Caroline descended the stairs of Bingley House with Louisa and Mary. The Bingleys and Hursts were assembled and visibly relieved at her appearance. Also in attendance was a rather intense young man dressed in much less fine attire than the others.
“Ah, Mr. Tucker!” said Caroline. “Here is your wayward wife, sir. I hope you are well.”
“Perfectly well, Miss Bingley. On behalf of my wife, I thank you for the invitation.”
“That is quite unnecessary. How could I have such a ball without my friends? It is I who must thank you for attending.”
Tucker offered his arm to Mary, who took it readily. At that moment, the Darcys, together with Georgiana and Kitty, made their appearance, and the various families spent some time in welcome.
Caroline had greeted all her guests when she noticed a figure in black with a sash of red standing in a shadowy doorway. She could almost make out his intense blue eyes staring at her. As Colonel Sir John Buford strode towards her, Caroline felt weak. She could not move if she wanted to—and she did not want to move. Within a breath, her intended was before her, ignoring all others around them.
“Good evening, Caroline,” Buford said as his eyes strayed from her face to her bodice.
“Good evening, Sir John.” Her voice was reasonably steady.
His hand slowly reached for and held the cameo, the back of his fingers gently caressing her skin. “I see you have worn your gift. I am pleased that it looks so well on you.”
Caroline did not blush—she flushed from her cheeks down, due to his attentions. “I… I must thank you for such a wonderful gift. But how was it made? I sat for no commission. How did you come by my likeness?”
He placed it upon her bosom. “From memory,” he stated, blue eyes boring into her. Violating all propriety, his lips descended upon hers with the lightest of kisses. Straightening up, he looked at his astonished audience with arrogant confidence as though he were challenging anyone to rebuke him for claiming what was his.
A new feeling joined the flutterings, but this time Caroline knew the name of it, for she had felt this before. Desire. At that moment, she cared not what other people thought; she only wanted their wedding to be the next day rather than a fortnight away.
As soon as the sentiment washed over her, she reached for her vaunted self-control. This would not do. They had guests coming, and she would not embarrass herself before their guests. She gave her intended an arch look.
“Control, sir!” she whispered. “Why, you act like a schoolboy instead of a colonel in His Majesty’s army! Take your position beside me, Sir John.” With that she entwined her arm in his, drawing him to stand at her side. Turning to the others, she said, “You really must forgive him. He is only a soldier, after all.”
“I think I need a drink,” said Hurst.
Rather than chastised, Sir John was pleased. Once again, Caroline had passed a test.
Caroline had heard of Sir John Buford, Colonel of Cavalry in His Majesty’s ——nd Light Dragoons, awarded the Bath for his actions in Spain with Wellesley, now Duke of Wellington. He was celebrated as dashing, brave, well off, charming, intelligent, and exceptionally handsome. It was also whispered that he was a rake and cuckolder—a seducer of bored ladies of the ton. If Caroline believed half of the stories Annabella Adams, now Mrs. Norris, told about him, it would seem he bedded a quarter of the well-bred wives in London.
Caroline gave the man no notice. If she wanted a thirty-year-old soldier, there was always Mr. Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Consequently, she was completely mystified when Sir John began to seek out her company at Almack’s. He asked for the supper dance and was very gallant towards her.
At first, she was amused. If Sir John thought he was going to get under her petticoat, he had another thought coming. But as the weeks went on, she continually met him at dances, at dinner parties, and in the park. It seemed the man went out of his way to put himself in her path. He was always the perfect gentleman. Never once did he attempt to take advantage of her, and their conversations were not the flirtatious ones of would-be lovers. Instead, they talked of music, family, and even current events. Their conversations seemed to be more interview than courtship.
As spring turned to summer, Caroline found that Sir John visited her several times a week. She had to admit she enjoyed his company and looked forward to their talks, but she was disturbed as well. It was true she was five-and-twenty, but her reputation was all she had. Was she endangering her future by encouraging such a man?
