She gave herself a little shake. Surely, she wasn’t worrying about kissing a woman with whom she’d already been acquainted in the biblical sense? Their lips met softly, sweetly, and oh, this was pleasure of a new kind entirely.
To Caroline’s great surprise, when they parted, Georgiana was blushing. “Well, that was...”
“Lovely? Skillful? The best kiss you’ve ever had, I’m sure.” Slipping her old arrogance on like a well-worn suit of armour gave her a modicum of protection against the strange new feelings swimming inside her chest.
“I am sure I could not possibly say it was the best I have ever had.” Miss Darcy’s lips twitched. “Perhaps you ought to keep trying. With practice, I am sure you will improve.”
Gasping with indignation, Caroline leaned up and dragged Georgiana’s mouth against her own. This was no soft, tender kiss, but a searing blaze which roared from the crown of her head all the way to her bare soles. She was quite certain she must be scorching the beautiful floor underfoot, and equally certain that the entire Pemberley estate could burn down without either of them noticing.
“Well, that was...” Georgiana repeated, looking as dazed as Caroline felt.
“Say ‘better’ at your own peril, Miss Darcy,” she warned.
A slow smile crept across Georgiana’s face, as inexorable as a sunrise. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Bingley.”
“I am not Wickham, you know,” Caroline said, though it hardly needed saying at all. She did not miss Georgiana’s flinch. “We need not guide our affair along those lines, particularly if it did not please us to do so. I needn’t have gone last night. If you’d wanted me to, I would have stayed longer.”
Georgiana made no response to this but instead gestured at the letter Caroline was holding. “From Charles, I assume?”
“In fact, it is from Miss Emily Chester, inviting us both to tea with her and her sister at their home on Wednesday. Would you like to accompany me?”
Georgiana beamed down at her. “I would be delighted to.”
“Excellent. I shall write back to her immediately, accepting the invitation, and then I have a suggestion for you.”
“Forgive me if I am wary of your suggestions these days,” Georgiana teased.
“This one you shall like very well.” Caroline paused for suitable dramatic effect. “I propose we take a cake to Miss Merryhill.”
Georgiana blinked several times, as if the idea required multiple mental repetitions in order to fully comprehend it. “Youwant to take a cake to Miss Merryhill,” she echoed. “You want to take acaketo Miss Merryhill? You want to take a cake toMiss—”
“Miss Merryhill, yes,” Caroline interrupted. “Good grief, Georgie, the sentence remains the same no matter which word you stress. It was my understanding that the lady likes cake and would appreciate such a present. Is my understanding wrong?”
“I am sure that she would.” Georgiana blinked again. “But... why?”
“Are you not curious about what has happened since the ball?”
“I would assume very little. It has only been three days.”
“But Mr Acton was so affected by the sight of his lady dancing with another man that he left the ball early. Do you think him such a coward that it has taken him a full three days topluck up the courage to propose? Surely a confession of love, however profound, can only take a minute or so.”
“A full minute, eh? How extravagant.” Georgiana looked amused. “This cake... Do you wish to bake it also?”
“Heavens, no!” Caroline exclaimed. “I thought Miss Merryhill was your friend. One tends not to want one’s friends poisoned with the creations of amateurs. Let us leave the intricacies of baking to your resident expert.”
An hour later, armed with a carrot cake which Mrs Addlecombe had produced as if by magic, Caroline and Georgiana climbed into the carriage. The rain was finally beginning to taper off, and pattered against the windows with long, slanted drops which obscured the view outside. Georgiana’s fingers brushed Caroline’s own, making her shiver. She stole a quick kiss before they turned onto the road, knowing that it might be a while until she could safely do so again.
At Miss Merryhill’s house, Georgiana was forced to knock twice before the door opened, irritating Caroline, who could never abide having rain-soaked hair. However, when Miss Merryhill finally opened the door, Caroline could not help uttering a gasp of alarm. The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks streaked with tears, and she was clutching not one but three sodden handkerchiefs.
“Why, Miss Merryhill,” Georgiana said, sounding just as alarmed, “what on earth has happened? Are you well? Is Mrs Wimple—”
“Come in,” she cried, urging them into the parlour. “Come in and I shall tell you all the dreadful news.” She slumped into a chair and pressed the clump of damp handkerchiefs to her face again. “Mr Acton has gone to London, and I do not know when he will be back.”
“London?” Georgiana repeated. “Whatever for?”
“To make his fortune, he said.”
The words landed like a punch in Caroline’s gut. “Oh, Miss Merryhill,” she gasped. “I am dreadfully sorry.”
