Simon Bingley's Resolve, page 10
‘I rather like the idea of a black sheep,’ Emma said. ‘Every family should have one to trot out occasionally and embarrass everyone.’
They all smiled when Ellie agreed with her sister. The conversation became more general when the rest of their guests filtered into the drawing room. Simon noticed Nadia Dayton at once; tall and elegant in an unfussy gown of pale bronze figured silk that enhanced her figure, emphasising her elegant and unique style. He smiled at her over the heads of his sisters and she acknowledged him with a slight inclination of her head before moving further into the room and being greeted by his aunt Darcy.
Mrs Rochdale was one of the last to appear. When she did so, she glided across the room as though she owned it and attached herself to Simon’s mother.
‘It has been too long since we were all together as a family,’ she said.
Simon couldn’t believe her glib attitude and willingness to refer to subjects that would be best avoided. He wondered at her ability to ignore the atmosphere that shrouded her as she entered the room. She ought to feel the muted animosity directed her way, but Simon could see that she was impervious to it.
He was disquieted to observe the frequent occasions upon which her gaze focused upon his uncle Darcy with glistening intensity. Unless Simon missed his guess, a twenty-five-year absence had been insufficient to tamp down her desire for the owner of Pemberley. He shuddered, suddenly very concerned about Mrs Rochdale’s reasons for coming to Derbyshire. That concern strengthened his resolve to discover for himself just what she hoped to achieve from this visit and nip her intentions in the bud. His mother and father had suffered quite enough, and the time had come for him to protect them.
He saw Mrs Rochdale turn her attention to him. She smiled and raised a hand when she observed him standing alone. But now was not the right time to engage her in conversation. He pretended not to notice her and crossed the room and joined Spence.
‘Seems our families have a dark side to their history,’ Spence said, making light of things. ‘Quite delicious, don’t you think? All that plotting and passion.’
‘No I damned well don’t. It’s obvious to me that my mother and father have not recovered. Yours haven’t either, by the looks of things.’
‘True, but there’s no point in taking matters too seriously. It all happened a lifetime ago and there’s nothing the woman can do to rock the boat now.’
‘You say that, but it looks as if Mrs Rochdale hasn’t got over her desire for your father,’ Simon replied. ‘She can’t seem to stop looking at him, but he is totally ignoring her. I think that is a miscalculation. If my aunt is not of sound mind, she will look upon it as a slight and set herself on the road to revenge.’
‘She tried that once before, and we know how it ended.’
‘Even so. She may not be able to come between my uncle and aunt but she could…oh, I don’t know, set fire to the curtains, let all the horses out of the stables, or something equally spiteful.’
‘You’re worrying too much,’ Spence replied airily. ‘If she does harbour unrealistic expectations—which seems almost indecent at her age—but even if she did, she ought to have recovered from youthful regrets by now. If she has not got over her obsession with my father then she will see us here, a close-knit family, and realise that she is wasting her time attempting to come between us.’
‘She must be very thick-skinned not to feel the atmosphere she’s created.’
Spence shrugged. ‘I doubt she feels very much at all. I caught a glimpse of her eyes when I walked past her a moment ago and she’s either been secretly imbibing—’
‘You think she is a drunkard?’ Simon widened his eyes. ‘This keeps getting worse.’
‘I think it more likely that she has been given some sort of medication to keep her emotions in check. She is, after all, married to a doctor.’
‘Perhaps we should ask your uncle Sanford,’ Simon said, referring to the man who married his uncle Darcy’s sister Georgiana. ‘He’s a doctor. Not of the mind, it’s true, but I’m sure he would know.’
‘Perhaps, but short of asking her directly, which he can’t really do, it won’t get us anywhere.’
‘I suppose so. You don’t think she’s planning some sort of symbolic gesture, like killing herself here at Pemberley?’ Simon asked in some alarm.
‘Doubt it very much. Stop worrying. And here’s your Miss Dayton, walking this way with the specific intention of cheering you up, I have no doubt.’ Spence chuckled. ‘And I can tell from the sudden animation in your expression that she’s already having the desired effect. Miss Dayton,’ he added with a sweeping bow when she joined them. ‘How are you enjoying Pemberley?’
‘Very much, thank you. How could I not? The house and grounds are quite magnificent. I fully intend to explore the estate during my stay and behave with total disregard for my social obligations.’
‘Good for you,’ Spence replied with an easy smile. ‘You will manage it well enough, and you won’t have to repeat any of the walks unless one of them especially takes your fancy. There are endless tracks to follow.’
Spence’s attention was taken up by Bella, and Simon found himself once again alone with Nadia. Dinner just happened to be announced at that moment and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to offer her his arm.
‘Thank you,’ she said, placing her hand on it. ‘I did not come this way in the expectation of being offered your escort.’
‘Perhaps not, but you did save me the trouble of coming to find you since I had quite made up my mind to take you in.’
She smiled. ‘Gallantly said.’
