The Three Colonels Page 2

Such was the change in his life. A year ago, he would have been involved in the morning levee, with aides, generals, and diplomats scurrying about, carrying out orders that had shaken the world. As usual, the emperor left half his meal on the plate before retiring into his office.

  The Allies thought they were kind to give him this empire—one hundred thousand souls on Elba—while they placed that fool of a Bourbon onto the throne of France. A lesser man either would have accepted his fate or despaired of his condition. But he was not like lesser men. Destiny was not through with him, he knew. His preparations were almost complete.

  Soon, very soon, Napoleon Bonaparte knew it would be time.

  Chapter 1

  London

  It was a night for memories.

  An unsettled Caroline Bingley silently sat before her looking glass in a dress of fine ivory and peach silk while her maid finished her hair, her sisters, Louisa Hurst and Jane Bingley, smiling and observing. Tonight was the New Year’s Eve ball given by her brother at Bingley House in London in honor of her upcoming marriage to Colonel Sir John Buford. She had striven all her life for such a moment, and it had finally arrived.

  “Oh, Caroline!” cried Louisa. “The dress is superb! I have never seen you in better looks. Does she not look well, Jane?”

  With quiet sincerity, Jane agreed. “She does, indeed. But how can she not? This is a special night for you, Sister.”

  “Sir John will be pleased, I am sure.” Louisa actually giggled, to Caroline’s mortification.

  The maid halted her labors. “Are you pleased with your hair, miss?” she asked nervously.

  Be kind, be kind, Caroline reminded herself. “Your efforts are to be commended, Abigail.” Caroline smiled a small smile to herself. Only she would have an abigail named Abigail.

  The maid sighed in relief. “Just a few more minutes, miss.”

  Caroline stared into her reflection. Is this the woman Sir John sees: a dark-haired lady, elegant and refined, yet with just a touch of the bloom of youth in her cheeks? Or does he see through the disguise to behold the woman desperately escaping her roots in trade? Everything my father wanted for me—everything my mother taught me—is now in my hands. Wife to a respected, landed gentleman and knight of the realm, as well. I am happy with my choice. I am.

  But why am I uneasy?

  Mixed with Caroline’s joy and anxiety was a bit of weariness, for she had just undergone the most trying four and twenty months in her life.

  She recalled the preparations for her last large ball.

  * * *

  The late Mr. Bingley, embarrassed by his position in life, worked hard so that his children would not. He succeeded in improving his situation at the cost of his relationship with those for whom he sacrificed his health. His wife, accepting his goals but resentful of his attentions to business, had pined so much during his frequent absences that a relatively mild influenza finally took her to her reward. Unprepared to raise his children himself, he sent them to the finest schools in the land where they were taught many things. Some of those lessons were useful, and some were not, but love of a parent was not among either. Any interaction Mr. Bingley did have with his progeny in his last years—before overwork drove him to his grave—consisted of exhorting them to embrace their hard-won gentility. There was nothing as wonderful as being among the highest members of the London ton, he told them repeatedly.

  However, he taught his children ill. Old Bingley saw only the outward appearances of respectability; he had no appreciation for the hard work and duty in which a truly responsible gentleman must engage. He left a tainted legacy.

  Charles Bingley, his heir, was fortunate, for among the first he met at school was a remarkable older student from Derbyshire. Fitzwilliam Darcy was attracted to the open goodness of his new, young schoolmate, and they soon became fast friends.

  Louisa and Caroline were not as lucky. Quickly falling into the society of the most superior of their fellow students, they learned all that was correct and fashionable but none that was kind. They perfected the art of the cutting remark and snide aside and developed a taste for gossip. At least Caroline had taken her studies seriously. While never a great reader, she found a natural affinity for mathematics and music. Caroline took pride in this, for the mistress of a great estate must both manage and entertain.

