Chapter Nineteen
My dearest Georgiana,
Your plan to humiliate me, though cunning, would be easily thwarted if I were to own outright that I am fond of such a ridiculous,
festooned pony. In fact, my reputation would not suffer from it, but would actually increase, for only the manliest of men
could endure such an agonising fate and live to tell the tale. You shall have to work much harder to embarrass me!
I have found a beautiful mare for you, who has won several races against stallions. Though she is but two-thirds of their
size, her fierceness and spirit outstrip them all. The beast rather reminds me of someone I know.
Your affectionate brother,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Caroline had heard it said that love was war, and though she did not think this affair was likely to run along such tumultuous lines, she intended to meet her challenge with the fortitude and cunning of any good general.
Therefore she wore her lowest-cut dress to dinner that evening—a weapon unfortunately beyond the reach of most, if not all, military men—and made sure to lean across the table to help herself to every single dish, whether she actually wanted it or not.
Georgiana seemed as twitchy as a rabbit throughout and twice almost knocked over her wine glass.
Though they were seated at least fifteen feet apart, making Caroline curse the length of the Darcys’ handsome dining table, she was certain that she saw Georgiana’s hands trembling.
The blush which adorned Miss Darcy’s fair cheeks was far easier to recognise, and much more satisfying.
Professing a sudden and inexplicable headache, which Caroline could explick very well indeed, Miss Darcy fled the room before
dessert was served. Mrs Reynolds, who entered bearing two bowls of lemon posset only moments after said flight, stared at
the empty chair and then at Caroline.
“Miss Darcy has a terrible headache,” Caroline announced, trying her best to keep a straight face. “I cannot imagine one so
afflicted would be able to consume even a single bite. No, no, leave both with me and I shall take care of them. I would not
for the life of me have our wonderful Mrs Addlecombe saddened by the return of a full bowl of her heavenly creation.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Mrs Reynolds complied, casting a worried glance towards the door. “I shall take up a cold compress for
Miss Darcy. It is unlike her to suffer from such aches.”
“I am sure she would benefit greatly from something cold,” Caroline said, pulling the first bowl towards her and tucking into
the tangy mousse, humming a jaunty tune as she did so.
Dinner had only been a minor skirmish, in the grand scheme of things; the war was nowhere near won, yet she felt that every small victory ought to be celebrated, as surely each one brought her closer to her ultimate goal.
In addition, it granted her new knowledge which she might arm herself with going forward—that Georgiana could be, and indeed was, very affected by the sight of a perfectly-framed bosom being aimed towards her with all the subtlety of cannon fire.
Patting her now-rounded stomach, Caroline left the dining room and paused in the great hall, wondering what to do next. One
could harry the enemy as it retreated, if one so chose, but she did not intend to run Georgiana into the ground. It would
be a hollow victory indeed if Caroline obtained a second kiss by means of an overwhelming onslaught, for that would in no
way guarantee a third. And she did want a third, she realised. Possibly even a fourth. The trick here would be to lay such an enticing trail, over a series of encounters and days, that Georgiana simply could
not resist following to see where it led. And if Miss Darcy were able to withstand all of her allures—
Caroline snorted, remembering the way Georgiana had flushed at dinner. No, she would have what she wanted; it was simply a
matter of time. The prey would come directly to the hunter, if the hunter made herself tempting enough.
She went into the library, seated herself upon the stool next to the harp, and began to practice the simple tune Georgiana
had showed her. This gave her something to pay attention to for the time being and stopped her from marching upstairs again
and dragging her friend out of her room. Miss Darcy was stubborn, though she was no match for Caroline’s obstinacy; Georgiana
could, and would, be broken. Good things come to those who wait, she thought. Very good things indeed.
Caroline smiled to herself and began the scales again.
She wore another dress—this one verging on scandalous—to breakfast the next morning, which caused Georgiana to drop her spoon into her porridge with such force that flecks of it ended up spattered on the cloth runner.
Miss Darcy muttered a terse greeting and continued to avoid her gaze, spending the rest of breakfast staring determinedly into her cup of tea as if it could provide answers to all of life’s questions.
