Caroline Bingley's shoes crunched on the gravel. She gazed up at the much-windowed hall, smiling a smile of outward sweetness and inward malice. Servants stiffly bowed her into Rosings' parlor.
Her hostess acknowledged Miss Bingley's announcement with a weary wave of her hand. Miss De Bourgh, swathed in black, listened to her companion read from some instructional work of substantial length and dryness without acknowledging the intruder's presence.
"Lady Catherine," Caroline simpered, bowing. "What a great pleasure it is to meet you at last."
"Miss Bingley, I believe your brother is friend to my nephew," the matron intoned.
"My brother and Mr. Bingley have been friends for some time," Caroline replied. "Long enough for me to have heard how important Mr. Darcy's family is, and how much respect he had for his familial bonds. I was so shocked to hear of the elopement."
Mrs. De Bourgh sniffled elaborately into an immense handkerchief.
"T'was the influence of that horrible girl. Get of a common farmer, how could he have forsaken his own sworn bride, his own flesh and blood for such a one?"
Caroline made soothing sounds as she crept closer to the mourning matron.
"You have my deepest sympathies, Lady Catherine," she said. "If there is anything I can do…" Her look was the very image of earnest helpfulness.
"Do? What can I do? My daughter is forsaken, my house's heritage besmirched, and I sit powerless while Darcy and his bridge pay honor to her sister — and your brother," Lady Catherine hissed.
"Charles will learn the error of his own ways," Caroline said evenly. "I think it may be time for Mr. Darcy to do the same."
Lady Catherine sat forward eagerly.
"Perhaps, my lady, you have not heard about your niece's former suitor and Mrs. Darcy's younger sister…"
For the first time in days, pleasure lit Lady Catherine's face. It was not a lovely sight.