  Acquiring a great estate was the Bingley sisters’ lifetime goal. The only way to bury their roots in trade forever was to marry into a family of some consequence. Louisa was able to attract the attentions of Mr. Geoffrey Hurst, a man of small estate and less sense. Caroline looked higher. If she needed a husband of respectability, who better to fill that requirement than her brother’s friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy? He had everything she had been taught to look for in a match: estate, fortune, fashionable manners, good taste, and eligibility. That he was handsome was very agreeable. That love might enter into the equation never crossed Caroline’s mind.

  For almost three years, Caroline labored to attach herself to Mr. Darcy and his estate of Pemberley. All would end in failure on a summer’s night at Pemberley when Mr. Darcy responded to her ill-judged attack on Elizabeth Bennet with the declaration that, “…it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.” In her room that evening, Caroline wept in rage and frustration, her dreams shattered. She had been denied her rightful place by a mere country girl, a chit with no family or fortune to recommend her. Eliza was not even as pretty as her sister Jane, who had bewitched Charles. The unfairness of it all nearly consumed Caroline. It only grew worse a few months later when Charles married Jane, and Darcy married Elizabeth.

  Caroline had no choice but to act with perfect civility if she wished to retain any connection with the Darcy family. If she could not attain Pemberley, then she had to acquire another estate. The Darcy connection was vital to that goal. Still, in her heart, Caroline cursed the upstart who had crushed her dreams. Her only satisfaction was her belief that the ton would see through Eliza Bennet as quickly as she had, and the dark reaches of her heart gloried in the anticipation of the chit’s mortification.

  The opportunity for Caroline’s revenge took place on an evening a few months later at Almack’s. The occasion nominally was Georgiana Darcy’s debut; however, what caught society’s interest was Mrs. Darcy’s presentation to the first circles. As Jane was to share in the honors, Caroline was invited to attend.

  Riding to Almack’s that night in the Hursts’ carriage wearing a gorgeous red dress, Caroline was in fine spirits sitting beside Miss Mary Bennet. That was a very strange circumstance. Caroline had developed a friendship through music with Eliza’s plain, moralistic sister. Under her guidance, Mary had taken to spending more attention on her wardrobe. The girl now looked to be rather pretty. Caroline felt certain that Mary, in a beautiful gown Caroline had chosen, would embarrass no one. She looked forward to the response the ton would have to the new Mrs. Darcy.

  Her brother and Jane arrived at the same time she did, and they shared an affectionate greeting. Caroline could not help but notice the glow Jane showed. The cause was no mystery; Jane had confided that she was with child just before they left Netherfield. Caroline was oddly pleased at this news. She supposed it was just happiness for her brother. She did not know whether she would enjoy being an aunt.

  Caroline’s first indication that the evening would not go as planned occurred when the Darcy party was introduced. Every eye turned to them, and the assembly was not disappointed. Georgiana was lovely, and Miss Kitty Bennet, who had become a companion of sorts to Darcy’s sister, was shown to best advantage. All was as Caroline expected. However, Elizabeth Darcy was stunning. Never had Caroline seen anyone, much less Eliza, take attention from Jane Bingley, but there was no doubt about it: Mrs. Darcy was a goddess, and her debut at Almack’s was a rousing success.

  As Caroline endeavored to temper her disappointment at the punch table, she became aware of conversation buzzing around her. She could not put her f
inger on it until she—accidentally—overheard her friends and acquaintances among the ton, including her best friend from school, Annabella Adams, discussing her failure to secure Mr. Darcy. Caroline realized with horror that the ton was looking for its next victim, and she was their target! She turned almost as red as the dress she wore as she heard their cruel jests. She had no idea she had been so obvious.

  As Caroline made her way back to her party, some of her so-called friends confronted her, attacking her with perfect civility; she knew exactly what they were doing, for she was a mistress of the art. Stunned, Caroline deflected as much of the abuse as possible before seeking the sanctuary of the library. Holding back tears, she nearly collided with a gentleman standing nearby.

  Once in the library, she collapsed upon the sofa and let free her emotions. For years, she had tried so hard. She craved acceptance by the ton. To hide from her roots in trade, she had acted as her friends had taught her—with superior carriage, superior dress, and superior opinions. Now she saw it was all fantasy. The world she had built around her was made of smoke. She had no friends, and everything she was taught to believe to be true had turned out to assure her of nothing but pain.

