Chapter Twenty-Four
Dear Self,
Despite our evening’s strenuous activities—and my, they were strenuous indeed—I could not help lying awake last night thinking about poor Miss Merryhill. The lady looked so dejected, it quite touched my heart. Mr Acton did not seem the sort to drop a suit easily, so I can only assume that he is determined to return once he has made his fortune. Yet without friends from the appropriate circles in London, what success can he hope to have? That might take him years, and he promised nothing to Miss Merryhill in the meantime.
My own plan is far more direct; the product of a superior mind, wonderfully focused. Really, I ought to have been in the military.
Yours, and mine,
Caroline Bingley
On Wednesday, they travelled to Ruddock House. Though the journey took an hour and a half, weaving through small villages and towns so often that they could not reasonably indulge in the kind of embraces which had become so commonto them of late, Caroline was both surprised and delighted when Georgiana took her hand, entwined the fingers with her own, and hid them artfully under the folds of their skirts. She found herself disappointed when the carriage rolled to a stop outside a large house, though she was cheered almost immediately by the bright, beaming smiles of the Miss Chesters.
After the necessary greetings and pleasantries had been exchanged, they were led into the parlour, where they had tea and cake pressed upon them in such quantities and varieties that even Caroline struggled to taste them all. Each deserved praise, though, and she extracted promises from both ladies that her effusive compliments would be passed on to their cook. The room itself was a pretty one, with blue floral wallpaper, though Caroline neither knew nor cared enough about flowers to recognise what kind they were. The furniture, though perhaps not created with particular consideration of beauty, was of a good sort, well-made and stout. These internal judgements made her realise how far she had come since her first “test” at Miss Merryhill’s, and a pang of shame curled in her stomach. She had been unduly harsh on that lady and her house, neither of whom had earned nor deserved her harsh remarks.
Despite having thought of little else—Georgiana and her distracting kisses aside—Caroline was no closer to working out how she might manage a meeting with Viscount Ashbrook. Nor had she decided, in the event that she did meet him, what she might do or say to bring about the necessary outcome. It was all rather complicated. Her former self might have thrown her hands up and declared it impossible, but she had come a long way since dropping to her knees in Georgiana’s bedchamber that first night and pleading for help. She blushed, thinking of the other times she’d been in that roomsince, although, generally, those had involved her being on her back, and once, rather memorably, on her—
“How have you fared since we saw you last?” Miss Laurel inquired, jolting Caroline from her wicked thoughts. “We had heard that Mr Radcliffe took you both for luncheon. Was it a pleasant outing?”
The nightmare inn had left a considerable imprint on Caroline, much more so than the man himself, and she took pains to detail every single horror of the place in such amusing detail that, by the end of her story, both Miss Chesters had dissolved into fits of helpless laughter.
“And what of the Mr Radcliffe?” Miss Laurel asked, wiping away tears of mirth. “Did not you desire to become his next prey?”
“I confess it has never been my wish to be hunted. I rather fancy myself more of a hunter.” Caroline caught Georgiana smiling into her cup and had to bite back a grin of her own. Miss Emily Chester, who was rather sharper than her sister, looked from one to the other, a small frown creasing her forehead. “In any case,” Caroline said, eager to divert attention lest her affections should become too obvious, “he is certainly not the kind of gentleman I find agreeable company. Nor do I think his sister very civil.”
“We have heard as much from others,” Miss Emily declared, though she hesitated when Miss Laurel shot her a reproachful glance. “I was not about to say who told us so,” she muttered. “Only that we had heard similar reports.”
“That is true enough,” Miss Laurel conceded. “But perhaps we might talk of more cheerful subjects? Several of our horses have recently foaled. Our guests might like to visit them, for they are such sweet little creatures. One was even sired by my own Snowfall.”
“You have your own horse?” Georgiana exclaimed. “What breed is he? How many hands? When and where do you ride him? May I—” She stopped, looking slightly ashamed of her excitement.
“Miss Darcy is an excellent horsewoman,” Caroline supplied, sending a supportive glance to the lady in question and receiving a shy, appreciative smile in response. “I have yet to meet a horse who did not adore her on sight.”
“I should be delighted to introduce you!” Miss Laurel said, rising and taking Georgiana’s arm, and the two of them went off in high spirits.
Caroline followed more slowly with Miss Emily, who did not look particularly thrilled about the prospect of visiting the horses. “What about you, Miss Emily? Do you enjoy riding as your sister does?”
The girl shrugged. “I much prefer my own feet on the ground, truth be told. Even if they are forever finding something to trip over.”
“Then you and I are very much in agreement.”
“Of course, I can ride,” the girl added. “Our parents employed a riding master to teach us at the same time, for there are only four years between Laurel and me. Though perhaps they did not fully take into consideration how frightening a horse might seem from a short seven-year-old’s perspective, as opposed to a much taller eleven-year-old.”
Caroline could well imagine. “What other interests have you?”
“Books, chiefly. I much prefer them to people.” Miss Emily’s glance flickered to her, concern evident on her face. “Present company excepted, of course. I did not invite you all the way out here merely to insult you.”
“Do not worry,” Caroline reassured her. “I shall not take any offense, although I cannot understand the love of books that so many seem to have these days. They rather exhaust me. And, if I may also speak plainly, I find your honesty refreshing.”
The girl’s face lit up with relief. “Really?”
“Oh, certainly. In my opinion, it would be a much easier world to navigate if we could all say whatever we were thinking.”
“I do so struggle to know what ought to be said and what one ought to keep to one’s self,” Miss Emily confessed. “Laurel has tried her best to school me, but I know she fears that I might easily say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Society is so difficult to traverse, and our parents do not like to mix in company very often. They spend most of the year in seclusion at a house in the deepest part of the country and only emerge to attend such balls and events as is required for people of their rank and status. Mama and Papa do not care very much about my... tendencies, but it gives my sister so much anxiety that I feel compelled to curb them as much as possible.”
“If you had been born a man, it would have mattered far less.” Caroline sighed. “Men may say what they like most of the time, and I have heard many a fine gentleman make some silly excuse or other for his rude friend. Not that I think you rude,” she added hastily, seeing Miss Chester’s expression turn crestfallen.
“Do you think so? Perhaps I ought to have been born a man.” She considered this. “No, I shouldn’t have liked it. I like dresses too much—and cigars and whisky far too little.”
