Chapter Eleven
Caroline took off her wrap and folded it neatly before laying it on the side table. Next, she tugged off her own gloves, which
were as soft and blue as the shoes she currently wore, and placed them neatly on top of the wrap. She couldn’t help doing
the same for Georgiana’s wrap and gloves—really, one couldn’t simply walk away from articles of clothing lying around all
askew, for it made the place look untidy—and if performing a small task gave her a moment’s reprieve from carrying out what
she’d been ordered to do, well, that was merely a happy coincidence.
Finally, lacking anything further to fold bar the furniture, Caroline carried the journal into the library, settled herself
at the writing desk in the corner, and placed the open book in front of her. Selecting a quill from an array of Georgiana’s
favourites, she opened an ink bottle and dipped the nib. Before she could touch quill to parchment, she hesitated. What on
earth was she supposed to say? A soul must surely be like the sea, deep and dark, and one could not simply dive in without dipping one’s toe in the water
first to test the temperature.
Dear Self, she wrote. That seemed a sensible way to begin.
I spoke the truth earlier about Miss Merryhill’s house and the gathering we attended today, and yet Georgiana was angry with
me when I voiced my opinions.
She hesitated again.
I suppose I understand that one may feel defensive if one’s friends are criticised in some way, even if the opinions expressed
are correct. I would never stand for anyone criticising Georgiana so, even if they were right about—
“Oh,” she breathed, realisation slamming into place.
Georgiana had told Caroline explicitly that she and Miss Merryhill were friends, but Caroline had not entirely believed it,
due to the difference in status. She had assumed that the relationship had to have been, in part, a sort of charity; that
Georgiana, out of the goodness of her heart, had simply deigned to offer Miss Merryhill a little of her time and energy. It
had never actually occurred to Caroline that perhaps it was a real friendship, or that the kindness might run in both directions.
It took several attempts to picture Miss Merryhill walking miles simply to bring a cake to an orphaned, lonely Georgiana,
but once she had the image fixed in her mind, she suddenly felt rather guilty.
And of course, someone as good and kind as Georgie would feel any slight against her friend as if it were magnified. She may look as gentle as a lamb, but she protects those she cares for as well as any lion.
As she scribbled furiously, another thought took hold. Georgiana had given Caroline a very specific task for her first lesson
at Pemberley—to praise something about each room—and yet Caroline had forgotten to apply this instruction entirely to Miss
Merryhill’s house. Everything she’d said had been a criticism, unameliorated by any praise, which must have made it seem as
if that lesson had never taken place; as if Georgiana had taught her nothing.
The idea became clearer with every word she wrote.
While I am sure there is something to be said for honesty and a clear eye, I forgot to look for something to praise, too.
That was the point, after all, which I entirely missed. I shall correct my failing here, beginning with Miss Merryhill’s house,
for though I thought the brown paint in the hallway ugly—
She paused, then scribbled over the last few words. Praise only, she reminded herself. Surely that could not be so hard. Biting the feathery end of the quill, she closed her eyes and recalled the scene.
The couches in the parlour were of a pleasant firmness, and the legs elegantly carved in dark wood. The furniture appeared
well-cared-for and well-used, indicating that it had been passed down through the family for some generations. Miss Merryhill’s
dress was a worn
a shapeless
an inexpertly
“Oh good grief,” Caroline said, exasperated, scratching out yet another description.
Of the thousands of dresses in the world, Miss Merryhill’s gown had the advantage of belonging to that number.
She surveyed her words with no small pride. That would do nicely. Now she ought to move into praise for the party themselves.
Mr Acton is a talented painter, and I feel sorry that few will ever know of his skill. Miss Merryhill was kind enough to invite
me along to tea when she did not even know me, and served us by her own hands without shame. The Grimleys—
Here, she paused, momentarily bereft of appropriate language. A mortal woman could only do so much in the face of explicit
revulsion.
The Grimleys are nauseating together, but it is clear that they love each other dearly. There is something to be said for
treasuring the happiness of another over your own, and of seeking to further that happiness in every way possible.
With surprise, she found she meant what she’d written. Caroline regarded the page with satisfaction. There. She had experienced a Revelation, with a capital R. Georgiana’s hurt, her wounded look, had cut Caroline deeply. If being kinder meant that her friend—her dearest friend—never
looked like that again, then kinder she would bloody well be. This went far deeper than her urge to best Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Making her way upstairs, Caroline swallowed before knocking on the door of Miss Darcy’s bedchamber. Georgiana did not immediately
answer, and it took a second, firmer knock to elicit a response.
