Chapter Twelve
My dear Caroline,
Lyme Regis is quite lovely this time of year, if still a little cold. I feel that Mother’s spirit is much improved by our long walks on the promenade, though she complains about the wind every day. There are few shops worth our time here, but never fear, I shall bring you back a shiny bauble as I always do. My husband is overseeing a few repairs to our house in Grosvenor Square. Once it’s complete, you shall have to come to London and spend a month or two with us there. You have been at Pemberley a good while already, have you not?
Charles has written to me from Bath and seems exceedingly pleased with his new bride. With our brother now wed,Mother thinksI think it might be time to turn your thoughts towards marriage as well. I would hate for you to feel left out, andMother haswe have made some very interesting new acquaintances here...
Your affectionate sister,
Louisa
Groaning,Caroline balled up her third attempt at a letter to Louisa. Each had been worse than the last, sounding increasingly stilted and angry. Why on earth did her family keep insinuating that Georgiana would be glad to be rid of her? It wasn’t as if they themselves were waiting back at Hadley Hall to receive her with open arms. Caroline picked up Charles’ letter and read it again, feeling a twinge of relief. At least her brother had not suggested her presence at Pemberley was as unwelcome as hungry rats in a fully stocked larder.
She glanced around the room, seeking distraction, and her gaze landed onThe Mysteries ofUdolpho,which lay untouched on the small table beside the bed. In truth, she hadn’t read a single page since the first day she’d obtained the book, and while Georgiana hadn’t pursued the matter much since, Caroline knew she was going to ask about it eventually. Caroline crossed to the bed and flopped onto it, forcing herself to pick up the book. She flipped through another few pages, but nothing interesting seemed to be happening, and she lacked the patience to continue in the hope that something did. The problem was that no tale could please her. Perhaps she ought to write one, for her own story could surely be controlled and made to fit all her smallest whims to her greatest satisfaction. The idea pleased her immensely until she thought of the time and effort it would likely take to produce a whole book.
Days.She shuddered.Perhaps even a whole week.
Really, it was a wonder that anyone ever wrote anything at all.
Caroline letThe Mysteries ofUdolphofall onto her chest with a soft thump. Speaking of things that could please her, she ought to be picturing her perfect match so that, when shefinally met him, she would know whether he satisfied her ideals exactly. A grand house must play a part, of course, perhaps not as grand as Pemberley but at least as pretty as Netherfield Park, Charles’ home. It ought to have large gardens in which she could walk, with plenty of flowerbeds. That sort of thing was easy enough to decide upon, although the man who went with the dream house was more difficult to imagine. He ought to be a little on the short side, for she did not like tall men the way some women did.Perhaps about Georgiana’s height, she mused.Miss Darcy really was the perfect height; tall enough to loom over Caroline by two or three inches, but short enough to kiss without Caroline having to crane her neck. Yes, a shorter man would do nicely. What else?
He should dress well, of course, she thought.His hair ought to be...
Her imagination stuttered to a halt. She’d always admired Darcy’s dark head of curls, but now that she was actually picturing her ideal suitor, he had much lighter hair. Not yellow like Charles’, but something paler, more flaxen, like Georgiana’s. Once that was decided on, her imagination faltered again. Clothes and hair were one thing; it was easy to dress a man in one’s mind like a doll, but impossible to picture facial features with any degree of clarity. None of the men she knew suited much. Oh, Darcy had been handsome enough, but the thought of him smiling down at her did not make her pulse quicken. Perhaps someone with whiskers? She pictured a bearded mouth pressing against her own, then shuddered.
Absolutely not.
Very well. Someone clean-shaven, then. Ideally, he’d have pretty eyes; not blue, like the rest of her family, but the darkest of browns. Some men had eyelashes so long that it made women jealous, and she had always enjoyed the sight of long, dark lashes resting upon pale cheeks. While eyelash length was not exactly the kind of thing one ought to base a prospective marriage on—she bit back a laugh at the idea of taking a ruler to parties and balls to see who passed this test—it was certainly a start to the winnowing process. Besides, if the man had favourable looks, then he would naturally pass them down to their children too, should they have any.
