Chapter Eighteen #2
“Miss Elizabeth.” The warmth was genuine enough in volume. “And Miss Lydia, how very well you look this evening. That colour is most becoming.”
“Thank you, Miss Bingley,” Lydia said pleasantly. “Your gown is beautiful. I have been admiring it since you came in.”
Caroline blinked, a fraction of a second, at being complimented before she had finished dispensing compliments.
She recovered immediately, said something gracious about Bond Street, and moved on rapidly, returning to dance attention on Lady Catherine, who was declaring a dissatisfaction with the sherry.
“That colour,” Elizabeth murmured, when she was gone, “is not in the least becoming.”
“No,” Lydia agreed serenely. “It is a rather bilious green.” She observed Caroline’s obsequious apologies to Lady Catherine dispassionately. “She dresses beautifully as a rule. I cannot imagine what possessed her.”
“A day’s notice of two engagements at once, possibly, neither of them in the least to her liking.”
“Ah.” Lydia’s expression was thoughtful rather than triumphant. “Yes, that would do it.”
The dinner itself passed pleasantly; the earl and Mr Bennet at once fell into yet another discussion of Ancient Greek military history, which kept both of them utterly engrossed for the entirety of the meal.
Darcy was at the other end of the table and found Elizabeth’s eye with a regularity that she found alternately warming and distracting.
Lydia was seated beside the countess and, after the first few careful minutes, talked to her with an ease that Elizabeth watched with quiet satisfaction.
Caroline sat between Darcy and Lady Catherine, which was where she had placed herself as the hostess and, judging from the tightness at the corners of her mouth as Lady Catherine delivered an extended verdict on the soup, precisely as uncomfortable as that position deserved to be.
Afterwards, in the drawing room, Lady Catherine detached herself from a conversation with the countess and crossed to where Lydia stood.
“Come here, child,” she said, at the volume she always used, “I have been meaning to say something to you since I arrived.”
Lydia went without hesitation, curtsied correctly, and received Lady Catherine’s examination with her chin up and her hands still at her sides. Elizabeth, near enough to overhear, held her breath.
“You’ll do,” Lady Catherine announced. “You are not what I would have chosen for Richard, but you are considerably better than what I feared, and at my age that passes for pleasant surprise.” She looked Lydia over once more.
“You need more town polish, and you should read more, and you ought never to wear yellow. But on the whole, yes. You will do very well.”
“You are very kind, Lady Catherine,” Lydia said.
“I am nothing of the sort. Ask Darcy.” She cast a sharp look at Elizabeth, who had been unable to prevent herself drawing closer. “And you, I suppose, go without saying.”
“I hope so,” Elizabeth said. “Though I suspect you will say it regardless.”
Lady Catherine’s expression did the thing it sometimes did, which was not quite a smile but contained all the structural elements of one. Elizabeth suspected that expression denoted entertainment, which was probably the best outcome she might hope for, all things considered.
“Impertinent girl,” Lady Catherine said, with what was, for her, considerable approval, and returned her attention to her wine.
Lydia drifted back to Elizabeth’s side. They stood together and watched the room in companionable silence.
“High praise,” Elizabeth said, after a moment.
“Remarkably high.” Lydia’s voice was quite straight. “I distinctly overheard her tell Richard I reminded her of a heifer at market, after her first sight of me.”
Elizabeth choked quietly. Darcy, who had materialised at her shoulder with uncanny timing, looked at the ceiling.
“A well-bred one,” Lydia added graciously. “I thought it best to take it in the spirit intended.”
“Very wise,” Darcy said, to the ceiling.
The night before the wedding, they met in Jane’s room; the three Bennets who would soon no longer be Bennets.
It was Jane who gathered them; no words, only a look exchanged with each sister as the household settled towards bed, and then the three of them were together on Jane’s wide bed as they had been countless times since childhood, a single candle burning on the nightstand.
Lydia was in the middle. She had always been somewhere near the edges; the loudest, the most conspicuous, the one who required most attention while somehow receiving least of the right kind of it.
Now she sat with a sister on each side and was quiet, which was not something the old Lydia had often been.
“Tomorrow,” Jane said softly.
“Tomorrow,” Lydia agreed.
Elizabeth looked at Lydia’s profile in the candlelight; the set of her jaw, the composed expression she had worn all evening, all week, since the morning room and what she had been told in it.
She had done everything right through the entire stretch of preparations; bright and warm and obliging, and she had not once, as far as Elizabeth could observe, allowed herself to mind what was to come after.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked. She kept it simple; she was not demanding an answer.
Lydia considered it seriously. “Yes,” she said at last. “I think so. Or I shall be.”
“That is probably the most honest answer anyone has ever given to that question,” Elizabeth said.
“I have been practising at being honest.” A little dry.
“It is harder than it looks.” She looked down at her hands in her lap.
“He said he would come back. Richard.” She did not ask for reassurance; she stated it, as though she had spent every moment since he had said it convincing herself it was the truth. “He said it without hesitating.”
“He does not say things he does not mean,” Elizabeth said. “I am quite certain of that.”
Jane reached across and took Lydia’s hand without speaking. Elizabeth took the other. The candle burned.
“Tell me about Pemberley,” Lydia said, after a while. “What is it like?”
Elizabeth considered. “Vast,” she said simply.
“The park is enormous, and the library would take a year to properly explore, and there is a housekeeper named Mrs Reynolds who takes a proprietorial interest in everyone who comes to stay, and considers it her personal mission to see that they eat enough and are impressed by the correct things.”
Lydia’s mouth curved. “And Miss Darcy? I hope she will like me.”
“Georgiana,” Elizabeth said, “will have very little patience for your composure, I suspect, and a great deal for everything else. She is quiet and she notices everything and she is considerably funnier than anyone expects.”
“That sounds,” Lydia said, with a sidelong look, “like someone else I know.”
Elizabeth laughed, and Jane laughed, and for a little while it was easy; the three of them together in the candlelight, sisters, on the last night Lydia would still be one of the Bennet girls.