As they walked together into the dining room Simon noticed his aunt being escorted to the table by his father. That was a clever way of keeping her from his uncle Darcy, Simon thought. Coincidentally, they were seated directly across from Simon and Nadia, and since formalities were not observed at Pemberley, there would be nothing to prevent his aunt from engaging him in conversation across the table. The pleasure Simon had anticipated enjoying in Nadia’s compelling company dissipated as his aunt watched him with a determined light in her eyes—eyes that Spence had correctly noticed were dull yet alert. It seemed like a contradiction, but the evidence to the contrary was irrefutable. A shudder passed through Simon and he knew it would be a grave error of judgement to underestimate the black sheep’s determination.
‘You are to be congratulated, Charles,’ he heard Mrs Rochdale remark, her gaze still fixed upon Simon. ‘Your children are a credit to you and I look forward to meeting your daughters’ children tomorrow.’
‘Where is Rochdale?’ his father replied. ‘He will be worried when he learns that you have left London. Presumably you didn’t tell anyone where you intended to go.’
‘I am a grown woman, Charles,’ she replied, an edge to her voice. ‘And I make my own decisions. Albert will not care.’
‘What of Louisa?’
Mrs Rochdale lifted a negligent shoulder, clearly uncomfortable at being quizzed. ‘I doubt whether she will care either.’
If Mrs Rochdale’s words were intended to evoke sympathy, they failed to achieve that objective in Simon’s case. He couldn’t abide self-pity, especially since his aunt had orchestrated her own downfall and had been treated with more consideration than she had any right to expect. He made a point of turning towards Nadia and blocking out the sound of Mrs Rochdale’s piercing voice. He would speak with her, but in private and on his own terms. His cousins all looked upon him as a genial chap who avoided confrontation. That was true, but only because he hadn’t found anything serious enough to confront before now.
His relatives were about to find out that there was more depth to Simon Bingley than they’d realised.
‘I hope you will let me accompany you on your morning walk,’ he said to Nadia. ‘I can make myself useful by showing you the routes that will reward you with the best vistas.’
‘I understood the gentlemen were planning to fish. I should feel guilty if you were kept from the expedition for my sake.’
‘I will let you into a little secret.’ He leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘I have no patience for fishing. Besides, I always feel rather sorry for the fish.’
‘Oh dear.’ She covered her mouth with a gloved hand. ‘I can quite see that sympathy might hamper your success. However, my father is due to arrive tomorrow and I suppose—’ The laughter abruptly faded from her eyes and Simon could see that she dreaded the forthcoming confrontation. If she was genuinely set against marriage to the man that her father had chosen for her and intended to defy him, he could well understand why and felt doubly determined to distract her.
‘All the more reason to escape. You cannot disagree with him or be forced into any commitments if he cannot find you.’
‘True enough.’ She smiled, a gesture that lit up her entire face and made her look very pretty. ‘Very well then, thank you, we shall be of service to one another.’
The meal came to an end, and Simon was obliged to part with Nadia. He stood and helped her with her chair, watching her walk sedately from the room with the rest of the ladies and wishing that he didn’t have to let her go. He mulled over his feelings for the lively young woman as he helped himself to port and passed the decanter on, wondering if he was using her as a distraction from the problems created for his family by the unexpected appearance of Mrs Rochdale, and felt guilty when he concluded that must partly be the case. He felt great sympathy for her situation, but had no right to interfere. Distracting her was as far as he could in all gentlemanly conscience allow himself to go.
He took a sip of his port, conceding that he liked her very much while simultaneously warning himself not to get too attached. He was no longer the Johnny Raw who fell in love with what Spence described as tiresome predictability. He had reached the age of discretion now—an age at which he could appreciate feminine beauty and wit for its own sake without thinking beyond that point.
*
Caroline was not satisfied with the way the evening was progressing. Not satisfied at all. She felt unwelcome and as closely and critically watched as she regularly was at home by the spies Albert set to keep her a virtual prisoner. Worse yet, Darcy hadn’t looked upon her with anything other than disdain. He hadn’t looked at her at all until propelled by good manners to do so when she addressed a question to him. But he never instigated conversation with her, or enquired about her activities these past years. His gaze passed over her as if she was a complete stranger who had never meant anything to him at all.
It was insulting and humiliating, yet also challenging.
Darcy, his slovenly wife and their children gave the impression of being a close-knit family. His sons did him credit, she’d grant him that much. All three of them looked so much like their father. The girls were of little interest to Caroline. They were married and no longer lived at Pemberley. It was vexatious that his daughter was now a countess, looked up to and respected, but nowhere near as annoying as the fact that bland Kitty Bennet was herself in the same position. Hearing her addressed here at Pemberley by servants as “my lady” in deferential tones had severely tried Caroline’s patience. She had been obliged to scurry back to her room earlier and munch another of her biscuits until she felt calmer. She had come this far. It wouldn’t do to lose focus now over something that was irritating but relatively unimportant.
Charles had been most unpleasant during the course of dinner, asking all manner of awkward questions as though she was still a young miss beneath his control. It was the most dreadful shame that she hadn’t got to Simon in time to give him no option but to escort her in. She had seen the butler enter the room to announce that dinner was served and thought she had timed her move perfectly. But Charles had intercepted her and the tiresome Miss Dayton had claimed Simon. Even seated across from him, he had barely torn his attention away from the dreary creature in order to respond with civility to the questions she put to him.
