Chapter Thirteen #2
so they can be together once more. It’s a rather happy ending, really.”
“But that is not fair.” Caroline sat up straighter, irritation blooming bright as a summer flower. “He failed! He ought not
to have received any reward. How very like a man. I do not suppose that if it had been the other way around—this Euridice
going into the underworld to rescue her lover—that she would have been quite so fortunate if she had failed her task.”
“I believe that Gluck’s interpretation is a more romantic one than the original, where Euridice is forever condemned to the
underworld after Orfeo fails, though I—”
“Any sensible woman would not have looked back in the first place,” Caroline interjected, not content to let the point lie.
“In the Bible, Lot’s wife is told not to look back when Sodom and Gomorrah fall,” Georgiana reminded her, “and when she does,
she is turned into a pillar of salt.”
“Yes, well.” She sniffed. “Rather odd how in both cases, the woman is the one punished, regardless of which member of the
party actually looked back.”
Georgiana laughed. “If you had only been born a man, you would have made a wonderful lawyer.”
“If I had been born a man,” Caroline retorted, “I would have aspired to be the kind who could employ wonderful lawyers to
make arguments on my behalf. Will you perform something else?”
“What would you have me play?”
“Anything you like.”
Georgiana began to play something she often trotted out at parties—a pretty little melody designed to be pleasantly unobtrusive—but Caroline stopped her, holding up a hand.
“No, no, none of that. Something you want to perform, not something you think I want to hear. I’m tired of watching you suffer through these tunes. ”
For a moment, Georgiana’s gaze held hers, burning with a sudden, fierce look that stole Caroline’s breath away. But when she
blinked, the look was gone, replaced with an expression of warm gratitude. “I wasn’t aware that anyone had observed my . . .
suffering. I hope it was not too obvious.”
“Not at all. I notice more than you give me credit for, Miss Darcy.”
“And I credit you more than you notice, Miss Bingley.” She began to play, something ominous and slow, which sounded like a
scythe swinging in tall grass. It was entirely unlike anything Caroline had heard her render before, and yet it suited Georgiana
somehow. Caroline recalled the scent of Miss Darcy’s bedchamber, the roses as dark and sultry as spilled blood. There was
another side to Georgiana that few saw, if any.
Perhaps the lake runs deeper than you think, a voice in her mind supplied. Caroline swallowed and did her best to focus on the music. Now was not the time to think about
lakes again.
“And now, something for the lady,” Miss Darcy said, smiling over at Caroline. “Allow me to please you in turn.”
Surprised, she blinked. “Well, I remember seeing a performance of Dido and Aeneas two or three years ago, which I thought very beautiful. Might you know something from—”
Before she could even finish her sentence, Georgiana played the first few drawn-out notes from Dido’s famous lament, then
beamed at the look of surprise on Caroline’s face.
She sat, entranced, as Georgiana’s playing conjured the memory of the opera as if it were happening all over again right in front of her: Dido, queen of Carthage, clasping the hand of her maid Belinda, begging the girl to remember her mistress but to forget Dido’s fate, which had always seemed to Caroline like a rather impossible request; one could hardly remember a person but forget what had happened to them.
Nevertheless, it was a beautiful and poignant piece which had touched Caroline deeply.
Georgiana played the rest, allowing the tune to die down into a whisper before roaring back to life with a thunderous peal that brought Dido’s vocal ascent perfectly to mind.
Caroline applauded loudly, causing a blush to pink her friend’s cheeks.
“I do not know how you can keep all those melodies in your head at once and pluck from them as easily as one takes a book
from a shelf,” she declared. “It is a mystery to me.”
“It is a skill I have always possessed.” Georgiana shrugged. “Perhaps my head is not full of much else.”
“That is certainly not true.” Caroline admired Georgiana’s figure in the candlelight, reassuring herself that it was perfectly
normal to do so. Why, it was natural that she should be envious of Miss Darcy’s curves; a clever young lady should seek to
acquaint herself with the competition wherever possible. Not that Georgiana was competition, of course. Who could ever compete
with such a gorgeous, talented woman?
“Whatever made you think of this particular opera?” Georgiana asked.
“I am not entirely sure.” Caroline hesitated, forcing her gaze towards the nearest candle flame, which flickered with every breath.
“I recall that it begins with the queen of Carthage complaining about her attraction to the Trojan prince and then her handmaidens arguing that a marriage between the two would bring peace to their queen as well as their respective cities. Something like that, anyway.”
