"I am a lucky, lucky woman!" thought Caroline Darcy as she lowered her head over the chamber pot in the ship's cabin for the third time that morning.
She thought back upon those landmarks in her life that had brought her to this moment. Yes, it was fortunate that she was her father's daughter – always enterprising, always seeking out that elusive visitor, Opportunity. Her earliest memories were as a child, her brassy red curls falling in ringlets down her back, perched upon her father's knee as he sat in his study with his morning coffee and paper. Having lost her mother while still nearly an infant, she clung to her papa like a vine to a wall. She recalled sitting on his lap, trying her hardest to be like a statue, barely breathing, so as not to disturb him as he read. She remembered the smell about him – shaving soap, and pipe tobacco, and bayberry and sweat. She forced herself to keep her small hands folded in her lap, resisting the urge to pat his scratchy cheek, or squeeze his fat pinkie finger. She knew instinctively that a businessman like her father would never put up with the twiddlings of a little girl like her, so to gain his affection she learned to be invisible in his presence.
As she grew older, her father became more involved in his business, which had grown exponentially. She had developed a close relationship with Louisa, of course, and the two sisters doted on their brother Charles. Without a mother, the children had been raised by a line of nannies then governesses and tutors. As business was brisk, the family soon occupied a larger townhouse in a more exclusive neighborhood in London. Still only a young girl, Caroline would still visit her father's study, still desiring to be near him, to observe him in his natural world of books, and maps, and ledgers and numbers. His intense hyper-focus was hypnotizing to her, and she valued his enormous energy and determination. Quietly observing him, Caroline was schooling herself in the art of sharp-shooting – what it was to take aim at an impossible target, hone in on the center, pull and hit.
She also reaped the benefits of lingering in his study after he would depart the house on business. She would rub her fingers along the books – mostly political and economic titles – that lined one wall of his study. Charles would eventually add to the collection his textbooks from Cambridge, and Louisa's penchant was for the contemporary novels, but Caroline would find her father's tastes more like hers - practical guides to management and living, earning and spending money wisely, conducting business in the most civilized manner. She would open the drawers of the large desk he used daily, and pull out the latest ledgers. Though her lessons in mathematics were limited to basic household use, Caroline could look at the figures and columns in her father's bookkeeping, and immediately grasp the strategies her father had put forth in his management plan. She would smooth the pages as she would turn them lingeringly, as if studying a magic tome of ancient times or a witch's grimoire.
By the time she was ten years old, her natural curiosity led to her exploration of all of her father's desk drawers – even the secret drawer with the false bottom. There, she found a most unusual book of explicit illustrations from the east – a title that she could not pronounce, written in strange characters. The figures represented there were shockingly naked, and in twisted configurations unlike anything she had ever seen. Feeling somewhat confused, but not truly understanding why, she replaced the book and tried to forget its existence.
She was somewhat successful in that effort – until a young French music master was hired to teach Caroline and Louisa the pianoforte. The young man was no doubt from some long aristocratic line, ran out of the country from the bloody coups Caroline had read about in her history studies. At least, that's what she imagined, as she would sit on the bench beside him, gazing at his delicate features and luxurious dark auburn curls, as he would tap out a rhythm or sing a tune under her playing. As she became increasingly proficient at playing as she grew more and more entranced with the young man; she also became more and more obsessed with the images she'd seen in her father's secret book.
It was no wonder, then, one day while Louisa was sick in bed in the London townhouse with the servants attending her, and Charles studying at Cambridge and their father overseeing shipments at the docks, Caroline was quite alone with the music master; she was suddenly determined to draw him into a most questionable line of study. She coyly asked him if he had any Turkish or oriental pieces to play, for she had of late grown interested in the exotic reaches of the globe. She soon turned the conversation to the intimate rituals of the native Indian, all in the name of good scholarship, of course. When she discussed in great detail the manner in which the braid of the woman's hair could be used to caress the gentleman's instrument, the image she painted enflamed the young man to sputtering, and he asked how she knew of such things. With great secrecy, she led him into her father's study, and showed him the book.
