Chapter 29

"Come Mary! Do, play for us all!" "Please, do!" "You're the best of us all." "I've heard no other musician that gave me more pleasure."

This last declaration came from the lips of the elder Mr. Cummings. High praise from a father and also a shareholder in Grandison Printing Press, such that gave a flutter to the heart that she'd not had from Mrs. Carter. At dinner, all manners and good humour, no false politeness or condescension, and no behaviour that need cause his son to blush. By the arrangement of the seating, Mary had been placed near the end of the table, between father and son. No other guest could boast such an honour. Lady Herncastle and her husband occupied the middle, along with other members of the Starlight. Among other guests, some upcoming new authors and other more famous names sat in attendance. A lord and lady had been on the list, yet none of them occupied the same place. Old Mr. Cummings requested a pretty, elaborate narrative as to how Mary began her career in composition. Was anyone else in the family of musical disposition? Why only her? Had she had any tutor in town? No! Astonishing! Were there any composers or singers that had been an influence? Their conversation borne little variation from the initial acquaintance with his son, whom sat by and listened, but interjected every so often to be a reminder.

Encouraged by these amiable efforts, Mary, in return, inquired about his career, how and when it all began, what school he attended, how did he meet the lovely late Mrs. Cummings, and whether or not the family was of equal musical disposition. Oh, he loved that very much! Mrs. Cummings was called a patroness of the arts, an avid admirer of opera and theater, and responsible for his continuing patronage of the young and coming of age in the literary and musical field. Never once in the evening did the topic of her family come up, except for a sincere congratulations to the Darcy family. No interrogations ensued about her parents, her sisters, their family life—of no interest. Would he not have some curiosity in the pedigree of a future daughter-in-law? Either he was expert at disguising that care from her, or that care did not even exist. How refreshing an evening!

Old Mr. Cummings had been in attendance at one or two previous engagements, to be capable of boasting he had no better pleasure than hearing her play. Some of the present Starlight ladies snapped to attention, with their ears burning. Lady Herncastle heard it with a smile, adding her own praises to the gentleman's. "Mary is to have a brilliant career," she said. "Indeed!" he agreed. Of course, ever the gentleman, Mr. Cummings the son would not have conveyed an important detail to his father. Illness. Rich or poor, titles or none, that may not matter, but delicate health? Her mother's firm warning wormed from dark recesses into the foremost place of thought. Would Lady Herncastle release her or keep her to contract? Though hopes cannot hold one to their promises, optimism says no other option, forbids one from entertaining contingencies.

Off to the piano forte, center of the room, Mary was duly seated. Young Mr. Cummings stood in attendance with her music. Before leaving the youth and youthful to trip lightly about the salon, the old gentleman requested his own private concert first, upon his right as a host. When this desire had been satisfied, he bowed out and announced the room open and the instrument ready for dancing. A master of ceremony, superior in mind and elegance to that of such like Sir William in Meryton, a knight and former mayor. The Cummings knew society and how it worked, but conducted themselves according to their own high standards instead of that set by society itself. Everyone could be happy at a party, all from the gay and light of heart to the serious and more conservative like herself.

"You seem to have made quite the impression," complimented Mr. Cummings.

"You mean your father?" Her fingers did not cease or stall upon the current Scottish air. "I think he is very charming, Mr. Cummings. Quite the gift for flattery."

"You mustn't think that. He's not a flattering sort of man at all. Believe me, I've seen some of his rejection letters, and I've been witness to some of his interviews with hopeful candidates to publish their works. His good opinion is very deliberate and carefully considered before being given. It's what I both value, and fear, in him as a father."

Mary laughed. "That is hard to believe, sir. I am not afraid of critical opinions, but I do like he hasn't a cross face."

"No, no. He's been rather good at keeping his face from that."

"It was so endearing to hear about your mother… I do wonder if he ever personally addressed me a rejection letter."

