Chapter Twenty-Three
Dear Miss Bingley,
I realise we met only once, but Laurel and I had such a wonderful time at the party by the lake last week. We wondered if
you and Miss Darcy would like to come to tea with us at Ruddock House? Perhaps Wednesday next? I have enclosed a map with
our house clearly marked in case your carriage driver does not know the way, though Laurel says that all carriage drivers
are born with maps of England engraved on the inside of their eyelids. I do hope not, for that sounds rather painful.
Yours affectionately
Yours sincerely
Yours, in hope,
Miss Emily Chester
The weather, which had turned grey and foreboding, succumbed to a full-fledged thunderstorm in the late morning and early afternoon.
It would have been a perfect day to spend curled up together in front of a roaring fire, in Caroline’s opinion, had it not been for the sting of hurt she still felt about the abrupt way in which Georgiana had sought to immediately distance herself the night before, or the way Miss Darcy had contrived to employ herself by such means that she had managed to evade Caroline for most of the day.
She finally cornered Georgiana in the drawing room. “Good grief, Georgie, will you at least do me the justice of telling me
why you are avoiding me?”
“How can I possibly be avoiding you,” said she, scribbling on a piece of parchment with an air of supreme industriousness,
“when you follow me into every room? Avoidance suggests that I have in fact managed to shake off your pursuit, which I have
yet failed to do, despite my best efforts.”
Caroline stepped closer. “Forgive me for my ignorance, but I rather thought”—she lowered her voice—“what with it being my
first time last night, that perhaps you might be a little kinder to me afterwards.”
Georgiana looked up. For the first time, Caroline registered the red rims of Miss Darcy’s eyes and the purple shadows underneath
them. Evidently she hadn’t been the only one who’d endured a sleepless night. Georgiana threw down the quill. “Yes, very well.
You have me there. A churlish mood overcame me, but you did not deserve it directed at you.” She rose, though she did not
make any attempt to approach. “I had hardly thought you the sort of woman to require sweet nothings and coddling,” she muttered.
“I did not say I required anything of the sort.” Caroline took a step back, further stung by Georgiana’s sour tone. “But I
thought . . .” She hesitated. She did not know what she had thought, only that she had expected something a little softer.
“Surely, Wickham did not leave so abruptly.”
As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. She really did not want to know what George Wickham had done or not done in the privacy of Georgiana’s bedchamber.
A muscle jumped in Georgiana’s jaw. “In fact, he did leave, after the very few times we—” She broke off, then cleared her
throat. “He was afraid we would be caught by my brother, which I thought a very sensible approach. You would do well to emulate
that good sense.”
“I have an overabundance of good sense,” Caroline retorted. “I just choose not to apply it when it comes to you, for some
reason. And since your brother is about one hundred and fifty miles away at present, he can provide no excuse unless he has
powers unknown to me.” She straightened, pulling back her shoulders with more confidence than she felt. “I thought you enjoyed
yourself last night. I know I did. In fact, I know you did, too.”
“Infernal woman,” Georgiana said, though her words now lacked bite and her lips twitched in unmistakable amusement. She advanced
a step, then another, bringing her within kissing distance. “You give me no peace.”
Relief washed over Caroline. “Had you really wished for peace, Miss Darcy, then I doubt you would have embarked on an affair
with me.”
“Oh, you have no idea how true that is,” Georgiana breathed, her eyes brightened by passion. She leaned closer, then stopped
only an inch away, waiting for a response. “Kiss me, then, and let us make up.”
“No. I meant what I said,” Caroline said, despite wanting nothing more than to press against Georgiana’s mouth and forget
the world entirely. “You hurt my feelings last night, and I cannot kiss you until we address the matter.”
“Oh. I hadn’t realised you—” Miss Darcy drew back, her dark eyes searching Caroline’s own. “In what way? Why didn’t you say so at the time?”
“You dismissed me so quickly. Was I repugnant to you after you achieved your satisfaction?”
“Heavens, no! I—” Georgiana swallowed, then raised a shaky hand to touch Caroline’s cheek. “I am sorry, Caroline. Forgive
me. I never meant to hurt you. I suppose I simply . . .” She shrugged, as if helplessly adrift. “Feelings which I thought
I had long suppressed returned with alacrity. I suppose I felt rather exposed. You do remember that the last affair I had
ended in betrayal?”
“I do.” Caroline lifted her hand and placed it over Georgiana’s, feeling it trembling under her touch. “I may not be the best
version of myself yet, but I can promise you this—there is no version of me who would ever betray you.”
