“They are certainly going at speed,” Miss Darcy commented. A slight breeze had picked up, teasing the curly tendrils which framed her face and wafting her familiar rosewater scent towards Caroline, who could not help drawing a deep breath. “Why, it hardly looks like they are touching the water at all,” she added.
“Indeed.” Caroline leaned close, indulging in Georgiana’s perfume as the crowd around them buzzed with nervous anticipation. Miss Darcy smelled good enough to eat, a thought which distracted Caroline from the ongoing action. It was bad enough that she could remember precisely what had happened the last time she’d stood next to a lake. A ripple of warmth threatened to unseat her entirely, but she gritted her teeth, determined to pay attention.
A young man, barely older than six-and-ten, waited in another rowboat just a few feet away from the pier and as the rowers reached this unseen line, he was evidently the one who must indicate who had won the race. “The victory is Mr Radcliffe’s!” the boy called, though it was hardly necessary to do so. Mr Radcliffe’s boat had been a full length and a half ahead of the others at the moment of triumph.
The crowd burst into applause and cheers, and Caroline clapped along politely as Mr Radcliffe climbed out of his boat. He was a lot less graceful on land, and walked, she noticed now, with a slightly bow-legged strut, as if he were a rooster parading the barnyard, master of all he surveyed. The other rowers didnot seem to care much that they had lost, and crowded around Mr Radcliffe to clap him on the back and offer congratulations.
Miss Laurel sighed. “He’s so wonderfully talented.”
He might be an excellent rower, Caroline thought,but that is a skill rarely called for, and which surely cannot translate well on land.She shook herself.Remember to seek the good in people.MrRadcliffe is evidently well-liked and respected here. He must have plenty of good qualities, therefore I shall make it my mission to discoverevery one.
“So, Miss Bingley,” said he, appearing at her elbow. “May I call upon you two days hence to take you and Miss Darcy to lunch? Say, around noon? You are staying with her at Pemberley, are you not?”
Caroline blinked. She hadn’t expected the invitation to happen quite so swiftly, though she supposed if he were soon headed back to Wales, Pemberley would not require much of a deviation from any intended route south. “Indeed, sir. I am very much looking forward to it.”
“Excellent.” He bowed. The action brought with it a blast of male musk, earthy and dry, and it was all Caroline could do not to wrinkle her nose.
After a hearty lunch, which had consisted of nearly half a chicken and two large platefuls of salad, Caroline found herself nodding off in the carriage on the way home. Her eyelids drooped as the warmth of the air, to say nothing of the comfortable silence which lay between her and Miss Darcy, had lulled her into a daze. Georgiana’s own eyelids had fluttered shut some minutes ago and her chest now rose and fell with gentle, steady breaths. Before Caroline could drift off entirely, Georgiana’s head slumped onto Caroline’s shoulder, sending a frisson of excitement through her.
She bit back a groan.Not this again.She’d managed to get through most of the day without thinking of Georgiana in this strange way. Steeling herself, Caroline pictured Mr Radcliffe again: strong arms, broad shoulders, handsome face. They would no doubt have beautiful, if rather short, children. But could she picture herself actually married to the man? Did the idea excite her as it should?
Not even remotely.
She frowned, adjusting the mental picture this way and that. She could see him shaking hands with Charles, charming Louisa, and yet...
She could not picture herself sitting across the table from Mr Radcliffe at dinner, nor walking arm-in-arm along the promenade in Bath. Nor could she picture herself in bed with him, a thought which ought to have drawn the most scandalous of blushes to her cheeks, but which only left her feeling helpless and perplexed. What was one supposed to feel? And what if, despite one’s best efforts, one did not feel anything at all?
Did that make her strange? Odd? Broken?
And what did that mean for the Great Endeavour?
