Epilogue #2
"Pain is instructive. Now, again. From the fireplace to the window. Imagine the Prince Regent is standing by the curtains. Do not look at your feet. Look at the Prince."
Lydia sighed, but she walked. She tripped slightly on the rug, corrected herself, and tried to glide. It was less of a glide and more of a strut, but it was an improvement.
"Better," Lady Catherine conceded. "But you are swinging your arms like a windmill. Keep them still. A lady glides. She does not propel herself."
Anne was watching over the top of her book. Lady Catherine noticed her daughter's attention.
"Anne," Lady Catherine said. "Come here."
"Mother, I am reading."
"You can read later. Come show Miss Lydia how to sit without exposing her ankles to the entire county."
To Lady Catherine's surprise—and slight shock—Anne did not argue. She sighed, marked her page, and stood up. She walked to the settee. She didn't glide, exactly—Anne had always been a bit wispy—but she sat with a fluid grace, arranging her skirts in a single, practiced motion.
"You see?" Lady Catherine pointed. "Effortless. Anne has many faults—she is too quiet, and she has no constitution—but she knows how to sit."
"It's just sitting," Lydia muttered.
"It is advertising," Anne said quietly.
Lydia looked at her. "What?"
"It is advertising," Anne repeated, looking Lydia in the eye. "When you sit like that, composed and quiet, people wonder what you are thinking. They think you are mysterious. Men like mysterious. If you sprawl, they know exactly what you are: bored and boring."
Lady Catherine stared at her daughter. "Precisely," she managed to say. "Well said, Anne."
Lydia looked at the settee. She sat down. She tried to mimic the motion. She smoothed her skirts. She crossed her ankles. She placed her hands in her lap.
"Like this?" Lydia asked.
"Chin higher," Anne corrected. "Look bored, but elegant. Like you are waiting for something better than this room."
Lydia lifted her chin. She narrowed her eyes.
"Good," Lady Catherine said, feeling a surge of triumph. "Now, hold that. For ten minutes. Do not speak. Do not fidget. Just exist."
"Ten minutes?" Lydia squeaked.
"Silence!"
The room fell quiet. The clock ticked. Lydia sat there, vibrating with suppressed energy, but she didn't move. She looked almost ladylike.
Lady Catherine walked around her, inspecting her work. It was rough. It was unpolished. But there was something there. The girl was pretty, in a bold, common way. If she could learn to harness that boldness, to turn it into confidence rather than noise...
"You have Elizabeth's eyes," Lady Catherine noted, stopping in front of her. "Use them. She caught my nephew because she looked him in the eye and dared him to find her wanting. You just giggle."
"I can dare people," Lydia whispered, not moving her head.
"Then do it. But do it with silence. Silence is powerful, Miss Bennet. It makes people nervous. It makes them want to fill the void. And usually, they fill it by giving you what you want."
Anne let out a small snort of laughter. "That is the truest thing you have ever said, Mother."
Lady Catherine was relentless. By Tuesday, the lessons had moved from physical to verbal.
"Scenario," Lady Catherine announced, pacing the floor while Lydia sat (correctly) on the sofa. "You are at a dinner party. The gentleman to your right is an Admiral. He is old, he is deaf, and he wants to talk about the blockade. What do you do?"
"Ignore him and talk to the handsome officer on my left?" Lydia suggested.
"Wrong! If you ignore the Admiral, you look rude. And the handsome officer will think you are vapid. You engage the Admiral."
"But I don't know anything about blockades!"
"You don't have to. You ask questions. Men love to explain things. You say, 'Admiral, surely the French fleet cannot compare to our own?' And then you nod for twenty minutes while he tells you how brilliant he is. He will leave the table thinking you are the most intelligent woman in England."
Lydia frowned, processing this. "Just nod?"
"Nod. Look impressed. And occasionally say, 'How fascinating.' It works on Admirals, Bishops, and especially Viscounts. Though Lord Keathley is a special case. He likes women who talk back. But you are not looking for a Robert. You are looking for stability."
"I want a red coat," Lydia insisted.
"Officers are poor," Lady Catherine sneered. "But if you must have one, get a Colonel. Or a General. Someone with a pension."
Anne looked up from her embroidery. "Mother, you are teaching her to be a mercenary."