The young piano master, not being much older than Caroline himself, and being a rather studious, sheltered young man, was similarly engaged by the pictures he saw. He and Caroline sat silently for a full half an hour flipping through the pages. Caroline, seeing her favorite depiction of the act, impulsively reached out to hold her teacher's hand. The contact was enough to tip his racing imagination to the edge – without a word, he placed her hand over his hardness; she gave a squeeze, and he was finished. Her first lesson in sexual conjugation had ended.
Many more sessions followed, all carefully planned according to when the household was deserted. Having been raised with little female influences, the question of guarding one's virginity was given some little lip-service by the garden variety nannies and governesses that had taught them. Caroline understood the value of virtue, or at least some resemblance to virtue. Having perfected the art of being invisible, she found her personal conduct was of little notice to her father. Louisa was already out of the household and married, and Charles was absorbed in his studies. It was only natural that she would find companionship with this most desirable young man, and it was only natural that the two of them would explore their newly formed mutual interest in the exotic arts of the orient.
The death of Caroline's father, and her imminent coming of age precipitated the dismissal of the French music master. It was no great blow to her – she knew that the day would come sooner or later. Caroline was soon to be a young woman of the ton, her father's hard work and attention to detail paying off for all of his children, and for the Bingley name. When sitting at stuffy gatherings and teas, her training with the music teacher provided a welcomed distraction as she imagined all the pleasures she'd experienced in her father's study. That was all it was good for, in the end, for she soon learned that pleasure had very little to do with finding and catching a husband, and with the union that followed. Following the leads of the other women in her social group, she covered herself with the mantle of propriety. She was grateful the music teacher had manners and the sense enough to keep his mouth shut about the affair – and that he had enough cognizance to avoid spilling his seed in her. For young ladies of the ton did not bear bastards. It was simply not done.
Yes, at the end of that brief awakening, she had to acknowledge her affection for the dashing young piano teacher, and his soulful eyes and long slender fingers (what strength in those digits – what length!). She did not mind the act of intercourse, no, not a bit, but it was always the activity preceding the act that enlivened her. How he would squirm and sigh and moan under her ministrations. She, too, had her share of squirms and sighs and moans, but nothing gave her more pleasure than to observe the effect she had upon him – what power!
Her sexual power, she learned, had its limits. It was no secret to her that her husband had minimal, if any affection for her. Indeed, by the time their courtship had ended at the altar, she was quite aware his ambivalence toward her could easily be turned to animosity, if she was not careful. And why would it not? He had lost. She had won the game in the end. She'd won Fitzwilliam Darcy as her spouse; she was endowed with a generous allowance, and the management of the biggest household in Derbyshire. It was a magnificent trophy, but not enough for Caroline. For men of the age were truly the ones in power – the ones who gave allowances, and then could take them away. In truth, Darcy could remove her from Pemberley if he so deigned; and that concern was utmost in her mind. For in good society, the woman put aside by her husband was equivalent to the widow or the spinster – a blight to be tolerated, to be pitied, or worse, to be shunned because of their questionable status.
Her luck would not abandon her the early days of their marriage. Her assumption was correct - he nurtured a great deal of bitterness toward her. It was evident that Darcy would not initiate relations with her – out of spite or disgust or hatred, she cared not which. She most definitely needed him to consummate their relationship; the matter was not of romance but of providence. If she could bed him, she could bear his son. She would be the esteemed mother of the next master of Pemberley of Derbyshire. The mother of the son of a wealthy landowner would be a secure position indeed. Propagation of the gentry promoted a natural order and prosperity to the country, so she believed. It was good for the economy, for the business of the estate. The plan seemed simple enough, as women found themselves with child all the time. How many acts could it possibly take? She set about on seducing Darcy immediately.
Again, lucky – the wedding and reception following had left her new spouse sleepy, drunk and very pliable. It was a matter of slipping between the bed covers and utilizing some of the basic maneuvers of the secret book to send him past the point of caring who he was bedding. He had barely the mind to notice her feeble faking the breach of her maidenhead – she had delicately winced, as he entered her gently the first stroke. His virility was evident; it would not take much effort on her part to tease his body to do her bidding, as long as she could keep his head out of the way…and his heart, for that matter.