"If your submissions were repetitive, I'm sure he would've remembered your name. It would probably give him a laugh now to have turned you down before. It might've been another of his associates that did the deed. Aren't you glad now you came to London?"

"Yes!"

"Even… despite the odd business?"

Mary nodded slowly, undecided what to call it. "Perhaps, a blessing in disguise… Still, still…"

"Yes."

"I'll admit, Mr. Cummings, that it does concern me more and more as the weeks pass, and the only way to resolve the matter, or so it would seem the only way I might resolve it, is not to think about it. Put it off. Have you ever done that? An important decision, or breaking unpleasant news, or going back on a promise…"

"You take it very seriously, don't you? Keeping your word."

"I would not be the person I am, and could never respect myself, if I did not honour my promises. I would honour my promise, even without a written contract."

"I believe you, and I do respect that very much."

"I shall… Lady Herncastle has been very kind, and shown me much more respect than many would afford any stranger. That is worth honouring my word. There might be some inconveniences along the way. Many women and men have done it before me, and many more will go after me." Her next piece ended with applause from the dancers.

"Please, don't take my father's call for dancing as a command to sit here all night. Mary, won't you please have a share in it? Give someone else the task." Mr. Cummings proceeded to beckon towards members of the Starlight. Tonight, in attendance, that happened to be Miss Quinn, Miss Longsbury, Miss Judge, and Mrs. Bowman. Of the three, he entreated more for Mrs. Bowman, who had not shown any inclination to dance. Miss Longsbury offered her services, with gracious diplomacy, to accept what was not wanted—if Mrs. Bowman did not wish to play. Then, Miss Quinn, catching Mary's eye in a flash of cunning, approached the two standing by the instrument—as a general advances to the enemy battle lines.

"I have a better idea!" cried she. "It's been too long since we've had any duets at these parties."

Duets? Duets! An echo rippled through conversations, from the lips of ladies and gentlemen alike. Not one of them had heard Mary sing. Perhaps the most interesting face was that of Lady Herncastle, sitting on a chair in the opposite corner of the salon, disconcerted by this request, conscious of their first conversation and full knowing Mary's weakness in that regard. There was something of a smile, a small gape of surprise, a furrow of the brow. Yet, no movement, no stirring. Her ladyship would not put a stop to it. Miss Quinn had already had a reprimand before. It wasn't so bad as the previous offense, but the girl proved herself, in this case, more clever than the first time.

"Miss Bennet, Mr. Cummings, won't you both sing for us?"

"I… I'm afraid I do not sing… esp-especially not for company."

"Oh, you don't be a poor sport! Humour us. You are among friends," teased Miss Quinn. "We do not expect some grand aria."

"Miss Quinn, I'm not much of a singer myself. I think we'd both be poor performers," resolutely stated by Mr. Cummings. The tables had been turned upon him as well as her. Of course, for him to bow out, did not entail shame. The ladies would make allowance for him.

"That is absolute nonsense!" decried Mrs. Bowman. "I've heard you sing at other parties. You've a marvelous voice, better than my husband's. Better than most men of my acquaintance. Don't tell me you've never done a duet. It's one of a gentleman's first accomplishments. If you have it, that's a gift you use. Those who don't have it fare better not to risk it; stakes are too high!"

All the other men of the group were laughing heartily, talking of accomplishments, but in the way of men's instead of women's. Yes, it could be agreed on, that the men had to have accomplishments. It was uncommon. Did he truly care? Mary read no signs of pleasure from this teasing by the crowd. He wished very much to extricate himself, along with her, and return to the anticipated dance. For herself, all excuses and protests would not be heard. An adamant self-dismissal could solve her problem immediately. For once, Mary might make a scene, and every truly sincere, modest, sympathetic person would blame her for it. Of course, Miss Quinn, flanked by all the competition, would be witness to her weakness. Lady Herncastle shall be disappointed, not for a lack of talent, but a want of spirit.

