Georgiana returned to the pianoforte and began to play a livelier song that often accompanied dances at balls. The rest of the evening passed in this merry way, with occasional performances in between discussions of opera and music. Caroline watched Georgiana and could not remember having ever seen Miss Darcy so animated before. It was as if Caroline’s earlier comment about having perceived her friend’s suffering had opened up some door that had previously been bolted shut.
“Would you like a sherry before we retire?” Georgiana asked, getting up and strolling to the cabinet where the bottles were kept.
“Perhaps a small one,” Caroline acquiesced. “But only a small one, please. I do not wish to be at risk of sad liver.”
Georgiana did not turn, though her shoulders stiffened slightly. Caroline had the sneaking suspicion her friend was trying not to laugh, though Miss Darcy’s tone was perfectly serious when she repeated, “Sad liver? Is that”—there was the slightest hitch in her voice, though her tone remained somber—“related to sad lung at all?”
“All organs are prone to depression of one sort or another, Georgie.” Caroline sniffed. Really, Miss Darcy’s governess must have been very deficient in important matters. “It’s a simple fact of medical science.”
Georgiana poured sherry into two glasses, taking far more care than one really needed to over such a simple action. “And is this purely a female complaint?”
“Er...” Caroline cast her eyes up to the ceiling, following the pattern of the crown moulding as she considered her answer more fully. “No. At least, I do not think so. Perhaps women are simply more susceptible.”
Georgiana still hadn’t turned around. “What other organs are sad? May I hear the full list? I feel I ought to know, lest I be beset upon by a sudden affliction of—”
“You’re making fun of me,” Caroline accused.
“I would never dare do any such a thing,” Georgiana said, casting a glance over her shoulder. Her mouth was pressed into a tight, straight line, though her eyes were dancing with merriment. “Pray continue.”
Caroline’s own lips twitched, though really, it was no laughing matter. “I shan’t tell you if you continue to mock me.”
“But I simply must know which of my organs are at risk of being melancholy.” She passed Caroline a glass of sherry and sat down on the couch beside her, tucking her feet under her thighs in a manner most unladylike. “Would you dare risk your dear friend catching such an affliction when it could be easily avoided?”
“Well, you may get sad knees sitting in such a manner,” Caroline pointed out. “Mother always said a lady ought to sit thusly.” She demonstrated with both feet on the ground, her knees firmly together and slanted to the right.
Georgiana swallowed hard, though she held on to her composure. “I see. Pray, do go on.”
“Well, the entire body is at risk, depending on what one eats and drinks and how one behaves. And... well...” Caroline blushed as she thought of a particularly embarrassing conversation with her mother, after being caught alone in her room doing something that felt very nice but which she was swiftly informedcould causesad womb. It was bad enough, Mrs Bingley had said, that the womb could go wandering about the body, causing women to become hysterical and moody, without sadness being willfully inflicted upon it as well. Since then, Caroline had been naturally afraid to touch herself there and only permitted the urge when it became a hunger so overwhelming it could not otherwise be satiated.
“And what?” Georgiana’s eyes were suddenly sharp, as if scenting an opportunity for more teasing. If she had been a dog, her ears would have been pricked up to their fullest extent for the slightest sound of stag or hare.
“Never you mind.” She sipped her sherry, which was, of course, delicious. Perhaps a slightly depressed liver could be tolerated from time to time.
“Tell me,” Georgiana wheedled, leaning closer. “I promise I can keep a secret.”
Her lips glistened in the candlelight, and Caroline found herself momentarily at a loss for words. The memory of Georgiana arising from the lake returned with all the insistence of a bee buzzing against a window, certain that there must be a way inside. Miss Darcy had looked like a nymph from an ancient story, come to tempt stray travellers into the deep, dark water. Those lips had pressed against each other, wet and pink and—
Caroline cleared her throat. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? “Perhaps another day. If you’re good.”
“How cruel!” Georgiana pouted. “I thought you said I was always good.”
“In certain areas and at certain times, you are the very best person I know. And at others, you are a mischievous little weasel.”
“I thought you said I looked like a stoat earlier.”
“Weasels. Stoats.” Caroline waved a careless hand. “Who even knows the difference?” She sipped her sherry again, then glanced at it. “I did say a small one, did I not?”
“That is small. Look, compare it to mine.” Georgiana raised her glass, which was almost a third bigger; in comparison, Caroline’s sherry did look small. Thankful for the subject change away from sad organs and woodland creatures, Caroline cast about for another topic to keep her friend from pursuing the original. Before she could do so, Georgiana spoke.
“And how are you getting on with that book?The Mysteries ofUdolpho?” Georgiana ran slender fingers through her hair absently, exposing her neck, and Caroline couldn’t help watching them dip into the mass of now-dry curls, tugging gently. “For if you are not reading it, then I would quite like to return to—”
“Ah, yes.” She had quite forgotten about the book. “I am very keen to keep reading it. In fact, perhaps it is best that I retire now, in order to spend more time with it, and see you in the morning.”
Georgiana smiled up at her, her eyes crinkled in a most mischievous manner. “Goodnight, Caroline. I hope that your organs remain happy and healthy all night.”
Back in the guest room, Caroline put the memory of Georgiana’s bodily warmth firmly from her mind. Her strange notions were doubtless caused by the fact that she and Georgiana had been sequestered away by themselves for days without any other company, which doubtless explained some of her more unusual fixations of late. However, in a couple of days, they would attend a lakeside party where she would no doubt meet the man—or men—of her dreams. Caroline slid in between the sheets and stretched luxuriously. Her body still thrummed with need, butshe couldn’t possibly address the urge now in case the memory of a wet Georgiana came flooding back. Instead, she turned over in bed, tucking her hands under her chin, and blew out the candle.
The lake party would be the start of something wonderful. She could feel the certainty in her very bones.
