Chapter Thirteen
My dearest brother,
There is truth in what you say, for I fear that Caroline’s stubbornness stretches far and wide across the plains and valleys of her character, taking on entirely new colours and angles. On certain subjects she does indeed resemble a dog with a bone, though I think that tenacity something to admire; too many people are weathercocks, their every opinion blown about by a prevailing wind. To encounter someone who insists on pursuing her own path and thoughts regardless of others, who knows her own mind firmly, is refreshing indeed. Our lessons so far have beenexhaustingdeeply alarmingsomewhat productive, and I feel confident that I can help her become a better version of herself, even if that is not precisely the version she currently imagines.
Oh, and you know very well that I do not care for the sex of my horse—whichever is the brightest and boldest will suit me fine. If you bring me some prancing pony who loses its head over every little fence and stile, I shall adorn it in ribbons and confess to all our visitors that it belongs to you.
Yours affectionately,
Georgiana
Dinnerwas indeed delicious—flaky fish cooked in a white sauce, preceded by a light salad—but Caroline was too distracted to really enjoy it properly. How had she never before noticed the way candlelight played upon Georgiana’s features, picking out the beautiful curve of her lips? How had she failed to see that, while her friend had always been beautiful, she was also entrancing? A door had been opened inside Caroline, though it was a problem entirely of her own making. If she simply hadn’t allowed herself to recall Georgiana’s soaked body, then she wouldn’t be sitting here now, squirming awkwardly with only half an appetite.
Or rather, an appetite for something that was not salad-based.
No, it is not my fault at all, actually, she decided, forcing her discomfort down until it was little more than a whisper.I was not the one who decided to start emerging out of lakes and encroaching upon innocent passersby who were minding their own business. It is, in fact, not remotely my fault. If anything, I am a victim here.She gave a little nod.Yes. A victim of... watery allure.
She looked up to find Georgiana watching her over the rim of her wine glass. “You look like you are arguing with yourself. And I am certain that you haven’t listened to anything I’ve said for the last five minutes.”
“I apologise. Pray, repeat whatever it was you said.”
“I am delighted to inform you that my correspondence this morning has proven extremely fruitful. We have received several invitations already, and may go through them if you wish, although I have ascertained which are most likely to be attended by eligible bachelors. There is to be a picnic at a lake nearby in two days’ time, which I believe would suit your Great Endeavour perfectly.”
Caroline stared down at her plate, a muscle under her eye twitching. Good God, was she to be tormented by lakes for the rest of her life?
“I am sure there will be at least a dozen prospective suitors there,” Georgiana added, “if not more, for I believe they intend to hold a boat race. That ought to draw a good range of gentlemen. Lady Lennox takes dinner with illustrious company, since her husband is a baron and her sister-in-law married an earl, so I would be surprised if she did not have at least a few lords in their company.”
“Indeed?” Caroline perked up. Being surrounded by available men would surely chase away whatever strange notions had entered her mind of late. “Even better. I shall double my efforts to improve myself, so that I can present an excellent first impression.”
Perhaps she could obtain an orphan child or a wounded puppy to bring along, so that the men could see her feeding the little creature and praise her for being saintly and good. Had not both Miss Bennets once cooed over a darling lamb that had become briefly separated from its flock? And had not the men exchanged amused yet reverent glances about the maternal instincts shown by their beloveds?Georgiana would probably never let me do such a thing, though, Caroline sulked, as Mrs Reynolds took away their plates.And hiding a lamb, however small, under my skirts would be difficult indeed. I don’t believe they fold well.Mentally, she pictured all the ways in which a lamb might be neatly compacted to, say, the size of a reticule, and then repressed a sigh.No. Too much leg.
Really, sometimes it was as if the entire world conspired against her.
“Shall we retire to the drawing room now?” Georgianasuggested, rising to her feet. The candles were perfectly positioned to throw pools of light onto her ample bosom, making it beam brightly.
Caroline swallowed hard, averting her gaze. “You go on ahead. I shall meet you there in a moment.”
She retreated to her room upstairs, filled the basin to the brim with cool water from the pitcher, then stuck her face in it and screamed. This produced suitably dramatic bubbles but did not actually make her feel much better. “Calm down,” she told her dripping reflection. “You did not actually do anything earlier.”
Her reflection stared back accusatorially.No, it seemed to say,but you were about to, had Miss Darcy not knocked when she did. And what then? Might you have imagined her peeling that petticoat off? Touching her bare flesh underneath? How dreadfully sinful. You would have finished thinking of her, and that surely cannot be thebehaviourof a perfect woman.
The truth was difficult to argue with. Still, Caroline had only been trying to get rid of the urge, not to savour it. She couldn’t possibly be held responsible for the strange, unknowable things one’s body did. Reassured by the solidity of such reasoning, Caroline patted her face dry, smoothed down her hair, then headed for the stairs, determined to have a perfectly normal evening.
The music already drifting from the drawing room was soft and tender, entirely unlike the performances Georgiana usually gave at parties. The melody itself was delicate, overlaid on a bed of earthen notes, deep and dark. Georgiana halted, her fingers stuttering to a halt on the keys, when Caroline edged over the threshold.
“Pray do not stop on my account,” said she. “It sounds rather lovely. What is it?”
“Gluck,” Georgiana said, smiling, though she looked a little hesitant. “It’s from his operaOrfeo ed Euridice.”
Caroline knew very little about opera, though she had enjoyed the few performances she’d seen in London. She crossed to the nearest couch and sat, pleased to note that Mrs Reynolds had provided a bowl of grapes and neatly-cut cubes of cheese. “Oh? What is it about?”
“In short, a woman dies, and her lover journeys to the underworld to fetch her back.”
“Fashionably morose,” Caroline declared, leaning back and crossing her legs at the ankle. The couches in the drawing room were not nearly as comfortable as the ones in the library, though they were far more stylish, with ornately carved legs. The price of beauty was one Caroline would gladly pay, though after an hour or three, her posterior would disagree vehemently with that sentiment. “Is there anything more delicious to hear about than someone else’s tragedy? One may experience all the thorny pleasure of the anguish while experiencing none of the real consequences.” She selected a grape from the bowl and popped it into her mouth, where it burst with sweetness. “And does he succeed?”
“Well, he—Orfeo—is told that he can bring her back to life with the power of music, but he only has one opportunity to lead her from the underworld of the dead out into the land of the living, and he must not look back at her at any point. If he does, she will be lost to him.”
Caroline scoffed. “Rather easy. One would think they would make it more difficult to test his love.”