“Come in,” Miss Darcy said, her tone neutral, gaze firmly fixed on the half-written letter in front of her. The quill clutched
in her right hand trembled very slightly as it moved across the page. “How may I help you?”
“I wrote in the journal.” Caroline waved it. “As you so desired.”
“This isn’t about what I want,” Georgiana corrected. “It’s about what you want, is it not? What you asked me to help you to
achieve?”
Caroline drew in a deep breath. “You’re right. And I am sorry,” she said, her voice sounding far too loud in the quiet room.
“Really, I am.”
Georgiana’s quill paused its scratching, though its wielder still did not look up. “How do I know that you are not simply
apologising so that I will agree to continue with your Great Endeavour?”
“You may think what you will, but I’m saying it because I really am sorry.
I know that I hurt your feelings by speaking so of your friend, and, well, I suppose I thought that no one could ever really be angry with me for speaking the truth, however hurtful.
That habit may not easily be broken, I’m afraid.
It may take some time for me to get used to a new one. A better one.”
Georgiana looked up, finally meeting Caroline’s gaze. The expression in Miss Darcy’s eyes was cautious but curious. “I’ve
always wondered why you were so quick to judgement.”
“I suppose I . . . because I expect people to judge me quickly, too.” The low flame of discomfort flickered in Caroline’s
chest. “My mother instilled the idea in me early on that we always had to be on our guard because we were always on display,
and I suppose the notion took hold a little too well.” She swallowed. This was different from dipping a toe in the waters
of her soul. Instead, this felt like slicing it open. “The Bingleys are not an old family like yours, Georgie. We do not have
status borne from long histories, nor the same level of wealth. We cannot afford to make any mistakes regarding our connections.
My cautiousness led me to callousness.”
“Putting others down does not necessarily lift yourself up,” Georgiana pointed out.
“I know.” Guilt lanced through her again, the blade twisting at the remembrance of Georgiana’s expression in the carriage.
“Though I confess I wasn’t thinking so much of height and depth but more of . . . distance. The space between them and us, as Mother would say. Here, you may read what I have written.” She offered the journal, but Georgiana waved it away.
“No, that is for your own personal use. Write in it whenever you need to work something out. That’s what I do.”
Caroline knelt beside Georgiana and clasped her hands earnestly. “I henceforth vow to be better, if only you’ll show me how.”
“Did we not already have this conversation?”
“True, but when first I asked you to help me, I did not quite know what I was asking. I think I comprehend a little more now. I shall stumble often on the road to becoming a better person, but what I do know is this: You are the only one who can help me walk that path.” Caroline widened her eyes and pouted her lips, creating the best puppyish expression she possibly could.
Georgiana looked alarmed. “Do not twist your face so. It makes you look ill.”
“Why, I am ill,” Caroline exclaimed, pressing a hand to her forehead in the most dramatic fashion she could manage. “I sicken
with your dubiety. I swoon with your suspicion. I am feverish with—”
“Yes, alright, you’ve made your point.” Miss Darcy shook her head. “I really do not know why I agreed to go along with your
ridiculous scheme in the first place, but I feel compelled to see it through now, for better or worse.”
“Your good opinion means the world to me,” Caroline admitted, watching Georgiana’s eyes widen. “And I hate to think that I
might have lowered myself in your estimation. I know I do not always say the right thing. In fact, I rarely . . . And I am
aware that I am a long way from . . .” She trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “Do you forgive me? Say you do, for my knees
are beginning to hurt dreadfully.”
“Of course I do, you goose. Please get up.”
Caroline clambered to her feet, relief spreading through her entire body in a cool wave. “And who knows, perhaps teaching
me will furnish you with something, too.”
“An early grave, no doubt,” Georgiana muttered, though she was smiling.
“I need a little more time to finish my correspondence. Can you amuse yourself for an hour or so? I shall come and fetch you, for it looks as if it is clearing up outside and I expect you would like a nice, long walk before dinner.”
“You know me well.” Caroline leaned down and pressed a kiss against Georgiana’s cheek. “Thank you for being such a good friend.”
Georgiana turned away, though not quickly enough; Caroline caught a flash of the pretty blush that crept across her face.
“Out, you devil, before I change my mind.”
Beaming, Caroline obeyed.