Miss Caroline Bingley was an impopular harridan who had been out for many a season and was now rapidly approaching the dreaded 'shelf'. She had no friends, not even friendly acquaintances, but she had one singular talent. She was very accomplished in the art of gossip. Listening for gossip, spreading gossip and if given half a chance, making up ruinous gossip about each one of her perceived rivals for Mr. Darcy's hand. And there were many. Rivals, that is. Miss Bingley considered every eligible lady who ever danced with Mr. Darcy or dined with Mr. Darcy, a rival.
In one fell swoop Miss Bingley had, only last season, forever ruined the respectability of the honourable Lady Louisa Clinton, and tainted the name of the very naive Lady Felicity Herbert, by insinuating that one was having a sordid affair with the other's brother, and that all three of them had been caught between the sheets together. None of it was true, but Miss Bingley relished creating just the right sort of whisper to incite a frenzy of other, worse, stories to follow. And with such a whisper, there was no lack of sordid details being talked of.
That neither of the young ladies in question had been interested in becoming the wife of a rich, but dull and fastidious gentleman ten years their senior, was irrelevant to Miss Bingley. That one of the young ladies was actually engaged to be married - and not to Mr. Darcy -, was easily overlooked. Such inconvenient truths had no place in Miss Bingley's life. She dealt in speculation and alternate facts.
No matter who her target was, whether they were wealthy, well-connected or neither, in a match of gossip and innuendo, Miss Bingley always came out the victor. Therefore, she would always be the first and only available choice for that very Mr. Darcy, whose wealth she coveted beyond all reason, whenever he should choose to take a wife.
Such was her way of thinking and her logic had proven infallible time and again, until today. Today she was confronted by the unexpected and unwelcome news that there was, in fact, a young lady who was rumoured to be Mr. Darcy's betrothed. Apparently he had unearthed her in some obscure town in the country. The country! Of all places. Miss Bingley never set foot out of town. Nothing good came from the country. Case in point: this so-called Miss Bennet. Why did she have to go scampering around some dusty little town near Pemberley? It just was not done.
Still, the irksome interloper had ensnared Mr. Darcy, no doubt by some disreputable art. It would be up to her, Miss Bingley, to force the countrified nobody to retreat.
With distaste, she observed the dark haired trollop as she danced with Mr. Darcy and they smiled at one another. Smiled! Miss Bingley was appalled. She would have to resort to grave measures to split them up. Now how would she discredit the temptress?
As she watched the pair, her ire rose. When a beam of light sparked the jewel on the hussy's finger, inspiration struck.
As she turned to her dearest friend, Miss Grantley, she whispered: "Maybe that ring is stolen."