No! If a duet was demanded, the company shall have a duet! Mary hastily returned to her seat, shuffled through the music, and landed upon a famous ballad. Everyone recognized it at once. Mr. Cummings, wide-eyed and puzzled, looked down at her with some disbelief.

"This not in my range, Miss Bennet."

Her fingers landed on the first notes. "Neither is it in mine, Mr. Cummings."

The company formed a circle round the piano to hear their favourite, most beloved, cheerful tune. Older men among them expected a 'bonnie', sweet voice; young, hopeful new authors at the table, in their ignorance waited for the room to be struck by divinity. Instead of sweet chords, she bellowed the lyrics, absolutely, deliberately murdering the lyrics that would inspire the lover of the duet. All the ladies of the Starlight stared in shock. In their eyes, the single thought: How does anyone sing that badly? Who on earth would dare expose themselves to this public humiliation? Does she not hear herself? After a few verses, Mary's eye caught Mr. Cummings', full understanding dawning. At once, he burst out laughing. The gentlemen about him, his father included, were suffering for want of air. What genius! Poor Mr. Cummings struggled with great difficulty, to sing his part without dissolving. Now at his ease, he sallied forth into his part, and the both of them, collaborators in this heinous crime, exaggerated to worse degrees: singing a few notes off, some high notes with a bleating like sheep, with cracks on the falsettos, warbling depths that fell to lower octaves.

Before long, Miss Longsbury and Mrs. Bowman, seeing it for what it was, reacted to this display with equal mirth. Mary was no longer alone in the joke. She, too, struggled to contain her laughter, especially when approaching the chorus, Mr. Cummings shouted above the clamour: "Ladies, gentlemen! Everyone now!" And the company, excepting Miss Quinn and a few in the background, bellowed the tune with equally fervent zeal. By the time Mary struck the final notes, some young stranger from among them shouted out: "Bravo! Bravo!" Lady Herncastle joined in the lively applause of all spectators.

"How about another?" begged Mrs. Bowman. "Oh Mary, please! You too, Mr. Cummings. That was just too much fun!"

Spectators agreed. No dancing! Who needs dancing when everyone can and is free to sing like a dog in the street? More would follow, and both father and son Cummings, during one duet, gave a performance that topped anything to be seen at the public theater. It was beyond the wildest thing in her dreams. In fact, events transpired with the same backwards logic of a dream. Instead of horror and disgrace and shame, Mary's reversal actually turned into a sensation. Servants went downstairs to their quarters later, so thoroughly diverted and full of stories about what happened in the Cummings' salon. All guests departed with gratitude to old Mr. Cummings for a most entertaining evening. Perhaps the only person who failed to enjoy was the same who failed to triumph: Miss Quinn. For she kept much to the wall and away for the remainder of the evening. If she had been smart, she'd have accepted Mr. Cummings' request to play and give everyone a few dances. It would not have pushed her opponent from discreet honour to center stage.

Mary had supposed as much from Miss Quinn. However, one face truly surprised her, when she remembered to look for her: Georgiana. Miss Darcy sat by Mrs. Annesley, sedate and somber, during the duets. Of course, she went largely unobserved in the noise, but when they ascended the carriage later on, Mary was no longer immune to the feelings being provoked by Miss Darcy's expression. What had happened? It was most provoking to her, someone who discerned emotion through facial expression. There was nothing present, nothing to betray anger or sadness. What else could it be? What could have happened during the course of the evening? She wished to know without having to ask, but the fault of not knowing was her own. Mary recalled, going into the gathering, with the arrangement of seating that she and Georgiana were separated at dinner. But Miss Darcy was not alone, of course. Mrs. Annesley was with her all the time. Could something so innocent as a seating arrangement by a genial host, something outside her own control, cause real offense?

