Chapter Twenty-One
Georgiana pulled Swift to a halt somewhere to the far west of the estate, though not so far that Caroline could see the wall
which marked the boundary between the Darcy grounds and the farmer’s fields beyond. “Here,” she said, alighting with ease
and holding her hand up for Caroline. “Let me help you down.”
Caroline slithered down with far less grace and stumbled into Georgiana’s arms, earning herself a chuckle from Georgiana and
an indignant huff from Swift, who promptly wandered off and began to pull mouthfuls of tender green grass as if they had personally
injured his pride.
“I have rarely seen you look so inelegant, Miss Bingley.” Georgiana made no move to let her go. “Usually you move with all
the poise of a young queen.”
“Well, usually the ground is level underfoot, and the staircases which I avail myself of do not have steps which are quite
so large.” Caroline blinked up at her, her hands trailing down Georgiana’s arms. The more they embraced, the bolder she grew,
though she was still wary of crossing some hitherto unforeseen line and causing Miss Darcy to retreat. Her fingers traced
a path along Georgiana’s jaw, causing a shiver.
“Come, help me lay the picnic out,” she said, stepping back and clearing her throat.
Caroline acquiesced, placing the rug in a patch of dappled sunlight while Georgiana unpacked the wicker basket. They sat together,
their knees touching, while Caroline exclaimed over the inclusion of plain scones rather than fruit ones. “Not a single raisin
in sight!” she exclaimed, delighted by the prospect. “Mrs Addlecombe has finally achieved the highest understanding of good
taste.” The mention of raisins jostled something in her memory. “Oh! I thought you were going to kiss me at our last picnic,”
she added. “Do you remember? You placed the daisy chain over my head and then you leaned in rather close.”
The silence stretched on far longer than Caroline had expected.
“I recall making a necklace of daisies, yes.” Georgiana buttered a scone with far more exacting precision than was required,
giving every crumb her undivided attention. An interesting flush crept up her neck, and Caroline wondered just how far down
it spread.
“Were you going to kiss me then?” Caroline prompted.
“No, I—I wasn’t going to kiss you.”
Caroline frowned. She knew what she’d seen and felt. Perhaps she wasn’t asking the right questions. Georgiana wasn’t a very
good liar, but she could be slippery and evasive at times if not pressed in the correct way. “But you were thinking about
it, were you not? Did you want to?”
Georgiana’s blush deepened as she swallowed. “Perhaps.”
“I wanted you to.” She leaned forward, making sure her bosom was angled to catch the sunlight. “I have been dreaming about
you a lot lately, and often in states of undress.”
“Good grief,” Georgiana complained, fumbling with her knife and almost dropping it. “How is a woman supposed to enjoy her scones in peace when you keep flirting so incessantly? It is very distracting.”
Caroline pouted. “If I allow you time alone with your precious scones, do you promise to kiss me afterwards?”
Miss Darcy huffed, though the smouldering look she levelled at Caroline was far from being truly aggravated. Caroline grinned
and lounged back, content in the knowledge that more kisses lay on her horizon. “I have heard the name of the composer you
were playing yesterday, though I confess I am not so familiar with his music as I ought to be. What do you think of his talents?”
“Chevalier de Saint-Georges?” Georgiana cocked her head, chewing thoughtfully. “They say he is a genius of the first order,
and I see why. Not every composer can be, you know. Some are workhorses, who merely churn out serviceable pieces to please
this lord or that king, while some shine brighter than any star in the sky. Now, if you consider what Mozart—”
A few weeks ago, Caroline might have been bored by talk of music with which she was not familiar. Now, every conversation
was another window into Georgiana’s real passions. This was the real Georgiana, who loved saturnine music and fast horses
and, apparently, kissing young men and ladies who were entirely unsuitable for her. Caroline watched Miss Darcy, her dark
eyes bright with animation, her hands flying through the air as she gestured, and thought that she had never before seen anything
so lovely in all her life.
When they had finished all the baked goods, Georgiana plucked a perfectly ripe red apple out of the picnic basket. “Shall
I be Eve?”
Caroline propped herself up on her elbows. “That depends. Are you offering me fruit, or temptation, or knowledge?”
“That depends,” Georgiana echoed, smirking. “Which one do you want?”
Without taking her eyes off Georgiana, Caroline leaned over and sank her teeth into the apple. The skin gave way to ripe flesh,
and she allowed her lips to press against the surface before she tore a chunk out and leaned back.
Georgiana’s own lips parted in a gasp, her eyes darker than Caroline had ever seen them before. Caroline hardly had time enough
to swallow her bite before Miss Darcy was on top of her, the press of her body hot and needy against Caroline’s own and her
mouth equally as hungry to taste and nip and soothe.
“All three, ideally,” she murmured, when the blazing kiss had died down to embers. “That is, if you are amenable to the idea,
Miss Darcy.”
“As you wish, Miss Bingley,” Georgiana breathed, and bent down to steal another kiss.
Back at the house, a slightly awkward silence settled between them. In the woods, Georgiana had seemed freer with her tongue
and her hands, but here in the house, a placid, pleasant mask schooled her features again.
Caroline wandered into the library while Georgiana passed the now-empty wicker basket back to Mrs Reynolds, praising Mrs Addlecombe’s
baking to the highest degree. Once the housekeeper’s steps had died away, Caroline felt, rather than heard, Miss Darcy hesitating
on the threshold of the library.
