“It is a skill I have always possessed.” Georgiana shrugged. “Perhaps my head is not full of much else.”
“That is certainly not true.” Caroline admired Georgiana’s figure in the candlelight, reassuring herself that it was perfectly normal to do so. Why, it was natural that she should be envious of Miss Darcy’s curves; a clever young lady should seek to acquaint herself with the competition wherever possible. Not that Georgiana was competition, of course. Who could ever compete with such a gorgeous, talented woman?
“Whatever made you think of this particular opera?” Georgiana asked.
“I am not entirely sure.” Caroline hesitated, forcing her gaze towards the nearest candle flame, which flickered with every breath. “I recall that it begins with the queen of Carthage complaining about her attraction to the Trojan prince and then her handmaidens arguing that a marriage between the two wouldbring peace to their queen as well as their respective cities. Something like that, anyway.”
Miss Darcy nodded. “She is a widow, is she not? I seem to recall that much of her reluctance to wed stems from her promise never to remarry.”
“That is part of it, indeed, but I believe she is concerned that love in any shape or form will make her a weak monarch.”
“And do you agree?”
“With what?”
Georgiana’s gaze was curious. “Do you think love makes one weak?”
“I am no queen,” Caroline said, though the jest fell rather flat. “So it hardly matters how weak or strong I am.”
“You did not answer the question, Miss Bingley.”
“I do not have a suitable response for you, Miss Darcy. I have never been in love, so how could I possibly comment on how it might make me feel?”
Georgiana opened her mouth to reply, but Caroline interrupted, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. “I wish I had your talent,” she added, finding herself surprisingly wistful. “I can play the pianoforte well enough, but I always wanted to learn the harp. Mother insisted it was better for me to stay with the pianoforte. Harps were only for angels, she said.” She picked another grape, then shot a glance at Georgiana, unable to help but smile. “I suppose she was not wrong on that account.”
“Why, you ought to have said so sooner! I could teach you,” Georgiana said, hands stilling on the keys. “I could have you playing something recognisable in mere days.”
“Oh, you needn’t go to any trouble.” An unfamiliar shyness twinged in her chest.
“Your mother isn’t here, Caroline,” Georgiana said, softly. “And even if she were, you are a woman grown who can pursue her own ends. You may do as you wish when there are no eyes to judge. If you want to learn the harp, pray allow me to teach you.”
Caroline hesitated, but Georgiana was right—why shouldn’t she learn something if she wanted to? Playing the harp was unlikely to get her into trouble of any kind. She was no timid girl of twelve, afraid of her mother’s scoldings. “If you insist.”
“I do.” Georgiana rose, leaning over Caroline to select a few grapes from the bowl. “Come on.”
“What, this instant?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a full dance card this evening?” Georgiana inquired, her smile mischievous.
Caroline rolled her eyes, then rose and re-seated herself on the stool at the opposite side of the room, the harp firmly wedged between her thighs. “Very well. What ought I do?”
“Try plucking a string,” Georgiana suggested, and Caroline complied, though the string twanged strangely under her fingers. Miss Darcy smiled. “Ah, I am afraid that you must learn to let it go straight away. Do not hold on, for you will mute the sound. Here, let me show you.”
Caroline had expected her to bend forward, but instead, Georgiana moved until she was standing behind Caroline, then leaned down and placed her arms around Caroline’s own. Miss Darcy’s breath was hot against Caroline’s ear, eliciting a strange shiver. “Watch how I do it,” Georgiana whispered, and Caroline watched those elegant fingers pluck, release, pluck, release. Each note reverberated in the air, as pure and cold as a single snowflake.
“Now you try it.” Georgiana still had not moved, her bosom pressing into Caroline’s shoulder blades, her warmth sendingdistracting tingles down Caroline’s spine. Caroline focused on her own hands, which were trembling slightly, and strummed the required string.
“Again,” Georgiana murmured, and Caroline obeyed, making sure she released quickly. “Very good! We shall make an excellent musician of you yet. Now, I shall show you a few notes. Watch my hands and do as I do.”
The next quarter hour passed in a hazy blur, and by the time Georgiana had stepped back and straightened up, Caroline could feel beads of sweat rolling down her sides. It had been one thing to see Georgiana wet and almost naked and quite another to have their bodies pressed together. They had embraced from time to time, of course, as all friends did, but never for so long nor so close. There had been a lady at an inn last summer, with eyes as green as fresh moss, who had passed Caroline alone on the stairs and made sure their bodies brushed, her gaze lingering in a knowing way that Caroline hadn’t understood at the time and wasn’t sure she wanted to understand now. That experience had left her trembling for days, and it had only been a single encounter, barely lasting two or three seconds; Georgiana had been flush against her for long minutes.
“And remember, you can practice the harp any time you like,” Miss Darcy said. “You are my esteemed guest, after all. I give full permission.”
Apart from a slight blush, Georgiana looked perfectly normal. She couldn’t possibly have any idea of what was roiling through Caroline, nor did the close proximity seem to affect her in the same way. “Thank you,” Caroline said, her voice unexpectedly hoarse. She cleared her throat. “I suppose I might have spent my life cowering from the harp if not for your insistence.”
“One must always go after what one wants,” Georgiana declared. “I would have thought you, of all people, would espouse that opinion.”
Caroline forced a chuckle. “As long as one knows what one wants, then certainly.”