  She wept for loneliness and for lost opportunities. She shed tears over fears of being adrift forever between the shop and society, never fitting in with either. She was in agony, for she was certain she would never win a gentleman’s admiration.

  It was there she was found by Louisa and Mary, and it was into Mary’s arms she cried her heart out.

  That night, Caroline Bingley was reborn.

  * * *

  In the glass, Caroline saw Jane go to the door and ask for a maid. “Please look in the nursery and ask of Miss Susan,” she requested.

  “The child is fine, Jane,” Caroline remarked as Jane closed the door. “You must not worry. If your servants do not know their business, perhaps you should send them away.”

  “Oh, our people are quite competent. I suppose I am a little silly, but I cannot help but think of Susan.” Jane smiled. “When you have your children, Caroline, you will understand.” Jane’s beautiful face paled as she realized her faux pas. “Louisa! How thoughtless of me!”

  Caroline saw that Louisa hid her hurt well. “Never you mind, Jane. You are quite right. Caroline will sing a different tune when it is her turn.”

  Caroline said nothing as she watched Jane continue to apologize to Louisa. Poor Louisa—married all these years and no children to show for it! Caroline hoped the fault lay with her brother-in-law. If Louisa were barren, Caroline considered, might she be affected as well? Caroline did not think much about having children, but she knew that society would condemn any failure of producing an heir. She did not bring much more to the marriage to Sir John than her dowry, and while it was sizable, it did little to offset her want of suitable relations. If she were barren—Caroline could no longer bear to think upon it.

  “You must come for Easter,” Jane told Louisa. “Susan would be desolate without her Aunt Hurst in attendance.”

  “Susan is but a babe. She hardly knows me, I am sure.”

  “No. She loves you to distraction, I am certain of it,” Jane insisted. She turned to Caroline. “Susan will miss her godmother, too. But you will be on your honeymoon, so her other aunts must console her in recompense for her loss.”

  Caroline shook her head at her sister’s blind goodness. Jane, sweet Jane! Who could not like Jane?

  When Caroline had found herself sitting in a Meryton church on a December morning watching her brother’s wedding, she at length had reconciled herself to the union. True, she did not have the connections Caroline had been taught to desire in a sister-in-law, but Jane was sure to prove to be a loving partner to Charles, a good mistress of Netherfield, and an attentive mother, and that counted for much. Caroline would be there to watch this unfold, for she could not live with the Hursts, and she was too clever to want to pay the whole of the expense of living in Bingley House in Town.

  Caroline tried to be of use to her brother and sister, but the servants would not mind her commands. When she complained to Charles, she discovered to her horror that they were acting under his express orders. There would be only one mistress of Netherfield, and her name was Mrs. Bingley. Caroline learned there was a bit of steel beneath Jane’s kind and soft exterior.

  The relationship between Jane and Caroline grew much improved during and after Mrs. Bingley’s confinement. Caroline took over many of Jane’s duties prior to the birth, but took pains to act (for the most part) as she believed Jane would wish and never hesitated to ask for direction. That she disagreed with many of Jane’s decisions did not stop her from holding her nose and acting correctly.

  Still, Caroline was stunned that later Jane would have her join Mr. Darcy as godparents to her daughter. As astonished as Caroline was to learn that, despite all expectations, she grew to adore little Susan Frances. She took true joy in the child. Her efforts were not lost upon Mrs. Darcy, who was visiting her sister and was in the early stages of her own confinement. The two old adversaries finally had something in common—love for Charles and Jane’s daughter.

  The door opened again, and Caroline’s initial look of annoyance at yet another interruption in her preparations changed instantly upon her recognition of the woman in maroon standing in the doorway.

  “May I come in?” asked Mary Bennet Tucker.

  Without hesitation, Caroline rose and moved to greet her visitor with a smile, upsetting much of Abigail’s work.

