Chapter Twenty-One
Georgiana pulled Swift to a halt somewhere to the far west of the estate, though not so far that Caroline could see the wall which marked the boundary between the Darcy grounds and the farmer’s fields beyond. “Here,” she said, alighting with ease and holding her hand up for Caroline. “Let me help you down.”
Caroline slithered down with far less grace and stumbled into Georgiana’s arms, earning herself a chuckle from Georgiana and an indignant huff from Swift, who promptly wandered off and began to pull mouthfuls of tender green grass as if they had personally injured his pride.
“I have rarely seen you look so inelegant, Miss Bingley.” Georgiana made no move to let her go. “Usually you move with all the poise of a young queen.”
“Well, usually the ground is level underfoot, and the staircases which I avail myself of do not have steps which are quite so large.” Caroline blinked up at her, her hands trailing down Georgiana’s arms. The more they embraced, the bolder she grew, though she was still wary of crossing some hitherto unforeseen line and causing Miss Darcy to retreat. Her fingers traced a path along Georgiana’s jaw, causing a shiver.
“Come, help me lay the picnic out,” she said, stepping back and clearing her throat.
Caroline acquiesced, placing the rug in a patch of dappled sunlight while Georgiana unpacked the wicker basket. They sat together, their knees touching, while Caroline exclaimed over the inclusion of plain scones rather than fruit ones. “Not a single raisin in sight!” she exclaimed, delighted by the prospect. “Mrs Addlecombe has finally achieved the highest understanding of good taste.” The mention of raisins jostled something in her memory. “Oh! I thought you were going to kiss me at our last picnic,” she added. “Do you remember? You placed the daisy chain over my head and then you leaned in rather close.”
The silence stretched on far longer than Caroline had expected.
“I recall making a necklace of daisies, yes.” Georgiana buttered a scone with far more exacting precision than was required, giving every crumb her undivided attention. An interesting flush crept up her neck, and Caroline wondered just how far down it spread.
“Were you going to kiss me then?” Caroline prompted.
“No, I—I wasn’t going to kiss you.”
Caroline frowned. She knew what she’d seen and felt. Perhaps she wasn’t asking the right questions. Georgiana wasn’t a very good liar, but she could be slippery and evasive at times if not pressed in the correct way. “But you were thinking about it, were you not? Did you want to?”
Georgiana’s blush deepened as she swallowed. “Perhaps.”
“I wanted you to.” She leaned forward, making sure her bosom was angled to catch the sunlight. “I have been dreaming about you a lot lately, and often in states of undress.”
“Good grief,” Georgiana complained, fumbling with her knife and almost dropping it. “How is a woman supposed to enjoy her scones in peace when you keep flirting so incessantly? It is very distracting.”
Caroline pouted. “If I allow you time alone with your precious scones, do you promise to kiss me afterwards?”
Miss Darcy huffed, though the smouldering look she levelled at Caroline was far from being truly aggravated. Caroline grinned and lounged back, content in the knowledge that more kisses lay on her horizon. “I have heard the name of the composer you were playing yesterday, though I confess I am not so familiar with his music as I ought to be. What do you think of his talents?”
“Chevalier de Saint-Georges?” Georgiana cocked her head, chewing thoughtfully. “They say he is a genius of the first order, and I see why. Not every composer can be, you know. Some are workhorses, who merely churn out serviceable pieces to please this lord or that king, while some shine brighter than any star in the sky. Now, if you consider what Mozart—”
A few weeks ago, Caroline might have been bored by talk of music with which she was not familiar. Now, every conversation was another window into Georgiana’s real passions. This was the real Georgiana, who loved saturnine music and fast horses and, apparently, kissing young men and ladies who were entirely unsuitable for her. Caroline watched Miss Darcy, her dark eyes bright with animation, her hands flying through the air as she gestured, and thought that she had never before seen anything so lovely in all her life.
When they had finished all the baked goods, Georgiana plucked a perfectly ripe red apple out of the picnic basket. “Shall I be Eve?”
Caroline propped herself up on her elbows. “That depends. Are you offering me fruit, or temptation, or knowledge?”
“That depends,” Georgiana echoed, smirking. “Which one do you want?”
Without taking her eyes off Georgiana, Caroline leaned over and sank her teeth into the apple. The skin gave way to ripe flesh, and she allowed her lips to press against the surface before she tore a chunk out and leaned back.
Georgiana’s own lips parted in a gasp, her eyes darker than Caroline had ever seen them before. Caroline hardly had time enough to swallow her bite before Miss Darcy was on top of her, the press of her body hot and needy against Caroline’s own and her mouth equally as hungry to taste and nip and soothe.
“All three, ideally,” she murmured, when the blazing kiss had died down to embers. “That is, if you are amenable to the idea, Miss Darcy.”
“As you wish, Miss Bingley,” Georgiana breathed, and bent down to steal another kiss.
Back at the house, a slightly awkward silence settled between them. In the woods, Georgiana had seemed freer with her tongue and her hands, but here in the house, a placid, pleasant mask schooled her features again.
Caroline wandered into the library while Georgiana passed the now-empty wicker basket back to Mrs Reynolds, praising Mrs Addlecombe’s baking to the highest degree. Once the housekeeper’s steps had died away, Caroline felt, rather than heard, Miss Darcy hesitating on the threshold of the library.
“You once asked me,” said she, stepping inside and touching the back of the worn couch with some reverence, “why Idid not want to reupholster when the couches in this room are so in need of it.”
Caroline wished she hadn’t announced her bad opinion of the furniture. Of course it was entirely true, but she recognised now that she needn’t have stated it quite so baldly.