Caroline frowned. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea of children. They were pleasant enough to be around when they were well-behaved, but terrors when they were not. She couldn’t picture herself holding a baby in her arms any more than she could picture a suitable man in front of her fantasy house. Oh well, perhaps it did not matter much. Perhaps fate had someone else in store for her already. Perhaps she would walk into a ball one day and simply see the man of her dreams, turning to face her, thunderstruck by her beauty. He would be so overcome by her grace and nobility that he would propose on the spot. Yes, that would be sufficiently dramatic and would make for a wonderful tale; she would be the envy of all the ton. It almost did not even matter who the man was or what he looked like, in that case—the story was the thing, something by which she could distinguish herself as being special. He’d pick her rightfully out of a crowd as the prettiest, most charming, most eligible young lady in all of England. He’d want her. He’d need her.
He’dsee me.
The yearning sent a pang of longing through her. Plenty of people watched her in ballrooms or at parties, men and womenboth, but that was something quite different.Watchingwas not the same asseeing. One could watch a brick wall if one so desired, could watch a thousand handsome figures dancing, but it wasn’t the same as someone approaching, excited, hopeful, their eyes studying your every curve and angle.
The image of Georgiana emerging from the lake came to mind again, entirely unbidden, but extremely insistent. The yearning moved lower, building into a slow heat, and Caroline groaned.Not again, she ordered her body, which paid her no heed whatsoever, the familiar ache building between her thighs. And yet—
She paused, licking her lips.
Perhaps her body was trying to tell her something. Swallowing, she allowed herself for the first time to recall every detail of that moment; the droplets of water beading on Georgiana’s forehead, her sturdy thighs flexing as she heaved herself out of the lake. Caroline’s hand began to drift downwards.Yes, she thought,if there was a man in the world who looked exactly like Georgiana Darcy, that would suit me very well indeed.Perfect height, long eyelashes, firm and supple arms. Soft, fair hair that practically begs one to run one’s fingers through it.
But the image that formed in her mind wasn’t a man. It was Georgiana herself, dark eyes fixed on her, mouth set in a wicked smile, fingertips ghosting over the sodden fabric of her petticoat and—
Caroline gasped, arousal spiking low and sudden. Her hand stilled on her stomach as she fought for control, but it was no use. Clearly, the idea was plaguing her for some reason. Perhaps she simply had to exorcise this devilish thought from her mind. It was like that silly childhood game she and Charles had played called Pink Cow; the more one tried not to picture apink cow, one could only picture pink cows. This must be the very same thing, just a little more...
Sensuous?
Not that it was hard to imagine anything more sensual than a pink cow. Even so...
With a shameful twinge, Caroline let her head tip back, her pulse quickening. Guilt wrestled with lust as her hand drifted lower. Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to think of Georgiana while she—
A knock sounded on the door. “What? Yes? What?” she yelped, flinging her legs to the side of the bed and standing with such haste that she almost tipped over.
“Shall we go down to dinner?” Georgiana popped her head inside. “I hear that Mrs Addlecombe has cooked us a delightful—” She squinted at Caroline. “You look flushed again. Are you well?”
“What?” Caroline repeated, her heart still pounding. She’d almost touched herself thinking of Georgiana. That had been foolish. A moment of silly weakness, nothing more. “No, I’m—I mean, yes, I’m perfectly fine.”
Georgiana approached, placed cool fingers against Caroline’s forehead, and oh dear, the touch did nothing to quell the low blaze burning inside her. Caroline couldn’t repress the shiver that ran through her, making Georgiana eye her with genuine concern. “Are you developing a cold, perhaps? Ought I send for a doctor?”
“No, no,” Caroline said, catching Georgiana’s hand with her own. Why on earth did she suddenly want to kiss that hand? Impulsively, she did so, her lips touching Georgiana’s knuckles for a mere moment. “You are very sweet to me, but I am quite well, I assure you.”
Now Georgiana was the one who looked flushed. She hadn’t pulled away, though her fingers hadn’t curled around Caroline’s own. Instead, her hand lay limp and unprotesting, her dark eyes studying Caroline’s face. “If...” she said, then cleared her throat and finally pulled her hand back. “If you’re sure. But I shall be keeping a close eye on you, Miss Bingley. Shall we head to dinner?”
“Lead the way,” Caroline said weakly, really hoping that wouldn’t be the case.