  “Mary, my dear! Come in! I am so very glad to see you.” She kissed the slim, dark-haired woman on the cheek with genuine affection before allowing Mrs. Tucker to accept the welcome of the other ladies. Reclaiming Mary’s hands, Caroline swept her critical eye over the lady’s dress.

  “Mary, I am sure I taught you better. The color of your gown complements your eyes, but the cut! It is positively matronly!”

  “Caroline!” protested Jane. “Mary’s dress is lovely.”

  Mary smiled. “No, Jane, Caroline is right. My dress is modest by her standards, but as I am married, I think it suits me better.” In a manner reminiscent of Elizabeth Darcy, one of Mary’s eyebrows rose as the woman took in Caroline’s décolletage. “It is certainly not as shocking as yours.”

  “Shocking? Mary, you must remember I am not yet married.”

  “And you wish for your intended to remain your intended?”

  “Precisely!” The two laughed lightly.

  Jane shook her head. “That is unnecessary, Caroline. Sir John is violently in love with you.”

  Some of Caroline’s smile slipped from her face. She did not doubt Sir John’s admiration, but love? No, it was too much for which to hope. Jane had the very good fortune to marry for love, but that was as rare as hen’s teeth. Caroline only hoped for a marriage better than Louisa’s. Mutual respect was enough.

  “I must go down to see to the preparations,” said Jane as she kissed Caroline’s cheek before leaving the room. Caroline returned to her dressing table to allow the long-suffering maid to repair her hair while Mary and Louisa conversed.

  * * *

  Caroline’s friendship with Mary Bennet was as much of a surprise to the participants as it had been to their relations. Two more different people could scarcely be found. While neither were classic beauties like Jane, only Caroline took pains in her appearance. If left to her own devices, Mary would wear the same dark, dreary dress every day. Mary had time only for her books, particularly Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women, while Caroline lived for gossip.

  However, the two were more alike than they knew. Both felt unequal to the world about them—Caroline for her lack of connections and Mary for her lack of attractiveness. They both took on superior airs, knowing all the time the only ones deceived were themselves. They were actors trapped in their roles, and Jane’s and Elizabeth’s marriages were the unanticipated agents of the two ladies’ liberation.

  Caroline had no occupation but to help Jane rec
eive her daily invasion by the female contingent from Longbourn—occasionally Mary, often Kitty, but always Mrs. Bennet. Caroline’s first impulse was to flee these meetings, but she thought better of it. If Jane was to be her sister, then Caroline must treat her as such, and Jane needed her support, even though Caroline felt that she did not quite trust her. For Mrs. Bennet was full of advice—rarely helpful, sometimes contradictory, often ignorant and outrageous, and always expressed in a loud, rude voice. There was nothing for it, for Mrs. Bennet would brook no request to temper her voice or opinions, and sweet Jane would not throw the baggage out. Caroline therefore attempted to find as much diversion from these performances as she might.

  As the Mistress of Longbourn continued to hold court, Caroline’s attention invariably would be drawn to her new sisters. At first, she found them trite and stupid, but in studying them day after day, Caroline realized there was more to Mary than met the eye. She would say little, save for some inappropriate moralistic comment or a rather obvious quotation of scripture. However, Caroline would soon see that, while uninformed, Mary meant well, but she suffered from the total neglect of her mother. She sought attention; that was why the girl would leap to perform on the pianoforte given any encouragement.

  As for Kitty, the insipid girl needed better examples than her mother or her outlawed sister, Mrs. Wickham.

  Caroline developed a plan: If she could be of no use to her brother and his wife, then her occupation would be to help improve her new sisters, for her own sake as well as theirs. Apparently, Elizabeth Darcy came to the same realization and quickly invited Kitty to act as companion to Miss Darcy.

  With Kitty’s removal to Pemberley, Caroline spent even more time with Mary. Caroline found the task more pleasant than she expected. Desperate for a companion, Mary was still leery of Lizzy’s nemesis. They found their common ground in music. Before, Mary played for attention, and Caroline played because it was expected. As they discussed music and technique, they both discovered that they truly loved the sound of the pianoforte. A friendship grew as the two spent many hours in pleasant occupation.