Chapter Twenty-Six #2
would always choose the less confrontational path in any situation. Miss Darcy was a lot of things—bold, beautiful, kind—but
she would seek any escape from a situation that required honesty about her feelings; she had spent too long guarded to be
comfortable opening up fully.
Caroline sighed, no longer worried about sad lung. Mrs Bingley had been strangely silent on the notion of sad heart, never
alluding to it despite it being one of the most important of all organs. Yet Caroline’s struggle was not merely one of adoration,
but of selfishness and selflessness. Surely, it would be the ultimate selfish act to ask Georgiana to be hers and hers alone,
cutting Miss Darcy off from an easy life? By even considering it, Caroline was perhaps showing how little she had actually
changed.
Unfortunately, she thought, there is only one option left to me. I must keep pretending that my Great Endeavour is still ongoing.
No, she could not simply pretend that it was continuing; she had to actually continue it.
Caroline sighed again, putting her head in her hands.
The Great Endeavour had certainly changed her—far more than she had ever imagined, and in completely different ways.
She had told Georgiana that she did not know what she wanted in a man, which was still true enough, but more and more, it had become clear that what she did want was Georgiana; the only person she absolutely could not have and the only person she could now ever imagine desiring.
She wanted to be with Georgiana, to be the person whom Georgiana made love to each night and smiled at over the breakfast table every morning.
Selfish, selfish girl, she chided herself. Thinking only of your own wants, as ever. Has she taught you nothing after all?
Caroline plastered on a smile which she did not really feel, and went down to breakfast, determined to act well. She would
prove that she had become a better person, that neither her efforts nor Georgiana’s had been in vain.
“Good morning, Caroline,” Miss Darcy said, smiling when Caroline entered the room. “A letter arrived for you.”
Caroline did her best to smile back. She did not recognise the handwriting on the envelope as belonging to her family, but
who else could be writing her? Opening it, she pursed her lips. Ah.
“Well?” said Georgiana, reaching for a plate of poached eggs and sliding two onto her plate.
“It is an invitation.”
“To what?”
“The ball at Lord and Lady Percy’s estate. Remember? Mr Radcliffe said he would—”
“Oh yes,” Georgiana interrupted, stabbing an egg right in the yolk. “I remember very well what Mr Radcliffe said.” She glared
across the table. “You cannot really expect us to go.”
“You know as well as I that turning down an invitation to such an illustrious ball would look odd indeed. Tongues might start
wagging.”
“They would wag even more if we go, for surely Mr Radcliffe will make his interest in you clear. Even clearer than he already
has.”
It was a fair point, but even so. Caroline set the letter aside. “Dearest, please. It’s much too early in the morning for
bickering.”
Georgiana blinked and fell silent, blushing.
“Pass the tea,” Caroline said. Georgiana made no move to do so, her blush deepening every moment. “What?” she added, baffled.
“You have never called me so before,” Miss Darcy murmured.
“Oh. I suppose that is true.” It had slipped out without thought, though it felt very right. She shifted in her chair, feeling
rather exposed. “If you do not like it, I won’t do it again.”
“No, I—” The blush had spread all the way to Georgiana’s collarbones. “I do like it.”
“Very well, then. Dearest.”
Georgiana choked back a small, undignified whimper, and swallowed hard. “Tea, you said?”
Caroline pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh. It really was impossible not to adore Georgiana. “Thank you. That
would be lovely.”
Unexpectedly, Georgiana rose from her chair and moved to stand next to Caroline, so close that her hip was pressed against
Caroline’s arm. She poured for them both, her hands trembling a little, before setting down the teapot and turning to face
Caroline. Whatever Miss Darcy had been about to say died on her lips at the look on Caroline’s face. For her part, Caroline
could not hide her desire or her longing. Every good intention and promise she had made to herself upstairs fled her mind.
The moment expanded, the air between them growing thick, as Georgiana bent down to kiss her, mouth hot and insistent against
her own, and Caroline leaned up eagerly to meet her, moaning as—
The door opened.
They sprang apart hurriedly. Mrs Reynolds hesitated on the threshold, her gaze fixed pointedly on a spot on the wall about a foot above Caroline’s head. “Good morning, Miss Darcy, Miss Bingley,” said she, her voice perfectly normal.
Caroline’s heart, which had already been thudding rather hard, pounded until she thought it was going to erupt from her chest.
“Good morning, Mrs Reynolds,” Georgiana said, her voice slightly hoarse. A long moment passed in which mistress and housekeeper
stared at each other. No words were spoken, though Caroline had a feeling that an entire conversation was taking place, and
she was not privy to any of its contents nor its conclusion.
“Mrs Addlecombe would like to know whether you would like her to pack another picnic today,” Mrs Reynolds said. “It being
such a glorious day and all.”
Another silence reigned. Caroline’s gaze bounced between Georgiana and Mrs Reynolds, wishing that she could comprehend whatever
invisible conversation was happening in the space between them. “Mrs Addlecombe is most attentive,” Georgiana said stiffly,
her fingers twitching restlessly against her skirts.