She could tell that Charles, Jane, and even Louisa were uneasy as well. Strangely enough, the Darcys did not seem concerned in the least that she was so often in Sir John’s company. At first, Caroline thought the former animosity between the two ladies had reasserted itself, but it turned out that Eliza and Darcy had received such good reports of Sir John from both Colonel Fitzwilliam and another acquaintance of theirs, a Colonel Brandon, they seemed to promote the gentleman. Caroline thought it odd that people as upright as the Darcys would claim close acquaintance with a man of Sir John’s reputation, but she was relieved, too. Yet she remained undecided.
In August, Caroline attended a ball given by an acquaintance of her friend, Annabella. She had begun to distance herself from Sir John, uncertain of her feelings or his intentions. Unfortunately, the attentions paid to Caroline by the colonel had affected her reputation in at least one person’s mind. In a darkened hallway, an inebriated Sir Horace Washburn began taking liberties with Caroline’s person, declaring his desire to take her as his mistress. Outraged beyond words, she had only begun to fight back when the baronet was snatched bodily from her person. Sir John, in a cool rage, looked the villain full in the face before casting the drunken man to the floor. In a clipped, emotionless voice, he informed Washburn that should he touch Miss Bingley again, he would not call him out but simply run him through. With only a word of concern for her physical state, he seized Caroline’s arm and escorted her home to Bingley House in silence.
A few days later, Sir John called upon her, acting as if the incident had never happened.
Finally, as September began to fade and Caroline’s time in London was coming to an end, she felt the need to settle her thoughts. When Sir John called, she suggested a walk to a nearby park, Abigail trailing behind as chaperone.
“Sir John, I apologize for not doing so before, but I must thank you for the uncommon gallantry you showed on my behalf last month with Sir Horace,” she began.
“Think nothing of it. Any gentleman would do the same for a lady in distress,” he replied.
Any gentleman? she thought. Does he have no feelings for me? “That may be, sir, but it is you who have earned my thanks.” They walked on in silence for the next few minutes, Caroline’s feelings in turmoil. They came to a rather private spot along the walk, and Sir John suggested a rest. Caroline was puzzled by his choice, especially when he did not join her on the bench. Instead, he held up his hand, indicating that Abigail should keep her distance, and looked up at the sky.
“I understand you are to leave London for Hertfordshire soon,” he began.
“Yes, my brother is removing to a new estate recently purchased in Nottinghamshire. My family needs me to help prepare for the move.”
“It is a fine thing to own one’s own place,” he replied rather offhandedly. “I am sure your sister will miss her relations.”
“That is true, to be sure. Mrs. Bingley would be very affected were not her sister, Mrs. Darcy, residing in the next county.”
“Of course, of course. Pemberley is in Derbyshire. How would you like living that far north?”
How would I like living there? How can he ask that, knowing my pursuit of Mr. Darcy? she thought. “Very well, I think, but one place is like another.”
“I see.” He was silent for a while. “Miss Bingley, I have a request. May I be permitted, or do I ask too much, to call upon you in Nottinghamshire?”
Surprised by the request, she blurted out, “Why?”
“Why?”
In for a penny, she thought. “Yes, why? What are your intentions, Colonel?”
“My intentions?” he cried. “They should be clear enough!”
Caroline was horrified. It is as I feared. He wants me for his mistress.
Sir John paced about in an agitated manner, muttering, “Too soon, too soon,” then he paused and took a breath. “Please forgive my outburst. It was not my intention to speak now; you do not know me well enough. But, madam, you force my hand! I shall speak, and then my fate shall be in your hands. But before I make my request known to you, I must ask you to indulge me this small thing. I must speak about my past. Will you allow me to speak my part in full before you respond? Afterwards I shall answer any questions you have. Please grant me this favor. I know I ask much.”
Caroline silently nodded.