Mrs. Annesley dismissed herself with kind thanks and a good night at the front door, not before dispensing with Georgiana and Mary's cloaks. The bell was rung for tea in the drawing room. Fire in the hearth had been left burning, to which Georgiana immediately sought refuge. The night had turned chilly, and with rather short sleeves, it was felt keenly. Her gloved hands chafed the skin in attempt to help offset.

"Perhaps we should have asked for our shawls at the door," suggested Mary.

"I don't mind the cold. The fire will warm us shortly, and some tea." Once more, her voice had turned monotone.

"Georgiana, are you well? You don't seem yourself, and you were very quiet at the party, and during the ride home."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be sullen."

"Won't you tell me? Are you… are you angry with me?"

After lengthy pause and a deep exhale, she answered: "Not with you… But yes, I am upset. I'm only reluctant to speak… Forgive me, I'm not good at this." Unlike Mary, who had learned through experience, she had not enough experience, or perhaps, it was not in her disposition. For either reason, her speech labored for a second before she turned to Mary. Now, the resemblance between herself and Mr. Darcy shown clearly, with a slight hardness in the aspect. "If I do not express myself well, please forgive me later. But I must ask, Mary, why is the Starlight Circle so important to you?"

"What? But… I don't understand—Georgiana, what did I do tonight that did not meet with your approbation?"

"It was nothing that you did, directly. These last months now, I've been watching everything: between yourself and the ladies of the society. Tonight, you seemed a very different person. My friend, the Mary Bennet I know, would have declined Miss Quinn's challenge."

"That was absolutely harmless!"

"And so it was, nothing objectionable. That's what makes this frustrating. It's not your conduct, Mary. It's the effect it has on you. It used to be you did not care what these ladies think of you, but you must confess, she goaded you to play, and out of professional pride, you responded to her challenge to play."

"That would look rather bad, don't you think? With my employer watching, before our host and Mr. Cummings, and…"

"Yes! Exactly!"

"Georgiana, you would not understand. You're not part of the society."

"I can see what it's doing to you. And besides that, Mary, you're going against your doctor's own orders. Why? Why would you do it? Who are you doing it for?"

"For my own sake, and for the sake of my contract."

"Tonight was not a contracted engagement. It was a dinner party… Isn't that vanity?"

Mary silenced a gasp, reeling from the shock of such a charge and interrogation. "I cannot believe this… I… Are you upset because we did not sit together? For that, you call me vain? For having other friends besides you, for standing up in my own defense, that is something you call an undesirable effect?"

"They are not your friends, Mary… Henrietta Sothern is not your friend."

"… Of course. I was right about that," sighed Mary. "I've known some time now, that you didn't like her."

"I never liked her," declared Georgiana. "Time has only confirmed my sentiment."

"Does it not seem like jealousy for our friendship? We share a common interest, just like we share many in common ourselves, especially in music? I would think that would be an attractive quality to you in a friend."

"… In her, I see too much of someone else… Mary, I've never told you the rest, but I'll tell you now. About Ramsgate, about that whole matter… Between the two, though Mr. Wickham inflicted me a good deal, the one whom I hold most in contempt is Mrs. Younge. You expect to be on your guard with men, Mary. But we don't always guard ourselves among women. We don't think to suspect older, more experienced women, who should know better. Miss Sothern knows what she's about—just like my old governess. They are the most agreeable, sweetest, your dearest friend in the world… They're all that and more, until you thwart and contradict them. They will be so pleasant to you, so that you are obligated, you feel guilty if you mistrust them… Mrs. Younge knew about my connection to Mr. Wickham in childhood. She knew I had warm feelings for him. In Ramsgate, she chaperoned us and encouraged our attachment in every way possible. When I felt my heart touched, I confided in her. I felt happy, and she shared my joy for being in love, of all men, with the dear, loyal friend of my family. That all changed when Mr. Wickham declared his love, and begged I consent to an elopement. I am guilty of giving into it, yes. But I did not give my consent readily. When I confided in Mrs. Younge, I was suddenly talking to someone I didn't know. Her manner towards me altered. I was being a silly girl, foolish and indecisive. 'This is not some stranger,' she said. 'He is a friend of your family. Do you honestly believe I'd have condoned this association, this courtship with a complete stranger? Whereas, your brother, would have you married off to a complete stranger when you come of age…' "

The tormented orator faltered. Though still ablaze in her own anger, Mary could not help feeling touched.

