A/N: Several readers requested an addendum for Caroline's discovery of what happened later. Also, I still don't own Pride and Prejudice.

Epilogue, Several Months Later

Mrs. Edwards (née Bingley) rose at the usual late morning time and rang for her personal maid to bring fresh cool water. The day was going to be another hot one, but then, every day in India tended to be such; so, monotonous, to be sure. However, the more moderate evenings made up for the discomfort, for at least once every fortnight she was able to display the social refinement of which she was so proud. In truth, the former snubbed heiress was now the premiere hostess in Bombay, thanks to her husband's widowed relation.

Caroline had been aware that the man she had chosen to marry (after that distasteful episode in Hertfordshire) was from a cadet branch of the Earls of ―, although, alas, too distant to be in any reasonable contention for the title. What she had not discovered until her acceptance of his offer was that he was the favourite great-nephew of another family member who had made his fortune in India; one which rivalled the size of her brother's, to be precise about the matter. She sometimes considered that the haut ton, which considered one generation removed from trade a reason for shame, was hypocritical for deeming the same palatable with a proper pedigree and the physical distance of a continent and a half.

To further ingratiate himself in his relative's esteem, Mr. Edwards had insisted upon an almost scandalously brief engagement so that the couple could book passage to India as a wedding trip. It was on this voyage where Caroline learned that she had the constitution of a sailor and that her husband...did not. By the time they arrived at their ultimate destination, she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times which she had endured the act of the marital bed, a procedure which distinctly underwhelmed her.

The result of days at sea unencumbered by her ailing husband provided her with ample time to plot her revenge on the dastardly Mr. Darcy. At the first port of call (delayed somewhat because of that despicable Corsican), she posted letters to her most gossipy friends, insinuating that no woman would ever be the object of affection for the man of Derbyshire. In this case, his own standoffish nature at balls and routs bolstered the story's veracity. She had originally planned to insinuate an affaire with the countrified Eliza Bennet (not that she would besmirch her name, just provide enough description for the inquiring person to ascertain her identity), but Caroline found that the implication that Mr. Darcy patronized molly houses much more delightful.

After her breakfast of tea and plain biscuits—soon after their arrival she had been forced to descend to the kitchens and inform the native cook that she would have none of those foreign spices in her good English food—she heard her husband arrive.

"Good morning, Mrs. Edwards," he greeted her, and she held out her hand for a kiss. "The HMS ― arrived yesterday and dropped off a month's worth of newspapers at the offices. Uncle Henry thought you might find it amusing to see what has been happening in London. I must say I miss rainy cold England at the moment." He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, elegantly monogrammed by his wife.

"Indeed," Caroline retorted, "but men were always clothed more appropriately for the climate back home."

"That's so," he smiled, trying in vain to solicit one in return, "but now the tables are turned, it seems. I say, why don't you go out today and arrange to have some dresses made with the local fabric? It seems like the people here know best what suits for the heat."

"Perhaps I shall," she replied absently, arranging the ironed papers in chronological order, "as soon as I finish these."

"Then I shall leave you to it." He bowed and left.

Caroline did not particularly need new clothing, considering all that she had purchased for her trousseau. Said trousseau had cost Charles four times the going rate for the rush, and half of the outer wear was for cooler weather than she was apt to find here. However, once her body had acclimated to the tropical temperatures of Bombay, she perceived that the lighter airy gowns most pleasant. And if it grew too sultry, why there were servants to pull the punkahs or carry her about town in a palanquin in search of cool drinks of fruit juice and a breeze.

Come to think of it, she narrowed her eyes, those silk fabrics I admired last week would make such an impact in London's ballrooms; the colours are so garish that I will need to limit them to shawls or underdresses, but wearing them would prove to all that I, the erstwhile easy-to-dismiss Caroline Bingley, am a world traveler and a fashion setter in place of a follower. She decided then and there to follow her husband's suggestion.

The serving man topped off her tea and left the room to procure more biscuits. Very well, she lifted her cup, once I have caught up on Ton activities, I will order an excursion to the market. Now, let me see who is in the personal notices...

Amrit was so startled by the screams which emanated from the breakfast room that he almost dropped his tray. Kunal scurried from the main dining room, where he had been polishing the silver. "What has happened to the memsahib now?" he asked, his eyes cutting with fear down the hallway.

"I know not," the slighter man said with widened eyes, "but you should tell Bharata-rasoiya to add an extra honey pot to Kali's offering today."

Mrs. Darcy trembled, and her maid paused in braiding her hair for her morning walk. "Did you hear that?" Elizabeth inquired.

"Yes'm," replied Anna Cole, Miss Bingley's former underdresser.

"I wonder the source of that screech?" mused the mistress of Pemberley.

"Not sure, mum, but whatever it was had a familiar ring."