Chapter 22
Elizabeth was relieved to read that Lydia was well—and had not grievously overspent her allowance yet—but her letter did raise some alarm on her own behalf.
Lizzy,
Shall I still refer to you as such? Or perhaps I must call you Miss Elizabeth, for evidently we are no more sisters than Princess Caroline and Lady Hertford!
How stupid I felt at the assembly last night, not even knowing the news of my own sister!
I am sure I looked like a fish, standing there agape when Denny told me you were to marry Mr Hartham!
I must tell you that there is a general consensus among the officers that he is not the marrying kind, but that is nothing to me. I hear he stands to inherit an enormous place out in the country somewhere, which I am sure will suit you and your rambles very well.
Whom you choose to marry is your affair, but you ought to have told me!
Mama thinks this house of yours will make you act above yourself, and it seems it is true.
I should not have to find these things out from persons wholly unrelated to us!
If you do not make me your bridesmaid, I am sure I shall never speak to you again.
Faithfully yours though little you deserve it,
Lydia
How was it that this news of her engagement-that-was-not-an-engagement had reached the regiment? It might be me who is in a scrape, she thought nervously.
It further gave her pause, the idea that Lydia thought Mr Hartham ‘not the marrying kind’.
Not that Elizabeth herself had not had the same suspicions, but for Lydia to hear such a thing from the officers?
What company was she keeping that they would speak of such things to a sixteen-year-old girl?
Even her reference to the Prince Regent’s wife and his mistress—where had she learnt these things?
She felt guilty, knowing she had not been looking in on her sister as she ought to have been.
Lydia was not directly under her care, to be sure, but neither was she under the care of anyone with any degree of good sense, and Elizabeth had promised her father that she would keep an eye on her.
Further, she had herself heard that Mrs Forster was suspected to be with child and suffered frequent and intense illness along with that.
Lydia was likely doing as she wished with absolutely no one to stop her or even know what she was about half the time.
No matter how one looked at it, a visit to her sister was unavoidable. The truth of the matter would need to be set straight and Lydia’s circumstances examined.
“All is well?” Mrs Gardiner asked worriedly. “She has not taken ill, has she?”
“No, no,” Elizabeth assured her. “All is well save for a bit of aggrievement that she has not received the attention that is her due. I ought to look in on her today though—to remind her that we are present and not insensible to her doings.”
“Would you like me to come?”
“No indeed. You stay here with the children. It seems they have grown quite mad for pebble-collecting, if the piles I keep finding are any indication.”
Her aunt chuckled. “If they had their way, we would take half of Brighton back to the City with us. In any case, they will be very happy that today’s excursion need not be delayed. And what are your plans? Will you go over to the house after you see Lydia?”
Elizabeth’s heart stuttered. Going to the house meant seeing Mr Darcy.
She wanted to see him—desperately—but he had not called, and she knew not what it augured.
The fear that he regretted their kiss and meant to avoid her rather than be held to account for it hovered about her mind like a rain cloud threatening a storm, and try as she might, she could not evade its shadow.
“Lizzy?”
She shook herself back to the present. “Oh, um…perhaps.”
“I only ask because, while you are there, you might call on Lady Preston. And while you are with her, you might see Mr Hartham…?” She allowed the remark to hang in the air for a moment before adding, “You must talk to him soon, Lizzy. Before he has time to form any ideas.”
If Elizabeth thought her heart had stuttered before, it positively thundered in her chest now.
For Mr Hartham had formed ideas, had he not?
And those ideas had already found their way out of his head and into the officers’ quarters.
Who else had heard the report? Panic curdled in her belly.
Was this why Mr Darcy had not called? Had he heard that she had accepted a proposal from someone else?
“Lizzy, my dear, are you quite sure you are not still suffering from your cold?”
“I…I just need some air and exercise, and I shall be perfectly well.” With dread roiling in her guts, Elizabeth fled the house.
It was only a little over a mile to the Forsters’ house; Elizabeth had walked far more in less time on many occasions, but this was Brighton, not the countryside.
It was important to be demure and ladylike and thus she undertook her journey at a gentle stroll.
Which was painfully at odds with her desire to run and run until the unease filling her veins was banished.
She did her best to put aside her concerns when she was admitted into Mrs Forster’s snug cottage, waved in by a slatternly maid of all work who pointed towards the drawing room and disappeared off in a huff.
Even if the girl had not directed her on the way, she would have been able to find the lady of the house.
Mrs Forster’s establishment was a lively place, and the rooms veritably rang with the chatter of young women.
Entering the room, Elizabeth found an array of young ladies flirting with two officers in their regimentals whom Elizabeth did not know.
Mrs Forster was notably absent, however, and thus did Elizabeth merely nod and ask the nearest one where she might find Lydia.
“She is in her bedchamber, trying a new style for her hair,” one of the young ladies offered. Elizabeth smiled her thanks and set off in what she hoped was the direction of Lydia’s bedchamber.
Happily a room with a door ajar was right at the top of the stairs; Elizabeth could see her sister within.
“Lizzy!” Lydia whirled round on the dressing table stool as Elizabeth entered, though her tone held more accusation than welcome.