"Mary, I was scared. And I believed her. For there was no one else to contradict her or my own doubts. For I knew, regardless, that it would break my brother's heart and terrify him if I were to take flight without his knowledge. It also broke my heart to think I'd experience the happiest day of my life without my brother… I did consent. I gave him my word, against my better judgment. If my brother had not come unexpectedly, I'm certain I'd have gone through with it… When all was found out, and before being dismissed, Mrs. Younge was questioned. She swore that she had no knowledge of my interactions with Mr. Wickham, and she'd have forbidden it. It was in vain she attempted. Mr. Wickham contradicted her story when he was questioned."

"Georgiana… I am sorry, dreadfully sorry for all you suffered, but this is very different. Our situations are very different."

"Mary, the flattery, constant companionship, common interests, coinciding with your own hopes and wishes—that's how it begins. When that friendship ends, you don't just lose faith in that person, you lose that sense of who you are, that confidence in who you are… I almost succumbed to something against my principles and my character, and it would have destroyed me. Mary, though it's not the same situation, the same thing is happening to you."

"That's an absurd exaggeration! And this is not eloping with a disreputable man!"

"You are driven to succeed, for a career and a sterling reputation, out of spite against your competition. You will pursue it all, even at the expense of your health!"

"That is enough, Georgiana!" It took a few breaths to regain enough composure for the mental forming of sentences. To think before one speaks—it is easily said, even done with conviction. Yet, in spite of all her careful thought, it did not serve. "I respect the value of your experience, where it concerns Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Younge. Only those of us who experience such trials appreciate the true value of hindsight. But you are wrong to suppose, Georgiana, that all your fellow women will succumb to the same temptations. You do me wrong, and the good people of the world, by distrusting the friendly advances of benevolent and sincere individuals. If we all took a lesson from Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Younge, we ought not trust anyone. That was most unfortunate, but that is not every man or woman. Miss Sothern has been kind and good to you. This is an attack on her reputation, when she's not even here to defend herself. How could you? She's never wished you ill or said anything unkind of you."

"But she would speak so of others. You yourself have witnessed that."

"Is this really about Rietta, or is this how you feel about our friendship? Because it grows more clear, by the minute, that you feel supplanted by Rietta and my friends in the Starlight. No one will ever take your place, Georgiana… please…"

"Very well. I will admit as much. I am hurt, to see my… my closest friend finds me wanting, to find more intellect and amusement in the company of others. I would not mind it at all, if they were better people. Mary, I just know. I think you know it yourself."

"Georgiana, you do not understand," she asserted, with a trembling to her own voice. "You're… you're a Darcy. When it comes to making friends, having friends, you don't even have to try. There will always be friends out there to love, far outnumbering any enemies. People like me, girls without a large fortune and social graces, we have no such luxuries to rely on. Be glad of that! You will always have friends."

Nearly exhausted, provoked and crushed to the heart, the gathering storm clouds finally rained. Mary even shuddered, watching each word spoken carved out her heart. Such tears—innocent, betrayed, the purest of sadness trickling from a smoky, acrid furnace. "… I never needed you for a friend. You are my friend, for no reason or motive, except that I care about you. I love you. And whatever you may think, I am your friend; so is my brother, Lizzy, and the Carters. We are your friends, because we are always honest with you."

Instant regret or contrition was not to be relied on. Neither one entertained those feelings for some time after Miss Darcy quit the drawing room. Tea finally arrived, too late and destined for coldness. A small inclination, as slight as the throb of a pulse, stirred in Mary to go and take a cup up to her friend. The slam of a door upstairs decided her against it.