"I am teaching her to survive, Anne! The world is not kind to silly girls.
Look at what happened to..." She stopped.
She didn't want to mention the near-disaster with Wickham that Darcy had vaguely alluded to.
"Look at what almost happens to girls who are careless.
Lydia needs armour. Charm is armour. Silence is armour.
A rich husband is the best armour of all. "
Lydia looked at Lady Catherine. For the first time, there was no mockery in the girl's eyes. There was a dawning respect.
"Lizzy said you were mean," Lydia said. "She said you were a tyrant."
"Your sister Elizabeth has strong opinions. She is usually right, but she lacks nuance."
"You are a tyrant," Lydia decided. "But you're right. About the Admiral. I tried talking about bonnets to a Captain once, and he walked away. Maybe if I'd asked about his ship..."
"Exactly," Lady Catherine beamed. "Now. Scenario two. A lady insults your dress. She says yellow makes you look like a canary. What do you say?"
"I say her dress looks like a curtain!" Lydia shouted.
"No! No, no, no. You never insult back directly. It is vulgar. You smile. You smile sweetly and you say, 'Oh, do you think so? I suppose not everyone has the complexion to carry off such a bold colour. How fortunate that you stick to beige, it is so... safe.'"
Lydia gasped. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. "That is... that is mean. I love it."
"It is polite cruelty," Lady Catherine corrected. "It is the language of the drawing rooms. Learn it."
"I want to try," Anne said suddenly.
Lady Catherine turned. "You?"
"Yes. Scenario three. A gentleman asks me to dance, but he is sweaty and steps on toes. What do I say?"
Lady Catherine looked at her daughter. Anne was sitting up straight. Her eyes were alert.
"You say," Lady Catherine said slowly, "that you are fatigued, but you would be delighted to sit out the set and hear his views on the weather. You bore him until he leaves."
Anne smiled. "I think I can do that."
Lady Catherine looked between the two girls. The wild, loud Bennet and the quiet, sickly de Bourgh. They were opposites. And yet, sitting there, plotting social warfare, they looked like a team.
"Excellent," Lady Catherine said. "We shall make formidable women of you both yet."
Two weeks later, Lady Catherine sat at her desk, writing a letter.
My Dear Nephew,
I trust this letter finds you and your new wife well, and that Pemberley is not entirely falling apart under the management of a Bennet. I write to inform you that your sister-in-law, Miss Lydia, is tolerable.
She is loud. She laughs at inappropriate moments.
She has the attention span of a gnat. However, she has stopped slouching.
She has learned to listen to Mr Collins without rolling her eyes.
Mostly. And yesterday, when Sir William Lucas called and made a foolish comment about the court, she did not giggle.
She asked him about his knighthood with such convincing interest that the man stayed on it for an hour.
She is not Elizabeth. She will never be Elizabeth. But she may yet avoid becoming her mother.
Anne sends her regards. She and Lydia are currently in the garden. Lydia is teaching Anne how to laugh loudly, and Anne is teaching Lydia how to ignore people she dislikes. It is a strange alliance, but it seems to keep the house lively.
Do not hurry to retrieve her. I have not finished with her yet. By the time I am done, she will be ready for a Colonel. Or at least a Major.
Your affectionate Aunt,
Catherine de Bourgh
Lady Catherine sealed the letter. She stood up and walked to the window.
Down in the garden, she saw them. Lydia was running—actually running—across the lawn, chasing a spaniel. And Anne was walking briskly behind her, not wrapped in shawls, but laughing, her face turned up to the sun.
Lady Catherine tapped her cane against the glass.
She had failed to marry Darcy to Anne. She had failed to stop the pollution of the shades.
But she had gained a niece who was her equal in backbone. She had a nephew who was finally happy. And now, she had a project that was bringing her own daughter back to life.
"Stand up straight, Lydia!" she muttered to the glass, though the girl couldn't hear her. "You are running like a duck!"
But she smiled as she said it.
It was going to be a very interesting summer at Rosings. And who knew? Maybe next season, she would take them both to London. The Matlocks wouldn't know what hit them.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh chuckled and turned back to the room. It was time for tea. And she had a lesson on "How to reject a suitor without losing his devotion" to prepare.
The dynasty, she decided, was safe in her hands.
The End