Chapter Ten #2
“Of course I have. And I feel rather sorry for him,” Georgiana admitted. “I gather that he cannot afford to marry, though
he loves her dearly. She has never told me directly how she feels upon the subject, for she is a shy creature, but I am certain
that she feels the same way.”
“Oh, she reciprocates, I have no doubt. Did not you notice her comment about the painting he gave her? She keeps it upstairs, probably in her chamber where she can look upon it every day. That is not the action of a woman who does not care.” The carriage rolled on, the only sound that of the footman murmuring something to the driver, which produced a quick barking laugh.
Caroline tapped her thumb against her bottom lip, thinking the situation over.
Through the window, she could see the gates of Pemberley approaching; vast, iron, foreboding enough to a stranger but an immensely welcoming sight for a family friend.
“Though I cannot see why he is so interested in Miss Merryhill. She is sweet enough, I grant you, but a painter surely wishes to look at beauty every day. What could such a wife offer him?”
She’d meant it as an offhand comment, but Georgiana stiffened again. “I knew you could be judgemental, but I did not think
you could be cruel. Beauty is so much more than a pretty face or shapely figure.”
Caroline stared at her, entirely lost. “But it is not as if she is here to hear me. Cruelty would have been saying the words
to her face, and trust me, I have known some who would do just that.”
“That does not make it right to say it at all.”
“From what I’ve heard, your own aunt does not mince words. In fact, Lady Catherine de Bourgh is rather known for her forthright
nature, is she not?” Caroline arched an eyebrow. “Did she not visit Miss Elizabeth Bennet only a few months ago? I had heard
a rumour that—”
“Lady Catherine, while possessing many virtues,” Georgiana said tightly, “is not necessarily the person on whom I would recommend
one base one’s commitment to kindness. Look, I am merely asking you to take a moment to consider how your words sound. Imagine,
for a moment, that someone unknown to you met us both at a party, and upon their returning home to their family, they declared
similar opinions of you. How would that make you feel?”
“But I am neither poor nor ugly. I cannot see how—”
“Good heavens, I am only asking you to think before you speak, not impale yourself permanently on the sword of humility!” Miss Darcy exclaimed, as the carriage slowed to a halt outside of the house.
“Miss Merryhill may not be a great beauty, but she is a gracious and generous woman with whom I have been friends for a great many years. After my parents passed, she walked to Pemberley once a week to bring a cake she had baked herself, and to check in on me when Fitzwilliam was away. She did so without expecting anything in return. Her friendship, and the friendship of others which you consider so beneath us, became indispensable to me. I will not hear her abused even a little.” Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles pale.
“Heavens, I was prepared for you to be irritating today, but I had no idea you were going to be downright insufferable.”
Georgiana flounced out of the carriage without a backwards glance, leaving Caroline staring after her with her mouth hanging
open. Insufferable? She followed Georgiana into the hallway, whereupon the latter tugged off her gloves and threw them with gusto onto the side
table.
“I think it a little dishonest to pretend that everyone is worthy of the same amount of respect, no matter how they look or
act,” Caroline said. “I disagree that it is unkind to express a preference for one person over another, or to express one’s
taste. Nor do I think it unkind to acknowledge that the Grimleys, however you slice it, rather embarrassed themselves today.
They may be young and in love, but they lacked decorum.”
Georgiana whirled on Caroline. “You spend far too much time looking outward at everyone else and no time at all looking inward.”
Surprised, Caroline cocked her head. “That’s simply not true. I think about myself every single day.”
“I am talking,” she said through gritted teeth, tearing off her wrap with quick, jerky movements, “of self-reflection. It’s
a wonderful thing. You ought to try it sometime.”
The action revealed the full glory of Miss Darcy’s considerable bosom; it was truly terrible timing, but Caroline could not help a quick glance at the soft skin, the way it heaved and—
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course I am!” Caroline said, more heatedly than she felt, feeling the need to cover up her sudden lapse in attention.
“And how does one reflect on one’s self? Ought I find a looking glass?”
“If you’re not going to take me seriously, then I shall stop talking. And what’s more”—Miss Darcy glared at her—“I shall stop
helping with your Great Endeavour.”
If even Georgiana’s patience was running out, then there was surely no one on earth who’d put up with Caroline long enough
for her to achieve her goal. “No, wait,” she said hastily. “I’m listening. What do you mean by ‘self-reflection’?”
“Well, you might consider sitting in a quiet room and writing about your feelings.”
“Whatever for?”
Georgiana’s long-suffering sigh was almost certainly going to induce sad lung, though now did not seem like a good time to
remind her of the dangers of such a condition. “In order to discover what lies inside you, if indeed anything does.” Georgiana
disappeared into the library for a moment and returned with a pretty leather-bound journal, which she shoved unceremoniously
into Caroline’s hands.
Caroline turned the journal over, admiring the cover, which had been embossed with an intricate floral pattern. “What am I
supposed to write?” she asked, but Miss Darcy was already halfway up the stairs.
“You’re so clever, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Georgiana called over her shoulder. “Until you do, I shall be otherwise engaged.”
Caroline stared down at the journal. The journal stared back blankly.
Fine, she thought. If Georgiana wishes me to examine the very deepest recesses of my soul, then examine I shall. What could possibly go wrong?