Lydia was always in possession of the dramatic flair of youth, and she had clearly been nursing her grievances since receiving whatever gossip had reached her ears.
She rose with a little flounce. “So you have finally come to see your poor, neglected sister. I suppose you think you are quite grand now, keeping secrets from your own family.”
“Indeed I do not,” Elizabeth said. Gesturing to the single chair in the room, she said, “Do you mind if I sit?”
Lydia nodded but herself remained standing, glowering down at her sister.
“There is no engagement to conceal from you or anyone else. Whatever you have heard is merely speculation.”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Is it untrue?”
“That I am engaged? Decidedly so.”
“But did Mr Hartham propose to you?”
Reluctantly, Elizabeth admitted, “Yes, he did, and I tried to say no, but we were interrupted. I fear when I do manage to speak to him properly, the answer will not best please him.”
“Oh but why not?” Lydia said with a theatrical fling of her hands. “He is a handsome man, and by every report, the pair of you have been inseparable!”
Elizabeth winced, hoping her friendship with Mr Hartham had not backed her into a corner it would be difficult to come out of.
What must Mr Darcy think, if that is how it has appeared to the casual observer?
No wonder he has been hesitant in his affections!
“Yes, well…I am not sure we are well suited for one another.”
“Lizzy,” said Lydia very sternly. “You are twenty-one now. How long shall you continue refusing suitors? If I was your age—”
“Yes, yes, I know, if you are not married by twenty, you will die. I have heard it oft.” Elizabeth smiled fondly at her sister. “In any case, tell me what you have been doing. I understand Mrs Forster is unwell? Who is taking you to all the parties?”
With that, Lydia was off and running. By her telling, there was not an officer she had flirted with who was not in love with her and on the verge of proposing.
She had a new friend called Miss George who was very rich and always in for some fun, and she had grown to despise Mrs Forster’s sister who had arrived the week prior and appeared to be constitutionally unable to have a laugh.
Elizabeth heard it all with half an ear, her attention caught by a folded piece of paper lying carelessly upon Lydia’s dressing table; it appeared to be a note written in a man’s hand.
Rising under the pretence of examining herself in the looking glass, Elizabeth positioned herself where she could glimpse the contents of the note. What she saw made her stomach tighten with familiar concern.
…naughty puss! You might think you can fool Col Blake but…
…gambling debts! You are fortunate Miss G does not seem…
…try it again on Tuesday next, there is a high-stakes…
“Lizzy, are you even listening to me?”
Elizabeth jerked her eyes away. Her first, panicked instinct was to demand of her sister who was writing such things to her, but she knew Lydia too well. Prod her too hard, and she would retreat into denial in a flash. She took a deep breath, schooling herself to caution as Lydia came to her side.
“Lizzy? You look quite pale suddenly. Are you feeling unwell?”
“People keep saying that to me,” she muttered, stalling for time as she tried desperately to think how best to address the matter.
Lydia was clearly pleased with herself and saw no harm in her adventures, but she had proved over and again that she did not know the difference between harmless fun befitting a young lady of gentle birth, and that which might damage her reputation forever.
And all the while, memories of the most astonishingly passionate kiss rattled about in Elizabeth’s head, making a mockery of her concerns for Lydia.
Very carefully, she said, “I am glad you are having a fine time of it here. Only, I hope you are being sensible about your friendships. The seaside air and the excitement of so much company can sometimes lead to…poor decisions.” And I would know.
Lydia’s expression immediately became guarded. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean that young ladies must always be conscious of their reputation, even when—especially when—they are away from their family’s watchful eye.”
Lydia huffed and rolled her eyes. “You sound just like Mary, all sermons and bluster. In any case—who has rumours flying round about her engagement? Hm? Not me, is it? Seems to me that you might take a page from that book yourself!”
Elizabeth grimaced. “No matter that. I would not have you get yourself into danger.”
“Danger? What sort of danger do you think I am in?”
Elizabeth sighed, recognising the rebellious glint in Lydia’s countenance and increasingly certain that to reveal what she had read would only lead to an argument and potentially drive Lydia to greater secrecy. “I hope you are not in any danger. I only wish for you to be careful.”
“You can have a care and still have a good time,” Lydia retorted.
“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed, repressing another unhappy sigh.
Miss Hawkridge’s tales of wildness amongst young ladies who hung around the regiments echoed in her ears.
She hoped Lydia would steer clear of such shenanigans, but she simply did not know how to enforce it.
My father has never taken the trouble to check her, so how can I possibly do so?
Perhaps it was time to write to Mr Bennet, or even speak to Mrs Forster, though she doubted either would take the situation as seriously as it deserved.
She would speak to her aunt and uncle, of course, but Lydia was not likely to pay Mr Gardiner any mind—he was too gentle by far—and Mrs Gardiner was as likely to be met with obstinacy as Elizabeth found herself presently.
“Just take care,” she repeated. “And pray, if you hear anybody say that I am engaged, correct them!”
She took her leave of Lydia soon thereafter. She walked slowly, burdened with the growing certainty that her peaceful retreat in Brighton was about to become far more complicated than she had ever anticipated.