Chapter Seventeen #2
Seizing the opportunity to change the subject, Caroline pressed Mr Radcliffe to tell her tales of his exploits at Oxford, which he was more than happy to do.
The conversation, if one could call such a thing which continued only on one side, reminded her of her mother.
Caroline was now certain Mrs Bingley would approve of Mr Radcliffe, but the very idea of her mother approving the match put her off even further.
The home which she had barely been able to envisage with Mr Radcliffe in the first place now seemed to hold echoes of Hadley Hall; all polished surfaces and pearly smiles, with not a single iota of genuine feeling or warmth underneath it all.
Caroline was surprised to find herself longing to be back on the worn couch in Pemberley’s library, which had at least been used by people who treasured it and genuinely liked each other’s company.
They made it through the rest of luncheon without further incident, and Caroline breathed a sigh of relief when they were
back in the carriage, though she still felt as if she had the weight of a hundred glazed eyes upon her. She would surely have
nightmares about that inn for the rest of her life.
“I will be travelling through Lancashire in a couple of weeks,” Mr Radcliffe announced, as they neared the gates of Pemberley.
“I would very much like to take you to luncheon a second time, Miss Bingley. Your family rents Hadley Hall, does it not?”
Clearly he had vetted her with his fellows before offering his first invitation, though there was no need to put quite so
much emphasis on rents. Many respectable families leased estates these days. “Oh, Miss Bingley has no plans to return home any time soon,” Georgiana
said coolly, before Caroline could answer. “We have been having such fun together here.”
“That is true,” Caroline said, trying not to bristle at being spoken for, “but I cannot encroach on Miss Darcy’s hospitality
forever.” She was torn—with the Radcliffes staring at her expectantly, it was difficult to reject the offer, but she had no
intention of ever being alone with them again.
“Then perhaps I shall see you at the Percys’ next ball,” he said in a warm tone, bestowing his most dashing smile on her.
“I have heard that they throw very grand parties,” Caroline said. “Although—”
“Neither Caroline nor I have been invited to that particular event,” Georgiana interjected. “Though I think it likely that
we shall be busy that day, in any case.”
Miss Radcliffe’s expression plummeted, as did the temperature inside the carriage.
“Our lack of invite is no fault of the hosts, for I know them not at all,” Caroline said hastily, wondering just how injured she would be if she opened the door of the moving carriage and flung herself out. “However—that is to say—”
“Do not fret. I shall ensure the Percys send you a direct invite for you and your”—he glanced at Georgiana—“friend.”
The carriage finally ground to a stop, and Caroline sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward. “I would be most obliged, sir,”
Caroline said, swinging the door open as fast as she dared without causing insult. “I look forward to seeing you there. Come,
Miss Darcy, we must hasten inside,” she added, not daring to look up at the bright blue sky, which held not a single cloud
of any shade, “for I fear it will rain any moment.”
The instant they were inside the house with the door shut behind them, Caroline turned on Georgiana. “What on earth is the
matter with you? I did not ask you to speak for me. Or do you think I am incapable of managing—”
“I do not think anything of the sort,” Georgiana said, an angry red flush spreading down her neck. She took off her gloves,
but rather than flinging them onto the side table like she usually did, she clutched them like a lifeline. “You are not even
interested in the man, so why do you encourage him? Are you toying with him? It is rather poor form to do so if you have no
intentions.”
“I am not toying with him,” Caroline said, attempting to keep her temper in check. “But it is difficult to extricate one’s
self from such a situation without causing offense, and you made that much harder than it needed to be.”
“I—” A muscle jumped in Georgiana’s jaw.
“Very well. I apologise. His sister was rude, and I could not forgive the slight, for I care for my cousins very deeply, and that has perhaps coloured my judgement and my temper. But if you are in love with Mr Radcliffe, then I shall endeavour to look past that.”
“Heavens, no! I do not like him at all,” Caroline admitted. “Did you not hear what he said about the Chesters? I would have
thought you happy that I was not interested in a man for whom unkindness seems to be rather a sport. To say nothing of his
compulsion to murder any animal unlucky enough to stray across his path. No, he and I are ill-suited indeed.”
“And so,” Georgiana pressed, stepping closer, “why not break it off cleanly? Why lead him on? Do you think you can simply
use him as a means to connect yourself with his rich friends in the hopes of landing one of them? Is that why you asked so
many questions about his friends from Oxford?”