“Easy to say. Far harder to do.”
“I mean it.” Caroline drew in a ragged breath as she tugged Georgiana closer. “I care for you.”
“I care for you, too.”
“Then kiss me, Georgie,” she whispered.
Her heart pounded as Georgiana leaned forward. Why did this feel so different, somehow? Perhaps it was because the other times
they’d been throwing themselves at each other, it had been during a fit of pique or lust or both. There was something thrilling
about the idea that Georgiana was kissing her back because she wanted to, not because she was irritated or lustful or some
other complicated emotion that Caroline had yet to figure out. This felt different. Intentional.
Possibly even romantic, one might say.
She gave herself a little shake. Surely, she wasn’t worrying about kissing a woman with whom she’d already been acquainted in the biblical sense? Their lips met softly, sweetly, and oh, this was pleasure of a new kind entirely.
To Caroline’s great surprise, when they parted, Georgiana was blushing. “Well, that was . . .”
“Lovely? Skillful? The best kiss you’ve ever had, I’m sure.” Slipping her old arrogance on like a well-worn suit of armour
gave her a modicum of protection against the strange new feelings swimming inside her chest.
“I am sure I could not possibly say it was the best I have ever had.” Miss Darcy’s lips twitched. “Perhaps you ought to keep
trying. With practice, I am sure you will improve.”
Gasping with indignation, Caroline leaned up and dragged Georgiana’s mouth against her own. This was no soft, tender kiss,
but a searing blaze which roared from the crown of her head all the way to her bare soles. She was quite certain she must
be scorching the beautiful floor underfoot, and equally certain that the entire Pemberley estate could burn down without either
of them noticing.
“Well, that was . . .” Georgiana repeated, looking as dazed as Caroline felt.
“Say ‘better’ at your own peril, Miss Darcy,” she warned.
A slow smile crept across Georgiana’s face, as inexorable as a sunrise. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Bingley.”
“I am not Wickham, you know,” Caroline said, though it hardly needed saying at all. She did not miss Georgiana’s flinch. “We
need not guide our affair along those lines, particularly if it did not please us to do so. I needn’t have gone last night.
If you’d wanted me to, I would have stayed longer.”
Georgiana made no response to this but instead gestured at the letter Caroline was holding. “From Charles, I assume?”
“In fact, it is from Miss Emily Chester, inviting us both to tea with her and her sister at their home on Wednesday. Would
you like to accompany me?”
Georgiana beamed down at her. “I would be delighted to.”
“Excellent. I shall write back to her immediately, accepting the invitation, and then I have a suggestion for you.”
“Forgive me if I am wary of your suggestions these days,” Georgiana teased.
“This one you shall like very well.” Caroline paused for suitable dramatic effect. “I propose we take a cake to Miss Merryhill.”
Georgiana blinked several times, as if the idea required multiple mental repetitions in order to fully comprehend it. “You want to take a cake to Miss Merryhill,” she echoed. “You want to take a cake to Miss Merryhill? You want to take a cake to Miss—”
“Miss Merryhill, yes,” Caroline interrupted. “Good grief, Georgie, the sentence remains the same no matter which word you
stress. It was my understanding that the lady likes cake and would appreciate such a present. Is my understanding wrong?”
“I am sure that she would.” Georgiana blinked again. “But . . . why?”
“Are you not curious about what has happened since the ball?”
“I would assume very little. It has only been three days.”
“But Mr Acton was so affected by the sight of his lady dancing with another man that he left the ball early. Do you think him such a coward that it has taken him a full three days to pluck up the courage to propose? Surely a confession of love, however profound, can only take a minute or so.”
“A full minute, eh? How extravagant.” Georgiana looked amused. “This cake . . . Do you wish to bake it also?”
“Heavens, no!” Caroline exclaimed. “I thought Miss Merryhill was your friend. One tends not to want one’s friends poisoned
with the creations of amateurs. Let us leave the intricacies of baking to your resident expert.”
An hour later, armed with a carrot cake which Mrs Addlecombe had produced as if by magic, Caroline and Georgiana climbed into
the carriage. The rain was finally beginning to taper off, and pattered against the windows with long, slanted drops which
obscured the view outside. Georgiana’s fingers brushed Caroline’s own, making her shiver. She stole a quick kiss before they
turned onto the road, knowing that it might be a while until she could safely do so again.