Her being unwelcome could not have been made plainer, and the discourtesies shown to her at table would, she suspected, be nothing compared to the manner in which she would be treated by the other ladies now that they had withdrawn. She attached herself to Jane as they left the dining room—or tried to, but Jane had already linked arms with her sister Lydia, and even Caroline felt a little intimidated by that lady when she thought of the time she had tried to drown her. Even she was obliged to admit, with the benefit of hindsight, that her actions in that respect had been ill-advised. But perdition, her patience had been tried to the limit by the Bennet sisters, all of whom appeared determined to thwart her plans.
Lydia sent her an appraising look but had yet to address a single remark to her, making Caroline feel as though she was beneath her notice. That in turn caused the red mist she tried so hard to keep at bay to cloud her vision. It was the red mist she now understood that made her act impetuously. Even so, Lydia’s behaviour rankled. How dare the little madam adopt superior airs? Caroline had a long memory, and recalled the scandal that would have ruined the entire Bennet clan when Lydia eloped with Wickham had Darcy not used his wealth and influence to cover it up. A word in the right ear now and the darling of the literary world would find herself shunned.
Or would she? Caroline had learned from past mistakes and took a moment to consider her options. It had all happened a long time ago, and Lydia had been married to Shannon for more than two decades. Caroline couldn’t prove what she knew to be the truth—and anyway, disclosure might have the opposite effect to the one she intended. Casting doubt upon Lydia’s moral conduct would likely enhance the little tramp’s reputation and increase sales of her books. Allowances were made for artistic temperaments that were denied to the vast majority of the population.
As long as Lydia kept out of Caroline’s way she would be nothing more than an irritation, best left alone to enjoy her so-called fame. Caroline shook her head, recalling how incensed she had been when the now Mrs Shannon’s first novel had been received to critical acclaim, and it seemed as though everywhere she went in London people spoke about little else. Leaving aside the fact that she, Caroline, ought to have become Mrs Shannon—and would have done so if the conniving Lydia Bennet hadn’t stolen Patrick Shannon from beneath her nose—it was infuriating that the Bennet sisters had all done so well for themselves.
Caroline didn’t need Albert’s magical cures to make her well again, always supposing there had been anything seriously wrong with her in the first place. What she needed was plain old fashioned revenge. And finally her patience had paid off. Albert had relaxed his guard and she had been granted readmittance to Pemberley, where she would be in a position to make them all pay. It was simply a question of deciding how exactly to set about doing it.
She sensed all the ladies in her family and Darcy’s watching her as she entered the drawing room. She smiled until her face hurt and seated herself demurely a little away from Eliza Darcy, watching her every move with catlike intensity. Caroline’s diffident conduct and disinclination to put herself forward was rewarded by a reduction in the tension as general conversation resumed. She took little part in it, but nodded and smiled, even managing to thank Eliza when she handed her a cup of coffee.
The doors to the terrace were thrown wide to allow the warm evening air to penetrate the huge room. Caroline set her cup aside and wandered outside, feeling as though she had finally come home. Despite the hostility of her reception, this was where she belonged, and also where she would achieve the peace of mind that had eluded her for the past twenty-five years.
She had been depending upon Charles being more welcoming and his children more supportive once the shock of her arrival had receded. She felt hot and cold all over when she considered the possibility that the younger generation had been told the truth about the events of that summer so long ago. She hadn’t supposed that Darcy or Charles would want their offspring to know, simply because it cast doubt over Eliza’s character. But their reserve implied that they had very likely been given a highly prejudicial account that failed to consider Caroline’s thwarted expectations; expectations for which Darcy’s attentions had been entirely responsible. Far from condemning her, Charles ought to have called Darcy out for his ungentlemanly conduct.
Limited time was now on her side. She would wait for everyone to become accustomed to her presence and relax their guard, then she would decide how to act. Even if Albert discovered her whereabouts, it would take him a few days to get here and take her away again like an unwanted parcel, and a lot could happen in a few days. She threw back her head, closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet-smelling country air, feeling tormented yet somehow at peace.
The sound of piano music alerted her to the fact that the gentlemen must have returned to the drawing room. She walked back inside and saw that Eliza was at the instrument, accounting for the indifferent performance. The moment it came to an end, she took her place and showed the company how it ought to be done. She had spent years perfecting her skill, having little else to do to pass the time, and knew that she excelled. And yet the applause when she came to the end of her piece was disappointingly muted. She took a seat at the back of the room, trying not to pout, and fell to brooding.
*
Lizzy smiled up at her husband when he slid into bed beside her.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously.
‘I’m angry at having our lovely party invaded by such an unwelcome guest. I won’t deny it to you, even though I put on a brave face for Jane and Lydia’s sakes.’
‘Caroline seemed to behave well enough.’
Lizzy shook her head against his shoulder. ‘Charles kept her in line at table, but the way she looked at you as though she wanted to eat you whole made my blood boil.’
‘I didn’t notice, since I made a point of not looking at her.’
