Chapter Sixteen
When they reached the house, Caroline excused herself while Georgiana trotted off to return the now-empty wicker basket to
Mrs Addlecombe.
In the guest room, Caroline paced from side to side in a manner that was starting to feel like a familiar rhythm. The very
idea of kissing Georgiana was preposterous. Completely absurd. Women do not kiss other women, do they? Her footsteps faltered in front of the window, and she stared unseeing at the blue sky beyond. Actually, Caroline had no idea
whether women did this or did not do this. Louisa, who was five years her elder, had been her sole source of knowledge for
all things salacious, though this font of wisdom admittedly had been rather dry on most subjects. Growing up, Caroline had
very few friends bar Louisa’s group of select girls, who were equally of an age with her sister and had not been inclined
to share secrets and gossip with someone so much younger.
She spun on her heel, marching across the floor again as if the very boards themselves could have answers wrung out of them.
Of course, one could argue that in society, women ought to kiss men—or rather, the other way around—only once married.
Out of wedlock, nothing untoward should occur between the sexes, that was well-known, but between the same sex, might it be possible that people indulged in . . .
Hmm.
Caroline had only a loose idea of what happened in the bedchamber after a wedding, based on her mother’s scant explanation
a few days after she’d had her first blood, but that had been enough to turn her stomach. Yet when she pictured—and oh dear,
wasn’t even imagining such a thing a sin?—a woman next to her instead, breathing heavily, delicate hands reaching for her
own body and clasping it with tenderness and—
Heat rushed to her cheeks, followed by an additional wave of warmth much further south. Physical affection had been largely
absent from Caroline’s life, apart from the occasional embrace from a friend or family. Her mother had not been the tactile
sort, and her father, who had been much more warm-hearted, had been led by his wife’s firm belief that too much tenderness
resulted in weakness of character. The very small amount of kissing Caroline had experienced so far had been completed in
the utmost secrecy. Her childhood friend Victoria had beautiful red ringlets which quite entranced Caroline; at twelve, they’d
exchanged brief kisses on the lips as part of some playacting, which had made Caroline’s stomach feel as if it were turning
somersaults. Victoria’s parents had moved away a year later, and Caroline had boxed up the memory as simply girlish foolishness.
The breathless anticipation which she’d felt every time Victoria’s lips had touched hers had been merely a reaction to her
first exploration of the world.
Hadn’t it?
Caroline frowned, marching back towards the window again.
When she was sixteen, she’d allowed the neighbour’s roguish son to kiss her several times, and while that had proved interesting, particularly when he’d introduced his tongue into the equation, it hadn’t resulted in her falling in love.
The young man had once tried to take things further, his hand creeping towards her breast, but she’d baulked, cutting off the affair—if one could even call it that—shortly afterwards.
He had accepted the rejection with dignity and moved on swiftly, which had relieved her, for the idea of someone knowing a secret by which they might seek to control her or embarrass or, worse, ruin her reputation, would have been the most terrible thing in the world.
Caroline shook herself. She had been a mere child then, not a woman grown. Kissing when twelve or sixteen was very different
from kissing at three-and-twenty; the fresh ache between her legs was proof enough of that. She threw up her hands in frustration,
then covered her face with them and let out a low groan. It was impossible to think when her body thrummed with such urgent
need, but there was no way of addressing it now, not when her mind was so full of Georgiana.
Would that be so bad? the little voice in her head asked. To finally finish what you began a few days ago?
Caroline swivelled, the bed catching her eye. The soft, inviting bed, where relief would find her very, very swiftly. Oh dear. The act would surely take no more than seconds, considering how wound up she felt. Yet if she gave in, it would be tantamount
to admitting that her attraction, however ridiculous, was real. At the very least, it would be difficult to look Miss Darcy
in the eye afterwards. She is an excellent friend, Caroline reminded herself, fingers pressed to her lips as if trying to keep a confession inside. An excellent friend who is helping me in my Great Endeavour and who does not deserve repayment in sinful thoughts. An excellent
friend who has the most delicious-looking—
No. This would never do. She had to get a grip immediately. She had to think of nothing but her forthcoming lunch with Mr Radcliffe and his broad shoulders. Bunching her skirts in her hands, Caroline fled the room before she could succumb to any mattress-related temptation.
