Chapter Twenty-Four
Dear Self,
Despite our evening’s strenuous activities—and my, they were strenuous indeed—I could not help lying awake last night thinking
about poor Miss Merryhill. The lady looked so dejected, it quite touched my heart. Mr Acton did not seem the sort to drop
a suit easily, so I can only assume that he is determined to return once he has made his fortune. Yet without friends from
the appropriate circles in London, what success can he hope to have? That might take him years, and he promised nothing to
Miss Merryhill in the meantime.
My own plan is far more direct; the product of a superior mind, wonderfully focused. Really, I ought to have been in the military.
Yours, and mine,
Caroline Bingley
On Wednesday, they travelled to Ruddock House.
Though the journey took an hour and a half, weaving through small villages and towns so often that they could not reasonably indulge in the kind of embraces which had become so common to them of late, Caroline was both surprised and delighted when Georgiana took her hand, entwined the fingers with her own, and hid them artfully under the folds of their skirts.
She found herself disappointed when the carriage rolled to a stop outside a large house, though she was cheered almost immediately by the bright, beaming smiles of the Miss Chesters.
After the necessary greetings and pleasantries had been exchanged, they were led into the parlour, where they had tea and
cake pressed upon them in such quantities and varieties that even Caroline struggled to taste them all. Each deserved praise,
though, and she extracted promises from both ladies that her effusive compliments would be passed on to their cook. The room
itself was a pretty one, with blue floral wallpaper, though Caroline neither knew nor cared enough about flowers to recognise
what kind they were. The furniture, though perhaps not created with particular consideration of beauty, was of a good sort,
well-made and stout. These internal judgements made her realise how far she had come since her first “test” at Miss Merryhill’s,
and a pang of shame curled in her stomach. She had been unduly harsh on that lady and her house, neither of whom had earned
nor deserved her harsh remarks.
Despite having thought of little else—Georgiana and her distracting kisses aside—Caroline was no closer to working out how she might manage a meeting with Viscount Ashbrook.
Nor had she decided, in the event that she did meet him, what she might do or say to bring about the necessary outcome.
It was all rather complicated. Her former self might have thrown her hands up and declared it impossible, but she had come a long way since dropping to her knees in Georgiana’s bedchamber that first night and pleading for help.
She blushed, thinking of the other times she’d been in that room since, although, generally, those had involved her being on her back, and once, rather memorably, on her—
“How have you fared since we saw you last?” Miss Laurel inquired, jolting Caroline from her wicked thoughts. “We had heard
that Mr Radcliffe took you both for luncheon. Was it a pleasant outing?”
The nightmare inn had left a considerable imprint on Caroline, much more so than the man himself, and she took pains to detail
every single horror of the place in such amusing detail that, by the end of her story, both Miss Chesters had dissolved into
fits of helpless laughter.
“And what of the Mr Radcliffe?” Miss Laurel asked, wiping away tears of mirth. “Did not you desire to become his next prey?”
“I confess it has never been my wish to be hunted. I rather fancy myself more of a hunter.” Caroline caught Georgiana smiling
into her cup and had to bite back a grin of her own. Miss Emily Chester, who was rather sharper than her sister, looked from
one to the other, a small frown creasing her forehead. “In any case,” Caroline said, eager to divert attention lest her affections
should become too obvious, “he is certainly not the kind of gentleman I find agreeable company. Nor do I think his sister
very civil.”
“We have heard as much from others,” Miss Emily declared, though she hesitated when Miss Laurel shot her a reproachful glance.
“I was not about to say who told us so,” she muttered. “Only that we had heard similar reports.”
“That is true enough,” Miss Laurel conceded. “But perhaps we might talk of more cheerful subjects? Several of our horses have
recently foaled. Our guests might like to visit them, for they are such sweet little creatures. One was even sired by my own
Snowfall.”
“You have your own horse?” Georgiana exclaimed. “What breed is he? How many hands? When and where do you ride him? May I—” She stopped, looking slightly ashamed of her excitement.
“Miss Darcy is an excellent horsewoman,” Caroline supplied, sending a supportive glance to the lady in question and receiving
a shy, appreciative smile in response. “I have yet to meet a horse who did not adore her on sight.”
