Chapter Five
After they had finished eating—or rather, after Caroline had shifted in her seat enough times that Georgiana had sighed again and got up from the table, gesturing for her friend to follow—they ended up in the library. Caroline supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by this; it was, after all, Georgiana’s favourite room in the house, which she loved even more than her personal sitting room, but Caroline had thought that the Great Endeavour might begin in a more exciting place than the very same room they sat in day after day.
She slowed to a stop as Georgiana spun to face her, eyes alight with amusement. “Your first lesson begins here,” Miss Darcy said. “We will go on a tour of the house, and I wish you to find at least two or three things to praise in every room.”
“That does not seem so hard.” Caroline glanced around. Her mother had always imposed on her the care and attention with which one ought to pay to the smallest of details, and Pemberley offered ample opportunity to wax poetic. “Why, in this room alone I could find a dozen such objects deserving of the highest compliments. The fireplace, for example—did not your brother once tell me that the mantelpiece was made of marble?” She cast an approving eye towards the object inquestion, noting that even though the stone was dark, it had been polished enough to glint in the flickering light of the fire below. “It is one of the most elegant I have ever seen.”
“Very good.”
Caroline wasn’t finished, though. She had been set a challenge and was determined that she would pass it with flying colours. “I have long admired the candlesticks, too, for this room needs a little more light than others. And the portraits, particularly this one”—she gestured at the only painting in the room which did not frighten the life out of her—“of your... paternal great-grandmother?”
“You are correct.” Georgiana smiled at the depiction, which featured a woman seated, hands folded in her lap, long, fair hair cascading down her back.
Something which had been nagging at Caroline for the last few days tripped off her tongue without thought. “Though I do think that, perhaps, the room could benefit from a little... refreshment.” She had, after all, completed Georgiana’s task, so surely, she ought to be allowed her opinion now, particularly if it could help refine the room into a perfect, stylish haven.
“Refreshment?” Georgiana blinked. “You mean a tea trolley?”
“No, my dear friend. I mean that these couches, while beautiful, are rather old-fashioned now. At the very least, this one requires a complete reupholstering. Look,” she said, bending to poke at the nearest one. “There’s very nearly a hole worn through here. Whatever would a visitor think?”
Before she could straighten, a hand closed around her other wrist, tugging her firmly away. “Please do not touch that,” Georgiana said. Her voice was calm, but a muscle jumped in her jaw.
Surprised, Caroline dropped her hand to her side. Miss Darcy was not prone to fits of temper or indignation. “Suit yourself. I am sure that your brother could easily arrange for it to be altered. Why, you would not need to be inconvenienced at all. In fact, my father spoke of a fellow who could, for an additional fee, complete a task overnight, which really—”
“Let us proceed,” Georgiana said, and then marched from the room.
Caroline followed, equally baffled by this response and by the stiffening of Georgiana’s shoulders, but by the time they’d reached the picture gallery, Miss Darcy seemed to have reverted to her usual, placid self. “And what of this room?” she asked, this time not turning to face Caroline, but stopping to stare up at the two magnificent portraits of her parents which hung in the centre of the room.
The picture gallery was, by anyone’s standards, a lovely place to linger. The portraits here were more modern and looked far less foreboding than the ones which hung in the library. Caroline’s gaze was drawn, as it always was, towards the image of the late Mr and Mrs Darcy, who had been painted individually. Mr Darcy, with his mop of curly fair hair, looked so much like Georgiana that it was uncanny; the same straight, perfectly-shaped nose, the same gentle curve to the lips, which signified a happy soul at rest. Fitzwilliam had evidently inherited his mother’s black hair and angular jaw, though Mrs Darcy’s beautiful dark eyes lived on in both of her children. Georgiana cast only a cursory glance over her parents, moving quickly to stand in front of several framed drawings.
Caroline followed, peering over her shoulder. These were Georgiana’s own creations—really, was there anything the girl could not do with grace and elegance?—and each renderedsome person or scene in exquisite detail. Any visitor to the house with even a passing acquaintance with the family would easily recognise Darcy himself, lounging in a meadow while his horse grazed in the background, or the exterior of Pemberley, drawn with the most minute attention paid to every brick.
“I suppose that is the source of all your talents, really,” Caroline said, not quite meaning to say it out loud.
Georgiana glanced at her, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “Pardon?”
Caroline gestured at the drawings. “You pay such attention to detail. Much more so than other people.”
“Do you think so?”
“Oh, certainly. People are not so observant as one would always hope, you know,” Caroline said loftily. Though there was only three and a half years between them, she had always felt the urge to instruct Georgiana on all her views. When one had such excellent opinions, it was one’s duty to spread them as far and wide as possible; she would be doing a disservice to the world to keep them to herself. “They do not pay attention to what is most important.”
“Indeed,” Georgiana said, her lips twitching. “And you do?”
“Of course I do. For example, I note that here”—she pointed at the rendering of Darcy—“you have drawn most carefully that lock of hair which insists upon falling over his left eye, no matter how he has it cut. And this is the horse which, if I am not mistaken, lived to a great old age and sired many of the creatures in your stable today.”
In fairness, the beast was an unmistakable one, for it had a distinctive blaze running from forelock to nose. “Newton,” Georgiana supplied. “The best horse who ever lived. Apart from my Swift, of course.”
Caroline pulled a face, making sure Georgiana could not see it. She’d never really understood Georgiana’s bond with animals of all sizes. To her, a horse was simply a carriage that required more upkeep. A carriage, at least, did not have to stop at regular intervals on the road to excrete. Swift was a rather handsome beast by horse standards, but he was still just a horse in Caroline’s opinion, and as such, was interchangeable with any of a dozen others.
“Wait a moment,” Caroline said, only now noticing a new picture which had been added on the left. “That was not here last time I visited.” She leaned closer, a tendril of Georgiana’s hair tickling her cheek. Jane and Charles, looking into each other’s eyes as they danced, his hand on her slender waist, her hand on his shoulder. Their smiles were joyful and pure, full of love, as if they had forgotten that the rest of the world existed.
“I drew the original picture as a present for them to hang in Netherfield, if it pleases them to do so, but the image of their happiness was so beautiful that I couldn’t help replicating it here. Besides, it’s nice to have pictures of friends as well as family.”
Georgiana’s tone was surprisingly wistful. With a stab of annoyance, Caroline realised that a similar picture of Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy would likely follow in due course. What would they be doing? Dancing, or walking together, or reading their beloved books, side by side? Her lip curled in distaste.
“I am working on one now, in fact, though I cannot quite seem to get it right.” Georgiana shook herself, as if remembering what they’d come here for. “In any case, observing my drawings is not a compliment.”
“Whyever not? I did say they were exquisite, did I not?”