Miss Darcy nodded. “She is a widow, is she not? I seem to recall that much of her reluctance to wed stems from her promise
never to remarry.”
“That is part of it, indeed, but I believe she is concerned that love in any shape or form will make her a weak monarch.”
“And do you agree?”
“With what?”
Georgiana’s gaze was curious. “Do you think love makes one weak?”
“I am no queen,” Caroline said, though the jest fell rather flat. “So it hardly matters how weak or strong I am.”
“You did not answer the question, Miss Bingley.”
“I do not have a suitable response for you, Miss Darcy. I have never been in love, so how could I possibly comment on how
it might make me feel?”
Georgiana opened her mouth to reply, but Caroline interrupted, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.
“I wish I had your talent,” she added, finding herself surprisingly wistful. “I can play the pianoforte well enough, but I
always wanted to learn the harp. Mother insisted it was better for me to stay with the pianoforte. Harps were only for angels,
she said.” She picked another grape, then shot a glance at Georgiana, unable to help but smile. “I suppose she was not wrong
on that account.”
“Why, you ought to have said so sooner! I could teach you,” Georgiana said, hands stilling on the keys. “I could have you
playing something recognisable in mere days.”
“Oh, you needn’t go to any trouble.” An unfamiliar shyness twinged in her chest.
“Your mother isn’t here, Caroline,” Georgiana said, softly. “And even if she were, you are a woman grown who can pursue her own ends. You may do as you wish when there are no eyes to judge. If you want to learn the harp, pray allow me to teach you.”
Caroline hesitated, but Georgiana was right—why shouldn’t she learn something if she wanted to? Playing the harp was unlikely
to get her into trouble of any kind. She was no timid girl of twelve, afraid of her mother’s scoldings. “If you insist.”
“I do.” Georgiana rose, leaning over Caroline to select a few grapes from the bowl. “Come on.”
“What, this instant?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a full dance card this evening?” Georgiana inquired, her smile mischievous.
Caroline rolled her eyes, then rose and re-seated herself on the stool at the opposite side of the room, the harp firmly wedged
between her thighs. “Very well. What ought I do?”
“Try plucking a string,” Georgiana suggested, and Caroline complied, though the string twanged strangely under her fingers.
Miss Darcy smiled. “Ah, I am afraid that you must learn to let it go straight away. Do not hold on, for you will mute the
sound. Here, let me show you.”
Caroline had expected her to bend forward, but instead, Georgiana moved until she was standing behind Caroline, then leaned
down and placed her arms around Caroline’s own. Miss Darcy’s breath was hot against Caroline’s ear, eliciting a strange shiver.
“Watch how I do it,” Georgiana whispered, and Caroline watched those elegant fingers pluck, release, pluck, release. Each
note reverberated in the air, as pure and cold as a single snowflake.
“Now you try it.” Georgiana still had not moved, her bosom pressing into Caroline’s shoulder blades, her warmth sending distracting tingles down Caroline’s spine. Caroline focused on her own hands, which were trembling slightly, and strummed the required string.
“Again,” Georgiana murmured, and Caroline obeyed, making sure she released quickly. “Very good! We shall make an excellent
musician of you yet. Now, I shall show you a few notes. Watch my hands and do as I do.”
The next quarter hour passed in a hazy blur, and by the time Georgiana had stepped back and straightened up, Caroline could
feel beads of sweat rolling down her sides. It had been one thing to see Georgiana wet and almost naked and quite another
to have their bodies pressed together. They had embraced from time to time, of course, as all friends did, but never for so
long nor so close. There had been a lady at an inn last summer, with eyes as green as fresh moss, who had passed Caroline
alone on the stairs and made sure their bodies brushed, her gaze lingering in a knowing way that Caroline hadn’t understood
at the time and wasn’t sure she wanted to understand now. That experience had left her trembling for days, and it had only
been a single encounter, barely lasting two or three seconds; Georgiana had been flush against her for long minutes.
“And remember, you can practice the harp any time you like,” Miss Darcy said. “You are my esteemed guest, after all. I give
full permission.”
Apart from a slight blush, Georgiana looked perfectly normal. She couldn’t possibly have any idea of what was roiling through
Caroline, nor did the close proximity seem to affect her in the same way. “Thank you,” Caroline said, her voice unexpectedly