“My reputation has preceded me, I fear, and I must, in all good conscience, make this confession. I have not lived as I should. I know this, and I am ashamed. Some men make light of this; they are ‘men of the world,’ but I know better. For some time, I have failed as a gentleman.” He smiled slightly. “I am sure you have heard tales.”
Caroline blanched.
“Be not alarmed, madam,” he quickly added, “I may have lived selfishly, but as God is my witness, I have never compromised the innocence of any maiden, low or high born. And I have never forced my attentions upon any woman. All of my… associations have been with aggressive, experienced partners from among the ton—”
“Other men’s wives, you mean!” Caroline could not help blurting out.
“If you speak of women—I do not use the term ladies—who hold their marriage vows so lightly that they flirt with their lovers at Westminster Cathedral itself, then yes, that is who I mean. But know this—I was not their first, and I was certainly not their last! Do not pity their husbands. They are too busy with their own dalliances to mind their duties, as you so unfortunately discovered.” At this, Caroline blushed and turned away. “Forgive me—I have distressed you.”
“No, I am well, I assure you,” Caroline replied.
“You are too kind,” Sir John said softly. He looked out into the greenery about them. “I tell you these things not to excuse my behavior—for it cannot be excused—but that you know the whole truth of it. I sought no one out. I was always approached. But I was weak. I sought a few moments pleasure and found emptiness.” He sighed and turned to her. “You, so pure, cannot know how pathetic a life I lived.”
Can I not, Colonel?
“Three years ago, I suddenly saw the waste my life had become. I saw men die for friends, for their king, for a flag! I vowed to be worthy of them, of my late father—to be a gentleman again. Since my return to Britain, I have lived as I should, no matter what the gossips of society say. I have reformed. I give you my word before God as an officer in the king’s army.”
Caroline was silent for a while. The colonel’s confession had the ring of truth. What mortification he must have suffered to make such a declaration! How was she to judge him, given her sins? There was one issue not resolved—for how many sins must he be forgiven? Did she really want to know? Yet, she could not be a woman and not ask.
In a small voice, Caroline asked, “How many women?”
Sir John struggled. “Though they do not deserve it, as a man wishing to be a gentleman, I will not name them. But I am sure it is far less than the number you have been told.”
“That will not do, Colonel. Is it more than ten?”
Sir John looked away and finally said, “You can count my relationships upon one hand and not use all the fingers.”
“Am I acquainted with any of them?” she had to ask, knowing his answer.
“I cannot say. Only know this—I would never insult my friends by having them or any of that set enter my house.”
Caroline was silent again. She had only one question left, and she feared to voice it. Finally, she found courage. “What do you want of me, Colonel?”
“I see fear in your eyes. I do not blame you. What tales you have undoubtedly been told! I am still afraid to state my desires—yes, I am afraid! But I must. Please do not give me your answer yet. Take time to consider it carefully. I place my trust in your justice.” Sir John drew breath. “I wish you to become my mistress—”
Caroline gasped.
“—the mistress of my house, the mother of my heirs, the wife of my body. I formally ask to court you with the object of matrimony.”
To say that Caroline was stunned would be incorrect. She would have to be sensible to be stunned. It was the very last thing she expected Sir John to say. Frozen on the bench, questions flooded her mind.
Matrimony? He wants to marry me? Sir John Buford wishes to court me? Do I want him to? How can I marry a rake—a former rake? Was I so much better? What I did to poor Jane, who would never hurt anyone… Sir John… I would be Lady Buford—stop it! I am closer to six and twenty than not. Would a better offer ever be made? He is handsome, and he has been kind. My God, he threatened to kill for me! He wants me—has protected me. What would I give to him? On and on her thoughts flew, but in the end, she had no choice.
“Colonel Buford, you ask to court me?” she asked.
“Yes, Miss Bingley. Please take all the time you need to—”
She held up her hand. “Nottinghamshire is some distance from London or Wales. Is that a difficulty for you?”