“I should be delighted to introduce you!” Miss Laurel said, rising and taking Georgiana’s arm, and the two of them went off
in high spirits.
Caroline followed more slowly with Miss Emily, who did not look particularly thrilled about the prospect of visiting the horses.
“What about you, Miss Emily? Do you enjoy riding as your sister does?”
The girl shrugged. “I much prefer my own feet on the ground, truth be told. Even if they are forever finding something to
trip over.”
“Then you and I are very much in agreement.”
“Of course, I can ride,” the girl added. “Our parents employed a riding master to teach us at the same time, for there are
only four years between Laurel and me. Though perhaps they did not fully take into consideration how frightening a horse might
seem from a short seven-year-old’s perspective, as opposed to a much taller eleven-year-old.”
Caroline could well imagine. “What other interests have you?”
“Books, chiefly. I much prefer them to people.” Miss Emily’s glance flickered to her, concern evident on her face. “Present
company excepted, of course. I did not invite you all the way out here merely to insult you.”
“Do not worry,” Caroline reassured her. “I shall not take any offense, although I cannot understand the love of books that so many seem to have these days. They rather exhaust me. And, if I may also speak plainly, I find your honesty refreshing.”
The girl’s face lit up with relief. “Really?”
“Oh, certainly. In my opinion, it would be a much easier world to navigate if we could all say whatever we were thinking.”
“I do so struggle to know what ought to be said and what one ought to keep to one’s self,” Miss Emily confessed. “Laurel has
tried her best to school me, but I know she fears that I might easily say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Society is
so difficult to traverse, and our parents do not like to mix in company very often. They spend most of the year in seclusion
at a house in the deepest part of the country and only emerge to attend such balls and events as is required for people of
their rank and status. Mama and Papa do not care very much about my . . . tendencies, but it gives my sister so much anxiety
that I feel compelled to curb them as much as possible.”
“If you had been born a man, it would have mattered far less.” Caroline sighed. “Men may say what they like most of the time,
and I have heard many a fine gentleman make some silly excuse or other for his rude friend. Not that I think you rude,” she
added hastily, seeing Miss Chester’s expression turn crestfallen.
“Do you think so? Perhaps I ought to have been born a man.” She considered this. “No, I shouldn’t have liked it. I like dresses
too much—and cigars and whisky far too little.”
Caroline laughed.
“And so . . . would it be . . .” Miss Chester bit her lip. “No, that seems like it is one of those things I ought never to
question.”
Curiosity flickered. “Go on. I will not tell your sister, whatever you may ask.”
Miss Chester inched towards her, lowering her voice. She looked so genuinely worried that Caroline felt a twinge of sympathy.
“You and Miss Darcy are very good friends, are you not?”
Apprehension spiked in Caroline’s gut, but she did her best to keep her expression serene. “We are.”
“Is it possible that you are more than friends?”
She swallowed, apprehension blooming into full-blown panic. What on earth was she to say to that?
“I do not judge such a thing,” Miss Chester said hastily. “And I shall not tell anyone, even my sister. You have my word on
that. I am excellent at keeping secrets, I assure you. It is only the niceties which I struggle with. And I have some particular
inclinations of my own which . . .” She sighed. “What I mean to say is, I understand that one might occasionally find one’s
desires outside of the ton’s expectations or approval.”
Caroline forced herself to relax. She couldn’t help glancing at Georgiana, who was talking animatedly with Miss Laurel, her
hands waving around, a wide smile on her face. She looked relaxed, much more so than usual.
“We were friends before, and we are still friends now, but there are some . . . complications at present,” Caroline finally
admitted.
“Is it romantic?”
Georgiana’s look of shy appreciation. Georgiana’s kisses on her neck. Georgiana’s hand holding hers in the carriage. Caroline’s
heart fluttered. Is it romantic? She’d been doing her best to try to avoid the question, but now that it was asked of her so boldly, the answer was impossible to ignore. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “A little, at least on my side. I know not what she feels.”
“Fascinating. Now, is it possible to like men and women both, or is one required to choose at some point? I should like to
know when, so that I have time enough to make the decision.”
Caroline hid her smile in her teacup. Miss Emily was impossibly earnest; Caroline rather wished she’d had a younger sister