During the interminably long day that followed, Caroline prattled on about anything and everything, engaging Georgiana in
the dullest and most unflirtatious discussion she could possibly think of, even going so far as to locate and read long passages
from A Dissertation on the Chief Obstacles to the Improvement of Land, and Introducing Better Methods of Agriculture Throughout
Scotland in the hopes of quelling her libido. By the time they said their farewells in the upstairs hallway that night, her mind was
full of rippling fields of wheat, thoroughly ploughed furrows, and swelling buds bursting from the ground with only the lightest
encouragement. She was beginning to wonder whether she was genuinely in the process of losing her mind. Georgiana, for her
part, had borne it all with polite—if rather baffled—grace. It was at least nice to know that if one truly was descending
into madness, that one’s friends would tolerate the journey with good cheer.
Alone in her bedroom at last, Caroline performed her usual ablutions and got into bed, lying ramrod straight and trying to recall each of the obstacles to land improvement mentioned in the large book.
When finally she drifted off, she found herself walking through a meadow, hands outstretched, tall grasses on either side brushing her palms with the lightest tickles.
She could not say how long she remained in the meadow, for it was well-known that dreamtime did not pass in the same way as ordinary time did, but the moment when she emerged from the grass and stepped out onto the shore of the lake was both an unwelcome shock and somehow entirely unsurprising.
Georgiana’s dark head bobbed on the surface of the water, her shoulders two pale peaks on either side as she made her way slowly to the shore.
Caroline braced herself, promising she would not look upon that which tempted her most, but when the moment came, God himself could not have torn her gaze away from the sight of Georgiana in a soaked petticoat.
Caroline groaned as Georgiana emerged from the water, the fabric clinging to every curve as it had done on that first day,
but Miss Darcy did not stride forward as she expected. Instead, Georgiana stood there, fair hair plastered to her high cheekbones,
her dark eyes full of longing, her gaze raking Caroline from head to foot.
Puzzled, Caroline looked down. She too was wearing only a single petticoat, and was equally soaked through, though she did not feel at all cold.
When next she looked up, she found that Georgiana’s hand was outstretched, as if inviting her to swim.
Caroline took a step forward, cool water sloshing over her bare toes.
There was hardly any resistance, which was not at all usual; instead, the water felt and looked more like shadowed air, dank and dim, like the inside of some long-forgotten coastal cave.
Her grasping fingers found Georgiana’s, and the smile which Miss Darcy gave her—not the practiced, polite smile of the ballroom, but something shyer and more hopeful—was enough to make her knees weak.
Before Caroline could reach Georgiana, Miss Darcy turned, leading her down as the lakebed tilted at a sharp angle.
Caroline had expected them to begin swimming at some point but instead they continued walking as if still on land.
When the water slopped over her chin, she drew back, startled, but Georgiana kept going, her fingers slipping from Caroline’s grasp, and she was forced to decide whether to hold on or lose her to the darkness.
Caroline refused to let go, taking a deep breath as the water closed over her head, but in the next moment she found that
she could manage well enough without air, though the water tasted of salt and sweat in a way that made her want to lick at
it. The deeper they walked, the less Caroline could make out anything in front of her. The only constant was the shape of
Georgiana and the hot press of her fingers around Caroline’s. She opened her mouth to ask where they were going, but the answer
came before she could get a word out.
Thirty feet ahead, a cave mouth yawned open, impossibly black even in this inky darkness. Caroline did halt then, a prickle
of fear raising the hairs on her arms—for one did not simply walk into an unknown cave without any sort of discussion about
what might lie inside—but the shape of Georgiana paused, turned, came back to her and pressed close enough for Caroline to
feel every inch against her own. She rested her head against Georgiana’s shoulder, her free hand winding around Georgiana’s
neck. She was determined to soak in the feeling, to absorb every detail that she could not possibly achieve when awake, but