“No distance would be too far.”
“And for how long would you court me before expecting an answer?”
“You are my heart’s choice, therefore, I will await your—”
“Please, Colonel.” She sighed. “I see no profit in such an exercise when it would make no difference with the eventual answer. Therefore, I shall give you my answer now. Yes, I believe that you have reformed your life, and I forgive you all past transgressions. No, you may not court me. Yes, I will marry you.”
“Pardon me?” Sir John asked, confused.
Caroline smiled. “Colonel Buford, I see no reason to postpone the inevitable. I would be happy and honored to become your wife.”
Surprise gave way to joy, which gave way to satisfaction on Sir John’s face. Regaining control, he reached out, helping Caroline to rise from the bench. He softly began kissing the back of her hands while saying, “Caroline, my own.”
Caroline was almost overcome by the sight of this extraordinarily handsome man taking such liberties with her. The skin under his lips tingled, and the memory of walking into the Netherfield library while her brother and Jane were stealing a moment of affection ignited a longing of… something. She was unsure what that craving was, but perhaps if she imitated her relations’ activity, she would discover it.
“John,” said Caroline, using his Christian name, “if I must marry a man with your reputation, should not I receive some benefit from it?” At his renewed confusion, she added, “Surely you can do better than this,” as she indicated her hands. She had forgotten all about Abigail.
Caroline never realized that blue eyes could become so dark. Sir John lowered her hands to her side and took her into his arms, a slow smile creeping over his face.
“Oh yes, Caroline, much better.”
He lowered his lips to hers. The kiss started light and tender, but began to build in passion as Caroline surprised herself by kissing him back. He drew her even more firmly into his embrace, and the warmth of his closeness set a fire that threatened to engulf her body. Caroline’s hands rose to his broad shoulders, hard and firm beneath his coat, when she felt his tongue brush her lips. Startled back into control, she pushed herself away slightly.
“Yes… much better, sir. But we should return to the house, I think.” Caroline smiled weakly. She quickly became mortified on catching sight of a shocked Abigail.
“Of course, of course. Let me give you my arm,” her newly betrothed said. As the couple began making their way back to Bingley House, Sir John asked, “To whom should I speak? Your brother, I should think. May I approach him this evening?”
Caroline shook herself and answered, “Yes, speak to Charles.”
Only later would she remember that he and Jane were at Netherfield.
The Buford family of Wales was announced in the ballroom of Bingley House. The dowager Mrs. Albertine Buford came forward to greet her son and his intended. Walking beside her were Mr. and Mrs. Philip Buford, the current masters of the family estate, and her daughter, Lady Suzanne Douglas.
“Caroline!” cried Mrs. Buford in her slight French accent that thirty years in Wales had not eliminated. “How lovely you look tonight. And this is very becoming,” she said, eyeing the cameo. “My son spoils you.”
Caroline blushed while Sir John looked on with pleasure. “Thank you, Mrs. Buford.”
“Caroline! I must insist—it is Mother Buford! Rebecca is Mrs. Buford now.”
Caroline tried not to roll her eyes. “Yes, of course, Mother Buford.” She greeted the others. “Philip, Rebecca, Lady—er, Suzanne.”
Sir John frowned. “Is Lord Douglas not coming?”
Lady Douglas took Caroline’s hand. “Forgive us—tenant troubles in Scotland. He promises most firmly he will be present for the wedding.”
The Buford family continued to exchange pleasantries with everyone while once again Caroline wondered at the kindness shown her. For such a fine family, they were certainly informal. They were undoubtedly standoffish in the beginning. Why, Sir John, a second son, came with two thousand pounds a year! Perhaps they thought she was after his fortune. Now she wondered whether they were truly fond of her or simply happy that Sir John was settling down. If it were the latter, how long would their kindness last?
The butler approached to interrupt them. The first guests were arriving.