"Pardon me, Miss Bennet. But while you were out, you had a visitor. Miss Carter left her card."

"Miss Carter?"

"She came with the young doctor, to ask whether you would dine out with them. They informed me if you wished to see them, just in case you returned early, you'd find them at the address she wrote down. Of course, that was hours ago. I doubt if it means anything now."

"Thank you."

One half sorrowed, the other half cursed. Why did she attend Sir Douglas Cummings' party? It could have waited to another time; his son would've understood… Why should he understand? But of course, after the disaster of the last dinner together, Captain Carter and his sister did not wish to repeat it by inviting her to their house again. Why did they call so late? Why were they always leaving it to the last minute to try and make arrangements? Why must every social obligation, even the pleasant and long-anticipated ones, be a chore and be so intolerable? This tumultuous sea of thought, along with the storm clouds and blustering winds Georgiana had left her in, Mary took herself to the instrument, desperately seeking her music. Tucked among her own scores of music, wedged deep among personal scraps from the last five years, another loose scrap had dislodged. Why on earth did she keep it? The letter written for Captain Carter, the letter misdirected and never received… If Georgiana had not made mention of them, she'd never have thought of Captain Carter. Now, staring down at the words of apology some two years old, all the bitter memories, including that argument with Lizzy and herself, came upon her in a flood.

'If you want to know what I think, of all men in the regiment, I rather liked him. I thought he was very kind.'

Why did he return if only to contradict his statements of his last letter? Why now, when a promising, warm attachment had grown elsewhere? Mr. Cummings… Mr. Cummings had made all her dreams possible. He admired her, encouraged her, pursued and courted her, in the most straightforward and plainest of terms. An honest girl in search of an honest man could wish for nothing better than Mr. Cummings for a suitor, a husband. And now, happy as she could possibly be, Captain Carter would return to make her remember her first admirer, who inspired her sonata… and how she tore him to pieces. In between the hours of fitful sleep and restlessness, Mary's pillow was soaked that night.

Kitty retreated swiftly into the wall and the tapestry, swaying in the mild breeze of the terrace. Two shadows and their voices took shape almost too late for her to retain any discretion.

"How can you possibly mean that? Or, how do you intend me to understand that, you are unattached but you are not free?" Caroline Bingley, rather perturbed and distressed, by the sound of her voice, had blundered. They stood close but not within intimate proximity.

"It is a personal matter."

"I feel that some explanation is necessary."

"Perhaps if I had given you encouragement and jilted you, but I did no such thing, Miss Bingley. You sought me here now, asked me a question, and I give you a reply to that question. And such being the case, I don't see how you are entitled to an explanation."

"Why… It is most underhanded, to be out in society under false pretenses, Colonel Fitzwilliam!"

"Pretenses entail lies. I have not lied to you."

Altering her tone, fearing now having gone too far, she paused to gather her wits back in calmer attitude. "It was out of nothing but kindness, colonel. It was merely a compliment to you," she sighed.

"I'm sure."

"Must you leave the Grove House so soon? For we might meet each other again soon, at Pemberley. Perhaps my sentiments might affect… an improvement in your opinion. We have a good deal in common, you and I. We have a similar need, for the good opinion of society. By ourselves, we cannot affect much change, but together, we might get on quite nicely."

"Pardon my curiosity, but in what way, do you find us having a good deal in common?"

"We are both objects of pity. You are a second son of an earl, second place in everything. So am I, colonel, second in everything, as if we are just an after-thought amongst our family and acquaintance. Wouldn't it be splendid to be united with one in thought, in fortune, in each other's tastes and pursuits? We both need that. You need that, as much as I do. What of this secret love? If she were suitable to your family's standards, you'd need not hide her from them. That is what you're afraid of, isn't it?"