Stung, Caroline glared at her. “I,” said she, drawing herself to her fullest height, which made very little difference in
comparison to Miss Darcy’s, “may not have your wealth or name, but I am not so low that I need throw myself at the first man
with three thousand a year. I merely wanted to get through luncheon, and then I fancied an invite to this grand ball, which
sounded rather lovely, but neither was it an offer of marriage or an acceptance of such. I did not wish to humiliate the gentleman
by rejecting his offer outright. You needn’t— Oh!” She halted, struck by a sudden inspiration. “You’re jealous,” she breathed.
“Of course. Why did I not see it before?”
“I— What?” Georgiana froze, her eyes wide. “No, I am not.”
“You are!” Caroline watched as Georgiana spun on her heel and headed into the library, evidently escaping to her place of safety.
She followed so closely behind that she almost trod on the back of Miss Darcy’s slipper.
“Why, Georgie, you needn’t worry. As soon as I have locked down a match for myself, we can immediately set about the business of locating one for you. ”
Georgiana stopped short, and Caroline only just avoided crashing into the back of her. “You have me entirely wrong,” she said,
her tone clipped, turning to glare at Caroline.
“Then perhaps you want Mr Radcliffe for yourself?” Caroline suggested.
“That is not— I have no interest whatsoever in Mr Radcliffe!” Georgiana looked deeply wounded. “I could never desire such
a person, obsessed with fortunes and titles, who doesn’t care one whit for the real character of those around him. I cannot
believe you would say such a thing, Caroline, even in jest. I thought you knew me much better than that.”
The conversation was becoming more infuriating by the second. “Then if we are in agreement that neither of us is remotely
interested in Mr Radcliffe, then why on earth are we fighting about him?”
“We are fighting because you have learned nothing. You seek to use Mr Radcliffe for his connections, like a stepping-stone
to greater men. That is not kindness. That is not—”
“That is a very bad-faith interpretation of my actions,” Caroline interrupted, barely tempering her annoyance. “And even if
that were so, what would it matter? Should a man who has shown himself to be loathsome be cast aside entirely, which would
not benefit anybody, rather than put to good use to better my situation?” Caroline threw up her hands. “Why are you acting
as if you do not understand exactly why I did not reject him outright in front of his sister, nor why I accepted his offer
to get us invites to a ball? For all your talk of courtesy and humility, you—”
“Oh, now I am not perfect? Is that it?”
“I did not say that.”
“Remember why you asked me to help you in the first place?” Georgiana hissed. She put a hand to her chest and affected a simpering
air. “Oh, Georgie, you are the embodiment of everything that society deems wonderful in a lady. You are perfect, you are a
young saint, et cetera, et cetera.”
“I do not sound anything like that!” Caroline spluttered, outraged. “How dare—”
“Do you know what your problem is, Caroline Bingley?”
Caroline’s fists were clenched so hard, she was beginning to worry she might be doing permanent damage to her finger joints.
“Oh, do tell me,” she snapped. “Listing my flaws appears to be the preferred pastime of the Darcys. Why stop what your brother
started?”
Georgiana approached with one finger held out and didn’t stop until it was pressed against Caroline’s right collarbone. “This
process, or whatever you call it, is all about you.”
“Well, yes,” she agreed, her attention caught by the feel of Georgiana’s finger against her bare flesh, of the dark eyes pinning
her in place with a savage glare. Even furious, Miss Darcy was uncommonly beautiful; in fact, the anger heightened her attractiveness
rather than diminished it, rendered her a wild creature of wind and fire rather than the poised, glossy perfection of the
ballroom. Pay attention, Caroline scolded herself. “That was rather the point, wasn’t it?”
“All about you,” Georgiana repeated, jabbing her finger for emphasis. “Like everything else is. You clearly have not thought
about me at any point.”
Caroline blinked, baffled by the accusation. “I came to you in the very first instance. I asked you for help. Clearly I thought about—”
“I mean about me as a person!” Georgiana turned and strode a few paces away, her chest heaving. When she turned back, her
eyes were bright with hurt. At the sight, Caroline felt as if someone had slapped her across the face. “I am so tired,” Georgiana
whispered, her voice low and dangerous, “of being perceived as faultless. I am unable to make mistakes like a normal person,