She knew that Elizabeth Bennet had to be removed if she were to keep Darcy in her bed. In fact, it was the very next day, she found him comforting her – Elizabeth Bennet – in the music room. As long as Elizabeth was in the household, he would be distracted, mooning about her like a lost puppy. Caroline found the only way to divert his attention was to keep him well into his cups, so he would not care if it were she or Elizabeth or the housekeeper caressing him in his boudoir. It annoyed Caroline that such measures were necessary, and wondered how she could remove that chit once and for all. Caroline dare not broach the subject with Darcy again, but as fate would have it, she did not need to. Elizabeth Bennet removed herself – and to the farthest reaches of the world, to boot!
Surely Caroline had reason to breathe easily at this turn of events, but it was not to be so. Shortly after Miss Bennet had made her decision known, Darcy had taken to locking the entrance to his bedroom door. No more could Caroline slip in through the sitting room and have relations with him, taking advantage of his alcohol-induced stupor. In fact, Darcy had ceased his post-nuptial habit of lingering in his study with a bottle of port as night drew on. Indeed, Miss Bennet's announcement that she was leaving for India seemed to have renewed Darcy's spirit, oddly enough.
Caroline guessed why – Darcy had secretly made arrangements to follow the tramp. Although he would deny that he had been designing to do so all along, she knew that must have been the reason for his newly formed sense of peace, even heightened civility around her. It was easy to be cordial to a woman you were deserting. But Caroline could play at that game as well. As soon as she heard of her husband's plans, she knew that she had to secretly gather allies to her side. Her brother Charles was of little use to her – his efforts to persuade Darcy to stay in England were for naught. Caroline would instead turn to a most unusual source for support – her aunt-by-marriage, Catherine DeBourgh.
Knowing full well that Catherine harbored a good deal of ill feelings toward her – she had snatched Darcy away from Catherine's daughter, Anne, after all – Caroline knew the tactic that had to be utilized. Catherine would have to learn of Darcy's unhealthy attachment to the Bennets, his wild chase after Elizabeth, abandoning his wife and lands, and his willingness to disgrace the family for the sake of his base animal needs. She wrote Lady DeBourgh all the illicit details.
Lady Catherine's response was succinct and to the point. She scolded Caroline for her gross exposure of her nephew to such a family to begin with, and especially for allowing the most impertinent young lady to be attached to the Darcys in any way (How could she allow such a girl to continue as Georgiana's companion! As the new Mrs. Darcy, she had to take charge of such matters! This is precisely why her nephew's inferior choice in marriage would lead to disaster for his family! What his poor mother would say were she alive to witness!). However, Lady Catherine was not unfeeling toward the young bride's dilemma (Gentlemen of stature are not unknown to have relations with those beneath them, as they should, for it spares those finer bred young ladies the mortification of constant nocturnal sojourns demanded by the male of the species…). Lady Catherine acknowledged the seriousness of the breech of decorum (Fitzwilliam is grievously deluded to think that abandonment of his young wife, even one born of trade, would be overlooked by the fine families of society – his actions will be blight to the roots of Pemberley, and will most likely destroy the Darcy line forever!). Most importantly, she gave Caroline the license and finances necessary to fund her own expedition across the globe to follow her wayward husband and drag him home for, "it is an English wife's privilege, duty and honor to serve the call of preservation of hearth and home above all else!"
Yes, Caroline Darcy had many talents, many arts of persuasion. But, as she was completing the second month of her journey east, she was convinced she possessed something else. In the short time she spent planning her journey to India, she'd been too preoccupied to notice. The signs had not been so very obvious to her, in truth. By the time she'd boarded the ship, the queasy feeling surely was her body's reaction to the constant rocking and pitching. Even her maid and the male servant she'd chosen to accompany her had some difficulty keeping their stomachs in the first days. Her illness did not subside, however. And – she could be mistaken – she had missed her courses. She was uncertain how many months had passed. Of course, her system was delicate, and it was hard to say if they were missed, or simply put off for a bit, for that was sometimes the case with her. But, there was something else - was her figure changing? And how was that explained? She had not kept down a single meal since coming aboard. She could not possibly be growing fat under the circumstances. Unless…
Yes, she was a lucky, lucky woman. For she had not a doubt she would bear great news to her wandering husband – and he would return with her to Pemberley without a backward glance.