Caroline sashayed out afterwards, leaving a trail of delightful perfume in the air behind her, and went off for a nice, long walk.
When she finally returned, windswept but happy, the dulcet sound of the pianoforte indicated where she might find Miss Darcy.
Georgiana paused when Caroline sidled over the library threshold, but made no attempt to get up, no doubt assuming that the
size of the pianoforte would afford her suitable cover for whatever was coming next. She stiffened in surprise as Caroline
wandered towards her, positioned herself behind Georgiana, then purposefully leaned over Georgiana’s shoulder as if to examine
the sheet music more closely. “What were you playing?” said she, though she could read very well that it was Chevalier de
Saint-Georges.
“Adagio in F minor,” Georgiana muttered, then sucked in a breath as Caroline pressed against her more closely. Miss Darcy could have moved;
she could have slid left and put distance between them again, but instead, she sat, teeth gritted, until Caroline withdrew.
Caroline gestured at an envelope which sat on the lid of the pianoforte. “What’s this?”
Two heartbeats passed before Georgiana responded. “Another response to my earlier inquiries. There is to be a ball tonight, at a house on the other side of the village. I think it best we attend, to further your Great Endeavour.”
“Splendid!” she exclaimed, accidentally-on-purpose dropping the invitation and bending over far more than was necessary in
order to retrieve it.
She glanced over her shoulder. Georgiana’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but the tips of her ears were a dark, luscious
pink. Caroline turned away, hiding her smile. A ball was a perfect place to garner attention, serving both goals: to entice
Georgiana, and to attract any suitable bachelors. There could be no downside to such a plan, for surely it was only a matter
of time before she came across a gentleman who interested her just as much, if not more, as Miss Darcy did.
The ball itself was a reasonably large one, though the house was nothing particularly extraordinary in Caroline’s opinion,
and the two rooms in which the event chiefly took place were decorated with a lack of style that could be charitably described
as inoffensive. She recognised several of the gentlemen who had attended Mr Darcy’s party only a few weeks prior and made
use of what little she remembered about each to make herself ingratiated to everyone she spoke to. By the end of the first
hour, she had been invited to dance by no less than three gentlemen, all of whom she accepted with a gracious smile.
The sets took twenty minutes each, which meant she was obliged to keep up a steady stream of conversation with her first two partners for quite some time, and therefore could only sneak an occasional glance at Georgiana.
Miss Darcy accepted two invitations to dance, though Caroline was certain her friend had only undertaken them out of duty and not for any particular love of the dance itself nor for either of her partners, who were both stately middle-aged men.
Excusing herself to fetch another glass of red wine, Caroline watched as Georgiana danced, flowing from one position to the next with an easy grace entirely unmatched by anyone else in the room.
When they finally had a moment alone together, Caroline nudged Georgiana’s elbow and was delighted when Miss Darcy did not flinch away; she did not lean into the touch either, but it was a start.
“You dance uncommonly well, Miss Darcy,” said she.
“I am good at many things which bring me very little pleasure, Miss Bingley.” The look Georgiana gave her might have been
placid and inscrutable to others, but Caroline thought she detected real sadness lingering underneath.
“Then we ought to remedy that. What shall we do that gives you real pleasure?”
Georgiana glanced sharply at her, apparently to ascertain whether this was meant as a flirtation. Upon seeing that Caroline
was sincere, her expression softened. “A difficult question.”
“On the contrary, it should be the simplest one in the world to answer.”
“Pleasure may take many forms.” Miss Darcy shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “One might argue that it is a pleasure to behave
as a young lady ought.”
“You are not addressing the royal court, Georgie. You may be honest with me.” Caroline glanced at her. “Perhaps you should
learn to speak truth, as I have learned to utter kindness.”
“Swimming, then,” Miss Darcy murmured. “Fencing. Riding—not sidesaddle, as a lady should, but galloping with Swift as if the
devil himself is after me. Though I admit that these pleasures are difficult to indulge in here in Derbyshire, where everyone
knows me, for I have a family reputation to uphold. And uphold it I shall.”
Caroline’s reply was cut short by the approach of her third dance partner. “Shall we, Miss Bingley?” he asked, extending a hand.