"You're mistaken. I'm not afraid of that. My silence is discretion, not secrecy. As regards your other opinions, in all honesty, I do not think we would suit each other. I feel more pity for you than a sharer in it."

A quick inhale of air. "Ugh, don't be so condescending! You feel pity—for me?"

"I bear you no ill will, Miss Bingley. If you'll please excuse me, I must rejoin the party. It would not do to be seen out here in the shadows alone together."

"Heaven forbid!" she scoffed bitterly. "Of all men, I should loathe myself to be compromised by a man who would feel nothing but pity. Good God, go on! Go back inside! I never wish to speak to you again."

"As you wish. Good evening, madam," he said tersely, bowing as he departed. Fortunately for Kitty, she escaped all detection. Caroline remained lingering in the dubious lighting of the terrace. At first, the thwarted woman paced, then soft sobs, then she leaned on the rail, pounding fists into the stone. Sitting by him at dinner, all the rearrangements she'd done, had proven useless. These last several weeks of planning, preparing for his presence, and hours spent in conversation—yielded no suitor. The second one to have eluded her. These tears could not be mistaken for the act she'd put on for Jane or her cousin. At last, real pain and real tears.

Some minutes lapsed with Caroline presuming herself solitary, and the sound of clipping heels approached from behind Kitty. This shadowy figure did not observe her either. Neither was this person surprised to find Miss Bingley here on the terrace. Miss Sothern, as the lighting would reveal, approached her without a word but with a goblet.

"I suppose you could use a little fortifying," she said, passing the wine.

"Why? Were you listening?" Caroline muttered bitterly.

"No. I was moved tables somehow, but I managed to see you and your table mates get on."

"Not get on, really. Well, what is the use now?"

"I figured, whether I would chance upon celebration or disappointment, the product of the vine suits any occasion."

"So droll. I cannot believe I ever had set my sights on him."

"What did he say? Caroline—you would not propose to a gentleman!"

"Of course not! I'm not so desperate as that. He wasn't taking a hint about anything I said. It took me, just merely wrapping my arm in his, suggesting we make our circuit of the gardens together, that he was suddenly repulsed. And it came out, something about how he is not free to pay court to another woman. I cannot tell. He probably just made the whole thing up to get himself out of it… Ugh, Rietta, I'm so ashamed. I wish I could take back the last ten minutes of my life."

"Not to rub salt in the wound, Caroline, but that's not the only thing you should be ashamed of," sighed Miss Sothern. "You are not a very good judge of character at all, are you? You could practically be in love with a man and know almost nothing about him. Or you can make me a recommendation on an eligible prospect, without ascertaining that he is even eligible."

"What are you talking about?"

"Signore Andreozzi. I wish you'd have informed me more as to his situation."

"What? He is a bachelor of large family."

"Haven't you had dinner with the man and his family? Haven't you had any chance of conversation with him? It's honestly hard to believe that. It's only natural to ask: sir, are you married? Have you any wife or children back home waiting for your next letter?"

"Rietta, it's not my task to canvas the countryside in search of eligible Italian bachelors!" The tone of both friends had turned gradually more irritated. "If you were smart, just take any Englishman with a little money. Mark my words, you'll do as well with them as any of your own countrymen."

"They don't seem to make you very happy."

Caroline gasped, even more insulted than she had been by the colonel. "Well, you already failed me, didn't you? Introduce us to the Darcy family, and that came to nothing. Why should I feel sorry for your failure now? Didn't you give me a false lead?"

Kitty couldn't help herself, smiling, even though this new intelligence struck her even harder. Of course, from Ilaria, she knew he was not married, but not eligible?

"I did my friend a favour at the time. What you choose to make of the connection is not my concern."

"That… How did you find out? Did you propose to him?"