“You have been taking many picnics of late,” the housekeeper said. “Mrs Addlecombe merely seeks to serve the needs of yourself
and Miss Bingley.” The very slightest of hesitations followed before Mrs Reynolds added, “Whatever those needs might be.”
“Indeed.” Another silence was only broken by the sound of Georgiana’s fingers drumming against her thigh. “Mrs Addlecombe
is most kind to anticipate all our requirements and indulge them so.”
By now, Caroline was quite sure that poor Mrs Addlecombe was no longer actually part of the conversation.
She probably ought to have left the room already, but both Georgiana and Mrs Reynolds were standing between her and the door; escape was impossible.
She cast a despairing glance at her still-steaming tea, which lay untouched only tantalising inches away.
No Englishwoman could be expected to broker such a delicate situation without at least one or two cups.
“Mrs Addlecombe,” Mrs Reynolds said, and now her voice was softer and more hesitant, “merely worries for your health, Miss
Darcy, as she has always done. Should there be anything you wish to . . . add to the menu, I am sure she would be most open
to a discussion.”
For the first time, Georgiana’s glance flickered down to Caroline, who gave her a supportive and encouraging look, though
she had no real idea what she was being supportive and encouraging about.
“Very well,” Miss Darcy said. “Miss Bingley, would you give us a moment?”
Caroline grabbed her cup of tea and beat a hasty retreat to the library, where she hovered under the portrait of a bearded
Darcy. “Were you all like this?” she said to the painting. “So bloody guarded?”
He did not look impressed by the question, but neither did he answer it. Caroline sipped her tea at last, though it hardly
did anything to quell her panic. They had done rather well not to be discovered thus far; now that they had, she had no idea
what Georgiana might do, or whether Mrs Reynolds might encourage her mistress to call the whole affair off.
She did not have long to wait. The door opened.
Caroline braced herself, expecting Georgiana to burst in, to declare that everything they’d done together was merely a foolish chapter in their lives, and it was time to turn the page on it.
Instead, Mrs Reynolds appeared. Trepidation rising, Caroline stared, unsure what this could possibly mean.
Her surprise increased beyond measure when the housekeeper entered the room and closed the door behind her.
“Miss Bingley,” she said, approaching until she stood only a foot away.
Caroline straightened. Whatever her fate, she would meet it head-on. “Mrs Reynolds.”
“I have only two questions, ma’am,” the housekeeper said, her mouth set in a thin line.
Oh God, what was it going to be: When had the affair started? Were they going to tell Fitzwilliam? Was Mrs Reynolds going
to threaten to hunt her down with one of Mr Darcy’s many guns? Were housekeepers generally well-armed and skilled with myriad
weaponry?
“Yes?” she managed, clutching her teacup as if it were the world’s smallest, most useless shield.
“You are aware, no doubt, that Miss Darcy’s parents died some years ago, and that she was left in care of her brother. A brother
who loved her very much, but who was but a young man himself, with heavy responsibilities thrust upon him.”
Neither of these facts were questions, so Caroline merely nodded.
“You must also be aware, then, that Miss Darcy was alone for many months at a time. And that the servants, myself included,
cared for her as if she were our own daughter.” Mrs Reynolds’ lips pursed into a thin line. “You should be aware, therefore,
that we seek to protect her at all times, and that, having once failed to do so, it is our wish that we never fail her again.”
Wickham, Caroline thought savagely, hating the man more than ever. Her hands were shaking, the teacup rattling against its saucer.
“Let me ask you now, Miss Bingley.” The housekeeper’s eyes were hawk-fierce, pinning Caroline with the force of a glare which
rivalled Lady Catherine de Bourgh in its intensity. “If we continue to turn a blind eye to this affair, will we be failing
her again?”
A complicated question, with an even more complicated answer.
“No,” Caroline said, at last. “For I do not wish to fail her either. I believe our interests are aligned on that point.”
She held her breath while Mrs Reynolds’ eyes raked her face, the stern expression giving no clue whether Caroline had passed
or failed this test.
“Very well. In that case, my second question is simply this: If you and Miss Darcy are so . . . involved”—the housekeeper
nodded in the vague direction of the dining-parlour—“then why on earth cannot she win our bet about the toast? Surely she
knows you better than I do.”
Caroline was momentarily speechless, a thing which had happened to her only a handful of times in her entire life. She stared
at Mrs Reynolds, who stared back. Before she knew what she was doing, she was clutching the housekeeper by the arm and the
two of them were howling with laughter. It took long moments for Caroline to get a hold of herself, and by the time she had
found a handkerchief to wipe her streaming eyes, Mrs Reynolds had lapsed back into the role of polite, inscrutable servant.
“You’re good for her, ma’am, if I may say so.”
Unexpectedly, Caroline’s nose prickled as mirth turned to poignancy. “Thank you. I know that she . . . that you . . .” Good grief, why is it so hard to describe mere feelings? “I would never knowingly hurt her. That is all.”
“That is all any of us can ever ask for.” Mrs Reynolds nodded. “Although, I do not think Mr Darcy will be quite as easy to
convince as I.”
Her words were conciliatory enough, but a lingering look in her eyes made Caroline feel like a warning shot had just been
delivered across her bow. The next strike, should it come, would be grave indeed.
She had better do her best not to earn one.