching the man openly leer at her truly made his blood boil.
"Did your man up North find anything more about his family situation?" Charles asked pulling Montague away from his thoughts.
"My man found nothing greatly of interest. He is unmarried, no children and as we have previously discussed, seems financially sound and respected locally. It would appear his mother has not long passed, only two months ago. Could this be the reason why he has suddenly announced his claim" Montague paused his brain turning. "He mentions your parents often, especially your mother, did you know much of his?"
"No, nothing of merit. We were rarely in company with that side of the family. My mother had no family of her own and my father was too generous. I think my mother preferred to keep my father's family at a distance in order to ensure he did not give them every last penny. He was always too generous, always very kind. As I have told you, if anyone asked for my father's assistance it was always given very willingly. This is why I cannot believe he would cheat his brother out of his dues if such an agreement was withstanding. Though thinking of it, I am not sure my father and his elder brother overly got along together. Nothing sinister I believe, just my father forged a new life for his family and you know how family can be. Perhaps they simply felt left behind. He visited often, however my mother refused to see that part of the family once we were established in London. Though you cannot read too much into such behaviour, my mother was not an easy woman at the best of times. Lord, even mother and myself were not particularly close." He stopped; his countenance suddenly thoughtful.
"Tragic how it all ended really, such a woman reduced to so little. I often think I should have done more. I was not as strong as my sister."
Montague watched as a shadow passed over Charles typically happy expression. This was the second time such a conversation about his mother had left the man looking rather forlorn. He was intrigued and curious to know more, especially what part his sister had played; though he knew better than to ask such a thing. He stood from his chair, lifting his hat which sat upon the seat next to him.
"I really must be leaving Charles; I am due at a hearing later this morning and must return to my office in order to collect some papers." He turned to the tailor, "I assume you can have everything delivered to my residence?" He handed the tailor his card as he assured him everything would be boxed and sent. With everything settled he left, leaving Charles still being measured in mass of red and cream satin.
It was much better to catch flies with honey rather than vinegar. Deciding it was likely wise to keep her enemies close, Caroline had spent the last few days in her cousins' company as tour guide for want of a better title. They had been to several of the London sights; enjoyed afternoon tea at Miss Edgerton's teahouse, ridden in Hyde Park, attended luncheon in Vauxhall Gardens and last night the theatre.
She was in no way closer to knowing exactly what he had in his possession which made him believe he was owed part of their fathers' inheritance; but she felt she had learned much more of his character. In truth, although initially he had made her feel uncomfortable, nor could she easily forget his words of warning previously expressed between them, his company when limited to her person was at least tolerable. His rather unpleasant initial impression she put down to bravado, him trying to display his dominance of the situation, though like so many men, he clearly underestimated her.
Although at first his small compliments and rather too apparent admiration for her appearance had displeased her, she was now of sound enough mind to realise she could use this fondness to her advantage. After all he was no more than an opportunist. He had not done nor said anything inappropriate and she was no longer fearful of his temper now having spent time with him. In truth she did not entirely know what to make of him.
He was correct in his initial impression that the two of them were indeed similar. His sense of humour was as dry as her own, and like herself he did not seem willing to suffer fools. Yet, upon witnessing him converse with her siblings and the house staff, she experienced a prang of guilt. Did she also sound so dismissive, so cold and critical when she addressed her family and staff? She had watched him roll his eyes in exasperation at poor Simon for merely not opening the carriage door quickly enough. Did she not also do this? Half the time she was not even aware of her own churlish behaviour. It was but a force of habit. Seeing the hurt in Louisa's eyes after he had replied to her, rather tedious questioning to be fair, with a sharp set down, had actually caused Caroline to physically wince. She knew full well she had said things much worse and with greater venom to her sister in the past. The realisation had left her feeling most uncomfortable.
"You are staring at me again cousin Alfred," Caroline replied in lazy drawl as they stood side by side in the Royal Academy of Art.
"It would appear dear cousin I simply cannot help myself."
"You are surrounded by some of the most highly praised artworks in all of London," she replied turning her dark eyes to his. "Yet here you are looking at me."
"What are paintings and sculptures when compared to the face of a beautiful woman," he replied with a degree of seriousness.
If any other man had spoken to her so candidly, she was certain she should have swooned, but alas she was in no way attracted to her cousin. It was rather amusing however, the tradesman making a fool of himself.
"I am sure you are aware that flattery will get you nowhere with me cousin Alfred."
"What would?" He asked dead pan, his pale eyes devoid of all expression.
Caroline looked back at him, shifting her weight slightly between each foot, trying to think of the best reply. She was not entirely sure if he was being serious.
She turned and pretended to be studying the landscape in front of them, concentrating of the swirls of grey and lilac hues used to express the hostility of the storm clouds.
"Why are you still unmarried?"
Her eyes widened at the cheek of such a question. How dare he ask her such a thing. She glanced around, looking to see if anyone was close enough to hear their conversation.
"Because I do not wish it," she replied through gritted teeth, focusing back on the painting.
They remained in silence for several minutes before he spoke again.
"Come now, you can not lie to me. A woman such as yourself has been raised for one purpose and one purpose only. Even your rather silly sister was wed by eighteen, is this not fact? I can hardly imagine you enjoy seeing your sister settled while you remain on the shelf. Or is it you have never found a man good enough to meet the exacting standards of Miss Bingley? I suppose you think yourself too grand for the likes of me. I bet you have ambitions far beyond the realm into which you were born."
She turned to him scowling.
"Have I touched a nerve?" He asked taking pleasure from her visible vexation. "You really are your mother's daughter," he spoke with a hint of distaste in his voice. "She had difficulty knowing her place also."
She looked at him with narrowed eyes. A small flutter of panic taking root within her chest. His constant reference to her mother made her feel on edge. Just how much did Alfred know of the life of the late Alice Bingley? She was not willing to find out.
"Not at all," she replied fixing a large smile in place whilst tilting her face towards him. She looked down at him, for she was several inches taller. "Unlike my sister, cousin, I have not settled for the first man to pay me interest. You are right, I do have standards which will need to be met before I could ever entertain the prospect of marriage."
"I'll have you know there are several young ladies who would give their right arm to be my wife. I am rather the catch back in Yorkshire. Though marriage, until recently, was not something I had considered with great intention."
"Well, we are not in Yorkshire nor do I ever intend to be."
He laughed at her childish remark, but there was no warmth in the sound.
"Tell me cousin, what would you do to save your family?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I mean what would you be willing to sacrifice in order to keep the wolf from your door, so to speak."
She looked at him, a nagging feeling building in her gut. "Are you the wolf?"
"I have not yet decided," he replied matter-of-factly.
"Then I suggest we draw a line under this conversation for another time. I can see Mrs and Mr Whitebrook. Come let me introduce you to them."
She took her cousins offered arm and called out to Mrs Whitebrook, thankful for the distraction. Once introductions were made, she stepped back slightly as the gentleman began conversing as though old acquaintances. She watched Alfred as he slipped into his most charming persona, an act she had witnessed that first evening in the presence of Darcy and Lady Catherine. Just as she did herself, he also played to the crowd before him.
Perhaps he was not quite as harmless as she believed after all.