Rietta laughed. "I do like your directness, but you need to learn the art of subtlety. There are ways of getting the answers you want without laying yourself open to a humiliating rejection. I was conversing with him, just a few minutes ago, saying something to the effect: I hope your wife knows what a fortunate woman she is, signore. He declared that he is not married. Well, the lady that holds your heart—such and such. That's how I got it. He said she is someone very special."

"How do you know that he wasn't lying to you?"

"He does not name her… If she were not real, he could just give any name, and be free about it. Since he did not disclose it, there must be a reason. And description."

"He described her?"

"I asked. Tell me, what is she like? 'She is a peculiar creature. She seems rather ordinary when you first look at her, but as you talk to her, you start to realize you're dealing with a mischievous mind. And she is, as he put, the most adorable creature he's ever met. She has a face like a cherry tree."

"Did he?"

"I'm convinced, he is telling the truth. I don't know Colonel Fitzwilliam, but people do tell the truth sometimes. Not everything is a lie."

"And you're not upset about this?"

"I am disappointed, but it's not the end of the world as we know it. Better not to wear your heart on your sleeve."

"If that remark is an insinuation that I do, you're very much mistaken."

"Then rejoin the party and hold your head up, Caroline. Dry your eyes. Remember, you still have an enviable position in society. You are still free, financially independent, and still have a chance to make a good match."

"Should expect no less of a social climber from London."

"I think since my time here has been to no purpose, I'll be leaving tomorrow morning. After all, we were not expressly invited by Mrs. Bingley. My friends and myself have encroached long enough on her hospitality."

"What do I care about that? You shouldn't go."

"I would rather return home to London. My time would be much better spent there."

With a pause and a nod, Caroline could not resist the inflammation. "I see. You are tired of my company here. Since you have nothing else profitable to stay for, just take off and leave me. My companionship is not profitable to you."

"Well, I did not say that… But you couldn't have put it better. I'll be leaving after breakfast."

"If that is your attitude about it, then I rather say your departure cannot be too soon. You'll leave tonight, as soon as you can pack."

"No." Calmly and resolutely she defied, which astonished the third party listening. "I will leave at a decent hour. I will be allowed to pay my respectful thanks to the master and mistress of the house." Oh yes, to be reminded that she is not the equal of the mistress. "I'm not about to strike off into the night, take up lodgings at the inn, like I was running away from a disgraceful incident, as if I'd done something to be ashamed of."

"Oh, really? I can arrange that. I can very easily go to my brother, tell him that you and Signore Andreozzi were seen in a most compromising situation. It's simple as that. Besides, up until tonight, you've spent plenty enough time in his company to make it valid."

"He will deny it. I will deny it. You cannot prove anything. Go ahead and try," she taunted. "Besides, I think you should consider your position here. Could not the same be said of you and Colonel Fitzwilliam? If my association with the landscape architect is enough to be dubious and scandalous, imagine how your situation looks… Now, if you'll excuse me. I intend to enjoy the rest of the party. Good evening, Miss Bingley."

By such formal adieu, that friendship came to a decisive end. Only upon separation and removal from the terrace, by all persons, did Kitty slip from the shadows, and take flight for the grounds, in search of the closest party, with all urgency to end a wicked rumor before it could start.

This was a scene I've been looking forward to for a long time, between Mary and Georgiana. I think this is a hard one for both sides. Which is harder, to be told you're wrong or tell someone you love they're wrong?

So, poor Caroline... No, not really. There's some revenge (comeuppance) in a toxic person being outmaneuvered by someone as manipulative as themselves. I'm hearing you guys out there. You want something big. You're going to get it. Oh, that's a scene I am impatient (not rushing) but eager to get to, because I've got some feelings and stuff left unsaid in my personal life. But I can say it to Caroline Bingley without fear...

I also forgot to ask you readers: what did you think of the return of Mary King? It's not like she was an important character, but she didn't deserve what happened to her in P&P. Thought it would be fun to bring her in briefly for one or two chapters just to say hello. Hope you have a great week ahead!