“You once asked me,” said she, stepping inside and touching the back of the worn couch with some reverence, “why I did not want to reupholster when the couches in this room are so in need of it.”
Caroline wished she hadn’t announced her bad opinion of the furniture. Of course it was entirely true, but she recognised
now that she needn’t have stated it quite so baldly.
“I did not want to change a single thing in here,” Georgiana continued, “because I have kept it the same way it was on the
day our parents died.”
“Oh.” Guilt roiled in her stomach. “I apologise. I had no idea.”
“Why would you? I am not in the habit of sharing something so personal with even my closest friends. I kept the portraits
the same too, for I used to talk to them,” Georgiana said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I had no one else to talk to
and I . . . They were the only family I had left, you see. Apart from Fitzwilliam, but even he could not be here constantly.
He had only just left Cambridge, and he often had business in London which required his presence.”
Caroline turned to look at the portraits. Now she saw what she had not been able to before—the expressions, which she had
interpreted as intimidating and rather suspicious, now looked merely inquisitive, even protective. “They must have been somewhat
of a comfort to you. Hardly a replacement for a brother in the flesh, though.”
“Unfortunately, that comfort came with a price. They remind me every day that the weight of expectation is a heavy burden.”
A muscle jumped in her jaw. “That is why I—I do not want you to think that I don’t—”
If this conversation had taken place a few weeks ago, Caroline might have interrupted here. Now, she stayed quiet, allowing
Georgiana time to sort her own thoughts out.
“I do want you,” Miss Darcy murmured, coming closer. “I hope you understand that I am likewise attracted to you. I am telling you this so that you understand that if we pursue this affair to both of our pleasurable ends, it should not be any more than that.”
Caroline frowned. “Whatever do you mean? What else could there be?”
Georgiana smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nothing, my dear friend. As long as we are on the same page, then
we may continue. As long as you are eager to do so, and that we shall remain friends afterwards, for I have so few that each
and every one is dear to me. You especially have become dearer to me these past weeks.”
Caroline had the feeling she was missing something large here, though she failed to see exactly what. She probably ought to
press a little more, but the idea of a full-blown physical affair being dangled before her made it difficult to concentrate
on anything else. “I am eager indeed. And I cannot imagine that we would not be friends, Georgie, whatever should happen.
The very notion is preposterous.”
“Very well.” Miss Darcy took off her gloves. “Would you like another harp lesson to pass the time before dinner?”
Caroline agreed and showed off the scales which she had been practicing the day before. “That is most impressive,” Georgiana
said, raising an eyebrow. “Another lesson or two and perhaps you will be able to accompany me on the pianoforte. Perhaps we
will be able to create a few pretty harmonies together. What say you, Miss Bingley?”
The smirk left Caroline in no doubt that Georgiana intended two entirely different meanings by the phrase, which caused her fingers to be clumsy over the next few notes. Still smirking, Georgiana approached and bent over, her mouth close to Caroline’s ear.
“In order to play an instrument well,” she murmured, sending shivers down Caroline’s spine, “one must listen to one’s own
desires, as well as the instrument’s desires, and find a way to bring them together.”
“Is that so?” Caroline managed, proud of how calm her voice sounded despite her heart racing. She risked a glance downwards
at Georgiana’s bosom and immediately wished she hadn’t. All memory of what she was supposed to be playing flew out of her
head. “You shall have to teach me all that you know.”
“I would be delighted to have such an eager pupil.” Instead of moving away, Georgiana lowered her head and nipped at the sensitive
spot on Caroline’s neck again, leaving her shaking and helpless. “There,” she murmured, smiling wickedly as she retreated
a few inches, just enough for Caroline to read the hunger written on the lines of her face. “That is revenge for those hours
which you spent torturing me with that which you knew I ought not allow myself to indulge in.”
“Consider me thoroughly revenged, in that case. If you felt then even half of what I feel right now, then it is a wonder you
did not give in much sooner.” Caroline sighed, leaning her head against Georgiana’s shoulder. “You quite undo me, Miss Darcy.”
“Well, I . . .” Georgiana swallowed, then dropped a kiss against Caroline’s cheek. “That is good, for I quite like you undone,
Miss Bingley.”
“Perhaps we could”—Caroline turned her head, pressing a kiss to the soft skin within reach, hearing Georgiana’s breath hitch
in a most interesting way—“see what else may be . . . unbuttoned?”
Whatever Miss Darcy might have said in reply was lost to the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
They sprang apart just as Mrs Reynolds entered with a tea tray, and Caroline did her best to look angelic, like someone who was succeeding at playing a harp, not one who was doing her utmost to seduce—and being seduced by—the mistress of the house.
Given the strange glance the housekeeper gave her, she probably wasn’t succeeding at doing either.
They were not doing a very good job of pretending to be merely friends, but surely, Mrs Reynolds would not interpret anything she saw as untoward.
After all, who would think that two proper young ladies, both well brought up, each having status and fortune, would do such a thing with each other?
No, Caroline decided, as Georgiana poured the tea and Mrs Reynolds left the room without a backwards glance, our new affair is surely cloaked beyond all possible recognition.